Long Story #6: Spooky Tales for Twisted Tykes (VII. Road Signs and Wonders)

VII. Road Signs and Wonders (Content Tags: Small town, eldritch horror, diapers, messing, wetting, regression, cults, long burn) Never stop in a place with this kind of fog, never shut your eyes when it came time for a sunset on a sleepy town. Never trust the kindness of a community with those sorts of smiles. There's nothing but wickedness there, nothing at all. Candles lit each corner of the room in a different color of light; each flicker evoked a different feeling within me. I'd just been passing through, I'd just wanted to rest for the night, and now I was in a state of unrest. My clothes had been taken from me, replaced by a simple garment for a simple being; one large diaper, and nothing else to join it. The chanting in the next room haunted my mind like a restless spirit, and I was left wondering how it'd come to this. Foley's Harbor was supposed to be a detour, a slight deviation from the plan. My eyes had gotten so heavy from my time on the road, and so had the fog that was rolling in; it was becoming too dense to be safe, and that's when I'd seen the sign on the side of the road: 'Foley's Harbor, next right in five miles'. I hadn't seen it on the map, it was probably too small to get on the map, but it had come at a perfect time. I took the turn, I sealed my fate. It was a morose place, a gloomy one, and while it was called a harbor, the docks were sparsely populated with ships. By the time I'd parked at the pub, a light rainfall had descended on the moody settlement; the air smelled of saltwater and something less familiar, it was acrid and pungent, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was. It was too early to go to sleep, even if the road had done a good job at tugging my eyelids down with its hypnotic monotony; I needed a stiff drink, and maybe a hot meal. The interior decor of the pub was dated, which matched what little cultural aesthetic I'd been able to spot outside. It felt almost like the harbor had gotten trapped in a time capsule for decades, leaving them lingering in a squalid time before the dawn of the digital age. There was a rustic charm to it, sure, but there was also something off about it. The dampness of the fog that mired the city was somehow oppressing not just the warmth of sunlight, but the passage of time. It was a dome that froze things, a scab that left everything beneath it to fester. It was eerie. The people weren't much better. The bartender had a distant look in his eyes, and the others sitting in the tavern had almost robotic movements to their actions, like they had been waiting for an audience to provide background players for. "Uh, let's see...Just a whiskey sour and whatever you have to eat that's warm. I'm guessing you don't take card?" "Just cash." It'd felt fortunate at the time that I'd hit up the ATM at the beginning of my journey. I had a sneaking suspicion that the town's motel wouldn't have a very progressive payment system either. While sitting there, trying to enjoy my bland meal, the bell on top of the door would jingle. Coming in was a plump gentleman, an older man, who dressed in a suit and had a broad, toothy grin beneath a bushy mustache. It was the first person I'd seen thus far who hadn't been as sour as my drink. "My, my, my! We don't get many visitors in town. What's your name, son?" He asked as he approached, the smile never narrowing. In fact, as he got up close and his face was better illuminated by the dull light of the bar, his expression was a little frightening. His grin was so broad, so forced, that it looked like his cheekbones were about to pop through his wrinkled skin; the white of his teeth was all-consuming, all encompassing. "I, uh...The name is Trousdale. Alfred Trousdale. I just needed to pull over and get some rest. I won't be staying long." "That's a mighty fine name, Alfred. You can call me Mayor Ginsburg; I like to think of myself as the welcoming committee for all our treasured guests. Our fine harbor has a lot to offer, you sure you don't want to stay a while?" On the surface, one would take his words to be polite and affable, but there was something unsettling about the way he spoke. There was almost a desperation in his voice, a hunger that demanded satisfaction. My first impression was far more charitable than he deserved, because I thought he might be fishing for tourism revenue, which must be sorely lacking in a town like this. My second impression though... That was where I started to get uncomfortable. Reflecting off my glass, I could swear that all the other patrons were staring at me from their seats, like they were waiting on orders from the rotund suit; my mind told me I was being paranoid, but my gut said I shouldn't stay any longer than what was necessary. "Could I get a coffee please?" I asked the bartender, before turning my gaze back to the mayor. "I have a schedule to keep, so I really can't stay. Sorry. Maybe I can come back when I'm passing by again, when I have more time." I had expected that the man's smile might falter from that, but it remained unbroken. "I understand, young man. I hope the fog doesn't prove too much to drive in." The coffee came, black, and I sipped it down as fast as I could burn a cigarette to ash. The fog was dense, sure, but not impenetrable. When I went to leave though, I realized my car wouldn't start. It kept turning over, like there was something wrong with the battery. Standing off to the side, hands clasped in front of him, the mayor watched my plight with a silent glee. Had they sabotaged my car to keep me here longer? No, that was silly. My car was just old and beat up, so it was a coincidence that it'd finally break down. I went to ask about a mechanic. "Riley is off fishing with his cousin today, I'm afraid. I can