Warning and disclaimer

Warning and disclaimer

Warning and disclaimer: This story contains extremely graphic violence and

sexuality. If you are offended by descriptions of intense violence and sadism,

you are encouraged to stop reading this now. You have been warned.

Copyright stuff: You may freely distribute and archive this story as you wish,

provided that it is not sold for profit, nor altered in any way. The story

*must* include this copyright information as well as the warning and disclaimer

above.

 

_Liz: Hell Hath No Fury_

(Part II)

by the Poison Pen

copyright 1997

            And now the playing's stopped in the playground now

            She wants to play with her toys a while

            And school's out early, and soon we'll be learning

            And the lesson today is how to die.

                                                  

                                  Bob Geldof, "I Don't Like Mondays"

Liz laid sleeplessly in her bed. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, though she

saw only the images that flashed through her mind. Alone in the dark, the

goblins that infested her thoughts ran amok, gibbering and laughing.

The knowledge that she was losing her mind did not seem to matter as much as Liz

had hoped it would. In the silence, Liz could hear the wash of blood in her ears

and the gurgle of her digestion. She imagined the colourless pulp made from the

shattered bodies of hundreds of people oozing snail-like through her intestines;

imagined the skeletal remains of what had once been her best friend and the

object of her desire being slowly kneeded through the twists and turns of her

digestive tract.

Liz's mind tried to retreat from the horror of her actions and found the way

blocked. Each time her racing thoughts bounded down a dark alley of her mind to

escape the blazing light of reality, they encountered a chanting mob of

teenagers.

"Liz the lez! Liz the lez!" they jeered, their faces twisted out of true into

black mockeries of amusement. Liz groaned and pressed the heels of her hands

against her eyes, creating bright blue and red splotches of colour that

temporarily erased the images from her mind. The brief respite allowed her to

order her increasingly erratic thoughts.

The evening news had been full of special reports about the vanished research

institute. According to the reports, one thousand eight-hundred and fifty-three

people had vanished into thin air along with the building, including some of the

brightest lights in several fields of science. Liz, of course, knew what the

reporters, standing wide-eyed in the muddy field that had once been covered by

the office tower, did not: that what remained of the tower lay in a small pile

of rubble in her basement. And that the whereabouts of most of the people,

including Liz's own parents, could be expressed in terms of Liz's anatomy. Some

were snaking their way through her alimentary canal as a nutrient-filled mush;

some were dead and staring sightlessly in the wet blackness of her womb, drowned

in her excretions or crushed by the action of muscles spasming with lust; and

unknown others lay smashed in the powdered remains of the institute, down in the

basement.

Almost unnoticed in the panic and excitement was the brief disappearance of a

convenience store. According to witnesses, it had simply disappeared in a bright

flash of light. Less than an hour later it had materialized in the same spot.

Several people unfortunate enough to have been standing in the area where it

reappeared had been spattered in a gory spray of blood and bone across half a

street, as if they had been run over by a train. People were already linking

this bizarre occurance to the disappearance of the insititute, some reporters

speculating that some experiment must have gone awry. Mention was made of the

infamous Philadelphia Experiment.

Strangely, Liz found herself amused by the unexpected return of the convenience

store she had briefly stolen. She imagined the authorities finding the roof torn

off and all the people missing, and wondered what they would make of it.

Sitting in the living room listening to the reports as they came in, Liz had

felt immensely powerful, knowing that no one would ever discover what had

happened except her. She had rubbed herself nearly raw gratifying the constant

low-grade sexual charge this caused. There was no doubt or remorse in her while

that arousal lasted. It was only now, laying in bed and continously aware of her

parents' empty bedroom nearby, that she was wracked by the conflict between the

tatters of her conscience and her need for vengance -- and power.

"Mmmm, like the taste of sushi, Liz?"

Liz jerked upright in bed, her heart hammering, the taunting voice still ringing

in her ears. One of her classmates had said it to her three days ago while

grabbing her own crotch in a lewd pantomime and licking her lips. For a second

the voice had seemed right in the room, but Liz realized that she had dozed off

and conjured the voice herself.

Shame flushed Liz's cheeks and she hid her face in her hands until she felt the

crimson glow fade. Samantha. Rich, popular Samantha. Sexy Samantha whose long,

elegant legs, bared by an expensive skirt, Liz had often stared at over a book

in class. That's who had said it, Liz remembered. The people nearby had laughed,

even the ones Liz didn't know. The laughter was like a physical blow but Liz had

let her face go blank, turning on her heel and walking away with the laughter

still coming in waves at her back. She was careful not to let them see the tears

that slid down her cheeks.

"Bastards," whispered Liz into the darkness. "Bastards. Bastards, bastards,

bastards!"

The remembered feeling of helplessness at the time was almost palpable. It

seemed all the more so in juxtaposition to the power and control Liz now knew

and craved. No one, not one person had spoken up in Liz's defence. Not a

student, not a teacher, not so much as a janitor had thought to offer Liz a kind

word. Fury burned like an inferno in Liz's chest.

Well, she'd make them sorry. All of them. Let them feel weak and helpless before

her, unable to defend themselves. Let them cry and scream their fear and

helplessness. She'd laugh at them the way they had laughed at her, only hers

would be the best laugh of all.

Liz dressed and rose from her bed, her face set and purpose in every movement.

In the kitchen closet she got her father's cordless shop vacuum and went to the

basement.

With a push of her thumb, the small handful of rubble which still lay on the

receiver bed of the Machine was sucked up into the vacuum. The very few

miniscule people who had lain moaning and dying through the night in the rubble

were silenced at last as they were vacuumed up through the howling air.

While the computer went through its warm-up routine, Liz pulled out a phone book

and scanned down with her finger, stopping at a name. Then she pulled out the

criss-cross directory and cross-referenced until she had a specific location on

a specific street. With unhurried patience, Liz began running through the

checklist beside the computer. It was almost morning, but she knew she still had

plenty of time. Her preparations would be complete long before it was time to go

to school.

