Cyril Figgis

CHAPTER 7 Devil’s Peak was not without its fair share of tragedies between the Crystal Lake Bridge Collapse of ’63, the decades-long feud between the Hewitts and the Sawyers on the outskirts of town, and the grisly lynching of a wrongfully convicted janitor in ’25, but what happened to Heather Buchanan, Marilyn Lovett, and Adrienne Fitzgerald was unlike anything the town had ever seen before. It was disturbing enough that three girls could all die within hours of each other, but the manner in which it happened was like something out of a science-fiction movie. How they could glut themselves on so much food without bursting was bizarre enough, but how they blew up like balloons only made things odder. What troubled Jamie most was how the town reacted—namely, how they barely contained their glee at the deaths of these hellions. Sure, the news treated it with all due seriousness and the police did their due diligence, but no one else shared that mindset. Some people saw Jamie and shook their heads, as if they could see the vultures looming over her. Some pushed their noses up into makeshift snouts and snorted at her. The worst was when someone requested that ‘Ding-Dong! The Witch is Dead’ be played on the local radio station. She knew that people would be happy that the clique was gone, but it was no less insulting knowing just how many people wanted it. The stares though…those were unbearable. Jamie used to relish in the attention she garnered by hanging around Nancy Hill and getting into debauchery and degeneracy on a regular basis, finally getting the attention she never received from her parents. After splitting from the clique and trying to turn over a new leaf, she squirmed under the hateful, judgmental gaze that the townspeople cast on her—daring her to step out of line again. Their looks only grew more uncomfortable when Jamie grew plump, gawking at every new pound that she allowed onto her body and watching as the formerly skinny girl ate herself closer to obesity. But now, all eyes were on her to see what happened next, like rubberneckers who slowed down at a car crash. When they looked at her, they did not see an innocent girl that was in danger—they just saw a pig fattened for the slaughter. There were few kind words to be had, and Jamie grew more paranoid with each passing day as she became convinced that Pig Face waited around every corner for her. Paranoia led to anxiety, and anxiety led to overeating, which Jamie was more than willing to indulge if it gave her some kind of relief. If there was any silver lining, it was that things were better between Jamie and her parents for the first time in a long time. Specifically, they were better when it came to her mother, as her father still gave her these frowns and scowls whenever she mentioned that she was hungry. Her mother was comforting for the first time in a long while, consoling her as best she could despite how they had not truly spoken to each other in years. God bless her, she still thought that Jamie would feel better if she got a hot fudge sundae from Friendly’s; that she actually did feel better after glutting herself on ice cream was beside the point. Jamie’s father kept himself busy at work—whether he was actually working or just screwing his secretary again was beside the point—but her mother stayed home with her over the next few days. Molly carted her daughter here and there in an effort to take her mind off the events earlier that week, hoping that a little shopping therapy would ease some of the tension. And when that failed, the two shared a nice meal at one of the local restaurants or a delicious dinner cooked up by Luisa. It was actually nice, and for a brief moment, Jamie felt some of the worry drift from her mind; a few days’ reprieve from horror made her feel that things had calmed down. That peace was shattered on Friday, when she went out with her mother to get some new jeans after Jamie made a remark about hers being a little too tight. They went to J. C. Penney in an effort to find a place where the killer was less likely to look for her, and they browsed through the selections on hand in search of the designer brands that both were used to. Eventually, Jamie found herself an armful of options and made her way over to the dressing rooms to test each one in the hopes of finding something that actually fit her chunky backside. “Do you want me to get you anything while you’re trying those on?” Molly asked. “I saw the cutest blouse that would be just perfect for Easter.” “I think I’ve got plenty to try on right now, Mom,” Jamie answered, a giggle on her lips for the first time in days. When her stomach made itself known with a hungry gurgle though, she bit her lip and asked, “Maybe a snack though?” It was a ridiculous proposition, considering that they had just had lunch before coming to the mall, but Molly did not even bat an eyelid. Instead, she suggested, “Oh, I’ll grab us a couple corn dogs from the Hot Dog on a Stick next door! If I’m not back by the time you’re done, just wait for me right here; I’m sure it won’t take too long though.” With how many jeans Jamie had to go through, she felt certain that she would still be struggling with denim by the time her mother got back. She cursed herself for her lack of self-control, since that was a big reason why she needed new jeans in the first place, but it was easy to tell herself that she had been under a lot of stress recently. And her mom was actually acting like a mom for the first time in ages; their meals together over the last few days had helped to take her mind off the gruesome events at the start of the week. Jamie told herself that she would properly diet and exercise once the heat had died down, but those promises were bound for the wastebin like so many others. “All right, Take 1,” the brunette whispered as she took a long look at the jeans in her hand. The Size 12s she had been accustomed to were pinching her something fierce and were a struggle to fit into each morning, but hopefully a Size 14 would work just fine. Unfortunately, those hopes were dashed as soon as Jamie got them up her thighs and stopped at her overfilled rump. She knew that she had gotten a little thick back there, but the resistance she met as she tugged the denim up her bubbly cheeks was absurd. By the time she finished what felt like a Herculean task, she was red in the cheeks and huffing for air, which did not bode well for the next part. Her fingers found both ends of the waistband and sucked in her stomach as much as she could, but even if she held her breath until she was blue, there was no way the ends would meet. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jamie huffed, allowing her stomach to pooch out again. “I knew I was getting fat, but I can’t be that fat. Maybe we picked the wrong size?” But no, the label very clearly read ‘14’ in bold letters, which only served to push the knife deeper into Jamie’s heart. She knew that she was getting fat when she grew into the double digits, but she assured herself that a 10 would be as big as she got; that 10 became a 12, and now she found herself unable to squeeze into a pair of 14s. It was downright humiliating, and even though Jamie had quit her mean girl ways, she still had some pride in her appearance. “Maybe that brand just runs small,” she fooled herself as she picked the next pair. Though she tried on several different pairs, Jamie was no closer to finding a comfortable pair of jeans than when she started. She pulled from different designers and a variety of styles, but none of them were anything close to comfortable—and that was for the ones she could actually button. Most were unable to close, packed full as they were by her hips and ass, but even when she did manage to close them, she felt like she was caught in a bear trap. And even if she were not in pain, she would not be caught dead with how much of her belly rolled over the waistband. “Okay, corn dogs might have been a bad idea after all,” Jamie grunted after shucking off another pair of jeans. “When I get home, I’m just going to ask Luisa for a salad; I can’t keep eating like crap if I ever want to lose weight.” As she prepared herself for another fruitless attempt, Jamie heard someone walking down the row of dressing rooms with heavy footfalls. She paused, jeans only halfway up her thighs, and watched as a pair of combat boots stopped right outside her stall door. That now familiar feeling of dread bubbled up in her stomach again, and it only grew worse when the person on the other side jostled with the handle. With a lump in her throat, she called out, “Occupied!” There was a heavy silence in the air for a moment before the person on the other side snorted, “Oink-oink, Jamie! Time for you to get fat!” All the joy of shopping vanished and her blood ran cold as Jamie shrank back against the far wall. She had never heard Pig Face speak before, so there was no way of knowing if this was someone playing a cruel prank on her or the real deal, but she was scared either way. Her voice trembled as she begged, “Leave me alone! Just go away!” “Little pig, little pig, let me come in,” the voice on the other side snickered. “Not by the hairs on your double chin-chin? Then I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll climb on over!” Jamie whimpered as she heard scuffling outside her stall, and those cries gave way to bloody shrieks when a masked man poked his head over the stall wall. That panic soon gave way to confusion though, as she realized that the man did not have the same mask as Pig Face—he wore a generic Porky Pig mask, not the grotesque skin mask that haunted her dreams. Whether this was the same man or not made no difference in the moment, as whoever was behind the mask was now trying to crawl over the wall and into her stall. “Get out of here!” Jamie screamed at the top of her lungs before turning to the door. “Help! Somebody help, please!” After everything that had happened, she was sure that no one would bother coming for her, which was why she was so surprised to hear pounding feet enter the dressing rooms. Someone ran around to the stall beside her and yanked the masked man down from the wall before delivering a few sharp blows that sounded painful. Jamie did not move from her spot on the floor, curled up in a ball and too afraid to so much as breathe until she knew the coast was clear. It was only when she heard a familiar voice on the other side of the door that she dared poke her head up from her knees. “Jamie, you in there?” a man asked gruffly. “It’s Will—Will Godwinn. I’ve got the little creep that was trying to crawl over, and one of the clerks is getting security.” Will Godwinn—there was a blast from the past. The star quarterback at Haddonfield High, he used to hang around Nancy and the clique quite frequently, though he never made a move on any of them, no matter how much flirting was thrown around. Nancy was so bitter that she nearly started a rumor about him being gay, but Adrienne talked her out of it by convincing her to hook up with another school’s quarterback instead. Regardless of his romantic interests, he was just another dumb jock to most of the school—hogging all the attention and make a spectacle of himself. The only thing he never did with his footballer friends was get into pranking the other students, not wanting to get in trouble with his eyes on university. Perhaps that was why he was so furious with Nancy when Peggy McDonald killed herself, for Will very nearly strangled the queen bitch that night. No one ever knew why, but they assumed it was because he did not want to be implicated in her suicide—or maybe he just hated how pig shit got on his suit. Regardless, he stopped hanging out with the clique after that, just like most everyone else in town had rightfully done. Gone was the playful banter between them, replaced instead with stony silence and hateful glares until he stopped paying attention to them all together. Jamie had no idea why he would go out of his way to help her after all this time, but she was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She choked back her fear and answered, “Thanks, Will. I’m…I’m sorry, I’ll be out in a minute.” “Take your time,” Will replied. “Are you here with anyone?” “My mom. She just went next door to get some food,” Jamie muttered as she shimmied into her uncomfortably tight jeans again, wishing this little reunion did not involve her bloated stomach. “I’ll stay here until she gets back. Security will want to talk to us both anyway,” the boy explained. “And I’ll keep an eye out for any other freaks.” When Jamie finally buttoned her jeans and poked her head out of the stall, she was relieved and concerned to find that Will stayed true to his word and propped himself up against the far wall. The relief came from knowing that someone had her back, but the concern came from being reminded of what a hunk he was and what a fatty she had become. Will Godwinn had the hair of Jim Morrison, the face of James Dean, and the body of Sylvester Stallone, and Jamie was tempted to play the fainting damsel and throw herself into his arms. Only the realization that doing so meant him squeezing her plushness was the only major deterrent, and she settled for fidgeting uncomfortably. “Um…thanks, Will,” Jamie mumbled, shy for the first time in a long while. “I’m glad you came when you did; not a lot of people willing to help me out these days.” “You kidding? Even if he wasn’t the sicko that got the others, I’m not going to let someone get jumped by a freak out to get his kicks,” Will replied without a hint of malice in his voice. “I’m just glad I got here before anything bad could happen.” In between glances down to the floor, Jamie stole a look at Will and found out that he was looking back at her, but not with the same malice he had just a few months prior. No, she believed there was something else there that no one else but her mother had shown her over the last few days—kindness. When he looked at her, he did not see the next in line for murder, but a scared girl who was in far over her head, which only served to fuel that desire to run into his arms. “What’s got you in town this week?” she asked, brushing her hair behind an ear in one of her old moves. “I’d think you’d be at the beach for Spring Break.” “Change of plans,” the boy answered with a shrug. “Mom broke her leg, so we’re staying put this year; I was actually shopping for a gift to make her feel better.” Jamie reached out on instinct and touched Will’s forearm, only to recoil when she realized how forward she was being—something she would never have done a few months prior. She apologized, “I’m so sorry to hear that. Have you found anything for her?” This time, it was Will’s turn to act bashful, and he gave a shy smile as he replied, “Nah, I’m no good with gifts, especially for women. My Christmas gift to her last year was tickets to a Beavers vs Dragons game, and I don’t think she’s forgiven me just yet.” “Well, maybe I could give you some advice,” Jamie offered, feeling like she was 11 years old again and trying to ask a boy to the Sadie Hawkins dance. It was a far cry from the mean face she wore over the last few years, but she did not miss it. “That’d be great,” Will said in turn. “But let’s wait until your mom and security get here.” They did just that, with Will keeping one eye on the bloodied prankster and the other on Jamie, who stood close by in case anyone else tried to be funny. After all the dread and panic at the start of the week, she was glad to feel safe and comfortable with Will at her side. Security was quick to collect the masked man, and when Molly saw her daughter talking to the guards, she nearly dropped the corndogs and drinks she had ordered. Jamie was quick to reassure her mother that she had not been hurt, though she still wolfed down her corndog to ease some of the nerves still lingering in her stomach. “Will, I can’t thank you again for helping my Jamie,” Molly told the young man. “Is there any way I can repay you? Why not come by our house tonight for dinner? I can have our housekeeper make up a nice apple pie if you’d like.” “Mom, come on,” Jamie mumbled in a vain effort to stop her mother from embarrassing her. Fortunately, Will took it in stride and answered, “That’s mighty nice of you, Ms. Myers. I’ll let my folks know, and then I’ll swing by around 6.” “Perfect! Now, what say we find your mother something nice? Nothing’s too good for her in my book,” Molly decided as she led the way out into the store. The two teens shared a knowing look at each other, quite familiar with how moms had their minds set on something. They stuck close to one another as they browsed around, and Jamie found herself imagining she was on a date—it would be the first she had in a long while, if so. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt normal again: there were no boogeymen waiting for her around the corner, and if there were, Will would be able to stop them. Maybe this was just a one-time affair, maybe this was the start of something new, but Jamie was too happy to care. “Oh, Jamie dear, did you find any jeans that fit?” her mother asked, much to her chagrin. So maybe not everything was great, but Jamie was trying not to focus on her gains, hard as that was with the Adonis at her side. She just hoped that Will did not mind a little extra fluff on his girls…

In the grand tradition of Marvel heroes, yesterday's friend is today's enemy is tomorrow's love interest.

