Blood Orgy Of The Psychedelic Witch

Chapter 5

It was unnecessary to blow the guy. He didn't seem like the type to expect anything, just there to help someone. However, despite his refusal, she did it. He didn't get physical over said refusal, so in her opinion, he did want it.

Men always do, she thought. They're all pieces of shit.

She always got a thrill from bringing out a man's dark side. But she couldn't tell what was wrong with her recently. Rose hadn't been feeling like herself in the past couple of weeks. With her mindset, though, she wasn't one to dwell on such things.

Besides, she had a lot of work to do.

Coming up on the right was a large house. A two-story Victorian with a big turret and plenty of land surrounding it. In the front yard were three men cutting down a dead tree. They sawed off branches; a wood chipper idled nearby.

The house piqued her interest for some strange reason. It seemed perfect to her—a beautiful old house in the middle of nowhere. No neighbours to snoop around.

She wanted it.

"Drop me off here," she declared.

"You live here?" the driver asked.

Rose hesitated. Not sure how to answer that. ". . . I can."

He pulled over, and she kissed him goodbye. Then, noticed a ring on his finger. Ha! A married man!

She took her bag out and let it rest on the edge of the lawn. One worker shot her a strange look and eyed the car that drove off.

She walked up to him. "Is the owner here?"

"She's round back with her book club. You know her?"

"I will soon," she smiled, and didn't give him time to respond before walking around the side of the veritable mansion. He watched her go with a puzzled expression.

She loved fucking with "ordinary" people. They could get riled up easily.

"Janice, I don't know what's gotten into you, but Suzette And The Slayer was one of the most underwhelming books of the year," Pauline argued to the smaller woman sitting across from her at the dainty white table littered with half-empty mimosas.

"You can believe what you want, because you'll never change your mind. But that was more interesting, in my opinion, than this," she held up a copy of Plushette Unbound, the current novel the group was reading. They only read trashy romance novels. And for good reason. The four old bats were the genre's perfect target.

But it didn't mean they agreed on individual titles, quite the opposite in fact.

Yet, the pathetic book club of bitches continued because they didn't have anyone else. Four little bags with nothing better to do than talk shit.

"Look, Janice. You're entitled to your wrong opinion," Rita chimed in. "But don't expect everyone to agree with you."

"Your husband did," she snidely replied.

"You weren't even around when he was in the picture," the shrewd woman shot back.

"Janice, darling. You're getting dry." The fourth one, Sheila, piped in while examining her nails.

"It's not like she was ever anything else. Never a creative gal," Pauline muttered.

"Well, all you have to your name is your dead husband's money. Emphasis on his," Janice jabbed.

She felt heated. The mimosa making things worse. She was the biggest drinker out of the four but wasn't good at holding her liquor.

Pauline was quite well-mannered despite her catiness, especially right now as the hostess. Not as sly of an old minx as Sheila, but better than the other two. Yet in an instant she stood up, grabbed Janice's glass and threw its contents at her.