It is the last straw, this, the last time. This time his whore came to our home, dressed, or rather undressed, expecting him to be ready for her. In our bed. Not the first time, but certainly the final time. I’ve paid, and dearly for his indiscretions, physically, emotionally, having to swallow my pride and my hurt for the sake of his. It ends today.
She won’t be missed
I played the injured lover to the hilt, preying on her softer side. She knew he was involved, more of his lies are revealed, as she spills her guts over coffee, tears flowing over her cup. It makes me sick to watch her cry, all that emotion. I did the same, but they were false, simply a way to draw out more information, and she spilled her guts like vomit. Months of lies and purposeful manipulations he slathered on her, making her believe he loved her. How stupid of her to believe in him, his silver-tongued lies, always providing lip service so he can get some of the same. He cares for no one save himself, and he will pay for this violation. He promised after last time, when I caught him, and he nearly killed me in a rage after I confronted him. He will come to wish he’d finished the job.
Few times in our years together have I been glad for the isolation he forces upon me, living in the furthest reaches of civilization. The trees are a welcome cover for the next heinous deed I must perform. I smile, slightly, at the remembered terror in her eyes.
Her eyes widen with outright fear, as the coldness overtakes me. She’s seen the blackness that lives where I used to have a heart, the deep hole of hatred I harbour. She is up and out of the chair she sits in, blindly backing away. Her calves hit that horrible excuse for a table he HAD to have, and she tumbles backwards, her bare legs sprawling and revealing the bareness of her hollow. She followed instruction to the word. She scrambles to her feet, her loose-lipped maw open and screeching FIRE at the top of her lungs. The fire is out back, slowly smouldering as it waits for me to feed it more than wood and brick. I advance on her, pulling a designer knife from the back that sits on the kitchen island, yet another example of his falsity. Scream, I tell her, scream till your voice breaks, my own voice cold as the most bitter winter night. No one can hear you, I say, keep screaming. She does, long and loud, buzzing like a chainsaw in my ears.
I wrapped my hand into the mop of ashen blonde hair, feeling it slide through my fingers like a sinuous snake. I clamp my hand hard and yank her head back, hearing its protesting snap as I pull, much as he probably does while slamming himself into her night after, “I’m working late” night. Making eye contact, I hold her gaze as I pull harder, exposing the tender and delicate flesh of her throat. The sounds she makes are sickening me, useless begging for her life. She doesn’t deserve to live. She sees the black rage seeping from my eyes and peals shriek after shriek her terror; it hurts my ears, makes my eyes bleed and I just want her to shut the fuck up. Holding the thick handled blade, I dig the tip into the smooth skin of her throat, drawing a blood poppy to the surface, and tear it across to the other side. Her shrilling stops, leaving in its wake only harsh bubbling sounds; I prefer that to the constant blaring, and her blood gushes over the ragged lip the blade made as it tore and ripped her flesh. My hand is coated with nearly too hot blood, as it pattered to the floor in a scarlet bloodfall, pooling at her feet.
I’ll have to clean that soon, before it begins to harden
My rage was too large to contain, a spitting monster that had to be let loose, and I destroyed her, first thrusting my knife over and over into her body, losing count in the screaming noise in my head, then with the axe, dismembering limbs and head. He’d hurt me so many times, with his words, his actions….his fists, attempting to break my spirit along with my bones, and she paid for all his indiscretions.
My arms hurt from the exertion, having hefted the axe I found in the shed, being unaccustomed to its weight, and chopped her empty shell into bits, a soundtrack of calm in my mind as I did. I fumble with the Advil bottle, and pry it open with my teeth, dry swallowing three before continuing to rid myself of what remains of her, feeding her dismantled bits into the flames, into the pyre. It is a burning Hell, the heat bringing a mist of sweat to my face, in the light of the morning sun. Soon there will be nothing left, as the fire’s hunger devours the diseased flesh of this…thing. Her hair goes up in a flickering blaze as I toss her head in, sparks exploding into the air. Too much product darling, I laugh, chuckling into the sunlight.
The sun is warm, as is the air. My fire warmed skin cooling in the slight breeze, I soak in the rays as I return to the house and the mess I have made. I will have to open all the windows and air out the house as I wash her vile blood from the floors, and soon, before it starts to dry. The concoction I mix to clean will aid in covering the stench of blood from the space, but I take no chances. He must not know until the time is right that his lover is gone, and I will delight in the pain and horror it will cause him. Opening the door it hits me like a brick wall, the smell of death redolent in the air.
The house reeks of copper as I scrub the splatter from the cupboards and counters, on my knees, soaking up the pool of now cool redness that gathers there. I wear no gloves, despite the intense toxicity of the cleaning solution, and my hands are painted red from wrist to my fingertips. Bloody gloves. My mind aches with the desire to punish him, the vision of what will be playing like a movie behind my eyes. He deserves every torture I can inflict, every pain I can devise, the possibilities are endless, and I feel damp with delight as I imagine him screaming in agony. Better, screaming with no voice.
He called a while ago, exactly when escapes me, only the dry ticking of the clock is counting the minutes….hours? Time means nothing to me now, only the deep-seated hatred that eats at my soul with sharpest teeth, and the knowledge of his death will finally bring me the freedom I crave. An adventure he said, his smug, lying voice like an ice pick in my brain. I wanted to lash out, slice his vocal cords as I had hers, the words strong on my tongue, but I withheld, instead acting surprised and pleased that we would be going away. “To reconnect,” he says, as though I have little clue about his cheating ways, about all the women he’d had in our bed, in our home, the lipstick stains on the wineglasses we rarely use, his underwear…fury screams in my head.
I burn the rags I used to mop up the mess I’d made. The pyre has burned low and red-hot, the logs I’d piled atop the bricks that lined the bottom of the pit covered in the ashes from her bones, as I watch the flames jump up, licking along the edges of the thin cloth. The fire animal devours the last vestiges of her existence, now not even her blood remains. There is not a drop of his whore left in my home; I cleaned and scrubbed every inch of the space I inhabit, twice.
A shrill ringing assaults my ears, damn, her cell phone. I race to the door, desperate to find the damnable thing before he waltzes in the door, demanding his dinner and God knows what else. I will have to play nice, as much as I’d rather bite that thing he is so proud of off than be anywhere near it. There it is, just under the corner of the divan that sits useless most of the time, its cheery ringtone an abomination. Happy…of course it would play that. She was happy enough, at the time. His number on the screen, and 10 texts varying from professing love to out-and-out worry. I giggle as I read, a true comedy are these messages, as if he could possible love anyone more than himself. Flames can’t rid me of this problem so easily. I turn off the phone, removing the battery and put both pieces into my purse, I can use this later, to throw at him as he….
It will be useful.
He slams in, throwing his keys on the kitchen table, leaving a light scratch across its surface. I feel that fear rising in my throat, knowing better to do more than breathe. Not if I am to finish this on my feet. He says not a word as he glares around the kitchen, nostrils flaring at the tang of the cleaner in the air. He growls at me, making some snide comment about finally bothering to clean, and the rage rises, nearly overflowing. I bite it back, and my tongue, hard enough to bring blood to the surface and tears to my eyes. Satisfaction colours his eyes, thinking that he won again, little does he know.
I wander around the far side of the island, preparing to serve dinner when my head is slammed to the marble surface of the countertop. He stands over me, holding me there as my own blood stains the shining surface, ruining the hard work I did just hours before, and unbuckling his belt. I know what comes next, and I know better than to struggle, so I simply stay still, waiting for him to assert his supposed dominance, all the while playing over and over the plans that I have to end this once and for all.
He enters me with no preamble, holding the same knife I had used to cut his slut’s throat to my own, and commences hammering himself into me, as though that will change a thing. He presses the knife’s tip harder, I can feel it about to break through the skin, when he loses interest, throwing it to the ground and pulling out. I breathe a little deeper, not daring to move or speak, yet eying the knife block and judging my distance. I’d as soon end him now than wait, the thought of driving that butcher knife into his skull with every ounce of strength I have mouth-wateringly sweet. He lifts my head from the counter by my hair, his hand twisted into my hair, yanking it hard as he does, and throwing me, callously, to the floor. He tells me to clean up the mess I made, and stalks off to the bedroom to change.
Slowly I rise to my feet, holding the edge of the counter to balance myself, eyes, though feeling loose in the sockets, staring directly at the knife block. I stagger forward, my foot slipping slightly on the spilled blood once again on the floor, rage warring with the need to gain back my equilibrium. Seething, my fingers curl around the handle of the large butcher knife that I’d pulled free, leaving it dangling at my side. My fury lingering just below the surface, I make my way to the bedroom, ready to end his pathetic life and free my own from this Hell I have had to endure for too many years. The shower is running, less to clean, should I do it now.
By the door, the luggage sits, aside the chair he stole back when he loved me, from the hotel where we spent our first night together. It has been noticeably absent over the past few years, and its appearance makes me recoil in confusion and suspicion. How I could have missed this is upsetting. It wasn’t there when he come home. I put the luggage there myself. From behind me, I hear him, the jingle of his keys as he grabs them, dragging them across the polished surface of the table, more scars to add to the collection, the tap running in the kitchen, and his happy humming as he throws the prepared dinner I’d made into the trash can. Still, I stand, bleeding from the split skin on my forehead, staring at this chair.
He asks me if I plan to change, a joking tone in his voice, handing me a wet facecloth to wipe the evidence from my face. I don’t respond, instead making my way to the bedroom, the den of iniquity, pulling my ruined top over my head as I do. The plan plays loud in my ears as I throw on something, paying little attention to what it is, simply one minded and determined to finish my torment. All is silent as I return to the kitchen, no presence of the bane of my existence, perhaps he took the opportunity to kill himself. But no, he is in the yard, warming his hands over the pyre of his now dead lover. I smile with the coldest touch of frost, feeling the coldness return to me as watch him pour water over the pit, washing down the ashes, drowning them. He sees me, his eyes narrowed and wary as he walks back towards me, fists clenched at his sides. Good. I hope he suspects what I’ve done. Should he lay another finger on my body, I will, with no remorse, cut his head from his body.
Having locked the door, he snatches the trash bag from the back door, tossing it to me as he grasps the luggage, the suitcases tied and playing tag along, with one hand as he lifts the chair with other, a strange and disturbing expression on his face. Yes, there is something niggling at the back of his mind, burrowing in like a panic rat just beginning to stir, and my lips curve as I set the alarm and turn the key in the lock. I have nothing but time now, nothing but the infinite pleasure of knowing it’s begun.
I don’t know where he is taking me, just that the road is dark and isolated, a back road. This is not the way to the hotel. I know now there is no hotel, no “weekend getaway”. He stares straight ahead, unresponsive to my demands to know what he thinks he is doing, knuckles white on the steering wheel. I see. I understand now. What I’ve planned in minute detail in my mind, he plans to inflict on me, or try to. As usual, he hadn’t planned ahead, hadn’t considered me in this at all past the decision that I was in his way of life with his slut. He won’t have that now, but he doesn’t know that yet.
