Demon Lovers (Pinhead And Chatterer)

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Hellraiser or its storyline and characters. I only own my character. Everything belongs it its original owners. I only write for fun and to make people happy. I enjoy writing. If you have any ideas please message me.
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Grace glanced at her father with innocence. Her big brown eyes held fear as she stood in the corner of the attic room. She watched her father Frank Cotton light each candle with care, they were formed in a circle in the middle of the room.
"What are you doing?"she asked curiously.
"We're going to open a door to hell. You are part of it." He said simply.
"I-I don't want to. I'm scared."
"Tough!" Frank shouted at his daughter. "You are ten years old, get over it and grow the fuck up."
Once Frank was finished lighting the candles, he removed his shirt and sat in the middle of the circles. His blue eyes stared at his daughter.
"Come here," he motioned with his finger. "Give me the box."
Grace held the box close to her chest. She didn't want to give him the box, she was worried that he would take the angels away from her. It was hers,an early birthday gift from him.
"Now Grace," Frank shouted. Grace jumped at the sound of his voice. she hate making him angry. She hated been punished, the pain he will put her through till she screamed no more. It made her sick. She hated the pain,it lingered for days or weeks, but Frank enjoyed her suffering, he enjoyed seeing her break in front of him.
While deep in thought, she didn't hear or notice him more out from the circle, but she felt the slap to the face. She didn't cry out. She wouldn't give him the time of day.
Frank grabbed a fist full of Grace's dark hair and giving it a sharp tug back making her head snap back. Her dark eyes met his blue ones.
"You'll do as daddy tells you. Do you understand,girl?" He said through gritted teeth, spit landing on her face.
Grace didn't answer which earned her another slap to the face. His golden ring on his middle finger cut into her cheek deeply. Blood slowly trickled down her neck.
"Yes..." She whispered.
"Yes,what?"
"Yes, daddy."
Frank smiled. He released the hold on her hair and placed both hands on her cheeks. His thumb brushed the cut, his dirty thumb nail digging deeper into the cut. He moved forward, his nose touching hers.
"Give daddy a kiss." He whispered.
Grace wanted to shake her head. She wanted to cry and scream. She wanted to fight back. He was much more bigger and stronger than she was. She was weak, he even said so.
His lips were forcefully on hers, his tongue licked and nipped at her bottom lip. His thumb nails dug deeper into her skin, blood flowed more freely dripping down her chest.
She cried out. She tried to push him away. He didn't budge, he only help her tighter. His tongue slipped into her mouth, stretching down her throat making her gag. He moaned loudly.
Frank pulled away from his daughter. He was turned on. He wanted to solve the puzzle as fast as he could. He dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out his silver pocket knife.
Click.
The knife sprang free. How much he wanted his cock to do the same.
Grace's eyes widened as she dropped the puzzle box onto the newly polished floor. She moved backwards, but she was blocked by the wall.
Frank moved forward, a predator stalking his prey. He was breathing heavy. Panting like a wild animal. He raised his hand and his fingers wrapped around her throat pinning her against the wall.
Grace's eyes widened in fright, as she watched the pocket knife slowly made its way towards her. The tip of the blade brushed against her cheek, slowly scaring the opposite side of her cheek. His body pressed against hers.
"Put your arms together above your head." He asked, his voice was husky.
Grace did what he asked. He held her arms there as the knife cut through her nightie and underwear. She felt his tongue lick at her cheek, cleaning up her blood at the same time. He moaned.
The blade was cold and sharp like sharks teeth. The blade danced across her stomach and sinking lower between her legs.
Her eyes widened. Tears now falling free as she stared at the wall across from her.
God save me she thought.
She barely felt it. The pain. But she could feel the blood flow down her legs. Her brown eyes slowly looked down and she saw the pocket knife sticking out of her special area. Her eyes blurred, and she fell to her knees with a thug. The fall knocked the blade making it twist, she felt her outsides tear open and the insides rip open more deeply. Now she felt the pain, but it was undesirable.
Frank quickly moved away. His blue eyes staring at his daughter with excitement. He was almost giddy.
A gift, for the Cenobites. No better way than using someone innocent and a virgin. A child was perfect in his eyes. They would be pleased.
Frank picked up the box and slowly walked back into the circle of candles. He kneeled down, never taking his eyes of his prize.
The device had been made by a toy maker, and the riddle was this, that though he'd been told the box contained wonders, there simply seemed to be no way into it, no clue on any of its black lacquered faces as to the whereabouts of the pressure points that would disengage one piece of this three-dimensional jigsaw from another.
If there was a system to the puzzle, Frank had failed to find it. His anger grew, jealous that he saw his daughter easily solve the box. She didn't tell him how she had solved it, only saying it was a secret that he had to find and he would enjoy its game.
