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Review This Story || Author: A Missing Number

The Pale Man : A Horror Story

Part 1


WARNING: This is a work of erotic fiction.  It contains depictions of

   nudity and graphic sex, etc.

Author: A Missing Number

Title: The Pale Man : A Ghost Story

   Summary : Part 1.

Keywords: MF, oral, nc, rough, horror, tent

   Copyright A Missing Number, 2013

   Imagine a corridor; narrow, and punctuated with the occasional door.

   The corridor is scrupulously clean, though the fading of the whitewash

on its walls hint towards the age of the corridor's building.

   Each door is reinforced; the steel is plaintive beneath the thin veneer

of paint.

   Barely audible are the noises made by those beyond the doors, muted into

indistinct groans or sobbing.

   The world outside experiences a dusky twilight, but that is not

discernable from the uniformity of neon lighting in this corridor.

   Down this corridor walk a man and a woman.  The man is an orderly, with

fresh scrubs and a burly figure.  The job is thankless and weary, so it is

natural that he wears a stern expression.  His name is unimportant.

   The woman is in her late twenties, petite yet trim, with fiercely

intelligent eyes framed with wire-rimmed spectacles.  She is dressed in a

jacket, skirt, and a pristine white blouse.  Altogether, she projects a

precisely manicured image, svelte and professional.

   Her name is Dr Helen Rose.

   She is holding a folder.


   She half-mutters to herself.  That single word breaks the stifling

silence between her and her stoic guide, who had so far resolutely limited

his communication to grunts and hand gestures.  The man snorts, betraying

his cynicism.

   "You're not the first, Doctor.  There's been others like you, all come

here to fix this girl.  But there's things that can't be fixed, and she's


   Dr Rose shoots him a withering glare, but the orderly's face remains


   "I've read the so called 'reports'.  Each more brief, more slipshod than

the last!  She's a HUMAN BEING, not some piece of furniture you can discard

when you can't be bothered to fix.  The preliminary observations ...  "

   "Were brief because they couldn't stand her," he interrupted.

   She shot him another glare.

   "Yeah, I heard what's so interesting about this girl too.  'Daughter of

senator survives seven years in wilderness!' Only there's no happy ending.

They bring her back, but she's messed up in the head.  So they lock her up

here.  If her family wasn't loaded, you can bet there wouldn't be another

soul on earth who gave a damn about her, like the rest of these lot here."

   He scrunches his face in what might be approximated as a cross between a

sneer and a sneeze.

   "But even those money grubbing know-it-alls knew better than to stick

around her for long."

   Helen's features hardened, brushing aside the thinly-veiled


   It was true, however, that she other doctors had not demonstrated much

persistence in their treatment.  Most didn't last for more than a few

weeks, and their observational reports were erratic and amateurish.  Most

cited the patient's displays of outright hostility, shyness, and generally

uncooperative behavior, but none tried, really TRIED, to make any headway

into establishing a rapport with the patient.  There were prescriptions of

some powerful medications, but none seem have much effect.  At best, they

tranquilized her during the day, but...

   "...  at night, she really goes wild.  That's what you're here to see,

right doctor?"

   She'd pulled some major strings to get this interview, calling in her

favors and working her considerable charm on the direcctor.  It was a

breach of protocol, but it was neccessary.

   "She was alone in the WILDERNESS, huddling inside some cave, alone for

God knows how long.  What do you think her nights were like THEN?  Freezing

in the darkness, starving, worrying that a predator might decide to snack

on you?  She's safe now, but the first step in curing her is to understand

what she's still afraid of.  You can't just give her drugs to 'fix' her,

because she's not BROKEN, just scared and misunderstood.  Especially by


   The orderly hesitates for a moment, considering a response.  Instead, he

simply scowls and remains silent.  Helen allows herself a

barely-perceptible smirk.  They resume their silence until, finally, they

reach their destination.

   He opens the door.  "Don't say I didn't warn you, doctor."

   The room is comfortable, but messy.  The wallpaper, a vapid floral

attempt to inject some cheeriness into the room, seems to be crudely

vandalized with an abudance of indecipherable scribbles and drawings.  The

window admits the last rays of the day, the sunset visible through

reinforced plastic.  The girl is not visible.

