Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27838637-20170128143905

The story is not called, I'm Back. It doesn't have a title yet. In fact, it's not even complete. This is just a draft of the first quarter of an upcoming story that I've been working on. I know it has issues, and as a matter of fact I've had a hard time writing it due to the material, but I am intent on finishing it and posting it to the wiki, much to my disgust, and hopefully the disgust of everybody else.

Be warned, it's very NSFW.

Almost everyone loves children; but unfortunately, Nicolas Langford loved children a little too much. He seen something in them that normal people didn’t, past all the innocence and laughter, Nicolas didn’t see a child – he saw a plaything. To Nicolas, kids were something for him to fondle, to touch, to fuck, and to kill. In his mind, an adult woman - or an adult man - never felt as good as any of his victims had. He didn't really have a reason for why he done it. It was like an addiction. 'Drug addicts and alcoholics couldn't really justify their addictions, so why should I?' Nicolas pondered to himself. No matter how hard he tried to stop, he couldn’t resist the urge. The rush he got when he held them down and forced himself inside them as they screamed and begged was something nothing could possibly measure up to. He didn’t know what he liked more; the pleasure, or the power.

It started when he was a child. Nicolas grew up in an abusive household, his mother and father addicted to methamphetamines, alcohol and everything else illicit and taboo. When they weren’t beating their children, they were fucking each other in the lounge room and kitchen, right in front of Nicolas and his sister, Emily. Maybe they didn't realise their children were in the room, or most likely, they just didn't care. Nevertheless, Nicolas had become exposed to sex at a very young age, and he used to masturbate at the age of six to the sounds of his parents fornicating. Sometimes, he even used to watch them whilst he pleasured himself. He was not alone in his sick fantasies however, as Emily also fell victim to the same exposure.

At school, the pair was no better off. They were all but ignored by most students, bullied by few, and constantly chastised by their teachers who had no idea what their life outside of home was like. There was always something wrong; they didn’t finish their homework, their clothes were too dirty, they smelt. Really, it was a wonder why the teachers were too stupid to realise that this was a matter for the parents to solve, not the children. Or maybe they fell into the same category that everybody else in Nicolas’ life had – they just didn’t care.

The only one that seemed to care for Nicolas was his sister Emily. They were confused children, exposed to sex and abuse at a young age, with nobody to care for them except each other. Nicolas and Emily shared a room. They were both the same age, only eleven months between them. It didn’t take long for their relationship to become sexual, despite the fact that they were siblings, and only eight years old. In their minds, it was normal. Nobody had told them it was wrong. Besides, their love had developed beyond the boundaries of most siblings. They were everything to each other.

They used to cuddle in bed and talk about how they would move away together, get married and have children. It was a miracle that nobody picked up on the true nature of their relationship. But then again, nobody had the chance to.

When Nicolas was ten years old, his mother left the house. She ran away, out of her mind on illicit substances, screaming about how God was coming to take her children away for being a disgraceful mother. Nobody knew where she went, and nobody cared enough to look for her. This made the Langford household a lot more tense and rough than it used to be. Nicolas’ mother was the ‘fetcher’. She was the one who brought the drugs from local dealers by selling herself to them, something that Nicolas’ father was unable to do. Unable to pay for his habits, he began to take them by force.

It was only a week after Nicolas’ mother had disappeared. His father was desperate for a fix, and in his confusion and desperation, he took his children with him. He didn’t make it out of the street before he blacked out. He slumped forwards, pushing down on the accelerator, forcing the car into a nearby house. The force of the crash wasn’t enough to kill them, however. It was the fact that the veranda collapsed awkwardly onto the bonnet of the car, sending sheets of steel through the front windscreen.

That’s what killed Nicolas’ father.

Because Emily happened to be in the front seat, it’s what killed her too.

Nicolas never really recovered from it. Physically the boy was fine, but mentally he broke down. He spent at least twelve months in a home with psychiatrists until he was put into a foster home, and lived out the rest of his childhood like any other foster kid.

But nobody picked up on his dark desires. Not even Nicolas knew about it until he was nineteen years old. Up until then, all of his sexual partners had been under the age of sixteen. He didn’t really take much notice of this pattern until a one night stand made a crude remark about it; a comment that has stuck in his mind for years.

“Do you like a younger girl Nicolas?”

It was only then that it came to his attention that he yearned for someone a lot younger. Someone around the age of eight, like Emily was. Nicolas just wanted to relive his first fuck, and his only love. He just wanted Emily back. Ever since she died he felt like a piece of him was missing; like when she died, she had reached into his chest and taken a fragment of his heart with her. Nicolas just wanted it back.

But he never could.

No matter how many children he raped, Nicolas just couldn’t get that high he yearned for. As his number of victims rose, Nicolas became more addicted, more aggressive and ruthless. His addiction became stronger and stronger. The killing became a compulsion too. Before long, Nicolas’ addiction had grown beyond repair. It was no longer about finding himself – or fixing himself. Perhaps it never was.

But now, in his mid-thirties, Nicolas had his eyes set on something a little more permanent. The police had come close to linking the disappearances of multiple children on him. Obviously he had gotten a little tenacious, thinking he would never be caught, slipping up just enough for the authorities to catch on. Had he not slipped away at the last minute, there is a good chance they would have caught him. Nicolas knew that, and that’s why he escaped to the mountains. The authorities would find him eventually, lock him up; maybe even kill him. He wasn’t afraid of dying, as a matter of fact, he even embraced the idea. But before he did, he wanted to leave behind a legacy.

So, in the small remote town of Honovi, Nicolas was searching for what would be his final victim. 