 

* * *

The first students to arrive at school were treated to the odd sight of Liz

counting off paces as she walked alongside the school.

"Whatcha doing, Lizbo?"

Liz stopped and made a jot in her spiral notebook, then looked up distractedly.

She added the name Craig Sherwood to her growing mental list and began her

pacing again. "The school's four hundred and seventy feet at its longest

dimension," Liz called over her shoulder. "Right now, anyway."

Craig looked puzzled for a moment, frowned, then turned to his friends and

tapped his temple meaningfully. His friends snickered and they all entered the

school together, leaving Liz to her eccentricity.

In the hallway, on the way to her homeroom, Liz felt many pairs of eyes looking

at her. Those of the girls held mostly disgust, while those of the boys held

mostly leering lust as some peurile lesbian fantasy played in their heads. A few

made comments and Liz ignored them beyond making note of their names. Some

seemed genuinely surprised at Liz's apparent calm.

The homeroom was all abuzz with news of Ashley's disappearance, and the

strangeness of it. Rumours had everyone from UFOs to secret government agencies

responsible for it. Unsurprisingly, no one suggested that someone might have

eaten her in a fit of sadistic lust, which was actually the case.

I guess they haven't heard the very latest news, thought Liz. Well, they'd soon

know, one way or another. The thought made her feel smug and superior, and she

watched the activities of her classmates with detachment. With her fingers she

lightly stroked the crinkly brown paper of her bag lunch. Soon there would be

debts to be paid. Very soon. Liz felt untouchable, already distant from the

people around her, as if they were less than human, almost beneath notice.

A small knot of people had formed around one desk. This was not unusual, for the

person at the centre of the cluster was Samantha of the long legs and red hair,

whose every word was a pearl of wisdom to be savoured by her sycophantic

worshippers. What was unusual was Liz rising from her desk and approaching the

band of courtiers. They fell silent as Liz approached, detecting with teenage

sensitivity her state of pariahdom, parting for her.

"Hey Lizzy," said Samantha with a sneer. "Eat anyone lately? Shut your mouth, I

can smell your last victim."

A few people tittered, mostly girls. Liz was thrown into panic and confusion for

a second that turned her cheeks pink until she realized in what sense Samantha

meant. Samantha laughed at the discomfort she had caused and turned away. The

audience with the princess was over.

Liz, infuriated, clenched her fists. She had come to taunt the bitch and had

been humiliated again instead. Liz slunk back to her desk, muttering under her

breath. "Yes I have, you numb cunt. Oh, yes I have..."

The bell rang and the students left for their first class, English. The teacher,

Mrs. Matheson, was away and the replacement managed to cover only a single canto

of the Orlando Furioso, the book the class was reading. To Liz's acute

embarassment the whole canto was only thinly veiled, being about lesbianism, and

everyone kept giggling and turning to look at her, much to the puzzlement of the

teacher, a stodgy bald man who looked like the nearest he came to sex was racy

quatrains by Shakespeare.

After class, the students filed out into the corridor for their next one,

pushing and shoving good-naturedly in the crowds. Several times Liz felt a hand

grope at her breasts or buttocks, but the crush of the students around her kept

her from finding the culprits. The rage mounted in her.

"Liz! Hey Liz!"

Liz nearly ignored the voice and the beckoning arm, but she caught a glance at

the face of the girl hailing her, a dark-skinned senior with tight, kinky hair,

whom Liz did not recognize. The girl's expression was grim and tight-lipped.

Curiosity piqued, Liz entered the classroom the girl had entered at Liz's

approach.

The classroom was empty save for the girl, who sat herself on the top of one of

the desks. "Close the door," she said.

"I'm going to be late for class," said Liz. hugging her books and her lunchbag

to her.

The girl got up walked over to the door, sticking her head out. Most of the

students had vacated the hallway. She closed the door. "We got to talk, Liz.

It's real important. Have a seat."

Liz eyed the girl suspiciously but sat down at one of the empty desks. It wasn't

as if being late today was going to matter in a little while.

"My name's Lonnie," said the girl, pulling at a kink of hair in what Liz

supposed, correctly, was a nervous habit. "First let me say, you ever tell

anyone we had this chat and I'll call you a liar. No one'll believe you. You get

me?"

Liz nodded and narrowed her eyes.

"Good." Lonnie seemed to relax a little. "That was some stupid stunt you done,

letting that blonde piece of shit get hold of your diary. I suppose you ain't

too sad she's gone missing."

Liz said nothing.

Lonnie looked like she was searching for the right words and, not finding any,

grimaced. "Look, you think you're the only rugmuncher in this school? We all got

our kinks. Some of us are smarter than to write them down where idiots can see

them, that's all. You catch what I'm saying here?"

Liz blinked a few times in surprise. It took a few seconds to register what

Lonnie was saying. "You...?"

"Yeah, me, and a bunch of other folks too," said Lonnie. "You know what you

done? It was tough enough around here without this 'Liz the lez' shit going

around. This school isn't exactly progressive. We keep to ourselves and we keep

our heads down. Some of us even date outside of school."

All of this came as a revelation to Liz, who knew intellectually that there had

to be people like her out there, but never credited the idea in her heart, where

it mattered. "I didn't know. I..."

"You didn't think either. Shit," said Lonnie disgustedly. "Okay, catch this. I

don't go in for all that pink triangle bullshit and I ain't gonna hold your

hand, but I know how tough it is. You feel like you're going to pop your cork,

you give me the signal and we'll go somewhere and talk. Maybe when all this dies

down I'll introduce you around. As it stands, you got some pretty pissed-off

dykes ready to smack your silly head for stirring up the shit."

Liz's face turned grim, her eyes slitted with anger. "I don't think you're going

to have to worry about how you get treated around here any more. Listen to what

I say very carefully. You go to everyone you trust, and you tell them to go home

at lunch and don't come back for anything."

Lonnie frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"If you value your life, go home at lunch," said Liz. Her voice was icy. "Don't

come back this afternoon. You've got fair warning. You let them treat me like I

was diseased, but I figure I owe you at least this much. Go home at lunch. Got

it?"

