Desperate Run

by C.J. Riggs

To the ones that want a 7-foot big guy chasing you through a forest, then tripping on purpose. Do as your told, and run, petit mouton.

My staff respect me, and the one's that deserve mine in return, will get it. They keep me around for more than my ability to hunt down my prey. My reputation is nearly as strong as the one that comes along with this carnival. I’m the hunter sought out by the guests, but never one they get because I loathe a willing guest. I pick my prey. Just like Shade, when I feast, I want no limitations to what I can give and get in return.

The throaty growl of my Northwestern wolf has me shifting my gaze. This beast weighs nearly two-hundred pounds, and while I know he could kill me in a heartbeat if I step out of line, he is as essential to me as my cock. “Enjoy your dinner,” I croon, tossing the body with callous measure. “We leave in the morning.” His yellow eyes shift from me toward the man, and I cross my arms. Hopefully, the redwoods will entertain me.

It’s gotten to the stage where sex with Patrick has become… well, to put it bluntly, boring really. There was promise in the beginning, but that all fell through a few weeks ago after I asked him to choke me, maybe slap me around a little bit. You’d have thought I asked him to commit a murder. He looked at me like I was completely insane. Ok, so I like things a little… different in the bedroom. I’m not ashamed to admit it, but Patrick makes me feel like I should be. Like being chased through the woods with a knife is a bad thing.

Sasha is the biggest haunted attraction freak, almost as big as me and this has been on our To-Do list for the past year. It’s how we bonded during our first year of Med School together.

Hannah and my brother Jamie have been together forever. She got him to commit within the first year of him moving out here to take his PR company up a notch. He signed a million-dollar deal, and she got a ring. Gold digging bitch.

I love my brother, when everything went to shit seven years ago, he was the only one there to save me and even then, I don’t think

he really did. I’m far too fucked up mentally. Yet, Jamie and Sasha are the only people who I’d kill myself to save. Everyone else can go fuck themselves.

Yes, but—” “Look,” he interrupts me, which he knows annoys the fuck out of me. Sure, I’m trying to justify the type of situation I’m putting myself into but damn, let a girl finish first.

“If she doesn’t chicken out first,” Hannah chuckles. “We all know how shit your sister’s mental health is.” My head whips in her direction and I swear, I’ve imagined so many times all the ways in which I would kill her. When I say I hate her, I mean it in every sense of the word. She is a vile human being that thinks rape means, ‘what were you wearing?’ “Hannah,” Jamie scolds her. “Why don’t you join us, Hannah? I’d love to see your eyeballs removed and the sockets fucked.” “I think that’s fucking disgusting!” Her face screws up. “And I don’t think women should suck cock for a diamond ring but, oh, here you stand.” I tilt my head, the same way in which a curious puppy would. I smirk and mouth the word whore at her.

My best friends are the only ones who get me, who really see me for who I truly am. Psychotic

Ready to make the four-and-a-half-hour drive to Redwood Motel?” Sasha shouts over the music. Leaning over, I grab her face, roughly, pressing my lips to hers in an overly adrenalized kiss. “Let’s fucking goooo!” I scream.

ugh i love all of her bsfs

I prefer silence over perpetual talking. I really don’t understand what people see in me that makes them think I’m a listener.

She steps backward, fear dripping from her eyes. That look, I love it. The pleasure it sends straight to my groin has me adjusting.

I need someone to make my thighs strain at how hard I have to run to catch them. I’m so tired of being fucking bored.

Troy is one of us Hunters, totaling seven with me included, his specialty is phobia manipulation. I must say, I was intrigued enough to take a night off to watch him work and I was not disappointed. His prey that night had a fear of heights and by the end, she was begging to be fucked upside down on the stalled carousel while hanging out of the top with no restraints.

I train over my profile. It says six foot eleven, it’s possible I could be that or even an inch taller. Who knows? I do. I’m exactly seven feet.

None of the Hunters profiles have our faces. Only our masks. Mine, a golden Devil, with the teeth black as the abyss of my fucked-up mind. The eyes are the only piece that aren’t covered and for good reason. I was blessed with eyes of silver and while some say red eyes are that of the Devil, they are wrong. Red ...

Twenty-eight people that are interested in being chased by a fucking leprechaun.” That joke will never get old, because his eyes are green and he has red hair—it was like God fucked him in every means possible, except in the ass. His glower was as evil as if the coin collecting, rainbow hopping shit himself. I give Troy a hard time, but he is damn good at the hunt. All of us are, but no one is better than me.

