She was then bound at the wrists and strung up in the center of the room where a white circle with special symbols had been inscribed, symbols of which I may not speak. The four pets arranged themselves around the circle, as I hoisted her up so that her feet were barely off the floor, giving her the illusion of support. When the lights were extinguished, the circle and her robe glowed with an otherworldly quality, everything else melted into the shadows, vanishing from her sight.
I could see her chest heaving as fear slithered over her flesh like a viper over an infant, coiling itself around her body, the grip tightening.
“Do you submit?” I began, uncoiling a bullwhip, which I held behind my back.
“Yes…Sir,” she stuttered, fear fully evident in her expression. I could hear him stirring within me. I needed this to be quick, lest I awaken him. He could smell her fear, and he would take the chance to consume her.
“We will begin by purging the fear from you,” I said and without warning proceeded to lash her three times around the torso and hips. She screamed, as they all had the first time. The pain was like fire, flames lapping at her supple skin.
“Who protects you?” I asked, lashing her again around her legs.
“YOU SIR!” she screamed uncontrollably at the top of her lungs. Clearly, she had never experienced this level of pain before, but it was necessary. If I would deliver this pain in the beginning of our arrangement, it made them wonder what further horrors of which I was capable.
“Who am I?” lashing her thrice more about the torso, drawing blood on the third hit, the crimson stain spreading quickly through the fragile cloth. She did not answer.
"Who am I?” I repeated louder than before, yet maintaining composure, delivering another savage blow.
"I...I don't know," she gasped, wincing at the pain, yet something about her face changed, shadows shifting under the soft purplish glow.
"I am Master,” I said matter-of-factly, and delivered two more final blows. I strode across the barrier of the circle and grabbed her by the throat. As I did, she erupted into an uncontrollable orgasm, so violent that she shook as she dangled by her wrists. I smacked her hard across the face, causing blood to appear on her lips before putting the collar around her throat, binding it tightly.
"I will tell you when you will enjoy my punishments from now on,” I snarled, becoming impatient. "I should..."
My words stopped just inside my mouth as my shadow awoke abruptly. Something was wrong.
"MOVE!" he screamed. However, it was a fraction of an instant too late. Without warning, she lifted her legs up and wrapped them around me, pulling me tightly against her and before I could react, she looked up at me, gazing deeply into my eyes, a wry smile curling her bloody lips.
"Mmmm," she purred, placing a kiss on my lips. I was stunned and the beast raged and howled inside. "That's where you've been hiding, you naughty little puppy."
I lost control of our body as the beast took control with power I had never experienced before. I fell back behind him into the subconscious, as he growled at number Five.
"Olivia," he growled in his true voice. "You meddlesome bitch!"
Number Five's appearance, reflected in my eyes, his eyes, had changed. We had been fooled.
"I told you, you naughty, naughty little dog,” she squeezed us tightly between her thighs, making it hard to breathe, grinding her pelvis into us as she did. "I told you that you couldn't hide for long and that eventually, I’d get bored enough to make you the center of my attention. And I’ve been really bored lately."
The beast snapped at her, struggling to escape her inhuman grasp. "What the fuck do you want, whore? I haven't done a damn thing to you or any of your little slave bitches in over a century. I told you I was done in England."
She squeezed us again, cracking a rib in the process, laughing musically, deafeningly. "Actually, it’s not yet been a century. You think I've forgotten all the trouble you've caused me? Do you think I'd just let you go across the pond and not punish you for what you did?" She leaned in and bit us hard on the neck, drawing blood then spat it in our face. "You are pathetic. I don’t fear you, demon. Feeding off the sleepers is like shooting cattle in a barn. Go back to the Spaces Between.” She narrowed her gaze, look at me, behind the beast, impossibly so.
“Oh shut the fuck up, bitch,” replied the beast trying to gain control of its own demeanor. “They are multiplying like rabbits and soon there won’t be anything left for us.” He growled, “You’re using it right now you dumb bitch because I released it. How about a thank you?”
