Harry really didn’t have any interest at all in whatever the guy might want to show him, but he also definitely didn’t want to have his service hours scrapped by some vindictive adult. Together they went back into the building, and Mr. Elroy led them to a bank of elevators, and they entered one. In an enclosed space, Harry sized him up–if he tried anything creepy, he could probably take him. He looked to be around fifty, with a healthy bit of grey in his beard–probably in twenty or thirty years, he’d be another one of the old fucks around here too. They ended up on the third floor, walked down the hall to one of the rooms, Mr. Elroy pulled out a key and unlocked it without even knocking.
“Shouldn’t you at least knock or something?” Harry said, a bit disturbed about just walking into someone else’s room without permission.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Mr. Elroy said, “Now come in here.”
Harry peeked around the corner and into the apartment after Mr. Elroy turned the lights on, and saw why he’d said that–everything was all packed up into boxes, aside from the large furniture, which was covered in sheets. “So…what, we’re going through some old person’s things before they move?”
Mr. Elroy looked back at him. “No one who lives here moves away, young man. They die.”
Harry’s gut twisted at the realization, and he felt like an idiot. “S-Sorry. We really shouldn’t be in here then, you know? This is kind of fucked up.”
“Harry, come inside and shut the door behind you.”
He didn’t want to go in there–he no longer cared about his service hours, he’d go talk to the woman at the desk about it. He didn’t want to be anywhere near a bunch of stuff belonging to some cadaver…but instead, his legs moved him into the apartment, and he closed the door behind him.
“It was sad, watching him go. Watching him lose himself,” Mr. Elroy said, as he walked through the room. “Can you tell me anything about him, by looking at his things, Harry?”
“I mean…not without opening something up, I guess,” he said, “Look, I get it, alright? This is creepy. I don’t care about my hours, I just want to go.”
“Yeah, you can’t tell anything about him. You know as much about him right now, as he knew about himself two days ago, as he was dying. Advanced dementia, right at the end. Such a shame, really. So confused and scared, trying to understand who he was and what was happening to him. Fuck, just thinking about it is getting me hard all over again…” Mr. Elroy said, and adjusted the front of his pants.
The guy was some fucking creep–he fucking knew it. Harry turned and tried to open the door, but it had locked, or jammed, or something–the handle wouldn’t budge an inch. “Let me out you fucking weirdo!” he shouted at Mr. Elroy, and kept fighting with the door.
“Harry, calm down, and come over here please.”
Again, like before, his body disobeyed his mind, and he walked over to where Mr. Elroy was standing in the living room, his heart pounding in terror. How in the world was he doing this to him? It didn’t make any sense–he just wanted to leave. “Please, I’m scared, just let me leave…”
“You should be scared, Harry. Most people are scared when they see magic for the first time. But I’m hungry, Harry–and you, your life, you smell…delicious, you know. I have to eat healthy lives to keep my own health, you know, and I think you could learn a lesson about age.” Harry was close now, close enough that Mr. Elroy could reach out and touch him. “Such youth would be wasted on you, like it’s wasted on all you mortals.”
What happened next–Harry could never quite find the words to describe it. Mr. Elroy reached out with both hands, and rested them on both sides of his face, but as gentle as the touch was, there was spiritual violence that he felt deep in his core, a sheer terror, but his body could not flinch away as something–life, youth, spirit, vitality, potential–was drained from him right into Mr. Elroy’s fingertips. The touch likely only lasted seconds, but to Harry, it seemed to extend into hours and days, caught in that moment, unable to move, unable to resist, until they came away from him, and the exhaustion flooded into his body, sending him crashing to his knees.
“Look at me, let me look at you. Look up at your master, you old fuck.”
He did. He didn’t have the heart to fight him–his will and resistance had been sucked away along with whatever else Mr. Elroy had drawn from him. The glimmer of delight in the man’s eye frightened him…but he could see changes all the same. A bit of grey missing from his beard, a firming up of his flesh. With a wave of his hands in the space above him, Mr. Elroy summoned a thin mirror, hanging in the air, and Harry could see himself–his new self–for the first time. He had aged at least into his forties, if not a bit further–his hair was greying and receding, wrinkles had begun to crease his forehead, eyes and mouth. He looked away from his face and down to his body, where his muscles of youth had been sapped of their strength, and a potbelly had sprouted, pushing his shirt out where it rode up awkwardly.
Mr. Elroy waved the mirror back into the void from where he’d called it, and opened the fly of his pants, allowing his thick cock to fall free, leaking a bit of precum from the tip, inches from Harry’s face.
“Tell me what you want, you old fuck.”
Harry looked up at him, desperate and terrified, and when he met Mr. Elroy’s eyes…they weren’t the same eyes that had been looking at him before. Or perhaps they were. Perhaps, whatever veil had been guarding their true nature had dropped, and the piercing eyes he couldn’t look away from had always been there. They pushed into him–Mr. Elroy pushed into him, into his mind, and the words that came out weren’t the ones he’d thought–even the voice didn’t sound like his own. “Fuck, Could sure use yer big, fat cock lodged down my fuckin’ throat.”
“That’s what I thought–now start sucking.”
Bracken's Corner 