Thread by @LordDynamite__

"What Did You Find?" - #aftoncest , #willmike , #fnafnsfw | William x Michael

CW // Underage, Extremely Underage, Noncon, Snuff, Murder, Vomit, Blood, Gore, Necro

! SUMMARY !

You unearth a 15 year old tragedy after stumbling onto a briefcase hidden in the woods. It's 2000, you're walking within the woods and you go further than usual. Down by a stream you come across a brief case buried in the foliage.

You wonder what could be inside it, so you take it home with you to investigate.

While this has sexual themes, it's more of a found footage + finding a body type situation.

You, the reader has stumbled upon a horrific tape that was hidden away in the foliage of the woods near your house. After a regretful encounter with investigating the contents, you find that this briefcase you'd found had a darker secret than you were anticipating.

You make questionable choices at best, and continue to investigate with no police help.

You find yourself stuck in a loop of paranoia and fear, as you choose to try to find and solve this case on your own.

In the end, you are left scarred with haunting nightmares on the situation.

___

The sun is dimly cascading through the trees within the woods, it's a rare occasion that you'd come out this far, scavenging for cool finds in the grass and leaves. Amongst the foliage is a beat up brief case. Upon opening it, you find torn clothes, two separate VHS tapes,

several trinkets that you can't recognize. Humming to yourself, you pick up the brief case, the worn metal of the handle clicking as you move it. You head home, wondering if you even have a VCR readily available at this point.

Upon arriving home, you toss the brief case and a small sack of things you'd found on your exploration onto the couch, humming softly to yourself as you find that your old TV has a VCR built in.

Something you'd almost entirely forgotten about, with it stuffed in the spare bedroom. Taking some time, you wonder if you really want to watch the tapes. It's... a suspicious enough situation, the idea of someone tossing out VHS tapes not even in their boxes felt wrong to you,

but you still bring the brief case to the spare bedroom. Kneeling before the TV, you rummage for the tapes. They're numbered, but not labeled. Do you really want to watch these? What could possibly be one them, and why was someone trying to discard them...

You sigh as you think, weighing your options...

Sighing, you pull one of the unmarked tapes from the briefcase, slotting it into the VCR. You can hear the whirring from within the worn machine. You take a moment to gather the remote to alter the volume as time goes on,

since you're not even sure what's on the tapes. As the greying, static lines slowly fade onto screen, showing the evident wear to the video, you find yourself enamored. It feels like a static image, nothing moving within. It's a damp looking basement room, from what you can tell.

A single mattress on the floor. It feels like something ripped from a horror movie, like in 7 days you'll die or something. You snicker softly at that thought, this is reality after all. It's been a few minutes and the room is almost silent,

except for the dripping sounds coming from somewhere within the room. Clearly something is weird, but it could just be an old, broken horror movie tape. You turn your attention to the brief case, slowly pulling the torn clothes out as well,

finding that they're caked with a dried, brown substance. Eyebrows furrowed, you start chipping at it with your nails, a strong irony scent comes from the clothes, yet your brain doesn't quite connect the dots. You hum, as you look back into the briefcase,

rummaging through the other clothes, only to find children's panties. A crash is heard from the TV, startling you from your discovery. Dirtied clothes clung in your fingers, you look over to find a grown man has entered the room, pulling a struggling child with him.

The man is clearly enraged, cursing under his breath, an accent evident, but you can't identify it with how low his voice is. Eyes wide, you watch with a bated breath, seeing how the man brutally tosses the small, weeping boy down onto the mattress.

Finally, a gruff, clearly British voice comes from the video; "I've grown tired of your games, Michael!" The damage to the tape distorts their faces behind a wall of static lines, yet you can clearly see that he's tearing clothes off the boy. Your eyes can't leave the screen,

but you know the shirt, it's a light blue t-shirt, much like the faded blue one in your own hands. Mouth falling agape, you realize what this is, yet your body can't move. You continue watching, horror filling your mind.

"You want to prance about, hm, boy? You want to show everyone what a pathetic failure you are?!" The British man yes, but the child's wails fill your brain. Michael... That's the boys name. What can you do, how recent is this? It's worn, so how many times was it watched?

Did it wear with age? Thoughts fill your head as your eyes brim with tears. Is the child okay? What happens? You can't fathom stomaching this, but what can you do?

