Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ The Untold Terror Of The Betas Three ❯ The Untold Terror of the Betas Three ( One-Shot )

~~The Untold Terror of the Betas Three~~

 

 

 

I'm not sure how it happened. It all started innocently enough. `Beta reader'. And I . . . well, I volunteered.

 

“Sarah!”

 

Peeking up from my rickety TV tray table that served as my desk, I glanced toward the stairs. Had she heard? Would she come and yell down the stairs in that grating tone with that God-awful cackle, “I he-e-e-e-ear you, Gretchen!”?

 

“Sarah!”

 

The whisper from the next cell grew more panicked, more breathy---more frightened.

 

“What?” I hissed back, struggling to keep from yelling in my annoyance, my concern. The mixed feelings that led to an overall reticence; would she catch us? And just what brand of terror was she inflicting on Greta now? Greta---the youngest of us three---was the easiest of her targets. Tormenting Greta . . . well, she did it all the time.

 

“M-make it stop, Sarah! Make it stop!”

 

Frowning as I leaned to the side, I couldn't see Greta's laptop screen. I heard the insidious chime---the toll of the electronic bell that announced the arrival of another Instant Message. “What's she doing?” I whispered, unsure if Greta could hear me anymore. Her pale skin was ashen, peaked; her dark eyes rounded with absolute dread. “Greta!”

 

Greta sat on her pallet and drew her knees up to her chest as her hands flew up to cover her face, as her computer tipped precariously on her lap only to be steadied as the monitor dug into her chest. “She . . . she . . . she's brainstorming again, Sarah! I can't take the scroll! The mad skillz, Sarah! The mad, mad typing skillz!”

 

My outrage rose. Greta had been captured after she sent her a tin of homemade Christmas cookies. Christmas cookies! How dare she do that to Greta? The first time was accidental. It was my fault. I'd had to do the unthinkable. I'd gone AFK to do some cleaning, back when I had a home of my own, a family of my own. I wondered briefly what they were doing now. Did they miss me at all? Did Nik tell Jonny stories of this fable known as `mommy'?

 

But I digress.

 

Because of me, she had latched onto the only available beta: Greta. Poor Greta. She hadn't been the same since that day: that blustery Saturday in November. Perhaps she hadn't realized how insane she could be. Perhaps Greta, in her naiveté, had simply thought that she was safe from her. There were signs. If Greta had thought about it, she'd have realized much sooner. I mean, she posted chapters more frequently than most people brushed their teeth. How else would she be able to do that if she didn't have those `mad skillz'?

 

My face contorted in a disgusted grimace. “Just type, `yeah' or `yesh' or even `lol' every now and then. She'll never know she's freaking you out, if you do. Just play along with her or she'll torture you more!”

 

“Not the torture!” Greta nearly wailed.

 

“Get a hold of yourself, Greta! Do you want her to hear you?”

 

Greta whimpered but seemed to understand. Seconds later, I heard the hesitant click of her computer keys entering the text I'd hissed at her moments before.

 

Satisfied that disaster had been avoided for now, I rubbed a weary hand over my eyes and shook my head as I stared at my own monitor, at the chapter I was supposed to be beta'ing. The trouble was, as much as I hated this confinement, this forced exile; I reveled in it, too. Though I would not admit as much out loud, and certainly never to her, there was something addictive about her writing, about her ability to evoke the power of words.

 

Wasn't that how I got sucked in, in the beginning?

 

She was slick, oh yes she was. A faceless penname hidden in obscurity on the internet, I found her stories by chance in a realm that I have come to know as `fanfiction'. Sueric. Evil. Absolute evil. We dare not speak her name aloud.

 

I was the first to be caged here in her basement. She called us her hentai betas, and I hadn't realized what that would really mean. I should have known when she wrote in one of her fics. `Hunt your own' was her motto, her creed---because that is exactly what she did.

 

Then came Danielle . . . poor, poor Danielle. She never knew what hit her. Her big mistake was to send her a box of Japanese goodies---Pocky and candy and Japanese soda. She made the mistake of putting her return address on the package. We don't remind Danielle of that. It would serve little purpose now.

 

Danielle's cage was on the other side of mine. She used to be housed next to Greta but when the two tried to form an alliance called SASS, or Smart Ass Sesshoumaru Sisters, she had been convinced it meant something completely different: Society Against Sueric's Success, and so she had separated them. Danielle was responding to critical reviews with the sharpness of her acerbic words. The requisite thousand word reply was lengthened to two thousand today. She was angry because Danielle hadn't shed a tear for the latest installment of Metamorphosis. She made it her mission in life to make Danielle cry. I almost wish Danielle would do it, just so she would leave her alone . . .

 

“We've got to get out of here,” Danielle whispered, her light southern drawl punctuating her words. “Sarah! I have finals next month, and Greta . . . well, look at her!”