He turns into an overgrown driveway, the trees and grass brushing at the undercarriage of the car, scratching at the windows and the sound is harmony in my ears. Here is where it will end, for one of us, for him. I’ve learned my lessons, studied, planned carefully. I have no fear left, instead, in the place where it lived for so long a fire is burning, consuming all in its path. I stare at him, hard and cold, letting the darkness carry whatever love I might have had away, leaving only rage, murderous intent.
The building he chose for his demise is an old and hulking relic, its stone walls weathered and beaten by the cruelest mistress of time and weather, its windows amazingly still intact, glittering like eyes in the moonlight that streams through the surrounding trees. Little point to screaming here; the nearest neighbour is miles away, far past he reaches of human voice. Good. He won’t scream anyway. He couldn’t with no air in his lungs.
The front door is standing open, as though waiting for us, slowly wavering in the slight breeze. The ghosts of this place are welcoming another soul. It won’t be mine. He appears at my window, a leering and malevolent smile on his lying lips, and I let my face show fear, my eyes fill and spill over tears. I feel nothing. Fear does not exist here, only the overwhelming desire to peel the flesh from his face, the need to rip his tongue from his head and watch him bleed out. He opens my door, and seizes me from the seat, his fingers digging deeply into the meat of my bicep, straight into the muscle that aches and moans from my exertions. I don’t fight much, just enough to let him think he’s won.
I am thrown through the front door, where I land hard amongst the dust and debris left behind by those that have entered it before me. On the wall someone has written “You are in Hell” in blood-red paint. Wrong. I was in Hell. This is heaven, if it exists at all. He brings the chair in, holding it by its back with one hand, the other carrying a duffel bag, no doubt full of the tools he thinks he requires to end me. He won’t get the chance to use any of it.
The chair, its red velvet cushion gleams in the meager light, bringing to mind the first time he had me, when he loved me, if he loved me. When he reveled in my flame hair, drowning in the curls, when he called me his Bloody Angel, his Queen. Oh how he was going to build me a palace. Lies. Meretricious lies, all the while carrying on behind my back, flaunting his indiscrete rendezvous, thinking me too blind to see. Saying he loved me while he prostituted my own love for him, promises. Always promises.
I refuse to respond to his demands that I stand, to come and sit in this chair while he tells me a few truths. Truths, or more omissions of truth, it doesn’t matter. I won’t make it easy for him. I want him to struggle, to suffer for his lack of foresight. He crouches beside me, his finger under my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes, and whispers how he plans to have me again, like the first time, in this place, and how the evening will end with a surprise. What a fool he is. It will end in surprise, and then, I will be free.
From the duffel bag he pulls a coil of rope, old and frayed, most likely from the shed behind our house, and I hear the rattle of other utensils within it. A pair of pliers falls from the bag, and I glance at his face, marvelling at the shock and horror written there. He doesn’t have the guts for it. I do. I ask him, innocently, what he plans to do with the rope, and he chuckles in what he perceives to be an evil laugh, as he winds the end into a noose, replying that he wants to try something new. There is no way that noose is going over my head, or near me if I can help it.
Above, the ceilings are open rafters, wide enough apart to swing the end of a rope over, and I see the plan he has in mind for me. I watch as he glances around at the rafters, trying to figure out how to loop the rope over it. Feigning innocence, I suggest he stand on the chair. He does, tracking dust in footprints on the crimson fabric, and I grit my teeth, holding back the need to shove him head first off of it, to watch him crack his skull on the hard floor.
The rope goes easily over, the noose now hanging parallel with his face, and he suggests I try it, it will be fun. I tie the loose end to the wall sconce bolted tightly to the wall, making sure it is tight and unmoving, then I ask, sweetly, as he expects, for him to show me. He slips the rough lariat over his head, tightening it around his own neck, smiling his liar’s smile, all teeth, no sentiment and I snarl, knowing the time is close.
I reach into my purse, and pull his whore’s cell from it, sliding the battery home and turning it on. His eyes bulge from his head in shock, as it plays its cheery tune, announcing more messages, probably from him. Meeting his eyes, I speak a truth of my own, that I know. That she was in our home, that he forgotten he had made arrangements to meet her while I was not there, again. How she spilled her guts to me over a cup of coffee.
How I killed her
With a smile full of malignant malice, my lips feeling white with the same frost that coats my heart, I drift closer and kick the chair out from under him. His feet dance in the air, reaching and kicking for purchase, as his hands grasp at the rope digging and choking him, cutting off his hair as his face turns puce. His body twists and turns, slowly spinning as he struggles to draw breath. I feel little, perhaps curiosity as the final indignities are visited upon him.
I sit astride the chair he stood on, the very chair where this all began, watching as he stares holes in my eyes, his hands now at his sides, opening and closing like some demented toy, probably wishing they were choking the breath from my own lungs. Survival of the fittest.
I could save him, if I did it now, cut the rope that he hangs from, and allow his pathetic excuse for a life to continue. I’d suffered at his hands, over and over, beaten till I couldn’t breathe, broken bones, he tried to break my spirit. Could I trust that the second his feet hit the floor that he wouldn’t be on me, letting his fists speak the words he is too inept to speak himself, I would show some mercy. If I had any. I don’t
Instead, I watch him. I listen to his harsh choking sounds, as he struggles and strains to catch air, my chin on my hand, alone in the dark. I feel little now that it’s done, even let down now that it’s finished. The coldness in my soul is growing, spare enjoyment of watching his final air dance, feet twitching in the air. In spite of all I had to endure, all the times I wished for his death, and for mine, prayed for some way out of this Hell I was living in, that this feeling should be so strong. I want to relive what I’ve done, relive what I’ve caused. I watch him swing.
Tiptoe through ground glass but leave no bloody footprints behind.
Confuzzled by the contradictory message? Welcome to my world. I suggest you run.
you’re still here? interesting. my thoughts about the situation go as thus: Winter’s Chill is a twat. On it’s heels, the Agoniser comes with his pretty, pain poisoned stick this son of a skunkbutt…his main pleasure in existence is to torture and torment everyone.
as you see, what goes on upstairs, isn’t pretty. those damned squatters have set up shop in the braincase are back and they have drawn some fairly apt, if pornographically accurate, representations of reality.
and now, to the chagrin of only me, there’s a high frequency vibration that has settled into my bones. an epically proportional ache that is slowly driving me utterly bonkers with a touch of batshit.
I hit him. I balled up my fist and hit him square in the sniffer. I’ve always said that if I had the chance, if I were ever in the perfect time and at the perfect place, I would punch Billy Sharp just once and make it count for everything. It didn’t happen that way, though, and you know what they say; once is never enough. I wish I could say it was only twice or thrice but no, it was many, many more than that. I regret nothing.
It was bad enough that I was in certain company and that tossing a table, attempting to murder what would appear to be an innocent man with my four-inch stiletto would be entertaining, but poor form. Still, the moment alone in my head with a mental movie of him screaming in agony with my Jimmy Choo treasure sticking out of his left eye and the toe of my shoe keeping time with his tuneful yelping was almost hysterical. I actually fought the urge to laugh out loud lest it give the douche the idea I was happy to see him. Yet there I was, with a spoonful of crème brûlée frozen halfway to my lips and that motherfucker standing there in front of me smug and sporting a smirk.
The crème brûlé needed work, but it dampened the dangerous tinny gall that filled my mouth. Wiping my lips delicately on the cloth napkin, I stood, giving the fellas to each side a glance at the skull-and-roses embossed nylons I wore on what my besties call da pinz. They didn’t match my business attire but c’est la guerre. I didn’t care what they saw as I returned Billy’s smirk with a grin,. I didn’t even mind the feather touch of a warm palm sliding along my inner thigh as I stepped around to the other side of the table and punched that dicksicle in the face with every ounce of coiled rage I possessed. One punch. Make it count. I rang his bell hard enough to make him stagger.
The first hit hurt my hand and broke his nose. I felt it crunch under my knuckles like eggshells, and admittedly, I liked the way Billy squealed in surprise. Like s stuck pig. Fucker didn’t see it coming and how could he? He was so busy watching himself in the reflection of the coffee shop window to realise my fist was hurtling towards his handsome face. I could hear the muted voices of several of my cohorts, ranging from stunned gasps to aroused horror. I liked it. He collapsed to the ground like a sack of hammers and I landed as hard on his chest with my fist still pumping like a piston. I liked that too. The horrified sounds made me hotter and the melon thunk of my fist in his face fed that ragefire in my stomach that I couldn’t drown except to smother it in this current activity.
So I did it again. And again. And again. And again. Billy’s squeal of shock turned into a dismayed cry, then became a choked moan that punctuated each wet smack. He begged mushily for me to stop and I did, for a few seconds; for a fraction of a heartbeat, and in an intake of breath, I actually considered ceasing, dropping my fist to my side while he sobbed my name and squeezed my ample tits with a gurgly chortle. Another old but apt principle, an object in motion stays in motion; my arm swung forward and my favourite red stiletto heel was stuck into his left eye and it did in fact slap in time with the gyrating and writhing Billy was doing. It was an oddly tuneful song that I didn’t find offensive in the least.
I know what you are wondering and the answer is no. I felt nothing more than absurdly horny and that carnal hunger intensified every time I heard that thud. I should have felt something, in retrospect, other than the urge to get myself off on his bruised and battered lips. Considering who he was, it’s ridiculous that I even registered that desire. Still he was good for something, at one time, in some way. At least at the start, the sex was unfuckingbelievable. Billy was heroin and I needed a fix. I wanted him constantly and he was more than capable of providing, then.
But after the newness rubbed off, his wandering eye came alive and was down the cleavage of every woman from late teen to fiftyish. If not there, then his virtual hand was down the gusset of each said female he made contact with. Even with me stand there feeling the fool. That son of a cunt practically panted when the neighbour’s nubile seventeen year old granddaughter came to visit and to cut the lawn. He stood at the side window rubbing at his crotch and sweating while he watched her push the mower in her short shorts and bikini top. Then the punishments for crimes I hadn’t committed began again. Finally, through some kind of divine intervention or because I suddenly grew a set of balls and a backbone, I ran from him and emerged from Hell into freedom and into a new kind of fear. Battered, I had to rebuild the temple of Me from foundations. I survived and vowed that one punch. Once for all.
My hands hurt badly, and they throbbed like my starving sex for relief. His face is a pulpy patchwork of blood, eyes and teeth and shoe. He’s quite repulsive and my desire to fuck him while cutting his throat had mostly passed. Thankfully. One place Billy Sharp will never be is inside of me again. In any way. The voices are louder now and I sense another male close but far enough out of reach of my one track mind and aggressive fists. “You’ve proven your point. End it or compose yourself. They are watching,” a familiar voice stated in a cold, understanding tone that contrasted sharply with the heat of fingers playing along my spine like a xylophone. He was right and from my boot I pulled a small handled, sharpened spoon that had been a gift from an old friend. I made it dance in front of his remaining frightened eye.
“You loved seeing me suffer didn’t you, fucktard? Guess what Billy? I’m sharing the favour. You’ll never have a woman again, unless she’s blind.”
