When she shivers and moans, I slide them into her warm, wet cunt. She slowly begins to ride my fingers as they move deeper inside. The hairs on my arms stand on end when she brings her mouth to mine.
“Electra,” she breathes through sweat and teeth. “My name is Electra.”
Chapter Six
Cotton Rock
Cotton Rock. Home to just over ten thousand residents, and about a five-hour drive from the city. The town’s official website boasts of surrounding farmlands, white picket fences, and wholesome small town living. On its Wikipedia page, Cotton Rock is said to be the oldest village in the county, with an economy based in agriculture and seasonal tourism. Its Instagram account, run by a self-proclaimed Cotton Rock historian, is littered with bad photographs of smiling children, happy families, and various festivities. The town is colorful and friendly, bustling despite its size. Charming. The kind of place you’d want to retire and live out the rest of your days relaxing on a porch with a pet Labrador sleeping by your feet. It even has a Starbucks.
But this isn’t the Cotton Rock I find when Google Maps tells me I’ve arrived at my destination.
I park on the curb outside what used to be a post office judging by the signage. The building is a shell now, nearly completely hidden by the vines, leaves and flowers that stretch and grow over it. Much like every other building I’ve seen so far. Crouching down, I pluck a blossom growing between the cracks of a concrete dustbin from its stem. It’s almost identical to the one Copper-Eye sent me, its petals a color of deep maroon.
Like blood dried in the sun on a scalding July afternoon.
I drop the flower and stand up. My joints pop and I rub my eyes. It has been a long drive, filled with grainy country music fizzling from the radio and memories of Electra I wish to forget, to take back. If there are two things I regret most in life, it’s letting her lead me down the haphazard path of nonchalant magic-use… And losing her for good.
Copper-Eye never liked Electra, said she was trouble. She wasn’t wrong, but then again, my adoptive mother didn’t like a lot of people.
I open the trunk of my car and unzip my tote bag. I’d only brought a change of clothes with me, some toiletries, a gift inside a velvet pouch and a flashlight. I’m a regular member of the Scooby-Doo Gang.
A bird, somewhere far away, coos and my ears prick up. It dawns on me that that is the first sound I’ve heard here.
From my tote, I take out the velvet pouch. Inside is an Irish fae ring, given to me by Copper-Eye when I turned sixteen. I shake it out into my palm. It’s the size of an old American dollar coin, wound together by silver and gold snakes. In the most anxious of times, the ring will allow you to see and listen to the spirit world, she had told me. I’d always assumed it was a joke, but in the past I have been proven wrong.
I fix my eyes on the fae ring, making sure not to blink. In a matter of seconds, the snakes heat up ever so slightly, and the center glimmers like light waves reflected on a bubble. I bring it to my ear, hold my breath and wait.
At first, I hear only agonizing groans. But as the fae ring gets warmer and warmer against my ear, the groans give way to shrieks — countless men, women and children howling in bloodcurdling horror — in every direction, trapping me against my car. Begging. Roaring. Dying. Coming from the flowers blooming all around.
“Enough!” I shout over the noise and yank the fae ring from my ear. Shivers drag nails down my spine as I put the ring back in its bag. Cotton Rock has returned to its eerie silence.
With the tote bag strung over my shoulder, I leave my car outside the post office and head deeper into the town, beginning the search for clues. I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for. All Alectra had written on the table at the Three Blind Mice was the name of this town and nothing more.
I decide to start my search at the town square and work my way from there, so I pull out my phone and thumb Google Maps until it shows me where to go. Luckily, there’s still signal.