THE RAVISHING BRUTESS - PART 1 Ramona Pierce had been a great many things in life: sorority sister, stock broker, agent of F.E.E.D., and a reserve member for a dozen different superhero teams. She had been all around the world to cut deals with some of the top names in the business world, and she had been to the edge of space to fight a living black hole. Just last week, she had lunch with an actress set to portray her in a TV miniseries and thwarted a volcanologist from crushing New York City with a mechanized mountain. Her life moved at the speed of light, and she managed to keep up with all her responsibilities despite being one of the premiere members of the Protectors. That was why it was all the more surprising when she collapsed in the middle of dinner. One minute, she was eating a microwave chicken alfredo for a girl’s night in with her best friend; the next, she found herself in a room at Midtown Hospital. It was hard for her to believe that she could be crippled so, but the charts did not lie—Ramona had suffered a panic attack. The idea that she could have such an episode while watching a cheesy rom-com was almost laughable, considering that she was strong enough to level a building with a flick of her finger, but no one was laughing as the doctor gave the facts. Her fast paced lifestyle was bound to catch up with her eventually, and that was the universe’s way of telling her that she needed to slow down. That was how she found herself seated in the waiting room of a mental health clinic to see an old family friend. Between her azure skin, Amazonian build, and designer clothes, she looked out of place among the other patients, yet she was probably the most anxious person in the whole room. It had been years since she first gained the ability to transform into the Brutess, and she thought that change had gotten rid of her old nervous episodes. The Ramona Pierce of the past had been a train wreck, a frightened little mouse that would have been eaten up by the world had her brother not given her an injection of a steroid that turned her into an unstoppable she-juggernaut. Yet here she was, trembling like it was her first interview with Buscema, Lee, Stone, and Rosen. “Ms. Pierce? Dr. Rex will see you now,” the receptionist called out, shaking Ramona from her toe-tapping and finger-drumming. She had to duck to get past the doorway—one of the downsides of being just shy of 8 feet in height—and took little breaths as she followed the nurse back to Doc Solomon’s office. It was going to be okay: Solomon was an old friend who helped her brother out of many a jam in the past; it was he who managed to first wrangle the Brute in David. If anyone could help her get control of this and keep things under wrap from the rest of the superhero community, it would be him. The office was small but cozy, with little decorations from Solomon’s travels adorning the walls alongside his degrees and psychology books. Ramona sat down on a couch that was somehow comfier than the $20,000 sofa she had imported from Italy and squeezed her knees while counting numbers in her head. Everything was fine…this was just a temporary hiccup in life. All she had to do was get through one session, and then she would be cleared to get back to work. She had far more important things to worry about than some prissy little panic attack. “Sorry for the wait, Ramona,” Solomon apologized as he walked into the room. “Someone didn’t refill the coffee **, and you know I need my 2 pm fix.” ‘Doc’ Solomon Rex looked the same as ever, save for some graying in the temples and little crow’s feet around his eyes. He was an impressively built man that could have gone into bodybuilding if he so chose, sporting muscles that would not look out of place at a Protectors meeting but preferring to keep them under wraps in dress shirts and sweater vests. His dark hair fell in curls down to his shoulders, and he was rocking the goatee again after swearing he was done with it back at the Justice United Christmas party. Those locks almost hid the crown-shaped scar on his forehead, but it still jumped out to her whenever Ramona saw him. It was a symbol of his birthright, to lead, but he gave up a life of power in favor of helping others to achieve their inner peace. “That’s all right, Doc,” Ramona replied with a nervous smile. “I know the feeling—I’m nothing without an energy drink every hour, on the hour.” Samson chuckled in turn and took a seat across from Ramona. “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet under better circumstances, but I’m glad to see you all the same. How are you feeling now?” “Fit as a fiddle,” the giantess answered, though perhaps quicker than she intended. “It was a little scary at first, but I’m Brutess, y’know? There’s nothing in the world that can scare me at this point, let alone a little panic attack.” “Perhaps, but it’s a different sort of ‘attack’ than what you or I are used to,” the psychologist retorted. “The life we live, we so often come under attack from alien weapons or giant abominations that we forget the little things can come for us too. I got roped into fighting an electrical monster the other day, you know, and I walked away with a ruined suit and hair that wouldn’t smooth down. But not two weeks ago, I had to call in sick because of a summer cold—a cold! We’re strong, people like us, but we’re not immune to the little things life throws at us.” Ramona did not like that one bit. Ever since she first learned how to control the transformation between her human form and the Brutess, she remained in the powerful body of her counterpart because she felt indestructible. Thanks to Brutess, she had changed herself from a dull wallflower into a commanding heroine, no longer relegated to being a bit player in her own life. That her own body could betray her at this point rattled her to the core, and she felt uncertainty for the first time in a long while. If she could be crippled just by a fluke twitch in her mind, who was to say what else her body had in store for her in the future? “Well, is there anything I can do to keep it in check? I can’t exactly go through my life knowing that I could keel over at any moment,” Ramona huffed, crossing her powerful arms under her bulging chest. “Is there some kind of medication I could try?” “Before we go that route, I thought we might try a different approach,” Solomon suggested as he played with a pentacle on his necklace. “Perhaps we should try some hypnotherapy to get to the root of the problem.” “C’mon, Doc, you know I don’t believe that stuff. Don’t you have anything that would actually work?” the buxom heroine snorted in derision. The psychologist grinned and told her, “Won’t know until you try.” It took every muscle in her powerful body not to roll her eyes, but Ramona supposed that it could not hurt, even if it would not work. mesmerism required a recipient that was open to the idea of being mesmerized, and she simply did not have the capability of loosening control on her life. Doc could make the lights flicker and play all the soft music he wanted, but there was no chance he could actually put her into a daze. She would tell him as much if she was not so exhausted all of a sudden—the strain of running a life as hectic as hers, she supposed. Ramona shook her head clear of cobwebs and stretched her arms over her head like a cat, telling Solomon, “Sorry, Doc, I guess I was just daydreaming.” “Oh, that’s quite all right, Ramona,” Solomon replied with a soft smile. “Not everyone takes to hypnotherapy. Why don’t we talk a little more about what’s going on, and I might be able to prescribe you something to help?” The two carried on for close to an hour: catching up on what the other had been up to, reminiscing about their times with the Brute, and delving into the source of the panic attack. They never came to a clear conclusion, but Ramona felt much better just getting to sit and laugh with an old friend. If there was any downside to the session, it was that she felt her stomach grumble halfway through; by the end, she felt hungry enough to eat a horse. She did not want to seem rude, especially since she had not seen Solomon in so long, but she needed to get some grub in her or else she would look a lot more like her brother before long. Thankfully, a little timer on the psychologist’s desk rang, signaling an end to their chat and a chance for Ramona to satisfy her hunger. She smoothed out her business suit as she got up from the couch and said to Solomon, “You know, Doc, this has actually been really nice. Maybe all I needed was a little time to relax and get some things off my chest.” “It’s my pleasure, and I hope that we can do this again without doctor’s orders,” Solomon said in turn. “But if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call, okay?” Ramona nodded and shook the doctor’s hand before her stomach butted in to make its presence known. After letting out a growl that was almost canine, the giantess blushed and asked, “Well, there’s one thing you could help with. Know any good places to eat around here?” The answer to the question turned out to be a sandwich shop just a block away from Solomon’s office—the perfect place for a professional to get lunch. Ramona had an appropriately large appetite, but when she walked in and was overcome with the fine aromas, she felt ready to eat everything in the shop. Thankfully for the staff, she walked out with only three sandwiches and bags of chips, which she hoped would be enough to keep her hunger in check. After all, even a big girl like her could only eat so much, and if three Reubens did not do it, she was not sure what would. Unfortunately, that was exactly the position she found herself in after wolfing down her lunch, still longing for more. She was sorely tempted to run out and raid one of the vending machines, only for her salvation to come in the form of an intern with a grocery bag. Ramona had been thinking of which Little Debbie treat to get when she was alerted to the scrawny girl—one of the new hires that came in a baker’s dozen—in her doorway. “Hope this isn’t a bad moment, Ms. Pierce?” asked the girl. “I just wanted to thank you again for hiring me, and I wanted to know if you’d like to have some lunch with me.” Ramona gave the girl a warm grin and nodded, “Sure, Mabel, come on in. I just hope you don’t mind if I’m not eating; I already had a rather filling lunch myself. But feel free to enjoy…is that gumbo I smell in that bag?” “Good nose, ma’am,” Mabel replied. “I made a little too much, so I thought I’d bring some in to share. I hope this isn’t imposing, but I sure would like it if you gave it a try; my cooking’s one of the few things I’m actually proud of.” “Well, how can I say no to that?” the CEO hummed, though she would have still taken it if it was store-bought. A nice, hearty soup sounded like exactly the cure for her hunger pangs, especially since ‘homemade’ usually meant ‘more bang for your buck’. That was certainly what she got, as the bowl Mabel offered her was appropriately large and full to the brim with goodies. Chunky cuts of sausage, rosy shrimp, and thick lumps of crab meat all mixed together with a rich, spicy roux that made even a heavyweight like Ramona tear up to create the best bowl of soup. She was so enamored with the stew that she ate it down to the last drop before leaning back in her chair and resting her hands on her full stomach. “My compliments to the chef—that was exquisite,” Ramona sighed, offering her intern a chef’s kiss of approval. “What’s your secret?” Mabel blushed at the praise and fiddled with her fingers as she answered, “Oh, my grandmother would absolutely kill me for sharing her recipe, but anything for you, Ms. Pierce. The trick is to use bacon grease when mixing up the roux; that’s what gives it an extra pop of flavor.” “I suppose bacon really does make everything better,” Ramona chuckled before letting out a yawn. “Oh, sorry, Mabel…I always get a little drowsy after a good meal. You’re quite the cook, you know that? I’ve dined at some of the finest establishments on Earth, and this was top of the line.” “Thank you so much! I’m always trying new recipes if you’d like to try some more,” Mabel offered. “Just say the word and I’ll make whatever you’d like.” Stifling another unwanted yawn, the powerful woman nodded and replied, “I think that sounds lovely. And if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” As the two parted ways, Ramona shut the door to her office and yawned like a jungle cat. She had no idea where this sudden tiredness had come from, but she felt more spent than after her one night stand with Mister Blitz. Perhaps it was a holdover from the panic attack, though she tried not to think of her episode from the other night—she had more important things to worry about. But when she tried to focus on her work, she found that she could not keep her eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time. And since she was not getting any work done, she might as well deal with her drowsiness once and for all. Thus, for the first time in years, Ramona Pierce took a nap. Back in her cubicle, Mabel squeezed the life out of a stress toy until it popped and joined its brethren in the trash can. This was an absolutely revolting con, having to play kiss-ass to her archenemy and be an unpaid intern at one of the most lucrative firms on Wall Street; she was sorely tempted to transform into her stronger, more natural body and tear the building apart every day. It was only the promise of a big pay day—and the threat of retaliation from the brains of the operation—that kept her from exacting her revenge. At least she could take comfort in knowing that what was planned for Brutess would take her out of the game for life. She reached for another stress doll when her burner phone buzzed in her pocket, alerting her to a message from her boss. It was about time she got some updates; her muscles were aching for a chance to put Brutess in her place. Mabel yanked her phone out and saw a text that read, ‘Meeting tonight. 8 pm. Bring updates and veggie platter.” “I got your veggie platter for you right here,” the scrawny woman growled as she texted the same into her phone, followed by a fist and an eggplant. “This better be worth my time.” *** The Mabel Morgenstern that walked down the street that evening was a far cry from the mousy intern who was little more than a doormat at work. Now that she was free to be herself, she had grown three extra feet and put on an extra two hundred pounds of muscle, which filled her ebony costume to the max. People parted around her life the Red Sea, which brought a cocky smirk to her lips as she relished in the shock and awe she instilled in the public. Allowing Count Terror to imbue her with cosmic power had been the best decision of her life; there was no better feeling in the world than knowing no ordinary human could ever look down on her. She stopped at a seemingly innocuous house, only to find herself inside a sprawling laboratory when she stepped through the front door. Her cockiness faltered for a moment when she felt a wave of queasiness pass over her—her body still not used to traveling between dimensions—but she recovered soon enough and made her way back to the meeting room. Chatter from within meant that she was fashionably late, as usual, but that did not bother her in the least. “Got’cher veggie platter,” Mabel announced, casually tossing the platter onto the table in the center of the room, which caused some ranch dressing to splatter on Dynamo. “WATCH IT,” the living lightning bolt crackled. “YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I HATE ORGANIC MATERIAL COMING INTO CONTACT WITH MY BEING.” “Whoops,” the strongwoman retorted with a shrug. “What’d I miss?” She glanced around the room at her current accomplices for an answer, only trusting one or two out of the lot. There was Dynamo, who suffered from a God/Frankenstein complex and only knew how to be loud; the Whisper, who most often communicated in writing or sign language for fear of breaking someone’s mind accidentally; and Bladearang, who had far more ego than someone who used to be called ‘the Boomerang Kid’ should have. Most surprising of the bunch was Doc Solomon, who kept his head down and scribbled in a notepad through most meetings, never once offering to buy a beer—the prick. Mabel had no idea what a goody two shoes like Solomon was doing in their little enclave, but she kept an eye on him in case he decided to call the Protectors. “We were just catching up on our progress from this week,” came the mechanized voice of their leader. “Please, grab a paper towel and take a seat.” No one knew exactly how Liderul had come to be: some said he was exposed to radioactive materials, some said he was a failed clone of the Brute, and still others said that he was a psychic parasite that passed through the world in search of knowledge. Whatever his origin was, few could argue that he was more terrifying than a man in a wheelchair and hooked to a ventilator should be. His schemes had nearly brought down entire nations, and he once ruled an entire dimension like a god-king, only to be stopped by Team Brute. If anyone got on his bad side, they were doomed to suffer a fate worse than death, as Ramona Pierce was soon to find out…

And Nancy wouldn't be caught dead in anything that wasn't Gucci.

Keeping holding, mon frère, because we're not out of the woods yet. But how could it possibly be Nancy when she's been mysteriously absent from the story thus far...

HAPPY SPIRITSTIDE Spiritstide was one of the most festive times of year in Tantris: on a practical level, it signaled the end of the harvest season; on a religious level, it was a time of remembrance; on a superstitious level, it was a night to ward off evil spirits. Whatever the cause, folks in every corner of the kingdom celebrated in their own way, with the most common being parties that honored the autumnal season and children running through towns in search of candy and sweets. It was a time that many looked forward to, especially the young, who could not wait to show their friends the costume they had crafted for tricks and treats. “I remember Spiritstide at the academy,” Wade LeGuerrier remarked as he pitched his tent for the evening. “We’d have a big feast in the hall with pumpkin stew, candied corn, and roast turkey, then we’d have a parade of costumes before going into town for sweeties. Those were fun times.” “I’d have loved to have seen that,” replied his companion, Audra Dranghy, from her cart/laboratory. “I bet you looked cute in costume.” Wade blushed and chuckled, “Well, I was never great at patchwork and all, so I’d usually do odd jobs for the tailor in exchange for a costume or just half-ass one. I think I went out one year in my pajamas and told everyone that my costume was ‘tired’; I didn’t win the costume contest, in case you couldn’t have guessed.” The two shared a laugh before getting back to their work—Wade preparing camp and Audra working on one of her new recipes. They were settled outside the village of Samuin, which was preparing for its annual Spiritstide festival with food stalls and carnival games popping up day by day. In an effort to make some money for their travels, Wade helped out with the construction and took care of a few uninvited monsters while Audra worked on candies for the forthcoming festival. It was proving to be a lucrative time for the warrior and alchemist, though they would be glad when they could move on with their adventures. “Wade, could I borrow you for a moment?” asked Audra in that sing-song voice of hers that always meant she had a little mischief in mind. It was one of the many things that Wade adored about her, but he had grown leery of the tone whenever she was working. “Of course,” the warrior answered as he finished putting the last stake in the ground. He stood with a grunt and waddled over to his goblin companion, readjusting his trousers when he realized they had slipped a bit on his thick backside. “What can I do for you?” Audra gave him a toothy grin and held up a greenish, brownish candy—one of many laying on a tray. “Would you be a dear and try my latest creation? This might be my best one yet!” Wade was afraid his skills as a taste tester/guinea pig would be needed again. While he would do anything for his alchemist friend and crush, she had a tendency to go overboard, going as far back as their first meeting. The first month traveling with her had seen him quaff strength-enhancing potions that also gave him the appetite of a giant and the girth of a queen slime, such that he looked more like a hippo than a man before Audra and he decided to cut off. Wade lost most of his newfound strength as a result, but he was glad to be able to move more easily and fit into actual clothes again. Since then, he had lost most of the weight, but he had put on a few new pounds since she took on the candymaker job for the festival and enlisted him as a taste tester. Audra, being a woman of science, needed to try a recipe multiple times to make sure that she had gotten it just right, which meant Wade was eating whole batches of goodies to ensure their quality. Of course, he was not helping his cause by coming up with make believe flaws that ensured Audra would make more of her current course. She had just as much talent with the culinary arts as she did with alchemical variety, and the potbelly that rolled over his waistband was proof of that. “I don’t know, Audra—I’m still pretty full from that cornbread you made earlier,” Wade replied, patting his stomach for emphasis. The goblin girl blushed at the slight jiggle that followed and explained, “Oh, but it’s just candy, Wade. Surely a big fellow like you has room for a little sweetie?” “If I have any more sweeties, I think I’ll need to get new teeth,” Wade chuckled, not too far off from the truth. When Audra looked up at him with those soft, brown eyes of hers though, his resolve melted and he acquiesced, “Fine, but just one piece, okay?” “Oh, thank you!” the alchemist squealed with glee, hopping and sending her own curves bouncing, much to Wade’s delight. She offered the candy to her warrior friend and asked, “Let me know if the flavors are just right—I’m going for a caramel apple.” Damn her for being so adorable: it was that shapely body, beaming smile, and perky attitude that had Wade buckling his belt on the last notch. One day, he would learn to say no to her, but as he popped the candy in his mouth, he knew it would not be that day. At least his journey back up the scale had been lined with delicious foods, and this was no exception. The apple part was crisp and sharp, the caramel was smooth and rich, and it combined into a delectable concoction on his tongue. “Gotta hand it to you, Audra—you’ve really hit on something here,” Wade remarked as he rolled the candy around in his mouth. “All the flavors are so strong, and I’m glad I don’t have to worry about pulling a tooth trying to eat this. I think you’ve got a hit on your hands!” Audra’s grin spread from ear to ear and she clapped her little hands together in delight. “That’s marvelous, simply marvelous! Oh, I can’t wait to share these with everyone in town; I might have just created a new sensation! Why, I could sell this to one of the big vendors in the kingdom and probably make a killing every Spiritstide…” As Audra went on with her fantasies of striking it rich, Wade sat down on a log by their fire ring and savored the taste of the candy, sucking on it until it was small enough to crunch up and swallow. The longer he enjoyed it though, the more he noticed something odd about the sweet, like how the flavor only grew stronger with each passing minute. More than that, he felt increasingly warm, so much so that he had to shuck off his jacket despite the cool autumn air around him. In fact, he no longer felt the brisk evening air; it was downright balmy. “And of course, I’ll split the profits 50-50 with you, and we’ll…Wade, are you all right?” asked Audra as she paused in describing her future. “You’re looking a little green around the gills…and all over, for that matter.” “Huh?” Wade asked in turn, unsure of what Audra meant until he glanced down and realized that his arms had turned a pale green that grew darker by the second. “Audra, is this supposed to happen? This isn’t some kind of trick candy, right?” The anxiousness in her face made her answer clear. “No! I used standard caramel and apple extract, plus a little something from my stash to make the flavors so strong, but nothing that could do this! Hang on, let me see if I’ve got something that can fix this.” While Audra fished around in her cart for something to counter the curious condition, Wade paced around and tried to keep his mind off this latest transformation. The last time he had expanded, it had been over the course of the month and he was blissfully unaware of the full extent of his gain until he got too fat to fight at full capacity. This time, he was all too aware of the changes going on in his body, and of the two, he was not sure which was worse. All he knew was that he felt terrible bloated, and that it was far too hot for an autumn evening. “Feels like I’m in an oven,” the warrior grunted as he swiped an arm across his forehead. Rather than wick away any sweat, he felt something sticky come away from his skin, and he checked his arm to find a streak of golden brown liquid. Wade cautiously gave it a lick and simultaneously winced and hummed when he realized that he was sweating caramel sauce. “Audra, I don’t want to alarm you, but I think it’s getting worse,” Wade told his companion, sticky sweat beading on his brow again. “I’ll take anything you’ve got that could fix this.” “I just need another minute, Wade,” the goblin girl replied. She peeked her head up in between setting beakers on her cart top, only to squeak in surprise and blush. “Um, Wade…you might want to change out of your clothes soon.” Wade was curious as to what the alchemist meant, but when he looked down, he realized what she had meant. His tunic was far from loose before, but at least it could cover his belly without much trouble, unless he moved around too much. Now, he found that it was riding up his stomach even while he stood still, revealing a swath of green gut that looked less like a part of his anatomy and more like he was smuggling a melon under his shirt. A quick poke revealed that, yes, it was still his flesh and, yes, it was growing by the minute. “Well, this is just great,” he grumbled as he yanked his shirt off—no small feat, considering how it clung to him thanks to his caramel sweat. “That was my ‘fat shirt’, and I don’t have anything else that’ll fit me unless we break out the toga again.” Audra nibbled at her lip at the thought of Wade at his fattest, forced to wear a bedsheet as a toga in lieu of clothing. Part of her was driven wild by the idea of him growing that big again, but she tried to stay in the moment and focus on the distress it was causing her companion. She bowed her head and assured Wade, “I’m going to make this right. Just let me figure out where I went wrong and I’ll get a cure whipped up in a jiffy.” Wade pursed his lips and crossed his thicker arms, but there was little he could besides sulk. He knew that Audra meant well and would never intentionally try to make him swell like a blimp—he just wished that she was not 0-2 in that category. One of the reasons it was such a bother was that he was a warrior, which meant that he was only as good as he was fit; if he ever let his body go to **, it meant that he was no longer able to quest like he wanted to. The other reason, which he was too shy to share with Audra, was that he did not want her repulsed by his girth. Ever since he started traveling with her, Wade had felt a connection to the petite alchemist that dipped into the romantic, but he could not share those feelings with her when he was the size of a wharf grub. Audra was not like the girls he chased after at St. Duncan’s—being a few INT points higher, for starters—but surely she would prefer a man that could see his own feet and had tits smaller than hers. No, he would keep his feelings for her inside his heart until he was back to peak shape and all his excess blubber had been carved into rock hard muscle. If only Wade could read minds, then he would have known his worries were for naught. While Audra did prefer her men in shape, it was not the shape that her warrior companion had in mind—she liked her men as round and soft as a dumpling. Seeing Wade get so plump and flabby earlier that year had been a delight for the little alchemist, and she was ashamed to admit that she pleasured herself to thoughts of being embraced by the bulky boy whenever she was alone. Each little peek at his belly jiggling or his buttocks quivering in his trousers set her ablaze, which only grew stronger when he became too big for ordinary clothes. She knew what a burden it was to be that big, so when Wade decided to get back into shape, she wholeheartedly got behind the idea and cooked recipes that would help with the process. Still, she was lying to herself if she said that she would not miss her big, beefy boy, especially since she never got to use his tummy for a pillow before it slimmed down. But she remained the faithful companion and kept her desires locked up in her fantasies where they belonged. “Let’s see...a splash less enhancer, perhaps,” Audra mumbled to herself as she perused her notes from when she made the candies initially. “Okay, Wade, I think I’ve got it figured out now. Give me a few minutes and—eep!” In the few minutes it took to find the flaw in her cooking, Audra saw that Wade had grown exponentially all across his body. It started in his face, where his cheeks were so full that he looked like an emerald chipmunk and his neck ballooned with a thick collar of fat. This led to soft shoulders that could bear no more than a feather, rotund arms that masked his biceps with plush pillows of flab, and fatty fingers that were fast outgrowing his gloves. His chest, which had been a sore point ever since his first gain, had grown back into twin pools of green goo that rested on the swell of his stomach like two dollops of cream. And that belly they rested on…oh, what Audra would have given to nuzzle against it and feel it squish against her. It was a monument to massiveness, a globe of jelly that hung well over Wade’s waist and quivered with the slightest movement. A thick ring of fat hung over his trousers, and a second came higher up, running around to his formless back, where his muscles were blanketed under a layer of pudge. His lower body fared little better than the top half, with a backside that tested the seams of his trousers and thighs that rubbed against each other like furtive lovers. He was a sight to behold, but Audra had to keep herself in check and help prevent a malfunction in the making. “Wade, you might want to shuck your trousers,” the alchemist suggested. “I don’t know if they’re going to last much longer.” Wade’s cheeks turned an earthy brown at the notion, and he fiddled with his fingers as he asked, “Are you sure? I mean, it wouldn’t be very decent of me and I wouldn’t want to—” “If you don’t take them off now, you’ll just outgrow them in a few moments,” Audra cautioned. “Besides, you’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before—I’ve seen a pecker or two, you know.” “Fine, fine,” the warrior groaned, secretly glad that he could rid himself of the tightening trousers. While it was true that he was a touch embarrassed at showing his body to Audra, he wanted to keep the illusion of decency before disrobing. Were he traveling with another man, he would have thrown his trousers off the second he began to bloat. Once Wade managed to shimmy out of his pants—no easy task, considering how they clung to his thunderous thighs—his expansion seemed to pick up in pace. His limbs, once taught with iron muscle, were now so thick with fat that they appeared conical and had lost most of their mobility. He need not worry about decency, for his stomach sagged so far down to his thighs that his manhood was well covered—though Audra had been sure to grab a peek before it vanished from sight. All his efforts to lose weight were long gone, replaced by a green girth that showed no signs of slowing any time soon. All of this was bad enough, but the caramel sauce sweating off his body was starting to irritate Wade, and not just because he felt an urge to lick himself clean like a cat. The longer this went on, the more he sweated; the more he sweated, the more the caramel clumped together. By the time he could no longer stand the weight and had to sit down, great globs of caramel the size of koi were sloughing off his body. He felt the sweat packing in his folds and rolls, making him feel like one big caramel apple; all he needed was a stick up his colossal ass and he would be set. “Okay, I think I have a solution!” Audra announced as she raced over to Wade’s side with a beaker full of an orange formula. “Drink this, Wade—it should help negate the enhancer in the candy.” Wade reached out with a puffy hand and took the beaker, barely able to keep it in his grip, and tipped it to his lips. The concoction was bitter and did not mesh well with the sweet and sour taste in his mouth, but he felt his growth slow to a crawl and then stopping all together. His sweat dried up into a caramel shell, and he felt the cool air tickle what was left exposed by the sticky shield. He sluggishly ran a hand over his expansive stomach—what he could reach of it—and let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Well, that was something else,” the warrior mumbled, his voice thick like caramel. “I don’t think that batch is ready for sale, Audra.” “No, I don’t think so either,” the alchemist meekly replied, wringing her hands as she felt conflicting feelings over her friend’s growth all over again. “Wade, I’m so, so sorry. You were just trying to help, and I screwed up your diet all over again, and—” Audra stopped in her rambling when she felt Wade pat her hands and she saw a smile spread across his lips. He told her, “Hey, it’s okay. I knew a sorcerer back at the academy, and he always said you can’t make a quiche without breaking a few eggs. There’s always going to be a risk trying out new potions and recipes, and I’m always happy to help because I want you to succeed. And I know that if anything ever goes wrong, you’ll do what you can to fix it.” The reassurance brought warm tears to Audra’s eyes, and she wiped them away as she sheepishly giggled, “I always said you were sweet as candy.” “Just didn’t expect it to ever be literal,” Wade chuckled in turn. He glanced down at the expanse of his bulky body and remarked, “Well, at least I’ve got a pretty decent costume this year.” “I’ll see if we can’t get a few extra gold pieces by winning the costume contest,” Audra snickered as she squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “Assuming we could get a cart to roll you into town, that is.”

