Author's Note: This is once more a Tale of the Macabre -- joining its sister story, Future Reservations, in the erotic horror section. There are elements of body horror, unwilling transformation, rape and it does not end happily. If that is not your cup of tea, then please, check out any of my other stories. Though, as a note, it is completely unconnected (plot wise) from Future Reservations.



For those who, like me, enjoy the exploration of the macabre from time to time, you should continue reading. And if you like this story, check out Future Reservations.



It's also pretty fucked up.



###



"And so it was written and so it was true: Mother to All crafted the World and allowed all who were Filth to live on it, so She might drink Her Fill. It is a question asked, then -- where is Her Mouth? The answer is clearer than one can possibly imagine." - diary of Solomon Bates, executed June 4th 1923



Rachel grabbed onto the grime encrusted bars that were shut across the front of the Valence shopping mall and shook them. The chain that wound between the bars -- rusted and padlocked -- rattled and clunked, echoing loudly through the parking lot. The only car there beyond her old, beat up van was a single Ford that had had the wheels replaced with bricks ages ago. The hood was open and the engine inside had become rusted over and picked to pieces, making the ancient truck look like a desiccated corpse with the scavengers still picking over the bones. The mall itself was a hulking structure -- spreading wide and proud, a monument to an ancient creed of property and consumption -- dead now. Broken windows, locked up gates, abandoned parking lot.



Rachel loved it.



"This place gives me the creeps," Beli said, reaching up to adjust her T-shirt. With Beli, it was hard to tell what she would wear. Some days, she would arrive at class resplendent in a gold and scarlet sari, her head wrapped in the most beautiful of scarves. Rachel was sure they had a specific name -- all she could remember was that it wasn't a hijab. Hijabs were something else, for a different creed entirely. But today, Beli's curvacious, chocolate-brown body was clad in a loose T-shirt with a large pair of lips over her full, pendulous breasts, with tight short-shorts clinging to her full, womanly hips. Rachel wasn't sure if she was moist with appreciation, or green with envy.



"That's the point," Tabitha said, smacking the base of her maglight. The other girl was a perfect opposite of Beli. Pale where Beli was dark, with curly black hair that was a holdover from when her great-grandfather -- to the shock of the rest of the family -- married an escaped slave in the waning days of the practice in America. They had escaped being thrown in jail via the simple expedient that American miscegenation laws had particularly been focused on whites and blacks marrying. They didn't care if some Chinese railroad worker decided to get hitched.



Still, Tabitha Wong's family had introduced plenty of Chinese blood back into the mix, leaving her as the only asian girl that Rachel had ever met who had a passable afro. It accented her pixie-like face, her flat chest, and her wide, flat nose. It was even more impressive when she dyed the tips, giving her the appearance of some strange goddess with electrical hair. Today, she had simply tied it down into an even array of cornrows that hung down her back, each one laced with beads that clicked and clattered.



"I know that's the point, Tabby," Beli said, crossing her arms under her breasts. "It's still creepy. Are you sure it's safe, Rache?"



"Totes," Rachel said, grinning. "I asked Dad. He said the place was made to survive nuclear bombs."



"That's what she said!"



The new voice was Brandon -- returning from the van with a bit of a clever improvisation rattling behind him. He had brought the supplies that they might need to get into the mall -- but rather than dragging them from the van to the gate, he had found some old shopping cart, loaded it up, and dragged her. Grinning, he looked around at the three girls.



"You don't even know what we were talking about," Tabby said, crossly. Beli just slid one long, dark arm around his shoulder and squeezed him gently.



"I'm glad you're coming with, Brandon," she said, quietly.



"Well, uh, always here to serve my, uh, lady friend," Brandon said -- his cheeks turning dark red.



"Gheyyyyyyyyyyyy!"



The fifth and final voice rang out as Fred finished his circle around the entire grounds. He was puffing slightly, his golden brown skin gleaming slightly with sweat. He hadn't quite jogged, but neither had he ambled, and the end result was that he looked ready for even more physical activity. Being the tallest of the group, Fred Wong didn't share his sister's kinky hair. He did share her facial features, though, and her taste for long hair and dyes -- which he demonstrated by flipping his sleet-white ponytail back over one shoulder.



