The Meadows

By Glenda Norwood Petz

Murder. Unexplainable disappearances. Illegal surveillance inside private homes. Human organ trafficking. A secret society with unorthodox customs. Are these occurrences mere coincidences, or are the inexplicable phenomena connected?

Welcome to Sunnyside Meadows, an elite community housing eclectic, bizarre citizens, one of whom is a cold-blooded murderer hiding in plain sight.

Undercover FBI Agents Cal and Janna Dillard are sent to Newton, Pennsylvania to investigate reports of a human organ trafficking ring, unaware that the home they're assigned to in the Meadows was the site of two grisly murders a month prior. Their residency inadvertently involves them in a homicide investigation being conducted by Dale Benson, a dogged detective who's committed to proving that Bill and Barbara Hamner were murdered by someone in the neighborhood.

Collaborating to solve both cases, what they uncover is disturbing and unlike any assignment they've ever been embroiled in. A unique clique led by the mysterious Belladonna, a dark figure whose true identity is unknown, dominates the Meadows and its inhabitants. But this is no ordinary cult. The sect members are toxic and inhumane with ravenous appetites, and all are willing to kill to keep their ominous secret quiet.

Cal, Janna, and Benson have less than twenty-four hours to devise a plan that will get them onto heavily guarded and secured property to rescue the young girl who's being held hostage and prevent her from becoming the lodge's next casualty.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tiger Eye Publications
• Release date: Jan 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224272655

Glenda Norwood Petz

Native South Floridian now residing in Clarksville, Indiana.

Book preview

Also by Glenda Norwood Petz

Chesterfield

Welcome To Cowbell, Daniel Chesterfield

DeeDee Olsen, Ghost Girl

Ghost Girl

The Children In the Woods

A Killing of Sparrows

Standalone

Apollyon's War

A Requiem for Revenge

Dream Weavers

The Fall of Autumn's Becoming

The Punishment Room

Hurricane

We're All Dead Here

The Meadows

Watch for more at Glenda Norwood Petz’s site.

the MEADOWS

GLENDA NORWOOD PETZ

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All rights reserved.

Copyright© Glenda Norwood Petz, 2023

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by photostat, microfilm, xerography, or any other means, or incorporated into any information retrieval system, either electronic or mechanical, without the written permission of the copyright owner.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Other titles by Glenda Norwood Petz:

A Requiem for Revenge

Ghost Girl

Hurricane

The Punishment Room

The Children In the Woods

Dream Weavers

The Fall of Autumn’s Becoming

Apollyon’s War

Welcome to Cowbell, Daniel Chesterfield

We’re All Dead Here

A Killing of Sparrows

Manufactured in the USA, 2023

Published by Tiger Eye Publications, LLC

Cover Design by Canva

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

About the Author

Chapter 1

I’m scared, Bill.

Barbara Hamner cautiously peeked through the window blind into the backyard. The sun was beginning to set. Its dwindling glow shining through the copse of spruces and sugar maples cast golden shards of light onto the perfectly manicured lawn. Any other day, she would’ve watched the wondrous light display with childlike wonder, smiling as the ever-changing shadows generated by the trees danced gleefully across the yard.

Not tonight. She was too frightened to find anything enjoyable.

She found a bit of comfort in knowing that within a few hours, she’d finally be gone from this dreadful place, yet it saddened her that she would never again admire the extravagant beauty of a Newton, Pennsylvania Autumn sunset.

She wanted to leave now, to get the hell away from this cursed community. Never to return, never looking back. Bill insisted they make their escape under the cover of complete darkness. That way, he’d told her, nosy neighbors would be tucked away safely in their warm beds and would be less likely to witness and report their unannounced and unexpected departure. A wise move on their part considering that most of the residents in their small district possessed prying eyes and loose lips, eager to viciously spread gossip regardless of whether the rumors were true or not.