Lonnie looked like she wanted to say something, but Liz stood up, grabbed her

books and her lunch, and left the classroom. There was something Lonnie found

chilling in Liz's eyes, and she shivered. Maybe she was feeling a little sick,

she thought. Maybe she'd best go home this afternoon after all...

The morning passed quickly for Liz. When the lunch bell finally rang, she felt

no nevousness. She had been planning this all day.

The lunchroom cafeteria was packed with students, as usual. Easily the size of a

gymnasium, hundreds of teens sat cheek-by-jowl with each other, talking and

laughing and eating. A few heads turned when Liz entered, but not many. She

scanned the room, then fixed her gaze on one table, threading her way through

the crowd with a shoulder.

"Well, look who it is," said Samantha as Liz sat down at the same table with

her. Heads swivelled around to look. "It's Liz the lez. Come to seduce me?"

Liz ignored the comment and pulled a small Tupperware bowl from her paper lunch

bag along with a sandwich and an apple. Seeing that Liz was not going to react,

Samantha turned haughtily away. He followers lost interest in Liz soon after.

When no one was looking, Liz filched a packet of ketchup from her neighbour, a

girl she vaguely recognized from the cheerleading squad. Carolyn or something.

After opening the packet with her teeth, Liz proceded to squeeze it onto the

tabletop, making a small red pool. Then with a steely glance around the table,

she pulled the top from her plastic bowl and dumped the contents out in front of

her.

     It's an earthquake.

     That was the first thought that ran through her head as Millicent

     Matheson was shaken violently awake. The small two-storey house

     shuddered again, the wood frame groaning audibly under the strain.

     Cracks appeared in the plaster of the walls and ceiling.

     "The twins!" cried Millie as she threw herself out of bed. Roger,

     a heavy sleeper, was still blinking dazedly on his side of the bed,

     trying to clear his head. Millie could hear Cory and Emily in the

     room they shared, calling "momeeee" in the panicky voice they used

     for middle-of-the-night bad dreams.

     The house gave a sudden lurch, throwing Millie from her feet as the

     entire roof tore away from the rest of the structure in a rain of

     plaster and wood splinters.

     Oh God, it's a tornado, thought Millie, sprawled out on the floor

     with her arms over her head. The twins, I've got to get to the

     twins, the thoughts chasing each other like a mantra through her

     head. Then she realized that the shaking had stopped. Light from

     overhead, blinding and shadowless, filled the room.

     "What the hell?" said Roger. Millie turned and watched him swing

     his legs out of bed and shade his eyes against the light, staring

     up at what should have been the sky. The colour drained from his

     face. "Holy fuck," he whispered.

     Millie looked up and felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She

     barely had time to acknowledge that an impossibly huge head was

     peering down at her before a hand more than twice as wide as Millie

     was tall descended into the room and lifted her from the floor.

     The next few seconds were a confusion of motion, nothing clear

     except the voices of the twins screaming with fright. When the

     world settled down again into some semblance of order, Millie was

     half-lying in a jumble with the twins and her husband in what

     could only be a giant cupped palm. The heat radiating up from

     the gigantic hand made Millie break a sweat. She and her family

     held each other as Roger tried to quiet the twins.

     There was a sense of movement. Millie looked up over the tree-

     like fingers that arced overhead and saw the giant was heading up

     a flight of stairs. This can't be real, she thought. It must be

     a dream. It has to be. Then Millie realized with something like

     shock that she recognized the face of her giant captor. It looked

     for all the world like Elizabeth, one of the girls from the English

     class Millie taught.

     The journey came to an end, and Millie found herself falling

     through space, landing against a hard, cold surface with enough

     impact to knock the wind from her. Roger landed beside her with

     a thud and the twins on top of him.

     Millie didn't think of much of anything until she managed to start

     breathing again. Slowly she climbed to her feet and found herself

     in a round, glass-walled, glass-floored room about thirty feet

     across. There were no doors, and the top of the smooth walls

     stretched storeys overhead. The room sat in the middle of a great

     red-and-white checked plain. Nothing looked right. All the

     perspectives seemed to be off.

     And then Millie realized her mistake. Elizabeth, whom she could

     see bustling around in a housecoat in the distance, was no giant;

     it was Millie, herself, and her family who had shrunk. Everything

     seemed to snap into focus with this awareness, and Millie realized

     that she was imprisoned in the bottom of an empty glass pitcher

     sitting in the middle of a table which sat, itself, in the middle

     of a well appointed kitchen. Millie was no more than two inches

     tall.

     "Millie," moaned Roger. "What are we going to do?" He had the

     twins hugged to his chest. Unlike Millie who had a nightgown

     and the twins who wore pyjamas, Roger wore only his briefs and

     looked cold.

     Millie never had a chance to answer, because Liz had finished

     whatever she was doing and had returned to the pitcher, glaring

     at the miniature family through the side. There was no mistaking

     the rage in her face, and Millie shivered.

     "You just let them do it, didn't you," said the gigantic school

     girl. Her eyes bored into Millie. "You didn't give a damn. Did

     you think it was funny? Did you think I was so perverted I

     deserved what I got?"

     "I don't know what you mean!" shouted Millie. She had a vague

     recollection of something about a diary. She hadn't paid much

     attention to the gossip of her students, and she wracked her brain

     trying to remember.

     "You knew!" raged Liz, her face reddening, her fists clenched.

     Millie felt panic rising in her chest. She could not afford to

     make this girl angry, with her family at the girl's mercy.

     "I'm sorry! Oh God, I'm sorry!" said Millie, willing to say or

     do anything to keep that dangerous flash from Liz's eyes.

     Liz's eyes narrowed to slits. "Yes, you will be sorry, Mrs.

     Matheson. You will. Oh, not right now, don't worry. I have a

     use for you. Him, on the other hand, I don't need."