Oh he knew then and bucked his bulk around under me hoping to knock me loose, or judging from his hardon, trying to ram his dick up inside of me. He couldn’t even decide between sex and self-preservation. What an idiot. I have very strong thighs and he failed. I did however extract my pound of flesh, so to speak, and composed myself while bidding my colleagues adieu. His eye I left floating in the glass of bourbon he had been sipping when I made good on my vow. Sadly for Billy, no amount of skin grafts can fix the ugly face that now matched his ugly soul.
That was five years ago today. I’ve been in hiding since the jury exonerated me and for good reason. His family resents me and this I comprehend their reasoning, sort of. I’d feel worse if I didn’t know the apple was rotten inside long before it fell from the tree. I had a long hard laugh over my coffee this morning when I read that he that he had blown his head off in the night during rush hour traffic. What a fucking drama queen.
“My goodness people are crazy in those big cities!” Ginny, my waitress exclaimed as she refilled my coffee cup, “I feel sad for him though Eloisa. He must have been miserable.” She smiles into my eyes with her innocent glazed stare focusing on my own with a fire I hadn’t seen in a long time. She would make a sweet treat for my tounge later. I feel my smile widen and I chortle with delight at her stunned and pleased expression as my hand slips under her uniform and strokes the cleft of her perfect ass, “I hope so Ginny darlin. I sure do hope so.”
The day has come full circle to where I found myself the day before, the month, the week, aeons of time. The day is bleeding its final goodbye as the shadows draw their elongated fingers across the ground, reaching to devour each light that remains behind. I stand in the newly born darkness, not that anyone could see me, I am practiced in the art of dimness.
I am all things, the All Seeing, existing in both the spiritual world and the physical, simultaneously, the ever Present. I am called Bastian, a forbidden warrior in my human life, I stole lives, ripped them still screaming from their shells, and delighted in it. My sin was discovered, found at the labour of men, and I was sent to meet my own burning infinity, bound to a stake and accused of witchcraft. When mortality found me, a millennia ago, yesterday, I was spared, changed and afforded immortality. In turn, I reap the souls from those that are deserving of Hell and Damnation, fully sanctioned to continue as I was, always whispering “Nicham,” as they screamed denial.
The time has come around once again to feed, to draw the eyes from the living corpses that my henchman has found to serve his merry band of malicious miscreants. Quietus, he who stalks the daylight hours, serves me well, carrying within him the liquefied forms of his minions, Scamp, Slurp and Berserker. In the crowded streets, Quietus has roamed, searching for their quarry in the masses that wander in their daily lives, unaware that they may have met the gaze of one so baneful. So many unaware that their fate lays in the hands of this darkest fiend, they simply move about in their small lives, until one notices his presence. He, too, is practiced in the art of remaining opaque, dressed in his suit of nondescript flesh, catching only the eyes of the one who would feed us.
This night I choose to watch as they work, to observe them as they make their presence known to their unsuspecting prey, pulling them from their slumber and devouring their life essences as they silently scream in their dreams. It pleases me to do so, as I stand beyond the sight of human eyes, prepared to pass into the mortal world, my darkest portal opened by the energy my creatures create, to devour the orbs of our prey and capture the souls as they still lay sleeping.
Once, long ago, he was to be devoured and his soul brought to me, his life essence imbibed along with his eyes. The job had already begun when the seed of darkness was revealed to Scamp, who was first to bite. A most delectable morsel, and not one to be wasted, and so I instructed the Terror Triad to leave him drawing breath. I allowed him to wake, assumed my human form and offered him a taste of the eternal delights I held, those that he agreed to and reveled in, and set him on his course as my confidant and the guiding darkness of the other three.
His soul belongs to me, in payment for immortality and the enjoyment of allowing his own desires to gain freedom. Tonight he has found us a prey that is unlike another, this no ordinary evil, the darkness not a seed but a complete invasion of her soul. This one I will not spare. No, this soul is black as night; it must be eradicated from the human world and it will serve me in the deepest pits of my domain.
Within the bedchamber of the abomination that had been allowed to hunt freely in the sea of humanity, Quietus slips unnoticed, standing at the foot of her bed, watching as she sleeps . His inclinations are evident, the humanity still prevalent in his bearing, as he licks his teeth, making them glisten in the moonlight that floods the room. From behind the veil I observe, curious as she turns onto her back, affording him a view of her bare skin. I his see his desire grow further, as his hand steals forward to pester at the ridge in the trousers he wears.
Aware of my presence he reigns in his appetite, fingers rising to unbutton his shirt, and digging deeply into his belly to tear open the scar created by Scamp in a former time. A bloodless seal broken in order to spill forth the bodies of the ones who devour, inky liquid that reforms into these most evil of creatures.
First to reform is Scamp, he who resembles a small goblin, his talent is to skin the flesh from prey, his teeth that of razors and claws that tear and flay, muttering atrocities as he goes. Slurp, a wriggling delight, sinuous as a snake, she appears next, stretching her tongue like body as she travels up the bed to lick gently at the flesh that will soon be Hers. Berserker, a fallen angel cast out by our counterparts above, He who cannot be seen, his true form hidden, he becomes as his meal imagines him. This night he resembles a tentacled demon, with rows of sharpest teeth ready to rip off the appendages of his meal.
This gathering of darkness draws close to observe the others, our quarry opens her eyes, taking in the monsters that sit before her with a smile, eyes glinting in the meagre light of the room, flickering from one horrific face to the other, before settling on Quietus, who stands in the shadowed corner deep in thought. She speaks words unrecognised to my ears, using her blood-red fingertip to call him closer, offering him his chance to feed upon her flesh before Scamp peels it from her bones.
Her eyes widen in shock as the flesh is peeled from the tip of her lacquered toe, the skin shredded from the row of lethal points that line Scamp’s maw. He works quickly devouring the supple skin from her well toned body, skittering out of the way as she cries pain and flips over, trying to smother the monster that has broken through her defenses. From his corner, Quietus watches, a gleam of pleasure in his eye as he lights the pungent tobacco he’d been rolling into a cigarette. As much as he enjoys the pleasures of the flesh, this act feeds his tendencies more fully. A raspy growl erupts from Scamp, his voice low and menacing as Slurp slides against him, in a gesture meant to annoy or as one of affection I am never sure.
She slinks past Scamp, her rough skin lapping up every drop of precious fluid that oozes from the defleshed body beneath her, desiccating the muscle and sinew as she travels. I can read her mind as she feeds, the delight that she may take her fill and not be concerned with leaving this one to survive. From his corner, Berserker hovers, his eyes bright as he anxiously awaits his turn, watching as Quietus creeps closer, his fingertips lightly stroking our meal’s red and raw thigh stopping only once to blow smoke into her face. Her eyes hold his own, bulging orbs in the ruined features, a slight smile playing on her lips.
She speaks one word only, low and barely perceptible, and strains towards him as he smiles in turn…as he leans closer….
So you sit there and watch the world
Sticking yourself behind one way glass
Interacting in relative safety
Locking your heart away
Where I can’t be touched
Pulling away instead of opening up
To what end, I ask you
Love can’t live where it sees no light
There is nothing there, but darkness
But you are wrong, your eyes are closed
Open them and see, the light is there.
Kindness comes to us from the least expected places
A hand reached out from the oddest spaces
We are normally too blind to see
We are still looking for reasons
explanations for our lives
Stop looking! There are infinite reasons
To inspire and be inspired
To feed our minds with wonder
at the smallest things
Raindrops, pearls, on a spiders web
Glistening like jewels in the moonlight
A shooting star, blazing across the velvet night
Make a wish! It’ll come true if you believe it
The simplest act of love can open your eyes
An explosion of knowledge with a glance
We are only human
Our hearts an engine that can be destroyed
over and over again, and still
Fire up every time the key turns
If we stay strong, if we move free
Like the currents flow, it will carry us
To where we are meant to be
Go, then, Start your Journey
May I be by your side, mores the better
Should I not, my heart goes with you
Every step of the way
Let Love lead you on
It had been weeks since I had last been out into the world and I was becoming restless. Death Maiden was sleeping, resting up from her last outing, so I decided to go out. It began as an innocent stroll through the woods that surround her home. That would quickly change.
I had been walking and not paying much attention to exactly where I was going. The air had become thick, heavily scented with a vile odor that made my eyes water. When I looked up I could see a street wavering in front of me, like a dream coming to life. I blinked rapidly, hoping to make it disappear, it didn’t.
I found myself in an alley, surrounded by large metal bins filled with the source of the odor. Large bags of garbage emitting noxious fumes spilled over and onto the pavement. Dim lights flickered above my head. I could hear a most unusual noise, a symphony of mechanical growls, some low and rumbling, others high and whiney. I began to walk towards the sounds.
I came to the end of the alley and could see cars, the likes of which I’d never seen before. Shiny and loud, cruising up and down the road. Most were filled with men, young and full of themselves. Many years later I would come to realize I had been in the late 1960′s, watching what passed as fun on a Friday night.
I turned and headed up the street. There was a large area where several of the cars were parked. The young people were standing about, discussing a number of topics. “Can you believe Joey thinks his Chevy can out run me?” “Did you see what Mary Ellen had on today?”
They seemed not to notice me as I made my way past them. I was confident I could go by and disappear unseen. Then it happened. A tall leggy thing with dark hair piled up in an unusual manner noticed me. “Look at the freak show.” Her friends giggled, fueling her, giving her the confidence to continue. “Where’d you come from?”
I continued walking, not giving her the satisfaction of a response. “I’m talking to you bitch.” She accentuated this by placing her hands on my back and pushing. Still trying to remain inconspicuous, I ignore the shove and continue to walk. “You too good to talk to us?” Another shove from behind. The laughter of her posse is more than I can handle.
Swiftly I turn, grabbing her by the throat. “It would do you well to keep your hands to yourself” I growl at her. She smiles at me, thinking she still has the upper hand. Her friends are up and behind her, ready to attack, waiting for the word. She raises her hand to them, signaling to stand down.
“What makes you think I’m scared of you, freak show?” The words are rough and low as they squeak out around the pressure I’m putting on her voice box. “You’re in the wrong place to be so brave.” She has a wild look in her eyes that normally wouldn’t scare me but this….this being is unafraid and she has back-up. Four females that will do whatever she commands.
Slowly I ease up on her throat as I try to reason with her. “I don’t want trouble. Just let me go and I won’t hurt you or your friends.” Looking in her eyes I can see my words don’t faze her. Trying to come across as the malevolent force I am is not working. Her eyes are still alight with a darkness I’ve only seen once before. It is at this moment I realize I may be in trouble.
She smiles “go on then, get on down the road. But don’t come back.” I release my hold on her. Foolishly I believe that I am going to be okay. I nod and turn, picking up where I left off in my journey. My own thoughts fill my head and I don’t hear her tell her friends “we will get her at the cemetery, get in the car.”
