The yellow painted metal of the broken-down school bus shown like a beacon amongst the brown of the forest. The trees pressed in tight around the roadway, itself little more than a dirt track. Markings identified the vehicle as being from Orava high school.

Within the metal, young flesh, all of it female. All six wore the blue and white cheerleader uniforms of the local team.

“Do you think that the coach will make it back soon?” a worried sounding girl asked.

The one that wore a cross around her neck answered, “Don’t worry about it, Brittney.”

‘What if some bikers drive by?”

“Then this party turns into an orgy,” another girl quipped without skipping a beat.

Laughter filled the bus.

“You’re disgusting!” Brittney exclaimed.

Her retort was nearly instantaneous, “You’re just jealous that Brad is going to be balls deep in me tomorrow night!”

Laughter drowned out a weak response. The mirth faded. The girls began to discuss the rumors regarding one of their teachers. Brittney stared out the windows, going from one to another as the others prattled on.

We watched, savoring things. And the girl watched too.

We scooped up a rock, pitched it across the road. It struck a tree trunk with a sharp thwap. Brittney shot to that side of the bus, asked if the others had heard anything. They ignored her.

“Gavin? I heard that he’s not interested in girls.”

“He’s one of those gays?” the one with the cross asked.

“No, it is just that he only has eyes for Jesus.”

“Maybe we could have a threesome!”

Howling laughter. Brittney winced at the blasphemy, tried to stay focused on the forest.

She spotted us, the very act of observation exciting certain sensory organs so that a terrific thrill ran across our souls. The scream that she let out was almost as satisfying. Her eyes as wide open as her mouth, she stared into the darkness. We stepped out of view before the others could get to the windows.

The gaggle of young women posted up on the windows. Peering into the darkness, their eyes moved around rapidly. On other levels of reality their gazes shown like searchlights. These lights glided back and forth, sticking to tree stumps and thick shrubs, before moving on.

They were still scanning the trees when we moved to the opposite side of the bus. The folding door came off of its mountings with ease. The girls screamed sweetly.

A scramble to the back. A panicked struggle to open the emergency exit. We were already in place by the time they got it open.

As they leapt from the bus, we sent forth the instruments with which they would be impregnated. The slimy things slithered, nimbly crawling up legs, tearing past tights.

The girls were on the ground, moaning. The one with the cross was the last to make it out. She pulled up the hem of her colorful skirt. Something was tucked into the waistband of her tights, something rectangular, metal encased in wood. It was in her hand in an instant. A blade popped out of the handle.

Fear eradicated hesitation. The girl sank the blade into our chest, hilt deep. Ripping it back out, she bolted away. We watched as she ran. The twisted voice chose to focus on the sharp thrusts of agony were the knife had penetrated us. The wound healed. The afterglow of the blade retreated.

The girl ran down the road, kicking up puffs of dirt. She carried on, crying and shouting for help. Moonlight glinted off of the blade. It swayed around as she moved her arms, so that a little beacon bobbed around in the night.

The darkness was total. Her fear blinded her. A louder scream as she broke her ankle in the pothole. Powdery brown dirt rolled off of her uniform as she tried to get back up. Fresh cries as the pain put a halt to her attempts.

She pointed the tip of the blade at the darkness, in the direction from which she had come. We watched, released the final hunter’s cock. The thing set out, a single mindedness drove it. Its awareness, its will, the whole of its existence was dominated by the need to reach her.

The other girls moaned in the background; Brittney was the loudest of all. The one with the cross screamed for help. No one answered. She tried again. Still nothing.

The changed member slithered silently. It moved in behind her. From the cover of the dark and the foliage we made sounds, sung a catchy little television jingle. In her mind the things she had seen that night mixed with that of funny little characters dancing and frolicking in their faded colors. She screamed again, a desperate, maddened shriek.

The mutated phallus was only a few paces away. It sprang, she slashed, slicing open the cock’s side as the blade traveled down the length of the shaft.

It landed on her. Another shriek, this one of pure revulsion. She used her free hand to grab it, gasping in disgust as she threw it away. More sounds of revulsion as she wiped away the globs of slime it had left on her hand.

We moved to retrieve it, walking openly in front of her. Terror fed the coming goddess as we picked up the phallus, healed it. The toxin that coated the altered member did its job. She was in a babbling stupor before we released the metamorphized cock again.

We searched the forest, bringing back food for the newborns. Before the sun had risen the scouts had been born.

We sent them out in all directions. Through them we surveyed the vastness of the forest. Through them our thousand eyes on a thousand spectrums were multiplied even more.

Before long the scouts found a hiding place. We slept, our dreams a sacrament of forbidden things. And we saw the ancient gallery.