Although she knew her husband was right, it didn’t help to ease her overwhelming feeling of impending doom. Barbara felt certain that she nor Bill would make it out of Sunnyside Meadows.

Letting the blind fall back into place, she turned to her husband of twenty-five years. Do you think she knows what we’ve done? Did we do the right thing, Bill?

Bill glanced up from the book he was reading. If she doesn’t know yet, it’s only a matter of time before she finds out. That wicked woman has more eyes and ears in the community than an octopus has tentacles.

He and Barbara hadn’t done anything yet, unless meeting with a reporter and telling her that they’d have a bombshell story to print once they were safely away from the property counted.

We should go now, Barbara told him, wringing her hands nervously as she stepped away from the den window. Our bags are packed. All we have to do is throw them in the car and leave. I can’t stand the thought of staying here another second. Especially not now.

We’ve discussed this, Barbara. I’ve explained to you the importance of waiting until it’s dark. Bill sighed heavily and laid his book on the table next to his chair. Look, honey, if you want to know the truth, I’m as nervous and afraid as you are. We can’t change what we’ve done, so the best thing to do now is continue acting as though nothing is different.

I’m trying to, Bill, but I can’t relax. I’m terrified of what she’ll do to us once she finds out that we betrayed her.

We haven’t betrayed her yet, Bill reminded his wife.

We may as well have. Even a promise to reveal the truth about what goes on here will be looked upon as disloyalty in her eyes. You and I both know what her and the others are capable of.

Bill nodded. That we do. Let’s pray that we’re long gone from here before any of them find out anything. Not knowing where we are will make it impossible for them to retaliate against us.

Barbara thought about that for a second, satisfied that Bill was right. The members couldn’t find them if they didn’t know where to look. Her and Bill didn’t even know where they’d end up. Their agreement was to drive until they’d put as many miles as they could between them and Sunnyside Meadows, no matter where the road ahead took them. What do you think they’ll do with all our belongings once they realize we’re gone and not coming back? she asked, glancing around the room.

Knowing how greedy these money-grubbing bastards are, they’ll take whatever they want, then either give away or burn whatever’s left. Are you sure you’re okay with leaving all our possessions behind?

Yes. Material assets can be replaced, Barbara replied, jerking towards the window when a scraping noise sounded nearby. Did you hear that? she whispered.

I didn’t hear anything, Bill replied, rising from his chair and joining her at the window.

There’s someone out there.

It was probably a raccoon or some other nocturnal scavenger making its nightly run for food. Let me have a look, Bill said, using a finger to part the blind slats. Nothing to see out there but trees. Taking his wife by the shoulders, he said, You’re wound as tight as a broken clock. Why don’t you go lie down and take a nap? I set the alarm for two a.m. in case either of us falls asleep.

That does sound inviting, she replied. Are you coming?

Maybe later, he said, kissing her gently on the forehead.

As much as I need the rest, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep a wink. My nerves are too frazzled.

You need to try. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.

Don’t be too long, she told him before exiting the den.

Bill returned to the chair and back to his book. After reading a few paragraphs, he realized he hadn’t comprehended a word of the narrative. Every sentence became a run on, all of the words binding together to form one extensive, nonsensical block of gibberish. He closed the book and placed it back on the table. His mind transformed into a race car competing in the Indianapolis 500, his thoughts speeding in relentless circles around a track of guilt. Guilt over moving into a deranged neighborhood that harbored equally deranged residents. Guilt for involving his wife in what could result in a life-threatening situation. Guilt that he hadn’t fled with his wife before now.

Guilt about the lodge. Oh, dear God, the lodge. Why did he ever accept the invitation to attend the gathering? The carnage he’d witnessed that night would forever be etched into his memory. There were some things in life that could never be unseen, no matter how hard one might try.