It feels as though I’ve walked many miles, my thoughts heavy in my mind. What am I doing here? I know that generally when these portals open there is some one, or some thing, that needs to be taught a lesson, but who? What will it be? Will I know it when I find it? I’m beginning to think that I need to go back, find Death Maiden and then return to this place. After all she is better equipped for this than I am.
My nose begins to twitch as it fills with an odor I recognize, an odor of death, life long passed. I look up and see a it. A large cemetery, filled with old crumbling headstones. I decide to go in and see if I can clear my head. Maybe, just maybe I will be able to focus on what it is I need to find.
I slip through the gate and a feeling of home rushes over me. The air is cooler, filled with the scent of Jasmine. I can see a place in the center where I can sit. I make my way towards the benches, unaware of the women that are flanking me on all sides, preparing for an ambush.
Just as I am about to sit down I see her, the leggy thing from before. “You should have stayed wherever it is you came from.” Her words drip with venom. “We don’t like strangers here, do we ladies?” A symphony of no’s resound from her “ladies” and I look around. I’m surrounded by these women, all with hatred in their eyes.
My mind begins to show me pictures. Pictures of the leggy one. She is older but unmistakable. In some she has a baby, a beautiful creature with curly dark hair. In others she’s with a man, the babies father. These images flash before my eyes, showing me her life to come. The final image is of the child, beaten and bloody, tears streaming down her face. Standing above her is Legs, a smile on her lips as she prepares to deliver another blow. It is Legs that must go. She must be taught that you don’t do this to the innocent.
“I told you, I don’t want any trouble.” I speak these words as my hand goes into my pocket, searching for the card Death Maiden had given me. If I can find it and speak the incantation that is on it, I won’t be alone. She will come and together we will make them pay.
I pull the card from my pocket and begin reciting the words. The air begins to swirl around me, blowing my hair around. Leaves lift up and dance in the air. Legs is the only one not frightened by this. Her eyes are on me, burning with rage. The other four have stepped back, scarred and rightfully so.
To my right a whirling portal begins to open up. A window to the world from which I came. All at once, much like a magic act in reverse, Death Maiden is there, standing beside me with Scythe in her hand.
The air settles back down. Once again it is quiet. Legs speaks, “Who the hell is this?” She is unaffected by what has just happened, her only concern is us.
I smile as I tell her “This is your worst nightmare come true.” Scythe begins to sing as Death Maiden and I step towards Legs.
I wake from my slumber, stretching as the feline that stalks the wilds that surround my dwelling does in the last rays of the displeasing light of day, feeling my back arch and pull deliciously. Some time has passed since my last Journey, and my body is yearning to feed once again. I am ravenous more frequently as of late, each slay driving me to feed more often. I muse on this as I slip bare as the day I was made from the warm coverings I slept in, my unnatural blues still half-lidded in the still bright day. Scythe stands in Her place, Her mirrored eye reflecting my bonecover, it’s sparkle illuminating the markings left from the bites I received on a Journey, making them glow in the dimness of my home.
Prey paid a heavy price for the resulting injuries on my flesh, his ocular orbs still floating in Jar, watching from their place with their brethren. They are still Treasure to my black heart, their own blue pigments faded from the prolonged swim in the preserving fluid. I enclose my bonecover with the fabric I wear, fastening it tight against me, running the bristly contraption through my night shot ember hair, its curls tightening around my wrist as I pull the tangles free. The creature that stalks is close by, watching me as I preform my rituals, it’s curiosity nearly palpable in the its presence.
Raven has wandered from my dwelling, presumably to slink through the shadows. She has been quiet and reflective since our return from our last slay, choosing solitude to my company as she works through whatever preys upon her mind. She has learned her Lessons well and it pleases me, and yet she seems unsure and watchful as I administer the Final Indignities, much like the creature that lingers, and without the heavy disapproval that emanates from its stare.
Scythe moans from Her place, softly singing her discontent to my ears, quivering and rattling against the wooden embrace that holds Her upright. Her voice rises in urgency, pitch noticeably higher as Her anxiety increases. I retrieve Her, holding Her smooth stalk to my breast and whispering my promises to feed to Her quicksilver blade, placing my lips to her cool surface.
The room ripples and an enormous shuddering bang shakes Jar, jostling my Treasure around and causing them to bounce off one another. I am drawn through and find myself in a place of strange smells and loud moving wagons without horses to guide them. Scythe moans her lugubrious song as i spot Raven, nearly snarling with pleasure at a woman nearly naked in her fabrics she wears to hide her bonecover.
“Who the hell is this?” the disaffected creature asks, her tone to my ward most distasteful as is her attitude. Raven smiles at her, all teeth and deadly intent, as she speaks, her voice that of tolling bells, “This is your worst nightmare come true.” Scythe sings as I approach this creature, joining Raven in her approach.
Raven greets me with her snarling smile still firmly upon her lips as she places her hand upon my arm, daring much in her current state. She comes closer still, murmuring her discovery to my ears and bringing a growl of fury to my own lips. This creature must be disposed of, her heinous deeds must not be allowed to continue, and I nod to her, pulling my arm free from her increasingly tightening grip and turning to this disgusting creature and her gathering of darkest sisters.
“What are you looking at bitch,” she spats at me, as I gaze upon the mask she wears, the fear leaking through in the smallest expressions. Scythe is unusually quiet, and would be as an inanimate object but for the trembling that causes Her blade to shimmer in the failing light. The one Raven calls Legs flickers her eyes to my unnatural blues and back to Scythe’s beautiful sickle smile, and straightens her spine. Every nuance of her moment screams warnings to my mind, there is no flight in this creature, she will fight and she will taste defeat.
One of the others charges me, a sneer of contempt on her lips, and her claws bared to dig at my flesh. I whirl low and feel Scythe’s smooth stalk slide through my palm, catching her where her head meets her neck and severing it. The shell remains standing, taking a further step as the lovely crimson jets from the stump that used to hold her mind before collapsing at my feet.
Legs looks on in incredulous horror, watching as her sister’s head flies over her own and lands in the small silver trashcan that stands against the wall. Scythe growls her pleasure at being fed, Her edge sparkling with rubies in the fading illumination. Raven smiles at me, her visage beautiful and lethal as her teeth are bared in the direction of the remaining women standing before us. “My turn,” she speaks in low tones, advancing on the grouping, hunger in her eyes.
I watch, delighted by my companion’s actions, as the crimson sprays around us. The four of them are stunned, horrified by what they have witnessed. This makes my job so much easier. Legs will be the one to catch the full on fury of my powers but she will have to wait, I want her to see just what we can do. I hold her in place with my minds arms as I approach her friends. The fear is sweet and ignites my inner demons.
I grab one of them and sink my teeth into her neck, keeping my eyes locked with Legs. I want to make sure she can see that this is something I take great pleasure in. I feel the life drain from this creature as I drink in her very existence. Her body goes limp and I drop her to the ground.
The others are still in shock and make no movement to help their friends. So I grab another, feeling the rush of power I get from feeding, loving the ease with which I can take them. I take her quickly as well, these pawns are not my main target and there is no need to anything other than dispatch of them in a hasty manner. Once they are out of way I will have such fun with Legs.
Two down and one to go. The trance they have been under is lifting and Legs is beginning to struggle against my hold. I will have to concentrate harder on keeping her still. I look to Death Maiden, using my eyes to tell her that I can’t take the last of Legs posse and to please be so kind as to take care of her.
I turn my full attention to Legs. Stepping up to her I snarl in her face “You will learn a most valuable lesson tonight. I will make sure of it.” She tries her best to wriggle free of my grasp. Her attempts are fleeting as I use both my mind and my body to hold her. Standing behind her, my mind holding her tightly to me, I use my hands to hold her head. One on her throat, clenched and ready to tear the flesh away. In her ear I speak, softly, soothing her, “watch and know that what awaits you makes this look like child’s play.”
I can’t help but giggle as I watch Maiden and Scythe approach the last of the others.
The last of the one Raven calls Legs sisters stands frozen in place, her eyes the colour of spoiled grave dirt wide in fear. She is correct to fear me, for her life is now mine to dispose of as I see fit. This creature watched Leg’s theft of a child’s innocence with no thoughts in her addled head to stop it, and will pay most dearly for her transgression.
Raven has her Prey held firmly in place, her teeth sharp as Scythe’s blade close enough to puncture the flesh should she incline her head even slightly, the desire to feed warring with the pleasure of forcing Legs to watch her dark hearted sister’s demise. She shall have both.
I drift close to the lone woman, who’s eyes are fixed upon Raven and her Prey, left unaware of my closeness to her, and so is startled as I grasp her throat with my own hand, squeezing the supple cartilage in my talons as she begins to struggle to draw air. Her arms flail about, her hands desperate to find purchase and cause me injury in order to gain her freedom. She will not, for my fabric flesh covers are as second skin, and her hands have not strength enough to tear them from my bonerack.
A low and throaty bubbling sound escapes Raven’s lips, pulling them back to expose the sharpest points of her teeth that glow in the fading light. My Prey staggers slightly, the fight gone out of her as she realizes the die is cast and her fate is no longer in her palms but in mine own. Scythe is softly singing, her voice ringing and echoing in empty street, and Raven adds her growl to it, creating a brutally beautiful harmony.
I smile into Prey’s distasteful eyes, pushing her back until her shoulders meet the wall behind us. At her feet, the head of her dark sister lies with its still oozing stump lies staring up at us, mouth agape with the last moments of terror her brain felt as she passed into the Clearing. Scythe bristles in my grasp, displeased with being placed away from my hand, where she will stand and regard my administrations. My hands will provide the necessary punishment that this creature will suffer, and it will please me to do so.
I lean close to her ear, and whisper her fate softly, releasing her throat slightly so that she may sing her aria of pain to my heart. She instantly inhales to scream, and I thrust my talons into her flesh, tearing away the soft tissue of her breast as I drive them deeper, feeling the cage that encloses her black heart shatter under the weight of my fist. Raven breathes deeply from behind me, the scent of this monster’s lifeforce igniting the hunger in her once more. She is insatiable as she feeds, discarding the shells of many before she’s had her fill. It fills me with delight to watch her as she sates her need for nourishment. Prey begins to shiver and shake as I feel my fingers grasp the warm and meaty muscle in my hand, pulling it with a hard yank back through the hole I’d made in her bonecover. It beats still, drooling its crimson lifewater through my hand and landing with a soft pattering noise on the ground between us. I hold it before her eyes, allowing the tendrils of veins and tissues to trail behind, close enough for her to smell the rotting flesh that was the pump of life that kept her diseased body and mind afloat, the tang of the deep red claret it holds within, heartsblood.
Prey stares at me, her ocular orbs flickering from the heart and back again, in disbelief and terror, their light going dim and disappearing as I rip the muscle free of its moors, shredding it with my talons before dropping it beside the head of her sister. Her shell falls hard, in an untidy heap, as I turn to Raven, sucking the still warm fluid from my fingers. She smiles at me, a most savage and gentle smile, and begins to whisper to Legs.