“I think banishment is in order,” she hissed. “I’m sure I can find five others who’ll agree, now that I’ve found your host." She smiled again, “Unfortunately, this is my second attempt. But you’re host idiotically killed my last decoy.”
Charlotte, I whispered from behind him. He barked at her like a dog, struggling once more, almost freeing himself, but she intensified her grip, ensnared by her raw Weirdness.
"And," she smiled still gazing deeply into his eyes, our eyes, "you in your primordial intelligence failed to realize that you’d stolen aspects of my own ritual. You might as well have set off a signal flare."
He screamed, primal, gutturally, like an animal in a trap trying to gnaw off its leg. "Release me!"
"Oh," she purred once more. "Oh I intend to. However, not before we tell your host the truth about you. The truth about what you have planned."
His eyes widened, and before he could say another word, she continued.
"Hear me, host. Your days are numbered. Even now he is growing ever powerful with each and every sin he consumes, each soul that he purges. You are damned, so savor your moments, and savor your pets. You will not survive much longer."
She leaned in once more and bit our lower lip, gasping with a pleasured laugh. "He will consume you too."
"You fucking whore," the beast screamed and snapped at her again.
“I may be, but not your whore,” she winked. "I'll be seeing you soon."
She released us and kicked us back out of the circle, leaving number Five dangling unconscious from her bonds, swaying from side to side. I was in control again.
I stood shakily, and looked for the others, my ribs screamed with pain. The pets were huddled on their mattress, whimpering softly, covering their heads.
"What the…," I started, but he did not let me finish.
"It is time to leave this place," his anger boiled my blood, his guilt caused my skin to crawl. "I'm not going to let that self important bitch ruin our fun."
I stood there in the darkness, watching, thinking, and listening. I was clearly dealing with forces I did not completely understand, but her words resonated with me. I knew her words were true, but I would not accept fate. Fate is for the foolish and I will overcome. I knew that I too had sinned, and that this would be my punishment. Ultimately, I must be rewarded for controlling the tempest.
"Very well," I said with finality. "I will begin making arrangements. But, I am taking my new pet with us."
"Are you fucking mad?" he growled at me with incredulity. "She'll find us again!"
"She will anyway," I responded, despite his protests. "And, I have other plans. There is always another plan, though you never agree with my meticulousness strategies."
I knew he agreed, under the heavy blanket of rage and hunger. He had chosen me for a reason, out of all the others he could have chosen. Though I never forgot her words, I have been able to control him all this time.
"Pets," I called to the others who quickly huddled around me, needing my comfort, my direction. Their world was about to change, all of our worlds. "Help me cut down your new sister and tend to her."
"Yes, Sir," they responded dutifully, nodding in vehement agreement.
"And," I said, mustering all the composure in my being. "You will never speak of this night again, to me or to her. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Sir," they repeated.
"I'll kill that bitch," he mu
rmured repeatedly in my mind, receding. His power drained, and he was once again drifting into a fitful slumber. "I'll kill her."
As I cut down number Five, she stirred from her unconsciousness. Her body beaten and bloodied, but already healing from the residual power of Olivia's presence, the Witch of the Wood, the Dark Mistress. I knew of her from his slumbered ravings, but I had not suspected that Charlotte was her minion. He was preparing me all along knowing this moment would come. We coexisted in this body, it was only natural that he would want to protect me; a good host is hard to find.
The other pets took number Five and cared for her, leaving me to my thoughts and my slumbering shadow. Though I had never noticed it before, I became aware of the burden he placed upon me, weighing heavy on my soul. You may judge me for the things I have done, but it falls on disinterested ears. A sword is only evil if it is wielded by an evil soul, and I know in the depth of my being that I am not evil. We still have work to be done. I will not stop.
