Archive for September, 2011


We have come to the end of a trilogy (with no name) that started out as a single story, Incubus ( by @edgothboy. The second part, Possession( was a joint effort by Ed and myself. Here’s the last of the Three, another joint work of ours.

*cue in the haunting tunes of a violin*


One womb, One chain, One resolve
Liberate this will to release us all
Cut away, clear away,
Snip away and sever this umbilical residue
Orestes – A Perfect Circle


She weaves through the clusters of families in six-inch YSL platforms, a Herve Leger bandage dress molded to every curve. There is a serpentine quality to her gait, a slithering that is as seductive as it is appalling. She attracts stares from the mestizos as she approaches the Culebra tours help desk and ingratiates herself with the young attendant on duty, cutting off the sweating tourists who had been waiting for two hours.
“Your seaplane is still available, yes?” She asks in English flavored with an Afrikaans dialect.
The young mestizo ogles her as he pretends to check the flight manifest. She leans over to give him a better look. He licks his lips and nods slowly.
“I want to hire it. “
This starts a murmur among the already disgruntled tourists on the queue, she ignores them. The mestizo starts to offer an apology.
She runs a manicured hand through her auburn hair. “I will pay $50,000 for one day.”
His eyes widen and instinctively he reaches for the intercom.
“Señor, creo que tiene que salir, esta mujer nos quiere pagar cinquenta mil dolares para llevarla a Vieques.” Sir, I believe you must leave; the woman wants to pay fifty thousand dollars to go to Vieques.
The mestizo ignores the angry protests of the usurped tourists as he loads her carry-on onto the rickety golf cart and chauffeurs her to the waiting seaplane.
“You going for tourist in Vieques?” He asks.
“No. I’m just going to reunite with an old family member.”
“You speak any Spanish?”
“Just a little.”
“Okay, just say something. I want to hear how you sound.”
“Mi nombre es Leanne Poulous.”


Work is going on faster than expected. The rain has been light for the past week and most of the thatch has dried. The mestizo women sit outside the shaman’s bohio, and await the Cacique’s return from his consultation with the shaman. Their cotton tee shirts and sturdy jeans are the only traces of western convenience that remains here, that and the abandoned hangar in which the village is being built. The Cacique comes out from the shaman hut, the only one already completed. His gleaming russet skin and Amerindian features are testament to the purity of his pedigree. He asks for silence, his guanin gleaming in the Puerto Rican sun.
“El chamán gringo dice que hoy en diá se bendice. Si partimos de la construcción hoy en dia lo vamos a terminar con júbilo. ¡Regocijaos!”
The gringo shaman says today blessed. If we start building today we’re going to end up with joy. Rejoice! 

The women begin an ancient Taino dance, ululations punctuating rhythmic foot stomping. They dance off into the forest to collect their dried thatch and begin the construction of animal pens. The Cacique retreats to his bohio to remove his guanin and sleep out the effects of the peyote he partook of. In the silence, a lone figure exits the shaman hut. The children playing in the nearby sand pit squeal and gather, following him from a safe distance. He is startlingly different from them, milky white skin and ginger coloured hair untouched by the bronzing power of the sun. They watch in fear as he confidently crosses the unfinished village to his clumps of potted plants shaded under a beach umbrella as though he had still had eyes in his empty eye sockets. He skilfully harvests three bulbs of the flower covered cactus and makes his way back to his hut, talking loudly to himself as though his face covered with little pink scars still had a tongue.
He is El vidente ciego, the blind seer, the sign that the old gods wanted them to return to the old ways, embrace their Taino ancestry. He came from the west and found his way to them, guided them here. As the women work, they whisper about the diablo living inside him, the one that makes them long for him, the one that he tries to silence with his peyote and coca. They gossip of his séance with the earth goddess and how it is at his request that she lets their crops grow and their bellies swell with child. They pray to her as they bind the dried fronds with woven twine and chant his name! El Vidente ciego. The blind seer, intercede for us!


Tamsin sighs and discards the flowers he’d harvested in the corner of his make-shift hut.
‘She’s coming. I can feel her. The part of Asmodeus she deposited in me during birth can feel her. Leanne. Mother.’
He walks restlessly, deep in thought, his hands rubbing at his empty aching sockets. He knows what his fingers will find. He first noticed it two nights ago. Nerve endings. Muscle. His eyes are regrowing.
He shivers.
He pushes gnarled fingers into his mouth, feels the stump.
Cleaning his spittle covered hand, he sits at his ‘workshop’ where several grinding stones lay. He picks up the fresh pink flowers, delicately plucking at their petals and gathering in a stone ware. When he’s done, he mashes them with his fingers, extracting liquid. The clear liquid drips from his fingers into a shot glass, each drop lulling him into a state of ease and without second thoughts, he downs it.
He drags himself to the straw bed, stretches his frame on the woven mat.
“Gaea…” he whispers and lets his mind drift. The peyote silences the taint in his blood, heightening his awareness and soul presence. He can feel everything. The soul of each person in the village. One child cries; he can tell. His lips quiver with a smile at the antics of the younger men, ogling the women. He can feel the red haze of their lust. Casting away distractions, he severs the cord to his frail flesh.
Slowly, he gets up, walking outside to his special garden and there she is, lying down amongst the flowers, smiling as she touches each.
She turns at the thought of her name.
“Tamsin. Beloved child.” She opens her arms and he goes to her, lying beside her, head cradled on her bosom, the softness of freshly turned earth.
“You worry because she comes.”
He nods.
“Don’t worry beloved of his Mother. This was going to happen even before you were born. Within Leanne, lies Asmodeus, you have seen it. He must be destroyed. I vowed it. I would destroy him”
Tamsin feels the dull resonance of anger emanating from her incorporeal being. He watches the flowers die, earth hardening at the tightly controlled fury of its Mother.
‘What would happen when she unleashes her full anger?’ He’s suddenly fearful for the village. He has grown to love them. ‘What catastrophe would happen on the earth where two gods have drawn their battle lines?’
“Peace my child” She touches his brows with her twig-like fingers, restoring calm into his being.
“How will this battle be fought without harming the village, Mother?”
He can feel her smile. It makes the grass greener; the earth blush with flowers.
“Mother protects her children”
Tasmin nods, even though his question goes unanswered.
“Will she die?”
She heaves a sigh, and the cotton clouds sours at her sudden melancholy.
“Your mother was alive at your conception Tasmin. She is but an empty shell now. His presence corrupts her, warps her soul to his whims. She is of no consequence now.” She sighs again and the heavens open, weeping at the Mother’s sadness.
“Fear not Tasmin. I come to you when the Time comes. Suckle on my breast child. Take nourishment for the trial ahead”
With content, he takes one large globule of flesh, sucking at a nipple, the redness of a rose.
Slowly, she fades and he knows it’s time to depart.
He reluctantly leaves the wild beauty of their shared meeting and returns to his squalid room. He walks over to his body lying on the mat and with a smile, his spirit is joined to his flesh.
His pasty eyelids retract with a wet squelch.
He feels the heavy weight of his tongue, resting on the roof of his mouth.
The Incubus is back
He sighs.


Leanne looks out of the cabin window, disinterested in the natural landscape her pilot points out to her. She scoffs silently, a beautiful smile pasted on her face. Her scenes are Sex, Death and Destruction.
“How long till we land?”
“En una hora Señora.” He said loudly above the din of the seaplane’s engine. One hour. She smiles at the look she imagines would be on her son’s face when he sees her get off the seaplane. The longing to join with her spawn pulls stronger the closer they get.
“We lucky. No weather bad. We land easily and I take off before night.”
She nods nonchalantly, kicking up her long legs and lowering her seat a notch.


