I’ve been working on this one for a long time. I think I came up with the initial concept sometime in November, wrote a little bit of it then and once in a while after that, then wrote most of it over the past couple weeks.

Music this time is this absolutely fucking incredible progressive metal album. Even if you think you don’t like metal, check it out. It’s amazing and definitely worth a full listen.


The house shook. Somewhere in my sleeping mind a little alarm went off, which another part of my sleeping mind turned off.

The house shook again, more violently. The subconscious alarm started up again, fell off the desk, and ran away, which that other part of my mind took grave offense to.

I woke up. That goddamn construction. Every fucking day for the past, what, three months? Four months? Right outside my window. Like fifteen feet away. Oh, and it started up around five-thirty.

Thankfully, it seemed as though they had started off a bit quieter today. It was six-thirty by the time my eyes had cleared enough to see the clock.

I walked, or rather stumbled, to the bathroom and pulled down my pajama pants. I put a hand on the wall and looked out the half-window while waiting for my morning wood to go down enough that I could piss.

Zip, step, soap and water, squeeze the toothpaste tube and scrub. It was so rehearsed that I could do it unconscious, which I often did. I wasn’t really a morning person, to say the least.

I walked – actually walked this time, as my mind and body were now at least partially conscious  – back into my room. I flipped open a notebook, which was getting full and wrinkled with use – I needed to get a new one soon – and drew a little scribble inside. I always tried to draw something right away in the morning. It got me warmed up, both mentally and physically, and I liked looking at those sketches, infused with dream-vapor.

I flipped the notebook shut and tossed it onto the floor, among the pile of books and clothes already there. Oh, clothes. I picked around in them for something viable. That pair of jeans looked clean, and I didn’t remember wearing that grey t-shirt recently. Underwear was always a difficult one for me; I was a pretty clean guy, so I didn’t leave any “trace” in my clothes that I could look for.

I just grabbed a blue-striped pair, and threw the lot of clothes on my bed. I swung around, throwing the door shut with my arm without even really looking at it, and began pulling off my shirt. It was a t-shirt that was just barely too small, but I liked its design, so I wore it anyway. It irritated me every time I put it on and took it off.

I pulled off my pajama pants and underwear and tossed them both on the ever-growing pile. I should really take care of that at some point. It was getting a bit ridiculous. Someday, maybe.

I stepped through the possibly-fresh pair of underwear, and my door opened. I was surprised enough that I didn’t even pull them up, the underwear just hung around my left leg like an anklet.

My mom stared at me, mouth open. Thinking back on it, I’m not sure if she her agape mouth was just from shock or if she had been meaning to say something to me.

She cleared her throat, and that cleared my head. I put my right leg through the underwear and pulled them up, and then continued dressing normally.

She still stood there, as if expectant for something. Throughout the whole scene, neither she nor I had said anything. Once dressed, I sat on my bed and moved my hand around to try to find something to fiddle with, an object with which I could act natural and unbothered.

She turned around and closed the door behind her.

I gave an exhale of relief, and I think I heard her do so too, beyond the door. I noticed that my heart was beating fast and took a few slow, deep breaths to slow it.

The day proceeded as normal, although I noticed that my mom and I spoke less to each other – and never about the incident.

As previously mentioned, I hold the same routine every morning. Stumble to the bathroom and get ready, come back to my room and sketch, and get dressed. Our house – shared with my half-sister and stepfather, though they don’t play much of a role in this story – is a small one-story house. Anyone can hear any door that opens or closes. We are all perpetually aware of who is where in the house.

The next morning, I went through my routine again, and thought nothing of it. It was so hard-wired into my consciousness that the thought of doing anything else didn’t even occur to me.

When I was getting dressed, I heard a creak outside my door, the rattle of the doorknob, the clack of the latch bolt hitting the metal of the strike plate. I was pulling off my underwear at the moment, and sped up the process, kicking the underwear from around my ankles and slipping on – stumbling, all the while – the fresh-ish pair. But the door was open, and my mom stood beyond.

