by David Pinner
‘You know nothing about my childhood!’
‘I know that your mother left you when you needed her most, Paul. Not that the poor lady had much choice in the matter, of course.’
Paul shook his head emphatically; ‘Next you’ll be saying you can read my mind.’
‘I can’t read your mind, Paul. Although it would be better for all of us if I could. But I can see much in your eyes,’ she said, studying him with her aquamarine irises.
‘What can you see in my eyes?’
‘Inordinate pain. And the pain has been there since your mother died, when you were only a teenager.’
‘You can see all that…in my eyes?’ Paul murmured, disorientated by her probing gaze.
‘I can see many other disturbing things there as well.’
‘God in Heaven!’
‘And that, too, is debatable. But to this day, Paul, you can never forget the night when you were only seven-years-old, can you?’ she said, conjuring up the image of Paul as a child in his mind’s eye. ‘Yes, and now I can see that you do remember how terrified you were at midnight, when you thought the moon was coming through the window, to possess you. So much so, your mother had to stroke your hands and your face for over two hours until your inordinate, lunar-fear passed. Yes, and ever since your mother died, Paul – amongst all the other things that haunt you – deep down inside you, there has always been this vast, lonely abyss because you never forgave your mother for dying, when she was still so young. And that is the reason you must now confront your fears before they destroy you – because your fears may also destroy many others, too,’ Lulu ured as she extended her open palms towards him. ‘So now sit down again, and give me your hands. And I will begin your exorcism.’
‘It’s not my hands that need stroking,’ he muttered as he subsided onto the chair.
‘There you go again, Paul,’ Lulu said, with a disapproving shake of the head. ‘You see, all you feel for me, and for all the other women whom you have been attracted to, is rapacious lust. So now you must learn how to love because love is the only certain way that you will ever find salvation.’
‘And you want me to “love” your idolatrous moon, don’t you?’ Paul barked derisively. ‘Because blasphemous moon-worship is your inviolable creed, isn’t it, Lulu? And yet, in the moon’s name, you have done the most terrible things.’
‘Oh, come now. As a writer of children’s fiction, surely you don’t believe everything you’ve read, do you?’
‘I certainly believe everything I’ve read about you, Lulu. That’s why I’m now delighted that you have invaded my sanctuary – voluntarily,’ he said, pushing his chair back, and standing abruptly to face her.
‘Well, it’s obvious that you are beyond saving, Mr Hopkins,’ she said sadly. ‘So now it is time that I went and dealt with the rest of this aberrant village before it’s too late...’
‘No! Now it’s my turn, Lulu!’ Paul raged as he ran across the basement.
Then he wrenched open the black curtain that was covering the door. Swiftly he turned the key in the lock, and he swished the curtain back over the door. As he was pocketing the key, Lulu hurried towards him, shaking her head furiously.
‘Now enough is enough, Paul!’ Lulu ordered. ‘So unlock the door before someone gets hurt.’
‘Absolutely not,’ Paul grimaced as he manoeuvered his body into attack-mode. ‘You see, now I am doing His Will.’
‘And “Do What Thou Wilt shall be the Whole of the Law”, right?’ she quipped.
‘No, that’s just the demonic dictum of that bogus warlock, Aleister Crowley. But it’s also what you believe, isn’t it, Lulu?’ he said, provocatively jangling the key against the small change in his pocket.
‘I certainly don’t believe – as Aleister Crowley did – that “The Prince of Darkness is a gentleman”. Any more than you are a “gentle”man.’
‘What about all the other “gentlemen” in your recent life?’
‘What about them?’
‘Well, besides myself, and the rest of the men in the village, whom you have kept in thrall to you, there was Jimmy Vaughn, who paid with his life for “knowing” you. While in poor Vince’s case, he died just because he wanted to “know” you.’
‘Then if you don’t want the same thing to happen to you, Paul, you had better give me the key, so that I can leave here,’ Lulu said, extending her hand.
‘No way! You’re down in my basement, Lulu, and here you’re going to stay,’ Paul bellowed, flexing his fingers as he advanced on her. ‘Now don’t try anything, Lulu. I’m much stronger than you are. And you know that.’