"Yeah, super gay, the two cishet people talking about how much they want to breed..." Rachel said, grinning as she punched his belly. As per usual, her attempt to playfully whack her boyfriend ended with her palm rubbing along his belly. Fred was built. He didn't have the bulging muscles of an Arnold Schwarzenegger -- but that would have just sent Rachel running in the opposite direction. Instead, he was lean and muscular and knew what he was doing. He reached down to ruffle her hair.



"I don't want to breed," Beli said, crossly. "I'd make Brandon wear a condom when we do it."



"Babe, d-don't need to share that," Brandon stammered.



"Yeah, she really doesn't," Tabby said, her face scrunching up. "It'll get Fred talking about-"



"You don't need condoms if you stick to anal," Fred said, grinning wickedly.



"Gah!" Tabby put her hands over her face. "Brandon," she moaned through her hands. "Gate. Now."



"There are no other entrances?" Rachel asked, looking up at Fred. He shook his head.



"The only other was a bit of parking garage -- but honestly, it was looking a bit corroded. Some water had definitely worn down on the concrete." Fred frowned. "It was kind of weird, to be honest.. You don't think concrete goes that fast."



"So, we'll be careful," Rachel said, nodding.



Urban exploring had been a fascination for Rachel ever since her father had first sat her down on his lap and let her look at the blueprints he worked with. They showed the city as it was -- a living, breathing, thrumming beast. Back then, she felt as if she could feel it speaking to her as she traced the city's arteries and felt its lungs. There, it breathed people in. There, it moved their wastes aside. There, it had white blood cells -- police and fire departments. She had felt that connection and adored it. When she had been young, her father had taken her here and there in the city -- but no matter how far they went, nor how closely they examined, Rachel had never gotten to know the city in the same way as she had with those blueprints.



Then came high school, and then college, and the freedom of having a car.



Then...



Oh then.



Rachel didn't mind admitting it. Her first time, with Fred bending her forward and slamming his cock deep into her ass, had been in a ruined movie theater. It was in the ruins that she really saw the city as alive -- the places where it's living, breathing, shifting form pushed beyond the past and let the past die. It was like coiling up inside of a composite heap. Yes, she was surrounded by the rot, but the rot meant that the city was working.



Her friends though she was weird.



Fred...



She wasn't sure if Fred thought she was weird, if he agreed with her, or if he just nodded so he could keep fucking her ass.



And, to be honest, Rachel didn't exactly care.



"Okay, step back," Brandon said. He was holding up the jaws of life he had gotten from a surplus site on the internet. It had been expensive, and Rachel had to beg. But Brandon -- being the richest of the group -- had never quite grasped the value of money in the same way his poorer friends did. He was easy to wheedle down to spending the few hundred bucks it took. And now, those jaws worked their magic. The padlock snapped and the chain was shorn away -- the edges of the severed links flashing with a mirror smoothness for a moment. Brandon and Fred -- eager to show off for their girlfriends -- pushed the gate open and the five college students looked in at the abandoned Valence mall.



"Who goes in first?" Beli whispered.



Rachel grinned. "I love popping their cherries," she said, quietly, then stepped through the gates themselves.



"Anyone else ever think Rachel is weird?" Tabby whispered.



"Totally," everyone else said at once.



###



Rachel swept her flashlight slowly around the first part of the mall and quivered with excitement. The ceiling was still sturdy -- though there were weathered spots here and there where rains and water had come in to taint the structure. But what made her tingle with glee was the sign of the stores. The mall had suffered a sudden, catastrophic economic failure when the muffling pillow of Reaganomics had settled onto the face of middle America. Many of the stores hadn't had time to move before they ran completely out of money -- and so, a great deal of them had been left behind with what little merchandise they hadn't had time to move.



And the whole place looked untouched by looters or vagrants. There was some graffiti on one wall, but in the whole, it was merely mother nature who had fucked this place up.



"Mmm," Rachel murred. She bit her lip, then looked back at her friends. "Okay. Remember -- don't go under anywhere that looks like the ceiling is really giving in. And call out if you find something cool. And if you do fuck..." She shrugged. "Feel free to get loud." Her eyes danced.



"Ugh," Tabby said, shaking her head. She took the left path -- heading between a narrow collection of stores, her flashlight soon the only thing visible for her. Fred shook his head and stepped over to squeeze Rachel's shoulder.