I turned on the lights in that defiled chamber, insecure that it had been violated so innocently. I wanted to leave now; the residue of her presence soured the ground. Her words echoed in my mind. Despite her dire prophecy, I have continued to exist, and we have punished many sinners since we relocated to our new home, the lair of the beast. Never a moment goes by that I do not think of that night, number Five dangling bloodied and beaten, clad in gossamer light. She has become my favorite, my harbinger, my reminder, no recollection of her possession by the Dark Mistress. She has taken her place among the others, yet they all know she has stolen my heart, yet, she will never know. If I am consumed, she will be my savior from the void. I will walk this world as my punishment, and continue to protect my pets, even after time and pestilence have eaten this shell. I will not forsake them for I am their master, their creator, their protector.
As the final twilight falls, all is quiet in our new abode, the world crumbling inexorably around us, consumed with sin and we are always hungry. Soon, the end will come, and my new plans will be enacted, plans that even the beast is unaware. It is only by careful planning that one survives, and I will survive...someway.
Vacant Eyes on the Eternal Sea
Virginia Beach, 2005
There are places in this strange world of ours that can captivate one to the point of obsession. They have a will, a soul, and dreams of their own, but we are too absorbed in our own selves to recognize this. Some of us are drawn to them for reasons unknown, but through deep reflection and self-exploration, we finally understand; sometimes too late.
These strange places hide in plain sight, yet we seldom recognize them for what they truly are. It is apparent when you look at them with the eyes of a Dreamer, roam their halls, or sleep in their vacant chambers. I have been fortunate to find such a place; The Hilltop Hotel in Virginia Beach, it has a soul, it is alive and it has haunted me since I was a child
My name is Martin Snead, an aspiring writer from Richmond, Virginia. I was a eight years old when I first visited the Hilltop in 1979, but I felt that I had been there many times before, since it opened in 1929. I have spent more time at the Hilltop than just about any guest I can find. My family often spent weeks at the Hilltop, basked in the sun, swam in its pool adorned with lion head fountains, and wandered its narrow halls filled with history, mystery and wonder.
Many great Dreamers frequented the Hilltop, each of them leaving their residual Weirdness on the building, further enforcing its place in memory and time. F. Scott Fitzgerald, Benny Goodman, John F. Kennedy, Jean Harlow and Mary Pickford all stayed at the Hilltop and the list goes on. The building’s presence drew them as it drew me, like a lighthouse leading ships to shore. This is how a place becomes a bastion for change; this is how a hotel such as the Hilltop becomes eternal.
The story I am about to tell is not about the history of the hotel. This is a tale of one particular excursion to the Hilltop, in the summer of 1999, which forever changed my life, and opened my eyes to the glory and mystery that makes the hotel stand apart from all the others along the east coast. Years before, the hotel and the hypnotic call of the waves lapping the shores urged me to purchase an apartment not far from the hotel. However, I spent more time in the hotel than I did in the apartment. I hoped to write my novel at the hotel, but that was not meant to be. I worked nights as a bartender at one of the many bars that lined the boardwalk. I spent all of my money on rooms in the hotel, attempting to unravel its mystery, understand why it enthralled me so deeply.
It was the Fourth of July, and one of the owners of the Hilltop invited me to attend a private ball reserved for the regulars to the hotel, and the owner’s family and friends. I rented a tuxedo I could barely afford and went to the ball with those much more privileged than I was. It was a strange evening; the moon full and cast a long glowing trail over the frothy waves of the Atlantic, the tide rolling in, and social anxiety nagged at my soul. At some point, before the band started to play, I decided to walk outside and smoke atop the hill. I watched the sea, staring passed the other more modern hotels that now pollute the glorious view of the Atlantic and the pristine beaches.
In my tuxedo, I perched like a raven on the edge of a brick path, drawing deeply on my cigarette, finding the nerve to return to the ball. I wanted to flee like a child from a partially opened closet in the dead of night. That particular night, I was more anxious that usual, surrounded by those with more money than I would ever see in my entire lifetime, but there was something more. Moreover, as I sat there, shivering in the cool breeze, thinking, wondering, a voice called from behind me.