You find yourself unable to tear your eyes from the screen, watching as the partially stripped boy is forced to kneel, weakly covering his body. You consider yourself lucky with the damage on the tape blocking your view, but the sound of a fly being undone still sickens you.

There's nothing you can truly do, you can't save the child through the tape, you almost feel the need to resign yourself to sitting and watching without movement, hands in your lap clinging to the discarded fabric. The screen is all your eyes can see anymore.

The older man pulls his cock free from his pants, rubbing his nearly fully flaccid cock over the boys' face, "Open up, Michael. Don't make me fuck the bile out of your stomach, boy." The older man pulls his cock free from his pants,

rubbing his nearly fully flaccid cock over the boys' face, "Open up, Michael. Don't make me fuck the bile out of your stomach, boy." Unknown to the viewer of the tape, William had just lost his business; had it stolen away from him. He'd lost his two youngest children, his wife,

and this disgusting, waste of space child he was left with was the problem. William believes this ungrateful brat deserves it. "Don't run from your father, you whore!" William cried in rage, hands finding themselves tangled in dirty brown curls that hadn't been washed in days.

Even through the grime, William's grip was tight enough he'd managed to yank Michael back into place. "You owe me, Michael... I should have left you to die... You made your mother leave, filthy boy..."

William used the hand that was wrapped around his flaccid cock to press it against the boys chapped lips. "Open. Do you want to make me get the pliers?" He grunted, threat evident. Hesitantly, Michael's mouth falls open,

lip quivering at the sensation of unwashed dick pressing into his mouth. The taste was incredibly salty and tart, forcing him to gag. Throat contracting around the hardening length. The deep groan from the man pulls you from your thoughts.

You finally double over, throwing up onto the floor in front of you. The uneasy pit in your stomach churned into vomit, leaving a mess before you. Leaning backwards, you gasp, not noticing the urge to vomit until then. Tears stain your cheeks, as you swallow down the mucus.

Pain throbs in the back of your head, scrambling for the remote that's set aside. Pausing the video, you scramble to your feet to get to the kitchen. You felt lucky to live alone in that moment as you tear off more paper towels than you need.

Clambering back to the room, you start to clean up the mess you've made, eyes darting between the floor and the TV. You consider leaving it, feeling as if you're unsafe to even turn it into the police anymore. Would they even believe you?

You start to piece things together, but you don't have enough information to understand what's happening. You need to know the location where this happened so you can search for the boy, if he's still alive, or if he's missing so you can look up his name.

Maybe there's something else on the other tape?

Your eyes gaze towards the other tape, mind going a mile a minute. You lean forward and press the button next to the VCR slot; the mechanical whirring noise makes you feel sick as you quickly,

yet carefully rip the first tape from the slot. Tossing it into the pile of clothes, you grab the second tape, praying to whatever Higher Power you may believe in that this tape isn't as gruesome. When you press it into the newly empty slot, you find that it was never rewound,

leaving it playing somewhere in the middle. Eyes training on the screen, you see the tape set up in a wooded area. It looks like the woods near your home. This tape is much less worn, the fuzz and static lines on the screen don't erode the view entirely,

leaving the man in a much clearer view. You watch for a moment, gathering the surroundings. The man from the first tape appears, and your stomach bubbles with nerves at the sight of him. William's white shirt is stained with sweat and blood,

the dark red spots covering the entire front of his shirt, but the back and underarms are dark with sweat. Sleeves rolled up to his forearms, he's got a shovel in hand. There's spots of blood coating the end of the shovel.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, your mind connects the dots. You slam your hand into the button by the slot again, force ejecting the tape, only to yank it out and rewind it manually. Using your fingers to pull the little gear like parts on the back, you reel the tape.

Your stomach is still churning, bubbling with the urge to throw up again as you press the tape back into the slot. This time, it's starts from the beginning. It's back in that cold, damp room from before. The mattress is covered in blood, the shadowed form of a body laid out.

William stood over the unmoving body of the boy, uncaring to what has happened. A pocket knife glinting off dim lighting in the ceiling, you can hear him sigh. "You've driven me over the edge once again, Michael..." William pulls the knife up, and closes it. "For fuck sake..."

William slowly walked out of frame, only for the camera to be lifted from the table it was sitting on, and brought closer to inspect the body. "Oh, Michael... So much more beautiful in death. A true masterpiece, aren't you..."