Asmodeus relaxes, closing his eyes as the wind blows the auburn hair of this shell he enjoyed. How long had he been using the name Leanne Poulous? How long had he taken the yoke of being a woman? 44? 46? He still remembers the night of his Transcendence. The senseless murders, taking this acolyte with glee. The police were baffled at the crime scene. They moved houses because Leanne’s mother couldn’t bear to live in a house where a brutal murder and suicide had occurred right under where she slept. He had to keep up the pretence of grief at his best friend, Jaime’s death; pretend that he was still the sweet daughter of his parents. Four months later and they found out about the pregnancy. He had listened amused at the father’s outrage whilst stretching Leanne’s face to show contrition. The only thing that didn’t go according to plan was the decision to give up the child for adoption. The cambion that was supposed to house him when he was done with Leanne. He was outraged of course but there was no arguing it. Running away from home seemed too dramatic. He preferred his luxury. But he kept watch on the child as he grew, and nearly burst with pride when Tam took his first life.
Discreetly he got rid of his vessel’s parents, took over her father’s business, laughing secretly when he overheard employees badmouth her as a tyrant, evil, the devil herself. If only they knew.
It had been a good life with the body he had to admit. He didn’t even go through the menstrual hassle, his invasion ground her cycle to a halt. A good thing considering the sexual prowess that came with being a Succubus.
“We approaching Vieques.”
He turns at the sound of the pilot’s voice, smiling graciously at him.
‘Turn on the charm’ he thinks wickedly as he touches the man’s leg. He can hear the change in his heart rate as his suddenly engorged phallus rises in response. Blindsided by primal lust, the pilot loses control of the seaplane for a second, jolting Asmodeus to his senses.
“Certainly not time to play.” he says wryly to the pilot in his silky female voice as he moves his hand away.
The pilot shakes his head, blood rushing to his face.
Asmodeus grins at his discomfort, relaxing back into his seat.
“Tasmin, my next shell. Ready or not, here I come.” He mutters.

Gaea broods.
Can she tell the boy his fate?
Would he run?
She cannot risk that happening.
She broods.
How does she tell her beloved child?
How does she tell him what he has to sacrifice?


Tasmin is awoken from slumber by the whirr of blades and the cries of surprise by the village people. It can only mean one thing.
She’s here.
Quickly, he dons an unused shirt and exits his hut. The little children who were startled by the noise from their playing run up to him, fear written all over their beautiful faces.
“Está bien mis pequeños. It’s ok, my little ones” he murmurs to them, smiling as he sees the confusion on their faces.
His eyes. He can speak.
“Fui sanado por la diosa.” I was healed by the Goddess
The news of his sight and speech spreads fast and soon enough, noise forgotten; the women begin their singing in honour of the goddess.
“El chamán gringo se cura.! Él puede ver! Él puede hablar! Nuestro chamán se cura gringo!”
They part for him as he makes his way to the wooden pier where the seaplane is being offloaded. The villagers follow closely behind him, curiosity to see the newcomer conquering their fear.
Tasmin stops at the entrance, watches her alight on the pier in her designer dress and ridiculous shoes. She stands, hands akimbo, studying him and the rabble behind him. Next to her, they all pale in comparison. Exquisitely out-of-place; like a Harrods store in the middle of a violence-torn Somalian street. She walks up to him, gliding through the wind like silk and with a hug, engulfs him into her arms.
“Tasmin Poulous.” she whispers into his ear and he goes weak at the knees. Gently he extracts himself from the hug, regaining his equilibrium.
“Mother. Or should I say Asmodeus?”
She smiled, the evening glow of the sun revealing the hardness of her blue eyes.
“Mother or Leanne would do son. Won’t you introduce me?”
Tasmin turns to the villagers who followed him. Some of the children are conversing with the pilot in rapid Spanish, touching the seaplane with reverence.
Some of the women draw back, unable to hide the fear and envy in their eyes. The men inch closer to view the goddess walking on sticks.
“¡Magia!” they mutter in awe at the glimpse of her shoes. Magic.
Tasmin clears his throat. “Esta es mi madre, Leanne.”
Their eyes widen in delight.
The shaman’s mother!
The women gather to her, shyly avoiding her eyes as they usher her into the communal hut.
With an amused smile, she glides in after them.
Tasmin heaves a sigh of relief. “So far so good.”
The demon yearns for her touch. His very skin crawls with anticipation. Go to her, it whispers in his head, in a voice like a symphony of claws on a chalk board. Don’t you want to know why she crawled out of her hole to find you? He cannot be distracted. She has to be defeated, but not at the cost of his village.
The sound of an engine being started interrupts the voices, announcing the seaplane’s departure. He wonders if she made an arrangement for another seaplane later the next day. Who would be on that seaplane?
“Gaea, give me strength.” he mutters under his breath as he follows the gathering people into the communal hut.


Tasmin can feel it; the stench of lust. He shoots a glance at Leanne, watching as she languidly channels her will into the mind of the villagers, numbing inhibition, stirring desires well hidden. Thankfully, the children have been sent to sleep.
Soon, every semblance of the welcome ritual is abandoned. Brown bodies glistening with sweat cavort under the yellow glow of the flame torches, mounting and grasping and digging fingers into backs. She watches, unmoved. She is already bored with the spectacle she instigated. He purposefully strides to her, meandering through bodies, some inviting him to taste of their delight.
“Stop this right now!” He demands furiously as he approaches the high table from where she admires her work.
“Stop? Why? They are enjoying themselves. You can too you know.”
In a fluid movement that baffles the eye, she arises from her ceremonial stool and plants herself in his path, her fingers trail his lips and his high cheekbones, stoking the demonic flames within.
“You look nothing like your human father, your lips, this chin, these eyes; all mine…”
“Stop it.” He says through clenched teeth, willing the essence of Gaea into his aura. He stands rooted to the spot as she caresses his groin.
“Your mouth says no, but your body says yes Tamsin. You are man first, then god-son second. Awaken, son of Asmodeus.” She whispers seductively in the enochian tongue into his ears.
His eyes change from the green of fresh grass to the red of the bowels of hell. He grabs her by her hair, planting a violent kiss on her lips.
She shudders in delight.


As lips merge, soul wavelengths merge into one another. Gaea, unnoticed, passes into the shell that is Leanne.
Asmodeus’ smile of victory is cut short at her presence. Quickly, he pushes Tamsin away, disconnecting their resonance.
He shrieks, a rugged baritone pouring like bile from Leanne’s delicate larynx. “You taint him, bitch! He was to be mine, mine alone! You cannot have him!”
Leanne falls to the ground, writhing as two sworn incorporeal enemies battle out, mortal flesh a venue for their invasive attacks. Tamsin watches in horror as the full fury of Gaea is manifested, transported to the barren astral plains by the kiss. Thorns protrude out of every pore of her body, hair formerly green and lush, transformed to thick vines, wrapped around her pale skin like armour. With no need of a corporeal shell in the planes, Asmodeus reveals himself. Red skin darkened by the flames of hell. Lush black hair, cascading down his back like waves. Two gleaming mighty horns adorn his forehead, freakishly marring his beautifully sculpted face. In his talon-like fingers, he grips a mammoth staff, his sceptre as one of the divine rulers of hell. Asmodeus, right hand to Luciferus, is ready for war.
With a yell in the Language of Creation, Bolts of light flash from the gods, causing Tasmin to shield his face to obscure his vision. With a prayer for Gaea’s victory, he shields his Sight from their terrible beauty and returns to the terrestrial plane.


Asmodeus cannot stand against Gaea on this plane, she draws power from everything here, thwarts his every move. Even the ground shifts beneath his feet in protest to his infernal nature.
“What do you have against me, bitch?” He bellows. “I am but a prince of Gehenna sojourning for a moment, we have no history.”
“You lie!” She screams. “You are pestilence. Even the blades of grass, innocent as they are have not been spared. You blight all you touch! Mine cry out for revenge, and I will have it!”
With that she launches another attack at him, calling thunder from the sky.


“Tam?” It is a whisper.
He rushes to her, scoops her up in his arms. “Leanne? Mother?”
Before his eyes she ages, crows feet stretching out from the corners of her eyes. Liver spots appearing on the back of her arms. “Tamsin, I’m sorry.”
“Hush, mama. Its OK.”
Tears fall from eyes turning milky with cataracts. “I was young, naive. All I wanted was a baby of my own.”
“I know mama, I know. I’m here.”
“I was so weak, I couldn’t fight him, I didn’t even…”
Her eyes roll to the back of her head and she constricts, begins to thrash uncontrollably. In a panic, Tam throws her off himself and scrambles away. His mother begins to levitate, the illusion of youth returning to her once again. She stands on two feet and opens red tinged eyes. Asmodeus has fled the battle, taken the coward’s route.


“Would you help your goddess, my beloved child?” Gaea’s voice resonates in his head. Her sadness is profound.
“Yes” he whispers, knowing She will hear him.
“Tasmin” Her voice caresses his mind, lulling him to sleep.


The first sign of Asmodeus’ defeat is the lightness of spirit that fills Tasmin, causing him to sway. A part of him is gone. With a cry of anguish, he grips his chest tight. Then he sees it. The blood on his hands, the blood pooling at his feet as it spurts from the gash in Leanne’s neck and pours out between her fingers.
Her eyes rove unfocused but there is a manic smile on her face. Her lips are shut but his words ring clear. You won nothing Gaea, I cannot be slayed! I will return with the Horsemen and lay waste to this shithole you cherish so much.
The eyes hone in on Tam and catch his. He tries but he cannot turn away. Matricide! I’m impressed. I never thought you had it in you. You turned out the most evil of us all.
And in a heartbeat Asmodeus welcomes his exorcism and returns to his infernal torment. Leanne collapses into Tam, her blood drenching him.
“Son…” She says with her last breath, exsanguination putting an end to her torture. All the years held back by Asmodeus engulfs her like a tidal wave and she shrivels into a wrinkled husk.
Tasmin pulls at his stringy hair in dismay. What have I done? Gaea, why did you betray me?