She smiled – it was a natural smile, but it horrified me – and stepped into my room. She swung her right hand in back of her, throwing the door closed without taking her eyes off me.

“What a big guy you’re getting to be,” she said. “I’m always forgetting that you’re practically an adult now.”

“Uh,” was about the only thing I could say, but even that came out as a sort of gurgled gasp.

She walked – I assume, I didn’t even really noticed – to stand beside me, and outstretched an arm to brush the side of my face and neck, sliding down to my shoulder. The perfume she had on, which she rarely used, intoxicated me, a thick fog of scent surrounding her, choking me.

My unconscious routine kicked in when my conscious faculties failed me, and I pulled on the underwear and reached for my pants. My mother put a hand on top of them.

“Do you love me?”

“What?” I said, again distorted by a gurgle.

“Do you want to love me?”

I cleared my throat. “I love you, mom,” I said, pulling the pants out from beneath her hand and beginning to put them on.

Her hand, which had laid flat on the pants, clutched the bed cover below, tendons straining and knuckles white.

“You haven’t acted like it recently,” she said, getting up and walking to the door. She opened it and stood in the doorway. “I would do anything for you. Maybe consider what you could do for me,” she said, walking away through the doorway.

I blinked my eyes furiously, trying to get the blur out of them. They burned with warmth, not from irritation but from terror, an animalistic fear.

I didn’t know what I would, or could do. I tried, desperately, to interpret my mother’s words in an innocent way. Maybe she had felt over-worked recently and wished I would help with the dishes and cooking more. Maybe that was it. But maybe not. Maybe her words were what I thought they were, and she had meant them as such.

Overall, though, I just tried to disregard everything that had happened as misunderstanding, coincidence, accident, or some combination. School, work, recreation, it all proceeded as normal without incident for a few days.

I had a question to ask my mother, about whether or not I could take the car that evening. My mother and stepfather usually kept their bedroom door open, especially during the day while my stepfather was gone, but for whatever reason, it was closed.

I lightly rapped the door with my knuckles a few times, said “Mom?”, and took hold of the handle, turning and pushing it in.

“Wait a minute!” she said, but the door was already open. I saw her slide something behind her on the bed, and she kept her right hand balled up, touching things only with her left hand.

“Can I take the…” I started, but saw what I had previously thought were papers scattered on the bed. They were pictures of me. Pictures of me with my friends, pictures of me taking a bath as a kid, yearbook pictures of me, and some pictures I didn’t recognize, that seemed to have been taken recently.

“What… What is this?” I asked her. I wanted to demand it, but it just came out as a tentative and hesitant request.

“Oh, just going over some of your pictures. What a big guy you’ve grown up to be. Look at how small you are in this one,” she said, holding up a picture of me crawling around, naked. “Everything about you is just miniature. I’m glad you’re not like that any more.”

I tried to laugh it off. “Well, yeah, I’m glad I’m not a baby anymore either, mom.”

But she didn’t take the humor. A smile, though not a nice one, came to her lips as her eyes scanned me up and down. She picked up one of the photos, the ones that I suspected had been taken without my knowledge, and stared at it, brushing down my photographic body with the pointer finger of her right hand. She raised the photo, held by her right hand, to her face and took a long sniff of it.

“Can I take the car tonight?”

“Oh, of course honey, of course that’s fine,” she said, her voice completely changed, saccharin-sweet and just as artificial. I left her there, still staring at the photos, picking them up one-by-one and brushing them tenderly.

I had wanted the car to go on a date with Katie, a girl I had been seeing for the past month or so. We had been getting pretty serious lately, but she hadn’t yet met my family, and I thought that I’d bring her by my house after our date to introduce her to my family.

The date itself went well, I paid for a dinner at a restaurant that would be considered expensive by people of my class, but cheap to people of higher classes. Normally we just got a quick meal from McDonalds or something and spent most of our time talking, but I had wanted to express to her, without just saying it, how much she meant to me.

