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    House on Black Hellebone Road: The Hellebone Horror, #1
    House on Black Hellebone Road: The Hellebone Horror, #1
    House on Black Hellebone Road: The Hellebone Horror, #1
    Ebook71 pages1 hour

    House on Black Hellebone Road: The Hellebone Horror, #1

    By Victoria Champion

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    About this ebook

    House on Black Hellebone Road is Book #1 of The Hellebone Horror trilogy.

    Alone at an isolated manor, real estate agent Luisa unwittingly opens the door to a sexual encounter with an enigmatic stranger and experiences a transformation that will alter her desires forever. She finds herself struggling to hold on to her humanity while she copes with a growing obsession to satiate an unspeakable hunger.

    This story contains mature subject matter (including explicit sex and gore) and is suitable for an adult audience.

    This ebook contains the dark fantasy paranormal horror story about vampires, House on Black Hellebone Road. This original novella by Victoria Champion is 17,500 words, or approximately 56 pages.

    First Edition. Originally published on September 16, 2013.

    There are two versions of this story: This one under the pen name Victoria Champion is a reimagined erotic horror novella of a vanilla erotica story titled Open House, originally released under the pen name Victoria Primrose.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLuminous Points Publishing
    Release dateSep 16, 2013
    ISBN9781501444401
    House on Black Hellebone Road: The Hellebone Horror, #1

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      Book preview

      House on Black Hellebone Road - Victoria Champion

      House on Black Hellebone Road

      The Hellebone Horror #1

      Victoria Champion

      The smell of blood revolted her. Luisa scrubbed her hands under the cascading hot water. Pinkish swirls stood out brightly against the white ceramic as the soapy current swirled down the drain. She held her hands under the faucet until long after the water ran clear.

      You’d think I’d be used to this mess by now, she thought, as clumsy as I am. The recently scrubbed butcher knife clattered in the sink as it slipped from her grasp. Luisa had forgotten to put a bandage on before washing the knife and small spots of fresh blood glistened on the handle. She would have to rewash it.

      Compressing the cut, she hurried to the bathroom and dressed the wound. Her mind wandered while she attended to her injury.

      She had never been able to stomach the sight of blood. Even as a teenager, angry at her unknown biological parents for abandoning her to the foster care system, she had imagined herself as a supervillan with special powers, taking bloody revenge on everyone who had treated her with cruelty. Thinking of that faraway and wild youthful daydream, she laughed so that she would not cry. She would never have had the guts for it. Besides, she could not bring herself to intentionally harm anyone. The thought unnerved her. It was past her bedtime, and her early menopausal hormones were messing with her mind, bringing up old emotions, she realized. She needed to sleep away her seething undercurrent of chemical rage.

      Satisfied that the gash was not serious enough to require stitches, she set herself to the task of cleaning up the blood residue in the bathroom and kitchen.

      Luisa frowned at the vegetables on the cutting board. No way she was going to eat them now. They would have to go. So much for a late dinner.

      Taking a last look around the kitchen, she reassured herself that the blood had been sanitized off the surfaces of the floor and counter. She managed to smile at the spotlessness of the kitchen. A pristine living space both calmed and excited her. The simple luxury of her surroundings bolstered her sense of security and well-being. She allowed herself a few moments to savor it before retreating to bed, hungry and defeated by the exhausting day.

      ~~~

      Hours later, exhausted but unable to sleep, Luisa slipped her hand under the lily-blanc duvet. She aimed for her throbbing tiny bump with a practiced motion. The smoldering energy of her hand massaging tender flesh stoked her need, but she tried not to think about what she was doing. Laying alone in the feminine belinened bed in her otherwise neutrally modernistic condo caused her to think of Paul and his hands upon her. The memory of his rejection left her wallowing in a pathetic morass of self-pity. A cramp in her hand brought her back to the task. She shook it out, and started again, the friction building pressure that ached for relief.

      She looked above her at the ceiling with its well-known imperfections and tried to force herself to hurry, to make callous and quick thrusts across her swollen bits with stiff fingers. Her neglected breasts jostled with her arm’s movements. The aureoles hardened as the nipples chafed against starched cotton.

      An involuntary moan escaped her. Her climax approached, signaling its arrival with tickling prickles that coalesced in a fuzzy ball of hotness in her center. The sensation suffused her body with syrupy sweetness in a rush of freeing release. She took a meditative breath, exhaled slowly as her muscles unwound, and drifted off to sleep.

      ~~~

      Humming reverberated in her ears. Luisa stepped across the illusory tree line into her dream’s forest. Vividly-hued foliage overhead picked up the rhythm of the thrumming, hypnotizing her. The swooshing rustle of the flora swelled and receded in waves.

      Luisa swayed unsteadily. She trampled the rotten leaves beneath her bare feet, sending pungent scents into her dazed senses. The scent grew coppery, and carried a vapor of saltiness reminiscent of the sea. Wetness oozed between her toes. She glanced down and realized in horror that she was mucking through blood-soaked undergrowth.

      Her vision narrowed and a sudden sensation of coldness sent shivers through her arms and legs. Panicked, she ran, stumbling and grasping onto rough tree trunks for stability. The fine skin on her palms tore and bruised. In contrast, the humid warmness of the puddles of blood soothed the sensitive skin of her feet. The repulsiveness of it incited her to sprint faster.

      Despite the increasing discomfort of the lacerations on her hands, she continued to use them to navigate. Stumbling on a root, she reached out to brace herself, and fell headlong into a clearing. Catching her breath, she gingerly rose onto her feet. Bewilderment drew her breath out of her in a ruthless act of asphyxiation.

      Time stretched while her dreaming brain tried to make sense of what her inner eyes witnessed. Human figures resolved themselves in her blurred vision. Naked, their skin covered in greasy redness and clumps of gore, they were in the midst of feeding. Luisa recognized the scene from nature documentaries — a pack of wild animals fighting over writhing prey, steam clouding the air above scattered viscera.

      One of the feasters turned to face her. It was

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