Legs begins to squirm, horrified by what she has just witnessed. I tighten my grip on her neck as I whisper “That will pale in comparison to what is in store for you.” I can’t help but smile as she stutters, “Wh..wh..why? Wha..what did I do?” She is almost crying as the last words escape her mouth. I spin her around and pull her to me. Our noses are touching as I look into her eyes, through them into her soul.
“What have you done?” I can barely control the rage that boils inside of me. “What have you done? What did the child do? Hmmm? That beautiful, innocent child. What did she do that was so terrible? So terrible that you felt compelled to beat her?” Her eyes are wild with fear as she tries to figure out how I know. I inhale deeply, the fear is intoxicating.
I can see Maiden, silently slipping up behind prey, ready to help should I need her. I nod at her as I push Legs back, right into Maiden’s arms. A squeal makes its way out of her as she realizes she is trapped. Maiden has her in her arms and she is fighting. Flailing about, trying to get free, Maiden laughs. The sound of it stills Legs.
I pull the leather strap from my waist, wrapping one end around my hand. She knows what is about to happen yet she is helpless, unable to run, she is at my mercy. I bare my teeth at her and begin administering the lashings. Her clothes tear open as the leather whips across her torso. Small red lines appear almost instantly, blood poppies form and glisten in the moon light. She tries to scream but it is of no use, Maiden has her talons dug deep into her throat, choking off any sound. I lash out at her, her chest, bare legs, arms, not stopping until all of her body is covered with red welts. Tears stream down her cheeks, making her look just like the image of the child that I had seen earlier.
Stepping to her, I drop the strap and run my fingers over the marks on her flesh, smearing the blood. My mouth is watering with anticipation, but I’m not quite done. I touch Maiden’s hand, hoping she will relax her grip so Legs can answer the question I intend to ask. She doesn’t want to, I see it on her face, but she releases her grip slightly. I take hold of Legs hair, it’s fallen down around her face, and pull her head to the side, exposing her neck. “Tell me, did that feel good?” An almost inaudible no escapes from her. “I didn’t think so.” I pull her hair harder, her neck taut, vessels pulsing, I can take no more. I sink my teeth into her flesh and begin draining her lifes blood.
The blood of those who do evil tastes so very sweet, it’s hard to stop, but I do. I leave her with just enough to keep her conscious. She should be conscious for her final moments. Licking the crimson from my lips, I look deep into her eyes. Gone is the fire that raged there. I place my hands on her face and kiss her. “I hope you enjoy the hell that awaits you.” I drop her head and step back. She is Maiden’s now.
It pleases me to observe Raven administering her Lesson to Legs, the lashing from the strip of hide has broken that fierce pride that rested inside this horrid creature that I hold in my arms. I release my grasp, allowing her to fall at our feet, all strength gone from her legs she lands hard, scraping her knees on the stone below.
Raven licks the sweet crimson bouquet from her lips and teeth, her hunger slaked for the moment, and meets my unnatural blues with an eyebrow raised. A silent question asked hangs in the air between us, and I flick my orbs to the dark and dingy passage that runs between two buildings. She reaches down, clasping a handful of Prey’s hair in her delicate hand and barks at her to stand, pulling her up as she stalks away.
Prey squeaks her pain, what once was a proud roar of a confused lioness now the minute whine of a broken woman. This pleases me immensely and I hear that black sound of joy bubble out of my mouth once again. We have an audience, it appears, a dark shadow sitting upon the strange metal staircase that slithers up the wall up one side of the passage. A small red eye appears, blinking on and off as its breath curls in the air. It matters not to me that someone watches, perhaps it too will Learn.
I reach to touch Raven’s shoulder, calling halt to her progress. In the shadows a shadowy eye has opened in the poorly lit passageway, a doorway that would afford some privacy from all eyes, save the shadow on the staircase. Upon the portal to the inside, a single word has been carved, its ink glowing scarlet in the darkness: Sinner. An appropriate place to administer the Final Indignities, as though it had been marked for Prey alone.
Raven hangs back, after slinging Prey headlong into the alcove, a snarl on her lovely face that ripples her upper lip up enough for me to see the pink that lines it. This is confusing to my mind, and I stare at her as a low groan drifts from the dark place. This building makes her distinctly nervous, her jaw muscles clenching and bunching beneath the surface of her bonecover perplexing.
Prey has risen to her feet, and is ineffectually pounding her fists against the portal, screaming in her newly cracked voice for help. From behind me, Raven growls close to my ear, startling me into grabbing her throat and throwing her to the ground. She is on her feet once again and close to me in a blink. I touch her cheek, nodding and see her visibly relax. My companion had informed me of these places, houses of deities, not fearsome to my black soul, holding only air and the memories of voices raised in union.
A faint rattling noise draws my attention back to this reality, and the lush flowing essence that would feed me as the blood feeds Raven. Prey falls silent the moment my gaze falls upon her, lips trembling along with her flesh as I take in the despicable creature before me reconsidering my meal. She should suffer further for her crimes, anything less would not be a lesson learned and no perspective would be gained from a quick death.
She begins to scream, nearly leaping at me with her nails and teeth bared. Scythe lashes out, catching her in the torso and slicking a wide swath of flesh and blood from her bonecover, showing the cage her black heart is encased in. She stops mid launch, pressing her hands to the open wound with her mouth hanging open. With my talons I pierce her tongue, digging deeply into the muscle before ripping it free. Never again would she be able to raise words to spit at another.
Raven darts in front of me, leaning close into her face and whispering a question with barely contained control. Legs nods vigorously, the blood splashing from her mouth as she attempts to speak. I find this amusing, and toss the flaccid bit of useless flesh at her, watching it bounce off her forehead and into the pool of blood that lies at her feet. Raven turns to look at me, her head cocked and a smirk on her lips, sending me a vision that both delights and saddens me. She saunters off, giving the tongue a kick into the passageway before leaving me to my work.
Prey whimpers, a sound that grates on my ears, holding her bloody hands up in front of her, begging me to spare her. I will not spare her. Scythe’s sharpest point enters her body at the pubis bone, sinking deep as it tears up, spilling her insides onto the doorstep, painting the walls with the most delicious claret before tearing the tender hollow that held her breath and her voice. She sinks to the ground, slowly leaving a trail down the door, her legs folded beneath her as her eyes glaze over and her essence evaporates in the cooling air.
I chose not to feed on her, though she had reached the understanding of her wrongdoing, there was no sign of remorse at her end. She will not reach the Clearing, but will wander, impotent to the End of Days. Raven appears at my side, watching the life depart, and pensively so. She turns to me, taking in my blood splattered visage before speaking of her musings.
A million questions run through my mind. I know that Maiden will provide the answers I seek but I believe I will wait until we return to her home. This place is giving off a weird vibe and I’m more than ready to be gone.
Maiden senses my trepidation and puts a hand on my shoulder. Her touch makes most tremble in fear but for me it is a great comfort. She leads the way towards the path that will take us home, out of this strange time, back to where we both will be more at ease. Once there I will try not to overwhelm her with my curiosity.
Ruffling my dusty, rusty
Awaiting my turn
To retrieve small bits
Of found treasures
Shiny, gleaned treasures
That I use to line my
My trove of musings
A room of shadows
Protected by my Muse
He who sits, silent
In the corner, observing
Dressed in cobwebs
A jacket of disused thoughts
A book yet unwritten
A love yet discovered
A passion unfulfilled
Drifting closer only to
Into my ears
Each time I set my
Pen to paper
Fingertips to a keyboard
Draw blood to the knife’s edge
I slay for purpose
For my pleasure
To feed my delight
And please myself
He feeds my desire
This incubus sublime
Infusing the iniquitous sweetness
Into my veins,
Teasing my flesh
Pulling me closer
While pushing away
His kiss full of teeth
That gnash at my soul
Requiring blood in payment
For his attentions
A price I willingly pay
Again and again
Like a disaffected monster
Drawn back to the place
Of her transgressions
I will pay the penalty
With terror and adulation
Open my chest and tear open
The cavity where my darkness hangs
On its stand,
In its reliquary, mists of midnight vapour
Ripple and writhe, twisting in wanton lust
Begging for freedom
It’s euphoniously lugubrious tones
Joyful noise to my heart
Blackened though it appears
Tarnished and unable to love
My Muse, he teaches me
From the pockets of Darkness
Disguised as Light
He takes my hand
Leading me on my Path
His voice full of broken glass
And cigarette singed whiskey
Honeyed notes of His enraptured song
Plunking like bloodied raindrops
Ripples of love and regret
Low words urging me to show
That I can love, and do
As always, in my way
All or nothing
Each time the axe falls
The blade pierces
Is an I love you
I muse because He wills it so
Calls me crow
And sets my feet in the Path again
Straightening His finger
To stir the cranial leavings
Stoking the flames
Enraged and engorged
Retreating again to his place
As my words begin to flow
Allow me to introduce myself. I am First Governess of Rivers of Grue, Death of The Four Horsemen, Member of the Court of Madness, and Death Maiden.
My Sisters, Vanity, Avarice, Wrath, Gluttony, Sloth, Envy and Lust, have each a talent in their own right and now are part of this esteemed grouping.
Enter here, and be entertained by The Seven Deadly Sinners.
My Sisters of Sin and I have our special roles. We each assist each other, on occasion we block each other, but we always get our target in one way or another. Our jobs are simple, we do them well. We leave our mark so all will know who has been there before, and so the Horsemen know we’re doing what we must. Death is our Governess, our Sister, and our Salvation. You will meet at least one of us during your life, you will definitely meet her.
Its name is Legion
I keep it covered
In the corner
Under a sheet
Wrapped in Iron
Encased in cement
It wasn’t ready
When he said
He didn’t like it
That it wasn’t alive
And begged me to
Make it stop
I told him it wasn’t ready
To leave it alone
That it Bites, Seethes
That it wasn’t time
He said it was unnatural
That it was wrong
He was right
It is unnatural
It scares me, and it’s mine
Its got razor sharp claws
Its eyes, they drip blood
It drools acidic venom
He told me to destroy it
Get rid of it, Kill it
I told him that I loved it
I Love it, its Mine
It’s loose now, I hear it
Its bowel loosening
Clicking across the walls
In the Dark, in the Night
You are unsafe
I’ve come undone
My psyche split
Desperately trying to hold the centre
but it won’t hold, it won’t stay
It’s closer now, slinking
Slithering in the darkness
The quiet wet slurp
As it licks its lips
With a salivating swipe
You should run
Like the Clarions of Hell
Before it slides up behind you
Panting its hot breath on your neck
To run its tongue across your flesh
It’s not what it appears
It’s hideous, its sublime
It is perfect
The Apocalypse Riders
Reigning Destruction and Death
Shine in its eyes
Run before it digs it claws
Into your chest, lacerating
Tearing the flesh
Ripping free your ribcage
Burrowing its face into
The hole it made
To gnash at your still beating heart
Go Rate The Orphan Killer and Give It The Top Rating It Deserves
Raven was silent upon our return to my dwelling. I suspected she was musing upon our lesson, and this pleased me immensely. This would mean that she has already begun to understand her power, and the responsibility to use it. I glance behind me, impatient to return to my home. Perhaps Rowan would be awaiting our return. Raven reminds me of Rowan. They could have been sisters in Raven’s time, her first life, and still may be, should Raven be able to understand the unwritten law of this land. Creatures do not take the lives of other Creatures. I, however, am exception to this rule. I do not spare.
