The Bad Place

"What is that thing," Liz asked, sipping her cup of water.

"It's called a Terra-Ecto Area Compiling Historian. We call it TEACH. TEACH here taps into the floor or the foundation of a building or the surrounding area and analyzes it. Then, it filters historical information from the building itself and checks the data against the ectohistory..."

"The what?"

"Ectohistory. How did you make it through basic? Anyway. The ectohistory is a listing of hauntings or manifestations at a given site. By doing all of this, TEACH can tell us who had the house built, who owned it, who lived here, who died here, everything."

"And by using that, we can try to figure out what Bronson meant and who he and the girl are afraid of," Liz finished for him.

"Exactly. Except that for some reason, TEACH isn't getting anything. We may have to use the actual foundation of the house."

Liz frowned. "Which is down in the basement, right?"

"Yeah. But I'm not going down there alone and you're in no shape to go with me."

"Mike, I'm fine, just a little overwhelmed at first. Now that I know what we're dealing with, I'll be okay."

Mike snorted. "Liz, you were moaning and writhing inside the energy tent when that thing was out here. Outside the tent, you may not have a chance."

"There's only one way to find out." She started loading up her gear, including holy water, her gun, and a reliquary to help her shut things out.

Mike grunted and stood, loading himself up with similar items, but also included a combat knife and his axe. "You ready, kid?"

Liz chambered a bullet and nodded. "Whenever you are, partner."

Mike gave her a quick look but didn't say anything. He leaned down and picked up TEACH, stowing it in a shoulder bag. They nodded to each other and Mike stepped out, shotgun held level. Liz stepped out behind him and winced, but nodded her head. Whatever was hitting her was powerful to get through her training and a reliquary. Granted, the Bureau didn't have the kind of money to get the finger bone of Saint Francis of Assisi, but these were saint bones nonetheless.

Mike led the way to the kitchen and past the attacking broom cupboard. He heard Liz snicker from behind him, but he didn't say anything. He found the back door of the house, which sat next to the basement door. Just for fun, he tried to open the back door. Nothing, just like he thought. He turned and faced the basement door, reaching into a vest pocket and attaching a flashlight to the end of the barrel of his shotgun. Liz grabbed hers and held it up under the barrel of her Beretta with her left hand.

Mike looked at her and then grabbed the handle to the basement door and opened it quickly. A fetid smell reached his nostrils, almost as if someone had been growing mold down there. He covered his nose and heard Liz gag. They looked at each other and nodded, Mike heading down the stairs.

When he was halfway down, a light flared on above his head, but luckily behind him so he wasn't blinded. He looked up the stairs and Delaroca had flipped on the light switch, grinning at him from the top. He smirked and continued down the stairs.

Mike looked around slowly, seeing nothing apparent, so he knelt and drew out TEACH, which he slammed into the ground. The whole thing lit up and started processing. At the speed it was moving, there was a lot of history in this house. That wasn't good.

"Liz, Bronson was right. We're..." He stopped and looked around. She hadn't come downstairs with him. He ran to the stairs and saw Liz lying on the floor, apparently unconscious. Even from here, he could see the flowing purple energy from earlier starting to engulf her form. Before he could rush the stairs, the light went out, leaving only the ambient light from the mass of roiling energy to show him that Liz was vanishing along with the evil laughing face of the woman.

He turned to grab his shotgun and TEACH, but found his way blocked by David Bronson, as well as a few other spirits. "Mr. Bronson, you have to help me. You were right. We're in over our head."

Mr. Bronson looked down at the floor, a sad look on his face. "I'm sorry, Mike. Truly, I am. But, when the Queen gives order, we have to follow them.

"The Queen? Who is she, Bronson? She has my partner!"

"I know, Mike. There's nothing you can do for her now. Now, please. Come with us. We don't want to hurt you."

Mike started to argue, but one of the spirits touched his back and he felt some of his strength drain from him, not to mention the numbing cold from the touch.

"Mike, please! Just come with us! It'll be better for you in the long run."

"Screw you, you bastard!" Mike reached back and grabbed a vial of holy water but was hit again by the ghostly attack before he could throw it. More of his strength drained and he fell to his knees. "Why, Bronson? Why are you doing this?"