The words fall so lovingly, true admiration dripping from his words. William's hand falls forward, brushing bloody, matted hair away from a peaceful face. Skin already paling, Michael laid dead.

His lips were blue and parted ever so slightly, showing the small gap between his teeth. Hair no longer curly, weighed down by the blood. William gripped the hair he'd just pushed, yanking Michael's head to the side to show the wound on the back of his head.

Skin torn open, you can see the cracked pieces of his skull that were coated in drying, red liquid. A hand flies to your mouth, catching a sob that escapes. The boy was so young. William pans the camera down, saving no dignity. The boys entirely bare body shown.

Several self defense wounds litter his arms, but his chest and stomach have been stabbed several times; you get no chance to attempt to count those wounds before he's dragging himself lower. Michael's legs are bruised and one of his ankles is clearly broken.

William grips onto the clammy skin of his thigh and pushes it upwards, revealing his pussy, still dripping with cum. You avert your eyes, trying to save the boy some shame, but William sticks around to that bit for awhile, fingering the cum back into the boys body.

Murmuring could be heard, something along the lines of "it'll slide out", before the camera is shakily moved around with the man holding it. The screen returns to steady movements before long, resuming where he'd left off. He had grabbed Michael's socks, the bottoms dirtied.

Stuffing them into the boys cum filled cunt, he hums in approval at the new addition to his body. Climbing back to his feet, he returns the camera to it's original spot, pulling his knife out again. You're unsure if you can stomach whatever he's going to do, but what can you do?

Your hands slide down your thighs, gripping at the flesh before landing on your knees. You let your eyes train back onto the screen, regardless of every ounce in your body telling you to stop, to rip the tape from the slot and burn it.

Tears well in your vision as the tape continues. William strides closer to the mattress once again, the soiled blade still glinting in the dim lighting under the blood that stains it. Pressing dirty fingers into the unmoving bodies mouth, he pulls it until it won't open more.

William raises the knife above his head and with on swift movement he crashes it down into Michael's teeth. It cracks and breaks several with the force, the knife slicing through his tongue and cheek, mutilating his face.

William repeats this two more times, tossing the teeth across the room. He sighs softly, as he moves on with his mutilation. Gripping at the boys wrist, he tugs one of his hands closer to his face and carves off the pad of each one of his fingers, removing his fingerprints.

Bile rises in the back of your throat, leaving your mouth watering with the urge to vomit. Blinking the tears from your eyes, you glare at the screen through blurred vision. William sighs as he glides his eyes over the body he'd ruined. "...Aren't you perfect... Ugly boy..."

William wipes blood off Michael's cheek, cooing down at the corpse. William stills for a moment, eyebrow twitching in thought. Folding the pocket knife, he returns it to his back pocket, slipping his hands towards his belt buckle again.

Undoing his fly, he pulls his partially hard cock free. His hand slowly strokes over the length, no noises to be heard. William grabs Michael's head, using his leverage to shake the head back and forth, listening to the joints pop and crack.

Without Michael's heart beating, his blood isn't pumping, but there's still blood leaking from the wounds, a steady dripping of blood coats the surface of Michael's mouth. It's barely enough, but William finds a way to make it work.

William rubs the tip of his raw cock over Michael's dry and cracked lips, smearing the blood into the cracks and leaving it there to dry. Slipping his cock between those still and cold lips, the blood smears over the surface of his length.

Long fingers tangle in Michael's hair, as he pumps his cock into his mouth. Even with the jaw slack, loosely hanging open. Michael's throat is tight, squeezing around William's length. Your body is wracked with uncontrollable sobs as you watch, chest quivering with each breath.

Swallowing down the snot that's draining from your sinuses, you slam your hand into the eject button, curling in on yourself. You need a break more than anything at this point, your body hurts from the strain that's been put through with these tapes.

You lay on your side and curl into yourself, hugging your knees close. Every time you close your eyes the visions of what that boy went through are burned into your mind, a continuous flash of scenes, constantly seeing that knife glistening with blood. You want to throw up.

Everything is too much.

With the tape hanging from the open slot in the VCR, you raise your hand to push it back in. Fingers trembling as they make contact with the warmed tape. Pressing it back in, the mechanical whirring sounds once more.