     Roger's eyes widened and he backed away from the furious girl's

     eyes, which had turned to leer at him. One of Liz's great hands

     reached into the pitcher and Roger turned to claw uselessly at

     the glass wall that restrained him. Millie screamed and pulled

     helplessly at one of the impossibly huge fingers as Liz scooped

     the teacher's husband out.

     Liz carried tiny Roger over to the counter where a large plastic

     bowl sat. With her free hand, Liz lifted the bowl and poured a

     thick, white batter into the waffle iron that sat beside it.

     Oh no, she wouldn't, thought Millie, her hand over her mouth to

     stifle herself from screaming hysterically and terrifying the

     twins any more than they already were.

     She would.

     Millie saw her husband's little two inch body fall from Liz's

     fingers, his arms pinwheeling until he landed in the batter that

     filled the waffle iron.

     "Don't look!" yelled Millie, pulling the twins to her and holding

     their faces against her. "God, no. Oh God. Roger!"

     Roger managed to climb to his knees, covered completely in thick,

     cloying batter. Liz turned to her teacher and smiled, then slammed

     the lid shut on the waffle iron.

     Millie moaned a long, protracted groan that was almost a sigh,

     and screwed her eyes shut. Still clutching the twins to her,

     she tried to turn off her senses, to lose herself in darkness,

     but she could not block it out. The sight of her husband vanishing

     under the steel lid played like a movie behind Millie's eyelids.

     And soon she smelled a hint of something like roasted pork. She

     was horrified to feel her mouth water instinctively at the

     appealing aroma.

     Some time later, Millie opened her eyes. A few tears trickled

     down her cheeks. The twins looked forlorn, unsure how to react.

     Liz was seated at the table, a plate with waffles in front of

     her. Millie could see a dark patch in the middle of one waffle

     and knew instantly what it was. Liz added butter and maple

     syrup, and soon was tucking into her meal with fork and knife.

     "Cannibal," breathed Millie. "Cannibal! Cannibal!" she screamed

     at the top of her lungs. The twins backed away from her.

     Liz smiled and sawed through the dark spot, lifting a chunk of it

     into her mouth and chewing. "Mmm, mmm," she said, licking her lips.

     "Can't be cannibalism," said Liz thoughtfully as she chewed another

     piece, obviously enjoying herself. "You have to eat human beings to

     be a cannibal. I'm just eating bugs." Liz flashed her teacher a

     taunting grin.

     And Millie knew that Liz was mad. What little hope she had

     turned sour. She knew Liz was beyond reason, beyond any kind of

     restraint. Whatever had happened to the girl who was once her

     student, it had completely unhinged her mind. Deep inside her,

     Millie felt her doom with icy certainty. There would be no

     reprieve.

     Liz finished the last waffle and patted her lips delicately with

     a paper napkin before clearing away the plate, exchanging it for

     a bowl, a carton of milk, and box of corn flakes. She filled her

     bowl, poured the milk, dipped her spoon -- and paused. A corner

     of her lip twitched upward, and her eyes slid over to Millie. A

     white-hot poker of terror twisted in Millie's gut.

     "You know, I'm just thinking," said Liz conversationally, "I really

     don't need the rugrats either."

     Millie's breath caught in her throat. "No," she said loudly,

     shaking her head and hugging the twins to her as tightly as she

     could. "No, please, I'll do anything you want. Do whatever you

     want to me. Not my babies."

     "It would be really horrible if something happened to them,

     wouldn't it," said Liz, viciously. "The most terrible thing you

     can imagine. The pain would just go on and on. And no one would

     even know or care. I know all about that kind of pain."

     Millie saw the hand reaching and pushed the twins to the floor,

     covering them with her body. "Nooo! God damn you! They're only

     six years old!"

     Massive fingers easily powered Millie aside. The twins, little

     more than an inch tall, were easily held between Liz's fingers

     and lifted from the pitcher. Millie howled and beat at the side

     of the pitcher with her fists.

     "Needs a little something, I think," said Liz, and dropped the

     two children into the middle of her cereal bowl with a pair of

     tiny splashes.

     The milk was icy cold and reached well over the twins' heads.

     They coughed and sputtered, flailing their arms and legs and

     sending soggy flakes flying. Liz stirred the cereal with her

     spoon, then used it to push Emily to the bottom of the bowl and

     hold her there. "Mommy! Help me!" came the little scream from

     Cory as he splashed desperately in the milk, his sodden pyjamas

     pulling him down. Millie's hands and face were pressed as hard

     as she could into the glass wall of the pitcher, and her eyes were

     pits of bleakness.

     Liz lifted the spoon and Emily bobbed to the surface, coughing

     milk and screaming. The spoon came down again and this time it

     was Cory who disappeared below the surface. It was thirty seconds

     before Liz lifted her spoon again. Cory popped to the surface, but

     he was face down. He wasn't moving.

     "Whoops," said Liz. She spooned up Cory's immobile little form

     along with a pool of milk and a large wad of corn flakes. With

     a glance over at Millie, Liz shoved the spoon in her mouth. It

     came out clean. Liz began chewing, and the crunching sounds were

     plainly audible to Millie, lost in a living hell of horror.

     Swallowing, Liz put down her spoon, lifted the entire bowl to her

     parted lips and began drinking. Millie could not see Emily, but

     she could hear her shrieking. "Mommmeeeeeee!"

     Liz's face filled Emily's whole field of vision. Emily struggled

     and clawed at the floating flakes that surrounded her as she slipped

     closer to the yawning cave of Liz's mouth. Emily wanted to scream,

     but every time she opened her mouth cold milk poured in. Then

     suddenly Emily was caught in a current so fast she hadn't even

     time to try and hold on and she was in hot, humid darkness, and the

     flow of milk and cereal pushed her back over Liz's tongue, and Emily

     screamed and then she was sliding over the edge and falling and Liz's

     throat worked and Emily was screaming and her little feet scrabbled

     for purchase and failed and Emily went tumbling down, down into the

     fleshy, ululating pit gaping beneath her, and...

     And Liz put down the empty cereal bowl. "I can feel her, you know,"

     said Liz. "Paddling around in my tummy. Think she'll drown first

     or smother?"