Bronson smiled sadly. "Because I have no choice, Mike. I'm following orders, just like you. I'm sorry." He reached out and touched Mike in the chest and Mike shuddered, the touch chilling him to the bones. "I really am sorry, my boy."

"S'okay," Mike responded mumbling. "Forgive you."

Bronson reached out and touched his head and Mike's world went black.

---

Mike woke up, his head throbbing. He tried to sit up and the world spun, making him nauseous. He lay there, face up, trying not to vomit on himself. After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and looked around.

He was in a workshop, probably one of the outbuildings. A single electric light hung from the ceiling. There was a plate of food, causing his stomach to rumble both in hunger and in nausea, though it passed soon enough. There was also a pitcher of water and a cup, along with an empty bucket. He smirked, assuming that he was to be the middleman between the two.

He stood up, wobbling slightly, and then moved to the workbench and took the plate of food and the pitcher of water and sat back down. He began eating, first a peanut butter sandwich, then moving on to a roll, some fruit and a chocolate chip cookie. As he took a drink of water from the pitcher, he realized someone was in the room with him. He put down the pitcher and looked at the door. It was actually two someone. David Bronson and Runt.

"What do you two want," he asked, not even looking at them.

"Mike, I want to apologize for what I did back in the house."

"Okay. Fine. You're forgiven. Now go away."

Runt walked up to him and touched his arm. "Oh, please, Mikey. Don't be like that. He really is sorry."

"Okay, fine. Can you two help me get out of here?"

"No, Mike we can't. But we can give you this."

Mike turned and looked at the older spirit and noticed that he was holding TEACH. Mike stood up and took it from him. "Thanks, Mr. Bronson."

Bronson smiled in return. "My pleasure, Mike. Now, come on, Runt. We have to go before we're missed." He gave Mike that knowing wink and they both vanished.

Mike sat back down and wondered what that wink meant. He knew Bronson had meant something by it and his parting comment, but he couldn't piece together what it was. He fired up TEACH and began reading the entry on the house.

The house was built in eighteen seventy-seven by one Sir Reginald Montgomery. He had been in the United States for two years at that point, having made his money in shipping. He commissioned the house for himself and his new bride, a Ms. Lucinda Cummings, the daughter of a local trader, a fairly well off family themselves.

Shortly after building began, a worker fell from the third story walk and was killed instantly. It was attributed to his lack of coordination and left as an accident. The outbuildings were added fairly soon thereafter.

Once the family was settled in their new house, Mrs. Montgomery decided that she wanted to take up gardening, so Mr. Montgomery had workers cut windows in the sides of one of the outbuildings. During the work, a tradesman had a block fall and break his leg, while later that day, another man almost had an arm taken off by a saw.

During his few years at the house, Mr. Montgomery complained of bad sleep and of dreaming of a beautiful woman named 'Ilianna.' She would come to him in his sleep and arouse him, sometimes to the point of climax. He tried to hide it from his wife, but couldn't. They were trying to have a baby and when she couldn't get pregnant due to what the dreams took out of him, there were rumors of infidelity.

Mr. Montgomery's health, both mental and physical, declined. It was only after his back was stooped and his hair turning gray that his wife convinced him to move out of the house closer to the ocean, which would be better for his health. He agreed and she was apparently right. Within six months, his faculties as well as his physical strength returned and nine months after moving into the new house, Mrs. Montgomery gave birth to a wonderful daughter.

There were numerous entries between eighteen seventy-seven and today. Such as eighteen eighty-six. Two spinster sisters moved into the house with no occurrences of violence, as noted by their infrequent visitors. Until one day, when a 'loud commotion' was heard from their house. It consisted of screaming and smashing sounds from inside.

The police were called and had to break down the door, as all entrances into the house were locked. Police Sergeant William Kelly found the two sisters dead on the floor, hands at each other's throats. His search of the house determined that there was 'immense jealousy' between the two.

Eighteen ninety-five. A man killed his wife after her complaints of jealousy over 'Ilianna.' Who that is never determined. The man is sentenced to death.

Eighteen ninety-seven. A woman who had taken up Mrs. Montgomery's hobby of plants is found dead in the outbuilding, stabbed with a pair of pruning shears. Her husband is found guilty and sentenced to death.

