Nathaniel Tower

by Horror Sleaze Trash on April 21, 2013

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Nathaniel Tower writes fiction, teaches English, and manages the online literary magazine Bartleby Snopes. His fiction has appeared in almost 200 online and print journals, and he has a novel and novella out through MuseItUp Publishing. When he isn’t writing or doing any of the other standard things writers do, he can be found joggling (running while juggling) through the streets. Visit him at http://www.nathanieltower.wordpress.com

Witches in Disguise

by Nathaniel Tower

They first invited me to the reading group when they were reading Fifty Shades of Grey. I hadn’t read it and didn’t want to, but I wanted to belong to something. Since my husband and I had moved to Minneapolis, I hadn’t really befriended anyone. We never really wanted to make the move, but we needed change, to escape our old lives. Of course Patrick had no problem building a posse of drinking buddies, leaving me all alone in the bitter cold night after night.

When Shelia approached me at the office and invited me to join the Twisted Sisters reading club, I gave an enthusiastic yes.

That same day, on the way home, I stopped at Barnes and Noble and bought a copy of the novel. It pained me to pay for it. I was so embarrassed that I picked up a Henry James novel and something by a Bronte sister. I sandwiched Fifty Shades between the classics, hoping the clerk wouldn’t say anything. It was stupid. Of course he wouldn’t say anything. It was the best-selling book.

“What the fuck are you reading?” Patrick asked when he found me snuggled up on the couch that evening.

“Just something for my new book club,” I said, trying to hide my bursting smile.

“Awesome. I’m going out with Greg and Mikey. We’ll probably take a cab home, if you know what I mean.” He winked and nudged me. I was so glad to have the book club. I didn’t care how bad the book was, although I must admit that it would’ve put me in the mood if Patrick wasn’t such a douchebag.

The next day, I showed up at my first meeting with the Twisted Sisters, my reading assignment completed. I even put little sticky notes in the book to show how actively I’d read the thing.

I walked in with the copy clutched to my chest so they could see the post-its protruding intelligently out of the pages.

“This is Emily, our newest member,” Shelia said with a smile and a sweeping gesture. They were all standing around in a tight circle.

Two of the women opened the circle to let me inside.

“Good, you have a copy,” one of them said. “Now toss it in.”

She pointed to a cauldron bubbling with green liquid.

“What the hell?” As much as I hated the book, I wasn’t a fan of book mutilation.

“Don’t worry, Emily,” Shelia said. “This is how we get the most out of the books. Just trust us.”

I shrugged and tossed my copy in. When in Rome, right?

The moment the acidic green liquid began eating away at the pages of the smut, the women began chanting. “Fuck, come, fuck, come, fuck, come, fuck, come.”

Shelia looked at me and nodded that I should join in. I started moving my mouth to form the words, but nothing escaped my lips. In my head, I was saying “tuck, dumb, tuck dumb.”

After about five minutes of chanting, Shelia held up her arms, revealing a line of purple triangle tattoos. “Something isn’t right,” she said. “Someone isn’t chanting.”

They all looked at me. Of course they did. It was the new girl, messing up everything.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not one for cussing. I don’t really know what’s going on. Can someone fill me in?”

One of them looked at Shelia. “You didn’t tell her?”

“I just assumed she knew. We’re pretty infamous, you know.”

I didn’t have a clue.

Shelia launched into the explanation. They were witches. Sex witches. They didn’t get pleasure from their husbands, so they had séances disguised as book club meetings where they boiled sexy books and chanted until their bodies were torn apart by the most delightful orgasms imaginable. I just had to try it, she said.

“This will honestly change your life,” she said.

They began the chant again. Shelia tossed another copy of Fifty Shades into the cauldron, to freshen the mood I suppose. “Fuck, come, fuck, come,” we went, speeding up until we were practically panting it. Soon, one of the women started convulsing. She fell on the floor and moaned like I’d never heard before. Not even in the pornos Patrick made me watch when he wanted to have the “really good sex.”

“Whose turn is it?” one of the women asked Shelia amidst the heavy panting.

“New girl. It’s gotta be the new girl.”

She pointed at me.

“What do I do?” I asked, gladly ceasing the “fuck, come” chant.

“You’re going to lick her and then stick your tongue in the cauldron.”

“Lick her? Where?” I backed out of the circle in disgust. I was not doing either of those things.

“Wherever you think it’ll please her the most,” Shelia said.

They all started looking at me, and the chant became, “Lick, fuck, come.” They were pumping their fists, and I could see they all had the triangle tattoos. I was the only one without the three-sided shape permanently affixed to my arm.

“Do it!” Shelia yelled. She grabbed a broomstick and held it up. “Lick! FUCK! Come!”

Their voices shook something old inside me. I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved my way to Shelia and tore the broomstick out of her hands.

“Look!” one of them shouted when she saw the infinity tattoos exposed on my upper arms. “She’s the one!”

I wasn’t ready for this. I wanted friends, but I didn’t want to resort back to this way of life.

“Buncha fuckin’ bitches,” I yelled as I impaled Shelia with the broomstick and watched her witch eyes bulge until bloated death took over. I knocked over the cauldron until the whole group was writhing on the floor.

Laughing, I pulled the broomstick out of Shelia, hopped on, and flew through the night back home to my drunken husband. I was going to fuck his dick off. Fuck, come.

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