CHAPTER 6 Adrienne Fitzgerald always had a soft spot for animals: even when she grew into a shallow and vain member of Nancy Hill’s clique, it was the only thing sincere about her. Her favorite vacation spot used to be her grandfather’s ranch, where she got to ride horses, play with chickens, and even milk cows—though she was never very good at the latter. She knew that her grandfather distributed all sorts of goods from his ranch, but she always assumed that it was corn, wheat, and other such crops that helped put Fitzgerald Farms in grocery stores up and down the East Coast. When she found out what her grandfather really did with the animals he raised—the same ones she played with—Adrienne swore off meat for the rest of her life. One warm summer night, she was out catching fireflies when she noticed that a door had been left ajar on one of the barns when it should have been locked. Adrienne was going to tell someone about the door, but, since she had always been told not to go inside, curiosity got the better of her and she took a peek. Inside the building were dozens of animals from around the farm—chickens, cows, pigs, and more—and they were crowded into cramped pens that offered no room for them to do anything but squirm against each other. That was bad enough, but as she ventured deeper into the building, her stomach sank at the further discoveries she made. Dead animals hung from hooks like clothes at the store, some whole and some cut apart. The stink of blood and filth overtook her nose, and it was all she could do not to gag. Grisly tools lined the walls, her imagination filling in the blanks of what they were used for. It painted a grim portrait of what the ranch was really like, and when she ran back to the main house, she was utterly inconsolable as she told her parents everything. That was the last time they ever visited the ranch, and Adrienne was always uneasy around her grandparents after that. She vowed to never touch another piece of meat as long as she lived, and as she got older and more used to her vegetarian lifestyle, the mere scent of cooked meat was enough to make her queasy. Nancy gave her crap now and then because of her dietary decisions, but Adrienne stood fast and never let so much as a chicken nugget pass her lips. While her attitude shifted some as she got older and she used her vegetarian diet as a way to stand over others, she never truly forgot her time in the slaughterhouse. Sadly, her principles went out the window as soon as Pig Face injected her with that vile toxin that sparked an ungodly hunger in her belly. Adrienne needed to consume something—anything—before her stomach caved in on itself, and if it took tearing through a mountain of meat to do that, then so be it. Any thoughts of what the animals had gone through to wind up in her mouth drifted from her mind, replaced with a single-minded desire as she tore the steak from the bone. A small part of her wanted to be sick at what she was forced to do, but the greater part of her body simply choked down each mouthful to make room for the next. Meanwhile, Pig Face returned to the room with more food for his captive, who was free to leave if she wanted but remained because of the food on hand. He smirked behind his porcine mask at what had become of the sporty girl who always looked down on others for not being as pious as her, now devouring plate after plate like a hungry lion. If she had any qualms about this, she did not show it as juice dribbled down her chin and dotted her blouse like raindrops. “Good, isn’t it?” Pig Face asked, even though he knew she could not hear him. “I’ll admit, I was surprised to see how easily you broke; I thought you’d put up at least a little bit of a fight. But no, you went straight for the meat without a second thought, even though you knew exactly what it took for this feast to end up on the table. You truly are a vile hypocrite, and it will be a delight to watch you turn into a helpless cow like your friends.” The reminder of Heather and Marilyn’s suffering at the hands of this madman brought Adrienne back from the brink, and the fog began to dissipate from her mind. Her last mouthful was a struggle to swallow, feeling like a lump of poison in her throat that she just barely managed to get down—and even then, she still felt like gagging. She wanted to believe this was all a nightmare, but the grease on her lips and fingers confirmed that this was all too real. “You…oh God,” Adrienne groaned, bile rising in her throat. “Why are you doing this? Why kill any of us? What did we ever do to you?!” Pig Face shot out of his chair and loomed over Adrienne, who shrank back at the sight of the towering fiend. He glowered down at her and hissed, “Do you really need to ask that question? You and all of your friends are the most vile, reprehensible creatures to ever befall this town, and you ask why you deserve this? Half this town wishes you were dead—they just don’t have the stomach for the task. But I do, and woe to the rest of your coven.” Adrienne backed up until she hit the wheelchair again, and she glanced from Pig Face to the remnants of her feast on the desk. It was a mess of scraps and bones, with the T-bone cleaned of all beef and the roasted chicken just a few bites away from being ready for broth. She felt like she was going to be sick, but whatever drug was coursing through her system kept her from vomiting up everything she had wolfed down—and she did not know which was worse. “Please, don’t make me do this,” she tried begging one more time, even though she knew her pleas would fall on deaf ears. “I’ll do anything you want—anything!” This time, there was a response to her pleas, though she was not sure if it was better than being ignored like the last time. Pig Face started to chuckle, which then turned into a full laugh that was cold and mirthless, causing Adrienne to shrink back further. In between laughs, he managed to say, “You people never fail to amaze me with your naivete! Do you really think I’m going to stop just because you beg me to? Did you ever think to stop when your victims begged?” Hot tears ran down Adrienne’s eyes as she sobbed, “It was Nancy! I was only doing what Nancy said! Kill her, make her a blob—just don’t kill me!” “And what about the Myers girl? What if I had grabbed her too when I snatched you away?” asked Pig Face, his laughter coming to a screeching halt. “If I said I was going to kill one of you and let the other go, what would you say?” “Fuck Jamie! Do whatever you want with her, I don’t care,” Adrienne shrieked. “There it is—that selfish nature of yours,” her captor jeered as he pushed her back into the wheelchair and strapped her in, despite her struggles to escape. “When it comes to animals, you’re as sweet as can be, but your fellow man? You’d sell out your own mother if it meant getting ahead. No, Adrienne, there’s no escape for you. You might as well get comfortable while you still can, because I guarantee that this is going to get far, far worse for you if you don’t cooperate.” As Pig Face picked up a cheeseburger and brought it up to her face, Adrienne knew that he was right in everything he said. If it came down to her life or anyone else’s, she would always choose her own skin—that was just how she was brought up. She thought about Jamie and how she had risked her neck going into Marilyn’s house to check on her, and Adrienne recalled that there was a big part of her brain screaming at her to drive away. It was cold, but Jamie had always been the smartest of the group; she would have found a way out. And even if she had not, that was none of Adrienne’s concern. But neither Jamie, Nancy, nor anyone else was there to take the fall for her, and Adrienne had to suffer the most undignified death she could imagine. All her life, she had found ways to get out any situation: lying, cheating, and even blackmailing, all to save herself from punishment. Those escapes had finally caught up with her, and she now found herself facing down the one person on Earth that she could not bargain with. Even though she could not see his face, she knew just by looking in his eyes that there was nothing she could do or say to get Pig Face to let her go. The hate she saw there was so powerful that Adrienne cowed to their intensity and meekly opened her mouth for the cheeseburger. *** With no windows and no clock in the office, Adrienne had no idea how much time had passed since she started eating; the only things she could gauge were the amount of food she had consumed and the damage it had done on her body. Tin foil, wax paper, and Styrofoam plates were scattered around the office floor, leftover juice and scraps spilling onto the tile, and a pile of bones built up beside her in a grisly testament to her gluttony. Juice and grease had splattered all over her blouse and jeans, so much so that they were beyond salvation—though grease stains were the least of her worries. Just like Heather and Marilyn before her, the chemicals running through her veins accelerated the rate at which food broke down into fat, with the dispersal of her increasing weight the only change. Heather had grown into a round girl, a veritable globe that could have been rolled out of the mall, and Marilyn’s lower half had exploded with so much blubber that she not only got caught in a doorway—she broke the frame. Adrienne filled out all over her body, from her fine fingers plumping up into stubby sausages to her thighs spreading out to the limits of the wheelchair, but the majority of the weight went into breasts that Marilyn would have killed for. Her chest was always a spot of envy for the girls at Haddonfield High, and Adrienne derived a good deal of pleasure in flaunting her assets whenever she had the chance. Now, as their increasing swell caused a second button to burst from her blouse, she wanted nothing more to hide them from the world. What had started as soft, perky tits had grown into sacks of blubber that overflowed her wildly undersized bra and strained her shoulders with their weight. Blue veins mixed with pink stretch marks in marring her perfect skin, and the straps of her bra cut into Adrienne’s shoulders and back like a knife. It was a small relief when the garment finally snapped, but the knowledge that they were so big that they drooped down onto her belly filled her with dread. And ‘belly’ was the appropriate term for the balloon that sat at her waist, rising ever higher with each greasy dish she was forced to eat. Her belt, achingly tight, cut her stomach into two distinct rolls: one that oozed over the waistband like dough, and one that filled her jeans to the point of threads creaking in discomfort. She wanted desperately to undo something—anything—to give herself some relief, but that was all part of the torture Pig Face had in mind for her. It felt like she was wearing a cage that was getting smaller and smaller around her, except they were not smaller—she was just bigger. Throughout the entire ordeal, Pig Face remained silent, simply glaring at her as he stuffed more fatty cuts of meat down her throat. Adrienne tried to picture who was under that mask, who could possibly hate her enough to do this to her, but there were too many people that came to mind. The Queens of Devil’s Peak really had run roughshod over the town, and there were any number of men that wanted to see them dead. When she came to that conclusion, she slumped in her chair and obediently opened her mouth, resigned to her fate of growing fatter until she could take no more. With that resignation, the floodgates opened and Adrienne picked up speed in her eating, the inhuman hunger unleashed once more. Pig Face did his best to keep up, but when he saw the flicker of rebellion die in his captive’s eyes, he knew he did not need to feed her another bite. He tossed aside a cleaned drumstick and asked, “You understand now, don’t you? There’s no hope for you—no escaping and calling your mommy to bail you out. You’re going to eat until you can’t fit one more bite down your throat, and eventually, your heart’s going to stop.” Adrienne bowed her head into her cleavage and, realizing that she could just barely see her lap past the acres of tit, whimpered, “Yes. Just let me eat…I’ll eat whatever you want now.” “Good,” Pig Face replied as he undid the straps that held her down. “You’re going to do nothing but eat now: if you make another fuss, I’ll hook you up to a meat grinder and feed it to you that way. Now, no more words—eat.” With that command, Adrienne lunged forward and resumed gorging, her morals gone out with her determination. If she could do nothing but eat, then she would eat every bite placed in front of her—however much Pig Face had in mind for her. She recalled doing something similar to a girl who dared try to take the cheer captain title from her, forcing Tricia to eat a plate of worms to remind her of her place. It was satisfying at the time, but looking back made Adrienne realize that she truly deserved this punishment—judgment had finally come for her. Growing fat only came easier with her spirit broken, and Adrienne quickly outgrew her clothes as she tore through a never-ending feast of meat. The buttons on her blouse popped one after the other, scattering across the desk and floor to be forgotten among the refuse. Her sleeves tore along her flabby arms, each new pound allowing thick slabs of blubber to escape and breathe freely. The zipper on her jeans was forced open by her bulging belly, soon joined by the snap as her gut surged forward onto her lap. Threads were torn asunder all across her blubbery body, destroying what had once been designer clothes and reducing them to greasy rags. The girl that stood at the desk, shoveling calorie bombs down her throat with reckless abandon, was far from the same girl that took Haddonfield High’s cheer squad to a state tournament. All the meat she ate caused her body to sweat like she was in a sauna, such that a small puddle formed at her feet. Her perfect hair matted to her forehead and neck, but Adrienne did nothing to fix it, even as it tickled her chubby cheeks. Beads of sweat cascaded down her body, running through every roll and stretch mark that had sprouted along her once toned frame. Heavy mounds of breast meat sloped down either side of her belly, their perkiness lost to time as they grew bigger than prize watermelons. And still, she ate, knowing full well the destruction she had wrought on herself. “Won’t be long now,” Pig Face remarked from his place across from her. “Your friends weren’t much bigger than this before their bodies gave out; I give you another few minutes at most.” Adrienne had long blown past denial and bargaining, and she now rested firmly in cold acceptance. The aches and pains in her swelling corpulence were telltale signs of her impending demise, but there was nothing she could do to halt it even if she had the will. Her movements became sluggish as her muscles cramped and her limbs grew heavy as sandbags, yet she still crammed a handful of bacon in her mouth. She was so frontloaded between her breasts and stomach that Adrienne had to lean over just to give her back some small relief while still reaching for more food. Her chubby cheeks were flush and her breathing ragged, but there was nothing that could save her and she knew it. Finally, she could take no more and she collapsed on the desktop, her mouth still full of hot dogs and corned beef. A weak splutter escaped her lips as her eyes turned glassy and the room spun around her, but her jaw still worked to get through that last mouthful. Adrienne’s fingers twitched as they clawed at the desk, clutching at anything that would keep her alive for a minute longer. “About time,” Pig Face grunted as he got up from his chair. “I’m almost impressed you held out for as long as you did, cow. Tell you what: I know you’ve been wondering who I am, so how about I clue you in? It’s not like you’ll ever tell anyone, after all.” Adrienne clung to life for a moment longer, and though her vision blurred around the edges and spots flickered in her eyes, she could still see Pig Face remove his mask. When she saw the face that lay behind that porcine disguise, her eyes went wide and she gurgled, “W—urk!” That was all she had left, and the light fled her eyes as she slumped down into her cavernous cleavage, never to rise again. The rest of her body followed in turn, collapsing to the floor like an avalanche of vanilla pudding. Pig Face donned his mask once more and cracked the joints in his body, readying himself for moving the landwhale somewhere a bit more public… *** Marty Green always came in early to open the butchery, wanting to get a head start on the day’s orders and shoot the breeze with the delivery man. When he arrived, he opened the shutters on the front of the store and threw open the door, expecting to be greeted by the familiar dried meats hanging from the walls and the hum of the freezers at the front of the store. What he did not expect to find was the body of Adrienne Fitzgerald spread out on the top of the counter, splayed out like a luau pig and sporting an apple in her mouth. It was the third such case in two days, and the police were baffled when they arrived on the scene. Adrienne Fitzgerald had somehow exploded in weight overnight, growing from skin and bones to bovine proportions. Her breasts were twice as big as her head and served as a pair of cushions, while her belly pooled out under her and flopped over the side of the counter. Her backside had ballooned into a pair of beachballs that sagged under their weight, spreading onto thighs that looked like cottage cheese from all the cellulite. For one who had prided herself on her appearance in life, she left behind a grisly corpse for the medics to take away. By now, it had become clear that something was going on in Devil’s Peak, and the former mean girls that tormented the town were under attack. Gossip spread like wildfire among the residents, and the rumor mill abounded with possibilities of who had done it and how. And since Nancy Hill was out of the country, all eyes were on Jamie Myers to see what would happen to her. Was she going to survive this, or would she wind up another corpulent casualty?

Can't keep a good hero down! And it'll be a minute until we get back to these two sidekicks, but I'm sure they're in for some big things ahead.