pass along that you're in need of his services, but the earliest he'll be able to look at it is in the morning." Just my luck. "Please, follow me Alfred. Suzanne runs a small place up the road; you can rent a room for the night. How does that sound?" Did I really have any other choice? My other option was sleeping in my car, and that didn't feel very safe. At least in a motel room, I could hope that the lock was a little more fortified. Suzanne was kind, maybe too much so. She reminded me a lot of the mayor, with how that unnatural smile never stopped carving itself across her face. She gave me a discount on the room, she mentioned a continental breakfast, and I just politely nodded. The only other person I saw was a maid, and she had that same dead look in her eyes as the men at the bar. I double-checked the lock that night, I closed the curtains, and I had been tempted to push a dresser in front of the door. I'd never been the anxious type, but I kept feeling like I was on the edge of a panic attack. Something about this town made me feel helpless, it made me feel paranoid; I just wanted to get back on the road, I wanted to leave and never look back. Getting to sleep wasn't an easy task, even though I was exhausted from the events of the day. If I'd ran, car or not, then maybe things would have been different. When I woke up, I wasn't alone. It wasn't morning, as the red readout on the clock read that it was shy of four; my bed was surrounded on all sides, by veiled figures in cloaks. I wasn't allowed to scream, as they gagged me with what I had originally thought was a ball-gag. It was not. It was a pacifier that had been tied around my head; the nipple was full of something that kept secreting a bitterness into my mouth. It made me feel woozy, weak, and it disrupted my thoughts. "Make this vessel clean, make it pure. Prosper in filth, be reborn by the hand of the almighty. Emerge from the mound anew, sins wiped clean, like a child once more." That was the mayor's voice, and it was immediately recognizable, even if his creepy grin was obscured by the void of his hood. "The sacrament is ready, father. The baptism can soon begin. I've prepared his vestments, and I've prepared him for communion with the ceaseless wheel." And that was Suzanne, her chipper tone replaced by a solemn one. It was a cult, that much was obvious, and it would appear that my arrival had meant that it was time for them to offer a sacrifice to whatever farce they called their god. As macabre as it all was, I couldn't help but feel vindicated by knowing my paranoia had been well founded. But then things got strange. The vestments? That was the diaper. The sacrament? A baby bottle full of something that resembled a dark purple sludge. Undoubtedly poison, and I didn't get a choice on whether or not I was going to drink it. Laying swaddled in bulky terry cloth, the bottle was forced into my mouth, and the base was squeezed. Unlike the drug from the pacifier, the mysterious liquid was very sweet, disgustingly so. It had a consistency that was akin to milk, and it made me immediately start to salivate uncontrollably. "He's ready for his communion, for his baptism. The messiah from the sea will be pleased." They dragged me from the candle-lit room and into an inner chamber, where a bizarre alter lied at the center. There were bones arranged into twisted sculptures, there were arrays painted in blood, and on top of the linen, there was a glass cylinder with something squirming inside. "Please...Don't kill me..." I muttered pathetically, my voice as low as my energy. "Only the unworthy die. Sinners serve, and the chosen few are blessed." Suzanne replied, caressing her fingers through my dirty blond hair. "Yes, only your baptism can decide if you're worthy of communion with the master. I have a good feeling about you though, my boy. I've got an eye for it." The mayor encouraged. I was placed on my knees, directly in front of the alter. The mayor plunged his hand into the jar of water, and from it, he brought up what looked like a crimson sea slug. My arms were bound, my mouth was forced open, and the slithering creature was dropped down my throat. It burned. It burned so much that I thought I was dying. Every pore felt as they were bursting wide open, and from them, my flesh leaked an oily residue. Heart rate rocketed, brain was on fire, and bones were turning to jelly. In the midst of it all, my bladder would let loose a river of warmth into the terry cloth that had been pinned to my hips. My bowels would soon follow, violently erupting and emptying out more disgusting filth than I thought I could produce. It kept coming, wave after wave, like my body was digesting itself and excreting the remnants into the diaper. My shrieking could have woken the dead; I screamed so hard that I thought my throat would blister, that my lungs would pop. At some point, the screaming didn't even sound like it was coming from my own vocal chords; the pitch kept getting higher and higher, until I was convinced they were sacrificing a child right beside me. It felt like it went on for hours, and maybe it did. I prayed for it to end, for death to come, but it never did. Mercy would finally come, leaving me curled in a fetal position, shivering and sweating. My body felt unfamiliar, my mind felt distant, and my ass was caked in unending layers of boiling mush. "Such fortune! He has been blessed. I knew I saw something in him. His rebirth is almost finished; it is time for him to commune with the messiah of the deep." My eyes would sluggishly move around the room, until settling on the door that was being opened by the cultists. On the other side, shielded by the dark, I saw a tentacle sway. This was their god, this was what the baptism had been leading to, I was blessed, and now it was time for the communion.