Gaea’s voice whispers into his mind and the pain abates. Slowly, he opens his eyes, a small smile pulling at the side of his lips at the sight of his goddess.
Her eyes shine with love…and pity as she holds his head in her hands. Tears gather at the sides of her eyes, falling down as pearls, more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. He stares at them riveted as humans usually are by inconsequential details.
“I’m sorry” she whispers softly, running her hands through his ginger hair.
With a jolt, Tamsin is brought back to the terrestrial plane. He tries to get up but is unable to lift his limbs, body sapped of energy.
Slowly, he understands.
He looks down, sees the sharpened tip of a machete protuding from between his ribs. The Cacique comes into view and abases himself before him.
“Perdóname Shaman. Ella me mostró lo que realmente son. ¡Ella me obligo!”
Forgive me shaman. She showed me what you truly are. She compelled me.
Disbelief slowly morphs into acceptance. He slumps beside his mother, his body skewered in an awkward angle by the end of the machete. Two mangled bodies lie side by side, one supple the other withered; unwilling pawns in a celestial feud.


With the banishment of Asmodeus, the aura of lust dissipates and the villagers disentangle themselves from one another, memories of their orgies wiped from their mind.
“El chamán gringo y su madre!”
Every head turn towards the voice of their Cacique. He kneels beside the bodies, checking for any sign of life even though he knows there is none. With trembling hearts, they await his judgment. They know; by his slow movements and heavy sigh, they know.
“Ellos están muertos.”
They are dead.
Cries of anguish pierces through the night, women throwing their bodies on the floor in distress. Their seer is gone. With directions from the Cacique, the men lift the two bodies with reverence, and lay them on a pyre hastily made from the furniture on which they revelled moments before. Heads bowed, the mourners exit the hut. When the last foot crosses the threshold, the Cacique holds a torch near to the matted roof and with a look of utmost regret, sets it alight.
“Perdónanos vidente ciego. No puede ahorrar. Que esta cabaña maldita sea borrado de la comunidad”
The heavens open, and torrential rain, lashes the ground in dismay.
Even Gaea, weeps for her beloved child.

Al final.

The End


Barely a week after Possessions, we completed Orestes, @edgothboy and I. WOW! My profound thanks goes to everyone who helped in this journey (readers, proof readers, commenters etc) Please do leave a comment on your overall reaction to the story(ies).

Again, my thanks to @edgothboy! We make a great team no? 😀

Guilty Pleasures

Phantom P: Since my mind is closed for repairs, i wont be able to write much for now! That being said, my ever ready co-writers would be filling in for me with their pieces. From the mind that brought you ‘Swan Song’ and ‘Black Maiden’, Ladies and Gents, Bamidele Newton!

Newton: I wanted to write this as a poem but couldn’t get my head around the lines.



So I write it the way I feel and right now all I really need is a priest to confess to, but unfortunately I’m no catholic. I was brought up believing that only God can forgive sins, but it so scary that He is so big and far off, the idea of an anonymous person seems so real and better; so let me do it the proper way.

“Father I have sinned”

Then I can get to tell him all I had done. And he tells me to do penance for my sins and literally my burdens are lifted from my shoulders and I am free. After I’m gone, the priest sits down and recounts my story he is bound by confidentiality not to tell. But how can he keep such story in his head and not go insane? Even he could not believe the story even though it dripped with sincerity and truth. To avoid losing his mind over this he wrote my story in his journal. Later that year, by mistake, that journal got into the hands of someone who told someone who later told another someone the things I did that night and since it has become public knowledge I want to sue the church and the priest for breach of confidentiality.
Now I stand in the witness-box in court, having just been examined by my counsel. I am being cross-examined by their lawyer and he asks me one question “What happened before the confession?” My counsel shouts “Objection my Lord “On what ground?” asks the judge “This is not in issue my lord” and their counsel says“My lord but it is relevant”
“Objection overruled, witness you have to answer that question”
Then and there I Knew my life would never remain the same.
“Let me start from the very beginning” I say.

Monday 24th, January 2008
On this day I was still married and I can still tell that, I was happy with my marriage. The only problem was that I got married to a “stiff board”. Nothing I did on our matrimonial bed ignited any fire within her; it was like making love to the bed. Correction, even the bed would have groaned. Not my wife. In this age of sexual orientation and experimentation, all we did was the archaic and forgotten missionary style. That is what you get for marrying a virgin, but since I got satisfied. I didn’t think of it; she was the money bag in the house after all. She gets a fat cheque eery month and to her credit. she is a very good and loving wife.
My life changed, when on this day I got to work and I found out that the management had deemed it fit to change  my secretary who was over 50 years of age and who reminds me constantly of my wife with someone named Susan who I believed would be as inefficient as the common name she bore. The first sight I had of her was my doom because she was bent over on my desk with her behind facing the door, and by jove, she was wearing the most flesh hugging skirt I had ever seen! With a dangerous slit going up to her thighs, Jove that was the longest, freshest piece of leg I had seen and all I could think of was taking her there and then. Maybe I had groaned or made a noise because she turned around and I was assaulted with the sight of heaven and my heart stopped beating in my chest.
“I am Susan” she said, “Can I get your suit or would you prefer coffee first?”
And since then I had to walk around the office with a bag in front of me to cover my constant disturbance. She psychologically assaulted me in every way you can imagine until all I could think of was having sex with her. All that was keeping me was the opportunity; either fate wanted to take a shit on me or just wanted to fuck me, it presented me with a bizarre opportunity.

3rd of May, 2008.
Because we had to work late into the night, we were the last in the office building. By then, she was just like the girl of your fantasy you would not meet. We were in the elevator about to leave when there was a power outage; convenient. The last thing I rationally remembered was she holding my hands in fear of the dark and I held her close to soothe her fears. The things she did to me that night are things I can’t say in public because it would offend public morality. After that day nothing mattered anymore, we did it anywhere and everywhere. It didn’t matter as long as the opportunity presented itself. Sometimes I had to take official matters out of the state and I would make sure she went along so she could please me in ways I had never imagined possible. I couldn’t get enough of her! She called me sometimes in the middle of the night, asking me to come over to her house. It was dangerous and risky but it excited me like crazy. She called my phone when she knew my wife would be in earshot and told me dirty things she was doing to herself. It was like introduction to heroine and I just got hooked on it. She was all that mattered and I was ready to give up all for her sake. I changed my will and most of my personal things were put in her name I was not in love people, I was way past love. I worshipped the ground she walked on. Things were fine until she got pregnant and wanted to move into my matrimonial home with me. All these while, my wife and I had been cohabitating under the same roof with no intimate moments between us. I knew bringing in Susan into the house would  be asking for trouble and I tried talking her out of it but she would not listen. Then I thought and weighed it, sex and a good life with my wife, and even though the former was more tempting, I picked the latter and broke everything with Susan going back to my boring prude of a wife.

24th of December, 2008.
I was with my wife having dinner when the door bell rang. I got the door and without a thought, opened up. The next thing I knew, I was shoved into my house and there i was, staring into the empty eyes of a double-barreled gun. The holder was one tall brutish looking man; three other men strode in and last to come in was my worst nightmare and by jove, was she sexy! To cut the long story short my wife was raped brutally and killed in my presence. “You left me for your wife. Now that she is dead, would you marry me?”
“Father I have sinned. I married the woman who killed my wife.”

The court was stunned into silence.



This is a continuation of the popular supernatural thriller Incubus ( written by @edgothboy and myself @weird_oo. For those who have problems with lengthy pieces, please patience! You won’t regret it! Enjoy! 

*cue in thunder claps and lightning strikes*

Dark, damp, mildewed cuffs. He sniffs around, smells crickets copulating in the rafters. Clumps of matted dirty hair covers his face hiding a crooked nose broken during a football match and lips once the colour of blushing cheeks. The smell of brimstone fills the air and masks the stench from his own skin. And many days have passed, so many days. He knows because this pack of rats are the 22nd generation to descend from those three he first caught and bent to his will. They are scampering to him now, squeaking happily that their master is lucid enough to turn his attention to them. He pets each one gently, feeling their ribs and undersides, sorting through for the most robust one. When he finds one that satisfies him, he clutches it with blackened sharp nails and bites into it with yellowed teeth lined with rusty braces. The others flee, spurred by its death squeal, leaving their master to feast in blissful silence.