Raven drifts to my side, glancing at my visage and the expression upon it, her gaze barely a whisper. I remind her that she agreed to Lessons, and am greeted with a light snarl in her throat, teeth bared in my direction. This makes me smile, and I stroke her cheek with my talon gently, not to injure, but in comfort. She looks away, bloody tears gathering at the corners of her lovely eyes. The creatures that stole her love from her would pay, and suffer.
The windows in my dwelling are dark. Rowan has not come this night, and I find my markings twinge with disappointment. There would be other nights for introductions, I muse as Raven sits upon her place of slumber, a sigh in her chest. Scythe trembles in my hand, pulling towards her own resting place. She had fed well and now she would sleep, for a time. I light the candles that line the mantle of the fireplace, the holding place of Jar, now one of many, all containing Treasures from my Prey, all staring back at me with the blueness of the day sky. And the Heart that still beats, floating in its own Jar, a true treasure taken from Prey.
I see Raven staring intently at the Heart, watching its thumping movements, distorting the magic that holds it there with each and every beat, her ocular orbs far away. Perhaps lost in memory, or in the Lesson to come. She darts her eyes to me, and to my hands, curious and not fearful. I hand her the barbed metal Death Bracelet, another Treasure I secreted away, in reminiscence of my Companion.
“The Next Lesson?” she asks, a small pleased smile creasing her lips, as I nod my agreement. First, we rest, and then, I teach.
I hold the barbed metal in my hands, turning it, examining its structure. I’m sure this is going to be a very interesting lesson.
Maiden says we must rest but I’m not sure I can. My nerves are on end with lingering excitement, the events of earlier still playing in my mind. It was a good feed. A good lesson. Now mixed with questions. This device she just gave me, how will it be used? My thoughts are swirling as I drift off to sleep.
I awaken to the sound of Scythe humming, soft and peaceful, not a sound I can recall her making. She has rested well and is excited about what lays ahead. Maiden is out on the porch, leaned against one of the pillars, she has the metal bracelets in her hand.
I clear my throat before I open the door, not wanting to startle her. She asks if I rested well. I assure her I did. Beside her, I look at her face, she looks happy, also something I’m not accustomed to. She senses my trepidation and smiles. Today will be a good day.
She leads me back to the table, where we will discuss the metal wire. She has placed it front of me and I begin to run my finger along it’s barbs. The feeling of it is quite sensational, cold and unforgiving, yet it screams of pain and torture. My mind is wandering, visions of what I could do with this racing around. I hadn’t heard Maiden when she began to talk and she pounds the table with her fist, bringing me back from my thoughts.
She growls her displeasure, not happy that she has to begin again. She speaks of a companion, a man that she herself learned about the metal from. A man that she is obviously smitten with. I keep this thought to myself, I’m sure she would not be amused by it. This metal it seems has many uses but the most common is as a restraint. It holds prey in place while making it very painful and hard for them to try to escape. If used correctly it will just burrow deeper with every movement, ripping flesh, sending crimson tides out from the punctures it will make.
Visions flood my mind again as she continues on. Men tethered to trees, bound at the neck, wrists and ankles with the barbed metal. Unable to move they beg for mercy, something Maiden and her companion are not known for. They writhe in agony, twisting, trying to find an escape but only managing to dig the barbs in deeper.
Scythe screams, bringing us both out of the visions we were delighting in. Maiden is up, holding her before I even realize what is happening. She looks at me, half-smile half snarl on her lips, “It is time, bring the metal.”
Raven startles as I speak to her, Scythe fairly drooling as She quivers in my palm, Her smooth stalk nearly prickling in my grasp. She rises to her feet, clutching the Barbed Metal of my companion, with a smile much like a snarl. This pleases me. Prey is close, almost too close, and I am alight with desire to feed, and Feed. I bid her come, and open the door. Night has fallen like an inky blanket across the land, the shadows reaching out to stroke my cheek with their velvet fingers.
Her body in pre-preparation to spring, Raven is tense beside me, her anxiety fragrant with silver and anise, and voicing a high squeal around us. Prey is very close, this time too close, having breached the spells that Rowan had placed around my dwelling, in an effort to cease my hunts. It amuses me now to imagine her terror and disappointment, that horrid bubbling sound spraying from my mouth. pleasure dashed, I turn to other pleasures, Prey. My mouth fills with water as my hunger rages, flavoured with arousing fury, as I search the branches for movement, for Light, or a Darker Light.
Prey dares much, choosing to stand so close, hiding in the shadows, in plain sight, to run his fingers through my hair, letting his senses fill his mind. Scythe swings out, placing her tooth upon his neck, biting gently to taste the essence of this creature. He smiles. I am displeased with this reaction. I am Death Maiden, I am Fear. I am Rage. Yet his lips curve up in amusement.
Raven slithers in the lovely darkness, close enough to see, close enough to harm, should she lose her control. I glance at her, Scythe nearly floating in excitement of feeding, warning her to stay where she stands, while I prepare Prey for his coming lesson. I feel pressure upon Scythe’s shapely stalk, and snarl as I press harder on Her quicksilver tip. Prey must be mad, ill in his skull shell, of this I am sure. He is touching Scythe in a most ill-mannered fashion, unmindful of Her sharpest point digging further into the flesh of his throat. I yank Her free of him with a growl rumbling in my chest, stepping closer to claw my talons into his throat, fully intending to tear it out.
She is at my side, quietly speaking to my ears, stilling my fury with a word. I nod my agreement, lessening the hold I have on this disgusting creature, he who dares smile in my direction again, his fingers running along my cheek as a death’s head moth’s wing. Hunger of another sort fills my blood, making it scream in harmony with Scythe’s, and I choose to Feed before I consume his essence.
My companion has her visage twisted in a suspicious expression, displeased with the situation I have placed her in, and I could smell her confusion in the air. Rowan is close, she has started the fire before the door of my dwelling, and now stands as still as stone in the doorway. Raven startles, snarls, prepared to spring at Rowan, as she moves in her quiet way towards us, her hands out in greeting and to grasp Scythe to her breast as a loved child. I greet her with affection of my heart, running a talon along her face, with a smile, as I had Raven not so long ago.
Prey hangs in my grasp still, watching the bond that has grown between my Witch and I with interest, and I turn from Rowan, Scythe, and Raven, hearing the conversation between the two Creatures as a dull mutter in my ears, my attention fully on Prey and his eyes. They are Treasure. I will take them for Jar. He stares back into my unnatural blues, meeting dagger for dagger, leaning towards me as he does wrapping his hands in my midnight shot ember hair, and pressing his lips to mine. I match his fervour, biting his bottom lip hard enough to cause him to hiss, but lightly enough not to draw lifewater to the surface and feel him rise against me. First, I Feed. Then comes the pleasure.
Rowan talks to me of her first lesson. How frightened she was, how Maiden taught her about the barbed metal. She was unsure of her own power, still is, but she learned. Learned that unlike all the other creatures who live on this place, Maiden is different. She spares no one. This thought still confuses me, if she spares none, why are Rowan and I safe? Is it only a matter of time before we too become prey? Rowan smiles, she believes we are safe. I hope so, I’ve seen what Maiden is capable of and I have no desire to be on the receiving end of her fury.
I watch closely as Maiden begins to toy with her prey. She teases him, giving him a false sense of security. Hope, a fleeting idea, especially where she is concerned. He has no hope for survival, even if he managed to free himself from her, I will not let him live.
The way she toys with him is amusing, kissing him, biting his lip, as if he’s a long-lost lover instead of food. It’s all a ruse, one he is foolish not to see. Rowan senses my confusion and tries to explain. It’s the art of the kill. Anyone can raise a gun or wield a knife, but being a slayer is more than just taking lives. A true slayer has finesse, style, to them it’s a labor of love. That was part of Rowan’s first lesson, the art of the kill. Could this be what I’m supposed to learn?
I continue to watch as Maiden allows this man to touch her. To someone else this would look like long-lost lovers reuniting, but I know better, as does Rowan. They caress one another, groping like lovers on a first date. His hands exploring every inch of her. Her talons are out, raking his flesh. He is aroused, loving the rough way she treats him. His hands are in her hair, pulling her head back as he kisses her neck. If he could see her eyes he would know this is not pleasing to her.
They continue their false lovers dance. Unsure of Maidens intentions I begin to grow restless. I know about love, I had that once, I want to learn about pain. I want to know more about this metal that I hold. I want to see it wrapped around him, digging into his flesh, crimson flowing. The thought makes me salivate. His lifewater released from within, calling to me, wanting me to feed. I have been twisting the metal around in my hands, oblivious to the cuts it is causing. Rowan sees the tiny droplets of my own lifewater, beading up in little points on my fingers and gasps, bringing me out of my trance.
We return our focus to Maiden, her game has worked, prey has let down his guard. He has forgotten about Rowan and myself. His only focus is on her, his lust is strong, you can almost feel it in the air. A smile has returned to Maiden’s face, she is enjoying his ignorance. Her eyes catch mine, it’s almost time.
I tap Rowan’s arm, did you see that? We stand by the fire, ready to pounce at her command. Rowan still holds Scythe, she is humming, ready to feed. I have the barbed metal in hand, eager to wrap it around his wrists. Soon he will regret coming here, he will beg for us to stop, pleading for his miserable life but he will receive no mercy.
I let him take me, this creature, though his existence offends me, I relish the stiffness he fills me with. It is plentiful enough to abate my Hunger, causing me to dig furrows with my talons into his back. He hisses in my ear, pounding into my hollow all the harder, daring to bite my shoulder, before raising his head to stare into my unnatural blues. That smile upon his lips annoys me, and I lift my own in a snarl that he mistakes for a plea for more. He thrusts harder again, stabbing me over and over with his flesh sword, his hand at my throat, gently squeezing.
Humans are strange beings, that pain would cause them pleasure, I muse as I drag my hands around his smooth sides and puncture them with my claws, eliciting a howl from Prey, and causing his climax. His seed is hot as it coats my insides, my own apex exploding from deep within at the same instant.
I sense Raven and Rowan, watching me Feed with interest and dismay. I care not at all, as Prey collapses atop me, his hands yet again in my hair, fingers moving as small animals in search of play. His lips find my windpipe, leaving behind a shivery wetness. This is an odd sensation and though it does not displease me, I do not like it either.
Less so do I enjoy having him press them to mine, tongue licking my lips. Prey must learn his lessons. I bite him, hard, bringing a gush of his salty lifeforce to my own tongue, and feeling it drench my mouth, trickling down the back of my throat. His hands clench into fists, pulling my curls painfully, pleasurably, as his stiffness grows within me again.