FANG, THE BIMBO WONDER - PART 4 Kristen and Francesca waddled into the den to see Missy flipping through the channels, and it took wrestling the remote from her to get back to the original newscast. The family was greeted to a report on Little Miss Giggles on one of her typical joyrides, causing a ruckus around town and driving the police crazy trying to catch her. While she was far less homicidal than her father and acted more like a diva than a supervillain, Giggles had proven herself to be a handful to the Wolf Pack time and time again with her antics. She was actually the first villain Kristen had fought when she took on the Fang identity, and the impish fiend was the closest to a nemesis she had in the business because of that. Old habits died hard, and Kristen felt her blood rush at the thought of wiping the smile off Little Miss Giggles’ face all over again. When she turned around so she could return to her room and change into her costume though, she bumped into a side table and knocked a picture over—courtesy of her ridiculously wide hips. It hit her like a ton of bricks then, that no matter how much she wanted to get out into the field, she was nowhere near ready for the job. Her mind was feeling sharper by the day and her spirit was certainly willing, but her body was still encumbered with a couple hundred pounds of useless flab that quivered when she made the slightest movement. Going out to face any sort of criminal now would be a death sentence, let alone the daughter of Cedar Oaks’ Public Enemy #1. And yet, what was she to do? Most of the Pack was out of town in search of the Gargoyle, and if Giggles was out, then her father was likely up to no good and required the Wolf’s attention. Someone who knew her needed to take her down, and who better than her biggest enemy? It would not be easy, but if she stuck to her training, Kristen knew that she could do it. The Wolf had brought her onboard because of her tenacity, after all, and she was going to prove that she deserved this second chance. “Like, this is awful,” Francesca remarked as she sat down beside Missy and munched on a bowl of popcorn sat between their mattress thighs. “I don’t, like, condone violence on children, but that little girl is such a brat that she totally has a spanking coming.” “Girl is mad billy, for sure,” Missy snorted. “Gots to be if you’re down with a creep like Mr. Friendly. Hey, chegs, didn’t she ace your school once? Chegs?” Mother and daughter were too distracted by the events on TV to realize that Kristen had already retreated to the sanctity of her bedroom, where she hoped she had something of a costume left that she could wear. When she finally came to her senses earlier that week, she had discovered that a good number of clothes she remembered having were gone—donated to a thrift store or thrown out when she tore through them with her thickening curves. There had to be something she could wear that would help identify her as Fang, even if it was just an outfit in the same colors. Then, after digging through her closet, she found it—her old tunic. It was the same, familiar mustard yellow that she had idolized since she was a kid, and she clutched it to her plump chest like a dear friend. Unfortunately, Kristen did not need to try putting it on to know it would not fit around her enhanced frame, since it was made for a girl far smaller than her. When confronted with this part of herself though, she was not going to give up without trying, and Kristen set about donning her dynamic duds once more. She managed to get the tunic closed around her neck, which was a great first step in her book, but her progress was halted when she reached the buckles that went down the front. The first closed without much problem, as did the second, but the third proved to be nigh on impossible to snap shut when confronted by her jelly belly. Try as she might to suck in her gut, there was no way for her to close the gap once more, which left the underside of her bra exposed to the world and her entire belly jutting out for all to see. “This is, like, so not cool,” Kristen grumbled to herself as she looked herself over in the mirror. She had a hard time accepting that the voluptuous vixen in the mirror was her, and no amount of posing made her feel any less of a fat fool. Going out to fight crime like this was all but suicide, but her want to help outweighed her fear of the consequences; besides, there were worse ways to go out than looking like a chunky clubber. There was just one more thing she needed to do before she left, and she picked up her Wolf Pack communicator to reach out to her mentor. Kristen fiddled with the device for a moment and composed her thoughts before clicking the device on. “Wolf, this is Fang. I know you’re probably busy trying to track down Friendly and Giggles, but I wanted to let you know that I’ve got you covered. I think I’ve got a plan—I just hope that it works…” *** “Shit, shit, shit—this is never going to work,” Kristen muttered to herself as she found herself sat in the passenger seat of her archenemy’s car. Her plan was a fairly simple one, if open-ended: since she was virtually unrecognizable, even with the remnants of her costume that she had managed to wear, she would snag a ride with Little Miss Giggles and keep her distracted from causing any mayhem. The trick was to think like the diabolical ditz, and while that might have been a challenge from Kristen once upon a time, it was far easier now that she had a few months experience. She just hoped that it would be enough to fool the giggling fiend beside her, who was chatting up a storm about her next big heist. While Kristen felt absolutely ridiculous riding her scooter with so much blubber exposed, she was more concerned with catching up to Giggles and her ride. Thankfully, her training with the Wolf Pack gave her an expert knowledge of all the various side streets and shortcuts in town, and she was able to catch up to her quarry in no time at all. She found Giggles laying low in a quiet part of town, siphoning gas from a truck so she could continue her mayhem. “All right, just play it cool,” the young vigilante whispered before putting on a beaming, spacey grin and calling out, “Holla-holla! What up, Giggs? You, like, need a plus-one for tonight? Because I’m totes jonesing for a party.” It was a risky move, especially since she was unarmed while Giggles had a comically large pistol aimed at her, but it paid off in the end. As soon as the ever-smiling goon caught a look at her jelly belly spilling over her denim skirt and how she wobbled like pudding with each step, she lowered her gun and beckoned for Kristen to join her. “Always room for one more in this baby,” Giggles replied as she lovingly patted her car. “I likes the cut of your gib, kid—hop on in. What’s your moniker?” Kristen winced inside when she gave an airheaded giggle in reply. “Like, call me Krissy! That’s what everyone calls me, and I think it’s just aces.” That brought her to the present, where she found herself overflowing the passenger seat of Mr. Friendly’s very sleek and very stolen sports car. Giggles had the radio blaring and was dancing in her seat, often forgetting that she even had a guest with her until she turned and saw Kristen by her side. The villainess blabbered on about this and that, from her yandere love for a pop star to her latest plan to get one over on the Wolf Pack, but Kristen barely paid attention. While her companion was distracted, she took the opportunity to send messages to the Wolf Den in the hope that either Will or Julia would be around to receive them. When the Gigglemobile hit another pothole, Kristen had to wrap her arms around herself to keep her breasts from bouncing out of her top. There was no stopping the ensuing jiggling though, and the bloated sidekick felt like she was covered in gelatin. It drove home just how out of shape she had gotten, and now that she had a relatively clear head for the first time in weeks, she wondered how she could have possibly been so blind to her gain. She could forget leaping straight back into action—it would take months, if not years, to shed all this blubber. “You doing okay there, Krissy?” asked Little Miss Giggles, who took her eyes off the road despite careening down East Boulevard at ludicrous speeds. “Not sick, are you? If you are, let me know, because I don’t want to get Daddy’s car all dirty.” Kristen shook her head and replied, “Nah, just…like, can’t believe I’m here, you know? I get to party with the hottest crook in town? I’m aces.” The grinning fiend gave one of her signature laughs. “Hey, you’re already in the car, Krissy—you don’t need to kiss my booty. But what do you want to do first? I was thinking we could spread anthrax through the mall, maybe burn down a retirement home…” Fighting back the bile that rose in her throat, the former Fang answered, “Um…what if we, like, did a dine and dash? They’d totally give us a lighter sentence than any of that. And trying to commit crimes on an empty stomach? Ch’yeah, right.” Giggles glanced over at her nervous hitchhiker and scrunched up her brow for a moment before breaking into a fit of snickers. She patted Kristen’s belly and replied, “If you were hungry, all you had to do was say so! Hang tight—I know a great diner that’ll serve us for a steal!” Kristen did her best to laugh off the remark, but as soon as Giggles had her eyes on the road again, she let out a sigh of relief that she had been holding in since she set out that night. It was not ideal, but she had managed to keep the demented diva from committing any of the horrors that bounced around in her head. She just hoped that she had the stomach for what was coming, because she had a feeling that Giggles would not stop at just one eatery… *** While she suspected that Giggles would not stop at just one eatery, Kristen had no idea just how much it would take to keep her from turning back to her homicidal tendencies. A trip to the diner for a cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake turned into a visit to a pizzeria, Flaming Amy’s for burritos, more milkshakes, and sushi. Even Kristen had her limits, as, despite the increasing portions she had been wolfing down for the last few months, she was just barely able to keep everything down. The hectic driving of her crazed host was not helping any, as each twisting turn made her stomach roil like the sea. “Dang, Krissy! You really know all the best places in town,” Little Miss Giggles hummed in approval between licking her fingers clean of wasabi. “No wonder you’re such a big gal—no offense.” There was nothing more Kristen wanted than to smack the grin off her enemy’s face, but she would have been incapable even if she was still in fighting shape. It took all her focus just to not throw up her many dinners, so the best she could do was give a wincing grin and reply, “Like, no biggie. I didn’t get all this jelly from eating like a chicken leg.” The demented driver tittered at the response before reaching over and gently squeezing some of the pudge around Kristen’s knee. “Well, trust me when I say you wear it pretty nice. There aren’t a lot of girls that could rock the ‘Whole Lotta Rosie’ look like you do, but you’ve got it going on.” That remark brought a little milkshake to the back of her throat, but Kristen swallowed it down with a quick gulp. She was not sure which was worse: that she was trapped in a car with her archenemy, or that said enemy had the hots for her. All she knew was that she prayed for a quick rescue by the Wolf or a quick death; either would have been better than letting Little Miss Giggles cop another feel. Thankfully, it was the former that ended the fun, as the Wolf peeled out in front of them in the Wolf Cruiser and brought Little Miss Giggles to a screeching halt. The laughter stuck in the villainess’s throat, and she fished around for a weapon she could use to antagonize the Wolf or hold Kristen hostage, but the only things at hand were packing from their many stops. When the menacing vigilante appeared at the driver’s seat and ripped the door open, Giggles held her hands up and gave a sheepish chuckle in the face of the most terrifying man in town. “Was I going a little fast?” she asked before the Wolf reached in and yanked her out of her seat. “More than a little,” the masked man grunted as he tugged Giggles’ hands behind her back and cuffed her. He looked back into the car and gave a nod to Kristen as he asked, “Are you okay, miss?” “Like, never better, Wolf! I’m not in any trouble, am I?” Kristen asked in turn, both keeping in character and genuinely wanting to know if she overstepped her boundaries. The corner of his lips curled in a grin as the Wolf answered, “I think you’re going to be just fine.” The emergency crews arrived not long after, and Little Miss Giggles was passed along to the authorities so the Wolf could have a moment with his pudgy protégé. They walked over to the Cruiser and spoke in hushed tones, learned from years of operating together. Will started, “So, you decided to play along for a change? I’m surprised you didn’t try to knock her around once you got in the car.” “I was tempted, trust me,” Kristen answered with a smirk. “But it’s like you always say—sometimes, we need to keep the ruse going as long as we can. I’m just glad you showed up when you did, because she was totes coming onto me.” The Wolf shook his head at that and grumbled, “Like father, like daughter. Still, I’m glad that you’re okay, and I’m pretty impressed with how you handled everything tonight. We’ll talk some more tomorrow, but let’s get you home before your family starts to worry.” “Oh, don’t worry about them—I told them there was a marathon of Nick Sparks movies on,” Fang chuckled as she lumbered into the Cruiser. “Like, they’ll be set for the whole evening.” *** The evening proved to be a victory for the whole Wolf Pack, as not only did the Wolf and Fang help bring down Mr. Friendly and Little Miss Giggles, but Timberwolf flew back into town with the Gargoyle in tow and Julia put the finishing touches on Kristen’s new medication. They celebrated the following evening with a party to commemorate the youngest member of the team’s graduation and rejoining the Pack, and Kristen was not ashamed to say she cried at being given a new costume that would fit with her bulk. While she still had a ways to go until she could actually use it, just knowing that she was formally a member again was enough for her. “You take care of yourself at school, okay?” Phil asked, patting his fellow sidekick on the shoulder. “If you ever need anything, we’re all just a call away.” “Totes, McGotes,” Kristen replied tearfully before snapping a rubber band on her wrist, reminding herself to cut the slang as much as possible. After another couple weeks at home, it was finally time for Kristen to say goodbye to Cedar Oaks and hello to East State University. The ride up to school was filled with eager chatter between the Laree women, and even singing along to pop songs that, while not Kristen’s cup of tea, were a lot more fun than she used to think. Her change in attitude was not lost to her father, who watched his girls playfully bicker in the backseat—something more akin to how they used to be when they were little. He had no idea what had changed in Kristen over the last few months, but at least she was more like her old self in several ways. The move into the dorm room was quick, even though there were a few more items purchased than originally intended. Kristen was still coming out of her airheaded ways, but there were some holdovers from her more fashion-minded ‘Krissy’ identity, like a nice makeup table and plenty of cute clothes to accentuate her body. She still planned on losing weight and getting back into shape, but as long as she was stuck with the generous curves she had developed over the summer, she might as well flaunt them. At least no one could call her a chicken leg again, that was for sure. When the Larees had said their farewells, Kristen flopped down on her bed and stared into the popcorn ceiling, wondering what was in store for her next. The town of Drakeford was not known to have a ton of crime, but she had learned that there was always something going on that required a helping hand. She just hoped that her roommate would not mind if she kept odd hours, especially if she went back out on the prowl. “Hello? Anyone home?” asked a familiar voice from the dorm door. Kristen rolled onto her side and gawked when she saw Tanisha Dillard walk in, especially when she had a few bags of luggage in hand. She knew that there had been a change in roommates, but she had not expected a fellow member of the Wolf Pack—and certainly not one she bickered with all the time. The best greeting she could muster was a meager, “Um…hey, Tanisha.” “Krissy—I mean, Kristen! This is a surprise,” the Wolf-Girl replied, just as shocked as Kristen. The two stared in silence for a moment before Tanisha broke the ice and asked, “Want to go get donuts after I move in?” Her answer was a pillow to the head, courtesy of a red-faced and hungry Kristen.

Doesn't mean she won't be getting fat. The only question is how someone gets fat from eating nothing at all...

Mission accomplished then!

