Tag Archive: murder


Requiem


I

The receptionist tries a little chitchat with the stranger.
“So how long you gonna be town for, Mr. L?” she asks, smiling shyly at him.
“Just for the night, my pretty lady” he answers, smiling. “A show…of some sort.”
She blushes, fluttering her curled, auburn lashes. “Oh great!” she enthuses. “You part of the new performing act in town? We hardly have any shows here!”
He smiles warmly, cupping her cheek suddenly, planting a soft kiss on a lovely cheek.
“Oh you’d see tonight. And I hope you my pretty lady, would participate!”
She simpers, muffling her giggle with dainty hands, her eyes watching his lithe form leave to his room with interest.

II

Her doorbell rings insistently, waking her up from fitful sleep. Cursing, she opens bleary eyes and stares at the digital clock, glowing green.
3.30am.
“What the…”
She groans, flopping back on the bed. Her eyes slowly close when the doorbell rings again, longer this time, as if whoever is at the door is leaning on the  buzzer.
She jumps up, kicking at her duvet angrily.
It has to be her sister. The good for nothing wastrel who does nothing but party every night since she came to stay at hers. She has probably forgotten her key.
She grumbles all the way downstairs, switching on the light and with sleepy-eyed fury, draws the bolt off and yanks the door open.
“You better have a fucki…”
She stops.
There is no one at the door.
Her eyebrows scrunched in confusion, eyes still glazed with sleep.
“For fuck’s sake!”
She slams the door shut and cursing under her breath, she walks back up the stairs.
The bulb suddenly flickers, and as if snuffed, goes off, plunging her into darkness.
“Oh come on!” she groans, adding expletives for good measures when she blindly stubs a toe. Gingerly, she traces her way up the dark stairs, holding onto the handrails as guide.
When her feet get to the top, she suddenly feels cold hands grip her ankles.
Incomprehension shocks her to silence for seconds.
At the first pull, she regains her voice.
And screams.
She screams as she is dragged her down the stairs.
She screams as she falls, her head hitting every step like a bouncing ball before unconsciousness takes her out.
The light flickers on seconds later.
A trail of blood is smeared down the stairs.

III 

He stands bleary-eyed, holding on to his flaccid penis as he releases his waters of mankind as he tends to call it.
‘More beer than water’ he muses to himself.
Friday night, time to get wasted.
Inebriated by the alcohol, he is barely moved by the stink of the urinal.
As he is about to give himself a firm shake before zipping up, the light of the stall goes off and he curses, words slurred.
Suddenly, he feels cold, clammy hands prise his hand away from him member and grab his balls.
He squeaks in fright, the pain at being violated momentarily rendering him sober.
A scream of terror tears itself out of his throat as the strong, unyielding hand drag him, as if trying to force his body into the small toilet, slamming his head repeatedly on porcelain till they lose their virgin whiteness, crimson red with blood.
His body slides down to the urine stained floor.
The lights come back on.
A man walks in and opens a stall.
“WHAT THE FUCK!”

IV

She squats unceremoniously on the toilet seat and lets out a string of piss.
Her headphone blasts music into her ears and she bobs her head, feet tapping tot he beat.
Suddenly, she feels something cold and long slither into her vagina, forcing its way in.
Her eyes widen as she tries to stand.
She is pulled back to the seat.
She screams as she continues to sink further into the toilet bowl, eyes shiny with tears and unbelief.
She screams in pain when she feels her inside being dragged out.
As if pushed away by an invisible force, she falls, kneeling, her head smacking the tile floor.
Drops of blood streak down the toilet bowl, on the floor.
The light illuminates the drops of blood drops making crisscross skid marks down her pale thighs, her womb still pulsing warmly between her legs.
Her headphones continue blasting their music, unaware.

V

Jeremy is shoved out of bed and dragged into the kitchen.
A meat cleaver is forcefully thrust his hands.
He screams, hoping to wake someone up as invisible hand drag him up the stairs.
He realises what is about to happen seconds too late.
He plunges the cleaver repeatedly into his big brother’s chest and throat.
His prepubescent voice, hoarse, continues to scream, unable to stop.

VI

You would next.
You would scream.
But nobody would hear you.
NOBODY would hear you.
This is your Requiem.

