Lizzi Bizzi and the Red Witch

by Stefano Pastor

  She kneeled next to him and stretched the hand, as if it was the first time she touched him. Now his skin didn’t feel jelly, she could feel his muscles, completely different. She caressed his chest.

  Nobody pushed them to hurry, they were all too embarrassed. Penelope slide on top of him, while her hands continued to caress him. She never looked at his face, because she knew she would only see hate. Continued touching his body that for ones she felt completely hers.

  What would happen if she managed? She would create a baby with him, and this wasn’t a bad thing. And then? They would have killed him, she was sure about this, and they would have taken her baby away from her to be treated like an animal. Penelope knew this, she wasn’t stupid.

  «How was my mother?», she asked to Hercules.

  So many times, she asked this question, and so little amount of answers.

  He looked at her in shock, but also, embarrassed. «Do you think this is the time? Hurry up, we can’t hold him for much longer!»,

  He was quite old and maybe he would have met him, so Penelope asked him: «Who was my father?».

  Nobody wanted to tell her. Deep down was it even important, she was only a beast in a place she couldn’t escape from.

  «Penelope, stop it!», shouted Hercules. «If you can’t do it tell us, and we will get out of here immediately! Forget about Santini, if you can’t we will go!».

  She was on top of the body of the Vampire, with her long outfit covering the nudity of the young man. She couldn’t get naked but she continued to caress the shivering body.

  The fact that they fed him wasn’t enough. The smell of blood pulsing in their veins made him crazy. Showing his teeth, trying to bite them, with anger. His eyes changing to a blood red.

  Penelope wanted to caress that body, that neck, she didn’t wish for anything else, and she had to fight to stay away. She dreamed to kiss those lips.

  «What they hell is this stupid girl doing!», shouted the Wolf «Does she want to kill us all?».

  «Penelope, stop it!», added Hercules. «Do what you have to do and that’s it. Stay away. Quickly!».

  Would he know that beauty is not everything? That she loved him? That she was the only one who would love him? That words didn’t matter, that some things are universal, eternal?

  These were the questions Penelope would ask herself, and another one. Has he ever noticed her? The fact that she spies on him constantly, that she follows him everywhere? The others didn’t understand her, but him? He would have spelt her sent, the smell of her blood? Would he understand?

  There wasn’t a way of knowing.

  Slowly Penelope removed her vail. Ripping it from one side and letting it slide her face. Poor fragile girl, with long black hair and a neck too big, with eyes so big that made everyone disgusted. Opened her mouth, so he could see the cave she was hiding filled with silk.

  «What do you want to do?», shouted Hercules. «It won’t do anything! Your strings can’t trap him, they are too fragile!».

  Penelope’s eyes where so huge that got the attention of the Vampire. He got lost inside of them, like a fly fascinated by a spider. For a moment, it wasn’t him the monster, and that moment Penelope took advantage of. She went down quickly and united her lips to the young man.

  «Puah!», shouted the Wolf. «You are disgusting! Get away from there before he rips your neck!».

  Alive lips, not dead, warm lips, humid, filled with anger and passion. The kiss she always dreamt of, the kiss of life, not death.

  Penelope quickly moved and lifted her head. A cast of silk was shot immediately and hit the Wolf with violence. The Man-dog was sent flying to the bars of the cage.

  «What are you doing?», shouted Hercules, but it was too late. Penelope moved her head continuing to shoot the silk. It fully hit Hercules throwing him to the ground. She didn’t leave him time to breathe when she covered him in her silk.

  Quickly moving covering the cage with cobwebs, tying them both, Hercules and the Wolf, not caring for their screams.

  «Are you crazy? What are you doing? She will kill us all!», insisted Hercules, but all his strength couldn’t do anything against her silk. It would have taken years to get to such a precision, her silk was something new, never used in the show. It was the wedding silk, the one for her husband, and she would only give it to him.

  «Crazy! Crazy!», shouted Lazzaro behind her, and in two they stripped her from her loved one.

  She could feel being lifted but this wouldn’t stop her shooting her silk. The cage was already covered. «Stop her! Stop her!», shouted Pietro, but nobody knew what to do.

  For a moment, you can see Santini, a prudent and recoiled man already getting away from the cage.

  Beast. She knew she was a beast. A poor spider made to display herself. She was nothing for them, everyone exploited her. What happened to her mother? What would they do if she wasn’t able to perform anymore? Was she replacing her mother when she was born? Who did they make her mother hr mate with to create her?

  «Block her! Keep her still! We have to make her stop!».

  Pietro shouted, but didn’t have the courage to go to the end. There was only one way to stop her, and they knew it. Deep down she wasn’t a fragile little girl, being bitten in the neck was a joke compared, but they didn’t have the courage to do it.

  «His freeing himself!», shouted Lazzaro, always keeping her tight. «The Vampire is getting loose!».

  Even Hercules and the Wolf shouted, trapped in the cobweb. All the strength of Hercules wasn’t enough to break the silk which she covered him with.

  It was true, the Vampire was moving, now that nobody was there to trap him down, but he was still trapped in the chains.

