Seeds Of Fear Read Online Free PDF Page A

stared back at him, transfixing him, like the eyes of a Svengali. Fawn purred down deep in her throat, then lowered herself. Ted groaned. They joined effortlessly.
    The platinum-haired beauty seemed to ride him forever, her head thrown back, her huge breasts bouncing in time to the rhythm. Ted found himself to be powerless. He simply lay there and let the actress have her way with him.
    Eventually Fawn could contain herself no longer. Her thighs tightened around his waist and her pace began to quicken. Ted felt himself begin to climax, too. The mounting pleasure in his groin seemed to clear his head a little and the sluggish, weighty feeling began to lift.
    That was when he saw the black object at the far end of the bed. It was a video camera on a tripod. Aimed straight at him and Fawn.
    Ted remembered something Lori had told him. I make movies.
    Suddenly he knew that he wasn't dreaming.
    And there was something else. Something that he had failed to recall before. Trevor Hall. He knew who he was now. Hall had not been a bit player, but a stuntman. A hulking stuntman big enough to play a convincing monster. And he had played them, too: werewolves, robots, swamp monsters. But that was not all that Ted remembered about Hall.
    The stuntman had been a serial killer. In the early seventies he had been convicted of brutally raping and murdering several dozen women over the span of two decades. The evidence had been what had bought him a seat in the electric chair: an entire library of sixteen-millimeter reels Hall had filmed himself. Snuff films of those he had violated and slaughtered.
    Ted stared up at the woman on top of him. He reached up slowly, his arms as heavy as concrete. He removed the white-framed shades. Lori's eyes sparkled down at him. They looked as crazy as the photos Ted had seen of her father. Gleaming with a fiendish satisfaction that was a mixture of ecstasy and blood-lust.
    He reached out for the platinum wig, but it was beyond his grasp. Lori leaned in closer, smiling. Her shoulder flexed as she brought her right hand from behind her back.
    "Scream for me," she whispered.
    Ted felt the coldness of steel against his throat. He opened his mouth, perhaps to reason with her. But just staring into those lovely eyes and seeing the legacy of darkness that danced beyond them, Ted knew that any attempt would be futile.
    As the edge of the knife stung his flesh, he braced himself and, regretfully, gave her what she wanted.
    The images on the screen were color. Sharply defined, perfectly lit. The sound was minimal. The creaking of bed springs and the low murmurs of passion. There was no music. No sound track was necessary.
    Lori Hale lay on the round bed, naked, her eyes glued to the television at the far side of the room. She watched as the image of a platinum-haired beauty straddled the hips of an overweight boy with brown hair and glasses.
    She watched the scene unfold, slowly snaking her hand past the flat of her stomach to the cleft just beyond. Soon her fingers were at work, stroking.
    The video—one of many—continued at a leisurely pace; finely orchestrated and leading toward a familiar finale. Lori watched as the woman reached beneath the edge of the circular mattress and withdrew a long-bladed butcher knife.
    As the scene reached its climax, Lori found herself reaching her own. Her fingers worked furiously as she awaited the command she had given more times than she could remember.
    Waves of ecstasy gripped Lori, washing through her, giving way to abandonment. Gritting her teeth, she clutched the bedcovers and felt the stiffness of dried blood in the fabric of the sheets.
    Then she closed her eyes tightly and listened for the sound of the scream . . .

HIDEYHOLE
Billie Sue Mosiman
    At the entrance into the restaurant area, a girl dressed in skinny black jeans and matching black tank top waited for Bastine Rendeaux to open the door. She smiled, lips full and new as red smoky moons. He smiled back. "Eating