 

VII

Mr. L’s lips are stretched at the edges into a smile, naked on his bed in his motel room, his thick , long member, black as night and visibly throbbing, contrasting with the pale hue that is the rest of his body. He fiddles with the chain on his neck, eyes closed as his body trembles slightly.

“Scream my little ones” he murmurs throatily, licking his dry lips. “Scream!”
He groans, cocking his head to the side, as if listening to the finest aria from an orchestra, a deep hum rumbling in his chest, building.
His hair crackles with electricity, standing at their ends.
The bed shakes as his body increases its vibrating intensity.
“Scream!” he murmurs louder, almost orgasmic.
He throws his head back and bares his teeth at the ceiling, hands squeezing his chain tight, body frozen.
As the music in his head builds up to a crescendo, he ejaculates.
His semen, black like stale blood runs down his thighs and he sighs, the look of serenity creeping into his face, opening dark eyes tinged red.
He belches, sulphurous smoke escaping from his nostrils.
“Wonderful!”
He laughs, teeth gleaming. “Wonderful! It’s been a wonderful show, Ladies and Gentlemen!”

 

VIII

An old truck coughs up smoke as it struggles to fire up its engine early in the morning.
After a few tries, the truck roars dully to life.
Whistling, a stranger pulls out of the parking lot of a motel, whistling under his breath.
He waves out of the car to no one in particular as he gets on the road.
“Where shall we perform next, Ladies and Gentlemen?” he murmurs.

IX

He turns to you and smiles knowingly.
He winks.

 

X

You would next.
You would scream.
But nobody would hear you.
NOBODY would hear you.
This is your Requiem.

 

——————————————————————————-

When I wrote this at first, I had no idea who the man was but when I finished, I realised it could be no other than Mr. L.
Always wanted bring in a character from an old story into a different one.
Ah, if you have no idea who Mr L is, phantompages.wordpress.com/2012/06/01/ldiablo/‎ 

Ah yes, before I leave.
Phantompages is going to be 2 on Sunday! Yaay!
Umm… no idea about what I’d do YET but hey, keep your eyes peeled.
Oh and subscribe if you haven’t.

What else?
Have a lovely weekend!
Jana!

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The Mortician


I sat in my inner office, biting on the sorry end of a pencil as I stared intently at a document. Figures swam in my eyes and I sighed. We were barely managing to stay afloat from the state of the account books. I dropped the pencil and removed my glasses, rubbing my eyes laboriously.
I really shouldn’t have given Patty a day off. Patty, my able assistant and Saviour on days like this when my brain refused to cooperate with me.
I sighed again, closing the file and keeping it for later when I heard a chime at the outside entrance signifying that someone had entered into my small establishment. I stood quickly, tucking my shirt in and straightening my tie, I walked out of my office to receive a customer.

A tall but somewhat diminished man stood, unsure of himself looking at the empty front desk where Patty should have been. He didn’t notice my silent entrance. I cleared my throat to get his attention and when he turned, I took in his appearance. His clothes hung off him loosely as if it unsure whether to mould to his skin or not; decrepit clothes of dull greys and browns. He sported a buzz-cut, dark hair greying at corners, his face rugged and bearded. His hands fascinated me; huge, callused things that spoke volumes about his menial type of job. His dark eyes were flinty, piercing mine when i looked at them. I dropped my eyes quickly. From my examination, he wasn’t a rich man.
I sighed inwardly. How was I going to get ahead if I could only net these sort of people?
I put on a bright smile and presented my hand to be shaken. he stared at it and ignored it.
I swallowed my slight irritation.
“Hello and welcome to Dante’s Mortuary ” I said affecting good cheer. His eyes roved the front office as I spoke to him.
“Is this a mortician’s place?” he asked in a dry voice that sounded like gravel pieces grated themselves somewhere in his larynx. I smiled at the question.
I got it a lot because of the bright and tasteful décor of the office. People always expect something dark and grey when they hear the word ‘Mortician’ and so being thrust into a vibrant office always threw them off.
“Yes it is and I am the man in charge” I added helpfully.
I felt his eyes go over me and I bore his examination with good grace. A few seconds passed and he didn’t say anything.
“So…” I started “You need my services?”
He nodded. “Are you good?”
I smiled unsure of how to answer. “Yes Sir. I can assure you I am excellent at my job. I would want to show you my past works but I’m sure they’re rotting in the grave right now”
I flashed him a brilliant smile which he answered with an impassive look. My smile died. Poor taste in joke?
“Well…I am good” I finished limply, suddenly unsure of how to continue the conversation.
“She was a beautiful woman.” he whispered, eyes far away. His eyes focused back on me. “I want to make sure she looks good. Good for viewing”
I nodded sagely. “Of course Sir.”
“Money is no object” he added and I reappraised him, curiously. Well! I grinned.
“Of course Sir. We give our clients expert services which they can testify to. Or not.”
“She was very beautiful” he whispered, eyes faraway again.