  Pietro didn’t realise the error he was doing and was walking towards him to stop him. As soon as he was near the area of attack from Penelope, she covered him in silk, shooting him against the bed of the cage and leaving him there hanging.

  Lazzaro was hysteric and still fought. «Why are you doing this to us! What do you want?».

  Stupid, they still didn’t know. That was their wedding, and they were a gift to her husband, to stop the hunger that devoured him.

  «Crazy! Crazy!», shouted Lazzaro, then pushed her towards the Vampire and tried to run away from the cage.

  He didn’t manage to, he didn’t have the courage to kill her, and this was his final mistake.

  Against the Vampires body, Penelope turned her head and spit the silk hitting the door. Lazzaro started to scream, trying to escape, but it was too late. New pieces of silk were covering him, tightening up not allowing him to move.

  He begged for help from Santini, but the Magnificent already ran away to give the alarm.

  They could hear screams, and the torches came on. The big circus family ran to the centre of the square. The Vampire was free, they shouted, they had to do something. But in their mind, they knew the error from eighteen years ago. Nobody came forwards, they all strapped the horses to the caravans, ready to escape.

  Penelope ignored them. She looked at the vampire, chained to the ground, and again their eyes met. He suddenly stopped shaking around, and all his attention was bewitched on her.

  It was something different, never tried before. There was no hunger in his eyes nor disgust. Penelope was electrified. She got up and started to weave.

  She put all her love into it. The plea from the captives were in vain, Penelope created the most beautiful cobweb ever made. Filling up the entire cage, transforming it in a nest, her wedding nest.

  From the outside, they were looking at her, she could feel their eyes but she never looked. In the field everyone was in panic, running around screaming.

  Then a desperate voice arrived. «Penelope, what are you doing?».

  She continued to weave, without looking. Medusa shouted again: «What are you doing?».

  How could she explain it to her? She turned and looked at her. Santini was behind her trying to pull her away, but Medusa was fighting him.
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  Penelope was supposed to be sad for her, but she couldn’t, that was the most beautiful day of her life, the night of her wedding.

  «Get away!», shouted Santini. «His nearly free! We don’t have much time!».

  It was already too late to do anything. They wouldn’t have been able to get into that cage, not after she blocked all entrance to it. There was no way to stop the vampire from freeing.

  The most courageous ones threw torches through the bars, with the hopes of burning it. But as soon as they got in contact with the humid and sticky silk they instantly turned off. There was no wood to connect to, in that cage, but only metal to encage that beast.

  The first caravans where already going, and the shouting grew. She saw Medusa being taken away, and Penelope forgot about them. Continued to weave.

  When her masterpiece was completed, only then, looked again towards the vampire. He followed her every move, he never lost her from his sight. Penelope knew that the moment arrived. She took her outfit off and left herself naked.

  Then she got on top of him and started to caress him. They body united, their mouths connected again. She found his tongue, it has a metallic flavour, like of blood, but Penelope didn’t mind. She felt him tense, his muscles tense up and heat up. Then one of the chains broke, with a silent sound, and then another one. The four prisoners started to scream.

  She felt his hands over her, exploring her body, then his arms grabbed her in a tight pose, nearly stopping her breathing. She allowed him, feeling protected. She left him take the initiative. She wanted that the first time was incredible, unforgettable.

  Their eyes meeting again, while their kiss became wild. It was different, it was exactly like she dreamt. Other chains broke, then he was completely free and he lifted her up.

  Penelope was now in his power, but she didn’t mind, because she never, not even for a moment, think of him as a monster. Only a beautiful boy, a prince charming. And it was like this for him too. He accepted her, maybe because he always knew she existed. Sometimes love could surpass any obstacle.

  For a minute, he looked away towards Hercules, who started screaming. The Vampire showed his teeth and emitted a rumble sound.

  Penelope grabbed his face with both hands and made him stare at her. Making their eyes meet again.

  «Later», she said. «You can take care of them later on. Just think of making me happy for now».

  Silence surrounded them again, as if nobody was there. They felt protected in that nest, in the safe. Nobody could come to disturb them.

  When the Vampire penetrated her, Penelope grabbed round his neck. Then the movement started, and she planted her nails to his back, but he didn’t feel any pain. He never spoke in his life, but that night was different. Moaning followed their union and their voices joined as one, always getting louder.

  It became a scream, and when they orgasmed the scream became wild, as a victory. They weren’t celebrating their love, but they conquered freedom.

  The chains that always imprisoned them were gone forever.

  May 2010

  FOREVER

  Translation by Cinzia Albanese

  Paolo Provera died for the first time on the 22nd of January 1925. He lived a full and ingenious life, he got himself to the highest position and secured himself a relaxing retirement. Finally he was free to dedicate his remaining life to his crazy projects and to the art he loved, poetry.

  He filled his entire home full of poems, writing directly on the walls, using every empty space available, to the point of wondering about his own insanity. Even his crazy technical and hydraulic projects, for which he had taken over Leonardo’s genius, never received recognition.

  That’s because Mr. Provera, although well appreciated for his intelligence, he was a simple man, but thanks to that profession he managed to set aside a good amount of money.

