The Snae and the Rabbit

This story contains themes of non-consent, force, devil worship, demons and cults. Its sort of a a Ghost (band) fanfic, so if you enjoy them, you might enjoy this, too! If youve ever fantastised about Papa Emeritus III hunting you down in the swamps of Florida and making you cum until you go insane, then this is DEFINITELY the story for you.

The sex scenes will be undeniably unrealistic. This is meant to be a smut story to get off to, so expect some 'fantastical' things to happen.

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The Snake and the Rabbit

Chapter One

A red, mangled claw reached up from the ground, long black talons stretching from where it should have fingernails, were it human. It was close, but not close enough. It grasped Winslets ankles in one huge grip and dragged her down, down, down, deeper into the earth, her body plunging into the dirt and rock and it was either the speed at which she plummeted or the earths core or—no, I'm getting closer to Hell—that made her body grow hotter and hotter.

When she woke in her bed, she was gaping and drenched with sweat.

"What the hell-" her words stuck in her throat. Despite how hot she felt, a chill made her shiver. The fear left over from that nightmare made her stomach churn.

She squirmed out of bed, her t-shirt sticking hotly to her back.

It was a warm night in Florida, sticky and hot. Every breath in might have felt like a drink of water if her throat wasn't so tight. She could hear the crickets screaming outside, and the eerie sound made her hurry over to her bedroom window to shut it tight, despite the heat. Normally it would have calmed her, but not after a dream like that.

She stood for a moment, in the suffocating silence of the house, peering out into the darkness. She felt like something was watching her. Winslet squinted out at the tangle of trees and leaves, searching for a sign of glowing eyes or the rustle of movement.

The hair on the back of her neck suddenly stood on end when she heard a creaking behind her. She turned quickly, her eyes blowing up wide.

Relief flooded into her when she realized it was only her cat, padding quietly into her room. Max stared up at her, his eyes glowing in the light cast through the window by the moon, and chirped.

"Oh, you poor thing. Are you hungry?" Winslet scooped up her companion, and he purred in her arms, nuzzling into the crook of her arm. "Or could you tell I had a bad dream?"

Winslet moved into her kitchen, her need desperate to get out of her bedroom. Despite the comfort of being near Max, she still felt uneasy.

"Some water might help," she sighed to herself, more interested in filling the silence than she really was talking to anyone.

Maybe her big move had taken a lot out of her, she reasoned. After a nasty breakup with a psychopath of an ex, Winslet had packed all of her things in a hurry and made the trip from Colorado to Florida in a day and half, clunking along in her old Jeep and hoping to God that Logan didn't follow her.

The weeks before her move had been Hell on Earth. Something in him had just snapped. Maybe it was because they were growing more distant, as Winslet had become more and more enveloped in what she hoped would become a thriving career. Art had always been a passion of hers, and while she dabbled in all kinds, the publishing of her first ever comic book had been a success. It had lit a fire inside of her to do more, work harder, to finally become something and be someone. In her diligence, she had left Logan alone more and more often, and more and more often he drank.

At first it was just crying and begging for attention, but it quickly escalated. He began to demand her time, throw things when he didn't get his way, stomp and scream. It was like he was throwing a temper tantrum, yelling things that didn't make sense, screaming at her that she was always acting around him and telling her to just "Go fuck whoever you want, then!" That comment especially shocked her. She had no intentions of being with anyone else, not then and not for now. At least, not until she felt safe again.

Winslet made a choice then, between her possibilities and between being a quiet housewife who didn't accomplish much. She chose the possibilities.

With a quickly written note and a couple boxes of the things she could pack before she was sure he would be back from the bar and Max hurried unhappily into a carrier, Winslet left Logan and sought asylum in Port Mayaca Florida, a small town beside Lake Okeechobe and far, far away from the life she once lived.

So far, her first week had been uneventful.

Winslet leaned on the counter and stared into the darkness of the old house. It had been a convenient find, and while the place could use some work, it would suit her needs. Mostly being silence and isolation while she worked, and while she mulled over whether or not she would be willing to deal with another man any time soon.

Boxes littered the living room, sprawled out across the ground. Her father had sent her a check to get all of the things she may need, with a phone call reminder to visit her grandparents while she was out there. While he sounded stern over the phone, she knew that he was happy she had left Logan. He had never much liked the guy, and Winslet leaving him had probably left him feeling justified.

"Perhaps I should do some furniture shopping, hm?" Winslet asked the darkened house.

With a deep breath, she decided it would be best to head to bed. She had a lot of situating left to do tomorrow.