     Millie face was blank. She felt distant from herself and from

     the horror she had witnessed. Somewhere in her mind she vaguely

     registered the fact that she was in shock and nodded to herself.

     There would come a time for screaming but that would be later,

     much later. Now there was blessed calmness. Millie curled up

     on the floor of her glass prison and stared distractedly at

     nothing at all. She didn't react even when Liz reached in and

     grabbed her.

     "I used to have a crush on you," said Liz, poking at the tiny

     woman curled in the middle of her palm with a finger. "You never

     knew. No one ever knew. Not until..."

     Millie watched Liz blink repeatedly in rapid succession. The mild

     surprise Millie felt at seeing a single, fat tear roll down Liz's

     cheek penetrated even the fog of her shock. "I didn't mean to,"

     said Liz in a whisper. "I'm out of control and I don't know how

     to stop and no one can stop me."

     Even as she was speaking, Liz's fingers seemed to move with a life

     of their own. They effortlessly tore the flimsy nightgown from

     Millie.

     "Please help me," said Liz, hoarsely. "Please."

     And then Liz pulled open her housecoat, and Millie was pressed

     into the soft flesh of Liz's breast, having the breath squeezed

     from her each time she slid over Liz's erect nipple. Liz thrust

     her chest out, massaging her breast with her fingers while her

     palm pushed the little woman against her. Millie's mind remained

     mercifully numb through the whole ordeal, and finally there was

     a short, sharp gasp from her captor.

     "Mmm, that was nice," said Liz, languidly, as she lifted the

     teacher from her breast at last. She spent a few seconds toying

     with Millie's own minute breasts with a finger, then sighed. "I

     better get ready for school," said Liz. It's going to be a...

     big day, today."

     Fetching a round Tupperware container from a cabinet, Liz dropped

     an unmoving Millie inside and closed the lid. Millie could not

     see through the translucent plastic but after her eyes had adjusted,

     she found there was enough light to see. Not that there was

     anything to look at; the container was sealed, and Millie was

     naked. After a while, the container was jerked violently. There

     was a brief instant of freefall, and then painful impact. The

     light vanished.

     Over the course of the next few hours, Millie slowly emerged from

     her daze as her new prison bounced her violently around. There

     would be periods of calm during which Millie could dimly make out

     voices like the distant mutter of cannons and knew that she was

     at school. Then the class bell would ring and the world would

     begin bouncing this way and that again, as Millie tried vainly

     to brace herself on the slick plastic. The air became noticably

     staler.

     Once, between classes, a corner of the lid was thumbed open and a

     shaft of light burst in, blinding Millie. It stayed open just long

     enough to replenish the air, and then everything went dark again.

     Finally, Millie heard the lunch bell ring, followed by the

     thunderous clatter of hundreds of people moving. The usual bouncing

     followed and then a short period of calm while the sound of dozens

     of conversations both near and far filled Millie's ears.

     Suddenly the container was moved again and the lid was unexpectedly

     torn off. The container tipped, spilling Millie out onto a hard

     surface, covering her stinging eyes with her hands against the

     bright light.

No one seemed to notice at first. The tiny two-inch woman laid still for a few

seconds, her little hands rubbing at her eyes. Then Millie sat up and looked

around with astonishment written on her face. She was in the school lunchroom,

on the cold, plastic surface of one of the tables. All around her, as far as she

could see, were titanic forms, like what she imagined a conclave of the gods of

Olympus must resemble. And yet, these beings that awed her to stunned silence

were no more than the students she had taught for year after year. The true

minuteness of her scale began to register to Millie.

Carolyn, seated immediately opposite Liz at the table, was the first one to

notice the little pink creature on the table. At first she thought it was a

mouse or a gerbil but as she leaned closer to look her jaw dropped open, and her

sandwich fell from numb fingers. "Ohmigawd," she blurted, causing several people

to note the alarm in her voice and turn to look.

Liz heard several sharp intakes of breath and smiled. Like a ripple moving

outward from a thrown stone, more heads at the table were turning to see what

the commotion was about. One by one the conversations faded away until the table

was an island of stunned silence in a sea of babble.

The tiny teacher leaped to her feet. "Help me!" she squeaked in a mouse-like

voice. "Someone help meeee!"

"Mrs. M-Matheson?" said Carolyn in a shaky voice.

Millie took a step in Carolyn's direction, and then felt something huge hit her

in the back, slamming her to the tabletop. Several people gasped as Liz used a

finger to smash the tiny woman down.

"Somebody! Please save me!" Only those sitting closest to Liz could hear the

little woman pleading, but everyone saw her spread her arms wide in

supplication. Millie staggered to her feet again, only to collapse once more as

something cracked her a stunning blow in the side of the head. Liz had flicked a

finger at her, sending her sprawling.

"Holy shit." Samantha's voice was loud and clear, but other than saying this she

did nothing but stare, goggle-eyed. Everyone else seemed to follow her lead,

staring and gawking, but frozen in place.

Millie had started crawling across the table, her head spinning from the vicious

impact of Liz's finger. Liz pinched the teacher's tiny foot between thumb and

forefinger and dragged her back. Millie opened her mouth to scream again, and

suddenly Liz shoved with her thumb against the back of Millie's head, pushing

her face first into the pool of ketchup. Millie's arms and legs thrashed

helplessly.

When Liz finally allowed Millie to lift her head, she had time only to snatch a

quick breath before having her face shoved back into the condiment which now

covered most of her. The vinegar from the ketchup stung Millie's eyes terribly

and filled her mouth and nose and ears. Just when it seemed she must surely

smother, Millie felt fingers grasp her firmly by the hips and lift her up.

Liz turned Millie back and forth in her fingers, seeming to examine her

minutely. "She's crazy!" shouted Millie as loud as she could. "Someone stop her!

Oh please, why won't someone help me!"

With a wide grin, Liz held the tiny struggling form up for everyone to see.