This interests me not, only the flavour of his pain on my palate holds my desires. I release his lip from my teeth, feeling its sticky warmth drizzle down my chin, and instead grasp his airtube in my hand, my talons pressing into the flesh surrounding it,yet not puncturing. Not yet.
I hear Scythe’s song, Her minute trembling speaking to my black heart. My Beautiful Destroyer is aflame with need. Mine own slaked, I was ready to devour the essence of this Creature and allow Her to slake Her own. Prey ceases his movements, his eyes, Treasure, still filled with lust, holding my own, an ocular embrace. I smile, licking his Lifewater from my lips as I push him off of me, feeling his depleting stiffness leave my body with an almost pang of regret. I hold his throat, talons now digging into the flesh and bringing rubies to the surface as I gain my feet, and he his.
I can hear Raven’s hunger from here, and her urgent need to use the Barbed Metal she holds in her hand. Soon Child. Soon. Rowan stands still, holding Scythe close and murmuring in her soothing, quiet way, but both prepared to pounce to my aid should the need arise. It wouldn’t. Having Fed replenished me, as did the drink of warm claret of Prey’s veins.
Prey attempts to touch me, to reach out and stroke my visage with his fingertips, and I snarl, startling him. He smiles yet again, this confusing Creature, his hands finding my waist and pulling me closer. Raven growls and crouches to spring, and I feel that horrid bubbling erupt from my chest. Rowan smiles, her mildly indulgent smile, placing a hand on Raven’s shoulder to stay her. The game is complete and now Prey will pay. I allow him one last devouring of my lips, for my own enjoyment, before squeezing my hand tighter. He drops at my feet in a fleshy heap, and I motion Raven and Rowan closer.
I suck Prey’s blood from my finger tips, it tastes of honey and desire, sweet to my tongue, as I listen to my companions discuss how to best confine Prey for the Final Indignities. I feel pride. Raven was learning her Lessons very well. At my feet, Prey’s naked and well-formed body twists in his unconsciousness, it wouldn’t be long before he wakes and the Dance would begin again. Raven delights in the suggestions, and turns to me, her pleasure in her Lessons evident, as she begins to tell me her plans.
Maiden approves of our plan, tells us to get started, she will be right back. She heads to her home, to clean herself up I would imagine, as Rowan and I begin.
Prey lays twitching and unconscious, but not for long so we move quickly. Rowan hoists him up and against a large Elm, holding him as I use my abilities to string the barbed metal through the tree, using my minds hands keeps me safe from the barbs. It slithers through the tree like a demonic snake. I secure one end around a large branch, the other wraps around his wrists, binding his arms above his head, then down around his neck, twice for good measure. Lastly his ankles are bound together, can’t have him kicking his feet about. Rowan steps back next to me and we take in our handy work. He looks secure to us, hopefully Maiden will approve.
We are standing by the fire when she joins us, the blood cleaned off, hair back in place. She walks to prey, examining what we have done, circling the tree and nodding her approval. Prey starts to come back to us, murmuring low in his throat. We stand, three sisters of destruction, watching his futile attempts, smiling at the thoughts of what’s to come. Scythe joins us, singing Her sweet song, anxious for her taste of him. Maiden strokes her blade whispering that the time is almost here.
He tries to move his arms but it’s of little use, he is caught, trapped and unable to move. His eyes widen with fear as the realization sets in. He has become aware of his misfortune, too late to save himself, the pleading begins.
Rowan approaches Prey, her voice soft and soothing, speaking non truths, everything will be ok. Prey has fear in his eyes but his body becomes still. The barbed metal has been digging in, causing much discomfort. Rowan is nose to nose with him, stroking his cheek, if not for the metal you would think they were lovers. She grabs his manhood, hard, and pulls. He shrieks his displeasure, beginning to twist again, trying to free himself. Rowan laughs and releases his swollen member, red marks already appearing where she had gripped it so tightly. This will be her treasure but she will wait to take it, there is much in store for him, don’t want him bleeding out too soon. She returns to us, smiling, turning prey over to me.
His pleading makes me sick, the way he whines like a little girl. I hold up my hand, the sound instantly muffled as if a cloth has been stuffed in his mouth. His eyes widen, tears begin to spill down his cheeks. I step to him, smelling his fear, breathing it in. It’s intoxicating, fear is, a delightful mix of honey and cinnamon. I stroke his hair with the gentlest of touches, trying to calm him. I don’t want his heart racing, he needs to be calm. I lick my lips and smile, showing my fangs to him. He closes his eyes as I carefully kiss his neck. The vein is pulsing, calling to me with every beat. I need to stay clear of the barbs, don’t want to get cut. I sink my teeth into him, sucking his lifewater out through the holes, careful not to drain him completely, we need him conscious. I step back, crimson dripping from the corners of my mouth, and smile. His head dangles forward, pressing against the barbed metal around his throat. Fresh droplets appear at the punctures, a sign that I didn’t take to much.
His wrists are raw and open where the metal has dug in, his skin hanging in flaps. This intrigues me, the way this tool of torture works. Unforgiving in it’s purpose, mangling flesh and causing pain. I can see why Maiden and her companion like it. It shows no mercy, no remorse as it pierces and rips prey apart. I like it, the sheer brutality of it makes me tingle with delight. I could finish him, squeeze the metal tighter around his neck, cutting through his flesh until I hit bone. Then just one forceful yank and his head would be severed, no more prey. I can’t do that though, Maiden needs her turn, she must show him the error of his ways, were I to deny her that I fear I would receive his punishment. So I still my thoughts, can’t have my mind committing such tortures just yet.
I look at his downturned face, his eyes are still closed, so I smack him. He jolts, eyes wide and filled with fear. I take his chin in my hand and kiss his lips before I push his head back against the tree.
It is time for Scythe to taste him.
I am well pleased with the binding that Rowan and Raven have placed upon Prey. His death bracelets well constructed, a worthy contraption. Raven has tasted of him, her efforts to withhold admirable in the face of such an easy meal. I have pride in my blackened heart. My gaze meets Rowans’s, her mild eyes aflame with delight. An odd come about, her normally kind disposition replaced by the light of a darker essence, bearing that as a predator. The Witches of this Land will not be pleased, of this I am sure, and a heavy price will be due as they discover the changes.
It matters not to my mind, as the scent of pine and abject fear waft to me on the slight breeze, its breath cooling to my bonecover. I am starving, my flesh crawling with desire to excise his flesh from his bones with my talons, my teeth, with Scythe. Prey stares stonily in my direction, his lip turned up in a sneer making his almost handsome face displeasing in the fire animal’s rage.
Rowan shifts her weight, her air hissing from her throat, annoyance that I take my time to observe Prey in their torturous contraption. I smile at her, baring my teeth in what I hoped was a pleasant manner. It felt foreign to my visage, to show my teeth to a Beloved One, yet she returned it with a further relaxed sigh. I glance at Raven, who has taken her place at my other side, watching her lick her lips in a most delightful manner, eyes on Prey. Scythe is singing to my soul as Demon’s Bells, Her song one of famished need, Her lovely stalk shivering as my palm touches it.
I approach Prey with caution. I have learned my lessons well, and remain wary of him, though he hangs in a tree, the blood sparkling on the barbed metal, turning it into a glimmering jewel. He has yet to understand his doom. His ocular orbs beg me for mercy and I let the bubbling sound rend the air, throwing my head back in pleasure.
Prey startles, the colour draining from his face, turning him pale as the moon, pulling himself backwards and causing a small bloodfall from his injured wrists. Scythe’s tip dips forward to drink of his lifewater, a satisfied sigh settling upon her Beautiful Blade. I hold Her close, pressing my lips against Her sharpest edge, capturing a crimson ruby upon my tongue. A most delicious mixture of fermented fruit and turned soil, flavored with terror and remorse. I feel my companions stare, the combined weight of their gaze enough to cause a snarl to escape from between my teeth.
Prey lunges forward, causing himself further injury, in an attempt to cause me pain, to stop, to Spare him. I dig my talons into his scalp and ruthlessly push it back against the tree, sounding a hollow thud upon its impact, running my free hand across the barbed metal at his throat, and down his chest, digging furrows in his bonecover, slicing deep and leaving streaks as it travelled. His eyes grow very wide, almost fall out of the sockets that hold them tightly to his head, and screams against the will of Raven’s abilities.
With the lightening speed of one practiced, I pluck one of his eyes from its place, leaving it to dangle moistly against one cheek. Prey writhes and twists, the barbed metal cutting to the bones that hold his hands to his arms, and causing it to dig deeper yet into his throat. This pleases me, and reach to pluck the other when he bites me, his teeth slicing through my flesh as air, with the intent of tearing off a mouthful of my bonecover. Raven darts forward, prepared to end him in defense, her snarl now a shriek of fury and dismay.
I still her with my eyes, and snatch the remaining orb from his head, hearing a wet smack as it hit his other check, Rowan is close, holding Jar, Treasures Preserving Fluid astringent and strong from the open lid, fully prepared to receive It’s newest jewels. I grasp the slimy roots in my hands and pull them free, Prey’s resulting bonechilling shriek an aria to my raging soul. Carefully, with respect I place them into Jar, where they bounce off their brethren, already acquainting themselves.
Prey is sobbing as though his heart would break, his pain as fragrant as the most delicious food. I run Scythe’s sharpest tip down his torso, pausing as she bites him, burrowing into his side and causing a gush of his lifewater to splatter down onto the hard ground, Scythe’s Song is one of fulfillment and malevolence, raising an octave as She tears free of his flesh, the meat of his belly a gaping wound in which his internal ropes peek. I move around him, Scythe drawing lovely pictures in blood on his bonecover, delicate lines resembling ribbons drip and drool from Her bites.
I offer Rowan her Treasure, willing to allow him to suffer a little more before I administer his Final Indignities. She shakes her head in her quiet way, gesturing with her hand to continue. I nod my acquiescence, offering her Scythe to hold close to her as I end this Creature who dared enter my space. I step close to Prey, feeling him recoil at the lack of distance between us, and lean in to gently kiss him, running my tongue across his lips, feeling his lips part beneath mine own. Humans are strange creatures I muse as I pull away, while pressing my talons into the gaping wound of his belly, drawing his internal ropes through the small hole with a yank.
They tumble to the ground at his bound feet, in an outpouring of vile lifeforce, tumbling into a pile. Prey is most appreciative, howling his agony to the sky, the empty sockets in his head glowing crimson in the firelight. I whisper to him that he may go to the clearing once he has gained his perspective, the error of his ways. He spits in my face, brave creature he is shouting his innocence to the laughter of my companions behind me. It amuses me that he believes this is so, shaking my head in disbelief, and slam my fist into his chest cavity, shattering the cage of his ribs to reach his heart. My talons sink thickly into the beating organ, feeling his lifewater flow over my hand in an almost too hot rush.
I rip it free of its moorings, pulling it free of its fleshy confines, still beating, yet slowing. Slowing as I inhale Prey’s final essence into my body. It is sugared agony, the thoughts of his life trapped in each drop, a treat that tingles in my mind and on my tongue. It stopped beating as it took its first breath in the chilled air. I turn to Raven and Rowan, dropping his blackened crimson organ to the dirt at my feet. “Perspective,” Raven muses as Rowan approaches Prey’s shell, her tone questioning.
