Becky Gets Creative

“Where’s the damn key?” Becky muttered under her breath.

“I have no infernal idea,” the book replied.

“How do you not know?”

“I’m locked in a box.”

Fair point, Becky figured.

She glanced at the Luke’s desk. It was an utter mess of pens, homework papers, Warhammer 40k models, and other bric-à-brac, but no keys.

“I guess I’m not getting out of this easy,” Becky muttered.

Kneeling down in front of the footlocker, Becky fumbles with the lock, trying to get an idea of how hard it would be to break the lock.

It was a solid lock, the metal loop being nearly as thick as her middle finger. Even breaking the damn thing would take quite some time. It would also be very loud, possibly raising the Ericksons’ suspicions.

“Well this is hopeless,” Becky said.

There was no response from the book.

“Why am I even here? You’ve been nothing but a nightmare. You made me get ****, you gave me these,” Becky grasped her full breasts.

“You enjoyed both,” the book said.

“You came in between me and my friends. You made me do-things. You turned me into a total slut! God, my Mom is going to kill me and for what? A demon book that’ll probably sacrifice me the first chance it gets.”

“You did those things yourself,” the book whispered in her mind. “But fine. I’ll convince you. Before I came along, you were a mousy little virgin, pathetically in love with her best friend but unable to ever take any action. Now look at you. You’ve been remodeled into the most lustful girl in your school. You could have any boy you want-and you certainly have sampled them, haven’t you?”

“But-no, this isn’t me.”

Becky cradled her head, feeling the power of the book reverberating inside her mind.

“However, I didn’t make you this way. I didn’t directly bring those tentacles that infected you with their essence. I didn’t cause your breasts and hips to swell, I didn’t beautify your face. That was because of the ritual you and your friends cast. I did nothing.”

“But without you, none of this would have happened. I would be my normal self. I wouldn’t have skipped class to fuck a guy. I wouldn’t be breaking my best friend’s heart. Why should I have more of _you _in my life?”

There was a long period of silence in which Becky fully expected to be inundated with another volley of orgasms to bring her under control by ****. Instead, the book replied with a simple question.

“Can you undo what’s been done?”

“I can’t, but I can stop any further damage.”

“Can you?” The book asked. “It is your nature, your new nature that is, to fuck. Demonic energy has interlaced itself within your being and it will only gain more power over you, with or without me.”

Becky shook her head. This was getting so uncomfortable. Everything inside her screamed to run out the door and never look back.

“You’re lying,” she said.

“Nope. You know this to be true. What? Did you think you went from as flat as a boy to having those melons because of a late growth spurt? Nonsense. Besides, your appetite has only grown since that night.”

“Why are you telling me this? What’s the point?”

“The point is that I can help you. I’m the only way you’ll be able to learn about what’s changing your body and soul. I’m the only way you can control it.”

“No. This is bullshit,” Becky slammed her fist on the tile.

“It’s reality, and you know it.”

Tears welled in the teen’s eyes. This was a nightmare, all of it.

“Fine, I’ll free you. But the second you start to use me, you mess with my head. I’m burning you.”

“Deal,” The book said.

Becky could almost feel it smile within her.

She stood up and looked over Luke’s desk. He was working with some kind of copper wire. It was bendy, but still fairly firm, giving Becky a sudden burst of information.

In seventh grade, Becky and Luke entered spy camp together. For the camp, there was a book involving how to perform various “spy operation.” Luke’s family had accidentally purchased an older version of this book that included a manual on lock-picking. The pair spent the next several summer months perfecting the skill.

Becky cut off a piece of wire and a thin paintbrush on Luke’s desk and got to work. It was hard to do at first, but soon, Becky found herself walking back into childhood, running through the same old rhythms.

Within five minutes, the lock was picked.

“I’m trusting you,” she whispered.

The book said nothing. Good enough.

Becky lifted the lid of the footlocker slowly, spying a soft pinkish-purple glow emanating from within.