CHAPTER 5 When Jamie finally came to, it was in a spare bed at the Lovett residence and a paramedic knelt down beside her to check her vitals. She used her free hand to rub the sleep from her eyes and groaned, “What happened?” “Try not to sit up too quick, ma’am—you fell pretty hard,” the paramedic cautioned her as he helped prop her up a little higher. “Do you remember the last thing that happened before you passed out? Anything at all?” “I was…I was in Marilyn’s house to see if she was okay,” Jamie murmured before her memory returned to her and she bolted upright in bed. Marilyn was wedged in a doorway, Adrienne had been taken by Pig Face, and she just managed to avoid getting run over by an out-of-control Camaro. “Oh my god, Adrienne! We need to find her,” the panicking girl told the paramedic. She reached out for his shoulder but fell short as a sudden wave of lightheadedness came over her, bringing her back down to the mattress. The mustachioed man patted her hand and explained, “The police are already looking for her, but any help you can give them in finding who took her would be a big help. I’ll let them know you’re up and about, but try not to move around too much, okay?” Jamie nodded weakly and lay back in the bed as the paramedic left her to piece together everything that had transpired. In the span of a single day, two of her old clique members had been brutally murdered by a masked killer, who had succeeded in stealing away a third in Adrienne Fitzgerald. It felt like something out of a nightmare, but the sounds of Mrs. Lovett sobbing at the foot of the stairs were all too real. Dread and panic filled her stomach, and her eyes darted around the room as if Pig Face might leap out at her any second. More than anything though, she wished she had a big bowl of ice cream she could drown her fears in and forget about the horrific turn her life had taken. “That can be arranged, you know,” came a thick, husky voice from the closet near the bed. The door creaked open, revealing the bloated body of Heather Buchanan looking as slovenly as she was when she died. Her massive gut, ringed with jagged stretch marks, rippled as she squeezed her way out of the closet and waddled towards Jamie, and she licked away some of the stains that covered her plump cheeks and fingers. What sickened Jamie most was how Heather’s skin had turned a deathly pale and her face a grotesque shade of purple—the same as when her heart stopped at the mall. “Oh God, not you too,” Jamie groaned covering her face with her hands until Heather’s clammy fingers ripped them away. A heavy lump formed in Jamie’s throat as she whimpered, “Heather, please, I did everything I could. How was I supposed to know this would happen to you?” “What was it you told me before I begged for your help—‘choke and die on your own vomit’? That’s not very nice of you,” Heather sneered at her former compatriot. “I know why you took so long to get to the mall: you were too busy stuffing those chubby cheeks with snacks; maybe if you’d put the fork down, you’d have been able to pick me up before I ate myself to death.” “I got there as soon as I could, I swear,” Jamie squealed as Heather dug her nails into her wrists. “And I’m not even that fat! Why do you people keep calling me that?” “If the shoe fits,” came the all too familiar voice of Peggy from the bedroom door. When Peggy appeared in the doorway with a tub of ice cream in hand and half her face missing, Jamie’s escape efforts only increased and she thrashed around on the bed to try getting out of Heather’s clutches. Unfortunately, not only did her deceased companion not release her, but she only increased her hold on Jamie by climbing onto the bed and planting herself on Jamie’s legs. Jamie winced at the immense weight seated on her lower body, but no force on Earth could have moved Heather from her spot. All she could do was make another plea to the visions for mercy; given the hateful look in their eyes though, that seemed out of the question. “What do you want me to do, beg?” asked Jamie as the two specters leered at her. “I’ll beg all you want, just stop this—please!” Peggy shook what was left of her head and answered, “Why would we ever stop now? I went through a lot of trouble to get this much ice cream this late at night, and you’re still far too thin to have learned a lesson yet. So, what I want you to do is open wide and take your medicine. Won’t you do that for an old friend, Jamie?” Even though there was a part of Jamie that was more than happy to wolf down some ice cream to stifle her guilty feelings, the rational part of her mind won out and she clamped her mouth shut. The ghouls saw this act of defiance and smirked, for all it took to undermine her was for Peggy to pinch her nose and cut off Jamie’s air. Heather chortled as her old companion’s eyes went wide and her face turned pink, red, then blue as she held out as long as she could. “What’s the use of holding your breath, Jamie? You know you’ve got to come up for air at some point,” Heather reminded Jamie, her lungs already fighting for air as the blob sitting atop her squeezed the air from her body like a tube of toothpaste. “Besides, what’s the point of fighting it? At the rate you’re going, you’d be a prize-winning porker by the end of college. This is just picking up the pace.” Jamie’s eyes watered from the combined pressure on her body, the burning in her lungs, and the needling words jabbing at her mind. She wanted desperately for something to break her out of this hellish hallucination, but there was no aid in sight. When she could finally hold her breath no longer, she opened her mouth and took a big gulp of air, which gave Peggy the chance to shovel a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. It was a sweet relief to the agonizing pain before, even though she knew what all those calories and sugar would do to her already soft frame. “See? Isn’t this so much better than fighting your fate?” asked Peggy as she delivered spoonful after spoonful of rocky road into Jamie’s mouth. “Better to just let it happen and accept that you’re a fat girl at heart.” Heather nodded in agreement and purred like a jungle cat. “That’s right. We always knew there was something about you that said you didn’t belong, but I guess we know now—as soon as you broke things off with Nancy, you let yourself go. I’ll bet this is something you were looking forward to, isn’t it? You probably wanted to be a fat ass all along, didn’t you?” Jamie shook her head and tried to reply, but Peggy kept her too busy eating to give an answer—not that it would have helped anyway. Whatever this was—a trick of her diseased mind or a visit from vengeful spirits—they were not willing to listen to what she had to say. The only option she had was to eat as much as they wanted and pray that she did not go the same way as Heather or Marilyn. If she survived this nightmare, she would have to get her life back on track. She did not know how much ice cream she was forced to eat, only that she grew numb to the taste after a while and her stomach felt like it was about to burst. She did not know when her visions had left her, only that they were replaced by the paramedic from before and a policeman when she blinked. And the emergency responders did not know how Jamie Myers had gotten ahold of a gallon tub of ice cream, only that the girl had ice cream on her lips and a pregnant-looking belly. *** Molly Myers tried to put up a cool, unaffected atmosphere at all times, but the truth was that she was a nervous wreck held together by Botox and duct tape. Her real estate firm was in hot water after one of her best agents was discovered to be embezzling funds for the last ten years, her husband was having an affair with his latest bimbo secretary, and her daughter had been a hellion ever since she turned 11. But she refused to let any of that anxiety peek through, and she buried it under medication, booze, and frequent trips to the spa, which all helped her maintain some semblance of stability. Jamie’s turn to a calmer and quieter lifestyle had eased some of the worry from her mind, but the events of the last day had brought them all back in spades. She was glued to the couch as an emergency broadcast interrupted Dynasty and displayed a crime scene at the Lovett residence—the second such that day, after what happened at the mall. Jamie had not yet returned home, and Molly was on the edge of her seat as she wondered whether her daughter was caught up in another mess. Her fears were proven correct when she got a call from the police that confirmed Jamie was in the house; confirmation that she was unharmed was a small silver lining as her mind drifted to the gruesome news. First, Heather Buchanan died at the mall after turning into a fat blob; now, Marilyn Lovett had suffered the same fate. If someone was targeting the girls, how long would it be until the same thing happened to her daughter? “Ms. Molly? Is everything all right?” Molly jumped in her seat, even though it was just her matronly housekeeper. She quickly put out the smoldering cigarette in her hand and tried to smooth out her hair as best she could before answering, “Yes, Luisa, I’m fine. I just…I was caught up in the news.” Luisa glanced over to the TV and performed the Sign of the Cross as she whispered, “Que horrible. Mr. Harold wanted to tell you he was leaving to pick up Miss Jamie and would be back as soon as he could. Is there anything I can get for you?” “No, I’m fine, thank you,” Molly replied before her stomach growled. No one knew this—not even her husband and daughter—but the rail thin mother was a nervous eater that once popped a button while studying for her finals in college. She had kept her vice under wraps for the last couple decades, but without Harold around and all this talk of death, she was willing to relent just once. “Actually, Luisa, do you mind fixing me a snack? I’m feeling a bit peckish,” the dyed blonde woman requested. “Do you have anything left over from dinner?” “I’ll have something ready for you in just a few minutes, Ms. Molly,” Luisa nodded before toddling back to the kitchen. Molly nodded and returned her attention to the television as the news broadcast ended and Linda Evans returned to the screen. For the last several months, she thought that she had regained some control of her life thanks to Jamie’s change in attitude, but that sense of control went right out the window in the face of this latest tragedy. This was fast becoming a pattern, and with news that Adrienne Fitzgerald could not be found, she worried how long it would be before it was her daughter’s turn to fear for her life. The only comfort she had came at the end of a fork as she tried crushing her nerves with chicken mole. *** Adrienne woke to a throbbing pain in her head, but found that she could not touch the sore spot thanks to her wrists being restrained. As consciousness returned and the blur cleared from her eyes, she looked down and realized that she had been strapped to wheelchair—her hands tied to the arms and her feet to the legs. She felt something sticky on her face, and a quick whiff brought an iron scent while her tongue tasted salt when she licked her lips. Her head lolled from side to side as she felt her body slowly waking up, feeling returning to her extremities minute by minute. “Hello?” she groaned. “Is anybody there?” Her question was only met with silence, and as she woke up more and more, the silence became absolutely deafening to Adrienne. With consciousness came recollection, and the last thing she could remember before passing out was sitting in her car and waiting for Jamie. She kept her eyes on the front door for what felt like an eternity, which was why she missed the masked man run up to her door and yank it open. It was the man in the pig mask that stalked around her house the night before, and he was even more terrifying up close, where she could see that the mask was made from real pig. They fought for control of the car for a moment before it slipped out of parking and she floored the car right onto Marilyn’s porch, just missing Jamie in the process. That was the last thing Adrienne remembered, and fear boiled inside her now that she realized she was in the same trouble Heather and Marilyn had been in. She screamed, “Help! Somebody help me! Get me out of here!” “No one’s coming to save you, cow,” came a gruff voice from behind. Adrienne whipped her head around and saw the pig-faced man walk out of the shadows to stand in front of her. He towered over her like some great monster, and she found it impossible to meet the anger in his eyes. She bowed her head and whimpered, “Oh God, please don’t kill me. Please, please, just let me go.” “That’s what they all say,” Pig Face grunted as he crouched down and glared holes through Adrienne. “I already went this far—do you really think I would stop just because you asked me to? No, I still have for more in plan for you.” He walked behind her again, only to unlock the brakes on the chair and roll Adrienne out of the dimly lit room. They started out in a hallway, where the captured girl smelled something that made her stomach turn, though she could not identify it. She had no idea where she was, but even if she was at home, it would not have made a difference; she was at the mercy of Pig Face and could only hope that the police were coming. After rolling down the hall in stony silence, save for her quiet sobs and the squeak of the wheels, Adrienne was brought to an office, where she found the source of the foul odor. Laid out on the desk was a large T-bone steak, sausages, bacon, and a roasted chicken, all laid out on foil and wax paper. It might have looked delicious to some people, even in this situation, but for a vegan like Adrienne, it was absolutely vile. She did not advertise it like the hippies in school, but she had gone strictly meatless several years ago and even wore faux fur, despite Nancy taunting her about it. As she tried not to vomit from the stink of cooked meat, a grim thought came to her mind and she wheeled around to Pig Face. She asked, “It was you that made Heather eat herself to death, isn’t it? You’re not…you’re not going to make me eat that, are you?” “I’m not going to feed you a single bite,” Pig Face answered as he fished around in his pocket. When he pulled out a syringe, he added, “You’re going to eat everything I put in front of you though.” “No! No, you can’t make me! I swore I’d never touch a piece of meat ever again,” Adrienne squealed, struggling fruitlessly against her restraints. “Please, I’ll eat anything you want, just not meat! Cake, ice cream, whatever—just none of this!” “I don’t see why you’d be so against this. After all, you led so many lambs to the slaughter yourself, didn’t you?” asked her captor as he tapped the needle and flicked drops of the yellow liquid inside onto Adrienne’s thigh. “You’re an absolute carnivore inside, but of the social kind; you devour the innocent and meek for your own satisfaction. What does it matter if you don’t eat any cooked meat? You already glut yourself plenty on the good people of this town.” Despite her best efforts, Adrienne could not free herself before Pig Face jabbed her in the neck with the syringe, filling her body with whatever was inside. Her heart rate, already beating a mile a minute, skyrocketed to the point that she thought it might pop. Sweat beaded on her brow and her lips felt dry as a bone as she felt the poison in the syringe course through her body. It was as sweet a drug as any, but like any high, it came with a terrible feeling—this time, one of hunger. What had once been disgusting now seemed absolutely tantalizing, and even though she tried to remind herself of the trauma those animals had suffered in being prepared for eating, Adrienne’s mouth watered at the aromas. There was a sweet maple scent that came from the sausages and bacon, garlic and herbs on the chicken, and a smoky tang wafting from the steak. She felt like vomiting mere moments prior, but as an unnatural hunger set in, all she wanted to do was eat the delectable dishes arranged for her. “Smells good, doesn’t it?” Pig Face asked as he watched Adrienne lick her lips. “There’s plenty more where that came from too—all you have to do is ask.” Adrienne tried to swallow the words, but they were caught in her throat and refused to go down. Instead, she looked up to her captor like a puppy and begged, “Please…please let me eat it.” A snort came from Pig Face as he asked, “Are you sure? After all, just think of what these animals went through to get here.” “I don’t care! I’ll eat a lamb’s brain if you have it—just let me eat!” Adrienne growled, foam bubbling at her lips. Her sense of decorum was lost as Pig Face cut her free from her restraints, and she tore a huge chunk from the steak as soon as she was loose. “One little piggy had roast beef,” the masked man sneered.

You're superb.

FANG, THE BIMBO WONDER - PART 3 When Krissy woke up the following morning, she reached for her allergy medication but found that it was not in its usual place on her nightstand. Curious, as it was the one thing she had been able to keep on top of as her attention waned over the last several weeks, and now she could not recall what happened with the bottle. If she tried jogging her memory, she might have remembered Wolf-Girl stopping by and promising to pick up a refill for her, but the only thing she remembered was the donut binge. Even then, the only way she was able to remember that was how the pink boxes still lined her floor and her laptop’s keyboard carried specks of glaze. “Like, whatever,” Krissy muttered to herself as she plodded to the bathroom. “Missy prob nabbed it ‘cause she’s billy like that. I’ll just, like, make a note for myself or something.” Fortunately for her mental state, the ditzy dame forgot all about her medication in a few minutes—one of the few perks of having the attention span of a gnat. Her mind drifted back to its usual malaise as she made her way downstairs for a late breakfast with her mother and sister, and she only remembered her lack of medication when she passed by her nightstand throughout the day. She promised herself each time that she would try looking for her medicine, only to inevitably forget and go about her day. Quitting anything cold turkey is not easy on the body, and that is doubly so for mind-altering drugs cooked up by a supervillain. As such, Krissy found the next few days to be absolutely unbearable as the gears started turning in her mind and her bottomless appetite began to run out. Having her cognitive faculties working properly for the first time in weeks gave her terrible headaches, and she alternated between eating like a beast to not eating at all. Francesca, oblivious to the real cause of her daughter’s ill health, chalked it up to her nonexistent allergies and gave her some medicine to help, but Claritin did nothing for the bulbous bimbo. The only thing that would help was being developed in the Wolf Den and was still a few weeks out from being ready. Then, on Friday morning, she woke up without pain or a growling stomach for the first time in days. Kristen rolled over onto her side with all the grace of a seal and gazed blearily at her cell phone to find that it was 6:30 AM—the earliest she had been up since June. She tried shutting her eyes again and going back to sleep, but her mind was already alert and ready to go, leaving her no choice but to roll out of bed. It was an act that seemed much more sluggish than she remembered, but she chalked that up to her being so tired. “Like, a jog oughta help,” Kristen mumbled to herself, ignorant to how little exercise she had done in the last several weeks. She blindly rummaged around for her shoes in the dark, then turned on her lamp when she failed to find them, but no amount of illumination would help her locate her sneakers. If she thought hard enough, she would remember that they were chucked out with a bunch of her old clothes that no longer fit or were not stylish enough. Such recall was still beyond the groggy girl however, and she decided to continue the search after she freshened up a little. The trip to the bathroom was awkward and clumsy, and Kristen nearly knocked over the ship in a bottle that sat on the hall table when she waddled past. On top of feeling off-balance, she felt like there was some heavy weight on her, like she was wearing a bunch of weighted clothes for training. Perhaps she had a fever sapping her strength, but since a quick forehead test revealed no sign of issues, she continued her trek to the bathroom for a thermometer in addition to water. It would be a shame to be sick so early into her summer break, especially since she did not have Wolf Pack activities anymore. A few splashes of cold water on the face helped wake her up, even if she did find that her face was a little puffy to the touch. After drying off her face, Kristen turned to leave, only to freeze and check back in the mirror again to make sure she was not seeing things. Her reflection was supposed to have a sandy blonde bob, sharp cheeks, and a lean body hardened by years of training and vigilantism, but the girl that looked back at her could not have been any different. It started with her hair, which had been dyed a neon orange like some kind of ‘glow in the dark’ carrot and reminded her of the retro emo bands she liked in middle school. Those sharp cheeks were swallowed by jolly jowls that hid any definition and buried her chin under a thick ring of fat that quivered when she poked it. But her body…oh, her poor, poor body. Kristen started her career as the Fang with a gangly, scrawny body; by the time she graduated high school, she had become tight and toned with abs that could grate cheese. She would have gladly gone back to being a beansprout if it meant getting rid of all the flab that coated her muscles now. Her arms, which she loved to flaunt whenever she could, were so full of jiggly flab that when Kristen gave her bicep a flick, it took a few seconds to stop quivering. Those same abs that were on proud display each summer, had ballooned into a bubbly gut that was big enough to sit on the sink on in its own. Trembling with worry and panic, she ran her hands over her thighs in search of muscle but found only ample acreage of pliable pudge as she squeezed along the pillars of lard. She reluctantly continued her exploration by reaching back and grabbing a handful of her flabby booty, wincing when she realized that one cheek alone was more than both her hands could take. That only left one area left to explore—the part that she might have enjoyed if not for everything else. Kristen hated being so meager in the chest, as it often made people think she was a boy even on the occasions where she wore skirts and dresses. Part of her rivalry with Wolf-Girl was predicated on the fact that Tanisha had a hefty bosom and a modelesque physique while Kristen had a boyish charm about her. No one could call her boyish anymore though, now that her breasts had grown to the size of watermelons and gave her a mile of cleavage. To her amazement, the former vigilante found that they were quite heavy, to the point that she actually struggled to lift them up. It should have been a dream come true, but she found that it was little more than a nightmare. “Like, this doesn’t make any sense,” Kristen muttered to herself as she paced around the bathroom, heavy feet plodding along without her even realizing. “I was so not this thicc when I went to bed, so I don’t know WTF is going on and…wait, what am I saying?” Gawd, she sounded so much like her sister and mother in that moment, which was grody to the max—and she had to slap herself in the face when she realized she was thinking that way too. Kristen tried to jog her memory for some answer to all this, but even though she had regained some of her mental faculties, there were a good many still hidden in a thick fog in her mind. Little snippets of the past two months ran through her head, showcasing a summer spent lazing around and stuffing her face, but there was nothing concrete coming to her. “I’ve totes gotta call Will,” she decided. “Like, he’ll know what to do.” Before Kristen could go back to her room and grab her phone, her mother sleepily wandered up to the bathroom and blocked the door. Francesca yawned, “Krissy, girl, what are you doing stomping around so early? It’s, like, shaking the house.” “Sorry, Mom,” Kristen apologized, though she squirmed on the inside when her mom called her that nickname. “Like, I just couldn’t sleep, I guess.” “How about some breakfast?” Francesca asked, not waiting for an answer before waddling back down the hall. “You’re a growing girl, and you totally need to eat and keep your strength up.” She wanted to say no, but Kristen’s stomach betrayed her and let out a low rumble to signal its need for a heavy breakfast. With a sigh, the lardy girl nodded and followed after her mother, promising herself that she would make a beeline for the Wolf Den as soon as she ate; the last thing she needed was to stuff herself with even more calories that would go towards her hefty body. Unfortunately, a big plate of eggs, bacon, and French toast was just what the doctor ordered to help her back to sleep, and Kristen spent the next few hours back in bed a little heavier than when she woke up. *** The trip over to Doigt Lodge was an awkward and uncomfortable one, as it had been two months and almost 200 pounds since Kristen last rode her trusty scooter anywhere, but she was determined to do it rather than take the easy route. After spending the last two months in a haze, she needed something to keep her in the moment, and if shame in how soft and flabby she had become was it, then she would drive around the world if need be. Her body quaked and quivered in time with her puttering motor, and she attracted more than her share of attention with how much she bounced when she hit so much as a pebble. It was humiliating, but Kristen was willing to weather it if it meant staying cognizant of her predicament. That courage dipped when she arrived at Will’s home, as she knew the first person to greet her would be Julia Worthington—the caretaker of the house and the sharpest tongue in the world. She was able to pierce even the stoniest heart, having made some of the worst offenders in Cedar Oaks turn into simpering children with but a word. While she normally held back her biting tongue when it came to the Wolf Pack, she was not above ribbing the team, especially to prove a point. Kristen was not sure she could take a Worthington barb at that moment—not when she was still so unsure of what had happened to her and how uncomfortable everything felt. It felt like an eternity waiting for Julia to answer the door, and Kristen spent the entire time fidgeting with her clothes in an effort to get them to fit better. Finding out that her entire wardrobe had been swapped out for something much showier and trashier than she preferred was the third worst thing to happen that morning, and she did her best to scramble together an outfit that hid her abundant fluff. The best she could manage was tracksuit that still clung to her like white on rice and left a sliver of stomach exposed, but it was better than the booty shorts and tiny tank top she woke up in. Even though the dead heat of August beat down on her, she refused to unzip her top for a second, lest she show off the mammoth curves she had developed. Finally, the door opened and revealed the imposing figure of Julia Worthington, who looked more like a bodyguard than a caretaker. She was pushing 60 and had the wrinkles to prove it, but underneath her business blouse and slacks was a body that could still break people a fraction of her age. There was a brief moment—when her steely eyes peered over Kristen—that the curvy teen worried she was in for a tongue lashing, but it never came. Instead, the beleaguered Julia opened her arms and wrapped Kristen in a hug, sweat be damned. “I was wondering when you’d come back,” the older woman hummed in a matronly way. “Let’s get you on in and fix you something cool to drink, shall we?” “Really?” Kristen sniffled, happy to take the win but nervous all the same. “You’re not going to, like, make fun of me for getting all fat and junk?” Julia gave her a rare, warm smile and tapped the former sidekick on the nose as she answered, “I wouldn’t dream of it, dear. Now, I’ve got some words about that fashion sense of yours, but I’ll save that until we’ve got this whole mess sorted out.” God, she missed this place, and Kristen expressed that by wrapping Julia up in another hug—the only way she could express it without breaking into tears. The two ventured into the depths of Doigt Lodge, stopping by the kitchen to get a tall glass of water for Kristen, and made their way to the hidden elevator behind the fire place in the den. The lift brought them down to the caverns beneath William’s ancestral home, where he had established his crimefighting base of operations many years ago. Though the team had changed several times over the years and trophies of battles past were added or lost with time, it still felt like home. Seated in front of a row of monitors was the Wolf himself, tirelessly pouring over research that made little sense to Kristen, even if she had been in her right state of mind. It was only when Julia announced her presence with a cough that he realized he was not alone, and when he turned to greet them, he had the same elated face Kristen’s father did whenever he returned from a business trip. This time, she could not hold back the tears as she trotted over to her mentor and hugged him so tight that he would need a crowbar to remove her. Not that he did, as William patted her on the back and rocked her gently as the anxiety she had been feeling all morning was released. “It’s all right, Kristen, it’s all right,” he consoled her, patting her head as she cried into his shirt. “We’re going to figure this out together—the whole Pack.” It took a bit for Kristen to compose herself, but the trio eventually sat down to look over the Wolf’s notes as he explained everything: how he had Phil drop by to check in on her, how he had other members of the team searching for Gargoyle, and how he had Tanisha swipe the last of the drugs so he could analyze them. William was already an expert chemist, and years of dealing with the likes of Mr. Friendly, Rafflesia, and the Gargoyle made him a genius in the field. Though he was still breaking down the drugs that Tanisha swiped, he was close to finding something that could counteract the effects. “The only other option would be to let them run out of your system, but I don’t want to make you wait longer than you need to,” William explained. “While we’re working this out and tracking down the Gargoyle, I’ve thought of some ways we can ease you back into things.” “Like, I get to be back on the team? That’s aces!” Kristen cheered before sitting back down and clearing her throat. “I mean…that’s great, if you’ll have me.” William chuckled and answered, “You can come by the Den whenever you’re able, and we’ll work on some mental and physical exercises to help counteract whatever these pills did to you. We can’t risk you going back out in the field any time soon, but we’ll use this time until you go back to school to get you closer to get you back to normal.” “But more than anything, we want you to enjoy the rest of your summer break, love,” Julia added. “I know this is a lot for you right now, but don’t let this weigh down on you; we’re going to make sure you’re taken care of.” Kristen nodded and sniffled back a fresh batch of tears. There were rumors, jokes, and debates made about how heartless and cold the Wolf Pack were, but if they could only see how supportive they were behind closed doors, folks would be singing a different tune. She gave her mentors a smile and replied, “I’ll do my best. Like, more than anything, I just wish I didn’t sound like my sister.” *** Adjusting to life after coming off the Gargoyle’s drugs was not easy, even though Kristen was doing everything she could to recover. All the tests William and Julia had her run were bound to help her, but each day ended with her completely exhausted in body and mind. At least her taste in music and movies was coming back to her, and she could finally get around to watching some of the independent films that had released over the last few months. Things were starting to get back to normal, slowly but surely, and while she was happy about that, there were some things she would miss. “Krissy? Like, aren’t you going to watch ‘This Is Them’ with us tonight?” Francesca asked as she poked her head into her daughter’s room. “Can’t, Mom,” Kristen answered as she held up a book and fibbed, “I need to catch up on some summer reading I totally forgot about.” Her mother grew solemn at that but nodded and replied, “Okay, well, I’ll make sure to save it so, like, you can watch it whenever.” That was so unlike her mother, who normally tried harder to get her to join in on stuff. Kristen wiggled into a sitting position and asked, “Everything okay, Mom?” Francesca bit her lip as she tried to find the right answer before finally answering, “I’m fine, sweetie. It’s just, like, we’ve had so much fun this summer, and I start to think about how you’re going off to school soon and…ugh, gag me with a spoon, I’m not good at this.” Kristen could have slapped herself at that moment. Once the fog cleared from her mind and she found out how much time she had been spending with her mother and sister over the summer, she retreated back to her comfort zone and pretended she was above all that. But it was not so easy to forget how much fun she had with them, especially when even Missy asked if she would join in on shopping or watching a movie. Julia had said that she should enjoy the last few weeks at home before she left for university; she could afford to stomach another night of soap operas if it meant snacking and laughing with her family. “You know what? This book is billy anyway,” Kristen hummed as she set the novel down. “I’d love to join in, just so long as you’ve got the popcorn.” Before they could enjoy the show though, Missy called out from the den, “Oh, bogus! Special news bulletins are so lame. ‘Villain alert’, my ass.”