Sunnyside Meadows looked inviting and appealing in realtor magazines and on roadside billboards. At one time, it was. The modern-style ranch houses were stunningly beautiful. The spacious floor plans allowed for oversized rooms throughout the house. The massive size of the residences, the affordable prices, and the inclusion of community amenities sent home buyers scrambling for mortgages before the development even opened. The homes continuously sold for thousands of dollars over the asking price. Potential buyers were so eager to get in that they constantly outbid one another.

The lucky ones were those who’d cancelled their mortgage applications once they’d learned that no children or pets were allowed. They didn’t know how fortunate they were to have never purchased a home there.

Falling in love with the house at first sight, he and Barbara had been one of the first couples to move in when it opened five years before. They’d loved living there, and had enjoyed participating in the community barbecues, parties at the clubhouse, and drinks at the poolside bar while engaging in neighborly conversations with the other residents.

That’d been during a time when things were normal in the community.

Before she ruined it all with her sick and twisted games.

Because of her, everything inside their small village had changed.

Including the residents.

Only a few of the original owners still remained and continued to participate in community events, although they were now more cautious and reserved, careful who they spoke to and what they talked about. Before the community was turned upside down, a handful of owners had to sell and relocate, driven out by outlandish mortgage payments on loans with fluctuating interest rates. Those who came afterwards moved in without knowing the truth about their new neighborhood. As it turned out, they weren’t the least bit bothered by the abnormal activities that took place inside the hunting lodge. In fact, they reveled in being part of a secret society clique, elated to have found a place where their eccentricities were overlooked and accepted. They were welcomed into a club that allowed them to freely be their true selves without judgment.

Sunnyside Meadows wasn’t the utopian paradise that dreamers on the outside longed to move into.

Not anymore.

Nothing inside its stony walls was what it seemed.

A malicious and toxic infection had taken over the community and its residents, and he and Barbara no longer wanted to be a part of it.

If members of the hunting lodge knew they were preparing to make a run for it, they’d kill them. Of that, he felt certain. Members would never allow their dark and private secrets to be publicized.

Bill Hamner knew precisely what went on inside the lodge. He’d been there. Barbara had been there. Both were sickened by what they’d witnessed at the last meeting they’d attended.

They would never forget what they’d seen. The imagery would haunt them forever.

If only he’d never accepted that damn invitation, things would be different for him and Barbara now, and fleeing their million-dollar home wouldn’t have been a consideration.

They should’ve known something was amiss about the newly implemented lodge rules when they were forced to sign non-disclosure agreements containing extremely specific details of what would happen to them if they breached the contract.

Already a months-long member of the club, he’d been surprised about receiving an invitation. They’d never been sent before. Members didn’t need to be invited to attend club events.

Belladonna changed all that.

The invite requested their presence at a masquerade party. It seemed innocent enough and sounded entertaining. What harm could come of dressing up and having fun with friends? If only. The gathering started out that way but ended tragically.

If he could go back to the day he removed the invitation from the mailbox, he’d rip the damn thing into a million pieces and toss it into the garbage can.

But he couldn’t.

What was done was done.

He had, however, made it flagrantly clear that neither he nor Barbara would be attending another event at the lodge, much to Belladonna’s chagrin.

Shall I remind you of the consequences you’ll suffer should you ever discuss what took place here tonight?

You’ve made that perfectly clear, he told her. A reminder isn’t necessary. You don’t have to worry about us talking. I would never want any of my friends or family members to know I was associated with such a heinous act of inhumanity.

They’d kept their word and had never mentioned it. Although he and Barbara didn’t physically participate in the act, they had still been there and saw what happened. They’d stood idly by, disturbed by what they were witnessing, their intense fear rendering them incapable of doing anything to help that poor girl. In the privacy of their home, they’d discussed that night on multiple occasions. Talking about it helped to ease their grief. It was a cleansing of the soul that washed away their deeply rooted regret.

The memory was months old, but in their fevered dreams, they could both still hear the cries and screams of the innocent.