‘You should still watch out for yourself, Paul,’ she insisted, after glancing at her watch and checking the time again. ‘So open this door at once, before it’s too late. The Millennium is only an hour and a quarter away, and the Goddess is calling me to save this village from itself. And against the Goddess, you are just chaff in the wind.’
‘Oh, not the goggling Goddess again!’
‘The Goddess is always, and forever.’
‘C’mon, Lulu, you may fool everyone else, but you don’t fool me by continually banging on about the myth of the Triple-Moon-Goddess,’ Paul shouted, with his back pressed firmly against the door. ‘Oh, yes, I’m fully aware that many of the primitive tribes worshipped your Moon Goddess aeons ago. But that was before everyone realised the error of their ways. And then, rightly, they all started to worship the One True God, Jehovah, which is why…’
‘Again you’re so wrong,’ Lulu interrupted. ‘It was the Ancient Greeks, who tried to replace the matriarchal Triple-Moon-Goddess with their patriarchal gods, Zeus and Apollo. You see, the Greeks believed erroneously that they had destroyed the Goddess by reducing Her into the Nine Muses. But despite the panoply of male gods that the Greeks, Romans, Jews, Christians and Moslems have conjured up between them over the centuries, the Triple-Moon-Goddess still reigns supreme because She continues to create life on earth,’ Lulu proclaimed as she stroked her womb, with a fecund smile. ‘Well, as I’m sure even you must have noticed, Paul, only females can give birth because you certainly can’t, boyo. So it has always been Mother Nature. And never Father Nature.’
Still smiling grimly, Lulu brushed her fingers through the candlelit tresses of her hair, while she continued to admonish him; ‘And it’s why you have come to terms with the feminine side of your own nature, Paul, which, so far, you never have. And it’s because you hate the feminine part of yourself that you hate women in general. So now you need to learn how to love, and how to nurture.’
‘Hm! “Love and nurture”! Coming from you, Lulu, with your Gorgon record,’ Paul clarioned.
Then with a superior glint in his eyes, he whispered, ‘But then, of course, you haven’t always called yourself Lulu, have you?
‘Haven’t I?’
‘No.’
Abruptly Paul moved away from the door, and he crossed to the incongruous-looking bookshelf in his ‘chapel’. After he had lugged a large tome, with a bright yellow leather cover, from the bottom shelf, he pulled one of the many markers out of the volume that he had chosen. Then he jabbed his finger at his pre-selected page.
‘Mind, under the circumstances, I’m surprised that you don’t call yourself “Lulu the Filly”,’ he trumpeted sardonically. ‘Because whenever you carnally target one of your many male victims, you sashay your chassis like there’s no tomorrow.’
‘You should know, Paul,’ Lulu riposted, pointedly folding her arms over her breasts. ‘You are the one with the perpetually-twitching groin.’
‘And you’re the Succubus-Revenant. And once you have seduced your victim, then you devour him like a giant praying-fucking-mantis, don’t you?’ the writer raved, vigorously waving the tome at her. ‘But then, of course, according to the Early Semites,’ he said, conferring with the book again. ‘The name “Lulu” – like the name “Lili” – they both mean “lasciviousness”, don’t they?’
‘Is that translated from
the Yiddish or Arabic?’ Lulu enquired, mischievously raising her eyebrow. Despite herself, she was amused by the turn of events.
‘And, what’s more, you smug smartass,’ the writer proclaimed. ‘In the beginning of things, you also used to call yourself “Lilith”, didn’t you?’
‘Well, Lilith certainly did well for herself,’ Lulu agreed.
‘You mean because Lilith was created out of the earth, with Adam. And that was before Eve was created from Adam’s rib.’
‘Yes, Lilith was certainly the first free-thinking woman, Paul. And that’s why she refused to sleep under Adam. You see, Lilith refused to be subservient to Adam – unlike his second wife, Eve.’
‘Yes, and sleeping on top of a guy is your style, right, Lulutu. And “Lulutu” is yet another of your whorish names, isn’t it?’ Paul retorted censoriously.
‘Next you’ll be saying that I was also the screech-owl in Isaiah 34.14. But that, of course, was only in the King James Version,’ she said, having difficulty suppressing a smile.
‘If you weren’t the fucking screech-owl in Isaiah,’ Paul screeched, ‘Then how come you are so familiar with the exact-fucking-chapter and exact-fucking-verse in Isaiah?’