Your stomach feels like it's throbbing with the urge to vomit, letting your eyes peek open. The scene is continuing from where it left off. William thrusting his cock between the boys loose lips, jaw slack. Tears blur the edges of your vision, making the screen look foggy,

but you can still see the movements of William's hips. Michael's throat bulges with each thrust, and you swear you can feel each movement in your own throat. Swallowing with a wince, you grasp at your pants. Every breath you take feels like acid is burning your lungs,

leaving you gasping for fresh air. You've already decided within your own mind that you aren't going to finish watching the first tape, you didn't want to subject yourself to such pain. Squeezing your eyes shut, you clear your vision to finish watching.

William doesn't ease into brutality, he thrusts into the body's throat over and over again, urging himself to finish. It's evident he's rushing, only small, unsatisfied grunts leaving his mouth.

"Weak..." He mumbles, glaring down at the half open, glazed over eyes of his dead son, "Like a fish..." William rolls his hips against Michael's face, his nose digging into William's pelvis. "Hhg--!" William finished inside Michael's throat, rutting slowly to milk himself.

The limp body laid still, soon dropped from William's grasp. Adjusting his pants and re-doing his fly, William disappeared off screen. Swallowing hard, you brave through the clean up. Waiting for the man who'd left the scene briefly,

you watch as a mix of the mans' seed and blood pool from the bodies mouth. His eyes are still half open, almost staring at the camera. Burning shame fills your stomach, forming a deep and unsettling pit in the bottom of your stomach.

Bile rises into your throat again, burning your esophagus. William returns on screen, a sheet in hand. The briefcase you have sitting only a few inches from your body at this moment is hidden within the sheet, both of which are dropped in a heap onto the bed.

William starts with the briefcase, clicking it open. Gathering up the torn and battered clothing from around the room, William stuffs them haphazardly into the case. He collects the teeth he'd tossed onto the floor directly into the bottom of the briefcase,

several small tapping sounds of the cracked and broken teeth hitting the bottom of the case fill a void inside your mind. William pauses, and starts to collect the several severed pieces of flesh he'd removed from Michael's body.

They're bundled into a handkerchief, and stuffed into the case as well. William closes the briefcase and slides it out of the way. He rises back onto his feet, and tugs the sheet from it's place on the mattress.

The sharp "whoosh" and "fwip" of the sheet being straightened out felt painful in your ears. The quiet sounds felt unbelievably loud. With the sheet laid out over the floor, William shifts, standing over the boys' body, admiring his work for a brief moment.

"...A shame I couldn't use your holes for longer." He starts, speaking to the empty air in the damp room, "I'll surely miss those precious holes of yours.." Lifting Michael's limp body off the mattress, he finds that his skin is cold and clammy,

a gross sheen spreading over his flesh. "Ah... I won't have to worry for long, I'll find new toys." William sets the body back down, now on top of the sheet, and he begins to wrap it. Bundling Michael's corpse up within the sheets,

William fastens the sheet around him with his belt, centered around the bodies waist. William sighs as he stands up once more, hands resting on his back as he thinks of what's next. A soft sigh puffs from his lips, content with his actions; he turns towards the camera.

He strides closer, and the video cuts out, darkness filling the screen for several moments, before it cuts to the woods. William appears on screen, white shirt stained in red and brown. His hair is slicked back, sweat clinging to the strands of graying hair.

He's got a shovel in hand. You can see the now dirty sheet that's hiding such an atrocity in the background. Sniffling, you can feel your sinuses clogging once again with mucus as you start to weep again. William cracks his knuckles, and begins digging.

Unable to fast forward through it without removing the tape from the TV, you lean back. Your back rests against the bedframe behind you, as your eyes watch the William dig. A shallow, disrespectful grave for a little boy.

Five minutes slowly becomes twenty minutes, as your mind is filled with fuzz. The dull thunk of the shovel hitting the dirt ground brings you back to reality, blinking out of your dissociative state, you focus back in on the screen.

William sets Michael's body into the shallow grave, covering it over with a layer of dirt, and then he returns to his camera. Picking the camera up, he comes face to face with the viewer. "I hope you enjoyed the show..." William's smooth British accent falls so delicately.

There's an alluring feeling within his words, drawing you in. William grins, teeth fully on display, and then the video ends. You sit there, in that mostly dark room; motionless for hours. When you do finally get up, it feels like you're a passenger in your body.

You make your way outside, standing on the back porch of your family home; you look at to the field that leads into the woods. Stumbling forward, you mindlessly walk towards the tree line. Your mind isn't racing, it feels uncomfortably empty. You feel empty.