  When he died, he had just celebrated his seventy fifth birthday.

  He woke up three days letter, nobody realised what happened.

  At first, he didn’t realised himself either, he walked downstairs, he made his breakfast, he complained about the sour milk and the mouldy bread. He complained to himself, obviously, as the good man lived alone. Since the death of his wife, no woman had ever lived in that house, even though he occasionally indulged in the pleasures with what he calls his girlfriends. But even that was lost during the years.

  An entire day had passed before he realised that he lost three days of his life.

  His memory had been more than reliable until that moment, and for Mr. Provera his intelligence was everything to him, and the fear, or little by little vanishing, frightened him. For what reason had he forgotten three whole days of his existence?

  The situation was worse than what he expected. He found out that no one has seen him for the missing three days. He did not do his daily shopping and he even missed his religious duties.

  What did he nourished himself with, seeing that nothing was missing from the house? Had he been away, if so, where? Nobody had seen him.

  With great shame, he consulted a specialist in the illnesses of the old people: a geriatrician. He already feared the worse sentencing: senile dementia. The doctor, however, very sorrowful and even embarrassed, told him something even worse.

  He was dying.

  His heart was in a horrible condition. So disastrous it seemed incredible that it was still beating. He gave him little hopes of being able to participate in the Easter Mass.

  The poor Mr. Provera walked away destroyed, he closed himself in his house and forgot about the enigma behind the three missing days, he had more serious problems in hand.

  He lived like a recluse, counting the days and the hours, he even counted the minutes that separated him from oblivion.

  The doctor failed his diagnosis: Mr. Provera died for the second time on the 15th of April 1925, three days after the Easter celebrations.

  It happened in his bed, the place where he stayed for days, terrorised by what he now considered a prophecy.

  He returned to life three days later, feeling rested and with more energy than usual. When he went downstairs to get his breakfast he found again his bread moulded and his milk sour. He remained a bit uncertain before asking around. He did it with all the precaution and managed to conceal his surprise when he found out he had lost another three days of his life

  Even then, he could not understand what really happened. He asked to be hospitalized, for the first time in his life, and was subject to all sorts of examinations.

  This time, there were four luminaries who came to give him the bad news: he was dying, his body was really broken. The heart was losing beats and could stop at any moment, his liver was destroyed, he had a tumour in the bowel and they also noticed some spots in the lungs.

  Unfortunately there was nothing to be done, he will die very soon.

  Mr. Provera had to fight to be released, as all the doctors knew he will not be able to look after himself. In the end he got so desperate to the point they let him go, and that was the last time he set foot in a hospital.

  Soon things changed. By now Mr. Provera had accepted the inevitable and found it absurd to wait for the last days. He managed to go out, he wrote, and studied his crazy machinery projects. Tried to forget his inevitable end and live those last days to the maximum of his possibilities.

  Mr Provera died for the third time in fall, perhaps on the 21st or the 22nd of October 1925. It was never clear as they were times too busy to look at the calendar.

  This time he didn’t happen in his bed. In that moment Mr. Provera was on the sealing of his bedroom, engaged in the task of flying a strange wooden bird that he built himself.

  He simply sank, as if a button had been switched off, and he remained like this for three long days. Days when it rained, and his body was subject to the mood of the weather. Three days where, once again, nobody realised of his disappearance.

  When he came back to life he was dishevelled, frozen and stiff. He saw how his c
lothes were wet and crumpled, his shoes irreparably ruined. The wallet he had in his pocket immersed in water, and the notes were all glued together.

  This time he realized that in the moments of amnesia, his mind is not there. He did not go anywhere, but stood the in the same spot. It was absurd, but Mr. Provera’s mind was analytical and open to every discovery.

  He reasoned for a long time about what was happening to him. He evaluated the possibility of asking help from someone but discarded it. It was necessary to find out what happened to him in those missing days, so as a man of science he fitted out. He struggled to get one of those modern devil things called cameras and created a complicated hydraulic mechanism to turn the wheel, so it stays rolling all the time. He bought big quantities of films. And he used all of them in the attempt to film his own departure.

  He succeeded: Mr. Provera died for the fourth time in February 1926, precisely on the 9th of February. The camera was on for a while, so in the end what he obtained was only twenty minutes of the death.

  Death, yes, because looking at them this time there was no doubt. His heart had stopped, he had squandered to the ground, shivering, and a moment later he was dead. For twenty minutes, his body remained motionless, without breathing, and Mr. Provera has no doubt that this immobility would continue for the next three days.

  For what reason he had come back to life he had no way of knowing. But now he could understand why there was the memory voids, and this left him puzzled. More, euphoric.

  Mr. Provera could not die.

  In just one second all the fears disappeared, a great feeling of peace had fallen into his soul, the future was no longer frightening. He did not care what had caused this medical miracle, but he was only interested in the results.

  He exalted, convinced he was immortal.

  One year passed, and the attacks became more frequent. At the beginning of 1927 Mr. Provera had already died a beautiful sixteen times and was very experienced in both physic and spirit. It fell on him an infinite tiredness.