"Well don'tya think it's bout time for another generation," she demanded in earnest. "Poor Grampa'll soon be gone, and I won't be around forever."

Stacy was powerless to stop the inevitable fate of all 'rabbits' as he called their victimsl--she turned away and went upstairs to turn Baby's radio up loud to drown out the guy's screams. Later she found out Vera-Ellen had taken a rusty hacksaw to his neck, ever so slowly, and it was several passes before his life spurted out and his misery was over.

She still managed to molest the headless corpse until her lust was satiated, then made her way to the tub to wash off the blood.

--May 2000--

You know! I'm in league with Satan and
You know! There can be no debatin
My hellbound trail...I was born with a tail...

What in the fuck was that kid listening to, thought Vera-Ellen. He seriously needed to turn that shit off before they started getting customers. Someone coming in to buy a socket wrench don't want to hear the song "Creepy Jackalope Eye" blaring out at them by the Supersuckers. Checking the stack of cd's she confirmed it, that cowpoke punk band were the culprits...Well, Eddie Spaghetti can kiss my ass, she thought grimly, shutting the player off.

Kids nowadays. She clopped her way to the 'office' and smacked Travis in the head for good measure. "I tol' you ta stop playin that godawful shit durin' business hours!"

--March 1993--

Otis opened his eyes...he'd fallen asleep down in the underground system of tunnels he'd taken over and made his own, filling it with first his art and discarded victims, then pieces of medical equipment and chemicals for his experiments. Covered in dried blood and grime he rose from the old battered couch he'd brought from the trash dump and stretched like a tired old cat. Then he knew what had awoken him, someone had entered the tunnels and was nearing the room he was in.

"Well howdy, Rita," he greeted her while she stepped into the light. She'd come straight from her job it seems, still dressed in her nurse whites.

"Thought you'd be down here," the black woman remarked. Otis was an enigma; he was complex and intelligent but cold as ice at times. There were times they shared real warmth and friendship and others when he simply pushed everyone away. "What is it, Otis," she asked him point-blank. She knew something was amiss--working closely together in such an environment made her more aware of him, not to mention his mental powers he'd developed because of the things he'd injected himself with.

"It's the dreams again...they come more frequent."

"The woman, Stacy, and yore son?"

Looking away he answered yes. He hated revealing these things but knew it could get ugly if he didn't just talk to her. The woman was persistant and stubborn, almost as much as her husband RJ.

"You sure they ain't just dreams and nuthin more?"

"You know better n' that, prissy-pants," he snapped. She did, actually. She'd seen his uncanny abilities and the fact that no one could sneak up on him, indeed get with 50 yards of him without his knowing it. Usually even when he was asleep, too.

"Come on," the woman says, taking his lean arm in her hands. "Baby's got supper ready, come up an' eat."

--Summer, 1976--

Stacy was perusing some worn, dusty tomes in Otis' room and was surprised to find books on from Socrates, the Encyclopedia of Witchcraft and Demonology and Utopia. How had she come to accept this crazy situation, she wondered? Her fiance and best friend had been killed by this family of abominations but yet she'd been spared, and she intuited that Mother Firefly had a lot to do with it. But now Otis seemed to care for her of his own volition and they had indeed bonded. There was his philosophies written and scrawled all over the walls of the room and the smell of death, sweat, and fear clung to it.

"Who said you could pilfer in my shit," came the familiar growly tone.

"Nobody said I couldn't," she replied with impertinence.

Otis snickered at that, doffing the cowboy hat he was wearing and came toward her. "You are one spunky bitch," he whispered, his wiry arms sliding around her waist, pulling her against his lean form.

Their lips met and electricity seemed to race up and down both of them as they melted together. Her hands travelled up his chiseled abdomen under his ratty t-shirt, getting a soft moan out of him. She knew how to drive him crazy and they both knew it. "You really want it that bad," he hissed in her ear. "You ain't fakin?" It still surprised him that she didn't recoil at his touch like so many of the others.

"Does this answer your question," she pulled at his belt and unbuttoned his pants and reached for the object of her pleasure which was already hardening. He fondled a round, full breast and soon they were practically tearing at each other's clothes.

He was inside her warm, moist embrace, plunging with abandon. This was the best live girl he'd ever had. "AAhhh, fuck, Jesus fuckin' ice cream snow cone surprise," he squealed as he humped her senseless. She wrapped her shapely legs around his thin waist and encouraged him. He said some of the weirdest things during sex..once he even called her Mom.

Before you could describe it, it was all over, both of them lying panting in his bloodstained bed. Stacy had grown immune to it by now, the clutter and mold and the occasional bloodstain or body part...

Otis let her put her strong arms around him and snuggle, allowing her to think he was cuddling with her.

Otis didn't cuddle, unless it was with his dead cold playtoys, and that was only when no one else was looking. Eventually he gave her a sizzling kiss and eased out of bed...he had a burning desire to make art, and not even Stacy could dampen that.

