Why He Hates Muggles
Chapter 10
Why He Hates Muggles
Chapter 10
By Odd Doll
Thursday, June 17, 1976
Will he come to me again tonight? At first when
we moved
here, he did not come to me at night so often.
I think it was because my room is so close to the others and he
was
afraid they might hear us. Lately,
though, he comes almost every night. I
don’t mind so much, I guess. He never
gets angry afterward. He just leaves.
She lay in the dark, waiting for him.
The new moon was the thinnest white
crescent, but she could see the full gray outline of its hidden part.
image possible, to keep her mind off the throb between her legs.
wanted to save her passion, in case he did come to her.
He always managed to arouse her again, but
it was better when she waited.
The house was still when her door opened and a
triangle of
light from the hall fell onto her bedroom floor. His
shaped filled the doorway and then disappeared as he shut the
door and locked it. He slipped into her
bed and drew her to him.
“Baby,” he said as he placed his mouth on hers.
“Daddy,” she sighed.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he said as
he took
the edges of her modest cotton gown and lifted it over her head.
“You’re so beautiful, Charity. I
could make love to you forever.”
“I love you, Daddy,” she whispered in his ear.
how to do what he liked without being asked.
“I want you so much tonight, Daddy.”
“I can tell,” he said as he peeled down her soaked
panties
and pulled them down her legs.
“It shames me, Charity, to know my own flesh and
blood has
turned out to be such a whore.”
&;
Charity was used to thek, bk, but it always hurt.
when he came to her bed at night he never punished her, and he never
gave her
physical pain.
“Why must you use your witchcraft on me, Charity?
sent your soul to the devil. an>Nan>Now your
evil magic is taking both of us.”
Unless she was in severe pain, Charity no longer
let her
father see her cry. Tonight, though,
she could not hold back her tears. She
made no noise, but teardrop after teardrop slid out the corners of her
eyes and
down the sides of her face.
“What do you want, Witch Slut?” he said in a hard
voice,
making her beg for the very things that brought her shame.
“How do you want your Daddy to touch you?”
“Fuck me, Daddy.
Please. I want you to fuck me.”
“Of course you do, you slut. You
like nothing more than to make your Daddy weak, so he’ll give
in to your perverted desires. Tell me
what you are,” he demanded.
“I’m a whore,” she said.
“Tell me what you are,” he said again, louder.
“I’m a whore.” She
groaned.
He gasped out, “Tell me what you are!”
“I’m a witch slut,” she said through her sobs.
beginning. He kept her stimulated and
aroused through the shame and her initial reluctance to the
molestation, until
the shame and pleasure were one in the same to her.
Afterward, he lay atop her as he regained his
composure. She was still crying when he
kissed her tear-stained cheek, and raised himself up off of her.
“Goodnight, Baby,” he said and left the room.
He made me cry tonight.
I can’t remember the last time he made me cry.
Mostly, I’m just sort of hollow inside. It’s
as if I can’t feel any more. I can laugh
at things people say, but at the same time it feels
unreal, and a part of my mind is separate, just watching.
Maybe I am two people. There is the
one that goes around shopping,
and cleaning, and talking to people, and the other that is inside just
keeping
all my secrets for me. Sometimes it
feels like that the real me is looking out through my eyes and the
world around
me is unreal, and the feelings I express, and the things I do are
unreal. I am not real.
Maybe it’s because Mrs. Snape made me cry
yesterday. They are such nice people.
nothing wrong when I burned all those people.
If they only knew the things I make my daddy
They wouldn’t like me.
A thought sifted into Charity’s mind like smoke
seeping
through the cracks in her logic. people were witches and wizards. They
practiced magic all the time, but they did not seem evil.
A preconception that she had been raised
upon shifted slightly in her mind, and left her struggling to grasp at
something concrete. Charity no longer
knew what to believe. Even her
Christian faith was teetering. There was
something to these thoughts, she she could not pin them down.
to face the implication that par parents were wrong.
Sometimes, I do cry at night.
If I lay in the dark late at night, and the window is open, it
feels like my spirit stretches out and covers the whole earth.
like crystal and the air is cool and clean in the breeze.
Then the real me comes out and my feelings
are too real to bear. That’s when I
cry.