 

Following the direction of Danielle's fluttering hand, I turned and saw that Greta was still rocking back and forth, staring at her laptop in complete horror, eyes glazed over and dull, her lips moving but no sound issuing. Narrowing my gaze, I made out her mumbled words. She was chanting, like a mantra, “Mad skillz, mad skillz, mad skillz . . .”

 

Greta gasped suddenly, eyes clearing as she uttered another soft whimper. “It stopped.”

 

Smothering my own gasp, I hurriedly turned my flushed face back to my monitor as the dry scrape of old wood on linoleum grated against my unraveling nerves. The sound drifted down the stairs as the blackened void of the stairwell was flooded with a weak, thin light. Creaking stairs moaned as she descended to our hell with a bright smile, a happy glow. Only the peculiar light in her dark eyes seemed out of place. If it weren't for that . . . She was mad---absolutely stark, raving mad---but we all knew that, already.

 

“Guess what, girls!” she said as she grabbed the long iron pole she kept against the wall. “Good news, good news! I've found another!”

 

Greta couldn't stifle the whimper that escaped before she could smash her hand against her mouth. A quick glance at Danielle solidified my suspicions. Danielle knew, too, and she was about to argue with her. “Well, you have us,” I said reasonably, not wishing to watch her punish the younger girls for gainsaying her plan. “Do you really need another beta?”

 

Her glowing smile dimmed then disappeared. I forced myself to remain in my seat. “But . . . I have five cages,” she mumbled with a shake of her head, “so I should have five betas, right?”

 

And who could argue that sort of logic?

 

I stood up slowly. I could, damn it.

 

“Why? Why aren't we good enough for you?” I challenged, balling my hands into fists at my sides. “We do everything you ask of us! Why do you need more?”

 

She was angry. Lips pursed in a thin line as she slowly turned around with that metal pole, she regarded me through narrowed eyes, paced slowly like a panther stalking its prey. Suddenly, the expression cleared, and she smiled. I felt a distinct chill run down my spine, and I wondered if I hadn't just pushed her a little too far. “Aw, Sarah . . . you're jealous? There's no need to be! I can write faster!”

 

Greta whimpered again, whispering her mantra in a raw, rasping tone: “Mad skillz, mad skillz, mad skillz . . .”

 

She just laughed, that evil, dark, sinister laugh. “Muahahahahahahahahahahaha!”

 

“Don't do that!” Danielle complained, rubbing her arms as though to dispel goosebumps on her flesh.

 

That only goaded her on, and that diabolical laughter escalated, echoing through the cold cellar, grating on my nerves so badly I had to grit my teeth together to keep from screaming. “Muahahahahahahahahahahahaha!”

 

Greta choked back a sob---she always was the first to crack.

 

Danielle rushed the cage, rattling the bars as she tried to break free. “Who the hell did you pay to make this damn thing?” she yelled as she stared in disgust at the iron bars.

 

She shrugged, as though Danielle's upset meant little to her. “Oh, I learned some basic alchemy. Not a big deal.”

 

I waddled over to the cage bars and cleared my throat, bracing the small of my back with my hands. “I'm hungry,” I announced, mostly because, as evil as she was, she also loved babies, and since I was pregnant, I used this often to distract her from punishing the girls for bad behavior.

 

It worked like a charm. Heading over to the ancient refrigerator in the corner, she rummaged around in it, producing a large carton of milk before digging pocky out of the cupboard above the decrepit old sink. “Pocky!” Greta whined, reaching through the bars to intercept the treat. She thwapped her hand away and shoved the box through the bars of my cage. The milk was too large. She had to unlock the food trap to push that inside. The trap would be a great way to escape---if I weren't pregnant. For that reason, she was often lax in locking it. She knew I couldn't escape. Damn her.

 

The doorbell rang somewhere high above. She giggled happily and whirled around on her heel to speed off toward the stairs. “You'll love Kim, girls! She sent me Fullmetal Alchemist!”

 

“What'll we do?” Danielle whispered as she disappeared, closing the door behind her.

 

Digging into my pocky, I tossed one through the bars to Greta and shuffled over to Danielle to hand her a stick of the treat, too. Taking my time munching on pocky, I finally shrugged. “What else can we do? Oh, yeah . . . did you read the last chapter she sent down?”

 

Danielle shot me a dark look but nodded. “Yeah . . . it was good, huh?”

 

The pocky seemed to re-energize Greta, and she suddenly giggled. “I liked the part where he said he'd toss the baby down to Miroku,” she agreed.

 

The three of us laughed as I shared my pocky. Tossing away the empty box, I sighed and shook my head. Something about the pocky made the forced confinement bearable though I didn't dare try to figure out why. “All right, girls,” I said as I brushed pocky crumbs off my hands. “Break's over. Back to work.”

 

 

~The End~

 

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A/N:

 

Dedicated with love to my betas. May they live forever in my cellar.

 

~Sue~