The more they talked and thought about that night, the more convinced they became that they couldn’t keep what they’d seen to themselves any longer. Belladonna and her clan needed to be stopped before more innocent victims fell prey to their immoral desires.

As long as they remained inside Sunnyside Meadows, they could never go public.

So, they decided to leave.

Quietly, secretly, and immediately.

No one with their level of knowledge about the events that took place that night would ever be allowed to depart voluntarily.

Belladonna would make sure of it.

Screw her, Bill determined. The outside world needs to know what really goes on behind the private, solid rock walls of the most envied sub-division in Newton.

Once he was free of this wretched place, he intended to tell a reporter everything he knew about Sunnyside Meadows, the hunting lodge, Belladonna, and the residents.

Bill was jolted from his musing when a tinny, scratching sound came from the back of the house. Had someone tapped on the door or window to get his attention? Or was someone trying to break in? Was his irrevocable fear of Belladonna sending her flock after him and his wife finally coming to fruition?

Barbara was in bed, so she couldn’t have caused the noise.

All the doors and windows were locked, the curtains pulled shut, and he damn sure wasn’t going to pull the cords and look outside to see a gaunt face staring back at him.

Bill slowly rose from his chair when he heard the distinct sound of a key slipping into a lock.

Someone was at the mud room door at the rear of the house.

Cautiously and quietly, he crept into the kitchen and peeked around the corner, the solid glass door of the mud room entrance visible from his position.

It was too dark outside to tell if anyone was standing on the porch. The door was still closed and intact, so whoever was out there hadn’t tried forcing their way in.

Bill guardedly inched towards the mud room, bracing himself for the shattering of glass when the intruder pushed through the door.

Only feet away, he abruptly stopped and turned back toward the living room, the icy fingers of death caressing his spine when he heard the soft click of the front door closing.

Someone was inside the house. How had they gotten in through the front door without him hearing them forcing their way in? Only he and Barbara possessed keys.

Hello, Bill, a familiar voice uttered when he entered the room. Going somewhere? she sneered.

You? Bill’s voice quivered when he spoke. His expression was one of utter confusion. "You’re Belladonna?"

Were you expecting someone else?

This had to be a mistake. He’d been to enough lodge meetings and heard her voice enough to know who Belladonna was, and the woman standing in his living room was not her.

Unless it was and had been all along.

Why did you pretend to be someone you’re not? Do the others know?

Belladonna remained silent as she slowly and deliberately approached him.

Bill swallowed back the lump that rose in his throat as he stared in horror at the shiny metal object pointed at his chest.

A Sig Sauer M17.

Equipped with a Vanisher-46 silencer.

The gunshots would be suppressed.

No one would hear them and come running to their rescue.

Would his and Barbara’s dead bodies remain inside the house undiscovered while their flesh rotted away until all that remained were the bony structured remnants of the people they used to be?

No. Belladonna was too smart to do anything that stupid. Rotting flesh stinks. The stench emanating from the residence would raise eyebrows. Nosy neighbors would pry.

Provisions to deal with their dead, limp bodies had been prearranged.

There was only one reason Belladonna would be confronting him. She was aware of his plans to escape. If she knew about that, then she also knew he’d spoken with a journalist and was planning to disclose her darkest secrets to the world.

Why else would she have broken into their house to kill him?

She was going to kill Barbara, too.

Leave no loose ends, he thought. Dead lips can’t sink ships.

Who said I was going anywhere? he asked hoarsely.

I have my sources.

I’m sure you do, he retorted sarcastically.

I’ve received word of a nasty rumor, Bill. Would you like to know what I was told? Without giving him a chance to respond, she continued. You’ve come to an agreement with a journalist to tell her a story about our secret club once you abscond from here. What exactly did you plan to tell her, Bill?

That’s not true, Bill replied. I haven’t spoken to a journalist.

Liar! she yelled.

