library occupied. Yet the question kept occurring to her: Where does it end? When she turned the next corner, her answer awaited.
Another smoking city street stretched forward but only for half a block. Then it ended very abruptly. Past its limits she could see the quiet moonlit hill that descended away from the library. She was about to run out but—
“Help me,” a voice beseeched her. “Please ...”
Fuck that, Penelope decided. The only person she was going to help right now was herself—by getting out of this hellish place. But there was something about the voice. It was a woman’s, and it—
She looked into the narrow alley from which the plea had issued. A heavy-metal poster flapped on the brick wall: THE BURNING BABIES, ONE SHOW ONLY! LIVE AT THE BLOOD-SUCKERS BALLROOM. Across from it, someone had scrawled in chalk: GOD, PLEASE TAKE ME BACK, then someone else had written: DON’T HOLD YOUR BREATH!
The alley, like everything else, stank. Even in her horror, Penelope felt compelled to stop.
Was there something familiar about the voice?
“Help me,” the voice repeated. “I was raped and beaten by a Grand Duke.”
Penelope took one step into the alley. Yes, the voice was familiar. A naked woman sat huddled in the corner, reaching out.
“Who are you?” Penelope asked, voice quavering. “Are you one of the other guards?”
A giggle—a familiar giggle—and then the woman lurched up and grabbed Penelope, and all at once she realized just how familiar the voice really was.
It was her own voice that had been speaking to her.
And Penelope was now being attacked ... by herself.
The naked woman that looked exactly like Penelope grinned. Well, she didn’t look exactly like Penelope, because Penelope didn’t have fangs, nor were the whites of Penelope’s eyes bright crimson with white irises. Penelope didn’t have four joints per finger, either, and she didn’t have talons in place of fingernails. There was one other thing Penelope didn’t have that this evil replica did: a penis.
Penelope screamed as she was dragged down. Perfect facsimiles of her own breasts swayed before her dread-distorted face, and her imposter’s penis—more demonic than human in that it was gray as birch bark, with the same texture, and had an inverted glans, more like a plunger-head than a dome—throbbed against her stomach as she was molested. “I’m gonna stick it in hard, sweetie,” the clone assured her in her own voice. “Say hello to my Mr. Bumpy.”
The clone’s hips shimmied between Penelope’s legs. Penelope just kicked and screamed some more—useless reactions. Then hook-nailed hands began to pull at her pants ...
SLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL-UCK!
Penelope had closed her eyes against the horror but opened them again when her attacker seemed to fall limp. Another Tentaculus was leaning over the scene on its long, wormlike legs, having forced the end of its trunk into the clone’s mouth. Penelope was able to crawl away as the creature’s digestive process began to suck, the extended trunk pulsating. It made Penelope think of a vacuum-cleaner hose, only this vacuum wasn’t sucking up dust, it was sucking out her macabre replica’s internal organs, or so Penelope would’ve thought until the creature stalled, then retracted its trunk. The sound it made—clearly a sound of objection—pierced her ears like the whine of a dentist’s drill. What Penelope couldn’t have understood was that the Hex-Clone of herself didn’t possess internal organs, just rotten reanimated goulash and vexed blood—not the meal that the Tentaculus expected. The creature jerked back, raised its trunk as an elephant would, and quickly expelled everything it had just ingested, spewing it all out in a shower of grue.
Penelope resumed her terror-tear down the alley. The sight of the moon—her moon, not a moon from another world—beckoned her. Finally she was there, and nearly collapsed when she took in her first breath of clean night
Another smoking city street stretched forward but only for half a block. Then it ended very abruptly. Past its limits she could see the quiet moonlit hill that descended away from the library. She was about to run out but—
“Help me,” a voice beseeched her. “Please ...”
Fuck that, Penelope decided. The only person she was going to help right now was herself—by getting out of this hellish place. But there was something about the voice. It was a woman’s, and it—
She looked into the narrow alley from which the plea had issued. A heavy-metal poster flapped on the brick wall: THE BURNING BABIES, ONE SHOW ONLY! LIVE AT THE BLOOD-SUCKERS BALLROOM. Across from it, someone had scrawled in chalk: GOD, PLEASE TAKE ME BACK, then someone else had written: DON’T HOLD YOUR BREATH!
The alley, like everything else, stank. Even in her horror, Penelope felt compelled to stop.
Was there something familiar about the voice?
“Help me,” the voice repeated. “I was raped and beaten by a Grand Duke.”
Penelope took one step into the alley. Yes, the voice was familiar. A naked woman sat huddled in the corner, reaching out.
“Who are you?” Penelope asked, voice quavering. “Are you one of the other guards?”
A giggle—a familiar giggle—and then the woman lurched up and grabbed Penelope, and all at once she realized just how familiar the voice really was.
It was her own voice that had been speaking to her.
And Penelope was now being attacked ... by herself.
The naked woman that looked exactly like Penelope grinned. Well, she didn’t look exactly like Penelope, because Penelope didn’t have fangs, nor were the whites of Penelope’s eyes bright crimson with white irises. Penelope didn’t have four joints per finger, either, and she didn’t have talons in place of fingernails. There was one other thing Penelope didn’t have that this evil replica did: a penis.
Penelope screamed as she was dragged down. Perfect facsimiles of her own breasts swayed before her dread-distorted face, and her imposter’s penis—more demonic than human in that it was gray as birch bark, with the same texture, and had an inverted glans, more like a plunger-head than a dome—throbbed against her stomach as she was molested. “I’m gonna stick it in hard, sweetie,” the clone assured her in her own voice. “Say hello to my Mr. Bumpy.”
The clone’s hips shimmied between Penelope’s legs. Penelope just kicked and screamed some more—useless reactions. Then hook-nailed hands began to pull at her pants ...
SLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL-UCK!
Penelope had closed her eyes against the horror but opened them again when her attacker seemed to fall limp. Another Tentaculus was leaning over the scene on its long, wormlike legs, having forced the end of its trunk into the clone’s mouth. Penelope was able to crawl away as the creature’s digestive process began to suck, the extended trunk pulsating. It made Penelope think of a vacuum-cleaner hose, only this vacuum wasn’t sucking up dust, it was sucking out her macabre replica’s internal organs, or so Penelope would’ve thought until the creature stalled, then retracted its trunk. The sound it made—clearly a sound of objection—pierced her ears like the whine of a dentist’s drill. What Penelope couldn’t have understood was that the Hex-Clone of herself didn’t possess internal organs, just rotten reanimated goulash and vexed blood—not the meal that the Tentaculus expected. The creature jerked back, raised its trunk as an elephant would, and quickly expelled everything it had just ingested, spewing it all out in a shower of grue.
Penelope resumed her terror-tear down the alley. The sight of the moon—her moon, not a moon from another world—beckoned her. Finally she was there, and nearly collapsed when she took in her first breath of clean night
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