‘Ow! You’re squeezing the breath out of me.”

“Well, it’s a corset. That’s what it does.”

“Oh forget it, I’ll just wear my sundress.”

The blonde walks to her closet and sorts out a lavender chiffon dress from rack filled with floaty summer dresses, tank tops and jeans. The brunette sits on the bed in bum shorts and an oversized tee wrapping the laces around a midnight blue corset. The room is typical of any 17-year-old girl. Posters of band boys on the pink walls, a collection of dolls and stuffed animals lining shelves, two instruments cases lying against the wall, opened books on the study table.

“Why do you always have to dress so girly all the time, a little sex appeal wouldn’t kill you.” says the brunette to the blonde.

“Not everyone has purr-fect thighs and shoulders Leanne. Dresses work best for me.”

Leanne shrugs. “Whatev’s Jaime. More guys for me.”

Jaime slides the dress down her tiny frame and eases into flip-flops. “New mall or old mall?”

“New mall. That new arcade they opened there must be crawling with boys by now. This get up can’t go to waste.”

That draws a laugh out of the blonde and before long the brunette joins in. They file out of the bedroom in stitches and the blonde slams the door shut, the consequential gust of wind blowing out the single black candle on the bedside table, set in the middle of a pentagram shaped saucer carved with arcane symbols.


He feels another one coming, forcing its way up from the bowels of hell, looking for a way to manifest itself. The residual energies from all the others throb in him, like the discarded lizard tail thrashing in protest at being sacrificed. He silences them with a gesture. He clears his mind, blocks out every straying thought. A blank canvas for the onslaught. He senses the being notice him, see his potential as a vessel. It sends a tendril of consciousness at him, pokes for resistance. It is not unlike being sodomised with a hot poker. He sweats from the exertion it takes not to panic and resist. Not that it would help if he tried. The being is amused, a voluntary subject is something it’s never come across before. It greedily crams in as much of itself as it can, distorting the vessel’s body with the sheer power of its malevolence.

Eventually it opens eyes burning red and peers at the filth of its surroundings. It sees a few dozen black candles burnt down to wax puddles and a little menagerie of effigies; pentagrams and arcana etched on the walls and the floor in dried blood. It reads a few lines, they all say the same, summons to the host above and below. No wonder it felt drawn here. It sniffs around and senses warm bodies above it, moving around, oblivious to its presence. It senses burrowing creatures all around, scratching and sniffing and burying nuts in well used burrows. It awaits the presence of the person who summoned it. Someone that versed in the enochian tongue would be a more suitable vessel for its purposes. No one comes. No bother, this body will do for now. It tries to move and falters when the chains shackling its vessel snap taut. It tries to break them but they don’t so much as crack. Only then does it notices the blessings spelled onto the chains, the ends of which are buried in the concrete floor made with holy water and consecrated sand. They burn so painfully, and blind its sense of reason. It panics and tries to force more of itself into the vessel but He is saturated. It tries to withdraw itself back to its plane but the vessel revolts and holds it to his will, resists its exit. It keens and causes sores to manifest on the vessel, painful diseased sores that would kill a smaller man but the vessel holds on undeterred. It makes the vessel’s eyes bleed with pus, his tongue swell and his stomach churn but even doubled over and retching the vessel holds on; closing up his body imposing his will on it like a prison cell. It feels itself weakening,  falling under this single-minded, implacable will and it relinquishes control over the part of itself in the vessel and descends back to the pit diminished. He cleans the spittle from his lips and stands slowly. Already, the part of the pestilence demon subdued and captured has joined itself to his will and the sores close up one by one to reveal fresh white skin.  blemished only by the months of grime. He looks at the gibberish on the walls as he has done a million times before, only this time its different; this time he can comprehend the words…


They stroll around the mall, arms linked, giggling at ogling boys and fuming girlfriends. Jaime swings a bag of lingerie in her free hand and checks her lipstick in the display window of a shoe store. The arcade store isn’t opened and the girls are bored.

“Lets go home.” says Leanne. “I don’t want to max out my credit card again. And all these sales are so tempting.”

Jaime shrugs. She has unlimited credit on hers, daddy’s girl gets whatever she wants if the grades stay up. She scrolls down her shopping list and gasps.

“We forgot to get supplies from the warehouse.”

Leanne smacks her head. “Let’s hurry. Those people are like so irresponsible.”

The warehouse has plastic spiders and papier-mache skeletons as part of its decor. The teenage attendant is about to hang the closed sign when the girls burst in out of breath.

The attendant beams. He knows them well, some days they are the reason he even makes a single sale.

“Hey, Joey,” says Jaime in between gasps, holding out a matt black credit card. “Can we get 20 black candles, non scented, 10 pentagram saucers, a plastic Ouija board, and two fairy costumes, one black, one white in medium.”

“Oh, and a gallon of prepackaged holy water.” Leanne adds. “We’re throwing another goth rave.”

With a flourish, Joey presents their purchases already wrapped and bagged. Leanne collects the bag and flashes him a genuine smile. He practically skips to the storeroom to get the holy water. He’s always surprised by how many people come in wanting ‘authentic’ Halloween items.

Jaime takes the plastic bottle from him and plants a flirtatious kiss on him before snatching her card from between his fingers. Both girls giggle as they exit the cobwebbed door, leaving behind an awestruck Joey. ‘I’d do ANYTHING  for them,’ he thinks to himself; ‘if they’d only ask.’


He can See them floating down the stairs in their chiffon dresses, one white, the other black, their arms filled with tomes and candles. They flit into the room on tip-toe, ignoring the filth and squalor. He feels nothing anymore for them, he barely even remembers why they were friends in the first place. The voices in his head baying for blood make his skin crawl and his mouth water with anticipation. They argue in the corner about who’s gonna fuck him this time.

‘Last time I did I was sore for a week.’ says Leanne. ‘He’s changed. Things weren’t supposed to go this far.”

Jaime scoffs. “You know I’m on my period, and you’re ovulating. This is the summer solstice. The Wicca for dummies handbook says this is the best chance for a union between avatars of Pan and Gaea. He obviously has been visited by Pan again. Or you don’t want to have the next Johnny Depp anymore?”

Leanne purses her lips and pretends to consider it. At last she gives a little nod.

‘Come closer’ he thinks feverishly, ‘Come closer’


They anchor new candles on the stumps of the old, avoiding his delusional gaze until they are ready. That was the plan anyway. They jump in fright when he speaks. Jamie clutches Leanne.

“Did he just speak to us? He doesn’t do that?” she whispers.

He clears his throat “Umm, ladies? Yeah I can hear you.” They step back quickly, stopping well away from his reach.

With difficulty, he shows them his empty hands.

“Please. Stay. I didn’t mean to frighten beautiful damsels such as yourselves. Please. Let’s talk.”

They stare at each other, curiosity playing on their pretty faces. They clear a space, keeping their distance from him and without ceremony, sit down. Silence ensues,  measured by the erratic squeaks of his fellow inhabitants. The soft yellow glow of the black candles exaggerates their sizes, casting long shadows on the walls.

Leanne is the first to speak. “Uhm, Ok. How come…?” She waves her hand vaguely.

“I can speak? I’m being coherent?”

They nod, folding their arms tentatively.

“Well my pretties, I have no idea. All I can say is that a few minutes ago, I was able to suppress a demon from taking total control of my body. The price of victory it seems, is my sanity.”

Jaime mouths ‘Pan?’ to Leanne who responds with a defeatist shrug.

Jaime opens her mouth to ask a question but before she voices it out, he raises a grimy finger to his lips, a plea for silence.

“You’ve asked one. Let me ask mine. That way no one dominates this ‘conference’ Ok?”

Mutters of “Sure”, “Go on”.

“What exactly is my purpose here?” He eyes them closely. Jamie raises up her hand, like she’s in class.



“Yes, Jaime. Answer”

“Well..”She begins twirling her hands shyly. “You have the mark on you. You are chosen of Pan. And..we..we are the chalice of Gaea. We are Wiccans. And well…your seed, poured into our wombs would bring about the birth of ‘The Chosen’.

“The chosen?”

This time Leanne raises her finger up.

“Nah ah! You’ve asked a question. Now its ours turn.”

A sudden bark of laughter, yellow teeth glimmering with a coat of spittle.

“Sharp. Very sharp. Ok…”


“Leanne, pretty name. Ask on!”