Then, very carefully, Liz placed Millie head-first onto her tongue and drew it

in so only the wildly kicking legs could be seen. With a wet slurp, the legs

vanished.

A number of people jerked spastically, as if they had been shocked by an

electrical charge. Liz opened her mouth for a split second, allowing Millie's

gut-wrenching screams of terror to come floating out, then slammed her lips shut

again. For a while, Liz simply enjoyed the feel of the hot, slippery little body

thrashing around in her mouth. Then, when she was certain that everyone at the

table was watching her, horrified, Liz swallowed with an audible gulp.

For exactly one second there was absolute silence in the lunchroom, as if the

people at the other tables sensed something was amiss. Then Carolyn gave an

ear-piercing scream and the room went crazy.

In the ensuing pandemonium Liz made her escape. Chairs were overturned and

people seemed to be screaming everywhere, most of them unsure why they were

screaming, but caught up in the near-riot of panic. Some who had seen what

happened were sobbing openly and others just sat very still as if they did not

believe what their eyes and ears had told them. At the doors, Liz turned around

once and glanced back. Her eyes caught Samantha's from across the room and Liz

was gratified to see terror in them.

Millie screamed in the hot, wet darkness of Liz's stomach, clawing futilely at

the walls of damp flesh that stretched upward around her. Her lower legs and

feet, immersed in liquid, stung with the first hint of the acidic agony that was

to come. Eventually, after screaming herself hoarse, the putrid atmosphere that

stank of rot and decay overcame Millie, sparing her greater suffering. Millicent

Matheson toppled into liquid beneath her, and sank into the welcome embrace of

the oblivion that had claimed her husband and children.

It was fifteen minutes before one o'clock by the time Liz arrived home. There

was no mail and no messages had been left on the answering machine, so Liz knew

no one had had time to contact all the families of people who had vanished with

the tower yet. She wasn't surprised. There were any awful lot of people, and

their records had vanished with the building.

Ten minutes of preparation and Liz was ready. She had left the computer on, so

it was warmed up and ready to go. Mrs. Matheson's miniaturized house, its roof

shattered, still sat on the receiver bed. Easier just to send it back, thought

Liz. Wouldn't give any clues as to what happened anyway.

Very carefully, Liz selected a rectangular box on the city map displayed on the

screen that took in the location of her school. When the computer asked her for

a ratio, Liz entered eighty to one. After carefully pacing off the measurements

of the school, she knew that at that scale, the whole school would fit easily on

the six foot receiver bed. After a few minutes, the computer chirped and threw

up a window:

                              analysis complete

                              ratio 80:1

                              proceed? (y/n)

Liz checked her watch. It was two minutes past one o'clock. Perfect. With her

soul exulting in music that would not have been out of place in the heart of a

Mongol warrior, Liz pressed the 'y' button, twice, barely registering the "clear

receiver? (y/n)" that flashed briefly on the screen. With a burst of light, the

ruined house disappeared and was immediately replaced by a large, low structure

in a rough L-shape.

     Samantha sat in the changeroom with the other girls, relieved

     that Liz was not there. The last thing she wanted was that

     pervert staring at her naked body as she changed. After that

     trick Liz pulled at lunch -- almost everyone had by now

     admitted that it must have been some kind of sick stunt --

     Samantha's patience had run out. If the little lesbo wouldn't

     do the decent thing and switch schools, she would make life so

     miserable Liz would be forced to leave.

     Just as Samantha was pulling her shirt over her head the

     lights went out, leaving the room only dimly illuminated by

     the red emergency lights that ran on their own batteries.

     For some reason, Samantha found herself unaccountably

     nervous, and kept remembering the look in Liz's eyes as she

     left the cafeteria.

     That was the last coherent thought she had as the ceiling

     collapsed.

Liz examined the school critically, walking around the receiver bed to orient

herself. She quickly identified the spot where she knew the gymnasium was

located. It had a motorized wall that could be moved to separate it into two

halves, one each for the girls and boys. If that was the gym, she thought, then

the girl's change room had to be right about... there.

Liz's fingers punched through the roof as if it was made of paper. She flung the

chunk of concrete, steel beams, plaster, and fluorescent lighting away. Inside

the hole she had made, Liz spotted two dozen tiny girl-shaped forms running or

crawling or staring upward. None of them were quite a full inch tall.

Most screamed at the sight of Liz and made for the door to the gym, but Liz

scrabbled about with her fingers, grabbing at them. By threes and fours she

snatched them, gathering them in her other hand where they clutched each other

and cried, terrified of staying, but more terrified still of leaping from the

hand and falling what seemed to them to be hundreds of storeys to the ground. A

few managed to escape, but not many. Liz wasn't concerned. They had no place to

run.

Leaving the rest of the school for the moment, Liz took her tiny prisoners

upstairs to the kitchen, where she dumped them onto the table. One girl dressed

in shorts and a t-shirt, whom Liz recognized from the track team though she

didn't know her name, started running the second she landed, and Liz snatched

her up with her fingers.

"Watch carefully," said Liz. "I'm going to show you what happens to people who

don't do what I tell them."

Tiny though the girl was, Liz could hear her little chirp of terror as Liz's

fingers began to compress. The girl's fists beat at the tips of the fingers that

were cruelly crushing the breath from her. Slowly, very slowly, Liz brought her

fingers together, holding the girl up so every one of her captives could see. As

ribs started to snap, blood started leaking from the girl's mouth and nose.

Finally, she threw her head back and let loose a soul-wrenching howl that

culminated with a geyser of blood that exploded from her mouth. Liz pressed her

fingers completely together, and there were small snapping sounds. The girl

sagged brokenly, coils of glistening intestine spilling from her ruptured flesh.

With a flick of her finger, Liz sent the crumpled body flying to the tabletop

where it landed with a wet smack.

Some of the girls were screaming hysterically, some were sobbing. It was too

much for one, who made a break for the edge of the table farthest from Liz.

Liz's fist came hurtling down on top of her. The impact threw all the other

girls from their feet. The runner simply exploded, throwing jets of blood in all

directions. What was left of her did not resemble anything human.

