Home for Horny Monsters

Mike held the small sledgehammer in both hands, dubious that he would be able to strike another living being with it, much less a minotaur. Still, it was better than nothing, which made him feel a little bit better.

Mike had debated purchasing a gun, but he knew next to nothing about them other than to point the long, skinny end at stuff you wanted to kill. Lack of education aside, Naia had warned him against such a purchase for the sole reason that she had no idea what other creatures may be lying in wait within the house’s walls, and the last thing they needed was another Jenny-type situation with the addition of a firearm.

That, and Naia had informed him that odds were good that Tink would take it apart anyway.

“Husband ready?” Tink asked, her hand on the doorknob. Sighing, Mike nodded. He wasn’t ready. He had absolutely no idea what they were in for. Tink cradled her crossbow in both arms, fierce determination in her eyes that matched the dark, black lines she had painted beneath them using some shoe polish she had found. She had coerced Mike into doing the same, and he knew they both looked ridiculous. Tink wore a small backpack containing a few flashlight, the map, and a box of Pop-tarts.

Turning the knob to the blue room, Tink pushed the door open, her crossbow at the ready. The room looked like most of the other rooms in the house – sparsely furnished, a place that time had forgotten. The big distinguishing factor was that this room was, in fact, painted blue. For whatever reason, simply being in this space reminded Mike of his long dead father. He had no proof that his dad had ever stayed here as a child, but Beth, his estate agent, had suggested it on his first night here and the idea had resonated with him.

“Coast clear,” Tink whispered, sliding in and pointing her crossbow at the closet door.

“Do you really think the minotaur would have come out of the cave?” Mike asked. The door to the closet was closed, the simple white door somehow ominous.

“Tink take no chances,” she said, moving sideways to cover him. “Maybe stupid cow fuck wait to ruin Tink’s day again.”

Mike didn’t say anything. Tink’s goggles had been an obsession since she had lost them to the minotaur. They were magical, able to see things that ordinary people couldn’t, and Tink had waited so long only because the house had needed structural repairs to the front deck. This morning, Tink had announced that she had waited long enough and was ready to move forward with Operation Stupid Cow Fuck (her name, not his).

“Ready?” Mike asked, his hand hovering over the small, white painted knob.

“Tink ready.” She held the crossbow up, aiming it at the door.

“Let’s go,” Mike said, yanking the door open. Tink lowered the crossbow, frowning at the closet. Peeking around the corner, Mike saw that the closet was, once again, simply a closet. No sign remained of the cave.

“Try open different,” Tink said, raising her crossbow again. Shrugging, Mike closed the door, gripping the knob differently so that he could turn it the other way.

“Okay, here we go!” Mike yanked the door open, stepping back with his hammer held tight.

“Fuck!” Tink lowered her crossbow. The closet hadn’t changed.

“How do we get the closet to become the cave again?” Mike asked.

“Tink could tell you… if TINK HAD FUCKING GOGGLES!” Tink threw her crossbow to the side, the bolt firing into the ceiling up above. Mike ducked out of reflex, watching the plaster drift gently down over Tink. The goblin slammed the closet shut, turned her back to it, then opened it while facing away. The cave failed to appear.

“Tink?” Mike asked, but she ignored him. She knocked on the door, kicked it, and even used her mouth to turn the knob, but nothing worked. Whatever ritual had been used to make the cave appear wasn’t a simple one, and Tink’s green face was a mask of fury. She grabbed the closet door hard enough that her claws left marks in the wood.

“Fuck!” Tink slammed the door, tears appearing in her eyes. “Goggles gone forever!”

“We’ll figure this out, I promise.” Mike set his hammer down, kneeling by the goblin. Wrapping her in his arms, he pulled her tight against her body, absorbing her sobs with his shirt.

“Tink miss her goggles. Goggles are Tink’s most prized possession.” Sniffling, she buried her face in the crook of Mike’s arms. Mike squeezed her as tight as he could. Tink let out a sigh, sinking into him.

“You know,” Mike said, wondering if his idea was too stupid to even consider. “We do know somebody who knows how to open that door.”

“We do?” Tink rubbed the tears from her eyes.

“Yeah, but I don’t know how happy she will be to see us.” Mike knew it was a stupid idea, but he couldn’t bear to see her cry any longer. “Let’s head down to the Vault and ask Jenny how to do it.”