It would do him no justice to argue with her or defend his actions. She came there for a purpose and nothing he said was going to change her plans. She knew he’d spoken to a reporter, and that was enough to convince him that Belladonna would never allow him or Barbara to go free.

How the hell did you get inside my house? he shouted angrily.

With this, she said, dangling a key chain on her finger.

Who gave you a key?

It was a gift from a loyal follower.

Bill shook his head in disbelief. What do you want from me?

Isn’t that obvious?

Bill? Barbara wiped sleep from her eyes as she entered the living room and stood next to her husband. I heard you shouting.

Nice of you to join us, Belladonna uttered. Keeps Legion from having to drag you out of bed.

You took away all my fun, boss lady, her guard countered.

Bill spun around, startled by the loud, deep voice. Standing rigidly behind him was a mountain of a man who eagerly awaited to assist with his boss’ dirty work. Nearly seven feet tall, he was dressed in black from head to toe, his mallet-sized arms crossed over his crotch as he awaited Belladonna’s orders.

Lodge members referred to him as Legion.

Bill now understood how this had happened. Legion purposely made noises at the mud room door as a decoy to distract him from Belladonna’s unwelcome and unlawful front way entrance. Once she was inside, he slipped in stealthily through the mud room door and now stood threateningly behind him and Barbara, grinning evilly as he anticipated his master’s command.

There was only one way Legion could’ve gotten in. He had keys, too.

Bill knew the thuggish-looking guy personally. He’d played golf and tennis with him, had eaten at his table. Although Bill knew that Legion was a member of the lodge, he hadn’t known until that moment that he was the bitch’s top dog, willing to do whatever it took to please her, no matter what she demanded, as long as it kept him in her good graces.

What’s going on? Barbara asked sleepily.

Don’t pretend like you’re innocent, Belladonna spat. I know you’re a part of this, too.

Part of what?

I know all about your conversation with a certain journalist, and that you were planning to give her a story about what you think you know about me.

We haven’t told anyone anything, Bill argued.

Thinking about doing it is as good as actually following through with it. No one betrays me and gets away with it. After all this time, Bill, I would’ve thought you knew that, she said, taking a step closer. Do you have any last words before receiving your punishment? If so, now is the time to do it.

Bill grinded his jaws angrily. He knew everything he needed to know about her, knew firsthand what she was capable of doing to those who opposed or defied her. She didn’t give two shits about whether he had anything to say or not. Her decision to murder him and Barbara was decided well before she showed up in their house. Once Belladonna made a decision, it was a done deal. What do you want me to say? he remarked heatedly. Would you like me to crawl on my hands and knees, groveling and begging for your highness’ forgiveness? If that’s what you’re expecting, you’ll be waiting an awfully long time, you evil, twisted bitch, Bill raged, lunging at her.

Barbara screamed when a sharp Pop! Pop! resounded through the living room.

Bill crumpled to the floor at Barbara’s feet. Blood poured from a bullet wound to his forehead, soaking into the light blue carpet and turning it a pale shade of purple.

I hope you burn in hell, Barbara seethed, hearing only the first Pop! before collapsing to the floor beside her husband.

How should I handle this? Legion asked.

Leave the trash where it belongs, she told him. Check his pockets for a cellphone.

There’s not one on him, Legion told her after patting him down.

Then search the house until you find it. It’s here somewhere.

Yes, ma’am.

When you find it, use it to place a call to 9-1-1.

What do I tell them?

That your name is Bill Hamner and you’re about to kill your wife and then turn the gun on yourself. And Legion?

Yes, ma’am?

Make sure to arrange the bodies so they match the crime. Here, you’ll need this, she said, removing the silencer and passing him the Sig Sauer. It wouldn’t be much of a believable story if there’s no weapon at the crime scene.

Legion cast her a questionable look. Are you sure you want to leave your gun at the scene?