"Anyone else?" asked Liz with a nasty grin. No one moved. "Didn't think so." The

terror of the tiny girls in front of her was almost a physical force, coming off

them in a cloud. The sight of all those fear-creased faces, their eyes staring,

their cheeks pale and streaked with tears, was maddeningly arousing to Liz. Most

were familiar to Liz. Many had joined in her persecution. All were at her mercy,

and Liz had none.

"I watched you all in the showers," said Liz. "For years. Gorgeous young bodies,

soft and supple, begging to be touched and kissed. None of you knew. You stood

there with your luscious tits hanging out and your nipples ripe and rosy and I

couldn't do a fucking thing. Carolyn's got such amazing tits. Hey Carolyn, show

us your tits."

Liz reached out a finger to sort through the girls in front of her, and they

parted like magic. A girl near the back tried to hide herself in the crowd, but

no one would let her get near. Carolyn fell to her knees with her face to the

ground and her arms over her head, her whole body shaking with the force of her

sobs. Liz's forefinger easily flipped her over, and when Carolyn tried to crawl

away, the finger pinned her to the table.

"Come on," said Liz. "We all want to see those luscious tits of yours. All those

soft blouses you wear that show off your nipples. We want to see them. You know

what happens to to people who don't do what I say. Take off your fucking shirt."

Released by the finger, Carolyn lurched to her feet and, sobbing hysterically,

pulled her sweatshirt off.

"Bra too," said Liz, eyes fixed on the little captive.

Carolyn pulled at the athletic bra with shaking hands, managing to get it off,

then stood with her hands by her side, head bowed and shoulders hunched.

"Mmm, nice," said Liz. With a fingertip she knocked Carolyn to the floor, then

ran the very tip of her finger back and forth over the tiny breasts. "I think

I'll keep you. You always said you were too cool for me. Guess now it'll be

true."

Liz snatched Carolyn up, leaned back, and opened the freezer door on the

refrigerator. Carolyn squeaked once, and then Liz flung her in a short parabola

into the depths of the freezer. The door swung shut.

"There. I'll be able to take her out and look at her whenever I like. And

Carolyn will be the coolest kid in school. Now," said Liz, a leer on her face.

"The rest of you. I want to see naked bodies in about five seconds. The last one

out of her clothes gets to be an example."

Most of the girls shucked their clothes as quickly as they could and stood

covering themselves with their hands. A half-dozen were curled up on the ground

and would not move. Only one stood defiantly with her hands on her hips, glaring

up at Liz. Samantha.

The six who did not move, Liz swept up with her fingers. At her touch, all but

two shrieked and tried to run, to no avail. Liz lowered her lips to her hand and

shoved all six into her mouth. Wails and screams came from the doomed girls.

With her mouth open so those on the table could witness the carnage, Liz began

chewing. Slowly. An arm crushed. A leg. Someone's hip ground between her molars.

A hand severed by scissoring canines. All accompanied by wet snapping noises.

The shrieking was horrible and it went on and on as Liz carefully and painfully

ground the six girls to pulp. A dark red drool dripped from Liz's lower lip and

down her chin. There were still moans and sobs coming from within when Liz

closed her mouth and swallowed.

After picking her teeth with a fingernail, Liz extracted a bloodied and torn

pair of panties, which she dropped in front of Samantha.

"I was hungry," said Liz. "I didn't have much of a lunch." She laughed at her

own joke.

"Go to hell!" screamed Samantha, at the top of her lungs. Liz could barely make

out what she was saying. "You're going to kill us all anyway. I'm not going to

put on a show for you, you... sick pervert!"

Liz stared at the miniature Samantha, whose terror was subsumed by an even

greater fury. It was too bad Samantha was such a bitch, thought Liz. She could

almost admire courage like that. Liz broke out in a wide grin as she realized

that all of Samantha's protests were worth exactly nothing. Still grinning, Liz

grabbed the girl by one leg and began stripping her by pinching the clothes

between her fingernails. It was tricky work, and Samantha made it as hard as she

could be struggling and squirming.

"Fuck off! You fucking lesbo pervert! Let go of me this second!" screamed

Samantha, keeping up a constant flow of abuse.

When Samantha was completely naked, Liz lifted the tiny pink body to her lips

and ran the tip of her tongue over it, from end to end. With her fingers, she

ground Samantha's groin over the very tip of her tongue, unable to feel much but

beginning to breathe heavily with the mere knowledge of who she was molesting.

A thought occured to Liz. She lowered Samantha to the table, laying her on her

back and pinning her there with her arms over her head with the tip of one

finger.

"Okay, you," said Liz, pointing to one of the other girls. "Get over here."

Trembling, the girl obeyed.

"Alright," said Liz, with a wide, sadistic smile on her face. "Get between

Samantha's legs and start licking."

The girl hesitated for only a second, then looked up at the gargantuan form

looming overhead and shuddered. She went down on all fours in between Samantha's

legs.

"No!" screamed Samantha. "Oh fuck! Kelly, you touch me and I swear I'll fucking

kill youuuuuu-- ooh!"

Samantha's hips bucked as the girl's lips touched her mons. "You're all

perverts! You're all a bunch of God damned fucking lesbo dykes! You--"

As Kelly's tongue probed inside her, Samantha's rage grew in direct proportion

to her arousal. Shamed by her body's betrayal, Samantha screamed obscenities.

"Rape! Kelly, you fucking rapist! I hope you burn in Hell, you cunt-sucking

dyke!"

Liz enjoyed the scene immensely. She wished she had a video camera to record it,

but guessed that the images would stay with her forever in any case. "You and

you," she said, pointing to two more girls. Most had turned away, but a few

stood staring in shock. "Get over here and help."

With weak knees, the two girls did as they were told, each using their hands and

mouth fumblingly on Samantha's breasts.

Sweat was beginning to bead on Liz's forehead. Her whole body vibrated with the

power of her arousal. "You are turning me on like you wouldn't believe,

finger-food," gasped Liz, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "I think it's time

to move this little party somewhere more interesting."

