Wrathchild

Copyright © October 2017 by CiaoSteve

CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work.

This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Amazing, isn't it, how a song could have been written about you. How it resonates with your pure existence, the words reflecting perfectly your life or even death. It's just a surprise sometimes when you find your song. In my case it was no different. I listen a lot these days, the words meaning more than the music itself, as I remember my lost childhood. One song sticks though, summing me up perfectly. No, not a sweet cheery song, not a pleasant melody but more a raucous belting piece of metal. Even the title fits . . .

Wrathchild by Iron Maiden is the track in question.

Strange choice I hear you say but it isn't really the story of my life, it is the story of my after-life. Oh, hadn't you realised? I'm already dead, dead but not gone and for sure not to be forgotten.

Got your attention have I?

Let me take you on a journey, a journey of determination in the face of adversity, sometimes happy, other times sad, sometimes light but ultimately dark and macabre. Maybe then you'll understand why this song fits so well. Yes, I can see you now, throwing this tale into the annals of fantasy, another figment of a vivid imagination. Rest assured though, everything you read is true. I know, as I was there. Every ounce of pleasure, every pound of pain, I lived them all.

Now though my priorities are a little different, but that I'll come back to. First let me tell you the story of my life, my ever too short life.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

My name is Rachael Acosta. I was born in Fort Worth, Texas, the first child of young sweethearts. My mother was a history teacher and my father worked in finance services. The early years were good, very good indeed. Just a shame though that they didn't have the luxury of lasting long. My life itself has been a series of struggles, of challenges, of sadness. Despite the hardships I always kept going, as the British would say "Keep Smiling and Carry On". My life was all about moving on, making the best of the next opportunity which came my way, always with a dream in sight, always that was until one fateful night, but more of that later.

I can hear you now, picking up the violin to play a sad song for me. As I said, I didn't need it in life and I sure don't need it now, but life itself wasn't always easy. I remember each hurdle vividly, etched into my memory like a tombstone, my own personal cemetery.

The first stone was laid when I was still a child, some twelve years old. Things had been tough in business for a while and both parents were having to work long hours. I really didn't see much of Pop as he was out before I awoke and didn't get back until late at night, a few hours sleep then off again. Each weekend he looked just a little more haggard, the tiredness catching up. Still though he continued, scared of losing his job and half of the family income. Still, that was, until one winter evening. Instead of his car pulling up outside, it was a member of the Fort Worth Police Department. The first I knew anything had happened, was hearing Mom crying. It turned out that the long hours, forced to work more and more, had finally caught up and he'd fallen asleep at the wheel.

Life though went on, and I smiled that forced smile. Mom finally met somebody else, an airline pilot of all things. I started school, found my first love in the shape of Adam Evans, was predicted to have good grades and was looking likely to make university. Success in the face of adversity, or so it seemed. But life has a habit of throwing you a curve ball. Now sixteen, it was Mom crying once more which heralded the next down in my life. Finally I got the story out of her. Totally unplanned she had fallen pregnant. OK not necessarily a problem in its own right but the scoundrel, on finding out the news, had disappeared off the face of the earth leaving Mom to it.

Again though we didn't give up, but again life dealt us a bad hand. Six months in and Mom went into premature labour. She was rushed into hospital and had emergency surgery but unfortunately lost her baby. That was the half of it though. It turned out that the surgeon had botched the op and Mom succumbed to complications a few days later. Things just went downhill from there. Initially everyone was so supportive but that was just a facade. The school threw me out over a lack of funding and a representative of the bank called one day to say they were repossessing the house.

They were desperate times but still I knew something good would come, I just had to keep smiling and carry on. And,

yes

, one day it did happen. Mom had been of South American origin and one day there was a call from her second brother, Juan Carlos with an offer for me to join his family in Southern Mexico. The day came, I said goodbye to Adam, and left for a new life.

And so another new chapter to my life began. Little did I think it was to be the last. Juan Carlos was a farmer. He had a cattle ranch in the strangely named village of Pueblo del Diablo. I didn't know much Spanish but if I had I may have become just a little bit worried by the name. It was a small place, some eleven or twelve hundred in population. Typical of rural Mexico, the small streets were lined with whitewashed low buildings in colonial Spanish style. There was the expected Baroque-style church just off the main square in the village centre. But there was something different about this place, something I would find out about just a little too late.

I was still sixteen when I moved to Mexico and there were not the international schools nearby, so instead I spent the next two years being home-schooled by a number of the villagers whilst at the same time working on the ranch. It wasn't what I had ever planned in life but I had no option and the family were kind to me.

It was a bit of a backward place though. No, I'm not talking technology or infrastructure. Both of these were fine and we had satellite TV and good broadband. It was more the way of life which was backward. Over the months I spent time researching my new homeland, with some surprising revelations. The most surprising though was superstition. It seemed that the people of Peublo del Diablo still lived under the shadow of an ancient creature of legend. It seemed to have several names but the most common were "Incubo" or "El Diablo" and it seemed that the village and most others nearby were infatuated by this creature. As stories went, every 30 years the demon would return, taking the youngest most innocent villager to join his flock.