Nineteen hundred. Two male friends attending university in the area are found dead in their rooms, each 'drained of life' according to Sergeant Kelly. 'There's something wrong with that house. It needs to be burned down,' Sergeant Kelly's report said.

Mike read through entry after entry, always of someone dying in the house. But there was a thread there that he just wasn't getting. Men and women both died in horrible ways. He scrolled a little faster to find the entry on Mr. David Bronson. He noticed that there was a gap between nineteen forty-seven and nineteen sixty where no one owned the house.

David Bronson, the current owner, purchased the house in nineteen-sixty with his wife Lorraine. They had one child already, Daniel, and one on the way, which was Donald. They moved into the house despite warnings from 'local weirdoes' that the place was haunted and that it was dangerous.

Lorraine Bronson gave birth to Donald three months later in the house. There was nothing unusual that happened, not even when Lorraine announced to David a few months later that she was pregnant again. Then, the oddness began.

David began having dreams of someone named 'Ilianna,' who was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She would come to him, usually on nights of his and Lorraine's love making and somehow arouse him during his sleep, sometimes causing nocturnal emissions, which he tried to hide from his wife.

David's healthy started to slowly decline, only a little bit at a time. He had been slightly pudgy his whole life, but started losing his stomach, assuming that somehow he was burning more calories than usual. Only once his hair started to change color did he take notice that, at thirty-four, his health was declining.

A brief respite came when Lorraine gave birth to Denise, their only daughter. David regained some of his weight and he felt healthier than he had in a long time. Then, Ilianna came to him again.

This time, he rejected her outright, saying that his family was more important than any pleasure she could give him. She showed him her true nature and he lapsed into a coma that lasted until he died.

Mike looked up from the screen to see David Bronson leaning against the worktable. "David, I'm so sorry."

"Mike, I appreciate that. I really do because I know you mean it. Unfortunately, there's not much to be done about it."

"What was she, David? Was she a ghost? A demon? A devil of some kind?"

Bronson chuckled. "You know I can't tell you, Mike. What I can tell you is that you're needed in the house."

Mike stood. "Okay, let's go."

Bronson sighed unhappily. "No, not like this."

Mike nodded. "Okay. Get it over with." He stuck out his hand and the ghost took it, cold and weakness draining Mike again until he passed out.

---

Mike awoke in a similar state to the outbuilding, head foggy and stomach upset. He didn't feel nauseous this time, maybe because he had had something to eat. He raised his head from his chest and went to move his arms to his head, but found he couldn't move them.

He turned his head to the left and saw that he was manacled to the wall, probably of the basement. He looked to the right and saw the same thing. And he was naked, the cool air causing goose bumps. His arms were straight out to the sides, held in by his wrists.

"Oh, Mike. What are we going to do?"

Mike looked up and saw the naked back of Elizabeth Delaroca. He knew her back because he had seen it so many times. The were not lovers, per se, but even the Bureau had to admit when partners were so on edge all of the time, they sometimes took that energy and aggression out with each other. It was pretty much company policy now.

She was sitting on a small table, her long hair out of its ponytail and hanging down her back.

"Liz? Are you okay?" He slurred the words out, trying to wet his mouth.

"I'm okay, Mike. Are you?"

"Water. I need water."

"I'm sure you do. Ghost touches are draining." She stood up and grabbed a pitcher off of the table next to her and walked toward him, her jumpsuit bunched around her waist. She wore no shirt under it, the air making her brown nipples stand out from her smallish breasts. She held up the pitcher to his lips and he drank large gulps, stopping only to catch his breath.

"Roca, what's going on here? Why am I chained up like this?"

She shook her head. "I don't know, Mike. The Queen wanted you this way, I guess."

He rattled the manacles holding his wrists, trying to pull them from the wall, his muscles straining in his chest, shoulders and arms. After several seconds, he relented, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Mmmm," Liz purred. "I do love those muscles. In fact, Mikey, I love all of you so much, I could just eat..you...up."

Mike focused on Liz's face, seeing a change with each word she said. Her eyes glowed red, her smile became full of pointed teeth and her ears started to point as well. She held up a hand to his broad chest and scraped it with almost razor sharp fingernails.