   Helen breathes a sigh of relief as the door shuts behind her, and she

hears the footsteps of that insufferable man trail off into the distance. A

smile, slightly forced, creeps across her face.  She leans low, looking

below the bed.  Suspicious eyes glare back at her.

   "Hi, Ellie!  Do you want to come out of there?"

   The girl slides, crab-like, from under the bed.  Wary eyes closely

regard Helen, never leaving her.  Ellie pauses, hunched low, like a deer

expecting a predator.

   She'd filled up slightly from the emaciated wretch that she was in the

photos - the long, dirty hair and skeletal ribs were gone, but her eyes

remained the same.  The eyes of someone who's been too close to being prey,

too many times.  The nineteen year old girl might even be considered

superficially pretty, but few would ever have truly thought so in her

presence.  Her fear, her wariness were almost palpable, even to the most

obtuse person.

   Ellie approached Helen, in a half-shuffling, but utterly soundless,


   "You not like the others.  Different.  You different.  But same.  same

to me," her words were hesitant, but forthcoming.  There was more she

wanted to say, but the words seemed to escape her.

   Helen was mildly surprised at how easy it had been : the others had

often taken weeks to get any form of communication going, and it had always

been halting, and limited.

   There was so much more information, just below the surface, Helen could

almost taste it.

   "Why don't you tell me about you?  How were things before you came


   Ellie hissed, scurrying back a few steps.  Soon, however, she approaches

Helen again.  Her voice is a low whisper.

   "Long time.  Three ...  one, two, three.  Me, daddy, ben.  Camping.

Then, big snow.  Daddy gone.  Me, ben, we go to ...  inside, rock.  Hole.

Dark, but safe.  Me and ben.  Ben go, long time.  Not come back.  Cold.


   Helen scribbles Ellie's words furiously in a small pad.

   "Go on, Ellie.  What happenned next?"

   Ellie grimaces.  "Then He came.  From dark.  He give food," she opens

her mouth wide, and points down her throat.

   Helen arched an eyebrow, in mild curiosity.  The hand signal seemed

vaguely sexual, indicating something being forced down her throat.  She

said nothing, however.

   "He give warm, but no light.  Make warm, inside."

   Her words were slowing down, becoming more hesitant.  She was becoming

less coherent, struggling to put her thought in words.  Helen leaned

forward attentively.

   "You're doing good, Ellie.  Keep going.  Tell me more."

   "I do...  he make me do..."

   "Who is he?  what did he make you do?"

   "He's here." The light gutted from the window, leaving the weak

flourescence of the bulb to illuminate the room.

   Helen's eyebrows knitted in mild frustration.

   "Is he you?  What did he make you do?"

   Ellie grimaces, as if Helen had just told a bad joke.

   "No.  No.  Not me.  Him."

   Ellie leans in, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

   "He make me do THIS"

   Ellie's hands grab roughly at Helen's breasts and crotch.  Surprised,

Helen reacts and shoves Ellie hard, sending her tumbling backwards.

   The young girl recovers from her fall quickly, rising slowly.  Still

shocked from the sudden assault, Helen remains on the ground.  Her mind

races, and she feels the rush of adrenaline through her veins.  Should she

run, like the others?  Call for help?  But she had come so far, been going

so well...

   Ellie's body is rigid, her expression almost trancelike.  Shadows skirt

around the corners of Helen's vision, the weak neon illumination of the

room surrendering to the darkness.

   "He didn't like that."

   At once, the lights go out, and the world is swallowed in oppressive

darkness.  Ellie's tone changes again, almost pleading.

   "Please don't run."

   Helen fumbles in the darkness, scrambling for the comfort of anything

that could give her light.  She finds a cell phone.

   It's screen glows faintly, scattering some of the darkness ahead.  Faint

luminescence cathces the pale outline of Ellie.  She is very close to


   Ellie is naked, her clothes scatted at her feet.  She makes no attempt

to cover her nakedness, remaining transfixed in her trancelike state.  She

has a vacant smile, and a distant gaze.

   Helen recoils clumsily, grasping for the sweet comfort of the door

handle.It is not there.

   Pale, leathery hands emerge from behind Ellie, cupping her young breasts

with far, far too many fingers.

   Helen screams, scrambling in the direction of the door.  In the shadows,

something grabs her.  The phone clatters to the ground, weakly illuminating

Helen's surroundings.