Didn’t know you spoke Spanish.” I said he was good at hunting, not a fucking genius. “French, you moron.

When did you learn French?” What is this buddy-buddy chit chat? Yes, Troy is the only one of the Hunters I interact with personally, but this is a lot, even for him. “I grew up on the border of Canada, a lot of my classmates spoke it so I naturally learned it.

the other five Hunters. Jun, Po, Marcella, Oscar and Gabe,

and draven + troy

My phone is in my hand and I’m swiping through different social media platforms, looking up hashtags with Midnight Menagerie or, California crazed carnival, or Halloween with the Hunters. Most of these people will last barely a singular night if that. Nearly ninety-five percent of guests don’t come back the second night, but it's more fun for us. It’s especially pleasant when our prey think they're safe if they leave the carnival and not return. The contract states the weekend. Even beyond the premises, they aren’t safe until 12:01 AM the following Monday. It’s my favorite part, and the one everyone glosses over. Something is telling me this may be my favorite weekend of all time. Maybe it’s the location, but the elation in my stomach tells me otherwise.

“Jesus, could you at least let me leave the fucking room first, I don’t want to see your snatch?” “If you stopped singing in the shower like Barry Manilow and realize you’re a short, gay, Hispanic kid with daddy issues, and not a multi-album selling artist, we wouldn’t be having this problem.” “Bitch!

Walking through the iron wrought archway of Midnight Menagerie, I can’t contain my excitement. Gripping onto Sasha’s arm, I let out a shriek and begin stomping my feet swiftly like an excited child on Christmas morning. Except, there’s torture, five different fear mazes and a final choice at the end. When I applied for my hunter; I opted to be randomly chosen instead. I was going to choose golden mask guy but decided to throw caution to the wind and let Jesus take the wheel as such. I’m obsessed with fear and any aspect of it that can give me that adrenaline rush. Fear, pain and the chase excite me. It’s why I’m so intrigued by the secrecy of the mazes. That won’t be happening until tomorrow though. Tonight, its horror attractions, food, and games.

Sasha looks just as excited as I do, her eyes popping out of her head as she wraps her hand round mine. “Let’s go!” Her laughter fills the space between us as we run ahead, leaving Ben and Deck rambling between each other, like always.

The bump isn’t what gravitates me to turn around, because I easily could have thought I was merely backed into by a bundle of balloons. No, it’s her fragrance. I have a strange aptitude for depicting and breaking down scents, which I chalk up to training Shade. If you want to tame a beast, you have to become one yourself. It’s possible because I’m partially blind in my left eye—color blind and astigmatism—that maybe whatever creator there is, blessed me with that heightened sense of smell. It’s the scent of darkness; a sweet, fruity aroma with a tart undertone. I’d equate it to a pomegranate, but then I’d be granting the likeness of Death herself. Along with that sweet scent of amber.

“Je vais surveiller, ma proie.“ I step around her, and don’t look back. “The fuck you say to me?!” Her voice both equally annoying and captivating as she screams at my back. Not that it wasn’t already solidified, but with that slip of her tongue, she has become mine for the next forty-eight hours. I know her screams are going to be a symphony of magic for me. What a delicious little delight you will be, my Little Sheep.

There were only a few rules us Hunters have. The first being, respect the others’ maze. We don’t interfere with their shit. Myself, being the only hunter without a traditional one, I don’t really have to worry about it. I’m here for pleasure and going with the flow. I can’t be held down to a damn schedule, plus, cleaning up one of those mazes?

The second rule, and the most important: Do not kill or even touch the prey designated within the established boundaries. This, even beyond the maze, is non-negotiable. Breaking this will bring all the Hunters together, culminating in the transgressor becoming the hunted. In their maze, anything can go, unfortunately. It rarely happens, because most runners use their amulet to get out before death can occur, but it has. Especially in Gabe’s, of which not many make it to anyway. A few have, with only a single one ever making it out.

as much as I’d like to say she sticks out like a sore thumb, that's wrong. It isn’t necessarily her appearance that does it for me, it’s her fucking attitude. When my gaze meets her excited one, I don’t turn away. She’s probably ten or so feet back, and while people are pushing into her, she’s fighting them for dominance. My prey is no damsel, but I want to make her into one under my grip.