Liz stood, and with her free hand, pulled at her skirt until it puddled down

around her ankles. Her cotton briefs had a damp patch that covered the whole

front, and pulled away in sticky strands when Liz hiked them down. Her labia was

puffed out and drooled a thin stream of viscous liquid at the bottom. The smell

of her sex was strong to the tabletop prisoners who cowered away from it,

terrified by its nearness and immensity.

Liz dipped a finger inside herself and rubbed gently, then extracted it wet and

shiny. She dabbed the finger at the three girls who surrounded Samantha, wetting

them down, then pushed them aside and ran her finger sensuously up and down

Samantha's tiny body. At last she released Samantha, and placed her whole hand

over top of both her and the three other girls, making a jail of her fingers.

Carefully she drew them into her hand and lifted them before her flushed face.

"You morsels are going to make me very happy," said Liz, and blew them a kiss.

"And hey, Samantha... if you see my folks tell them I said hi."

Then with a wicked leer, Liz lowered her hand to her pubis and rubbed the tiny,

hot bodies against her labia while they screamed and fought with all of their

miniscule strength. Slowly, Liz rubbed them into her folds, working them ever

deeper inside herself. When all four had slid inside, Liz used a finger to push

them in as deeply as she could.

"Uh," grunted Liz as she felt them start to squirm. The little tingles their

struggling caused were maddening but insufficient to satisfy. Her hand reached

out and grabbed a handful of little pink bodies from the table and shoved them

rudely inside. The rest of the girls began screaming and running in all

directions to escape their fate but not one escaped. By ones and twos and whole

handfuls, Liz snatched them up and fed them into her ravenous cleft. They filled

her totally in a way Liz had never experienced. Each tiny girl exerted her own

pressure as she writhed in the grip of Liz's vaginal muscles. Liz had to pinch

herself shut with her fingers to keep her little occupants from falling out, so

stuffed full was she.

Two girls who had the dubious luck of being last and hence unable to fit inside

were held pushed against the Liz's outer labia by her squeezing fingers and were

quickly crushed to death, their blood mixing with Liz's juices to make her slick

and lubricated.

Unable to remain standing on her increasingly wobbly legs, Liz let herself fall

to her knees and then to her back on the kitchen floor, gasping for breath and

bearing down as tremor-like orgasms rumbled through her from end to end, slowly

gaining force, until it was a full-fledged tower-toppling earthquake that

threatened to tear Liz's heart apart with its intensity.

"Uhhhhhh!" Liz threw back her head and howled as she let the two broken bodies

in her fingers fall to the floor where her bouncing buttocks smashed them to

paste. Shoving her fingers inside herself, Liz pushed and probed, feeling tiny

bodies breaking under her thrusts.

Half the girls failed to survive Liz's climax when it came. Some had smothered

in the press, but most had simply been crushed by the walls of wet, rippling

muscle around them, Liz's thrusting fingers, or both. Of those who lived, none

escaped unscathed.

When Liz's final orgasm had run its course, she pulled herself open and began

extracting battered little bodies. Among those that still survived, there were

many broken bones and internal injuries. Few were capable of moving, having

shattered bones poking brutally through shredded flesh. The worst injured simply

laid where they landed between Liz's thighs, moaning softly.

In the heap of dead and wounded, Liz picked out Samantha's red hair and

extracted her. One arm was bent at an unnatural angle but she looked, other than

that, relatively uninjured. At last her nerve had broken and when Liz picked her

up, Samantha begged and pleaded, and kissed the fingers that held her. "Please

Liz, I don't want to die, I'll do anything you want, anything," she sobbed,

hugging her wounded arm to her.

Liz eyed her coolly. "So long, bite-sized," she whispered.

Tilting her head back, Liz opened her mouth and lifted the tiny redhead until

she hung suspended over the canyon of her mouth.

"Liz! No! Noooo!" screamed Samantha.

Liz let go, and the little body tumbled into her waiting mouth. Liz gave her

fifteen seconds to get good and terrified -- as witnessed by the shrieks coming

from inside her -- then swallowed. The screaming faded away and then vanished

altogether. Samantha spent the last few horrible minutes of her life surrounded

by the bloody, mashed and partially chewed remains of six of her classmates.

After fetching a whisk and a dustpan, Liz swept up the pile of dead and wounded

girls and dumped them into the sink. Bloody and mangled, covered in Liz's

juices, and now brown with adhered dirt from the dustpan, they were an

unappealing, not to mention unappetizing, lot. Liz thought for a moment, then

went to one of the cupboards.

The lucky ones were already dead. The others writhed in unimaginable torment as

Liz sprayed the whole lot with oven cleaner. Those who were not already dead

quickly followed as the foam dissolved their flesh. Within minutes not much but

the larger bones were left, and these Liz washed down the drain.

Liz's blouse and bra, the only pieces of clothing she still wore, clung to her

sweat-soaked skin and she removed them, throwing the damp articles into the

living room. It wasn't as if her parents were going to complain, she thought,

smirking.

Padding over to the fridge, Liz opened it and stood staring at the contents,

pondering. Her little living snacks had piqued her hunger and, after all, she

hadn't really had much to eat for a couple of days. Tiny people were fun to eat,

but they weren't exactly filling. As she stood there, it suddenly occured to her

that she still had an entire school full of little, terrified snacks in the

basement. A wide, cruel grin filled her face. The refrigerator door slammed

shut, and Liz stalked down into the basement in search of screaming morsels.

She found lots of them.

In the time she had been gone, hundreds of students and a few teachers had

vacated the school and stood staring up at the sheer, steel walls of the

receiver bed. At the first sight of her, a collective shout went up from the

little people, and the whole crowd began fighting to press their way through the

crush of people into the school. It made it easy for Liz to simply reach out

into the mob and grab a handful of people.

There were maybe twenty people clutched in her hand, and Liz examined them

briefly. She spotted a teacher she knew, and smiled. "Hi, Mr. Edmund," she said,

waving to her astonished History

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