Mike hissed through clenched teeth and glared at her. "Succubus," he said, finally figuring out the thread he had been missing. "Always taking the men and killing the women. The jealousy with the two sisters. Trying to sway married men away from their wives. The two college students."

"Each of them," she said, a smile on her face, "Gave themselves to me willingly."

"Until David Bronson."

"Yes. Until him. He decided that his family was more important, so I scared him. To death."

"Tell me something, Ilianna. Why take Delaroca? Why not kill her and try to seduce me?"

She frowned slightly; her features part Delaroca's and part devil. "That was more difficult, at least in your sense. You two aren't married and have no emotional bond to each other, other than being partners. But she was a treat to find indeed. A sensitive? Here? Oh my, what a delectable find. She will surely be a pleasure to corrupt from the inside out."

Mike gritted his teeth and pulled against the chains again, still to no avail.

"Oh, so maybe she does mean more to you than a partner. This will be even more fun than I thought."

"Go to hell, bitch."

"Been there, done that."

Liz/Ilianna stepped back away from Mike and sat on the edge of the table facing him. She undid the rest of her jump suit, pushing it to the floor. She shook out her hair and moved her right hand slowly down the side of her face. Her eyes closed and she sighed, her own touch causing ecstasy.

Her hand moved down her next to her breasts, where she pinched her own nipple, causing it to harden even more, and then switching to the other. Her left hand soon joined her right, pinching and tugging on her nipples, making them hard as pencil erasers.

Soon her hands began moving again, down toward her belly. They sank over her hips and down between her legs and through her small patch of pubic hair. Her hands paused, parting her lips and letting Mike watch as she began slowly moving a single finger over her clit, pushing it around and around, rubbing it.

Try as he might, Mike couldn't pull his eyes away from the scene in front of him. He had been with Delaroca a dozen times, but somehow, this was more erotic than anything she had ever done with him. Involuntarily, his cock began to rise.

She opened her eyes and smiled as she watched him harden. She pushed two fingers into her folds and moaned, her head falling backwards. "You have no idea how good it is to have an actual body again, Mike. Over one hundred years without touching yourself? I thought I was going to go insane." She laughed as he struggled again. "Don't worry, Mikey. I won't hurt your prescious Roca. Too much."

She moved her fingers in and out of her wetness, driving them harder and harder, growling and groaning as her orgasm shook her entire body. She looked at Mike, her eyes still partially glazed over and smiled, licking her own juices from her fingers.

She pushed away from the table and walked toward him, her hand taking his shaft and moving up and down on it. Mike closed his eyes and began thinking about anything else. Football. Baseball. His grandmother naked. Nothing seemed to help. Her grip on him was too strong.

"That's it, Mike, fight me. That makes it all the sweeter when you finally do give in." She sank to her knees and looked up at him, fire dancing in her eyes. Mike couldn't help but look down at her. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, the end of it forked and wrapping around his shaft as almost another hand. He recoiled and tried to pull away but had nowhere to go.

Liz/Ilianna laughed and used her tongue to pull him into her mouth, her lips closing over her teeth. She bobbed her head, sucking on the tip hard, causing him to groan, even though he didn't want to. He tried to fight off the sensations, but she just laughed at him, sending wonderful vibrations through his cock.

Her head moved back and forth slowly, drawing out his pleasure. To his tortured mind, she did this for a week.

Without warning, she plunged down to the base of his penis, her fingers making an 'ok' sign around the base. She bobbed there slightly, her tongue sticking out to lick his testicles, moaning around his shaft. She moved only slightly now, knowing she was driving him crazy. She smiled up at him, his cock fully in her mouth and then she slowly pulled it out.

"You know, Mike, that since I am a succubus, it's pretty stupid to try to fight this off. I mean, I am the best at what I do. Porn stars have nothing on me."

"I don't care, bitch. I'll reject you just like David Bronson did." His breath was coming in ragged gasps, trying to fight off his impended explosion.

She hissed at him and plunged again, this time letting her sharpened teeth drag along his sensitive skin. He cried out in pain and tried to pull away from her but he couldn't, his bare ass pressed against the cold stone wall of the basement.

She moved back up, smiling again. Small furrows full of blood appeared on his shaft. She stuck out her tongue and licked them all clean, the forks of her tongue constantly brushing past the crown of his cock.