‘Probably because - at the time - I was a Mesopotamian, fornicating, storm-demon,’ Lulu replied, now finding it hard not to laugh out loud.
‘I’m glad you know all your history, Ardat Lulu.’
‘I was only half of “Ardat Lulu”.’
‘Which half?’
‘The “Lulu” half, of course,’ she responded.
‘No, Lulu, you were – and are – both frigging halves. See, according to this,’ he rasped, jabbing his finger at the relevant passage in his tome, ‘In Ancient Akkadian, “ardat” is derived from “ardatu”, which means “prostitute”!’
‘Iexactly. And that’s why I am the other half, Paul,’ Lulu riposted, with a demure smile. ‘You see, “ardat” also means “unmarried, beautiful maiden”. And that is how I intend to remain.’
‘OK, OK, let’s stick with “Lamashtu”, the Mesopotamian succubus. For Lamashtu is who you really are!’ Paul yelled, waving his judgemental forefinger at Lulu’s laughing mouth. ‘You see, Lamashtu means “seducer of men, and drinker of their blood, with the power of seven witches”.’
‘Only seven?’ Lulu jibed, now thoroughly enjoying herself. ‘Anyway, how can I possibly be Lamashtu? Especially as Lamashtu is renowned for so many other dubious characteristics. Well, for starters - unlike Lamashtu - I don’t have the head of a lioness,’ she said, refolding her arms under her breasts. ‘And I certainly haven’t noticed either of my breasts being suckled by a pig and a dog simultaneously. And there is no way that while I’m riding a proverbial donkey,’ she added, suggestively glancing between her legs. ‘That I have a scorpion scooting around my womb, with its head peeping out of my vulva.’
‘God in Heaven! If you’re just as innocent as you claim, then why are you so familiar with all this arcane shit about these filthy succubi?’
‘Oh I’m fully aware, Paul, that I’m not a Born-Again-Christian, and a twice-published children’s novelist – like you are. And I am only one of the lesser species; i.e., a woman. But despite these obvious, congenital drawbacks, strangely enough I did learn to read. So, latterly, I developed this penchant for studying what is erroneously called “mythology”,’ Lulu said, standing with her back to the altar.
‘OK, OK, let’s bypass all this myth crap, and we’ll cut to the chase,’ he hissed, thrusting his choleric face in front of hers. ‘God said, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live”!’
‘Bingo!’
‘What?’
‘Well, you have erroneously decided that I am some kind of witch, haven’t you, Paul? And that’s why you’ve locked me up in your prison, and it’s also why you are contemplating “sacrificing” me on your altar,’ she said, with weary sarcasm.
‘Only blood-lusting pagans sacrifice people on altars. Pagans like you, Lulu. See, I know how you and all your other blinkered, lunar-acolytes used to spend your endless nights. You were all on your knees, grovelling and doing homage to your idolatrous Triple-Moon-Goddess,’ Paul hissed, louring over her. ‘And it’s why your “King-for-a-day” had to die annually, isn’t it? See, you and your women sacrificed him, in order to propitiate your Moon Goddess, in the vain hope that the Goddess would bring you good harvests in the coming year.’
Paul thrust his face down until he was only an inch away from Lulu’s profile. Then she turned her head, and without blinking, she gazed back at him with disgust in her eyes, while he continued to berate her.
‘And it’s the reason, Lulu, that you and your coven of witches would lure some poor benighted man, who was your “King-for-a-day”, down to the sea. Then, with your malevolent spells, you and your hags would make your male victim climb high up into a Giant Wicker Man, which you and your witches had so lovingly constructed. And once your male victim was trussed-up inside the Giant Wicker Man’s body, at high tide, and under the full moon, you and all your women would set the poor bastard alight. Then gleefully you would watch and cheer your human sacrifice as he was burnt to death inside the Wicker Man until your “King-for-the-day” was just a smoking cinder.’
‘I have never watched anyone burn to death, Paul. At least not voluntarily,’ Lulu insisted. ‘You see, burning is not the way of the Goddess. Indeed, the Goddess commands us to love, and to create life, not to destroy it. No, Paul, you are the one, who nightly dreams of women being burnt alive.’