“Last but not least.” I usually despise this, but with her gaze dragging to mine, I don’t mind it. The smile that comes over her as she gapes in my direction, makes me fucking needy for her. “Grim.” I tune out all the shouts. Despite her eagerness, it’s no greater than when she watched the others. She’s simply excited to be part of this adventure, this game she believes has a winner. How long will it take to break her? How long until she understands that winning has quite the cost? A friend, I assume, grabs her arm, and hangs all over her, dragging her attention away from me. I close my left eye, balancing only her in my vision. Her smile is delightful, her thick lips quite delicious looking. The remainder of Jarvus's speech falls into the back of my mind, I can’t hear anything but my own heart. What is she afraid of? What does she taste like? What does she hate? What does she love? Something tells me my proie doesn’t love much. Maybe the girl beside her, and the thrill of what is to come, but that’s it.

The feeling of being watched hits my senses and my pulse begins to quicken. My heart pumps blood faster around my body as my skin shudders from the thought of someone being locked in here with me. Taking a swift left, I jump down the step into the center of a circular room. Mirrors surround it and my reflection darts around in every which way. The music stops abruptly, and that's when I hear it. “Petit Mouton.” The whisper sails into my left ear and I spin on the spot to see nothing, not a single person behind me. “Hiding in the darkness... Smooth.

“Quiet.” He demands, pulling me forward and then slamming me back again. The glass shattering at my back. “Say,” I struggle in his grasp, “please.

“If you’re going to choke me, at least kiss me, or make me come.”

After a moment of hesitation, she releases my fingers and leaves them coated in her saliva. I’m not sure if it’s intentional, but the wicked grin on her face suggests it is. Please, as if my tongue won’t be so far down her throat by the end of the night. I use my thumb to lift my mask enough to slip my fingers into my mouth, tasting her and licking them clean. She is definitely worth kissing. Fuck if I’m not already addicted.

“I’m quite smart—” she gasps as I pull harder upward. “Actually— why the atomic wedgy?!

Stretching her arms straight over her head, I pin them tightly to the mirror. My hand slipping down to the knife at my belt and unlatching it. I’m studying her face, the scar on her lip, the one on her eyebrow, the sweet birthmark— she’s a work of art, and I plan to add to this masterpiece.

Pressing the tips of his fingers to his temple, he sighs. “I just think–” He doesn’t get a chance to finish the sentence before Blonde-Shell whips Deck around on the spot, taking his hand in hers and before he even realizes what’s going on, she nicks the skin. As blood softly pools from the cut, she sweeps it up with two fingers and rubs it over one side of his face. “Nobody touches you but me Fairy, got that?” Her muffled voice has an element of

humor to it. He nods silently, turning on her heel, she begins skipping off to another hunter I think is called Dobby. He looks absolutely nothing like the house Elf from Harry Potter. Deck turns back to face me. “Is it possible for me to go full circle and turn straight again?” I burst out laughing, because by the look on his face, he may just have fallen in love with a woman for the first time. “Oh baby.” I move from Ben’s grasp and pull Deck’s head to rest on my chest, his arms encircling my waist, Sasha just shakes her head. “I think I love her, Maxi-pad.” He sobs playfully while we take a few steps forward. The line to Papa Legba’s Voodoo House decreasing slightly.

“Don’t touch—no, matter of fact—don’t look at her.” “If she makes it to my maze.” My nose twitches involuntarily as he continues to test my patience. “You hold no dominion.” My eyes fall to half-mast, bored with this back and forth. “If she makes it to your maze, Pot-Belly, it’s not her I’ll be worried about.”

“Which one are we taking?” “I think—” “You take Sasha in front, me and Max will take the right.” Before I’m able to protest, Ben throws me over his shoulder. “Wait a second, shouldn’t we—” The door slams closed behind us before I can finish hearing the words leave my best friend’s lips. “Ben, put me down.” I tap his back and he drops me to my feet, directly in front of him so we are practically chest to chest. It’s far too close for me. “Why would you do that?” I push back from him, the hallway we now

find ourselves in close to pitch black, if not for the few shards of candlelight spaced out on the walls. “We never have any time together anymore so—” “Yes because,” I sigh frustratingly, “you know why.” “Max, come on.” “Come on what, Ben?” I like him but, not like that. Leaning forward, he takes hold of my hand, his skin is soft against mine, rubbing his thumb in slow, gentle circles on the top but I feel nothing. I’m fucking empty inside. “Let’s just try?” He steps closer. “Try what, Ben?” I look up at him. “Because I seem to remember we did try, once, and I told you I felt nothing and that I wanted to be friends and—” I drop my head back and groan. Why does he always have to do this, why am I always the fucking bad guy here. “Max, that was years ago, we were both wasted. Don’t I deserve a chance?” “No, Ben. I told you no, ok? Because of what ha—” I stop mid-sentence. “I’m not doing this right now.” I snatch my hand back and begin stomping down the hall.