We stood there in silence, him arms by his sides distant; me, arms folded primly behind me, twisting my toes in my shoes with growing impatience.
Suddenly his attention returned. “She was a looker. She must look that way. Make sure of that.” he said sharply as if rebuking me and I snapped to attention.
“Of course Sir! May I inquire her name and when she died?” I asked.
He stared at me for a second too long, making me suddenly uncomfortable.
“Her name was…is Martha”
He smiled small. “I’ll fill out the necessary documents when I bring her.”
He turned to leave then stopped just at the door.
“As to when she died…” he paused, licking his lips. “It would be as soon as I get home” he whispered.
Without a backwards glance, left my office.
It took me several seconds for the import of his words to reach me. I gasped, swallowing hard. My mind was in turmoil.
“Maybe I heard wrongly” I whispered remembering he had said money was no object.
I needed funds. Badly.
I swallowed and walked back into my inner office.
“Maybe I heard wrongly”

He was right, she was a beautiful woman.
I stared at her lovely face slightly marred by death, fingers stroking her full dark hair. Her eyes were closed, thankfully.
Sometimes they were brought in with their eyes open. The emptiness usually made me shudder. It didn’t help that I enjoyed working on them late at night when there was quiet.
“What a pity” I whispered. “What a beautiful loss…”
“Maybe you heard wrongly?” a voice asked.
I jumped, startled.
I was alone. I laughed softly running my fingers through my hair. Fatigue.
“Or maybe you heard me wrongly?”
I jumped again, eyes glancing widely. “Who..what?”
My eyes fell on her face and watched in horror as her stiff lips stretched into a smile.
“Ah… Now you hear me… But you heard him wrongly…right?” the feminine voice drawled into my ear.
My legs shook and I stumbled, voiding my bowel on my trousers.
“Let’s make sure you really heard wrongly… Let’s make sure…”
A tug; sharp blooming pain.
I screamed.

***********************************************

Patty walked into the office the next morning and dropped her bags on her desk.
“Harry! Morning!” she called out.
She got no answer.
She frowned and walked into his office. She had noticed the lights on. Odd in itself, it meant he was in.
His office was empty.
“Ah. He’s working then”
She walked to the door opposite his office and knocked. “Hey Harry! I’m in!”
Silence greeted her.
Frowning she opened the door and walked in.
The smell hit her before the sight did.
Her eyes widened and she gagged, choking on a scream.
Harry was splayed on the floor, scalpel clutched in one bloodied hand, his ears clutched in the other.
On a slab, the unsmiling face of a beautifully dead woman.

Alice


Captaining today’s ship would be Dionysus.
Good luck.
You’d need it.