Thirty minutes later did a chance juxtaposition of thumbs, middle and last fingers bear fruit: an almost imperceptible click, and then, victory; a segment of the box slid out from beside its neighbours.
Frank was happy with his success, he proceeded to work on the box, quickly finding fresh alignments of fluted slot and oiled peg which in their turn revealed further intricacies. And with each solution, each new half twist or pull, a further melodic element was brought into play, a tune counterpointed and developed until the initial caprice was all but lost in ornamentation.
A bell had begun to ring, a steady somber tolling.
Frank had not heard, at least not consciously. But when the puzzle was almost finished, the mirrored innards of the box unknotted, he became aware that his stomach churned so violently at the sound of the bell.
There was no church in the city. No. The sound was coming from somewhere much more distant, through the very door that Lemarchand's miraculous box had been constructed to open.
Everything that Kirchner, who had sold him the box, had promised of it was true! He was on the threshold of a new world, a province infinitely far from the room in which he sat.
He was close, he could taste it.
In moments they would be here, the ones Kirchner had called the Order of the Gash.
Summoned from their experiments in the higher reaches of pleasure, to bring their ageless heads into a world of rain and failure.
But now, as the sound of bell became louder, he was afraid.
"Too late." He murmured to himself.
Lemarchand's device was undone; the final tick had been turned. The doorway was even now opening to pleasures no more than a handful of humans had ever known existed, much less tasted pleasures which would redefined the parameters of sensation, which would release him from the dull round of desire, seduction and disappointment that had dogged him from late adolescence.
The bulb dimmed and brightened. It had taken on the rythem of the bell, burning hotter each time.
In the troughs between the chimes the darkness in the attic room became hotter, it was as if the world he had occupied for twenty-one years had ceased to exist.
With each peal the bulbs light was becoming more revelatory. He saw the east wall flayed, saw the brick momentarily lose solidity and blow away: saw, in that same instant, the place beyond the room from which the bells din was issuing.
And then the world was solid again, and the bell fell silent.
The bulb flickered out.
Frank now stood in the darkness. And then, light. Blue light. It was them, the Cenobites. Frank wondered what they would look like. His imagination, though fertile when it came to trickery and theft, was impoverished in other regards.
Was it the scars that littered their bodies? Their flesh punchered and sliced and dusted down with white ash.
As the blue light grew, and Frank looked at them more closely. He saw nothing of joy, or even humanity.
They stood in front of him, their eyes studded Grace as she struggled to catch her breath. She stared at them with no fear.
"Who did this?" The forth one asked.
Frank couldn't tell if it was male or female. It's cloths some of which were sewn into its flesh, it hid its private parts. When it spoke, the hooks that transfixed the flaps of its eyes and were wed by an intricate system of chains passed through flesh and bone alike, to similar hooks through lower lip, were teased by the motion, exposing the flesh underneath.
"I asked you a question." It said.
Frank didn't reply.
"Do you understand?" The figure besides the first speaker demanded. It's voice was light and breathy. Every inch of it's head had been sliced into a grid and at every intersection of horizontal and vertical axes a jeweled pin driven through to the bone. It's tongue was similar decorated.
"Do you know who we are?" It asked.
"Yes." Frank replied.
The cenobite pointed to Grace laying on the floor. "Did you do this?" It demanded.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Frank swallowed. "An offering."
"For what?"
"Pleasure." Frank's fears were slowly draining away. "Kirchner said you know about pleasure."
"Oh, we do. Everything you ever wanted." It asked.
"Yes."
"Of course. Of course." It stared at him with naked eyes. "What have you dreamed?"
The question, put so badly confounded him. How could he hope to articulate the nature of the phantasms his libido had created? He was still searching for words when one of them said:
"This world... It disappoints you?"
"Pretty much," he replied.
"You're not the first to tire of it's trivialities."came the response. "There have been others."
"Not many," the bride's face put in.
Frank noticed the gridded face eyes never left Grace's side. He didn't notice him move closer to her, and the other Cenobite stood over her body, its teeth chattering wildly, like it was having a conversation.
"True. A handful at best. Men like yourself, hungry for new possibilities, who've heard that we have skills unknown in your region."
" I'd expected..." Frank began.
"We know what you expected." The Cenobite replied.
"So you can supply pleasure?" Frank almost demanded.
The things face broke into a smile. "Not as you understand it. There are conditions of the nerve endings. Like of which your imagination, however fevered, could not hope to evoke."
"Yes?"
"Oh yes. Oh most certainly. Your most treasured depravity is child's play beside the experiences we offer."
"Will you partake of them? " Said the second Cenobite.
Frank looked at the scars and hooks.
"Will you?"
"Show me." Frank asked, almost demanded.