It’s not registered, so it can’t be traced back to me. Or anyone else, for that matter, she added as an afterthought. There won’t be any shell casings for the crime lab to run ballistics tests on, so whoever investigates the scene will have no choice but to rule their deaths a murder-suicide and close the case.

Boss lady, there will be empty shells left behind. You fired four rounds.

Not after you collect them all.

Legion smiled crookedly. You think of everything, don’t you?

That’s why I’m the boss, as you like to say.

Anything else?

Place the gun in or near his hand, and make sure the doors are locked before you leave.

Legion opened his mouth to speak. Belladonna held up a hand, cutting him off. I know what you were about to say. How could a suicide victim put two bullets in himself when either of the wounds would’ve killed him?

You read my mind.

I did allow my anger to get the best of me, she sighed. We’re not going to worry about it because we were never here. It’s the duty of the police to figure out the details. This should keep them busy for a while.

Whatever you say, boss lady. I hope this doesn’t cause us any unnecessary problems.

Chapter 2

Wyatt Anderson dropped into his swivel computer chair, popped a handful of cheese puffs into his mouth, and scanned the bank of security monitors set up in the guest bedroom of his house.

There were six of them. One for each of the six houses being monitored. Of the twelve rooms inside each home, only five were of interest. The three bedrooms, great room, and kitchen/dining area. Each monitor displayed five different time-stamped frames, one camera per room.

Bathrooms were omitted from the list of places to surveil. He had no interest in watching any of his neighbors brush their teeth or take a shit while reading the morning news on their smart phones.

He’d rather be stretched out on his couch in front of his brand new sixty-five-inch color flat screen television watching a Blu-Ray movie or comedy show on Netflix. He found his current task to be rather tedious, primarily boring, and an unnecessary misuse of his time. If the choice had been left up to him, he wouldn’t be wasting valuable hours watching and listening to what the residents of Sunnyside Meadows were up to. For reasons only she knew, Belladonna had demanded that the Hamner house be closely watched tonight. What Belladonna wants, Belladonna gets. Or else.

When she’d contacted him and requested that he secretly install security cameras inside certain homes, then disclosed the obscene amount of money she’d pay him to complete the project and oversee the camera monitoring, he couldn’t say no. Being a security software programmer and familiar with the installation of cameras had made the task simple. All he’d needed was a couple of hours in each house to install the software and cameras, then link them all to his home computer. She’d even provided him with keys for each residence, allowing him the opportunity to slip in and out without the homeowners knowing.

To his knowledge, none of those being surveilled knew they were being closely studied. If they did, they’d never mentioned it. Belladonna didn’t have to give him a reason why she wanted the cameras installed for him to know what her reasoning was. She wanted to keep a close eye on the lodge members to ensure they kept their mouths shut about lodge activities. He hadn’t bothered to ask for confirmation on his theory for the installations. He knew better than to question her.

He did often wonder what would happen if any of them learned about the hidden cameras. Being surveilled by anyone other than law enforcement was against the law and punishable with fines and a jail sentence. He had no doubt that Belladonna would pin the blame on him if they ever found out. God forbid she should ever confess to a crime that would spoil her image in the eyes of her faithful followers. If she told them he was responsible, they’d believe her. Just like they believed every word that came out of her mouth. He wouldn’t have much of a defense since everyone knew what his profession was. No one else in the Meadows was qualified to perform the installations and monitoring. What would he say if anyone questioned him about it? That Belladonna had put him up to it? That he’d only done it because she’d ordered him to? If it ever came to that, he might as well bend over and kiss his ass goodbye because he’d be a dead man walking with a bullseye target on his back.

