What else!
Something catches the corner of his eye and makes him frown. He reaches out for it, but stops when the palm of his hand rests upon its handle. Another idea interposes, and the thought that tried to boil to the surface, flitters away, like a startled bird. He remembers what else he needed. They are in his room, in his backpack, in a small sleeve within one of the zippered sections. He had bought them right after their trip together, when she had given her heart to him and their relationship had blossomed. He’d known even then, in those first fleeting moments, they would be together. She would give herself to him. She would lay back, open herself to him…
He has to be ready!
I will be ready, my love. I promise!
Without a second thought, he bounds up the stairs to his room, muffled laugher coming from the TV in the living room, his family oblivious to his movement throughout the house. He attains the landing atop the stairs and makes a beeline for his bedroom door. He had closed when he had gone downstairs, to keep out curious eyes. He opens the door and locks it behind him, searching for his backpack. He finds it and begins to rummage through it with brute force, suddenly frantic he might’ve misplaced them or one of his parents had found them.
Please no! Please no! Please no!
I will find them, my love! We will be together just like you told me that day, in the garden, you sitting on the bench and me lying upon it, my head and shoulders across your lap when you held me close and whispered your devotion to me. You quivered, remember, beneath the weight of my head, already so hot down below…
He finds them and yanks them out, twelve of them in their brightly pictured box with glossy writing, promising they would be the thinnest ever, give a natural feel unlike any other brand. He smiles briefly, walks over to his bed. He has discarded the trash bag and its contents there. He opens it and roughly tosses them inside as well, thinking, trying to focus, but he is finding this more difficult now. Images, memories, feelings, touches, smells, tastes of her have filled his mind to capacity, blocking out all other attempts at coherency…
…Soon, my love, my light, I’m growing for you now, stiffening. Be patient, I am almost ready…
…ready…
Is he… ready?
He glances around as if someone else has spoken to him. His eyes wide, fear running up and down his spine. He wonders if someone has discovered his small stash, but there was no one there, only him.
Him.
Him!
And him.
He is alone.
All the “him’s” are alone.
His heart is pounding in his chest. The first beads of perspiration began to dot his forehead and upper lip. His brain is still firing random thoughts of her. Recollections of her, remnants of her expressions, her eyes and her smile caught in the corner of her lips, her hair in his face, the smell of it, the feel of one single strand running between two of his teeth. Oh, how he loves to remember. He hardens at the thought. His eyes had been closed. He could see the glow of the sun made red behind his eyelids as he felt one long, sinuous hair, pull its way through the narrow gap near his gum line. He could have done it all day long.
…Yes! She had loved it too!
I’m ready, my dear, my heart, and I am coming. I’m coming to save you, I promise. I will be there shortly…
Yes, he will - very shortly.
He turns to face his desk and the chair standing before it. Upon the back of the chair, he had placed a pair of black jeans, a black, long-sleeved turtleneck, a black beanie, and a pair of black socks and gloves. A pair of black tennis shoes, he’d strewn nearby.
…I just need to change, my one true love. I just need to change… a little bit, a tiny bit. It won’t be much, I promise. A small change, a little alteration, but I will be just as loving, I promise…
He is about walk toward the chair piled high with his new outfit when he sees it glimmer in the semi-darkness of the room. He sees it lying there upon his bed. The last thing he’d brought up from the kitchen. Immediately, he’s confused.
Why would he need that?
He stares at it, unsure.
A butcher knife? Why would I need a knife?
He cannot answer, the memories return, flooding him, filling him. His blood is pounding at his temples. His eyes are bulging from the strain. She is everywhere, everything – thoughts, impressions. Images of her overwhelm him and, where he should’ve been struck immobile, he has a moment of perfect clarity.
He smells her scent against his flesh, feeling her with his hands, tasting her neck with his tongue, seeing her undress before his eyes, hearing her whisper his name upon her lips as her clothes fall away. She is magnificent before him. He is as firm as stone. She is so soft, feminine… young. He can almost hear her calling to him, for him, right now…
She wants me to do it, so bad… so hard.
…and, in that thought, he is lost forever.
Robotic and emotionless, he begins to undress until he is stark naked, his most private parts free and rigid in the cold air of his bedroom.
I will do as you desire, my love!
He dresses without putting on underwear. He won’t need them this night. No, they’ll just get in the way. Besides, he’ll be naked soon… and so will she.
I will make love to you all night long, my Sophie.
In an economy of motion, he reaches for his bag of tools. He opens the window of his bedroom with the plastic bag tucked under his arm. Ice cold air buffets his face. He doesn’t feel its icy grip seep into his body. He can’t feel it. He can only feel her. He eases his way under the bottom rail of the window and steps into the night. With all the quiet he can summon, he walks across the roof of his parents’ house and swiftly shimmies down a tree whose branches reach up and over the domicile. In less than a minute, he’s on the ground. He has practiced this many times.
A minute later, he is jogging. Her house is only a few blocks away, on the opposite side of Figueroa Street. He can get there easily once he reaches Yosemite Drive. He will run the entire way. It’s time now. Time for him and her to be together, the way they were destined to be together - Boyfriend and Girlfriend, lovers. They are to be a couple for all time.