Leanne exchanges a look with Jaime and leans forward. The now exposed bra doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You say you are possessed by a demon and you somehow made it your bitch, and you are now the true incarnate of Pan. This is my question, doesn’t it sound a little too Lord of the rings?”

He nods.

“First, you suggested Pan. I didn’t. I said a ‘demon’. Secondly, if I can recall my mythology, Pan is well-known for his sexual prowess. You ladies are welcome to check for yourselves, the state of my phallus.” His use of the word ‘phallus’ drives the girls into fits of giggles.

“My turn to ask.”

They nod in tandem.

“Surely, many other ‘Wiccans’ would have attempted this experiment. What makes you think yours will work?”

“Well…” Jaime again. “Pan is reborn every century. And there can only be one vessel of Pan. And for this century, you are IT. Your birthmark confirms it. So our ‘experiment’ must work!”

She smiles coquettishly and earns herself a rogue grin from him.

“Ok ladies, no more questions. I have a request to make of you.

He motions with his hand for them to draw closer. With a slight hesitation and exchanged looks, they draw nearer.

“Would it be possible for me to get a sponge bath?” He whispers slyly, watching their pale cheeks flush with lust.

They giggle behind their hands.

“Sure!” Leanne quips with a sleazy smile “We’ll wash you good.”

Jaime playfully punches her hand as they leave him laughing, as they mount the stairs.


He watches them leave, his face blank. Slowly he licks his lips with a dry tongue.

“Yes my beauties.” He mutters to himself, “a bath and then, a meal.”


“Should we get him a change of clothes?”

“Change of clothes?? Come on Jaime! That would be giving him the idea that he’s free to go. Remember we can’t free him until one of us…”

“Or both.”

“Yeah or both of us are pregnant. That way we know he can’t fertilize any other acolyte of Gaea.”

Jaime falls on the bed, gazing at the ceiling.

“He was so cute when we first brought him here. Can’t wait to see his real face underneath the grime. Oh and to fuck him!”

Leanne throws Jaime a stern glare from where she’s seated. “I thought you were on your period?”

Jaime reddens. “Lied. Sorry. Ovulating as well.”

Leanne shakes her head. “Liar.”

“Hey! You lie too! Remember that time you said you didn’t kiss that guy at the arcades, but you did!” She sticks out her tongue at her friend

“Whatev’s! Since we both ovulating, let’s have a threesome.” Leanne says wickedly.

Jaime’s eyes widen. She sits up.

“How would that work though?”

“We’d obviously mount him one after the other!”

Jaime giggles, then frowns. “What if he says no?”

Leanne smiles, deftly changes the topic.

“Let’s go draw up water and get him ready quick.”


His skin prickles with energy as they undress him, tattered shirt first. He closes his eyes, willing himself to resist the urge to drain them of their life’s essence right then.

‘In due time. First a bath, then a meal’

His eyes open when he hears them giggle. They have removed his filthy trousers, admiring his member, a sleeping lion resting in its bushes.

The one called Leanne whispers something into the other’s ear.

More giggles.

“Ladies, the solstice doesn’t last forever.”

“Sorry! We’ll begin immediately!”

He closes his eyes, relishing the feel of warm water and soap on his skin.

A little smile plays on his lips as he sighs in bliss.

“Feeling good?” Leanne croons, nibbling slightly on his now pink earlobe.

“Concentrate!” Jaime rebukes Leanne fiercely, pinching her.

“Ow! That hurt you know!”

“Good. Trim his beard while I wash underneath his thighs.”

“Should I stand? That would make everything easier”

And without waiting for a response, he gets up.

Together, they scrub; one in front, one at the back.


The demon is attracted by the scent of new, young bodies. He sits dormant, watching the proceeding through the eyes of his master, bidding his time in silence.


“All done!” They chorus in a sing-song voice.

Leanne pretends to relight candles, leaving Jaime to deal with disposing the dirty water.

As soon as she disappears up the stairs, Leanne saunters to him, grasping his heavy organ in a firm grip.

“Tool worthy of the Pan god himself.” she enthuses with a sensual slur, drawing closer until their lips almost touch.

Lightly, she flicks her tongue, licks his lips.

He watches her through hooded eyes saying nothing.

‘Bath…pleasure and then meal’

He smiles dangerously and he encircles her waist with manacled hands, drawing her into him.

“You play a convincing ingenuè but I can tell you’re no innocent.” He murmurs as he slowly kisses her neck.

The trance is broken when Jaime comes down.

Leanne steps out of his embrace, smiling.

“Jaime, let’s clear up this place a bit before we begin.” she says turning to her friend as she steps into view.



He stands, arms to side, watching their feeble attempt to put order into his makeshift home.

‘Easier to imbibe them into me in their throes of passion. No resistance. Bath. Pleasure. Meal’


They sit cross-legged, holding hands. In between them is a lone black candle on a hastily drawn pentagram. Hush falls as they begin their chanting. Even the rodents reverently cease their noisy foraging. Their uncluttered senses feel the sudden surge of cosmic energies. They sit in their hiding places, viewing the spectacle, fearful for their master.


He understands their words. He feels the change as the goddess of the Earth herself is summoned. He sees Her. Her glamour of invisibility does not cloud his eyes. He holds his breath in wonder. Gaea. Her hair, crowned with the most colourful of butterflies,is the green of lush grass, rested on a soft white face. Green eyes that glitters like the diamonds of the heavens and rosebud lips, plump and red. Supple breasts swinging as she encircles her children with her long limbs. Flowers sprout from within her thighs, covering her sex. His lust is stoked, a scorching sensation in his loins.

She disappears and the two girls stand, slowly undress each other. Hand in hand they approach him, encircle his body in their embrace.

“Today, you give to Mother, a seed.” Leanne whispers as she slowly she takes hold of his throbbing phallus. She kneels and with her mouth, pays homage to the god that is Pan.


The demon is quickened by the lust magic, watching as his host mounts one acolyte while suckling on the other, extracting her female juices with his fingers.

Not yet time.


With each thrust, he feels their heightened energies hum with life, begging to be taken. He increases his soul presence, engulfing them with his lust and in satisfaction, reveling in their frenzied cries of pleasure.

They both reach climax and with a smile, he absorbs their energies without restraint.


The demon strikes.

His host forgets that by absorbing them, he himself, for that brief moment, is completely vulnerable. Without hesitation, the demon forces his whole being into the man, crushing any will to resist. In total control, the demon wraps his sinewy hands around Jaime’s neck and squeezes powerfully, watching in perverted delight as she dies, still shuddering at the height of her orgasm. He grins in pleasure. The demon forces itself out of the man through his ejaculation, into the acolyte, Leanne. The trauma of its exit is too much for the  weakened husk of its former vessel and he exhales his last tortured breath…


Leanne screams in blind terror as pain burns through her nerves. She gasps and falls to the floor, writhing as visions flit through her mind. Visions of the creation and banishment of the demon, acts of heart-rending evil at its behest, the demon’s true form…

Suddenly, the writhing ebbs. It opens her eyes, red as blood in the candle light and takes in the scene littered with dead bodies, sputtering candles and phallic effigies.

It tests her voice, clearing her throat until it reaches an almost human timbre.

“Leanne. My name is Leanne”

It smiles.

“No. My name is Asmodeus. The right hand of Luciferus himself. But you can call me Leanne.”

She picks herself off the floor, pulling on her dress as she packs up the scattered candles. She painstakingly forces Jaime into her clothes, before laying her down. She removes the key earring she’s wearing and frees the dead man from his captivity. Flaps of skin come away with the manacles. She skips up the stairs, and a second later, comes down with a knife, handle wrapped in cloth. With savage glee, she stabs her friend over and over, laughing. She places the knife in the dead boy’s hand, forces his stiffened fingers around the hilt. With the cloth dipped in the pool of blood, she smudges the arcane symbols and writings on the walls and floor.

By the time she’s done, the room is akin to the aftermath of a grotesque massacre.

She nods and with a wave of her hand, extinguishes the candles.

She exits the bunker and a second later, screams, drawing the attention of the adults in the house.


Gaea is patient.

She will bring about the destruction of Asmodeus herself.

She awaits for her champion to be born for unknown to Asmodeus, Her vessel was the boy not his new marionette, Leanne.

To Her, 9 months is a but a blink.

She’ll wait.


Leanne feels the little cells swimming furiously inside her. A few degrees hotter and her cervix will dry up and they’ll perish but it doesn’t want her to kill them. It fashions a pretty little ovum out of its essence and the lust magic that still pulses in Leanne’s blood and sends it on its way.

A human scion…  It smiles inwardly, rubbing her flat abdomen. A cambion to anchor me to this plane….