“I’ll be right back.” “What?!” she shouts. “What do you mean?!” “I’m thirsty.” I lie, and circle around her. “Wait! Don’t leave me in here! No, no!” The singular exit door is adjacent to the one she walked through, and while I am actually not going to leave her, I do open it. “Draven! Get back here!” Before closing the door, I take a deep breath, and lean against the wall. The door shuts and she lets out a deafening scream. Her legs attempting to pull her through the stock, as if she could escape it. It’s latched and as lithe as her wrists are, her hands won’t fit through it. Do I put it past her not to break her wrists to get out? No, I don’t, it’s why I’m not actually leaving. I want to see her fear. “That piece of shit!” I take the moment she screams to take another breath, staying

as still as possible. “I do need to teach you a lesson, ah!!” She’s mocking me, and I have to force back my laugh or else I’ll give away that I’m still here. “Ma proie, blah blah, Petit Mouton, bitch!” What a filthy little mouth you have, my dear. “I’m going to shove my finger so far up his ass!” I truly don’t like people talking about my ass, but, if she lets me stick my fist in hers, maybe I’ll allow her pinky.

inches from her clit, “I’ll stop, and hang you out to dry for your disobedience.” I can feel her stomach release the tension in it, and I know she’s ready. My tongue flattens against her clit and roll it like that of the waves crashing against the shore. The pounding into her pussy causes the sound of her arousal to only become louder as she is beginning to come undone. The pulsing of her clit as her cunt milks my fingers, as though its my cock, makes me moan. That singular added vibration sends her right over the edge. My hand pushes against her stomach as her body falls into her climax, and just like my good prey, she does as she's been told. Her body vibrates as she squirts all over my mouth and face, my fingers ferociously pounding her cunt while my thumb from the hand pushing on her stomach comes to roll against her clit. I need her to make a mess of my face, and she does just that. “Fuck,” I breathe. “Une si bonne fille.”

Her hands are soft, but I can tell they wouldn’t hesitate to be deadly given the means to be. It makes me wonder if they have killed, and if not, would she be opposed to it? There is nothing more beautiful than a powerful woman. Imagining a gun in her hand, or even a knife, standing over her kill watching them bleed out—fuck my dick

“Please, one of his friends is standing there, waiting for me. I’ll pay you whatever you want, anything, I know you can protect me.” I understand why some assume our motivations revolve around money. Indeed, on prosperous weekends, our earnings could soar into the millions, particularly when handling ‘special’ requests like the one pertaining to the demise of this woman, the fiancée to the Governor’s son. While the financial aspect is appealing, it’s not my driving force. Regrettably for her, her safety is of little concern to me. While she looks innocent, I can see the needle marks at the points of her arms that would give her the most high. The bruises between the pad of her hand where gripping a pistol for too long would cause. The gang tattoo that is peeking out from under her shirt as it strains to stay lower than her belly button.

My gaze trains back down to the girl. “What is your name?” “S-Samantha…” she whimpers. “Samantha,” I release her wrist and put my hand behind her neck, grabbing hold of her brunette hair and tearing her head back. “Your hunter is pissing me off.” Her eyes round, fear radiating through her pours, smelling of anxiety—a mixture of salt and aged bread. “So, I’m going to fuck with his prey. You need to listen to me, and if you do, you may just survive this weekend.” As if confirming her biggest fear, her lips tremble, but she nods. “Pot-Belly is your hunter, tasked to kill you.” Her eyes gloss over. “The carousel is your friend, ride the horses if you see your hunter, ride the tigers if you have fear of your group, and the elephant if you are in immediate danger. Nod if you understand.” She nods. “If you cannot get to the carousel, I suggest the Haunted Manor, and tell the attendee ‘I love the bed of roses’. Do you understand?” She nods again. “Do not run to me for help.” My tone is not a request. “Pot-Belly may be openly

foolish, but I’m not. Keep my help a secret, or I’ll kill you myself. Comprendre?