Rowan is inspecting the remains of prey, her inner struggle obvious. She touches him with a shaky hand, tears forming in her eyes. Maiden is right, the witches of this place will not be happy. I am more concerned with the disposal of preys body. We can’t leave him hanging from a tree in the courtyard, that would be ill-advised.
We are discussing what to do when hear it, the awful sound of flesh tearing. Rowan has removed her treasure. She holds it in her hand, studying it. She closes her eyes, reciting strange words into the air. Her head drops and she places her memento into the satchel she wears around her waist, slowly making her way to us.
We determine fire will be the best way to dispose of what’s left of prey. Rowan can cast a spell to hide the odor of burning flesh. Maiden gathers wood, placing into the pit on top of the remnants of the fire Rowan had made earlier. I release prey from his shackles, an invisible hand holding him in place as the barbed metal recoils from around him. I move him to the fire, dropping him atop the flames.
Rowan goes about casting her spells, protection against anyone finding our little den. I turn to Maiden, wishing to discuss what will happen when the others discover the changes in Rowan. The witches of this place are peaceful, choosing to live in harmony with the land and all its creatures, they are not going to be happy. Maiden agrees, there will be a heavy price to pay. Unsure of how long it will be before they discover what has happened, we must formulate a plan. Do we include Rowan? Surely we aren’t sending her back to them, they will do unspeakable things to her once she’s discovered.
Maiden calls to her, come let us go inside, clean ourselves up and discuss tonight’s lesson. I put my arm around Rowan’s shoulder, hugging her as we ascend the stairs. Maiden and Scythe follow us into the home. Jar is placed on the mantle with the others. We take seats at the table, Rowan is the first to speak. She knows that her coven will not be pleased. They will sense the changes in her, they will come for us. Yes us, Maiden may have taught the lessons, but I will be just as guilty in their eyes.
We decide that, for tonight, Rowan will cast a spell, one that will conceal us from any that stray too close. Tomorrow, once we are rested, we will decide how we will proceed from here.
Death Maiden and Raven
Go Rate The Orphan Killer and Give It The Top Rating It Deserves
There is no Light
Without the Darkness
One cannot exist without the other
Those born into the Light are born blind
They cannot see the pulchritude
of the shadows that lurk on the edges
The importance of symmetry
Whether we deny or embrace
it matters not, we are one in the same
I am one those serripetous shadows
The ones that bleed into your mind
Taking the Love you hold to your breast
Holding it captive as I paint it darker
A deeper red, pulsating crimson
I am the doubt that lives as you write
The ones that complicate your mind
Distorting the vision in behind your eyes
I can’t help myself, Darkness is what it is
I am the Thunder to your Rainbows
The lightening strike that cuts
Your feelings to the bone, flayed
Bear witness to the slices to the soul
I am sorry for the Darkness
Envious of the LIght
Covetous and ill at ease
With the ease of occilation
Between the Sun and the Night
A Darker Love
Thunder and Rainbows
Sun and the Night
Doubt and Confidence
Darkness and Light
Why say I love you.
It’s so mundane
Words are meant to move
You, in all ways
I hand you my heart
Broken and glued
Scarred with life’s travels
Incomplete, until I found you
Why say I’m sad
It sounds as an untruth
Sadness is profound
Not so plain
I am filled with the screams
Of a thousand lost souls
I cry not tears
But my heart weeps from my eyes
Why say you are happy
It’s a generic term
Happy is so much more
My soul soars as an eagle
The sun shining bright
My cup runneth over
Why say you are mad.
It does not do justice
To the boiling fury
That burns inside
The rage that leaks
From the cracks of my
Black heart is venomous
Enough to eat your flesh
And melt your bones Why say you are lonely
Though it may be true
To be lost in plain sight
A fading vision Alone in a crowd
A ghost in my world
I’d reach out my hand
But who’s there to see Why say you hurt?
What does that mean?
It’s a small word used
To deaden the pain
Huddled and naked
Scream in my throat
Cut with many knives
With no voice to bleed
Why say you are afraid?
Sure you have fear
But does it describe
What you really feel?
I cannot breathe
I can only scream
From my eyes
And rend the air with my terror
Eloquence lends its essence
To us all, a hand to hold
Upon our Journeys
Gifts us the words
To move those around us
To romance the words
Make them dance
Touch the soul of another
The embrace of the eyes
Edges that flay your flesh
Shredding your heart
Or lifting your soul
To inspire and respire
A Muse on your shoulder
Eloquence, She provides
“These are not small creatures that roam the trees and play in the fallen leaves. I peek over the edge. Nearly scream. We are surrounded. We are trapped. The Posse is here. So is The Door.”
I see now why they are called the Lunatic Posse. They are all raving psychopaths. They strut and stumble. I’m reminded of clumsy birds, the way their heads move, their limbs. All yelling a jumble of words that don’t fit together, with the occasional cuss thrown in. All mindless and starving. And fast. Meeting one you could survive if you were faster. We wouldn’t stand a chance against a pack of 50.
He notices finally, able to see through the floorboards that we are truly stuck. We have cover, the walls of the blind hide our existence from the monsters outside. There are small holes in the wood that we can see distances. And The Door.
It bothers, niggling at the back of my mind like a rat in a trap. It follows me. I can hear the voices again. Calling my name. Siren Song. His hand is on mine and I look away, to find my own grasping the handle to the trap door. I’m afraid, and he sees it.
Above us the birds resting in the branches startle. They fly in a flurry of wings. There is a sound, a not-there sound. My bones and teeth are vibrating. I press my eye to the rifle hole and draw back quickly. Impossible. My mind reels slightly and I press again to the view happening outside our box.
The Door is ajar, just slightly. It wavers in the breeze, the air putrid with the scent of unwashed bodies and infection. They are, after all, essentially human. He shifts behind me, movement barely a whisper, yet a glare at him. I watch as he presses the side of his face to the rifle hole closest to him and see him cringe, biting his lip and clenching his fists. He understands now. Damn. Crying again.
My teeth are vibrating. My whole face feels as though my skull and jaw were trying to escape the confines of my skin. Hard to breathe. I pull back quickly and huddle close to him, dragging his ear down so that my lips are nearly touching it. I tell him we are trapped. And we can’t move. Breathe little, no noise. That I don’t know how long we will be here. He tries to pull away but I hold him closer, my fists clenched in his light jacket, and hold his eyes. There can be no misconceptions or misunderstandings. Like it or not, we may die here.
That not-there sound is there, hanging in the thick air like a blanket. I can almost see it. It shimmers in the light like heat on the summer highway. The Door is open more now. One of The Posse is standing in front of it. Yelling it’s nonsense at it and stabbing its finger in the air, its tip touching its wood each time. I feel his hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently and I jerk in response, shrugging it off. He does it again. This time feels like urgency and I glance over. He points to his eyes, then down.
There is a member of The Posse directly below us. Staring at us. I force my breath to slow. They can hear us, our blood rushing in our veins. Maybe our Aliveness, our humanity. It holds my stare, its mouth moving silently, forming words that make no sense. And walks away. I watch as it moves out of view, and look up to stare at my companion. He is confused as well. I shift slightly to press my eye against the wood wall, tracking the progress of this strange harbinger. The Lunatic Posse. They are Lunatics. Even to the way they shuffle when they walk. This pack is different, or maybe the lack of proper incentive has put them into a hibernation of sorts.
The Door slams shut, the noise an explosion that sends another, though further away, ruckus of birds into the air. I watch as the pack freezes, and each head turns in unison towards the house that I had blown up, the flames still ravaging the hull. They move into the shadows, several hiding behind the Door itself. That’s when I see them. A group, 10 or more, creeping along the road that lead to the house. There is no way we can save them. No means of escape for them. And no way for us to avoid having to watch what comes next. I motion with my hand for my companion to come closer. A tough lesson to have to learn. But he still doesn’t understand. I’ve watched him staring off into the distance, towards the river, eyes far away. Calculating his chances. 99 to 1, not in his favor. I’ve seen them kill
The group is coming towards our little copse, their voices carrying on the wind to us. Small snippets of conversations. The sound of normalcy. The Posse hears them too, some crouching lower like animals about to spring on their prey. The one that saw us is back. Standing underneath our blind and staring up at me. Its muttering words that almost make sense. Go. There. Run. Soon. She points towards the river, at the break in the trees. A hard fast run, with luck on our side, would take us there in minutes. If we could get past these things. I nod, and she wanders off again, a little deeper into the shadows.
The group are standing by The Door, their excited voices ringing in the silence. Don’t they notice the unnatural quiet? Not even the crickets are chirping. One touches The Door, his hand stained the bright red of a freshly spilled blood. He looks at it, curious but not afraid. My companion shakes my shoulder, pointing to the shadows. The Creatures are coming closer, smiling too big smiles on lips that stretch too far and split, spilling a flood of gore from their mouths. Its nothing I’ve ever seen before and I’m too horrified to even scream.
In an instant they are on the group, all converging as one on the hapless travellers that came upon this horror show. There is no sounds but for the sound of body parts being torn apart. My companion throws open the trap door and jumps down, motioning me to come, NOW. I do. I jump and land on my feet, running towards the river without looking back. I can’t look back. Freedom is close, I can hear it, feel it with every impact my feet make on the ground. Fence ahead. I can leap it. I’m not stopping. I hear moment behind me. It could be one of the Posse. It could be my companion. I’ll look after the fence. Made it.
I turn and see my companion leap the fence as well. I feel relief, and fear. They must be still feeding. I see no Lunatic anywhere around. We pant as we walk, trying to gain back some air so that if we must run, we can. I hear voices at the riverside, and glance at my companion quickly. He is unnerved as well. He takes my hand, squeezes hard, and picks up the pace. I have to follow. He still holds my hand.
There is noise behind us, slight, just a rustle but it sets my teeth on edge. It won’t be long now. They will notice. They always do. The river’s edge is visible now. There are men along the beach, all nervous and heavily armed. I hesitate, pulling back slightly. My companion looks back at me, stopping to pull me to him, and smiles into my eyes. The men notice us. I’m afraid, almost ready to take my chances with the Lunatic Posse, when I am pulled forward. Joyful, yet muted shouts reach us and my companion releases me, running to them as a brother would. These are his brothers.
My companion salutes his….friend…Brother…superior? My train of thought is interrupted by shrieks of rage and cursing. We’ve been found out. I run towards them, screaming to get us out of here. They are coming. I’m thrown into the boat, as the rest of the men jump in and rev the engine to life. The boats pull too slowly from the shore as the Lunatic Posse overrun the short hill leads to the river.
I watch as we pull away, speeding upriver away from danger, for now. Everything is in slow motion, and I turn to watch the shore. They stand there, their voices irate, just far enough from the reach of the water. They don’t like water. I hear the name Evan, and turn to the conversation. My companion sits beside me, his hand out and looking at me expectantly. His name is Evan. I shake his hand, offering my own.