He has just finished the right hand turn from Saginaw Street, his feet quietly jogging down Wiota Street. Yosemite Drive is just a few blocks down the way.
It is here, he sees her for the first time.
Not his beloved Sophie Reed.
No, she is much smaller than his lover-to-be. She is wearing a white, knee-length dress. Around her waist is a matching blue ribbon. Her hair is bleach-blonde. Not the usual golden blonde-haired sort, so often seen around town. Rather, it’s many hues lighter and rail straight, cut just below her ears with a slight outward curl at very ends. She wears no bangs; instead, she wears her hair parted in the middle, showing her broad, smooth forehead. She has delicate features with over-sized eyes, the color he can’t discern in the poor light provided.
She is directly in his path upon the sidewalk. He is forced to slow down, and then stop entirely, when she moves to block his way past. She doesn’t wait for him to say anything. She merely smiles broadly.
It takes him a few seconds to realize her mouth is too big for her face. It’s almost splitting it in half. He turns his head slightly to one side in bewilderment.
Without preamble, she hikes up her dress above her waist with one hand. He is astounded to see she is nude below. He can see her tiny sex, pale-white and bare. She smiles at him cruelly. “Is this what you’re about tonight, young man?” she asks in a high-pitched, melodic voice. Its’ tones are so child-like; they don’t match the crudeness of her gesture.
“Wh-what?” he mumbles, finding he can’t take his gaze from her little vagina.
She giggles, but says nothing. She begins to rock her hips back and forth, twice as slow as the ponderous sway of a Grandfather clocks’ pendulum.
His eyes flash to hers. Then back to her nether regions. His breathing labored,
though not from his short run. He takes a step closer to her and she reciprocates. She pulls her dress up higher. Her other hand begins to trace along her half-formed abdominal muscles.
He has been erect since leaving his house. He grows even larger. It is almost hurting. He chances a glance at her face once more, unable to see the child below her lustful sneer. Her hand drops lower and lower still. Until, it brushes the upper edge of her pubis.
He sees the bite marks then, jerking back his head in outrage. This is no virgin he’s looking upon! This child has known a man, many times.
“What’s wrong, young man?” Her voice is musical, so sweet upon the ear, and yet…
…Her hand touches her little folds.
He can’t look away.
One finger disappears.
He is about to lick his lips when something gigantic hits him at the top of his right arm. Something huge is biting his shoulder.
No, it’s biting through his shoulder!
He is about to scream in agony, but he is never able to release it. Something else is coursing through his veins now. Something like inferno, lava, magma – all at once. He can only hear at this point. His vision is wrecked by anguish. There is blackness at the edges. He is drifting away. He is being pulled down, farther, faster. There is only more darkness, more velocity, until, there is nothing.
From the brink of abyss, he hears: “You did well, my Petling, my beautiful Jätung. You may take a morsel for yourself, but no more.”
He feels jaws reposition themselves upon his shoulder. They bite down. He is beyond feeling. There is only a horrible crunching now.
He can only feel his body jerk as his arm is removed.
He is no longer.
~~~~~~~~<<<<<<{ ☼ }>>>>>>~~~~~~~~
~ 15 ~
Arrival
Sunday, November 21st, 12:01 am…
The world, where the rock was the color of dried bones and the snow was so black it appeared dipped in soot, melted from his vision. It vanished, was gone, replaced by a deadened gray of nothingness disorienting him, almost made him sick as his stomach twisted with a nauseating clench. He clamped his jaw shut against the sensation, feeling his throat spasm and the bile rise. His great canines refusing to budge, vice-like, with all the force he could exert. The blood in his temples began to pound, a strange pressure beginning to build inside his head as if the altitude had changed dramatically. His upright, pointy ears vibrated with the strain, his eardrums crackling inside his elongated skull. At his sides, he balled his gauntleted hands into giant fists, feeling the steel that bound his individual fingers bend from his grip. He fought against the powers working about - and through - his body, unwilling to show weakness in any form. He felt his entire body stiffen, even the hairs covering his entire frame, stood on end, charged with energy, infused with vivacity onto themselves. He willed himself to have no further reaction to what was happening. He couldn’t afford it, for he was not alone. There would be witnesses to any weakness on his part. So, instead, he remained as he was – still standing, he hoped, though he couldn’t be certain.
He continued to hold himself rigid and unrelenting, until he began to feel some sense of motion through the soupy, gray murk surrounding him and his companions.
He didn’t have long to wait, though. The grayness began to change. In small increments, at first, tiny twinkles and sparkles of light popped into existence around him. Quickly, they turned into larger splotches and gribbles of soft illuminant pieces of a greater picture. Some magician was painting a real life landscape about him. Only, this was no painting nor drawing nor likeness of any type he’d ever seen, because it wasn’t a representation of any sort. This was a real place. This was a plane of existence - only not the one he’d been standing within moments before.