It's a fate worse than death for girls like this.

That's the general idea with the serum. It heightens sensations to a painful degree, where you would do anything to make it stop. And he was quoting the Book of Revelations at the end - specifically the part that references the Whore of Babylon. But whoever or whatever he is will come up before long...

CHAPTER 4 Marilyn’s feet were frozen in place when she saw the pig-faced killer standing over her boyfriend’s body, but they came unglued the second he pointed his mallet at her. She turned to run, a bloodcurdling shriek peeling out of her lips, but the murderer ran her down like a wild boar and pinned her to the grin. Kick and scream all she wanted, there was no way she was going to shift a man who was twice her weight and built like a freight train. “Hold still, Jezebel,” the man growled as he grappled with the struggling Marilyn. “You don’t get the hammer—that would be too quick for the likes of you.” “Let me go! Let me go!” Marilyn squealed, pawing at her assailant to no avail. “Take whatever you want from the house, just let me go! I won’t say anything to the police or anybody!” “I know you won’t. After tonight, you won’t say anything ever again,” the man sneered behind his porcine mask as he dropped the mallet and pulled a syringe from his pocket. Before Marilyn could do anything, the man jammed the syringe into her neck and forced the yellow contents into her jugular. Her screams were cut off as she took a sharp gasp of air and her pupils went wide as dinner plates before shrinking to a pinpoint. Any thoughts of fight or flight vanished from her brain as every synapse became devoted to one thing and one thing only—eating. Ignoring how she had a light dinner before cuddling up with Troy, her brain was tricked into thinking that she had not eaten in days and was just about to collapse. “God…so hungry,” Marilyn groaned. She looked up to the pig-faced man with pleading eyes and whimpered, “What did you do to me? Why am I so hungry now?” “Because you’re as greedy as the Whore of Babylon,” the man answered as he stood up and allowed Marilyn to go free. “By now, you’d probably eat your pet fish to sate that appetite of yours, but I wouldn’t damn an innocent creature like that. No, you’ve got plenty of food down here.” He gestured back to the kitchen table, where Marilyn found that all the contents of the fridge had been left out. Deli meat, last night’s lasagna, even the fresh carton of eggs that her mother had picked up just the morning—nothing was left untouched. Not a single thing had been prepared: no sandwiches made with the deli meat, nothing toasted or fried, and even the beverages still sat in their jugs. And yet, despite how inelegant the whole affair was, it looked like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter dinner all rolled into one feast for the starving Marilyn. “It all looks so good,” she muttered to herself as she stumbled towards the table, sidestepping Troy’s body as if it was a puddle in the street. “I don’t know even know where to start.” Her decision was made for her when the masked man came from behind and brought an apple to her lips, which Marilyn bit into without a second’s thought. A lusty groan came from her lips and her eyes rolled back in her head as the sweet juices trickled down her throat, sparking a tingling deep in her body that she only ever felt when she was with one of the dumb brutes at school. She ripped the apple out of the man’s hand and tore it to pieces, wolfing it down until it was no more than stems and seeds. “And now, it begins,” the pig-faced man grunted as he watched Marilyn all but throw herself on the table and take a giant bite out of a loaf of bread. “You’ll do anything to quell the beast that dwells inside you, but such hedonism comes at a heavy price—one you’ll pay before long.” Marilyn was too far gone to hear him, stuffing as much as she could fit in her mouth and filling it again as soon as she made space for more. She had never been so hungry before in her entire life: it was so strong inside her that it actually hurt, and she worried that if she stopped, her stomach would cave in on itself. As fast as she ate, the chasm in her belly never seemed any fuller; even when she ate more than she would in a week, it still begged for more. But that was not the only thing aching to be filled, as her thighs feverishly squirmed against each other to quell and stimulate her thirsty sex. Ever since she learned how to play men like a fiddle, Marilyn had used her body to get whatever she wanted—jewelry, dresses, and even a sports car. Some of her meal tickets were good in the sack, like Father Jager, but none ever really managed to bring her over the edge like she wanted. She always had to put on an act of enjoying it, and considering some of the lummoxes she had been with, she felt like she deserved an Oscar for her performances. But this feeling that sparked inside her as she forced hundreds of calories down her throat, was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Was this what was missing from her life? Like all highs though, it had to come down at some point, and this crash came when Marilyn heard a tear between her legs. Her eating slowed, though never stopped, as she looked down at her quivering thighs and realized that they were quivering for a whole different reason than her bottled lust. Pale, pasty, pudge peeked out of little holes that ran up her jeans, opened by the friction of her thick thighs squirming against each other. That she was tearing through her clothes was troubling enough, but what made it more unnerving was that she was not this thick when the evening started. She was burdened with her mother’s genes and any weight favored her lower body, but she had put on more weight in the last few minutes than she had in the last few years. “Why ish thish haffening?” Marilyn whined around a mouthful of cold lasagna, sauce speckling her chin as she crammed as much as past her lips as she could manage. “Why can’d I shdop?” The pig-faced man watching from afar sneered at her, “If you bothered to listen in school, you’d know how addictive drugs can be—and you’ve got one of the most potent poisons coursing through your system right now. You couldn’t stop now, even if you wanted to.” “I do! I do wanna shtop!” Marilyn screamed before a can of soda turned her panic into arousal. “Not from what I hear,” the man grunted. “Right now, your brain doesn’t know what to think; it’s all a bunch of mush oozing in one direction. You’re operating on primal instincts right now and, slut that you are, feeding and fucking is one in the same right now. A shame that your friend’s death couldn’t be as pleasant.” Marilyn thought back to what she saw on the news earlier that afternoon and whimpered as she recalled Heather being carried out of the mall, the sheet draped over her corpse unable to hide just how bloated she had become. Was that her fate—to eat until her heart could not take another bite? It was a grotesque possibility, and even though she willed every muscle in her body to fight back, it seemed that she was destined for it. With nothing to do but eat and push against the tremors rumbling through her body, Marilyn could only watch as the bombardment of calories wreaked havoc on her once slender physique. Her blouse became tight around the middle, gaps forming between the buttons as her flat stomach bloated into a gooey belly, but she could do nothing to give herself some relief. More tears formed on her jeans until they became one long, burst seam that ran from her aching crotch to her knees, allowing her flabby thighs to thrash against each other with ease. She heard another rip behind her, and the incapacitated girl could only groan as she realized her ass was making its own escape. The table was nearly empty by the time she popped the button on her jeans, which gave her a faint glimmer of hope before her heavy gut made its presence known with a snarling growl. There was no way she could still be hungry after clearing out half her kitchen, but she realized that for all she had eaten, she was nowhere close to feeling full. More than that, she still felt like she was climbing that wave of pleasure and had yet to reach the crest, which promised the only real climax of her life. It made her sick to think, but she still needed to feed these base desires; she just prayed that she could stop before she met her end. Finally, after dumping a can of tuna down her gullet, she rested her immense backside against the table and groaned in painful pleasure. Marilyn’s breath was hot and heavy as she did her best to compose herself in that fleeting moment of control, and she ran her fingers over the swell of her stomach. It was a flabby mound of goo that drooped down from her waist like a teardrop and obscured her crotch—not that anyone could see that anyway, considering how rotund her thighs had become. Her legs had started out thick and round, but as more and more weight piled on them, the accumulated blubber collapsed on itself into a pile of cellulite-pocked rolls that flopped over her encumbered knees and ran down to thick cankles. In the cruelest twist of fate she could imagine, Marilyn ran a hand over her breasts—still encased in her padded bra—had barely grown at all. The only reason her bra had gotten tight was because of fat building up elsewhere; she remained the same A-cup she was when she waddled into the kitchen. And yet, when she cupped her breasts and weighed them in her hands, a shock ran down her spine and she nearly lost her footing. Her sensitivity had skyrocketed since that needle was plunged into her neck, and she longed for someone—even that pig-faced bastard—to touch her where it mattered. In fact, she had not seen Pig Face in some time, having lost track of him around when she tore through a frozen pizza that was barely thawed. She glanced around like a gazelle searching for a lion in the grass, but there was no sign of her attacker to be found. Perhaps he left her under the impression that she would choke to death on her food or her heart would stop in the middle of her meal. If that was the case, she needed to use this moment of clarity to get help—and maybe get some food on the way to a hospital or police station. The portly Marilyn waddled out of her kitchen and nearly made it to the front door, only for Pig Face to lunge out from around the corner and grab hold of her. She shrieked as though she had been branded with a hot iron, “Please, let me go! I’m so fat already—what more do you want?” “You think this is fat?” asked Pig Face as he grabbed a thick love handle and wobbled it so fiercely that Marilyn thought he would tear it off. “You’re not even half Heather’s size yet, and I know how much you two loved to compare with each other. Besides, I’ve got something in the den that I think you’re really going to love.” She tried to get out of his grasp, but the masked man had a vice-like grip on her arm as he led her down the hall and into the den, where a large pile of groceries had been dumped unceremoniously on the ground. Marilyn recoiled at the sight and yanked as hard as she could, but Pig Face refused to let her go—until she was caught in a new kind of trap. While he was able to walk through the doorway just fine, Pig Face was jarred when Marilyn froze behind him, her hips caught in between the doorway and wedged like a cork. It was almost comical, seeing her fat swell out around her as she struggled to get free, but no one was laughing. Pig Face glowered at her from behind his mask and he cocked his head to the side as he remarked, “Guess these old doorways are smaller than the ones used today. Well, we can work with this—can’t let this food go to waste, after all.” “No, please! I’ll give you anything you want,” Marilyn sobbed, hot tears running down chubby cheeks as she pleaded with her captor while trying to wrench her fat hips through the narrow doorway. “My dad’s one of the richest men in the city—you can take whatever you want from the safe! I’ve got thousands of dollars in jewelry upstairs! I…I’ll even let you fuck me! I’ll do whatever you want—head, up the ass, anything! Just please, please don’t kill me!” Unmoved by his plump prisoner, Pig Face scooped up a bag of cookies from the floor and hissed, “Is that your answer to everything? You’d screw your own father if it meant getting out of trouble, I bet. But I’m not so easily swayed by your promises.” Marilyn hiccupped in her fear and whimpered, “Please…no more food.” “‘And there came one of the seven angels which had the seven vials, and talked to me, saying unto me, Come hither; I will shew unto thee the judgment of the great whore that sitteth upon many waters: with whom the kings of the earth have committed fornication, and the inhabitants of the earth have been made ** with the wine of her fornication,’” the man recited as he gathered more food into his arms and set them upon a side table near Marilyn. When she realized that her pleas mattered not to Pig Face, the trapped girl sobbed quietly and fidgeted as best she could in the doorway, her hunger and lust forgotten in abject terror. Her captor continued, “‘So he carried me away in the spirit into the wilderness: and I saw a woman sit upon a scarlet colored beast, full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns. And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet color, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornication.’” The burly man disappeared from sight for a moment, and Marilyn dug her fingers between her pillowy fat and the wall to give herself leverage. She very nearly got free before Pig Face returned with a familiar bottle of liquor in his hand. He waggled it in front of her and finished, “‘And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus: and when I saw her, I wondered with great admiration.’” “I don’t want to drink,” Marilyn sniveled, her face a mess of tears, snot, and streaking makeup. “Oh, this isn’t for you to drink,” Pig Face retorted as he knelt down in front of her, disappearing under the hang of her belly. “Do what you do best and spread your legs.” *** Jamie and Adrienne drove as fast they could to Marilyn’s place, but even with the latter’s sports car, Marilyn lived the furthest out from the group. It took the better part of a half-hour before they finally pulled up to her Colonial home, and at first glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Troy’s pickup truck was still parked in the driveway, there were several lights on, and the front door was shut—nothing unusual. It was that sense of normalcy that made Jamie’s blood run cold, and she clutched her purse tight as she climbed out of the car. “Are you crazy? What if Pig Face is already in there?” Adrienne whispered, her fingers glued to the steering wheel. “You could be walking into a trap!” “Maybe, but we need to take that chance,” Jamie answered before marching to the front door. “If Marilyn’s still okay, we need to get her somewhere Pig Face can’t find her.” When she reached the front door, the headstrong girl froze as she realized that it was not shut all the way—it was left ajar by a hair’s breadth. It was possible that Troy and Marilyn left it open by accident, but knowing how much that girl liked to fool around, Jamie knew that she kept the door locked as much as possible. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Jamie nudged the door open and called out, “Marilyn? It’s Jamie—are you here?” No answer, and while she could have been upstairs, Jamie felt a heavy weight forming in her stomach. She crept through the old house, each squeak in the floorboard sending goosebumps up her arm, and hesitated around every corner as she searched for Marilyn. Her breath was frozen in her lungs until she made her way back to the den, and then it came out in a shriek that could be heard from outside. There, stuck in the doorway, was Marilyn Lovett—all four hundred pounds of her. The formerly slender girl had grown so wide that her hips actually cracked the doorframe, but she was wedged from her knees to her stomach. Arms as big as barley sacks hung limp and useless in front of her, and her breasts could only be distinguished from the rolls of her belly by her rosy nipples. That belly, once slight enough that it was almost concave, had grown into a heavy mass that sagged down her thighs like a cascade of blubber and split into a cleft at the bottom. Shapely thighs were now immense sacks of lard that looked almost like stacks of pancakes, hiding her knees from view and merging with chunky calves to create a tower of tonnage. She was not the globular mess that Heather had become, but Marilyn was still a corpulent caricature of herself. In amongst all that heavy, sagging weight was the same petrified look that was on Heather’s face—eyes bulging and bloodshot, cheeks pale, and foam at the corner of her lips. Scattered all around her were remnants of food, empty containers, and a broken bottle of tequila at her feet. Most haunting of all was a message scrawled in ketchup on the wall beside Marilyn. ‘MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH.’ As she stood transfixed at Marilyn’s body, Jamie heard Adrienne’s car rev up outside and she bolted for the front door. She reached the entrance just in time to see her companion grappling for control of her car with a man in ratty clothes and a pigskin mask. Jamie shrieked and ran to assist Adrienne, but fighting over the car led to Adrienne slamming her foot on the gas and squealing up the front porch—straight at Jamie. There was only a second for Jamie to get back inside, and she threw herself past the door just as the Camaro jumped the porch and slammed into the front of the house. Jamie spun around on the floor and watched in mute horror as Pig Face wrenched Adrienne out of the car. She reached out a hand to her companion before the shock of everything overtook her and she fainted into oblivion…

You're going to have to be a lot more specific. There are tons of stories with that same basic concept.