Wyatt laughed as he recalled some of the crazy shit he’d seen and heard his fellow residents do and say. The demented couple over on Sunnyvale Street truly believed they were vampires. The husband, Vaughn, legally changed his last name to Dracula when he turned eighteen. He and Drucilla, his wife, had fangs implanted where their incisors used to be, and they wore red contact lenses to achieve the ultimate macabre look of the living dead. They owned a vampire-themed nightclub in downtown Newton, were always dressed in black, and never went out into the sunlight. Instead of beds, they slept in separate coffins. He supposed it was because, unlike tandem bicycles, caskets weren’t built for two. They kept it so dark inside their home that it was an assault on his eyes to monitor the cameras. They both professed to drink blood, but he’d never seen either one of them do it, and hoped he never did. He’d puke his guts out if he witnessed them indulging in such a grotesque act. He believed the claim of blood drinking was all part of their vampirism schtick to boost their nightclub business, and to keep their unwanted neighbors at bay.

Jasmine Rothman. Masturbation Aficionado. A woman who was truly in a league of her own. Wife of Doctor Phillip Rothman, a prominent plastic surgeon who’d surgically altered the appearances of hundreds of women. Including his wife. Everything about Jasmine was fake. Her tits. Her ass. Her face. She’d had so many facial procedures performed that Wyatt was convinced that every time she smiled with her collagen injected lips, her ass cheeks flapped like butterfly wings. She was literally a walking, talking plastic factory and an obsessive nymphomaniac who’d mount anything to get her rocks off. Bedposts, broom handles, glass soda bottles. Her behavior was understandable since her dead-dick prick of a husband never did anything to sexually please her.

He’d watched her delight herself with cucumbers, zucchinis, and corn cobs, oftentimes wondering if there was anything that wouldn’t fit inside her cavernous chasm. No wonder you never get any man-meat shoved inside you, he’d muttered while watching a gigantic cucumber disappear inside her womanly tunnel. Your snatch is a damn vegetarian.

His most memorable experience was when he’d watched her sustaining herself with what looked to be a battery operated dildo that she’d apparently forgotten to put fresh batteries in before commencing on her self-guided pleasure trip. As she was reaching her climax, the dildo stopped working. If she’d smack her husband’s lifeless dick as hard as she did that dildo while trying to restart it, she might get a rise out of him. She got so angry at the fake rubber dick that she threw it against the wall and slapped the piss out of her poontang, as though she were punishing a bratty, misbehaving child. All he could think was, Why are you spanking your pussycat? It didn’t do anything wrong. Weeks later, whenever the image crept into his mind, he’d laugh as though imagining it for the first time.

Greg and Marsha Fournier were his favorites. They were both outgoing, friendly, and likeable. They also had extremely off-the-wall bizarre sexual quirks.

They relished in the act of sadomasochism.

Greg was neither gay nor bi-sexual; however, he loved wearing women’s clothes. Dresses, high heels, lingerie, pantyhose. Wyatt speculated whether they ever fought over who was going to wear which heels with what dress or skirt.

Marsha eagerly allowed, even encouraged, her husband to cross-dress without any arguments. By allowing him to be himself, it provided her with an excuse to break out her dominatrix leather and whips so that she could show him how a real man should behave.

Most of the residents in his small community were amiable in their own peculiar sort of way. Others, not so much. Those like him, who were members of the hunting lodge, were a unique group of folks. As in Vegas, "what happens in the lodge stays in the lodge." Unless they wanted to feel the full wrath of Belladonna rain down upon them, they knew better than to ever disclose any secret information. To anyone. For any reason.

The unfortunate souls who had either attended a gathering at the lodge or had been a member, then dropped out, deciding the newfound activities weren’t for them, had been personally warned by Belladonna what would happen to them should they violate the sacred oath of the lodge.

Until now, there’d never been a breach.

With the installation of the security cameras, Belladonna discovered a way to learn everything she needed to know about her members, intending to keep them in check and ensure they toed the line where the lodge was concerned.

That’s how she learned that Bill Hamner had been the first brave soul to break the pledge by talking to a newspaper reporter, promising her that he had one hell of a story to tell her once he no longer resided at Sunnyside Meadows.

He’d been instructed by Belladonna to closely monitor the Hamner home