"You scared her off," Fred murmured.



"To be fair, that was semi-intentional. Or did you want to get your fuck on while your sister perved on us?" Rachel said, grinning.



Fred rubbed his chin, looking speculative.



Rachel punched his belly.



###



Tabby frowned as she walked past an ancient Sears and sighed. She had been doing a paper in her History of America about the 1980s -- culture, economics, trends that impacted today. Her teacher had advised her that the entire 1980s had been more tumultuous than it appeared at the time. What had seemed like a unified America was more accurately seen as a collection of simmering resentments -- a lot of which had exploded in the 90s with sudden cultural movements and other events. But Tabby wasn't really interested in tracking something like the response to the AIDS crisis and the Stonewall Riots and the 90s rise of the LBGTQA+ movement.



Not that they called it that at the time. They kept adding letters -- much to Tabby's pleasure.



"If I had my way, it'd be a whole alphabet," she said as she paused by an ancient retailor that looked like it sold modeling kits and plastic toys. She shone her lights on it and shook her head. No inspiration for her thesis.



But Beli was right.



This place was creepy.



Tabby turned and started -- for a moment, she saw humans standing before her. But then her vision focused and she reached up to adjust her glasses. Mannequins stood in the front of a clothing store. Tabby stepped forward and chewed her lip, eying their firm, plastic breasts and the sleek, form fitting underwear they wore. She cocked her head and rubbed her chin with her free hand. Tabby wasn't in a relationship -- but rather than being a perpetual fifth wheel, she made up for her lack of partner by a continual wheel of "momentary" partners. A serial monogamy made a great deal of sense to her, doubly when her preferences went to both side of the spectrum.



She considered...



"Yeah," she said, nodding. "I'd look good in that."



Walking around, she found the gated off front of the store. Fortunately, the locks were easily broken by a quick shove, and the gate rolled smoothly into the ceiling. She stepped in, breathing in the musty air of the clothing store. Most of the clothing had rotted away, but some of it held up better than others -- those in plastic bags looked reasonably good. But the mannequin outfits looked pristine. She stepped up to the mannequin and grinned as she reached up to undo the bra -- the hooks came free and she murmured.



"Sorry, babe," she said.



The mannequin bobbed with the motion of the bra slipping off -- and Tabby's eyes narrowed as she looked in the mirrored reflection that the window and her flashlight provided. The whole mall seemed to be pitch black against the contrast of that light -- reducing her world to her and the white plastic woman. Tabby grabbed the figure's hips and turned her -- finding her heavier than she expected. When the mannequin faced her head on, Tabby's eyes widened. She hadn't been mistaken.



Those firm, perfectly sculpted -- literally -- breasts came to the tips of hard nipples, with a slight raised area that denoted the aureola.



"The fuck?" Tabby whispered. "The 1980s were freakier than I thought."



She reached up, finding the nipple and squeezing it. It was ever so slightly pliant and Tabby grinned wickedly.



"I wonder how many parents complained when their kids got too handsy," she murmured -- twisting the nipple casually. Very faintly, almost below human perception, a breathing sound came from the mannequin. Tabby didn't notice, instead letting go and stepping back. She picked up the bra, then held it to her chest. It looked like it'd fit, but...



She glanced back at the rear of the store. With her eyes dazzled by the lights she couldn't see much in the darkness -- forcing her to swing her flashlight around. She saw that there was indeed a changing room back there, concealed by a swinging door with a bit of mold on it. Tabby shrugged and walked towards it, then opened it. In the privacy of the room, Tabby set down her maglight -- aimed up to bounce light off the ceiling -- and then started to undo the buttons on her shirt. She sighed as the cool air within the mall caressed her skin and ducked her head forward. Part of her felt an illicit thrill.



It was theft, after a fashion.



Tabby bit her lip. I wonder if stealing from actual stores is this exciting, she thought as she slipped her shirt backwards, letting it hit the floor with a soft plop. The light of the room shone along her simple white sports bra and she tugged that free as well, her A-cup breasts not even jiggling. Her nipples -- painted a bright blue by a passing fancy -- were erect and puffy. Tabby glanced at the door to make sure it was closed, before reaching up to squeeze and tug on her nipples with the same pressure and motions she had given the plastic girl outside.