((Sorry for the delay, folks, but the last couple of days have had me laid up with medical issues. As thanks for your patience, I present the next chapter in the ever-ditzier Fang's adventures!)) FANG, THE BIMBO WONDER - PART 2 On her mother and sister’s suggestion that she start upping her dosage of allergy medication, Krissy took twice the recommended dose the following day in hopes of kicking her supposed allergies to the curb. When she did not see any results by the end of the day, she decided that twice the daily dose was not enough—it had to be three times as much to fight these nasty allergies. If she were in a clear state of mind, she would have realized that this was nowhere near as helpful as she thought, nor would allergy medication fight a summer cold. Alas, Krissy was far from a clear state of mind, and with the tripled dose of Gargoyle’s mind-altering meds, she only slipped further into a haze. It began with a jump in her appetite, which was no slouch to begin with but became even worse when the ditzy girl increased her medication. While she ate plenty before, she was now so hungry that she ate almost the whole day long, even waking up in the middle of the night for a ‘snack’ that would have once constituted a whole lunch for herself. Krissy could plow through an entire pack of S’moreos and still have room for one of her mother’s hearty meals; even that plus dessert proved to not be strong enough, as she would only wind up getting another snack after dinner too. Her belly was greedy before, but the former vigilante had become a veritable black hole in record time. Of course, that void was not limited to her stomach, as Krissy’s attention span and deep thinking took a hard hit as well. While she was ultimately as smart as she was before, she found it much easier to just let her mind mellow rather than strain itself. Why bother keeping track of all those useless formulas and algorithms she learned in math class when there was no useful application for them in her day to day life? Why watch some boring movie that used metaphors and subtlety when she could watch something that was shallow as a kiddie pool? Even her taste in music changed, drifting away from somber melodies from poetic songwriters to bubblegum pop that topped the charts. These were all huge red flags, but Krissy found herself unable to care about her rapidly changing tastes in everything. A huge reason for that sense of ease was that she was getting along with her mother and sister for the first time in a long while. Though Krissy never had the same vitriolic relationship with Missy that she had with Francesca, it became harder for mother and daughter to relate to each other as Krissy developed tastes in hobbies that Francesca never saw the appeal in. She loved her daughter, really, but their tastes were simply the opposite of each other. That all seemed to be a part of the past now, as Krissy eagerly joined in at mealtime, movie time, and shopping time. With such a warm pair of unintentional enablers, it was far too easy for Krissy to let go of the past and embrace this new lifestyle. No longer asking questions meant that everything someone told her made sense, as it was easier than accepting a hard, bitter truth. If she could not make a decision in time, it was just because she had a lot on her mind; if she outgrew another pair of jeans, it was just because she was going through a late growth spurt. Her mother had an answer for everything, which seemed good in the moment for the ditzy girl but led to consequences she failed to consider. One of those moments came when the Laree women went out to lunch at their favorite sandwich shop and, while Francesca and Missy chose their sizeable meals with ease, Krissy was left staring blankly at the menu. She could read just fine—the problem was that everything looked too good for the thickening girl. Did she want the BBQ Cuban, the meatball, or the steak and cheese? And for that matter, what side should she get: loaded potato soup, chili, or mac and cheese? Even dessert was a conundrum, since there were three different kinds of cookies and even brownies to consider! With so many decisions to make, how was one girl expected to make up her mind so quickly? “Ma’am, I don’t want to rush you, but we do have a line building up,” the cashier reminded Krissy, doing his best not to chew out the heavyset bimbo or stare at her ample cleavage. “Like, gimme a sec, ‘kay? S’not my fault you’ve got so many good eats,” Krissy huffed before returning her attention to the menu. The reception behind the Larees was not much better, as people tapped their feet and checked their watches to see how much longer this would take. One of the customers, an old woman, shook her head at how much skin Krissy was showing off in her low-rise jeans and top that was little more than a handkerchief. Of course, considering that the mother looked like that Drescher hussy and the older sister was oozing out of a tiny track suit, it was no wonder the girl was allowed to walk around in such a tacky outfit. With how much pork that ditzy girl was packing, getting lunch should have been the last thing on her mind. “Krissy, hon, just pick whatever you want,” Francesca told her daughter. “Anything you can’t finish, we’ll just, like, bring home for dinner!” “All right, all right,” Krissy sighed, tired of being pushed around. She told the cashier, “Like, could I get a large BBQ Cuban, large steak and cheese, a cup of the mac and cheese, cup of chili, and a chocolate chip cookie, oatmeal cookie, peanut butter cookie and brownie?” The cashier fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead asked, “You want to make those sandwiches combos? They come with chips and a drink.” Unfortunately, that just started the cycle of studying all over again, as Krissy had forgotten all about chips. It took Missy picking out chips for her to break the pattern, and while Krissy initially whined about not getting to choose, she had to admit that her sister had good taste. From there, the Laree women gorged on their ample lunches, filling their bellies to the brim—with the exception of Krissy, who wolfed down her lunch in full and still felt peckish. Thankfully for everyone else in the restaurant, she was too lazy to go back up in line and order something, so her mother made do by buying a bag of pretzels and chips at the gas station on the way back. Of course, it was not just her general emptyheaded behavior that caused trouble for the poor porker. Much as she tried to spin her new body as thick, womanly, and voluptuous, she failed to keep in mind just how awkward it was to be dealing with curves four times what she was used to. It would have been one thing if she had grown into them over time, perhaps over the course of her college career, but getting so hourglassy over the span of two months left her struggling. Krissy grew used to constantly upgrading her wardrobe, especially since it gave her a chance to visit the mall, but there were little things that proved a hassle. She had to watch how she walked, lest she bump into things or people, and be mindful of small chairs—one of which she found herself wedged in near the tail end of July. They were at the Arboretum—Missy’s favorite theater since they always gave slightly bigger snacks—to see the latest romcom, something Krissy abhorred until recently. It was such a sweet and adorable movie though, and she found herself wondering why she ever preferred those old, boring movies that took forever to get to the point. When the boy finally got the girl in the end and they kissed under the Paris lights, Krissy actually had to borrow a tissue from her mother to wipe away the tears that streaked down her chubby cheeks. Unfortunately, that was where the fun ended, as she noticed something when she tried to get up from her seat. “WTF?” Krissy asked aloud as she tried to extract herself from her seat. No matter how much she wriggled around though, the bloated girl found herself wedged between the arms. “Mom, can you give me a hand? This biznitch is tight as a mofo.” “Language, Krissy,” Francesca chided her daughter. “Like, I can see if that cute little usher could help get you out.” “Ch’yeah, right,” Missy snorted. “Bet chegs is acting all billy just so her mon comes running, shining armor-like.” Krissy crossed her arms under her heavy chest, soccer ball breasts pushed up and out, and grunted, “Whatevs, Missy. You’re just jelly that he was totally checking me out when I was getting my popcorn. Like, can’t blame him for having taste.” Missy’s piggish nostrils flared at that and she stomped over to her baby sister like an angry cow, only to grab hold of Krissy’s arm rests and lift them up as intended. She sneered, “There—guess your meet-cute is aces now, chegs. Swear you’re getting mad empty up top.” Francesca flicked her oldest daughter on the head and chided her, “Grow up, Missy. Your sister, like, just has a lot on her plate right now. And maybe they were just, like, sticky for her—right, Krissy?” Krissy mumbled something in agreement but the blush on her cheeks said otherwise. She could not believe that she had forgotten how the arm rests folded up at this theater! Thank goodness her sister was so clever, otherwise she would have looked like a complete fool in front of that hunky usher. Maybe there was some truth to what Missy said, but any thoughts that something was wrong were dashed when she smelled fresh popcorn at the snack stand. The former vigilante waddled out of the theater while munching on a full bag, glad she thought ahead to order the extra large with free refills. She was so smart sometimes! *** To say that Tanisha Dillard and Kristen Laree never got along would be an understatement. While they were both legacy heroes—Tanisha being the third Wolf-Girl and Kristen being the sixth Fang—that was all they had in common. Kristen was a tomboy through and through, while Tanisha reveled in being a diva; where Kristen tried to be practical and sensible, Tanisha lived lavishly and loudly. When they fought crime, Kristen preferred to let her fists do the thinking while Tanisha held back to better analyze the situation, which irritated the hotheaded Fang to no end. They bickered constantly, going back and forth with barbs about the other until their mentors inevitably put their foot down. That was why it was so strange to see Tanisha, garbed in her white and indigo uniform, climbing up to Krissy’s bedroom window. The overfed undergrad was snuggled up in a beanbag chair that she was starting to outgrow, watching a saucy video from her favorite make-up YouTuber, when she was alerted to the vigilante right outside. Her eyes went wide and she tried to get up from her comfy seat, but there was no hope of escaping in time before her least favorite member of the Wolf Pack crept in. “Relax, relax, I’m not here to be a bitch,” Tanisha told Krissy as she cracked the window open. “I’m just checking in on everyone since I got back into town, and Phil told me about what happened with you and the big guy. How are you holding up?” “Just chillin’ like a villain,” Krissy replied, settling back into her chair since there was no way she would be able to thwart her intruder. She popped a piece of caramel corn in her mouth and asked, “Like, how were things in Arabia?” “Aruba, you mean,” Tanisha corrected her fellow sidekick while climbing in her room. She carried a small duffel bag with her, which she set gently on the floor before slipping in completely. “But it was good—feels great to step away from crimefighting now and then, you know?” “Totes. What’s in the bag?” asked a curious Krissy, eyes darting from her laptop to the satchel, from which emanated a delectable aroma. Once she dusted off her costume, Tanisha opened the bag to reveal a few boxes of donuts from Duncan’s Donuts—the best spot in Cedar Oaks. She cracked open one of the boxes and answered, “I figured it’s been a while since we caught up, so I brought us some snacks. Want some?” “OMG, yas,” Krissy snorted, much like her older sister. She reached her greedy fingers into the box, pulled two of the glazed delights, and crammed one in her mouth in the blink of an eye. A giggle came from her lips as she remarked, “Like, these are so bad for me, but a little jelly never hurt nobody.” “Amen, sister,” Tanisha replied as she set the box next to Krissy. “Besides, you’re looking good for being benched. Been working out on the side?” Krissy rolled her eyes and swallowed just enough donut to be able to answer, “Ugh, no way. I’m, like, so done with exercise; sweating is so not fetch. Besides, this is my last summer break before I go to college, so, like, why waste time working out when I could relax?” If only the formerly fit vigilante could see the damage her relaxing had done, she might have been singing a different tune, but Tanisha was not about to break the illusion. The Wolf-Girl was too mesmerized by how her rival had grown over the last two months, developing curves that dwarfed her own and looking more like the Venus of Willendorf than Fang, the Girl Wonder. It did not help that she was clad in very simple clothes—a tank top that exposed a mile of cleavage and shorts that might as well have been bikini briefs on her hips. There was so much tan skin on display, and Tanisha could not help but lick her lips as she watched it quiver when Krissy shifted around. “Like, what were we talking about?” asked the dazed ditz as she licked her fingers clean, which only served to distract Tanisha further. When she finally snapped out of her trance, Tanisha answered, “You were asking me if I had any more donuts! Good thing I brought extras, just in case that little box wasn’t enough.” Krissy should have been full by that point, but between not paying attention to how much she ate and the smell of donuts, she could not resist. She wiggled her hands at Tanisha, who offered the box to her without a second’s thought, and squealed, “These are totes delish, but I should really, like, cut back. Can you believe that I got stuck in a chair the other day? So embarrassing.” Anyone with eyes could believe that the bloated bimbo had gotten wedged in a chair, since those hips of hers kept her hands from resting at her side. Tanisha never thought she would say this, but she actually missed being around Krissy—she would have loved to have seen all that blubber wobbling around, especially if she tried to squeeze into her uniform. It was so easy to watch the once athletic girl eat herself further into obesity, but the still active sidekick remembered that she had a job to do outside of distracting Krissy. “I can’t get over how good you look, Kristen,” Tanisha told her former rival, only playing it up a little. “You’re the picture of health—what’s your secret?” “I ‘unno,” Krissy grunted around a mouthful of fried dough. “I’ve got these allergy meds that are aces; I should’ve tried them years ago.” Tanisha managed to tear her gaze away from the ribbon of belly flab peeking out of Krissy’s tank top and glanced around for signs of these pills. She scanned the room until her eyes fell on an orange prescription bottle and she asked, “The ones on your nightstand?” “Ch’yeah,” Krissy answered, too caught up in her donuts to pay her guest much mind. “You should, like, get yourself some—your head will be clear like OMG!” “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Tanisha muttered under her breath. If the pills did what she thought they did, she imagined that the former Fang’s head was plenty clear. She picked up the bottle and peered in to find that there were only a few pills left, which gave her a good idea of how to sneak them out. “Y’know, you’re almost out. Want me to stop by the pharmacy and pick up a refill?” Krissy nodded, unaware that Tanisha had no way of knowing what pharmacy she used. “That’d be tubular, Tanni. Could you pick up some chocolate while you’re there?” “Of course,” the Wolf-Girl fibbed. Much as she would have loved to seen how much Krissy could put away, she had places to be and mysteries to solve—chief of which being what happened to her rival. “I’ll be back a little later, ‘kay?” “’Kay,” Krissy answered, scarfing down the last donut in the box before peering into Tanisha’s bag and spying the other boxes. She nibbled at her lip and she looked to her fellow hero for approval, which she received with a light nod. “Have as much as you want, Kristen,” Tanisha said with a small smile. “After all, a few donuts can’t do much harm.” A few donuts, no, but this was not a few donuts—a few dozen was more accurate. Tanisha ducked out the window to a chorus of ravenous eating and porcine snorting, and she cursed herself for not setting up some kind of camera to monitor the situation in the room. But duty called, and much as she wanted to stay and watch the overfed girl eat herself out of those tight clothes, she needed to take care of this ‘allergy medication’. “Wolf, it’s me,” Wolf-Girl said through the comms in her cowl. “I stopped by Fang’s house and picked up some allergy meds she’s been taking—think we might have an answer on why she’s changed.” Her boss replied in his usual gravelly tone, “Good work. Head on back to the den and we’ll analyze the pills to see if we can’t find a way to counteract them.” She would never admit this out loud, but Tanisha almost wished they were not able to find a cure for whatever the Gargoyle had done to Kristen. Not that she really hated her rival, but seeing her looking like an overinflated blow-up doll was making her heart race something fierce…

It's criminal how there aren't more pig-based villains out there in pop culture. So consider this me doing my civic duty.

What a tweest! But we'll have to wait a minute yet to see who's behind the mask...

Thank you kindly! And I won't spoil who, but I will say this--whoever it is will be a vegetarian.

FINALE Graduation Day: a time for celebration and tearful goodbyes, where Nicole had seen many a friend off into the future. After four years of watching and cheering as her fellow Bruins walked the stage and got their diplomas, it was her and Ashton’s turns. First came Ashton’s ceremony for the School of Law, and Nicole had to fight the urge to break out an airhorn when her lover’s name was called out—though she did make sure to flash her ‘SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL H OOKER’ shirt as Ashton accepted her sheepskin. When it came time for Nicole’s ceremony and she waddled up to her professors, she was treated in turn to the entirety of the Bruins holding up a giant banner that read “HERE’S TO YOU, BUTTERBALL”. After tossing her cap in the air and making her way out of the stadium, Nicole was beset from all sides by friends, teammates, and family. Well-wishers gravitated towards her like satellites to a planet, giving her loving hugs, kisses, and pats on her generous belly, which stretched her graduation gown tight despite it being big enough to use as a bedsheet. The lardy girl, for her part, welcomed everyone with the same warm, wide embrace and had rivers of tears running down her cheeks the entire time. She knew that she would have to say goodbye at some point, but she could never have prepared for this. “I’m so, so proud of you, mija,” her mother, Mickey, told her as the two globular girls hugged each other as best they could. “State champion, MVP, and now a Bachelor of Science—is there anything my little girl can’t do?” “I’m your daughter, Mom—what do you think?” Nicole giggled through her tears. “I think the only thing I can’t do is wait to grab a bite.” The Valdezes all laughed at that and Mickey squeezed her daughter even tighter as she remarked, “You certainly are my girl. I never thought you’d follow in my footsteps quite like this, but let me say that you carry it very well—though I’m sure you’ve heard that plenty of times before.” “Oh, just a few,” Nicole slyly replied, thinking back to last night’s stuffing party with the Bruins and following romp with Ashton that nearly broke their bed. “But I’m not kidding about that bite. Can I please ditch this gown and go grab some grub?” “I think that’s more than doable, mija,” her father, Ray, answered before glancing over to his daughter’s other, thinner half. “Ashton, you’re more than welcome to come along if you want.” In the past, Ashton might have passed up the opportunity to eat with the Valdezes, as the temptation to gorge around Nicole and Mickey was so strong. Now that she had decided to embrace a more freeing lifestyle, there was nothing she wanted more. She eagerly nodded and replied, “I’d love to! The Trolley Stop has a new Cuban cheeseburger that I’ve been dying to try.” “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s do this,” Nicole declared, unzipping her gown and allowing her flabby belly to swell out a hair’s breadth further. It was hard to believe that there was ever a time it had been small, let alone flat, when her gargantuan gut fell almost to her knees. After the last four years of growing and learning to love that aspect of herself though, Nicole would have done it all over again if she had the chance. *** “First round’s up!” Trevor called out from his place at the grill. “I’ve got burgers and dogs ready to go—who’s hungry?” When it came to the big get-together for the Shady Brook gang, the better question was who was not hungry, as there were a good number of well-fed bellies growling in anticipation of a grilled banquet. It was to be their last ‘summer vacation’, as the old friends had all graduated and were ready to go out into the world but could not resist one last big blowout together. And it was quite the blowout, with everyone bringing along their significant others for a combined weight of 2.5 tons and requiring a good many chairs for their sizeable backsides. There was Danny and his Insta-influencer girlfriend, Tara, who had once been a slender waif before attempting a ‘fit to fat to fit’ challenge and failing miserably; Kristen and her partner, Carly, who looked like a proud farmer as she watched her Holstein girlfriend plow through plates of snacks; Rose and her lovers, Natasha and Fumiko, who waited on their blonde, bulbous beauty like handmaids; Lorelei and her romantic roommate, Paula, whose baked goodies helped swell the duo to a combined near-600 pounds; and Trevor and his partner, Orlando, whose rotund body hid the fact that they were once his superior on the swim team. It was a stark contrast to their last party when they graduated high school, but all these gains paled in comparison to the most headstrong member of the gang. Nicole was still the same boisterous and bombastic girl she was four years prior, but she was now so round that if she fell over, it would be easier to push her to her destination than help her up. There was not a single inch of her body that was not blanketed in fat, from chubby cheeks that pushed her lips into a permanent pucker to pudgy feet that ached if she stood for too long. She once had biceps that rivaled Trevor’s, but those muscles were now coated in pillowy fat—literally pillowy, as Ashton found herself dozing off on her girlfriend’s arm. Powerful legs that propelled her down the pitch were now so big around that she could only give an awkward waddle at best, swinging her fat thighs around in an effort to gain momentum. Put simply, she was insanely, ridiculously, ludicrously fat. And while she had plenty of competition, not a single one of the hefty heifers in attendance could match up to Nicole’s unbridled gluttony. Her natural appetite had exploded over the years, going from being able to eat a whole pizza in one sitting to eating three without breaking a sweat. It was a capacity that had earned her a blue ribbon at the county fair’s pie eating contest, which she still had framed and hanging in her and Ashton’s new apartment. She all but sucked up the food put in front of her, reducing a towering triple-decker cheeseburger to crumbs in just a few minutes and making an entire bowl of chips vanish down her gullet. Of course, the party was not just a chance for her to pig out—it was the last hurrah before her friends were scattered to the winds, wherever life took them next. And while they all admired each other’s gains, they were more focused on what their next steps would be now that they were free from school and athletics. Some had prestigious jobs ahead of them, like Kristen traveling to Europe to work for a designer, while others were still getting their foot in the door, like Trevor working as an apprentice for a construction crew. “So, so jealous, Kristen,” Tara remarked in between bites of a particularly creamy éclair. “I got a couple sponsorships with Delizioza, but you get to work at HQ? You’ve got to hook me up sometime!” “I don’t think I’ve got that kind of pull just yet, but don’t you worry—I’ve got you covered,” Kristen boasted before tucking into a slice of blueberry pie. “My goal is to finally start getting designer clothes out there for a girl my stature, starting with bras that don’t have to be custom-made.” Carly grinned and rubbed her girlfriend’s gothic belly as she teased, “But I love trying to take apart your tops—it’s like working on a sexy jigsaw puzzle.” Elsewhere, Rose did not have to lift a finger for food, as Natasha and Fumiko were more than happy to pop food in her mouth whenever she so desired. Anyone who knew the rotund girl from high school would have been shocked to see the weight-conscious dancer now so round that she took up almost three chairs on her own. Any sign of her old weight woes were nowhere to be found as she happily gobbled up whatever her lovers fed her, even letting out coos of delight at a tasty bite. “She’s come such a long way,” Lorelei remarked, forgetting her hot dog for a moment as she watched Rose wolf down her food. “Can’t believe that’s the same girl who almost starved herself with diet pills back in the day.” Paula nodded in agreement before feeding a fry to her jiggly girlfriend. “True, but who would have thought that one of the toughest girls on the derby team would go soft as a marshmallow?” Lorelei turned a fine pink but happily ate offered treat as she replied, “I blame my girlfriend, the best damn cook in the world.” And closer to the grill—and thus, the food—Nicole and Orlando were in an impromptu eating contest as their respective partners watched on with admiration. Ashton, herself no slouch in the culinary department, tucked into a cheeseburger and asked, “Nicky told me about this time you had to carry her over your shoulder before she could start a fight at school—still think you could do that?” “Hell no,” Trevor chuckled before he gestured to Orlando with his beer. “I can barely lift my own chunky monkey off the ground at this point; I’d probably throw my back out if I tried even that with Nicole. I don’t know what they’re serving at CFU, but looks like it’s done wonders for you two.” Ashton blushed at the compliment and stifled her embarrassment with a big bite of burger. With how she bulged out of her shorts and blouse, it was clear that she had embraced the bigger life one hundred percent, going past her highest weight from sophomore year and cresting 200 pounds. It would have been mortifying for her at one point to get that big, but with plenty of loving from Nicole and the team, she came around to the idea and was on the fast track to catching up with her lover. Eventually, Orlando had to throw in the towel, their appetite paling in comparison’s to Nicole’s boundless capacity. They rubbed their mammoth stomach and winced, “Okay, okay, I yield. And I thought I was the biggest pig in the state—you take it to a whole other level. Are there any more like you down at CFU, or are you just one in a million?” “Ain’t nobody bigger than me, but you gave it a good shot,” Nicole remarked with a cheeky grin. “If Trevor keeps feeding that cute belly of yours, you might get on my level, but I’m not slowing down any time soon.” *** After spending the week at home with her friends and taking Ashton to her first SummerShine festival—where the two gorged themselves on all the fried decadence the fair had to offer—it was time to return home to Cape Fear. The couple had gotten themselves a cozy apartment closer to downtown and tucked into a quiet complex, a far cry from their previous arrangements. There were no rowdy parties going on every other night, no yahoos careening through the grounds on golf carts, and no fireworks at 3 in the morning, but they would make the most of it. What mattered was that they had each other, and nothing was going to change that. The calm lifestyle took some time to get used to, but Nicole and Ashton found themselves getting into a routine pretty quickly. Ashton had gotten herself a job as an assistant paralegal for a law firm in town while Nicole applied for jobs here and there, though nothing ever seemed to take. With nothing to do but lounge around the apartment whenever her lover was at work, it should have been the perfect opportunity to gain even more weight, but Nicole found herself more listless than anything else. Eating and fattening up were fun, sure, but without the audience she used to have, she found it to be a little lackluster. As such, she often found herself slowing down her gaining for the first time in a year, with only a few pounds put on for the entirety of July. This listlessness was not unnoticed by Ashton, who decided to take matters into her own hands and devised a plan for one steamy August night. Nicole was out at the complex’s gym—nothing special when compared to the gym on campus—and returned to find the lights in the apartment dimmed. She called out, “Ash, you home?” “Come on in, Nicky,” her girlfriend called out from the depths of their dark den. “I’m just putting the finishing touches on before we sit down for dinner.” Nicole waddled over to their kitchen nook and was surprised to find a spread of her favorite spreads from all over town: barbeque from Midtown Smoke, burgers from Trolley Stop, and burritos from Flaming Amy; pizza from Old Forge, fried chicken from Pollo Real, and pasta from Trussardi’s. The apartment was filled with the most delectable aromas known to man, and Nicole could not help but drool at the sight of such a splendid feast. She had not been to any of her favorite spots in weeks in an effort to save money, so coming home to everything at once felt like an early Christmas. “Happy five year anniversary, Nicky,” Ashton cooed from the doorway to their bedroom. Turning as quick as her spherical body would allow, Nicole gawked at the sight of her girlfriend squeezed into a lacy shapewear that helped compact some of her pudge, but nothing could have made Ashton look thin again. Her thunder thighs jiggled like jelly as she attempted to sashay across the room with sensual grace, though she was getting too thick for that to happen naturally. If Nicole was not drooling before, she definitely was when she saw how tight the dress was in places, such that she could practically hear the threads straining. Her hands itched to grab hold of her lover, but there were too many good options for her to consider—as such, Ashton helped guide Nicole’s hands to her backside when she drew close. “Like what you see, Nicky?” the tattooed girl cooed, to which her rotund partner nodded like a child at Christmas. She leaned in close and whispered, “Then you’re going to love what happens when you pull the ribbon on my back.” Nicole fiddled around until she found a lace ribbon tied into a bow, which she undid as quickly as she could. No sooner had the knot come undone than Ashton expanded in her arms, the shapewear coming loose and allowing her curves to expand to their fullest. The tightest spots on the dress burst, allowing pale pudge to pop through, and those that remained were pushed to their limits by her wobbly curves. If Nicole still needed proof that Ashton was now on the fat track, this was it. “God, that feels good,” Ashton purred before slipping into her lover’s arms. “All my clothes are so tight these days, and I don’t know why. What do you think, Nicky?” Nicole’s mouth felt dry as she looked over the chubby girl in her arms and replied, “I…I think they fit just right. After all, a Fat Ash like you can’t help popping out of everything.” The two hummed in pleasure as they rocked in each other’s grasp, fat pressed against fat like lips in a tender kiss. Nicole broke the silence as she asked, “Is all this for me?” “For the both of us, greedy guts,” Ashton answered with a smirk. “I’ve decided that I don’t care what anyone thinks anymore—I’m done pretending I’m not just as much of a fat ass as you. So tonight, we’re going to take turns stuffing each other until we’re too full to think, much less move.” “That sounds pretty damn good to me,” Nicole cooed, her legs weak at the thought of being properly stuffed for the first time in ages. She nuzzled up against Ashton and sighed, “Thank you, Ashton. I know I haven’t been myself the last few weeks, but you always know how to make me smile.” The tattooed girl smiled at her lardy lover and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. “Only because you’d do the same for me, Nicky. You’re the best thing in my life, and I don’t know where I’d be without you; with you, I know that I’m going to live the fattest, happiest life anyone ever asked for.” Nicole sniffed back warm tears of joy before returning the kiss and telling her girlfriend, “Then we’d better get started before this gets cold. What do you say, Fat Ash?” “I say I’m going to make you pop tonight, Butterball,” Ashton purred as they walked to the table. The night ended with Nicole and Ashton on the couch like a pair of beached whales, too stuffed to do anything but cuddle in each other’s embrace. They were passed out in the mother of all food comas when Nicole received two texts: one from CFU about a teaching assistant position, and one from Bricktop about an opening for a coaching position on the team. ((And that's all, folks! This story has been an absolute joy to write, and I'm so glad you've all enjoyed it as much as I have. Let me know if you want to see more Nicole in the future, or if you want to see how any of her friends became butterballs in their own right!))