“Don’t you hate we have to feed our beasts out here like commoners?” a female voice asked in a calm, soothing tone.
I cocked my head to the side and saw a woman dressed in an iridescent dress of pearly sequins, and a flapper style hat, long since forgotten by modern fashion. She had blonde curls, which poked from beneath the hat, with an impossibly thin shawl draped over pale shoulders.
At first, I was not sure she had addressed me; her gaze fell beyond me, captured by the trail of moonlight that undulated on the turbulent waters beyond.
“The time of smoking is at an end, I’m afraid,” I responded in an unsure tone, not at all schooled in the ways social niceties. I’d spent my existence immersed in literature and history, waiting for that one moment when my mind would release a deluge of creative thought which never came.
She turned her head slightly, locking gazes with me. Her pale, blue eyes glistened in the lamplight as she smiled languidly.
“It is,” She said, taking a few steps in my direction, willing me to stand and meet her part way, which I did. “Do you have a light?”
I took a final drag from my half-smoked cigarette then tossed it carelessly into the darkness, then stood to walk towards her, pulling a silver lighter from my pocket, the only remaining possession of my father, who had died several years before.
“Of course,” I said, my heart beat with a thunderous intensity I’d not felt before, as if I were on the verge of a heart attack. My shaking hand managed to light her cigarette, before she took a demure step backwards.
“Thank you,” she responded after a long drag and exhale.
“I enjoy the moments alone,” I said as I fumbled to get the lighter back into my pocket.
She cocked her pretty, little head to the side, quizzically, a smile curled on her lips. “You enjoy being alone?” She asked in almost a whisper.
“I wouldn’t say enjoy, as much as I am accustomed to it,” I replied, coolly, mustering the small amount of courage left in my soul. “A writer’s life tends to be solitary, Miss...?”
“Oh!” she squealed with no small amount of glee in her voice. “You’re a writer?”
I nodded hypnotized by her beauty, the moon made her gown shimmer ethereally. “But not a very good one, I’m afraid.”
“And what makes you say that?” She asked coyly, blinking thick lashes, and licking her lips with anticipation.
“I’ve onl
y had a few articles and short stories published,” I confessed with reluctance. “I want to be a great writer, like those who have stayed here before me. Perhaps that’s why I’m always here. But I’ve never –“
“You’re only as great as you are willing to be,” She interrupted and took a tentative step forward. “I think you are probably an amazing writer. You alone keep yourself from being noticed.”
I pondered this silently; this impossibly beautiful woman engaging someone as mediocre as myself. It was clear she was another Dreamer, and the connection between us was unmistakable in that milieu. However, something inside me told me she was just was toying with me.
“I may be a great writer,” I retorted with feigned confidence. “But, it seems I’ll not to be recognized by while I’m still alive.”
She laughed musically, and the melody was carried over the hill, down towards Pacific Avenue on a cool breeze. “We know each other,” she said. “We know what we are.”
“I’m sure --“I started to say, but she cut me off once more.
“We are Dreamers for sure,” she said with a cat-like smile. “The only difference between you and I is that I’ve fully accepted it. You doubt it as much as you doubt yourself.”
I pondered this statement for several moments, as I watched her with an unsure gaze, like a schoolboy trying to understand an algebraic formula. It was true; I struggled with my own strange abilities. I was able to see things that no one else could see, and this made me doubt my sanity; which I now know is one of the many side effects of being a Dreamer and embracing one’s weird abilities. I was not sure that the woman before me was not a phantasm from another time and place.
“It’s not an easy thing to accept,” I replied hesitantly. “I have concern for my sanity.”
She laughed musically once more, “Sanity is a matter of perspective. And it’s as it should be, because the whole purpose of life is to awaken to your own unique ability and use it to mold your dream.”
Immortal Memories Page 9