We have come to the end of a trilogy (with no name) that started out as a single story, Incubus (http://wp.me/s1GrJ1-incubus) by @edgothboy. The second part, Possession(http://wp.me/p1GrJ1-63) 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? 😀