The End…for now…

(The concluding part of what just turned into a trilogy would be up ‘soon’! Once again, thank you @edgothboy!)

(P.S: Thanks for reading even with the length! Appreciate. Do leave comments!)

(P.P.S: Incase you had no idea, i’m involved in the Decades II series on Afrosays. Please check it out and leave your feedbacks! Other wonderful pieces there too!)

(P.P.P.S: @edgothboy runs a blog as well with two other fantastic writers, @NateOblivion and @TheDharkOne. Once again, please check them out!)

You can stop reading now 😀

Swan Song

They partied till the break of dawn
Around each other they fawn
Knowing this was their last sun
Let them be, let them have fun

He would not last the Night
Having given up the fight
This has caused him all his might
And robbed his future of its sight

He was such a lovely dancer
Before he was ravaged by cancer
Now he dances with wobbly toes
Like a newly born fawn of a blind doe

But together they the cancer dare
To stop them from having this last dance
Her body clothed his body bare
The needles in his body like some cruel lance

On her shoulder did he breathe his last
The candle burning, dying fast
He is gone to the world beyond, very vast
Sailing like a ship, without a mast.

But everyone who saw his last dance would testify
That truly he left them mystified
About how with his graceful steps he beautified
A night, where only death was dignified.

*Swan song came out as a result of the fear of dying without a last major performance on the world stage. The swan is a graceful bird which sings just once in its lifetime, and this occurs at the time of its death and that is the most beautiful song you would ever hear. We all wish to have a major performance we all can’t be lead acts but let’s make our cameo worth it.*


I really should be paying @edgothboy for giving me leave to use his stories…yeah right! 😛 ENJOY!


I like the sunshine. It makes the leaves greener and the streaming water warm as it rushes over my feet and tickles my toes. It seemed like spring would never end and all that rain just made the roads muddy and me ma wouldn’t let me come out and play. But its finally summer. No school, no annoying pigtails cuz I burnt off my hair with the lighter again. Ma was so mad, I thought she was gonna cut it off but instead she braided them into pigtails and made me wear them to school everyday. But that’s over now.

I love everything here, the little pebbles from the brook that feels like a robin’s egg when I put them under my tongue, the Elm tree with the swing I made all by myself from an old tyre and me pa’s sailor rope, the pretty carpet of grass that stays green even in winter. *sigh*. It’s so beautiful here. I just wish ma would believe me when I tell her we could live here forever. She goes “Pah, Nessa. I’ve never been the kinda lass to run away from her problems and I wont be starting now. Now off with ya!” and shoos me off. Mommas never know what’s good for ’em.

Nobody’s but me’s been here in a long time, at least that’s what they tell me and I think they aren’t lying. I’m not supposed to talk about them but I told Seamus and they didn’t seem to mind. I wish he’d stop being a chicken and come see it, just for a little while. But he still hasn’t yet. The day I asked him, He said his mam won’t let him, that she doesn’t think the dark woods is a good place for children to play, and then he said he said his ma doesn’t think my meadow is real. I sure told him off. Just cause older people say stuff isnt real doesn’t make it so, look at Guy Fawkes. They think he isn’t real, yet every year we celebrate him. Pah!

Papa’s coming here soon though. He’s asked ma where I’m always running off to, says a twelve year old girl should have her head in her books and not in the ‘clouds’. But ma’s never told him cos she knows he’d freak out. Maybe even curse me out like he does to ma whenever she forgets to iron his shirts or make him pudding pie at 2am, even though he knows she works 16 hours cos he won’t get a second job. I want him to come, look for me, find me. Maybe I’ll be sure he cares if he does.

OUCH! He bit me again, harder this time. It’s not how you think, he didn’t mean to. Barbie fed the last time and Pa was home all day yesterday so Ken didn’t have anything. Poor thing, he’s so hungry. Their names aren’t really Ken or Barbie, they are way older than that. They just let me call them that cos they’re so tiny and perfect. He’s feeding from my right thigh, Barbie fed from the left last time and it still aches but I don’t their teeth leave perfect little hickeys. Once, the slaggy seniors saw one on my neck after gym class a while back and called me slut for getting ‘head’, whatever that means.

Pa’s here, I’d recognise the way he walks from anywhere. All the other pixies are scattered in the trees and in the lake waiting for Pa. They want to show him how to be a better man to ma and a better pa to me. I thought Ken would never agree to help me, show Pa the beauty of this place and how it can change you. I’m so happy, Pa’ll change and we’ll all be happy, and it all be perfect again…


Tn’ashleiyak flits on his tiny wings and kisses the emancipated child on the lips and the glamour washes over her once more. She limps to the dry husk of the long barren Elm tree and slumps behind it, the force of her fall opening a number of the little scabs of freshly healed bites. He summons Arenilahe and the other pixies, and they gather like a malevolent cloud. A concerned father with a cocked handgun marches their way, preternatural instinct and concern guiding him through the darkness in the direction of his dying child.

“No more shall we ration ourselves to the meagre portions our loyal acolyte offers, Tonight we feast!” Tn’ashleiyak screams in Elvish and bares little scalpel teeth, glittering white and sharp enough to split hairs and spreads little fingers tipped with talons. The others follow suit and together they swarm.

In the darkness infernal shrieking can be heard, interjected with the sound of gunshots. The neighbours sit in their living rooms, the din of their televisions unable to suppress the evidence of the horror that lurks in the shadows of postcards of their picturesque Irish hamlet. He’s an idiot, they say to themselves, she’d been in the woods for almost two weeks, as good as dead. They cross themselves and pray what they hear isn’t what they think it is. All at once the keening stops and one final muffled shot rings out. Silence…

Just as they are all about to heave in relief, a lone voice, saying one word, reverbrates through the silence and their flimsy walls and pierces their cowardly hearts.


The Black Maiden

Black Maiden
She danced the Bata*
Like it was all that mattered
Her words rang with laughter
A dance only she could master

The drummers’ hands slick with sweat
brows jammed, bodies wet
drums bounced like confused pets
therein, their destinies met

Back to back they swung their hips
The summer song strained on their parched lips
Too much rhythm, wrappers slip
Like nylon on a toy ship.

All through that joyful uproar
The blood bubbling in his loins roar
Her sight made him soar
Lust ate at him, like a hungry boar

Have her he must
For his mind was confused by lust
All he could think of was his thrust
Into her comely bust.

Suddenly, he grabbed her from the rear
As she bathed, flaunting her ware
Savagely he had her in his lair
And took her in a way not fair

Now shunned by all
Like goods left to decay at the stall
She tries to stand but still she falls
Arrested by pain she wishes death calls

Now she hears the drums beat
Her shame fills her with heat
She curses the prince who did the feat
And left her naked at shame’s cheerless feet.

*This is a kind of dance peculiar to the Yorubas in the western part of Nigeria, West Africa. It is usually a story between lovers, all put into a dance. Many who have seen the salsa claims it is the offspring of Bata so also the Cuban dance.*

Jane Doe: Quatre

He was still alive. Bloody; bleeding but still alive, lying  prone on a cold floor. She sat on a chair he had vacated, watching blood flow away in trickles. She prodded his wounds with her boot- clad foot, laughing softly as he yelled in agony. “Don’t you look more handsome this way?” she bent over, whispering into his ear. He slowly wriggled about, trying to get away from her. “Little wormy Jerry.” she sat back, allowing him to move, watching the blood patterns he made on the concrete ground. “Little wormy Jerry, trying to run away.” He whimpered, every movement, a sharp stab of physical anguish. Tears mixed with drool and blood flowed unchecked down his face. With ease, she dragged the rope binding his hands and feet, to her presence roughly, enjoying his scream as every part of his skin grated on the uneven floor.

“You can’t say you didn’t deserve this Jerry. Truly, you can’t. What you and your other goons did was despicable. And just so you know, you are the last one alive” His eyes widened at the revelation, terror turning his blood to ice, causing him to tremble. “Mer..mer..mercy..” She threw back her head, tears streaming down her face in mirth.Mercy? Did you say mercy? Fuck you sweetheart.” She landed a kick at his groin, where his penis was evidently missing, in its place, a cauterized mass of flesh. He passed out from the pain, the umpteenth time. She got out a vial from the pocket of the blood-stained raincoat she had on. She opened it passing it over his nose until his face grimaced, bringing him back to consciousness. “…die” he whispered with laboured breaths. “Please.”

