Gillian's Marsh

by Faun, Michael

  She gasps and crawls backward as the white snake appears from the puddle of blood and hisses. It stares at her with its opaque eyes, its forked green tongue slithering in and out in an erotically suggestive manner.

  Louella Lee's fright is replaced with lust. She touches her sex and notices that the blood has dried and created a crusted film. The pain has subsided and left is only a tickling sensation around her genitalia. Smiling, she tilts her head and smooths out her ruffled hair, slowly moving her other hand to the reptile curiously observing her.

  It flinches when her delicate fingers stroke its pyramid head. The touch of it makes her wet. She closes her eyes and the snake coils its tongue around hers, and they fall into a fervent kiss.

  She opens her eyes and finds herself standing before a cloying marsh, sprawling under a purple sky with a black moon and enveloping vegetation drenched in sickly phosphorescent green. The white snake is wound around a tall orange mushroom with a blue stalk. She reaches for it and the snake hisses and uncoils itself, slithering out into the swamp.

  She picks up the mushroom. It smells sweet and alluring. She cannot resist wrapping her lips around the orange head and biting it off.

  Multicolored waves begin to swirl inside her head. An organic tide that follows the trance-like rhythmic beat that pounds inside her body. Slipping from the bonds of reality, she floats along the path of the pale serpent and dances naked under the onyx moon.

  She moves to the sound of croaking frogs and chirping insects, dreamily wading out into the sludgy marsh.

  Something enters her.

  A wide grin of pleasure spreads over her face as she feels the sexual visitor squirm and shoot its seeds into her, filling her belly.

  The hallucinatory jaunt diminishes. She is lying on the edge of the marsh, her arms and legs spread out, forming a five-pointed star. Neon-purple veins are webbing over her belly that begins to swell and throb. She gives a push and something wriggles out of her...

  Three pale baby snakes.

  MALEFICIUM PER CON LUSTRUM

  April 1867

  “Yer womb is dead, dammit!” Red barked and slammed his fist on the table. “I's tired of spillin' my seeds for nothin'!”

  “I'm sorry, I...,” Louella Lee whimpered, burying her tear swollen face in her palms. “I don't know what's wrong with me.”

  “I just want a li'l boy! Is that too much to ask for!?” He leaned back in the kitchen chair and drank from his mason jar, moonshine dribbling down his beard. “I's providin' for ye, Louella Lee, and what do I git in return? Huh?”

  “Please, Red, let us try again...” Louella Lee wiped tears off her cheeks, desperately grasping his hand. “Please!”

  Red clenched his jaws and kept his dark stare on a streak of morning sun playing on the table.

  “Maybe we haven't tried hard enough?” she added.

  Red's face turned the color of beet and he whirled up from his chair. “I know what the damn problem is,” he croaked, jabbing his middle finger into her forehead. “You's destroyed 'cause of what ye did with yer father!”

  His words stabbed her right in the heart. Bolting up from the table, she pushed his hand away and ran straight through the small kitchen and out of the cabin, heading straight into the black woods.

  Louella Lee had been roving aimlessly through the wild forest, clueless of her bearings, yet she ended up by the Blood Oak, where the horrors had culminated last year.

  The jarring memories returned in flashes and were so powerful she needed to sit down on a rock and ruminate about them for some time. On that strange fall night the maroon-colored tree had had an almost sinister aura about it, but as she faced it now, with the drowsy spring sunlight draping it in a scarlet garb, she couldn't but marvel at its beauty.

  If only life could be as simple as nature, she thought, picking up a lady bug from a fallen leaf.

  Ever since she moved into Red's cabin, her life had changed from one of abuse and tyranny, to one where she was cherished and treated like a woman in her own right; free to speak her mind and to enjoy the pleasures of love.

  The problem, however, was that their love thus far had proved fruitless. It seemed more likely that a willow would bear grapes than that she would bear child, and she feared that Red would grow tired of her and send her away, leaving her to fend for herself.

  God knew she would rather eat poison than go back to dreary Gillianswick and its puritan ways.

  “I'm cursed,” she sniffled. “It's all father's fault... a shame Red didn't kill the wretched swine.”