   The Pale Man's hands crush Ellie's tender, young breasts, drawing soft

moans from the girl.  He had entered this girl a thousand times, even inch

of her young flesh now his to enjoy and abuse.  His thoughts were alien and

predatory, but he still appreciated the whimpering, the moaning, the slght

trembles of revulsion to his touch.

   In the eternity of the darkness, he felt the envy of others of his kind.

When she screamed, howling and sobbing in the darkness, their desire burned

even stronger.  He had been careful not to break her fully, nurturing his

young lover's spirit even as he tormented her.  Clawed fingers dug cruelly

into her breasts, drawing a thin trickle of blood.

   Ellie held back a scream, muting it into a dull groan.  He wanted her to

scream.  She couldn't resist him, but she didn't have to give him

everything.  She closed her eyes, rather than look into the darkness around

her.  She felt the leathery, sickly cold touch of his mass behind her,

clutching her body.  Possessing her.

   She remembers the first rape in the darkness, how she struggled and

flailed.  She was so weak, then.  The claws grasping her, with their

vicelike strength.  The cold.  The dark.

   She feels her cunt stretch painfully to accomodate his phallus.  She

cries, because she always cries when the fucking begins.  The relentless,

inhuman fucking that tears her inside, that forces wave after wave of

pleasure and pain crashing over her.  Her whole world is darkness and the

burning nerves in the young pussy, as the monster forces himself into her

again.  And again.  And again.

   She will be broken and exhausted when dawn comes.

   Helen thrashes in the darkness, flailing against the crushing hold of

vile tentacles.  She feels their mass writhe around her in the darkness,

grabbing and probing her.




   Their touch burns against her bare skin, a stinging, caustic sensation.

She screams in panic.  She regrets that decision almost immediately, as a

swarm of thin tendrils force themselves down her throat.  She pulls against

her restraits harder, and more desperately, but her limbs remain

immobilized.  She groans and gags against the intrusion, but she can do

nothing against the pressure forced down her gullet.  The pain is

phenomenal, and tears streak down her cheeks.

   She is helpless.  She is vulnerable.  She is prey.

   She hears the hungering laughter of the dark.

   She doubles over in pain, releasing another muted scream.  Nearby, Ellie

is face down on the floor, her ass high in the air.  In the dying glow of

her phone's light, Helen sees the thin, pale humanoid gripping her.  Its

long, thin limbs bend at impossible angles, entwined around the young girl.

Sinew snakes across its withered body, forming small knots across its

leathery skin.  Ellie's young pussy leaks some dark fluid, even as an

inhumanly long cock slams into her.  Helen watches the young girl being

pounded into some sort of dissociative fugue by the brutal assault, and

almost forgets her own helplessness.

   Prehensile tendrils form from the darkness, grasping her clothing with

small claws.  Then, coordinated by some invisible will, they PULL.  She

feels her clothes fall to shreds around her.

   Helen whimpers into her tentacle-gag, her exposure sending another jolt

of fear down her spine.

   Slowly, the thick, whip-like tendrils press against her, trapping her in

a prison of probing, clammy flesh that spreads over every inch of her skin.

In a deliberate motion, they penetrate her defenseless pussy and asshole,

stretching them painfully wide in their invasion.

   She screams in muffled agony and terror,again, and again.  The last

light of her cell phone sputters and dies, leaving her alone in the dark.

In the eyeless night, she feels the tendrils surge with renewed vigor,

twisting, probing, writhing in her insides.  She feels the rising thrill of

an orgasm, even as the tendrils push deeper into her rectum and womb,

bringing a wave of pain and pleasure crashing down on mind.  The

stimulation is intense and relentless.

   She vaguely registers that her feet are no longer on the ground, and

that she is suspended in mid air by the dark tendrils in her pussy, ass and

mouth.  She feels them filling her with some liquid, a vile stinging gel

that seems to absorb the warmth in her, even as it stings and irritates her

insides.  Her body twists and bucks instinctively , trying to find comfort

against this unnatural violation.  She finds none.




   Her agony and pleasure only serve to inflame the malevolent will of the

darkness.  More tendrils plunge into her, and her whimpers renew in

intensity as her orifices stretch and distend like rubber.  The vile liquid

and her sex juices leak from her, even as she feels herself bloating with

their cum.  The darkness absorbs the dripping expulsion back into itself,

savoring the pain and pleasure in each drop.

   She moans and trembles in yet another orgasm, even as the darkness

devours her spirit, drop by drop.

   Time passes.  Hours?  Weeks?  Months?  Helen does not know.  A haze of

sex and agony clouds her mind, reducing her to little more than a drooling,

cumming slut.  THe tendrils get rougher, touching every last nerve of pain

and pleasure, desperate to wring another drop from Helen.  Something twists

in her bowels, and she releases a scream.  It emerges from her cum-soaked

gullet as a gurgle, even as another jolt of sexual pleasure fires through





   Helen hears the whispers again, closer and louder now.

   Suddenly, pain.  The terrible sense of wrongness, the urgent drive to

flee.  She senses it in the oily shadow that surrounds her, that evelops


   Through the curtains, a ray of light slices through the darkness.

   She feels the tendrils withdraw from her, and she coughs and sputters

out volumes of its cum.  The inky liquid escapes from her orifices, and she

collapses into an exhausted heap.  The shadows retreat into a

corner,sheltered from the sunlght by the angle of the wall.

   She feels herself being dragged, slowly, by a single shadowy tendril.

Her exhaustion numbs her limbs, all she can do is gasp ragged breaths.  She

feels the unending hunger of the dark.  She knows what ceaseless torment

awaits her there, in the other world, until she is little more than a

withered husk.


   She finds the strength to shed a single tear.

   Suddenly, she feels the warm touch of Ellie, the girl's hand faintly

clasped around hers.  The young girl's nakedness is visible in the glowing

light, as is the pale, faceless monster behind her.

   "Don't.  Go."

   The skin of the pale man hisses and burns in the sunlight, even as the

monster withdraws his member from Ellie's pussy with an audible pop.  Her

young cunt is a gaping hole, and leaking the same oily, inky fluid as

Helen. He withdraws to the darkness in a shuffling, inhuman movement,

bending thin limbs with too many joints over each other to move.  He seems

transclucent in the shade, with a thin hand beckoning towards the window.

   The tendril around Helen's foot releases her, while another slides into

her gaping asshole.  She grunts in pain as it shapes itself into a pillar,

forcing her on her feet.  Her legs, after an eternity of restraint, and of

being forces open into unnatural angles to expose her genitals, are clumsy

and aching.

   Nevertheless, she moves, like a puppet on a string.  Or, more

accurately, a puppet with a hand up its ass.  Ellie's hand slips from her

grasp, and the young girl weeps.

   She expects the darkness, but the tendril guides her towards the window.

The pale man scurries over, touching her face with a thin finger.  She

feels a numbing cold inside her mind, the skittering of darkness around the

edges of her thought...

   The pale man touches the window.  It seems insubstantial now, just a

mist in the wind...

   Helen walks towards the window, her facial expression calm and

tracelike. She no longer worries about her nakedness, exposing her ample

breasts to the world.  She does not seem to feel the shadowy tendril that

impales her rectum.  It guides her closer to the window.

   She feels familiar pressure from below, and a gentle nudge forward.

   Effortlessly, she falls.  She smiles as she rushes towards the waiting

grass below.

   The man hears a noise, and walks over to investigate.  He sees Helen on

the ground, gasping and naked in the low light of early dawn.  This is

unusual, even for a man inured to the eccentricities of the mentally


   "Holy crap.  Now, what the hell happenned to you?"

   He looks her over for injuries.  She is bruised, but alive, the soft

ground cushioning her fall.  He looks up at the window.  It is hardened

plastic again, unmarred and impenetrable.  A young girl peeks out of it,

then withdraws.

   "Help.  Me." Helen's eyes flit open.  She stirs feebly.

   "Easy lady, I got you." The man kneels next to her.

   "Help.  Me." She reaches for his crotch.  He recoils slightly.

   The man looks over her again, this time with a much different intent.

His hand cupped the ample swell of her breast, while his eyes drifted over

her trim, spectacular figure.  The scent of her pussy juices filled the

air. She smiled vacantly.

   The man smiled too, picking her slight form up.  This woman was broken,

and he knew just the place for her.  The older wings of the asylum were

rarely visited, and much more ...  private.

   He smiled.




   Well, that's part I of The Pale Man.  Part II will be posted, hopefully

sooner rather than later.  This is one of my first stories, so i'd love to

hear any comments or suggestions!

   Send any comments, requests, or suggestions to

Review This Story || Author: A Missing Number
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