ALICE

Do you ever feel like a part of you is missing? A second part that seems to hold more power, more control, more grace, more drive?
It’s like you are the passive part and this other part is the Active one…
Alice felt this way all her life. Scientific folks would have called it a trauma caused by her mother’s death in a car accident when her car was smashed by a speeding truck. The driver was not drunk or inebriated in any way.
Spiritual folks would call it an affliction, like some wrong doing must have led to this.
Nihilistic folks would rationalise it as one of those random inexplicable acts just like the daily lives of humanity.
Alice lost her dark essence at a very young age. Molested by her father, she always knew she felt pain but she couldn’t understand why. Slowly, she developed a subconscious belief that life is pain; I deserve to be hurt especially by loved ones.
She felt like if she did something to assert her presence to reality, she would be an interference to the superior humans in front of her. She repressed her dark side until she completely lost it, a slave to the nice girl role.
Alice was always the polite one and the more polite she was, the more the seniors hated her, the more her classmates made fun of her, the more she withdrew into herself
Always consumed by her tragic past, she became distracted from reality most of the time, never able to pay attention to the mundane things her fellow humans talked about. She started to grow a certain disdain for them so as to keep them away from her, lost in dreaming of her past pain.
The feeling that there was no one she could confide me in consumed her. She started to listen to the voices inside of her head and she became addicted to the sotto voco of her inner voice. The voices kept telling her the same things till she became prisoner to them. Like a junkie, she was addicted to hearing them speak and she wanted more.
Alice started to unravel taboos in her mind; she decided she needed something more stimulating to arouse her.
The darkness slowly spewed into her soul.
She finally accepted that she could never leave her painful past behind because her past was what defined who she was. She also accepted that anyone who obstructed her thoughts was her mortal enemy. She subconsciously put them in the ‘Sheep’ category in her mind, never willing or able to pay attention to anything that comes out of their mouth.
Alice used to be picked on in school until she wore her oddity on her sleeve. She used to be the kid everyone made fun of and now she was the kid everyone feared. She knew she’d never be ‘one of the guys’ no matter how hard she tried and all it took was for her to stop trying. Alice always needed her ‘thought fix’ and she used it to deflect any other thoughts that didn’t come from her own head. She felt as if the shallow minds around her harmed her own thoughts.
The darkness had risen and she had more understanding of things as they really were. She mentally played back her childhood days and how her father fondled and used her. She made the thoughts darker in her mind and she saw her small self sucking her father’s penis after which he came semen and blood on her face. She also played in her mind, him fucking her young self doggy style, ripping her hymen apart and sliding in and out with his huge cock and blood dripping from her vagina. She had learned this trick. She always exaggerated everything that happened in her mind. She had stopped running away from painful memories and started trying to see how much pain the memory could actually inflict on her.
Alice also played back the memory of her dead mother. She imagined the truck ramming into her car with tiny shards of glass piercing into her flesh after which the truck climbed on top of the car and crushed her to death. She also imagined the sympathizers to be big black men and they pulled her out the car, ripped her bloody clothes off and gang-raped her lifeless corpse.
Alice mind was consumed by one single thought and that was paying back her father. She had planned so many scenarios in her mind and one day, she finally took action. As her father came home, she stood behind the door and slammed the back of his head with a baseball bat. He was knocked unconscious.
When he woke up, he was bound in a room with no clothes on. He also saw his teenage daughter standing in front of him. She had a little pubic hair and her mammary glands were not very developed
“You like what you see daddy”
A rope with thorns was tied to his penis and if he were aroused, it would pierce into his dick and cause him to bleed.
Alice started rubbing her breasts, smiling coyly and unable to help himself, her father started getting hard. He screamed as the thorns pierced through the shaft of his penis. Alice licked her two fingers and stuck it into herself, moaning like a pornographic actress sehad studied weeks ago.
Aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrgghhhhhhh!!!
He was erect and bleeding profusely. She knelt before him and began sucking the blood that dripped. He got harder as she kept sucking it, lips slathered with blood and saliva.
“You like that daddy”
Alice then turned her back and took her father into her, the thorns still wrapped around his member. They both screamed in agony and pleasure as the thorns gripped her father’s penis tighter and ripped apart the insides of her vagina.
When she was done, she put them out of their misery.
By the time neighbours came around, they saw Alice and her dad lying dead in a pool of congealed blood.
The life is gone, another one begins to be ended in due time…
The cycle continues…
————————————————
I warned you. LOL
Hope you have a great weekend!
See you on Monday!

Firebug


Hey people!
I’ve got the uber-talented Joshua here!
Yay!
Read, enjoy and comment! Peace!

FIREBUG

Fire falls like a fold of floundering ferrets from her face and burns the world.
Because just yesterday she watched the sun poise and coil like a venomous snake.