‘Well, burning is certainly the fate that you deserve, Lulu. Because you are the Wicca-Succubus, aren’t you? Oh I know very well that your “Wicca” is in no way related to the “wicker” tree, with its highly-combustible “Wicker Man”,’ Paul said with a superior sneer. ‘Your name is even spelt differently. Yours is spelt WICCA, because “Wicca” is the Neo-Pagan word for Witchcraft, right? And that is why “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live”,’ he raged, with his hands twitching close to her throat.
‘If you know what’s good for you,’ Lulu said, rising abruptly from her seat, and moving towards the door, ‘You will unlock that door, and let me out of here now.’
‘It’s too late for that, Wicca Woman. ‘Cause now you’re going to burn in Hell for all the evil that you have perpetrated throughout the ages.’
‘So how do you propose to send me down to your version of Hell?’ she said, turning back to confront him.
‘Like this!’
His right hand grabbed Lulu by her hair while he jammed her head against his chest with the crook of his left arm. Then he grappled the fingers of his right hand around her throat in a stranglehold. As Paul tightened his grip inexorably around her jugular, Lulu tried to fight her way free from her captor, but he was too strong for her.
‘No, no, this is a fait accompli, you Wicca-whore! So there’s no point in you struggling.’
Suddenly Lulu collapsed against him, gasping painfully.
‘So what’s next?’ she panted. ‘Are you going to rape me? And then are you going to sacrifice me on your altar, as your latest offering to Yahweh?’
‘That’s the very least you deserve, Lulu.’
‘There’s nothing like a Born-Again-Christian for speaking his mind,’ she murmured.
Clamping her head against his chest, and with his hand vicing her neck, he nuzzled his nose into her cascading hair.
‘God, you filthy little strumpet, why do you always smell so sweet?’
‘Which is more than can be said for you.’
‘I don’t have b.o.!’
‘Violence has its own stench.’
‘How can you make jokes when you’re about to meet your Maker?’ Paul demanded, voraciously squeezing her jugular.
‘For pity’s sake!’ she rasped as his fingers stabbed even deeper into her Adam’s apple. ‘I can’t breathe… I can’t…’
He exerted even more relentless pressure on her windpipe.
‘You don’t deserve to breath
e, you blood-sucking witch. See, dying is too–fucking-good for you.’
‘Then the Goddess be praised, at last…’ she mouthed, in an exhausted whisper. ‘It’s all…over.’
Relentlessly his fingers and thumbs continued to crush her deeply-bruised throat.
‘And now you will see the Almighty face to face in Purgatory, Lulu, where you will answer for all that you have done to every man you have ever met. Then the Lord of Hosts will hurl you headlong into Satan’s Pit.’
As his talon-like-fingers gouged even deeper into her jugular, Lulu emitted a final, agony-stricken gasp, and her limbs went limp. Then Paul gave her neck a final wrench. When he released his stranglehold on her, he watched her crumple onto the carpet at his feet.
Momentarily he stared down at her inert form. After shaking his head in disbelief, Paul knelt down beside her body.
‘Oh c’mon, Lulu, you don’t fool me, you cunning bitch. You’re no more dead than I am. You’re just playing games with me again, aren’t you?’ he raged, seizing her motionless wrist. ‘So where’s your godforsaken pulse? Of course…knowing you as well as I do, you probably don’t even have a fucking pulse! Although you must have,’ he insisted, while he increased the pressure of his index finger on the inside of her wrist. ‘So…your pulse has to be…here. Or…here,’ he muttered disconsolately. ‘But there is…nothing. Absolutely nothing! Yet when I…’ he whispered as he clamped his fingers around her immobile throat. ‘Well, when I squeezed you…like this…you scarcely suffered at all, did you? And after all the vile things that you’ve done in your vile life, Lulu, it’s so terribly unjust.’
Distraught, he removed his hands from her neck. Unsteadily he pushed himself to his feet. After peering down at her supine body again, he turned, and then he called out to the altar.
‘I only did this for You, Lord God. But it’s never enough, is it?’ he complained. ‘Because you always want more and more from me – until You have sucked me dry.’
Shaking his head in defeat, Paul moved behind the altar. Then he crouched down, and from under the altar’s floor-length-cloth, he pulled out a bronze crucifix.