  Little did she know her father's bones were buried under the very stone she was sitting on.

  * * *

  It was afternoon when Red opened his bloodshot eyes. Head wavering, he staggered up from the kitchen floor and knocked over the empty jug beside him.

  “Louella Lee?” he called out in the silent cabin.

  Drunken fragments surfaced as the seconds crept forth. He was dragging his heavy feet around the messy kitchen floor, stumbling over smashed plates and shattered mugs swimming in spilled moonshine, and cringed at the raw signs of violence.

  “Ah shit,” he muttered, scratching his head. Panic struck his nerves to the point where his thoughts became one giant blotch of fright.

  What the hell happened?

  Hurrying into their bedroom, his heart rate elevated as he pictured finding Louella Lee beaten half to death in the bed.

  He sighed with relief seeing the bed empty, made even, without a trace of blood.

  So where the hell was she?

  A second wave of fright came over him. She had obviously left the cabin and the black woods could be a deadly place for a frail lady like her.

  “Goddammit,” he grumbled as he put on his boots and grabbed the shotgun in the hall, scampering out in search for his lost woman.

  * * *

  Louella Lee sat pondering on the rock when a gust of wind swept through the glade and rustled the leaves above. One of the Blood Oak's morels burst and a gut-churning stench spread in the glade, spurring her will to leave immediately.

  Trekking farther into the unknown woodlands, she soon reached the edge where the forest fell into a marsh: sprawling mire smelling of rotten egg, with swaying reeds and a constant symphony of croaking toads. She went about the sludgy banks with caution, stepping only where the mud had hardened into dry patches.

  A strange sense of familiarity suddenly washed over her, as though she had been there before.

  Then it hit her.

  She gasped when she saw, hidden between a patch of weeds, an orange scepter-shaped mushroom with a deep-blue stalk. Her dream instantly re-appeared in her head, and she blushed from the titillating feeling of forbidden sensuality associated with it.

  “How curious,” she mumbled to herself as she kneeled by the stately mushroom. She looked around; making sure nobody was watching her, picked it up and studied it. A bizarre impulse seized her common sense and she bit off the peaked orange head in one decisive snap.

  It tasted foul and bitter. She doubled over retching, deeply regretting her foolish decision, when its effect already stood with one foot in the door to her mind.

  Swirling purple pentagrams began to form in the sky. Drenched in sweat, Louella Lee desperately tried to regain control over her derailing senses. She spun around and vomited over the mud, in which a thousand glowing eyes were staring at her. The croaking of the frogs grew to one high-pitched voice speaking to her in an unfamiliar tongue.

  Swallowing, she tried to work up saliva in her burning throat, when her tongue, forked and green, shot out of her mouth and retracted just as fast.

  The marsh started to boil and sputter and she recoiled as hundreds of coiling snakes and buzzing flies ascended from the cooking mud, moving fast in her direction.

  Staggering back, she glanced down and watched her dress liquefy and dribble along her red-hot legs.

  The swarming flies formed into the shape of a maelstrom and the glow of the pentagrams intensified
. Tall purple flames shot miles up into the spinning stars.

  She fell light as a feather into the mud and a warm calming sensation surged through her as she accepted the surreality she had entered.

  A dazzling white serpent rose from the other snakes. Its eyes, endless black nebulae, stared into hers as it whispered to her in its ancient language, whose hissing syllables presented themselves as primordial symbols, saying she was expected and that it had come to awaken her slumbering fertility.

  Her name roared through the pulsating air and she turned in the direction of the abysmal voice, seeing a naked pale, sunken-faced man approach her. He had no mouth or nose, just a pair of big black marbles for eyes that leered at her.

  Her sex grew wet from the mere sight of the pale man's engorged penis—a white wriggling snake. She bowed in submission before him, wrapping her fingers around the slick snake-member. Winding her serpent tongue around it, her plump lips enveloped his erection fully and she sucked with ferocious appetite. The thick serpentine member squirmed in her mouth, creeping deeper down her throat and entering her belly where it sank its fangs into her eggs.