"Ee!" She squeaked, then let the low, soft groan of her pleasure fill the room. She shook her head. "D-Damn, Tee, you need a girlfriend."



She tugged the bra she had gotten from the mannequin on, enjoying the feel of silk on her skin. It felt so new!



"Planned obsolescence my ass," Tabby murmured as she tugged her shirt back on. Smiling, she turned and opened the door to the changing room -- picking up her maglight as she did so.



And then, Tabby screamed.



###



Beli shone her flashlight around the sporting good store and gulped slightly. "I-I don't know, Brandon," she said, her voice nervous. "What if the machines break?"



"They were built to last back in the 80s," Brandon said, casually as he sat down on a rowing machine that had been placed in a show area. He grabbed onto one of the handles and tugged back experimentally. The machine whirred and an ancient electronic display slowly warmed up. He grinned widely and then started to row, putting his feet in the right place to provide some measure of support. There, he pumped once, twice, three times. His muscles started to ache slightly and he looked up at Beli -- stopping.



"Beli, babe," he said, casually. "This place isn't haunted."



"You say that," Beli said, looking around, her hands holding her maglight to her chest. "A-And yet, my heart doesn't stop pounding." She started. "D-Did you hear that?"



Brandon reached out. He slid his hand around Beli's back -- feeling more comfortable every moment she spent shaking. Brandon didn't normally show off as a tough guy. Fred was the more outgoing of the pair. But where Fred worked out for definition and to keep his weight down, Brandon lost himself in the workout. He would sometimes pull double or even triple the time Fred did -- and thanks to his metabolism, he still looked somewhat pudgy. But Beli knew better -- her palm slipped along Brandon's belly as he drew her into his lap. Was there some tummy there? Yes. Was he cushy? Yes.



But there was muscle too.



And there was a confident man under his stammering nerves in public. That was why Beli loved him.



"I didn't hear anything," Brandon said. "Beyond you being adorable." He pinched her nose tip gently.



"Aww," Beli said, blushing -- though it was hard to tell, in the dim light. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Then his lips. Fear ebbed as his hands slipped up and down her back as she pushed him backwards onto the rowing machine. There, he lay, and there, he let her hands explore his chest. Beli's mouth, now, was locked against his, and her tongue swarmed against his. His hands cupped her firm ass and squeezed.



Beli broke the kiss, panting heavily. "R-Remember, not until marriage," she whispered, softly.



"Can I feel at least?" Brandon asked.



Beli sat back, snorting quietly. "I...only for a bit."



Brandon grinned -- his eyes glinting wickedly. He shifted underneath the Indian girl and then slid his hands behind his back. "How about this," he murmured. "Remember when you walked in on me in the locker room?"



"I keep telling you, Rachel said you were dressed!"



Brandon snorted. "But fair's fair. Why don't you flash me those titties of yours?"



Beli blushed, hard. "I-I don't know," she said, her hands going to the hem of her shirt -- tugging it straight on her shoulders.



"Come onnnn, babe," Brandon murmured, quietly. "No one else will know."



Beli gulped. Then her ears twitched and she looked back over her shoulder -- into the darkness of the sporting goods store. She was sure she had heard something back there. Her hands went to her maglight -- which was aimed at the ceiling to provide some backscatter light. She grabbed it up and swung it around the store. Only barbells, kettlebells, and other outdoorsy supplies looked back at her.



"Beli, babe, calm down," Brandon said, quietly. "No one is there."



"I-I heard," Beli whispered. Then, shaking her head. "No, Brandon. Besides. I covered my face b-before I saw anything."



"Aww," Brandon pouted.



A loud clunk sounded and Beli squeaked as the two artifical oars of the rowing machine shifted under their own accord. The poles slammed into Brandon's shoulders, shoving him back onto the platform he was laying on. Brandon yelped. "W-What the fuck!?" He yelped as Beli dropped the maglight.



"I must have hit something!" Beli said, her eyes wide. She reached for him -- but then something grabbed her wrists and yanked them back behind her back. She felt the something -- they were thin wires, metal and biting. She squeaked as they bound her forearms together, then lashed her palms against her arms. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to scream -- but then another wire wrapped around her mouth. It bit into her cheeks, then dug in like a bit as her head was jerked backwards. Brandon struggled -- and the oars shoved forward. They moved out of their sockets and pressed against his throat, choking him off.