Incubo, was a mythical shape shifting demon of days gone by. A mythical demon which had reached legendary status. In the town square of Peublo del Diablo the ubiquitous statue was not of the town mayor or a famous citizen. It was a statue of an idolised demon, large in stature, handsome in appearance carrying what seemed to be a sleeping young woman in his arms.

There was, on the outskirts of the village, a second church dedicated to the demon itself. El Iglesia del Incubo had been built to ward off the spirit and protect the villagers. It must have worked, at least in their eyes, as there were no reported encounters with the demon for at least the last 150 years. Instead, the thirty year anniversary had become a national holiday, a time to celebrate cultural folklore rather than a time to be afraid. It happened that the next anniversary was to be just after my eighteenth birthday.

What I hadn't found out though was the village's dark secret. A secret I was soon to become part of. Yes there were no reported encounters with the demon for many years, but the town records told a slightly different tale. It seemed that every thirty years there was a small population burst. OK, not really that unusual apart from the demographics of those falling pregnant. Ninety percent fell into the late teenage years. There was also one other strange statistic. On each anniversary there was a death recorded. Nothing more than a simple entry reading "died - unexplained circumstances". Nothing too unusual unless you checked a little deeper. Each time the death was a young girl, in those same late teenage years. This was the village's dark secret and one I would eventually find out, to my cost.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I was starting to enjoy my new life with Juan Carlos and his family. It was something I could get used to, the laid back life on the ranch. Before long I was forgetting about modern Texas and my old life. Adam, himself, was becoming a more distant memory. I was even forgiving Uncle Juan for constantly calling me Raquel instead of Rachael. Time flew by and I turned eighteen with a big party on the ranch. By coincidence it was also the fiesta year, that cultural celebration dedicated to El Diablo. My birthday was in the Spring and the festival was to take place that Autumn. It was a period of high excitement in the village and I was so looking forward to it.

The next few weeks were a hive of activity as everyone started preparing for the fiesta. The whole village was split into working parties and given jobs to do. Some groups set about sprucing up the village itself, others looked after arrangements for the festival, the younger adults were given the task of organising the pre-festival arrangements and finally a group of elders had the task of preparing the temple. It was a hive of activity as preparations took place. As an outsider, yes still I was consider not one of the locals, I wasn't really included so could just keep an eye on proceedings from a distance.

Before long posters went up in the village square advertising the upcoming events. It was an interesting mix of activities:

Julio 31stNoche de los Jovenes

Agosto 31stSeleccion de la mas Pura

Septiembre 18thFiesta "Bienvenido al Diablo"

Septiembre 19thFiesta "Sacrificar al Diablo"

Septiembre 20thFiesta "Paso del Diablo"

Boy

, these guys took the legend seriously I thought to myself. Three whole days of partying. It was a good job that this happened only once in every thirty years. I sure wasn't gonna miss this for the world, I'd stake my life on that.

Spring passed quickly moving into the heat of Summer. There was a buzz around the younger generation as the weeks of July passed by. Everyone had one eye on the last day of the month and the event that night. Uncle Juan had two daughters of his own, Ximena was eighteen and Florencia heading towards twenty. They kept themselves to themselves, happy in each other's company and, I guess, saw me as an outsider. As usual I watched from afar as the two busied themselves in arrangements for the 31st. For all intense and purpose it seemed that the main objective was to fix a date for the evening. How backward I thought to myself. It had long since been acceptable, where I came from, to go to party on your own or even with a girlfriend. Why all the fuss on finding a boy for the night?

About a week before the 31st, it was the younger daughter who took me on one side.

"Are you sorted for next Friday?"

"Sorted?" I questioned back.

"Yes, sorted. Have you got somebody to go with?"

I shook my head. "I thought I'd just go alone."

"Oh, Raquel," she continued, also not able to pronounce my real name. "But this is La Noche de los Jovenes, the Night of the Young. You need someone."

"Need someone? Why? What's all this Night of the Young stuff about anyway?"

She laughed. "Seems you don't know much about the legend of Incubo, do you. Don't you know the story? Incubo returns every 30 years on the nineteenth of the ninth month. It is said he is as large as a bull, strong as an ox, yet sly like a panther. He comes, he takes what's rightfully his and then leaves for another 30 years. Noche de los Jovenes is the night of the young people. A night with one purpose, to protect each other from the devil before it's too late."

I stared in wonderment. Really did these people actually believe such twaddle. For one, there was no such thing as a devil and, for two, how would a party help protect you?

The night arrived and we all headed off to the party. There must have been around twenty five girls, all between eighteen and twenty, and an exactly equal number of boys. It seemed that everybody had made arrangements in advance and quickly paired up. Everybody that was except for me, but even I hadn't been forgotten. Somebody, I guessed one of Uncle Juan's daughters, had arranged a date for me also. I was introduced to a skinny bespectacled youth by the name of Miguel.

The party was in the local bar, an old fashioned joint which wouldn't have looked out of place in a wild west movie. Downstairs had the usual tables and chairs as well as a small dance floor. Upstairs though was separated into a number of smaller rooms. Bedrooms I assumed, not that many people passed though Peublo del Diablo these days.