  Venom spread in her womb. She collapsed in the mud and watched the black sun pentagram spill its dark seeds over her, rapidly filling her empty void of a womb until a jet of black cream belched out of her mouth, trickling down her chin like Satanic froth.

  Red's body convulsed as he shot his semen into Louella Lee's mouth. His grip around her muddy hair loosened and she looked up at him with a mischievous smile, her eyes black and wide, semen drooling from her mouth.

  Baffled, he whistled and pulled his dick back into his pants just as her eyes rolled back in her head and her body toppled over sideways, landing with a wet smack in the slough.

  “Louella Lee...?” He squatted by her side and roused her, slapping her cheek. She mumbled something incoherently in response but didn't open her eyes. He reckoned she had simply reached her limit of fatigue.

  Shaking his head, he lifted her limp body, collected her dress and his shotgun from the hard mud, and carried her back home.

  * * *

  Come May, Louella Lee woke early one morning with a smile etched on her rosy face. Beside her lay Red, fast asleep and snoring as usual. She traced a finger over his scraggly jaw when a dull pain nudged her abdomen.

  Sparked from the fleeting sensation, she gently caressed her belly and realized that life was finally growing inside her.

  PRINCIPLE OF CYRUS REITERMAN

  Gillianswick, January 30, 1868

  “I understand you must be going through a difficult time, Mrs. Wishum, but I implore you to try and remember anything unusual or suspicious about your husband and daughter's behaviors prior to September 1, 1866. Anything that might shed some light on why they would so mysteriously vanish?” said Cyrus Reiterman, sergeant constable of Gillianswick. He was sitting across the gaunt, yet still graceful, Eleanor Wishum in the candle-lit sitting room of the Wishum residence, skimming through his notebook from her earlier testimonies regarding the disappearance of clergyman Josiah Wishum and their daughter Louella Lee. A mystery that was on the verge of flooring Reiterman's sanity as well as his career. The pressure from the townsfolk did little to aid his troubled sleep. They wanted answers and a new preacher too, for that matter.

  Reiterman had neither.

  “No...,” Mrs. Wishum mumbled and stared at her lap, shaking her head. “Nothing.”

  Reiterman glanced at the thin-framed assistant constable beside him. “Please, bring Mrs. Wishum some water.”

  “Yes, sir.” said the assistant with a nod and left the room.

  Sighing, Reiterman rubbed his forehead and put his notes back into his pocket. He leaned closer to Mrs. Wishum and quietly said, “Please, Mrs. Wishum, my patience is wearing thin. Now, we both know you didn't give me the whole truth when you first reported them missing. I have witnesses claiming to have heard strange noises and screams coming from your cellar around the time of their supposed disappearance. Also, Doctor Gray, whom I know you're familiar with, mentioned that your daughter appeared ill on Christ's Mass in '65, and that he hadn't seen her since. None of these things were mentioned in your previous testimonies. Why is that, Mrs. Wishum?”

  Still avoiding eye-contact, Mrs. Wishum started to sob. “Please, sergeant constable, haven't I suffered enough?”

  “We all want this to be over,” Reiterman said and took her trembling hands. “God will forgive you. Just tell me what happened.”

  Mrs. Wishum shot him a strange look and flew up from her chair in a transport of hysteria, just as the assistant constable re-entered the room with the glass of water. Her arm accidentally knocked the glass out of his hand and it shattered on the table, spilling water over Reiterman, who recoiled with a gasp.

  “God is the Devil!” Mrs. Wishum bellowed and threw herself on the floor. Panting for air, she started to rip apart the top of her black dress, revealing a pair of sagging breasts. “Josiah was a whore! The whore of Hades!” Crying, she began to tug at her white hair.

  Reiterman and his assistant pedaled backwards in absolute shock, witnessing the woman's deranged fit that in a few moments resulted in her curling up into fetal position.

  Pulling aside his startled assistant, Reiterman whispered, “Pushing her any further will be fruitless. The case has taken the expected turn.”

  “How shall we proceed, sir?”

  “We'll leave her for now.”

  LURE OF THE ROOTS

  An immense rumble disturbs the creek and sends a group of grazing deer fleeing into the woods in horror-stricken panic.

