Betty and the Cambion
by Ralph Greco, Jr.
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Smashwords edition
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
BETTY AND THE CAMBION
COPYRIGHT 2011 by Ralph Greco, Jr.
Published by Sybarite Seductions. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Sybarite Seductions.
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Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Pizza Hut: Pizza Hut
Playgirl: Playgirl
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Betty and the Cambion
Between the muted mauve tableaus of stucco walls, the sound of Betty’s bare feet slapping the floor fell. Dressed as lightly as she was—wearing only a ruby red, paper-thin sheath that hung from a wide collar with sides split from neck to ankles—the chalky October breeze undulating through the deserted house brushed a cold shiver across the young woman's rising sheen of sweat…not an altogether uncomfortable sensation. Hesitating on the Italian marble floor, the freckled-nosed girl bit her lip and stared down the empty hallway to the wooden door facing her.
Betty's plan—such as it was—was to open that door and cross beyond the threshold to become a woman of legend among her peers, to break the pattern and actually remember this night as those whom had come before her had not.
But the pretty college sophomore also secretly feared she’d come to love whatever happened to her in the room beyond the door—as much as, or more than, her college sisters before her—and she'd be sent from the house unable to recall what had transpired, while a deep longing and a sinister comeuppance haunted her for the rest of her days—as it did all the young women who had dared this walk through this house with whatever horror it held.
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Julia Bents’ tape made the rounds through the school, from freshman to seniors—though the older girls acted as if the secret of Delino house could never entertain their “mature” sensibilities. Some teachers were even rumored to have heard it. Played nightly for rapt audiences, even downloaded into e-mail, Julia’s secret recording of her “time in the room” kept every girl who heard it in a perpetual “state.”
A junior at the private college, lanky Julia had secreted a mini-tape recorder under the flouncy, flower-patterned skirt she wore her night in Delino House. Her plan to close her thighs hard to engage the record button and hopefully capture some sound of what would assail her after she closed the wooden door and faced whatever it was all the girls before her had—but had failed to remember. After being picked up in the woods behind the Pizza Hut, as every one of the girls before her had, Julia produced her “secret” tape.
Of course Julia hadn’t remembered emitting the taped scream and low mewing, let alone recalling any activities that would have caused her to do so. Same as every one of the girls before her, Julia’s only proof of her ordeal was the customary, nickel-sized scar dead center on her right buttock, a similar shaped mark just over her right nipple and the sensation—a low ache—of having been filled with something, the size of which she could never imagine. And as with the other eight girls who had ventured beyond that door in Delino house, Julia’s only memories involved crossing into the small room at the end of the hallway, closing the door behind her and then waking in the parking lot silently nursing an ache she could not pinpoint the cause of.
Julia became addicted to her oratory production. Over summer vacation, she returned again and again to the tape and by that fall, quickly was driven mad by the things she heard that reminded her of the things she could not remember.
Betty arrived at college the very day the ambulance came to 11 Norton Way to “escort” Julia from the dorm.