Thank you kindly!

CHAPTER 3 Rides home from the police station used to be silent affairs for Jamie and her parents, with them disappointed in her for making yet more bad choices and her not caring what they thought. That was not the case today, as her parents had been briefed on what happened at the mall and Jamie was more shaken up than ever before. Her mother gave her a genuinely affectionate hug for the first time in years, and her father put his coat around her as she shivered in the warm spring air. It was nice compared to their usually cold treatment or the ‘happy family’ act they put on when in public, and Jamie wished that it had not taken a murder to happen. When they got in the car, Jamie’s mother turned back and patted her daughter on the knee. “Jamie, I’m so, so sorry to hear about what happened with Heather; that must have been absolutely terrifying. Let me know if you’d like to have a session with my therapist, and I’ll talk to him about giving you a freebie, okay?” “Sure, Mom,” Jamie answered, though she did not imagine talking to anyone else about this any time soon. She already had Peggy haunting her dreams; she did not need Heather added to the mix. “Damn shame,” her father remarked with a shake of his head. “I’ll have to send the Buchanans a card—no, a bouquet. Good people, those Buchanans…couldn’t have happened to a nicer couple.” That comment almost made Jamie snort with dark humor. Heather hated her overbearing parents, who never seemed to be pleased with anything she did—even before she started getting into trouble on a weekly basis. Nothing was good enough for the Buchanans, who demanded only the best from their one daughter, whether it be A+s or victory in the local beauty pageants. It was why she was such a sycophant when it came to Nancy—that was all she knew how to be. But Jamie would let her parents hang onto that illusion that Heather came from a happy home, especially since they were in the same boat themselves. “Do you want to stop anywhere on the way home, honey?” asked her mother. “You want to stop by Friendly’s and get a sundae?” “Molly, I thought we agreed she should start cutting back,” her father butted in with a whisper that was still loud enough for Jamie to hear—the prick. “Now is not the time, Harold,” Molly hissed before glancing back at Jamie, who shook her head. “After everything today, I’m not really that hungry,” she answered honestly. “I’d just like to go home and be by myself for a bit, if that’s okay.” Molly nodded and gave Jamie’s knee a squeeze. “That’s all right, sweetie—whatever you want. And when you do feel like eating, I’ll have Luisa make your favorite, okay?” Jamie gave a quick nod before glancing out the window and tuning out the hushed argument her parents had in the front seat. She tried to piece together everything that had happened with Heather and how something so absurd could have happened in real life. There was no way someone could get that fat that fast, no matter how much greasy mall food she consumed—though her heightened capacity was another mystery entirely. And just who was this ‘Pig Face’ and what had they done to Heather to turn her into that slobby abomination? It was a question that could not be easily answered, no matter how much her father wanted to blame it on the Russians. What mattered most was making sure the rest of the gang did not fall victim to the same fate… *** When she got back home, Jamie retreated to the sanctuary of the bathroom, where she vomited up all the disgust and panic that had been boiling away in her stomach since she found Heather. Every inch of her body ached when she finally finished, and silver spots danced in her vision as she lay on the floor, gasping for air. That was bad enough, but when she saw Peggy standing in the corner of the room while she was curled up around the toilet, Jamie felt like she would get sick all over again. “I don’t need this right now, Peggy,” the weary girl grunted as she shakily rose to her feet. “I’ve already got enough on my plate without you showing up.” “Well, that’s a shame, because you’re never getting rid of me,” the shit-caked vision told Jamie. “There’s no such thing as bad timing for guilt—of course, there’s also no good time either.” Though she had been haunted by Peggy’s image for months, these were the hallucinations that Jamie hated the most. It was bad enough when the dead girl stood off to the side and gazed holes right through her, but the talking made her think there was something really wrong with her. What Peggy said changed time after time: there was whimpering and sobbing, begging Jamie to stop Nancy, or singing to the last song that played when the prank happened. Jamie knew that it was just her mind playing tricks on her, that it was all a figment of her diseased imagination, but when she could even smell the rancid dung whenever Peggy was around, it was hard to keep that in mind. “If you’re going to haunt me, you could at least clean yourself up,” Jamie told Peggy before bowing to wash her face. “The maid just washed the bath rugs.” “Oh, where are my manners? Let me try something else,” the dead girl hummed before a shotgun blast filled the room. When Jamie whipped her head up from the sink, she saw Peggy was no longer covered in filth—though she was missing half her head. Her tongue lolled out the left side of her face and the pulp that remained poured blood all over the floor, but that was not what horrified Jamie the most. It was that bone, muscle, and gray matter were splattered against the wall, and even though her eyeball now rested on the floor, it peered straight up at Jamie. She kicked it against the far wall, but even that did not stop it from burning a hole into her soul. “Why are you doing this?!” Jamie shrieked at the apparition, who merely shrugged her shoulders. “Why can’t you just stay dead?!” Peggy smirked as much as she could without most of her jaw and answered, “Because I want you to remember me, Jamie—I want you to remember what you and those horrible sluts did to me until the day you die.” Jamie grabbed the sink until her knuckles turned white and backed up as much as she could as Peggy took lumbering steps towards her. The bloated vision prodded her old classmate with a pudgy finger and hissed, “You’re the only one burdened with a conscience, but that’s not much good when you don’t have the backbone to stand up for anything. You could have told Nancy to back off—even warned me about what she had planned—but you were too much of a little chicken shit to say a word. So now, I want you to remember exactly what your cowardice did, Jamie Myers. You maybe have been able to skirt around the law, but you’ll never get away from me.” Hot tears welled up in Jamie’s eyes and she had to turn away from the sight of Peggy’s mangled face as she sobbingly replied, “I’m sorry, Peggy! I’m sorry for everything!” “Not as sorry as you’re going to be,” the specter seethed. She reached out and gave a sharp pinch to the lip of fat that oozed over Jamie’s waistband, sneering, “Scared yet, Jamie? Bet it’s eating at you like a gator—just chomping away at your insides. How about a snack to calm it down?” “I-I’m not hungry,” Jamie whimpered, too scared to swat away Peggy’s hand. “After what happened with Heather, I don’t think I ever want to see food again.” Peggy’s fingernails dug into Jamie’s soft stomach as she whispered, “Oh, hush. It’s like my mama always said: a little bit of ice cream cures anything, any time of year. I think your mother just picked some rocky road up at the store, and you know how much you love your rocky road.” God help her, she really did. When she was a child, Jamie could not get enough of the stuff, and it was the first source of comfort she sought after distancing herself from Nancy. There were plenty of times since that fateful party when she stopped by the ice cream parlor or picked up a pint on the sly because her guilt-induced cravings nibbled at her, and the evidence was at her waist. She had developed a number of culinary vices since she decided to cut loose, but that chocolatey treat remained at the top, pounds be damned. “Don’t…don’t make me do it,” Jamie choked out, the words barely getting around the lump in her throat. “I’m already too fat.” “You call this fat? Then what was I, exactly?” Peggy jeered. She finally let go of Jamie’s stomach and let it bounce for a moment before adding, “If you think you’re fat now, just you wait: even if Pig Face doesn’t get his hands on you, time will tell; just don’t go blaming it on me. After all, I’m just a figment of your imagination, right?” In the span of a blink, Jamie found herself alone in the bathroom once again, with no sign of Peggy to be found. She slumped down to the floor and wrapped her arms around herself as tight as she could, feeling smaller than she ever had before. There was something horribly wrong with her, but who could she possibly talk to about this? The only release she had was in the freezer downstairs, and the pint was soon emptied as Jamie did her best to bury her worries in chocolate ice cream. *** When she finally managed to compose herself, Jamie snuck out of the house and made her way to the Haddonfield High football field bleachers, where she and the girls used to smoke and gossip instead of attending class. She brought her sky blue windbreaker with her, partly because the skies had grown dark with clouds and partly because she did not want Adrienne to see her food baby. The rocky road was good—too good, as usual—but after her experience with Peggy, it was going to take more than ice cream to fix things. Thankfully, there was a KFC near the school that had just what she needed to quell her guilt and make her stomach stick out like a balloon. “Come on, you worthless skanks, where are you?” Jamie hissed under her breath as she pulled her coat tighter around herself. The bleachers used to be a great hiding spot, but after what happened to Heather, she did not want to stay there any longer than she needed to. Soon as she spoke her peace with Adrienne and Marilyn, she could run back to the safety of home and a bag of potato chips. The sound of running on grass caught her attention, and Jamie turned to see Adrienne jogging over to her in a canary yellow ensemble—typical of the always chipper girl. Everyone knew that her smiles and cheer were a façade to distract from the knife she always had behind her back, waiting for someone to drop their guard before she went for the jugular. That smile always pissed Jamie off, and it only made her foul mood even worse as Adrienne came to a stop beside her. “Hey, Jamie! Got here as soon as I could,” the athletic girl explained. “How are you holding up after everything that went down?” Jamie crossed her arms and grunted, “I’ve been better. Where’s Marilyn?” “Oh, she said she was too overwrought to come out,” Adrienne answered, dramatically throwing her hand back like a fainting starlet before a smirk spread across her lips. “But you know that she’s probably just using that as an excuse to get her boyfriend over.” “Okay, so Troy’s spending the night with her. Good, good,” Jamie muttered to herself as she paced back and forth. “So, what’s going on? Been a while since we hung out, so I figured it was pretty important,” Adrienne remarked. She leaned against the fence, pulled a cigarette from the pack in her purse, and held it out to Jamie. “Want one?” Did she need it? No, she had cut out smoking like everything else from her time with Nancy. Did she want it? After everything that she went through earlier, it was the best idea in the world. Jamie happily accepted the cigarette and lighter from her old accomplice and took a long drag on the cancer stick. It was terrible for her, like her rocky road, but so damn good. “That feels a lot better,” Jamie sighed as she joined Adrienne against the fence. “Surprised I didn’t run out and buy a pack of Marlboros as soon as they let me out of the station.” “I wouldn’t blame you. I only saw everything that was on the news—I don’t even want to imagine what it was like it reality,” Adrienne replied with a shiver. “Did she say anything to you before she went, or was it all just eating until her heart stopped?” Jamie took another drag before answering, “She was mostly eating, but there was this minute or two right before the end when the fog cleared that she was able to tell me a few things. She was confused about where she was and what she was doing, and then she collapsed and talked about how her chest felt tight. The only thing that really stuck out was how she talked about ‘Pig Face did it’, but your guess is as good as mine to what that means.” Adrienne’s eyes went wide at that and she asked, “Pig Face? Did she say anything else?” “Nothing after that—why?” Jamie muttered. “Because last night, I saw this guy creeping around our house with a pig mask on,” Adrienne explained. “I told my dad about it, but by the time he got his gun, the creep was gone. I just figured it was someone trying to play a prank, but if Heather saw him too—” “Then maybe Marilyn will too,” Jamie whispered. She dropped her cigarette in the grass and stamped it out before turning to Adrienne. “We need to get over to her house, right now.” Adrienne nodded and followed after Jamie with a hustle in her step. “You really think that she’s in trouble? I mean, she’s got one of the toughest guys at school with her!” “Heather was turned into a fat blob in a crowded mall full of people,” Jamie retorted as they made their way to Adrienne’s Camaro. “I don’t know want to find out what this guy could do if it’s just the two of them.” *** At the Lovett household, danger was the furthest thing from Marilyn’s mind as she locked lips with her latest himbo lover while he undid her blouse. They had been going out for the last few weeks, though they had little spark other than the physical—Marilyn being far smarter than she let on and Troy being dumber than he looked. But what the jock lacked in brains, he more than made up for below the belt, having given Marilyn the ride of her life in his pickup truck on their first date to the drive-in. In truth, they did not need any reason to hook up with each other, but since she had to give some impression she was crushed by Heather’s death, Marilyn called him over under the impression of needing comfort over her loss. It only took a moment or two for them to begin making out, slamming against walls and toppling onto the stairs before making their way back to the spacious living room. They were so into each other that they did not notice the front door was left unlocked—or that someone came in while they were canoodling on the couch. In fact, they only paused when Marilyn pulled away and giggled, “You know what would really help me feel better, Troy-Boy?” “What’s that, babe?” grunted the basketball player. “My daddy just got a new bottle of tequila, and he never leaves the liquor cabinet locked,” Marilyn purred. “Be a dear and get me a glass?” “Anything for you, doll,” Troy chuckled before undoing the top button on her blouse. “But when I get back, we’re going to move into the second half, yeah?” After Troy left for the kitchen, Marilyn shifted around on the couch and fiddled with her bra in an effort to make her meager breasts seem bigger. She always hated how underdeveloped she was and prayed for the kind of tits that would make God cry, but no matter what she did to make them grow, nothing ever worked. Her breasts were on the high ends of an A-cup, and she always glared at the well-endowed with the scorching fury of a thousand suns. “One of these days, we’re going to do something about you two,” Marilyn whispered to her two mosquito bumps before a thump in the kitchen caught her attention. She hopped off the couch and called out, “Troy? Troy, you okay back there?” When she received no answer, the petite girl made her way back to the kitchen and froze in the doorway when she saw what had befallen her boyfriend—Troy lay face down in a pool of blood, all coming from his shattered skull. Standing over his lifeless body was a man in a tattered sweatshirt, jeans, and a pig’s face masking his own, and in his hands was a blood-soaked meat tenderizer. The pig-faced man turned to Marilyn, and her heart stopped cold when he pointed the mallet at her. “One little piggy stayed home,” he grunted before charging at her.