She ignored him. “A vulnerable teen in an asylum depending on a doctor to make her better; to make her whole. Even her druggie of a mother told her Doctors were the most reliable people. She believed she’d be better. She was making progress with Dr. Farzhan, until she was transferred to the care of the newbies in the medical profession. Five doctors recently graduated, doing their housemanship with the mentally ill. They take an unhealthy shine to this pretty, schizophrenic girl. She enjoyed their presence; the attention they gave her. John always found a way to make her laugh, bringing her out of her schizophrenic depression. He protected her from Jerry’s snide jabs at her strawberry birthmark on her forehead. They were alright, until lust came in, fuelled by Jerry, who commented on how well-formed her body was becoming. A touch here. Squeeze there. They became scary.” She paused, lighting a cigarette quickly, inhaling with a sigh.

“They became scary. They weren’t satisfied with just tweaking her nipples. Only John was decent enough to feel ashamed. Sad, little twisted men. She was crazy. Who would believe her if she claimed upstanding men from Oxford and Cambridge molested her? Men with clout. Men with class. She, a nobody. She knew the futility, and bore it. They had the advantage and they used it without shame. Little worms in their fancy Saville Row suits and hand-made leather shoes. Rumours flew around the ward about one of them, caught in the act touching a patient inappropriately. The Board of Directors hushed it, sending them to finish at a Teaching Hospital to placate the other staff. They left a broken schizophrenic girl, bitter at the injustice.Bitterness easily turns to the need for vengeance doesn’t it? Do you remember Jerry? Your eyes say you remember. I was that girl. To you guys I was another Jane Doe; another piece of flesh.”

She noted his lips move soundlessly and went closer. “Have something to say, Jerry?” He coughed up a little blood and whispered. “Kill me..please.” She huffed. “Kill you? Ha! In my own time, worm! But before that, I asked a question. Have something to say?” He was silent. She dipped her fingers into the gaping wound on this stomach, watching him shudder in agony. “Do. You. Have. Something. To. Say?” “”

She shook her head, dissatisfied, digging her hands deeper, smiling at the misery on his face. “So..rry. I…am..sorry..” She slipped her out of the crevices of his stomach, holding his face close to hers. with her bloodied gloved fingers. “Was that so hard small man? Was it? Apology accepted!” she said in a cheerful voice and landed a blow on his jaws, standing up. She picked up a pistol lying on the table, fitting the silencer expertly unto into tip. “Remember the name of the girl that would send you to hell Jerry. My name is Joan. Saw hello to the rest in the Abyss.” From that distance, she aimed for his head and a second later, Jeremiah Oakley spotted a third eye on his forehead.


His body was placed in her usual spot, in the alley. Her face mask was on, the identity with which the world knew her by. The schizophrenic girl  with her vivid strawberry mark died in a fire, and a new woman rose out of the ashes, like a phoenix. This time she did not run for help. She made a quick call on her mobile and a few minutes later, the police cruiser was there. A man came out of the car and walked up to her. “Wow another one?” She shook her head in distaste. “Yeah Rob! This is crazy” she replied.

“I’ve given the ambulance a call. Take me car and pop into the station and alert the Chief please?” the police man asked

“Sure” she took his keys, walking towards his car, the blue and red lights illuminating her police uniform with the name ‘Phoenix’ on a name tag. She got into the car and sped away.


Jane Doe: Trois

Dr Jerry Oakley paused and turned at the sound of the woman calling his name. He tried to place her face unsuccessfully. “How may I help you?” She came closer and his eyes widened a little at how beautiful she was. Long blonde hair, pulled back in a pony tail, sexy grey eyes, and what’s more, very large breasts. Just his type. He put on his best smile. “Hi! I was hoping you’d be able to drop me off just near Kender Street. My car broke down and I really cannot wait for the AA” She said in a soft sweet voice. ‘You betcha honey!’ he smile at his lascivious thought. “That wouldn’t be a problem my dear. How did you know my name by the way? You do not look like I’ve seen you before at my Practice.” He definitely would have noticed her with those amazing racks!’

She had to distract him. She slyly dropped her keys to the ground, bending over to pick them, giving him a full view of her twin peaks. She knew he was staring. The lecher. She straightened up, adjusting her low-cut top even lower, watching his eyes follow their descent unabashed. “So Dr., about the ride…”. He snapped back into the present smiling at her, question forgotten. “Sure! Sure! This way” Suddenly the gentleman, he ushered her into his car, almost bowing, then he ran to his side, and started the car, rushing off with the image of two big mammaries rubbing deliciously on his face.

She pretended to be interested as he gloated about his earnings and connections with the rich and famous, ‘ohing’ and ‘ahhing’ with perfect timing. ‘Just watch how I’d end you, asshole!’she thought merrily, images of his blood gushing getting sexually excited. Her erect nipples poked their heads through her bra, the two tiny men, excited to be excited. She looked at him through lowered eyes and saw him staring perfunctorily, visibly aching to touch. ‘The fool probably thinks he’s turned me on!’ she scoffed, cackling in her head.
Touching his thigh slightly, she rested her left breast near his arm, pointing vaguely to a building she claimed was her former apartment.

He lost control of the car. He was barely concentrating on the road, his thoughts going to what he was going to do with her at her home. The feel of her knobs on his arm, temporarily caused him to blank out, blood rushing to his groin. He quickly gained control, apologising profusely. “Its nothing” she murmured, sitting back. He silently prayed his hard on wasn’t visible through his cotton trousers. ‘Melissa! oh baybay! You’re gonna scream for me!

“Here. We’ve got a car park luckily so I don’t have to park across the street” she said and he slowed the car to a stop. She smiled shyly up at him as she thanked him profusely for the ride. “You’re a Godsend Sir!” she gushed and he smiled graciously.
“Please come in! Even just for a cuppa.”

They walked to her apartment and as she opened the door he stood behind her, appreciating her beautifully shaped behind. ‘Now or never’ With the pretext of helping with the door, he pushed his groin slightly into her. He was sure she felt his erect member. He tensed, waiting for an outraged outburst. None. He did a crazy jig in his head, as she welcomed him into her home. He didn’t wonder why she called it her lair.

‘Modest place. Probably lives alone’. He settled in on the sofa as she bustled to the kitchen.
She whistled a little tune as she made tea, opening one of the many kitchen drawers to find her ‘little tin’. She spilled the contents on the counter, and out pored different coloured pills. Some she knew the effects, others she didn’t.
“Which one would it be?” she whispered to herself. She picked a purple coloured, odd-shaped pill and slipped the rest back into their hiding place. She dropped it into his tea and watched it dissolve, her trademark grin, playing across her lips. “I’d be with you in a minute” she shouted to him. She had no idea what the drug did but she couldn’t wait to find out.

He took the proffered tea merely out of courtesy, and through a long-winded conversation about her job, finished his. He relaxed on her sofa and slowly sidled near her. He saw no objection in her demeanour and slyly stretched his arm around her shoulders. “You’re very beautiful” he whispered, watching her blush prettily. She didn’t resist him as he planted a small kiss to her earlobe. His hands quickly went to his object of affection, squeezing and pulling.

Just as he was about to lower his head to lap at her, his stomach revolted so painfully, he doubled over in pain. He felt hot and cold at he same time. Excruciating pain everywhere, concentrated mostly around his groin. He felt his penis pulsating strongly despite the pain, too strongly. He reached over to ask for her help, when he recoiled at the look on her face. Maniacal glee, glittering soulless eyes. Those sexy grey orbs suddenly weren’t sexy anymore. The hint of madness he noticed when she lowered her eyes in the car had become full-blown. With reptilian grace, she sat astride him, kissing and biting his lips, drawing blood. She roughly hit his hand off his stomach and laughed as he groaned in pain, panting, unable to stop her. She yanked his zipper down, grabbing hold of his hot member, squeezing and pulling . “How does it feel to be squeezed and pulled mm? How!”

He grimaced in pain, face turning red as tears trickled from his eyes. “Plea..please”. She grinned at him, sliding down his body. “Please? Didn’t you want me? Mm? Changed your mind too soon?” He gasped in pain as he felt her mouth on him, biting. ‘Like getting head from a crocodile’ he thought, his sardonic side ever-present. He weakly tried to push her off, dragging at her hair. It slid off her skull easily, revealing her short-cropped black hair.
He stared at the wig in his hand in horror.
Leaving his member hanging, she got up and with expert hands, pulled off the padding on her breasts. His eyes were ready to pop out of his head. ‘Bloody racks weren’t real?’ He willed his sardonic self to shut up. “Wh..who ar..are you?”
Smiling without a word, she held the sides of her face, pulling. To his increased horror, her skin came apart; a face mask. A face stared back at him. A face he knew. “You!” With a well-placed punch, she floored him.
He lost consciousness


He woke up to his hands and feet bound to a chair in a badly lit room, naked. He closed his eyes, willing his fogginess to disappear. Suddenly, the memories of what had transpired flooded into his memory, jolting him to wakefulness. Footsteps. She stood behind the light, obscuring her face. “Long time no see Jerry Oakley” the newly unveiled character said loudly in a voice pitched differently
“We can sort this out please. Don’t do this.” he whispered, voice squeaking tremulously.
“Can we? Can we really”
She walked out and wheeled in a gurney-like table to the light, in his line of sight, a teaser of what was coming.
Fear held his stomach in its strong grip as he saw the tools on the table.
He whimpered, losing control of his bowels.