This was a place he had never been before, or at least, not in the flesh at least. He had visited this place many times, through other means. He’d always been forced to peer through another’s eyes via a brief possession. But, he’d never had he actually been in this place. He had longed for many, many centuries for the opportunity to walk upon this world, to wreak havoc whenever and wherever he possibly could. Deep had this wish been in his cruel and black heart.
Now, it didn’t seem all that real to him, as if it wasn’t him who’d stepped from the verges of the portal and onto the World of Man.
Finally - as age upon age passed, as he had, as all of them had, waited for their master’s plans to take seed, root, and finally bloom into reality – he was gone from his world, his universe. He would walk among men now, within the borders of one of their most powerful kingdoms. He would feel their soil grind beneath the trod of his boots. He would defile their air with every exhalation of air from lungs born in a land of rage and anger and chaos. Any edict or law of the Light that normally would’ve bound him, burdened him, was now gone. He was truly loosed upon this place.
His plan would prove simple, but audacious. It would bring him untold glory in the eyes of his father, and hopefully, eventually, the Great Maelstrom himself. He would rise above the churning fray, seething and roiling for power in his world. He would become second only to the great Lord himself!
In time… in time, for there is still much to be done, he admonished himself.
Now that he was here, after such an interminable wait, he wouldn’t destroy and desecrate as he once dreamed he would do once in this very situation. No matter how much he itched to do so, he wouldn’t. No, he would do something quite the contrary. It made him smile just thinking about it. He wouldn’t damage or pillage or possess or rape and slaughter. Though he would’ve loved to, he couldn’t. He had a nastier scheme in mind.
He would take. Yes, he would only take from this World of Man. He would snatch from this plane its’ unsuspecting Guardians and placed them elsewhere, where they’d be alone, untrained and at his mercy. A place where he and his companions could have some bit of the rapine fun denied to them here. He had always wondered what it would feel like to have a human writhe underneath him. It would be just a tiny morsel of torture and maiming. He would do this, instead of broader damage, because this small act of abduction alone was monumentous. It would render the World of Man defenseless against the might of his master.
My glorious Metohkangmi!
He would do this in His name, the Great Wind, the ancient Snowman – the maelstrom, the vortex of malignancy, the overlord of the World of Storm. He would do this, so his master could come forth and sweep the World of Man under his iron-fisted dominion for all of time.
He would do this, so his people would rise in the eyes of the Lord of the Storm as well. The Vülfen, the master race to which he belonged, would rule second to none. He would help raise his family to heights undreamed of in the dark centuries of the past. They would push above the Swüreg dolts, the Antithues Demon-lords, the Wërggig Warren, the Yíyak Giants, and the swarms of Skrímsli alike. The Vülfen Kur Ambalaj will grind them all into the dust of servitude.
He would do this and relish every second of it.
He stifled a chuckle with the back of his steel shod fist. It was then he felt the wind. So, it would be the air he’d experience first, he contemplated inwardly. Cool - getting colder – air, heavily ladened with more chemical elements than he was used to inhaling. His lungs labored for a minute or so until he got used to the thickness of it.
At last, the deformed, featureless myriad of colors sharpened, focused and the details of what was around him sprang to life before his large, black, piercing eyes. He found himself in an open area of sorts, covered here and there with green grass, which made him raise his eyebrows in surprise. He was able to hide most of his initial shock. He had never seen a green as vibrant and full of life, even in the dark. He had always seen through others’ eyes, never his own. The difference was incredible.
Where there was no grass, there was dirt, hard-packed and dusty, as if trod upon for many years. He glanced around seeing a few unfamiliar trees and hedges of origins and names
he knew not. There was a fence made of some type of strange metal in the distance and, what he assumed, were a great gathering of human dwellings beyond. Some of them with lights burning without flame, others, completely dark. From his position in the open area, he was so far from them. He doubted any human could hear him, even if he shouted. They were quite some distance away.
Above, the sky was clear and dotted with far less stars than he was used to seeing in the heavens at night. Every single one of them was out of place, the unfamiliarity of the cosmos was slightly disconcerting, but he was expecting it and didn’t show any outward sign he’d even noticed. Behind him was a road of some sort, paved with the smoothest material he had yet to see anywhere, but in the World of Man. He turned fully to face it, staring at it for a time, astounded as he began to realize it stretched for many leagues in either direction. Every few seconds, a conveyance - moving without any type of animal pulling it - shot passed him at incredible speed! This caused his eyes to widen briefly, surprised that, despite the lateness of the hour, humans would be out and about in such numbers, flying across the land at speeds nearly double what any animal from his world could manage.
“Cars”, Fenris, they are called “cars”.
He had been told, of course, this was a world of mechanics and not spirit like the one he’d just traveled from. The last time he’d been upon the World of Man, human endeavors into this new lore had only just begun. The Seeker had helped him with some of the “changes” of this place, though he loathed being in the same castle as her, let alone in the same chamber. He had endured it, because she was a frequent traveler to this place. A place some said was her plane of birth, though he denied it to the point of violence. No one as hollowed of emotion, hardened against feeling, could’ve come from a human mother. The Seeker was something else entirely. The Human Race was too weak to produce the Stiletto of Storm.
The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves Page 13