It was fun. There was food and drink aplenty, perfect to allow any inhibitions to be released. Some danced, others chatted, some even cuddled and kissed. After a couple of glasses even I got into the spirit. It was just a party, nothing more. As the evening progressed it seemed that some couples started to wander upstairs. They'd be gone for fifteen or twenty minutes then return. Strangely though when they returned they were not in quite as high spirits as before. It was the girls, they were a little subdued, even a little pained when they reappeared. Must be the wine I assumed, a little too much maybe.

I noticed Uncle Juan's younger daughter, Ximena, heading off upstairs with her date, laughing as they went. Guessing that the restrooms were also up there I followed, a little way behind. I noticed them go into one of the rooms, hand in hand, still giggling. I continued down the corridor looking for the restrooms but didn't find any. On the way back I noticed that the door to their room was still ajar. Quietly, I bent forward and peered in through the gap in the doorframe.

I had no intention of being a voyeur, but I just couldn't take myself away from the sight inside. Ximena was slowly taking off her dress revealing a beautiful young body clad in a matching set of black lace knickers and bra. Her date had already stripped at the waist and was stood watching, one hand working his cock slowly as it grew in size. She removed her knickers before turning her attention to his cock, stroking it herself, feeling it grow and harden. It was a little surreal, here were two people about to get up close and intimate yet there wasn't an ounce of romance, or passion.

There was a large waist-high table at the side of the room and I watched as Ximena was led over to it. She bent over and rested her chest on the top, her legs slightly stretched as she stood almost on tiptoes. With his foot he pushed her legs apart opening up access to her pussy. By the way she gripped on to the table top, digging her nails in deeply, I could see that she was scared, actually petrified may be a better word. He spat into his hand and rubbed the wetness in between her legs, coating her sex and working her pussy lips until they responded to his touch. She tensed as he dipped a finger into the opening to her pussy, easing it around and stretching her lightly. Removing the finger it was replaced by the head of his cock, nestled up into her tight opening. He grabbed her hips and lent forward a little before stopping. Ximena was now clutching feverishly at the table top, her hands clenched and knuckles white.

I couldn't see what happened next, but from Ximena's reaction I could only guess. He stayed still for a minute or so, the head of his cock nestled into her opening, his hands now locked onto her hips. Then, in an instant, he leant forward plunging himself deep inside. From her scream I could only guess that she had lost her innocence in that one moment. He gave her a minute to recover then quickly pumped his cock in and out before cumming inside.

As he pulled out, I turned and left. I was shocked. It was sex, yes that was sure, but it wasn't love by any means. There was nothing gentle, nothing sensual about their actions. There seemed to be only one purpose, to take her virginity. I returned downstairs and waited. Eventually Ximena did return with her date, but as with the others their relationship wasn't quite the same.

Then it happened. Miguel grasped my hand and whispered in my ear.

"Come Raquel . . . let's go upstairs."

That was it.

No way

!!! I hadn't come here to let some skinny spotty youth have his way with me. I would choose when I lost my virginity and this wasn't the time or place. A distant memory maybe, but I still had dreams of meeting Adam once more.

He smiled as I stood up but his smile was short lived. Instead of following him towards the stairs, I turned and fled. Running hard through the centre of the village until finally taking refuge on a bench in the village square under the gaze of the statue of Incubo. I stared at the effigy of a giant man. I really couldn't come to terms with how a sleepy village could let a myth dominate their lives in such a cruel way.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The weeks continued and nobody mentioned the earlier party. What happened there was destined to stay there, everybody's little secret. I did wonder though how many of the young ladies had now progressed to womanhood that one evening.

August was the month to choose the fiesta queen. It seemed that every young woman in the village, over the age of eighteen but seemingly below twenty two, had been given the opportunity to put themselves forward. And it seemed that everyone was taking this seriously too. I had already decided to join in as there was no harm in being selected as the fiesta queen. After all, they wouldn't give it to an outsider anyway, would they?

I looked at the application form and filled out the details. There were the usual administrative questions, name, address, date of birth etc. The form then continued with a series of questions around you as an individual, interests, health, food allergies etc. It was the final question though which seemed so out of place. There, half way down the page was a single question. I stared at it, not quite believing what I was reading . . . it read "Have you ever had sex?" with tick boxes for "Yes, with a Boy", "Yes, with a Toy" and "No, I'm still a Virgin". I really didn't think it was any of their concern but eventually I ticked the last box.

I sealed up the form in it's envelope and deposited it in the box at the village hall. Nothing more to do but wait and put on a happy face when one of the local girls was chosen. "Not the end of the world," I though to myself.

August 31st arrived with a hive of activity in the village square. It was decision day, the day when the Fiesta Queen was to be announced. Every young woman in the village was there, but instead of an air of excitement it was more a hush of nervous expectation. It was the village councillor who had the job of making the announcement. I sat on a bench away from the crowd, waiting for the celebrations to happen as one of the locals was chosen.

I could hear a voice but not make out the words. It must have been the announcement though as the whole atmosphere changed in an instant. Whoever was chosen it seemed that everyone else was so happy for them. I was just about to walk away when Ximena walked over.