  Inside the giant boulder that rises from the murky water, Jokum trembles awake and drowsily opens his eyes. Two jagged green crystals layered with fuzzy mold and dry beetle husks sparks up and steeps the curved stone cavity in a dim glow.

  The roots are calling.

  Gradually thawing from his seasonal hibernation, Jokum snorts and wriggles his worm-nose. He sneezes and fat white maggots plop into the knee-high sludge in which he bathes. A parasitic lungfish that feeds off the troll's pale-yellow skin thrashes to life, catching them in his maw before slithering off in the mud.

  The roots tickle his toes, urging him to hurry up and drain her before another being will. She has always preferred Jokum to bite and suck her blood-filled teats.

  Jokum submerges fully into the sludge and dives under the boulder's tooth-like foundation. Ten yards from his decayed den he emerges from the black surface and climbs up on the frosty forest ground.

  Propelled by ravenous hunger, he grunts and lumbers through the black woods...

  PRINCIPLE OF CYRUS REITERMAN (PART II)

  Gillianswick, January 31, 1868

  “It's over, Edward,” Cyrus Reiterman said to the stately white-bearded man who answered the door—chief magistrate, Mr. Edward Burnham.

  “Dear God!” Aghast, Mr. Burnham stared at Reiterman for a few moments before urging him inside.

  Reiterman gladly stepped out of the snow flurry and into the 17th century brick manor located on the edge of town. He hung off his hat and overcoat and shortly, the two men were seated by the crackling hearth in the parlor, engrossed in a grave discussion.

  “Yes yes, Edward, I know. It's abhorrent and all to pieces grim. But there is not a doubt in my mind she did it.” Reiterman leaned back in the leather armchair, sucking his pipe. The shadows created by the fire gave him the appearance of an embittered horse, his high gum adding to the elongated look.

  “Eleanor Wishum, of all the women in Gillianswick... who would've thought?” Mr. Burnham shook his head in disbelief. “I—” he began but halted, stroking his furry chinstrap while shifting uncomfortably in his armchair. “Have you taken in consideration alcoholism or masturbation? I suggest we let Dr. Gray have his say in this matter before making such a serious indictment. I coul—”

  “Balderdash, Edward!” Reiterman cut him off and sprang to his feet. He grabbed the fire iron and irritably poked the dying embers in the hearth.
“I'm sorry, but if you had only seen her. She was... like all-possessed.” He turned and looked at Mr. Burnham, who was taken aback by the sergeant constable's choleric reaction. “My assistant saw it too. He's my witness and so is God. Please Edward, I beg you, don't let your personal feelings for Mrs. Wishum cloud your judgment. The people of Gillianswick are laughing behind my back and I must put an end to this travesty come Candlemas, or I might as well hang up my fiddle for good.”

  The embers sputtered and hissed to life again and Reiterman put back the iron before re-seating himself, twiddling his thumbs.

  “This is not an easy decision, Cyrus.” A heavy sigh escaped Mr. Burnham's lips. He uncorked a bottle of brandy sitting on the round table between them and poured two glasses, handing Reiterman one. “You know I've always considered you my most loyal friend. A shining example of how the constabulary should be handled...”

  “With all due respect, Edward, I didn't come here at this hour to have honey poured into my ears.”

  “Very well, then. I trust your judgment and I shall prepare the documents. Expect to have them delivered to you by the morrow.” With a tight-lipped smile, Mr. Burnham stood and raised his glass. “Don't make me regret this.”

  “Thank you, Edward. You are making the right decision.” Reiterman stood up as well, raising his glass. “It's God's will.”

  “To Gillianswick,” Mr. Burnham toasted with a sulky grin.

  “To God,” Reiterman chimed in on which they clinked their glasses together and drank.

  MARK OF THE PALE SERPENT

  Louella Lee caresses her pregnant belly, watching its reflection in the brackish water. Her face is scaly and her eyes reptilian red, shimmering with pride as they see through the skin stretching over her stomach. The Pale Serpent is dwelling in her womb, feeding off the inky placenta till it fattens so much it bursts and shatters to a million Hogweed spores that taints her bloodstream.