She sure knew how to fuck, though.

Stacy had been living with the Fireflys since the early spring, remembering her former life in bits of nostalgia every now and then. That is, until Baby discovered Stacy's brother Tom snooping around looking for his beloved sister.

That moment changed everything...it woke her up and brought reality back to her, which saddened her. She had never felt so vibrant and free before, free from disapproving eyes and inhibitions or worries about what tomorrow might bring. Familial love for her sibling kept her up that night trying not to hear Baby having her way with him.

Vera-Ellen had him tied to a wood chair, hands bound behind the chair's back and she'd cut his t shirt off him and carved up his chest. She knelt and licked at the wounds, licking her pink lips provactively. She rose and straddled him, pulling her cropped shirt over her head and slinging it across the room then jutted those pert, perfect breasts into his face. Horrified he tried to turn away and got a stinging slap in the face. "Pay attention," she demanded, high voice going even more shrilly. "I bet you ain't had a good woman, have ya," she laughed, then began kissing him so sweetly he actually began enjoying it, and became even more horrified.

"Boy you're one tall drink o' water," she went on. Tom was indeed a big broad-shouldered red-haired specimen of a man, and Baby was burning up with lust for him. "Come on, big man, yeahhh...you wanna fuck me? You think yer man enough to fuck me?" Her slender hands undid he pants and began stroking him.

"Oooh, God," he was getting aroused much to his disbelief.

"Heh, your lips say no no, but your body says yes, yes," she says, hitching her skirt up still brandishing her polished, sharpened knife. Baby lightly touches Tom's cheek with the blade, not breaking the skin and travels slowly down his breast and abdomen, then with a swift motion cuts her own panties off, and gives them a sling as well. Tom's breath was coming fast with fear and hormones, his light brown eyes wide and dilated. Moving forward a little the blonde woman slid down his organ and waited a few full moments before raising up again, then back down. Men was so easy, Baby thought as she fucked him, a warm hole and set of tits and they're ready to go. Didn't matter she was cutting him (albeit very shallow cuts) and he was completely at her mercy.

It was probably sometime during that night Lilith Anna Firefly was conceived, although we can never be certain. One thing can be discerned for sure was that Tom had the night of his short life. Once Baby had fucked him a few times a night for close to a week she grew tired. She'd already grown tired of the other prisoner, Jim, for he didn't turn her on the way Tom did.

Still it didn't save Stacy's brother's life.

--Halloween, 1980--

Otis was dreaming of that elusive redhead, Stacy. It'd been four years since she'd came into their lives and then left, and he'd let her go. He could've killed her so easily, but he couldn't do it. He loved her, and she was carrying his seed within her when she fled with the would-be vigilante, Jim. Baby thinks she aborted it when she went back to the petty world, but he felt differently. He was sure she kept the baby, and sure that someday he'd see them both again.

And woe to Stacy when he did.

He yelled at Baby when she came prancing in, he really, really, really didn't feel the Halloween spirit this year. He didn't want to join in the revelry and after a heated argument Baby stomped back out of his room, complaining aloud to whomever would listen. The only thing that softened his rock solid depression was when the little girl of Vera-Ellen's came to pull at his long wispy hair and ask him to read her a book.

"Aw, not now Lily," Otis declared.

"Wead this to me," she said in her four-year-old's voice but with clear English. "Pweeeease Uncle Otis," she turned her big round green eyes up to the crazed albino and a tiny grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Sighing, he acquiesced. Damn, but she was even cuter than Baby. The book was called "Pete and Jenny's Halloween surprise."

Aw, a kid after his own heart.

--December, 1992--

"Well, if it isn't my runaway bride," sneered the longhaired man, playing with his huge butcher knife. "You forget bout me already? YOU'RE MINE, BITCH!" Then Otis began cackling.

She snapped awake, gasping and sweating and looked frantically around the room. Her cozy single mother's bedroom with no hint of male habitation. God, the madman still haunted her even in her dreams. "Mom," came Tommy's bleary voice. "You ok?" She could hear him fumbling his way toward her room in the dark. "Mom?"

"Yeah, sweetie," she managed to say without squeaking. "I'm fine." She knew her son worried over her chronic drinking and recurring nightmares but didn't know how to begin telling him why. She'd made a decent life for herself and her child and didn't want to dredge up that old shit. Stacy felt her son's ever-growing frame sinking in the bed beside her. He was gonna be as big as his uncle and namesake from all indication. "Do you want me to get your pills," he whispers softly.

"No, I said I'm fine," she tells him firmly. She was the mother, dammit! The teenager accepted this without comment, but simply put his arms around his troubled mother. He didn't know what tormented her so, but he figured it had something to do with her bout of insanity during the mid-70's, which also coincided with his own birth.

Tommy intended to find out what the hell was going on.