I had mentioned her to my family before, but they didn’t know much about her other than that I was increasingly growing infatuated with her, and I was excited to show them why I liked her.

We got to my house around eight, but my stepfather’s car wasn’t in the drive. I wasn’t aware of any plans that he had this evening – although I wouldn’t have been aware even if he had them – so I was confused. I parked, opened her door, and led the way to my house.

The door was locked, so I knocked. I had keys to unlock it, but thought there wasn’t much reason to bother with them if someone was nearby enough to just open it.

The door opened and my mother stood beyond in an ornate negligee. Katie let out a bit of a surprised gasp, but I could see that she was smiling so I wasn’t concerned. And if she was smiling, then I should be as well.

“Sorry, mom, didn’t mean to disturb you if you were getting ready for bed or something,” I said.

“No, no, I was waiting for you. And who is this?”

“This is Katie, my… girlfriend. I think I’ve mentioned her to you before.”

“Hi, Mrs. Walker,” Katie said, and shook hands with my mom.

“Oh, it’s… good to meet you,” my mom said, but her forced smile couldn’t quite conceal a subtle sneer. “Clement, can I talk with you inside?”

“Uh, yeah, but I have to bring Katie back home.”

“Alright, do that and be back quick, okay? I want to talk with you before your father gets back.”

I nodded, and led the way back to the car. Katie broke the silence after we had driven a ways.

“I think it was nice to meet your mom.”

I could hear the hesitation in her voice. “Yeah, sorry about that. I dunno what was up with her. She’s been acting kind of weird lately.”

“It’s okay. Some other time, maybe.” She was silent for a moment, then spoke again. “Thanks for bringing me out out for dinner. The linguini was great.”

Her voice was normal, uplifting, but when I turned to look at her something was wrong. Her smile, which usually beamed, was subdued. “You’re welcome, glad you enjoyed it.”



The rest of the ride went by in silence. When we arrived at her house, I parked and unbuckled, but she had already slipped out her door, saying, “No, don’t bother, I’ll see myself in.”

“Oh, okay.”

I watched her walk up the long pathway to her front door. I didn’t look at her butt, or her hair, or maybe a bit of sideboob if it peeked out. I looked at her left shoulder. The way the blade moved back and forth, like it was completely detached from her body, moving with a mind of its own, shoulder and arm a single, long creature clamped onto the rest of her body.

Before she walked through the door, she turned back to me, and I saw her there, whole, as one being. The moment had passed.

I started the car and pulled out, heading back home, trying to remember what I had been thinking about her shoulder, and why.

I parked at my house and walked to the door. My hand extended to the doorknob, but before it touched the door flew open, with my mom behind. I was slightly startled, in the way you’re startled when the door to a public bathroom opens right before you open it, but I went in and thanked my mom for getting the door.

“Let’s go to the living room,” she said.

“Do you have makeup on? I thought you were going to bed.”

She didn’t answer me. I followed her and sat on the couch next to her. She looked me in the eyes for a moment before speaking, just long enough to make it slightly awkward. She laid a hand on my leg.

“Have you fucked her?”

I drew back, horrified. We hadn’t, although that was mostly because I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to satisfy her, but I wasn’t expecting my mom to interrogate me on it and was taken back by the impropriety.

“Uh, no, but…”

“Good. She’s a skank.”


“Listen to your mother and do what she says, Clement.”

The entire time, her voice never went harsh or nasty. She was speaking normally, perhaps even a bit nicer than normal. Smooth, soft, inviting. Almost hypnotizing. Entrancing.

“You know, I can be so much more to you than her.”

“What? I mean, well, you are, you’re my mom, she’s just a girl I’m seeing.”

She smiled, still looking straight into my eyes. Once in a while I needed to dart them away to relieve the tension.

“I could, you know, be the girl you’re seeing.” The smile stayed on her lips but her eyes moved down to look at my legs for a moment, before returning to my face.