Trudging through ankle high grass and ducking under low hanging branches, you clamber through the woods without a coherent thought. You slowly make your way to where you had found the briefcase, it takes you longer than usual to make your way through the paths.

When you get there, you search. You search for a raised bit of dirt, but it doesn't take you long to find it. The burning sensation in your throat isn't registered, as you fall to your knees. The first coherent thought you have in hours is hoping you don't find anything.

You pray to a God you feel has abandoned you, left you to rot with the painful misery of seeing that torturous duo of videos. You dig your bare hands into the Earth, pulling away at the dirt and leaves and foliage, tearing through everything.

The smell of decay is muted by the dirt, but it still hits you like a train. Your nose and throat burn with the smell. Your nails are caked with dirt and grime, but you don't stop. You don't stop when you find the tattered bedsheet under the layers of dirt,

and you don't stop when you see the deep brown stains that show there was fresh blood once coating this sheet. You keep digging until your hands are raw and bloody, and you're exhausted, but you're fully uncovered the mound. You sit back on your knees, staring down at the body.

Your brain quickly fills with too many thoughts, now racing and panicked. Shaken hands slowly reach for the belt holding the sheet together, even with every thought screaming to stop, to run away, you can't. Not after what you'd seen.

Slowly, you pull the belt, the old leather worn from the many seasons changing and ruining it's fabric. It pulls apart easily, leather crumbling and cracking. Tears well in your eyes, but you don't stop, pulling the sheets back until you can see a partially decayed naked chest.

Maggots have made their way into the wound, worms inhabiting most of the skull. The body was somewhat preserved by the conditions of the dirt, but the sight was horrific. Quick to hide the sight, you've confirmed your thoughts. The body is here. This is real.

You stare down at your bloody and dirtied hand clutching that tattered now off-white sheet in your hand, and your find yourself slowly putting everything back together. You tuck the sheet back into place, and loosely fasten the belt once more. You drag dirt back over the body.

Hiding the body again, making sure none of the sheet is sticking out, and it's properly covered, you stand up. You stumble away from the scene, back towards your home. Your mind is full, but you're falling back into a silent state. Unfocused in your movements, you trudge on.

Once you arrive home, you sit down in the porch chair. Reaching under one of the cushions, you pull out a pack of cigarettes. Flipping open the top, you pull a cigarette out of the pack and let it rest between your lips. Lighting the cigarette, you sit back.

Your dirtied hands rest on the armrests of the chair, as you wordlessly inhale the nicotine. You rest outside for a few minutes, but you return inside once you've finished smoking. You find yourself in the shower, staring down at the water flowing down onto the white tiles.

Red and brown swirls around the drain as it washes from your skin. No matter how many times you scrub your hands and arms clean, you never feel clean enough. Skin raw from rough washing, you still feel like there's bugs on your skin. Like the bodies blood is on you.

A bonfire was a quick solution to get rid of the briefcase. The contents of the case were reduced to ashes, empty eyes staring into the flames as it burned the items. The tapes were the last thing to be added. Pulling the film strip from the tape, you throw them into the flames,

watching as it eats them, rendering them into nothing. You never enter the forest again. The fear and pain that plagued that child as he died haunts you. You can still hear his cries. You see his pain whenever you close your eyes. Nothing is the same. And him... That man.

His face would be burned into your memory forever. Every crease in his skin, and his missing tooth. He was the Devil. A energy that couldn't be forgotten. You never found out his name, you never learned who he was. You weep wondering how many lives he'd claimed.

Once all evidence you'd had was destroyed, you did end up searching for Michael in the missing persons' database. You wanted to know what happened. Needed to know. Michael Afton. The image that was given was identical to the boy in the video.

You quickly decide you won't contact the family, but you find that his father is his last surviving family member. You look into him, searching for him. A family photo. A mother, a father and their three children. You scan over their faces, the boys face reads as nervous,

which you find odd, yet you don't question it. Your eyes trail over their family, before landing on the father. He's tall, his hair is brown, but there's graying strands filtered through the tufts of slicked back hair.

He's got a large smile on display, showing off a missing tooth. His face haunts you. You know that face. You connect the dots, you feel the shame. His father was his murderer. You decide to stop looking into it.

You choose to spend the rest of your life trying to forget.

You never do.

___ END ___

this was an interactive thread; it's been my favorite ever since I posted it.

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