She laughed harshly, voice made louder by the acoustics in the room.

“Now you see me…”

She picked up a tool, a hammer, from the table and swung it furiously at him, knocking him to the floor.

“…Now you don’t”

(All will be revealed in the next post!)

Jane Doe: Deux

She walked into her dark home, leaving the lights off. Meandering around furniture with a practised ease, she went into a room and with a flick, light came on. The bulb faltered for a moment, reminding her that it was nearing its life’s end. It managed to reveal her room, its effort at chivalry. A sparsely furnished bedroom with a simple oak drawer, beside the bed. No fancy table with books piled to show her interests. No framed pictures lovingly placed on the drawer, to show a heart-throb or a family. A room devoid of life. Neat as it was, she had an odd choice of a wallpaper. Plastered on the walls were newspaper clippings, dated recently about homicide cases. She went to a section on the wall and ripped out pasted on news, making a space ready. “Tomorrow’s front pages would fit in here I hope” she whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips. On the far end of the wall, directly above the bed post, were pictures of five men in what seemed to be graduation gowns. Poor quality pictures printed off the internet from a website listed in blurry letters at the bottom. She dropped her bag on the bed. Pushing her hand into her shirt, a ripping sound was heard as she revealed carefully moulded pads. She flattened the suddenly big shirt over her real frame, sighing in relief. Fishing a red magic marker from the drawer, she went back to bed and gazed unthinkingly at the five pictures. Three of them had been crossed out with a red marker.

Placing her lips softly on the fourth photo, she kissed the image of the man softly. “Mark. Dr Mark” she whispered to the photo as if addressing a lover. With great care she drew two diagonal lines on the paper bearing his image. She sniffed at the smell of alcohol that wafted from the marker as she admired her work fondly. Her gaze went to the first paper-images of the bunch. “John” she whispered seductively. “The joker of the group”. With a little sigh, she moved to the next images. “Clive, the smart ass.”  “Tony, the quiet demon.” “Mark. Oh Mark, my latest addition. Hope you remembered me?” She cackled loudly to herself. The bedroom light illuminated her face as she threw back her head and laughed at the private joke in her head. Dark, long lashes fanned her almost colourless gray eyes, deep-set in pale skin glowing sickly yellow. Her a pert nose sat prettily above slightly fleshy red lips exposing yellowed teeth which testified to her fondness for cigarettes. She fell on the bed, driven to fits of giggles that bordered on the maniacal, curling herself on the plain white sheets till she modelled a foetus. Coughing fits. Her body shook as she got off the bed, rushing out of the room. She came in with a half full glass of clear liquid to her lips, walking over to the spot where the fifth unmarked picture sat. “Jerry, the mastermind. Jerry the prick. Jerry the asshole. Jerry the FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Her chest heaved. She drained the glass and placed it on the drawer. ‘Calm as the sea, baby. Calm as the Dead Sea. ‘ Suddenly, thoughts gathered into he mind, each striking her with the force of a slap from a body builder. She sat down on the bed, cradling her head. Would there be more? What next after Jerry? She couldn’t deceive herself. She did enjoy killing. The smell of fear mingled in their sweat. The look of terror blazing in their eyes. Was it just the sweet taste of revenge she was relishing? Was there more to the orgasms she had at night, masturbating to the thoughts of that dark, dripping liquid called blood? Then again, killing another after Jerry would make her a murderer! She wasn’t a murderer. An avenger, yes. Did she want to be a murderer? She rocked back and forth on the bed. If she killed more, she would become a serial killer…wouldn’t she? The most notorious since Jack the Ripper perhaps?  She rocked faster, the thoughts driving her into a frenzied ball of excitement.

She paused. “No. I am a good person. I pay my taxes. I obey the laws. I am not a murderer. Avenger, yes. Criminal, no!” She sighed, spent. Her rocking stopped. Above her bowed head, the light bulb flickered. Its dying breath, a bright flash of light, a bow to ‘Her Majesty’ before it died, plunging the room into darkness. Seconds late, the springs of the bed groaned in pleasure, welcome the weight of its owner, glad it could finally get the warmth it rightly deserved.

…to be continued…

Jane Doe: Un

The slapping of her shoes on concrete pavement heralded her entrance into Kender street from a by-alley. Panting and running in the darkness barely lit by the street lamps that oozed a dull yellow glow. Sweat running down her face and disappearing into her collar, forming an invisible rivulet only she could feel. Her hands clutching her big bag in a death grip as she tried to out run her yet unseen pursuer. After several hundreds of yards, she slowed to a walk. She craned her neck several times, trying to peer into the gloom, as if gauging the distance between herself and her assailant. She stopped under one of the street lights and ran a quick expert eye on her attire. Her opened neck shirt was smudged with dark splotches on several corners. Nothing she could do about that. Her black skinny jeans didn’t show off any irregularities. Good. It was a hard job running with a bulky frame like hers. Her breathing slowed to a regular pace and as the adrenaline burst dissipated, she began to shiver in the cold summer night.

She needed help. She had to tell someone. Someone needed to know. Quickly with her fingers, she smoothed her dark hair cropped to her skull, pulling out twigs from her hair. She patted down her shirt and took a deep breath. She was ready. She began walking briskly and soon she found her target. A lone man jogging towards her direction, humming a tune to himself. “Excuse me! Please! Please! I need your help” He slowed down and approached her slowly, sizing her up with caution. “Yes?” She approached him and assessed his looks despite the bad lighting. His dark hair was cut closely to his skull, almost lost in the shadows. She couldn’t tell what colour his eyes were, but they possessed a certain hardness the gloom couldn’t hide; hardness that frightened and excited her at the same time. His slightly bushy brows gathered almost together at the centre, his face clearly expressing his irritation at her disturbance. Not bad; not bad at all. He had to be the one. She was desperate.“Please you need to help me. brother collapsed and i need…i need help lifting him into our apartment. Please” Her voice quivered. He looked confused.“Call the ambulance lady. That’s the best bet. I’m sorry” Tears of frustration clouded her vision ans she ground her teeth in a bid to stop herself from wailing.“Please. The ambulance would take forever. You are here and he’s just down the block. I just need to take him in and give him a cold bath. It was just binge drinking. He might choke on his puke if I delay! Oh my God…” She sobbed freely, unable to hold it in any more. Out of the corner of her eyes, as she fished inside her bag for a tissue for her nose, she saw him look at her uncomfortably. ‘Please agree!’ she thought fervently. “Ok! Ok! Lets go get him but please stop crying. Beautiful women shouldn’t cry” he said softly smiling at her in a way that would have freaked her out had she been in a better disposition. She smiled tremulously.“Thank you so much! Thanks!” she hurriedly took his hand and led him into the alley she just ran out from.

Suddenly he screamed “What the fuck!!”                                                                                                                  

“You bastard!! Oh my God! What have you done!! Oh my fucking Jesus!! Police! Call the police!!!” There was a scuffle and they came out of the alley she dragging him back with unnatural strength, holding on for dear life. “Leave me the fuck alone bitch!!!” She had no plans of letting go. Where were the fucking cops when you needed them! She knew there was a station close by. ‘No delays! come on!’ As if by answered prayers, she heard the wailing of the police siren and as soon as she sighted the car,she let him go and walked away quickly to a safe distance, where she could watch unobserved.

He ran.

The incoming police car sighted his escape with the blazing headlamps. Out of reflex, they gave chase and had him cornered at a blocked alley. She watched as he was questioned about the racket and through his hand signals, she knew he was describing her, pointing vaguely at the alley where his pursuit started from. They found the dead body brutally mutilated and immediately arrested him as a suspect, turning deaf ears to his plea of innocence. As he was hauled into the car, she walked away before back up came.

Under the street light, her big maniacal smile . She walked to the nearest bin disposal and brought out a white plastic bag dripping black liquid. She dumped it in as she chuckled to herself. “Well, well ,well. Just got away with another one didn’t I?” She whistled a jaunty tune as she walked away, swallowed into the darkness.

…just who was she?…to be continued

%d bloggers like this: