Halloween, 11:47 p.m.
St. Mary's Asylum loomed on the city's rotting edge—a gothic carcass of brick and iron, condemned since Nixon was president. The locals called it " Demon's House."
I called it my playground.
I'd come alone. No crew. No backup.
Just a Maglite in my right hand, GoPro strapped to my chest, and a black tactical hoodie zipped to the throat. Cargo pants. Combat boots. No costume.
I was the hunter, not the haunted.
The front gates hung open like broken jaws. Chains rusted through.
I slipped inside.
The lobby smelled of mildew, piss, and old blood.
My flashlight carved a tunnel through the dark.
Dust motes danced like ghosts.
Reception desk: patient files scattered, yellowed with age.
I moved deeper.
Hallways branched like veins. Patient rooms gaped—beds rusted, restraints dangling. Whispers crawled along the walls. "Come closer… closer…"
Wind, I told myself.
Just wind.
Then—
CLICK.
Every light in the asylum exploded to life. Fluorescent tubes buzzed overhead. Chandeliers—crystal, intact—blazed with cold white fire. Emergency exit signs glowed crimson. The entire building sang with electricity.
I froze.
Impossible. The city cut power to this place decades ago.
I'd checked the meter myself—dead, sealed, vines growing through it.
My flashlight flickered. Died.
The Maglite's beam snuffed like a candle in a storm.
A laugh echoed. Low. Feminine. Wet. It came from everywhere and nowhere.
I spun.
She stood at the end of the corridor.
Her. Not a woman.
A demon.
Skin like liquid obsidian, slick with a sheen of sweat that caught the light like oil on water.
Horns—ebony, six inches, curved like scythes—jutted from her forehead, etched with glowing runes that pulsed crimson.
Hair: black silk, waist-length, moving like it was underwater.
Eyes: molten ruby, pupils slit vertically, glowing with hellfire.
Lips: blood-drenched crimson, glossy, parted to reveal fangs—small, sharp, hungry.
Her body!
Breasts: massive, gravity-defying, easily double-Ds, straining against a sheer crimson lace corset so tight the fabric was transparent.
Nipples: black, pierced with tiny silver rings, hard and jutting like bullets.
Waist: cinched to impossible perfection, corset boning digging into flesh.
Hips: wide, fertile, flaring into an ass that could crush souls.
Tail: thick, prehensile, three feet long, ending in a spade tip—glistening, alive.
Legs: endless, encased in patent leather thigh-high boots with six-inch stilettos.
Between her thighs: no panties.
Just a black leather garter belt and a glistening, shaved slit—swollen, dripping, the lips parted slightly as if inviting.
She raised one hand.
Black flames—real fire, cold as ice—danced on her palm.
"Mortal," she purred, voice like molten velvet.
"You trespassed in my church."
I backed up. Boot heel crunched on broken glass. Nowhere to run.
She glided forward. Not walked. Floated. Tail swishing.
"Run," she whispered.
"I love the chase."
I bolted.
I sprinted down the hall. Doors slammed behind me. Lights flickered like a horror movie.
I crashed through a wooden door into the asylum chapel.
Pews: overturned, rotted.
Altar: marble, cracked, stained with old blood.
Stained-glass windows: intact, depicting angels falling.
I slammed the door. No lock. Backed up until the altar bit into my spine.
The door exploded inward. Splinters flew.
She materialized in the threshold.
Tail lashing. Horns glowing brighter. Corset straining with each breath.
She stepped inside. Heels clicking on stone.
The chapel groaned. Candles on the altar ignited with black flame.
She cornered me. Back against the altar. Her body inches from mine. Heat radiated from her skin. Jasmine. Sulfur.
Her tail slithered up my leg. Coiled around my thigh. Squeezed.
"Beg," she hissed. Claw traced my jaw. Drew blood.
"Beg for your life."
I laughed. Low. Dangerous. Blood dripped down my neck.
"You're lucky," I said, voice steady.
"I don't have your power. Otherwise, you'd be the one on your knees."
Her eyes flashed. Amused. Intrigued.
"Bold," she murmured.
She pressed her claw to my chest. Burned through hoodie, shirt, skin. A sigil flared—pentagram, glowing red, searing into my flesh. Pain. Pleasure. Power.
"Let's see what you do with this."
Power surged. Like lightning in my veins.
Muscles bulged. Vision sharpened. Cock throbbed—hard, aching.
In a blink—
I moved.
One hand closed around her throat—iron grip.
The other ripped her corset clean down the middle.
SHRRRIP.
Lace shredded.
Breasts spilled free—heavy, perfect, nipples ringed and hard.
She gasped. Eyes wide. Confused.
"What—"
Tail tightened around my thigh—not in control anymore.
I smiled. Slow. Predatory.
"You'll see."