Part Fourteen
[Author’s Note: Things are about to get a lot darker for a while. The main plot with Mikhael and James’ plan is about to take the forefront for a bit.]
Sam was about to begin explaining the intricacies of growing up to the soon-to-be-grown foals, when there was a tapping at the back door. Another beaten up fluffy needing help, she thought to herself, exasperated. She was happy to help, but this was getting to be too frequent. Still, she wasn’t about to leave a fluffy to freeze or starve just because it arrived at an inconvenient time.
She excused herself, telling the fluffies she’d be back soon, and went to the door. After preparing, she opened the door. There, shivering on the porch, was the smarty from the herd she’d rescued Smokey from, this time alone. He was clearly cold, starved, and injured, probably from his old herd who wouldn’t take too well to his failure to open the can of sketties.
“Smawty gon’ gib dummeh hoomin wowstest huwties fow makin’ hewd huwt smawty! Gon’ gib forebah-sweepies!” the smarty cried, launching itself at Sam’s leg and pummeling her as best he could.
A sudden red-hot rage flashed through Sam. This fucker let his herd abuse Smokey, let them teach the foal the tripe that’d nearly ruined Aqua, hurt Hope and Knight, and now he had the gall to show up here again? All thoughts of the foals were abandoned as a new need overrode everything in Sam’s head. This fucker would suffer.
Reaching down, she grabbed him by the scruff roughly, lifting him and shaking him, heedless of the scardy-poopies that were getting all over her overalls and the porch. A few slams against the door and he was done trying to fight back, done doing anything except wheezing. He hung there limply, paralyzed by fear.
“You shouldn’t have come back here,” Sam rasped, half-hissing and half-growling.
“Pwease nu huwt! Smawty am sowwy! Nu mean it! Onwy bein’ siwwy!”
“Too. Late.”
The smarty scree’d in horror as Sam carried him inside, his cries driving her fluffies into a panic. She didn’t care, not now. They would be fine, and right now there was Hell to pay.
…
Sams’ cellar never saw much use, the only appliance of note being a water heater that mostly just did its own thing. It was mostly empty, although there were some relics left behind by a prior owner. Sam had always felt sick looking at these relics, and had never had to willpower to spend enough time down here to dispose of them. But now, she looked over them with a calculating eye. The bench with shackles, the impaling post, the drowning tub, they all presented such opportunity.
The part of her that was still lucid screamed at her that this was wrong, that she wasn’t this kind of person, but it was drowned out by the rage. She hadn’t felt this powerful since…since when? She pushed the thought out of her mind. It was time for this little shitrat to pay for what he’d done. Now, what to use first?
The shackles on the bench caught her eye, and she quickly had the smarty secured. What to do now? The toolbox was invitingly close, and opening it she saw a wonderful array of tools. How had she seen them as disgusting? They were beautiful.
“Pwease! Fwuffy pwomise tu nebah come back! Pwease jus’ nu huwt! PWEASE! SCREEEEEE!”
Sam regarded the nail she’d driven through the smarty’s back left leg. Yes, this would do, for now. But it wasn’t quite…interesting enough. The blowtorch could fix that. Soon a nail had a wonderful glow, as warm and vibrant as a midsummer flower. But a flower wasn’t nearly this fun.
The scree’ing intensified as she drove the glowing nail through the smarty’s back right leg, though only for a moment before his breath gave out and the only sounds were his gasps for air, the sizzling of red-hot metal in flesh, and Sam’s excited giggles. Yes, this was perfect!
Soon, all four legs were nailed to the bench, and Sam could remove the shackles. The smarty attempted to move briefly, but soon realized that it would only make the pain worse. His vision was eclipsed by a bottle, but before he could react a thick liquid was poured over his face.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” smarty’s voice returned as the acid ate into his eyes and ears, blinding and deafening him and turning his whole world into nothing but pain. Frantic twitching of his limbs achieved nothing.
“You see, I’ve been thinking for a long time,” Sam giggled, grinning manically. “Why do I let bad fluffies like you go? I’m only making the problem worse. Better to kill you now, than let you continue to abuse good fluffies. And so much more fun!”
“Pwease…kiww…fwuffy…”
“And cut my fun short so soon? No, I don’t think so. I’m going to enjoy this. All these years of denying myself, but not this time! I’m going to take my time and savor every moment. And the best part? I don’t even feel guilty, because you deserved this.”
All that fluff was really getting in the way. The prior owner of this house really was a connoisseur of fluffy abuse. The acid was barely strong enough to blind and deafen the shitrat, so it hadn’t even caused his fluff to dissolve. He was going to survive for a long time, or until Sam got bored of him and decided to kill him. Maybe she should get one of those new forever-drownie tanks so she could make his death as long as possible. Apparently after a day or so in there fluffies would invariably die of cardiac arrest.
“Wan. Die. Wan die. Wan die! WAN DIE!” the smarty screeched.
“Too bad.”
Sam dug around in the toolbox happily, relishing the sight of each implement of torment. How to get rid of all that fluff? Maybe burn it off with the blowtorch? Or maybe…
She ripped the smarty free of the bench, his gasp of pain music to her ears. Soon, the fluffy lay on his stomach in the drowning tub. Yes, scalding water should do the trick! Sam thought, turning the tap and releasing a torrent of near-boiling water. Drowning tubs were so convenient, with their integrated water heaters that allow temperatures far above what a domestic water heater provided.
The smarty attempted to stand on mangled legs, only to be pushed down by Sam’s weight as she stepped on his back, holding him still. Yes, it felt so good to be the one doing this. This time, SHE was the strong one.
This time?
A sudden wave of nausea washed over her. Sudden clarity of what she’d been doing, what she’d almost become. Just like that night, she thought, and a deluge of repressed memories flooded into her mind. Screams, pain, a glowing iron, a last gasping chirp…A door that shouldn’t have been opened.
Oh God, what did I do?
Sam’s thoughts were in tatters, a mixture of self-hatred and traumatic memories trying to tear her apart. In her last lucid moment, she brought a hammer down, freeing the smarty from the torment. She collapsed, staring blankly ahead, and began to rock gently back and forth on the cold concrete floor.
Blueberry, Mik…I’m so sorry.
[Note: Sam knows the smarty can’t hear her when she responds to his plea for death. She just doesn’t care.]
Part Sixteen
21 Likes
Wait…wait…repressed…memory?? Oh man…did…Sam was…once a disturb individual and did something to her previous fluffy?
This is indeed turning into something dark.
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Read part 5.5 (marked as controversial) for details. Let’s just say Sam was once on the opposite side of things (hence “This time, SHE was the strong one.”)
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Time for a good therapist!
Just kidding. Nobody uses those in fluffy fiction.
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She was talking to a therapist, but she thought the extent of the issue was from seeing Blueberry’s foals die as a child. The actual problem was way, way worse.
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I guess why Mik and his friend are discussing bout Sam in early chapter 
Something we didn’t get to know bout, looks like we will soon. 
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Mik’s dream in chapter 5.5 isn’t a dream, it’s a flashback, if that clears things up.
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Yeap so I have this fellin something to do with that “incident” both are mentioning and Sam tryin to forget.
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Oh fuck just when it got good the fun was cut short.
samantha this isn’t you!!! 