Tag Archive: imprisonment



Hey.
Today’s post is by someone who would rather remain anonymous.
Do enjoy!

———————————————————————–

RIVER

I read my uncle’s stories. Not Uncle Jonah, Uncle Joseph.
It gets confusing sometimes to differentiate
them in my head; all the twins I know look and think alike, even though mother says Jonah and
Joseph were as different as night and day. Mother has a folder of his stories and drawings, most of
them are from his twenties. All his teenage fiction is lost now, gone with the wind. There’s also his
diary from 2001, the one which mother took in 2002 and kept. I think I’ve read that from cover to
cover many times. Then he didn’t use so many big words and there was happier then. In one of the
pages he actually called mom and grandma hags.

Mother doesn’t talk about my Uncles Jo any more.
She doesn’t talk much, about anything. I’ve seen videos of her from younger when she wore really
small shorts and rode horses on the beach and seemed to constantly laugh at every little thing. She
isn’t that person any more. She misses them though, in her own way. The family portrait from when
they were younger doesn’t have any dust on it, unlike most things in this house.
I was tiny the last time I saw Uncle Jo, a baby really so I don’t really remember much about him.
But I know him.
I know he used to hate people shortening his name. There’s a day here, March 14, when
he got really angry because he introduced himself to a girl and she asked if she could call him Jo. He
was angry about it, his name was just two syllables, two phonetic sounds and she wanted to shorten
it to one.
People shortened his name a lot Joey, Joe, Jo, Jay; some even shortened his surname. He
felt shortening a name was robbing it of its power. Joseph meant beloved, everything else meant
nothing. He wrote that he felt guilty after, she really didn’t mean anything by that. And he’d taken
out his frustrations on her. Uncle Ed used to do that a lot, feel guilty because he stood up for himself.
I think he was a coward or too sensitive, most times a mixture of both.

I know uncle Jo felt under pressure, much like I feel. It’s a different kind of pressure from the one I
feel but at least the effect is the same. Pressure not to disappoint. Constant anxiety, its like this
physical thing, your heart in your mouth, sweaty armpits and hours trying not to rationalize the things
you’ve done, looking for mistakes in them.
Mine is from being the only child mother has. Her greatest legacy. Mother is a very hands-on person in her life. And she believes in results, that the work should be done in secret and the results presented like a magician’s show, so it appears effortless,
apparently plucked out of thin air. She is that way with her work. And she is that way with me.
At home I can be petulant and sad and needy and whiny, at home I’m allowed to have emotions. But
outside, in the company of strangers I’m only allowed one; serenity.
Smile to older strangers, walk slowly at the buffet table, even though I can people taking second and third helpings, eating my
plate covered with small clumps of remnant food scraped from the edges of the serving trolleys with
a demure happy smile.
The happy child.
Uncle Joe was the good middle child. Every other role was taken, stuck-up first born, sadist spoilt last born. Mom and his brother fought constantly for
grandma’s attention and in all the noise, his own rebellions seemed small, a welcome relief. So he
stopped trying and started writing and drawing; eventually he had to choose. He chose drawing and
dropped the diaries.

The pressure is pretty bad on most days but I think I have it better than he did.
I’m not being ignored by mother at least not as badly as he was.
I wish I could write like he did. But I’m already in my teens and the gift hasn’t been passed down.
Maybe his was like a disease that snuck into his body undetected because of all the activity that
puberty brought on, and when everything settled, his Immune system worked through and found it
and neutralized it. Or maybe he gave up one medium of expression for another.
His pictures are beautiful. They are of dark things, but beautiful none the less.

There’s this particular one, inspired by this song he loves. It’s a girl on a bridge, leaning forward and looking over, at a much smaller
reflection of herself, rippling in the dark still river. The girl in the water is not looking back at her, instead she is looking at her hands, which are cupped together holding a dandelion. She is smiling, happy and oblivious to black murky water that surrounds her. The girl on the bridge is leaning so far
out that its certain she’ll fall.
The girl in the water looked like mom and the girl on the bridge had Uncle Jo’s hair. When mother first saw it, she stood there, in the gallery full of white walls and stared at it as her tears fell.
I cried too.
I don’t know why.
Maybe because the girl in the water was already so happy she didn’t care about the girl on the bridge. Perhaps it was because I knew only a truly sad
person could create something like that. Something so ominous an yet so simple. Or maybe I just felt
jealous and somewhat protective of the girl in the water; she was happy, but her happiness was
dependent on the girl on the bridge, if the girl on the bridge walked away, she would just cease to
exist.
You are the girl on the bridge, leaning out too far, hoping to catch a glimpse of a part of you that is
truly happy and oblivious to everything around her. Drifting away slowly, cradling what remains of
your innocence in her palms.
You will fall.
Because
That’s the only way you become the girl in the water.
Uncle Jo fell.
And his paintings and stories took on a life of their own.
I’ve been leaning over, reluctantly, looking for her. But so far, all I have seen is myself.

————————————————————————————–

*Sigh* 🙂
Jana..

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Possession


This is a continuation of the popular supernatural thriller Incubus (http://wp.me/s1GrJ1-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”

“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”

“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.

“Ok!”

————————————

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. http://afrosays.wordpress.com/ 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. http://passthesaltband.wordpress.com/ Once again, please check them out!)

You can stop reading now 😀

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