“What… is that supposed to mean?” I was confused, afraid, but hesitant – as always – to jump to an assumption of what was going on.

She gave me a sly smile in response and slid her hand up my leg and began trying to slip her fingers under my waistband.

I jumped off the couch and turned to face her, my head pulsing with heat. “What the fuck! What the fuck are you doing? Get away from me!”

She looked dismayed. “I’m sorry, I just meant… I just wanted to be close to you, closer to you…”

I ran up the stairs to my bedroom and shut the door. I ran my hands through my hair, I paced, I sat down, I laid down, I drew, whatever. Those things weren’t what I was doing. I wasn’t even thinking, I was just processing what had happened, doubting my memory, unsure, but processing it and working my way out of shock.

I dug through my closet for that bottle of vodka I had stored away. It was my friend’s, really, things had gotten “too hot” at his house and if his parents found it he’d be screwed, so he asked if he could store it at mine, and said that I could have some as payment. I wasn’t really a fan of alcohol, beyond being four years too young for it. But I needed something, so I cracked it open and took a few heavy chugs. I tried to forget and refresh. I drew, I watched some stupid videos online. I might have done some other stuff but by that point my mind had gotten blurred enough that I can’t remember it clearly.


The house shook. Somewhere in my sleeping mind a little alarm went off, which another part of my sleeping mind turned off.

The house shook again, more violently. The subconscious alarm started up again, fell off the desk, and ran away, which that other part of my mind took grave offense to.

I woke up and immediately wished I hadn’t, my eyes immediately shutting again automatically. Regardless of what had happened the previous night, my head hurt and I felt queasy and what little sunlight made it through my blinds pierced through my eyes into my brain.

I went to walk and stumble to the bathroom to either puke or piss, I was going to get it out of me in some way, but found that I was impeded in that action. I opened my eyes, slowly this time for them to hopefully adjust, and looked. My hands were tied with rope to the poles on either side of the headboard. I tugged on them, but to no use. I looked down and found my ankles were restrained similarly.

The thing that struck me most, though, looking down at my feet, was my mom standing at the end of my bed. She was made up with her hair down, which she rarely did, wearing only panties and a bra. She smiled at me. The corners of her mouth raised and her nostrils flared and I realized that smile was now a sneer.

She walked around to the side of my bed and, wordlessly, unbuttoned and unzipped my pajamas and pulled down my underwear. My dick was already hard from sleeping and needing to piss, and she started sucking it. I struggled, I strained against the ropes, I yelled and screamed and pleaded but she didn’t stop, didn’t respond or even show a sign of hearing me in any way.

When she was satisfied, she stepped out of her panties and pulled off her bra and began riding me, thrusting her hips up and down, moaning with each hump, looking me in the eyes the entire time.

“You like that?” she breathed at me. I continued yelling and flailing as much as the ropes allowed.

Against my will, I ejaculated, and she felt it, and she enjoyed it. She stopped, though her shuddering breaths and moans continued, and put her panties and bra back on. She looked at me and smiled again, a real smile this time, though it chilled me all the same. She untied the ropes and sat on the edge of my bed.

“Thank you, Clement, that was wonderful.”

I leapt out of bed and pulled my underwear and pajamas back on. Everything hurt, my body, my mind, my emotions, everything. I shook, I winced. I pulled back and sent my fist through my mom’s head. She fell back straight onto my bed and I jumped in front of her, fist after fist landing and breaking and cracking and bleeding her face, without my control. Some part of my mind, the part that turns off the mental alarm in the morning, told me to stop, but my body kept going. It screamed to stop, to pull back, to leave, to run away from here. And, eventually, my body responded. It listened. It obeyed.

I ran. I fucking ran.


One thought on “Statutory

  1. […] podcast where I talk about shit for fifteen or twenty minutes every day. I did a reading of Statutory on it, which should be posted in a day or two. I’ve talked about nicotine gum, job […]

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