Her mother lay there like an old carpet; that every time you stepped on,the dust rose to your face and stung your eyes but not with enough force to make your eyes water,only to register its presence at the back of your mind.
She watched her eight year old son whose eyes were wide enough to consume every smiling face and every walking story in a heartbeat. Those eyes were sunken now; he was confused.
The way that she was about Fermat’s last theorem. Why are X,Y,Z and n negative integers and so what if n wants to be greater than two?
But this was not a number theory that needed to be understood.
She wished it was,but it wasn’t.
She could see that he was grappling with the situation,trying to sketch it into a mental sheet of paper so that it would make sense. But every time he tried, the pencil snapped in two and fell like a love that was too afraid to fly.
A lot of things seemed too afraid to fly that day: the birds in their nests, the kites at the park, looking morose as they gave in cowardly to the bark of the wind. Her prayers too seemed unwilling to soar and many times she would sit back and scream at the ceiling like it was some contraption she had invented.
She embraced his tiny body and felt the blood running through it and like a pivoted bar falling into its notch, the grip was fastened.
Nothing was going to break it; not today, maybe tomorrow, but not today.
Because hugs were not hugs unless the skin of the hugged agreed to compress against the hugger; unless its soul welcomed the other in that brief eternity.
The air sandwiched between them must be in coincidence.
Only after these acts of correspondence are observed to the letter can the bodies truly latch onto one another and nothing can distort that moment, not a forest fire not a stray bullet.

He withdrew his face from her bosom and looked her in the eyes.
She saw the tears well in them and then subside.
She saw that he understood.
The message had been clear: I am home.
Because no matter what ends of the world a lie travelled, the lie would always belong to the liar.
She needed him to know that no matter how many fountains he drank from, she would always be the source that replenished him.
She would always be warmth and a good book.
The smell of coffee and the casual shoulder brush with a stranger.
The ensuing apology and the understanding smile.
She would be all the intimacy he needed even after steamy nights at a friends party and at the back of an old truck.
She would be all the breathtaking views his eyes longed to see even if he sailed all the glassy seas and danced on every Himalaya.
She would also be the constant headaches and the pain in his back.

The memory that she had stabbed his grandmother twenty-two times and watched the life leave her eyes while the kettle screamed in the kitchen like a lost child.
Like a lost note missed by an overconfident finger and demanding retribution.
Because notes don’t like to be missed; everyone knows that.
She would be the nudge in his head every time he was upset,the nudge to act quickly and attack the upsetter.
The nudge to protect himself with worries that he would always find in the pocket of his jeans.She would be cold nights and unrequited love.
Because home was not just where the heart was but the realization that the heart was not and could not be some place else and that it might as well sit its ass there.
Because home was not a promise of sweet dreams and laughter.
Home was a promise that when darkness engulfed the mind’s deepest recesses there would be a perceptible nod somewhere in the corner.
A nod of approval, a nod that would mean the pain had only begun, a nod that would forbear many tragedies and hold the assurance that escape would come,narrowly and with the possibility of being missed.
But that it would come.
And that was enough.
”It’s time for you to go” she said.
He turned around slowly without a word and left the house.
She watched just like she had watched many times before a part of herself leave.
It wasn’t the leaving that hurt her, or the possibility that it would want to stay wherever it went,it was the fact that it would cope, survive, thrive without her auspices.

She picked the gallon on the table,opened it and spilled its contents around her and on the woman lying lifeless a few feet from her.
She bent and kissed her cold face.
She then took out the box of matches from her back pocket, deftly struck it, and tossed the hungry flame on the dead body.
She took the stool in the corner, sat and with the lack of interest evident on a student’s face when the teacher broaches a subject he already knows.
She watched it eat its way through the woman’s clothes like a carnivore with a proclivity to solicitude. The drapes caught fire and so did the ornamental table she bought on Christmas.
Smoke swam in the air now but it did not disturb her. She could hear voices across the street and the distant whir of a police vehicle.
She leant back and let the flames tickle her bare feet like sexual foreplay.
She closed her eyes as the smell of her own flesh wafted upwards and reminded her of a family barbecue her mother had forced her to attend many years back.
One of the many family gatherings that did not go well.
It was tradition at these gatherings for her to read a poem she had just written,she could not remember the title but the lines never left her.
With great effort,she parted her lips slightly and began to whisper the words as they came to her

Fire falls from my face like a fold of floundering ferrets and burns the world because just yesterday I watched the sun poise and coil like a venomous snake…

———————————————————————–

Sigh…
:’)
On to other things, please go to the Nigerian Blog Awards website and vote us for Best Writing blog! If you voted last Monday- Wednesday, the votes were not counted so please vote again.
Thanks!
I’ll pay for your BIS. Really. 😀
*snorts*

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!)

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