“No!” Tink shook her head, her braids dancing over her shoulders. “Little doll mean big trouble! No ask!”

“Then how else do we get in?” Mike asked. “Unless someone wrote directions on that map of the labyrinth you have, I don’t see us… are you listening?” Tink’s eyes had glassed over, her gaze on the wall behind Mike. Mike grabbed her by the wrists, shaking her arms. “Tink? Tink!”

“Husband have great idea!” Snapping back to reality, Tink grabbed her crossbow and ran out of the room. Mike followed, wondering what the little goblin was up to. Tink dumped the bag at the foo of the kitchen table, snatching the map from its inner pocket and spreading it out on the table.

“Tink, what are you doing?” Shaking his head, he stood behind her while she leaned over the old parchment. Tink had retrieved the map from the Vault, but had never said much else about it. It was largely complete, though large section so the labyrinth were missing from its middle.

“Aha!” Tink pointed to the corner of the map. “Tink remember! Big remember!”

“Remember what?” Following her finger, he saw a string of letters and numbers written in the upper corner of the map. “Is that a code for how to get in?”

“Nope!” Grinning, Tink rolled up the map. “Is numbers for the Library!”

“The library?” Mike frowned. “You got this map from a library?”

“The Library, library in house! Tink see numbers before, but still forget. Remember when husband say how to get in. Map come from Library, stuck in Vault after…” Tink glazed over again. “Tink no remember that part. But maybe Library know how to open cave!”

“Tink, that’s awesome! Let’s go right now!” Stepping back, he expected Tink to jump down from the chair. She remained in place, scratching her head.

“Tink no remember how to get to Library.” Scowling at the table, she closed her eyes. “Tink remember red book. Red book lead to Library. But don’t know where red book is.”

“Fuck,” Mike whispered, sincerely hoping that the red book hadn’t been out in the garage.

“Is ok. We just look through house for books.” Tink jumped down, leaving her crossbow on the table. Bending over, she pulled the box of Pop-tarts from the bag. “Maybe eat these now too.” She ripped the wrapper with her teeth and shoved the first one in her face, handing Mike the second. “Husband come, much look with Tink.”

Mike sighed, setting the hammer down on the table, then followed her into the living room, tucking his Pop-tart in his back pocket.

-

Dana set the small box of tools on her desk, moving her textbook to the floor. She had taken the tools from her school, sneaking in to avoid the eyes of classmates she was already struggling to remember. Every step through those long, college halls brought up a flood of memories of the person she used to be, the Dana of yesteryear. Stepping into the maker space, the hum of 3-D printers was punctuated by the sounds of a dremel being used by a student who was trying to cut through a small, aluminum tube.

She deliberately ignored the south side of the room. The memorial for Alex was still pinned to the wall, directly over the workstation where they had met as freshman. Dana deliberately closed the door on that particular memory, focusing instead on the mental list in her head. Now those tools were spread out on the table before her, small tools that she couldn’t afford on her own. 

Gears from inside the clock were spread out before her. Upon opening the clock first thing this morning, she had discovered that something had damaged most of the moving parts inside. Teeth were missing from gears, and more than a couple of them had been broken in half. She wasn’t certain how the inside of a grandfather clock could take such damage, but was determined to do her best.

She had unrolled a piece of butcher paper across her desk, using it to trace pieces, label where they came from, and even tape them in place. She set up the wire holder she had borrowed, a device with a magnifying glass meant for delicate soldering work. Clipping one of the smaller gears in place, she was able to look at where one of the teeth had broken off.

“Strange,” she muttered, examining the surface of the gear. Whatever had ripped the tooth off had taken it completely. Removing the gear, she put it back inside its outline, and wrote the word score underneath. Using calipers, she made a few quick measurements of one of the surviving teeth, writing next to it. She had access to some metal 3D printer ribbon, the good stuff, and was fully convinced she could print a new tooth for the gear and epoxy it on.

Her world faded to black, her entire focus on the job before her. She put on a visor with a magnifying glass and a light to get a good peek behind the clock face, checking for more missing parts. The exploded diagram on the butcher paper was clearly missing a few necessary gears for the clock itself to work, and she needed to find the others. Poking around with a long pair of tweezers, she was able to find a missing spring when her phone went off in her pocket.

“Shit,” she muttered, staring at the screen. What had felt like maybe an hour had been nearly five, and she needed to get ready for her delivery job. Stripping in place, she slid into her work outfit, wondering if Mike would order something tonight. She made a mental note to drop by his place anyway and give him an update on the clock if she was on his side of town. Shoving her way out into the cool, open air of the world, she looked back at her apartment.

The clock appeared in her mind, calling to her. She knew this was the start of an obsession, she could feel it in her bones. Maybe after she finished fixing it, she would keep it for a few days, just to properly enjoy it before giving it back. Backing down the driveway, it was on her mind so much that her eyes tricked her into thinking it was watching her go from her bedroom window. 

-

The search began in the front room. The good news was that, since Jenny had trashed the place last week, everything had been uncovered in order to repair the place. Mike checked underneath the furniture just to be sure, hoping to spot this book that Tink was convinced would lead them to the library.

“How big of a book are we talking about Tink?’ Mike asked, picking up an ashtray. It looked like the kind that was purchased for a relative on a trip, then never used. “Textbook, dictionary, diary maybe?”

“Husband find red book. What more does husband need know?” Tink had pulled a loose brick from beneath the mantle, revealing an empty depression behind it. “Find red book, tell Tink.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mike opened a box next to the couch. It contained several items that had been strewn through the front room after the fight with Jenny. Afraid to toss any of it out, he dug through it, unable to remember what they had even placed inside. A couple of random bookends, a small black statue of a woman made of coral, and an extremely ugly lamp were the only items of interest. The rest was just blankets, duvets, and other assorted cloths people draped over their furniture to protect them from the farts of their visitors.

A loud scraping sound caught his attention, and he lifted his head in time to see the closet throw up on Tink. Old coats, a few boxes, and even more blankets buried the goblin in an avalanche of junk. Mike ran to her rescue, grabbing her slender wrist from beneath an old fur coat and pulling her out from beneath the mess.

“Fuck.” Tink scowled at the closet, adjusting her dress to cover her bare ass. This confirmed Mike’s suspicion that she wasn’t wearing the underwear he had bought for her.

“What happened?” Mike asked, grabbing the box closest to him.

“Shelf break, closet try to kill Tink.” Tink grabbed the big fur coat, eying it with curiosity. “Lots of stuff in here.”

“Yeah, it looks like it was packed full.” The box Mike opened was picture frames, dozens of them. There were pictures in the frame, but they were all blank, a result of the protective spell on the house. “It seems like everywhere I turn, there’s more random shit in this house.”

“Husband right. Too much shit. Sell on magic screen maybe.”

“Oh no. I’m not going through another Jenny situation.” Picking up one of the many coats, something metallic clattered to the ground. It was a key the size of his pinky, ornate in design and the teeth shaped like the gear of a clock. “What is this for?”

“Hmm.” Tink took the key. “Don’t know. Too small for door.”

“I’ll hold onto it.” Sliding the key into his pocket, he suddenly remembered. “Hey, what do you know about the grandfather clock that is supposed to be down here?”

“Clock?” Tink looked around. “No clock down here.”

“Well, it isn’t here now, but I know I saw it a couple of times. It is usually over by the stairs, but I haven’t seen it in a long time.”

“Tink don’t know. Tink never see clock.”

“Oh.” Well, that was a mystery that was going to have to wait. He patted the key gently through his pants pocket. On the odd chance it reappeared, he would make sure to keep the key on him, just in case.

“Aha!” Tink fumbled with one of the coats, revealing a small, bright red book that had been tucked into one of its sleeves. Holding it up triumphantly, she shoved her way out of the closet mess and into the front living room. “Tink find it! We go to library!”

“Great job Tink!” Mike followed her into the living room. “Now what?”

“Shh!” Tink held a finger to her lips, her eyes closed in concentration. “Tink try and remember!” The little goblin stood this way, the book held tightly in her hands, her lips moving silently.

“Well?” Mike asked, after nearly a minute had passed.

“Tink doesn’t remember.” Shoulders slumping, Tink handed the book to Mike. “Maybe husband figure out?”

“We’ll see.” Opening the book, he was surprised to see the words swim across the page, the text fixing itself in place before his eyes. Expecting some profound piece of magic, he realized he was looking at a fairly simple recipe for peanut butter cookies. Flipping back and forth, he saw that the recipe was the same on every page.

“Husband figure out?” Tink asked, standing on her tiptoes to look at the book.

“No,” Mike said, flipping to the very first page. What use was a recipe book with only one recipe? His vision blurred, and he rubbed his eyes. Closing the book, he stared at the outside. It had no title on it, but it did have a picture of a triangle on the spine. Mike ran his finger over the golden grooves of the shape, tilting the book so Tink could get a good look.

“This mean anything to you?” Mike asked.

“Um… yes! Tink see triangle once, fixing book shelf in study!” Tink snatched the book from his hand. Mike followed her into the study, a round room with what was left of a desk in the corner and scorch marks all over the floor. It was where they had chased the fire elemental, a room that Mike had never considered more than once. Bookshelves adorned the walls, punctuated by windows looking out into the front yard, windows Tink and Abella had replaced.

“What are we looking for?” Mike asked.

“Small triangle, carved on shelf.” Tink methodically ran her hands over the edges of each shelf, searching. Mike did the same, grateful to be looking for something simple. The shelves had several different shapes carved into them, many of them very complex. The triangles he found contained dots, circles, even more triangles, but nothing that matched.

Minutes later, Mike called Tink over to the shelf in between a pair of windows. Near the top of the shelves was an identical triangle carved into the wood. The books on the shelf were in disarray – clearly more than once was missing, and it was obvious that several of them had been tossed in.

“Now what?” Tink asked, handing Mike the book. She was too short to reach the top shelf without her ladder.

“If video games have taught me anything, I know exactly what to do.” Mike shoved several books to the side, inspecting the back of the little red book to be certain. The triangles were identical, and Mike slid the book in place directly over the symbol carved beneath it.

“What is happen?” Tink asked, standing on her tip-toes to see better.

“Um…” Mike looked at the bookshelf. “Nothing.” He took the book back out, studying the symbols on the shelf. The symbols went up the top of the wooden shelves, and Mike realized what had happened. Sliding the book in place on the shelf underneath the symbol, he was relieved to see the symbols light up with arcane energy, swirling blue light that radiated outward. It washed across Mike’s body, making his chest tingle and causing the hairs across his body to stand up.

The bookshelf, however, remained unchanged.

“Damn, I thought that something had…” Mike turned around to face Tink only to see that his home was no longer behind him. He and Tink stood in a small alcove of towering stacks of books, easily four stories high. Beams of light flowed in through towering skylights, illuminating the stacks. In front of them was a large desk in front of a giant globe that rotated slowly in place.

“Whoa.” Tink said, her eyes wide.

“Are we still in the house?” Mike asked, looking out the window. His front yard was gone, replaced by a sea of blue sky and mountain-sized clouds as far as he could see in any direction.

“We find Library!” Tink hollered, pulling out the map. “We find map home, maybe find more maps!” She ran toward the giant metal sphere in the middle of the lobby, a globe for a planet that was definitely not Earth. Mike gave the thing a wide berth – nothing was holding it up, and images of running away from the thing Indiana Jones style gave him chills.

“Tink, wait up!” Mike called, watching her step onto a small, concrete podium. Tink ran her hands over a small, silver ball at the lip of the podium, and the platform lifted into the air, coasting gently upward about thirty feet. Mike heard Tink hollering from up above, the goblin stepping off of the podium and onto the platform surrounding the stacks. Motivated, the goblin disappeared from view.

“Shit,” Mike muttered, approaching another podium nearby. Standing on it firmly, he grabbed onto the side with one hand and touched the metal sphere at its base. Expecting to lurch upward, he felt ghost hands grab him around his legs and back, holding him in place as the podium moved. Mike discovered quickly that rubbing his hand upward on the sphere caused it to fly, while left and right moved it along the long rows of books. He quickly landed his podium next to Tink’s, stepping out onto the marble floor.

Staring down into the library made him dizzy. From here, he could see that the giant stacks of books went for hundreds of feet in any particular direction, the outer walls of the Library curving at odd angles. He clutched the metal railing, then took a few steps back so that he was away from the edge. Heights had never bothered him before, but the strange symmetry of the place made him very uneasy.

“Tink?” He wandered the shelves, listening carefully for any trace of the goblin. Every ten feet, there was a break in the stacks, and symbols were carved into the marble walls. He paused to inspect one, realizing it was similar to the ones that had been carved into the wooden shelves that had transported him here. Expecting to loop around, he was dismayed to turn a corner and discover that what he had thought was a giant pillar curved around and kept going.

“Tink!” He hated this place. It was huge, far too quiet, and the place seemed to change itself when he wasn’t looking. Taking a glance over the edge, he was now somehow nearly nine levels up instead of three, the cold marble below suddenly threatening. If he fell, would he break apart on impact, or would he punch a hole through the stone? Mike smacked his own cheeks, shaking his head back and forth. What the fuck was his problem?

Walking further, he heard the soft, mumbling tones of a goblin muttering to herself. Relieved, he walked faster, expecting to see Tink pulling one of the may books off of the shelves. Instead, the mumbling disappeared. Puzzled, Mike turned around. How could she just disappear?

He heard her again, back from where he had come. He walked toward her voice, moving more carefully this time. He had missed it the first time, a gap between the shelves that had no true edges, a hidden passageway in plain sight.

He put his hands out, convinced he was going to smash his face into the stone, the library disappearing behind him as the walls curved. They doubled back, taking him into a different space. This part of the library was completely different than the rest. He was inside of a warm, comfortable room with tall leather chairs and a roaring fire in a fireplace. Looking back, it was impossible to see the outer library – the curved walls blocked off the view from the outside.

“There you are,” Mike said. Tink was on the floor, legs splayed and tail twitching, her face buried in a large book. Beside her was a stack of maps and other assorted books. The map of the Labyrinth was set on a table next to them, as well as Tink’s backpack.

Tink ignored him, her cheeks flush. Mike assumed she was sitting too close to the fire, but he could already tell that wasn’t the case. Her mouth was slightly open, her wide eyes fixed on the page. When Mike touched her leg, she yelped, dropping the book on her lap.

“What are you reading?” Mike asked.

“Tink find dirty book,” the goblin whispered. Picking it up, she opened the pages and turned it around. In stunning detail was an image of a werewolf, his monstrous member dangling between his legs as he jerked his load into the hungry mouth of a pair of women on the ground beneath him.

“Wow.” Mike inspected the outer cover, but there were no words on the book. Flipping through the pages, it was evident that the artist had a one track mind – werewolves fucking humans, werewolves fucking each other, and even an image of a werewolf fucking a unicorn. This last one made Mike laugh. The unicorn had buried its horn into a tree and was backing its ass onto the cock of the howling wolf behind it.

“Werewolf porn, this shit is funny.” Lowering the book, he saw that Tink’s eyes had gone from innocent to predatory. Her tail twitched back and forth, and one of her hands had slid beneath her skirt, her fingers doing lazy circles beneath the thin fabric of her dress. He dropped the book, the pages flipping open to an image of a peasant with her arms tied behind her back getting spit-roasted by a pair of werewolves.

“Husband hasn’t made enough time for Tink,” she growled, her free hand gently squeezing her breast through the fabric of her dress. All four of her nipples stood out now, and her breath came in fast, rasping bursts. Mike was suddenly aware of the crackling of the fire, the air rich with the smell of old books and leather. The entire universe only consisted of this room, this quiet place where he and Tink were the only living beings in all of existence.

“Don’t you want to get your goggles back?” Mike asked, his eyes on Tink’s shapely thighs. Her skirt had ridden up just enough that he could almost see where her legs met, blocked only by her wrist. His cock was suddenly rigid, pressed tightly against the fabric of his pants.

“Get goggles later. Fuck husband now.” Tink licked her lips, pulling up her skirt for Mike to see what she was doing. Her fingers had pulled back her labia, her wet opening bared to him. Mike could just make out the hard lump on the upper wall of her vagina when she spread herself open, the first of two clitorises. She pulled her skirt back down, her palm grinding into her pelvis. Tink let out a sound that was half moan, half growl.

Mike unzipped his pants, his cock springing to attention. The heat of the fire felt good along his shaft, and he spit into his hand, rubbing his dick gently.

“Husband get nice and hard for Tink,” the goblin commanded. Both hands moved now beneath her skirt, occasionally sliding down her thighs and leaving long, wet streaks. “Husband keep doing that. Tink likes to watch.”

“You like seeing this?’ Mike asked her, stroking himself casually. His swollen cock was large, nearly eight inches in length. Endowed with such a large member, it had gone largely unused for most of his life, an artifact of a terrible childhood. Now, with nymph magic surging through his blood, getting hard was easy. Mike got on his knees in front of Tink, tugging back on the skin of his dick, his glans revealing itself. “Are you thinking about what it’ll feel like inside of you?”

Tink nodded, her tail twitching sporadically. Mike snatched it up, inspiration striking him. Tink’s tail was long and thin, with a paintbrush patch of hair on the end. Using the tip of her tail, he stroked himself with his left hand and dragged the soft, brown fur across the head of his penis.

“Ah,” he sighed, a shiver traveling along his shaft when his cock flexed itself, rising up to meet the new sensation. Tink reacted as well, gasping when the tiny hairs of her tail flexed.

“Husband do more to tail,” Tink commanded, lifting her skirt. She shifted her legs, revealing her tight, green labia. One finger teased the opening,

“I can do that.” He soon discovered that the end of Tink’s tail was quite sensitive. He painted imaginary shapes along the head of his cock, the sensation reminding him of an old girlfriend who had attempted to fix his issues with some light, feather play.

-

“Ugh.” Mike sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Tink clutched his arm tightly, her breath tickling the hairs on his arm. The fire crackled softly, the eternal wood burning without embers. Mike pushed himself up, rubbing the back of his neck. He fumbled with his pants, trying to button them back up without standing. The twisted fabric didn’t quite reach, so he couldn’t button them. 

How long had he been asleep? His stomach growled, the sound loud enough that Tink stirred. She uncurled from him, wiping the drool from her chin.

“Too long sleep,” she told him, letting out a sigh. “Now want more sleep.”

“We never found what we were looking for.” Mike grabbed one of the books they had knocked over. “Do you want to go back to the house first? I’m starving.” Mike eyeballed the smashed pop-tart on the floor of the library. He definitely wasn’t going to eat it now.

“Maybe.” Tink stood, smoothing out her dress. “This place too big. Some books too distracting.”

“Yeah.” Mike saw the werewolf porn book where he had dropped it. Chuckling, he picked it up, shutting its pages to put it on the table. He marveled at the idea that a giant, flying library would carry such a thing. “I think we should get going.”

Helping Tink to her feet, he watched the little goblin freeze in place. Tink tilted her head to one side, her lips twisting into a sneer.

“Someone is coming,” Tink whispered, grabbing Mike by the hand and pulling him behind one of the leather chairs.

“Who else could be here?” Mike whispered. The library was like a tomb, silent. It occurred to him that Tink’s cries could easily have been heard by someone else. But who would be inside the library?

Footsteps on marble, soft echoes that reverberated in the little side room. Mike wondered if Tink could hear the hammering of his heart, wondering what sort of being would darken that hallway. The sounds grew louder, and Mike pulled Tink closely against him. He suddenly remembered that stupid hammer, an entire world away on the table of his kitchen.

He didn’t have to wait much long. A humanoid in a long, brown cloak stepped around the corner, the light of the fire reflecting off of a sword clutched tightly in gloved hands. The figure was tall, almost eight feet in height.

“Come out,” the figure commanded in a feminine voice that was both soft and menacing. “I would prefer not to get any blood on the books.”

“Sofia!” Tink stood, clutching onto the back of the chair with her hands, her tail whipping from side to side in excitement.

“Tink?” The figure lowered her blade, pulling back the hood of her cloak. Long, braided hair framed a large forehead, at the center of which was a single, purple eye. “What are you doing here? And who is that?” Sofia pointed at Mike with the tip of her sword. “Where is Emily?”

“Tink have long story to tell Sofia.” Tink hopped off the chair, swatting Mike’s chest playfully. “But Tink hungry.”

“I think I can help you with that.” Sofia flcked her wrist. The sword folded itself up until it was the size of a butter knife, which she tucked into her belt.. “But first, you two made a mess in here. Let’s get these all put back away and you can catch me up.”