by McGill, Brie
Like hell she would sit up here like a trunk of old clothes locked in the attic—it was bad enough she had to wear someone else's trunk of old clothes.
One of the simple cotton gowns the servant girls wore was infinitely preferable to this queer dollhouse glamour: why couldn’t she wear one of those?
Raising the shovel above her head, she swung it like a bat, imagining she whacked it over Aleister’s head. With her other hand, she lunged forward and thrust the fire iron into the air, imagining it plunged into Aleister’s stomach.
Stupid aurochs!
Her coral gown swished elegantly with the most demented gestures. The faceted rubies barretted to her skull kept her hair from falling in her face, this antiquated regalia’s only combat advantage.
Squeezing the handles of her weapons, she savored the feeling of cool brass. It was time to get out of here.
She’d find her way home, walk until she found a road, a fuel depot. There would be public telephones. There would be normal people everywhere who could help her.
Hopefully her face was all over the news, in missing persons reports. She hoped she was the star on every milk carton, on every Xeroxed bulletin hanging in the window of every convenience store, on the cover of every tabloid—Rich senator’s daughter abducted by terrorists!
She imagined her father doing a sordid facepalm for the camera to further pull some heartstrings as a segue into a shameless self-promotional byte.
Ninkasi retrieved the treasured bobby pin from the armoire. This little shiny pin, this was her ticket to freedom. She marveled at it: the clips in her hair were far too fat to fit into the lock, and her bathroom had been stripped of anything small enough to pry open the gate.
They anticipated her captivity. They didn’t plan to let her escape.
Well, ha ha ha! She shook her weapons in the air.
Standing in the doorway, she surveyed her room. Bye-bye, comfy bed.
She victoriously jammed the pin into the lock and set herself free.
Tiptoeing down an endless stair, Ninkasi kept her back against the stone wall, peering cautiously down the corridor. Moonlight filtered through narrow, iron-barred windows, illuminating her tryst to ground level. Shovel brandished over one shoulder, fire iron clenched at her side, Ninkasi counted eight flights of stairs between her room and the main floor.
The stair ended in a sweeping foyer, facing a cellar door, barred and locked. She swallowed nervously, stepping around a trap door in the floor.
Pressing herself against the wall beside a doorway, she peeked around the corner: the stairwell emptied into a grandiose dining hall with a polished banquet table, crystal goblets, golden plates. She smelled the mammoth vase exploding with roses in the center of the table from where she stood.
Windows lined the entire west wall, behind red velvet curtains: Ninkasi would take the first exit she could find, window or door, any aperture leading to escape. The windows revealed an open, rolling glen with a treeline in the distance.
She dashed across the doorway to survey the other end of the room: half-cracked doors led deeper into the chateau, populated with half-cracked devotees.
She didn't see anyone and prayed they were all asleep.
Creeping through the tenebrous banquet hall, she beelined to the windows, obsessively glancing over her shoulders.
Setting down the weapons, she found a latch against the windowsill and pushed it open.
The lock squealed.
She winced, covering the latch with her hand, pushing it slowly to mute the sound. Pressing her palms against the window, she shoved: the heavy pane swung open.
Success! Gathering her skirts, she craned her neck and looked out the window: from the sill, it was a five-foot drop to the grass below, cushioned with rosebushes in alabaster blossom.
Leaning over the sill, hinging at her stomach, she slithered out of the chateau, extending her arms toward the earth below.
Unable to reach the ground with her hands, she kicked her legs, propelling herself forward. Her hands found the rosebushes, and she tumbled out the window in a somersault.
Whimpering, scratched and snagged by the bushes, she landed with frocks turned inside out, bunched at her hips, revealing long legs, pink lacy stockings and garters.
Damnit. So hung up on finding a way safely to the ground, she forgot her weapons inside.
Climbing to her feet, she brushed herself off. Her stockings were shredded; her limbs burned with fresh gashes.
Ninkasi surveyed the outer grounds of the chateau: the treeline encroached the field to her left. Sucking in a deep breath, she sprinted toward the cover of trees.
The soft, damp grass yielded beneath her feet, mud squishing between her toes. The looming chateau blocked the view to her immediate left; she ran harder, faster, fighting to break away from the towering prison and its foreboding shadow.
If she couldn’t escape, this place would crush her spirit and she would die here. It terrified her to think about the person she might become, warped by the chateau’s madness.
She owed it to herself to leave.
Clearing the corner of the chateau, she saw an immense mob congregated in silence around a crackling bonfire.
She skidded to a halt, stumbling, catching herself, and retreated to the cover of the chateau.
She’d have to run the other way. There was no way around this crowd. She couldn’t risk being spotted—
A hulking palm rested on her shoulder.
Ninkasi sucked in a sharp breath and stiffened.
“You’re as late to the celebration as I am!”
She spun around.
The man with black dreadlocks smiled, his face smeared with paint. “You aren’t in uniform.”
Her eyes fell to colorful robes, his necklace of bones, bells, and feathers.
“I don’t recognize your face.” He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her head. “Has Aleister saved you recently?”
The crashing peal of a gong, followed by the patter of countless hand drums and rattles distracted her. Ninkasi glanced toward the chaos. “You could. . . say that. . .”
She sensed the man didn’t know her. She was still outdoors: she still retained a shot at escape.
The man linked his arm around hers, and broke into a trot. “Come, it begins!”
Ninkasi balked.
The man dragged her.
A second man appeared behind her, linking arms with her as if it were the friendly, endearing thing to do, and escorted her to the bonfire.
She wondered if anyone other than Orion’s clowder of kinky servants knew of her existence within the chateau.
If they didn’t. . . this put her chance for escape at a huge advantage. Perhaps she would play along.
The rattling and drumming peaked in a frenzy. Four whistling fireworks shot from the corners of the bonfire, and a moving platform ascended from the center. Rising to the center of the pyre, with arms outstretched, was the unmistakable, stalwart silhouette of Aleister in flowing robes.
Ninkasi huddled behind the two men, praying he wouldn’t notice her. Hundreds of people swarmed outside; she wondered if this was the entire population of the chateau.
She wondered what the hell they were doing, wrapped in beads and robes, fervently flocked around an epic bonfire.
She wondered if Orion lurked about. She suspected he might be tougher to dodge; his perceptive nature unnerved her.
Ninkasi shook her head. The first thing she wanted to do when she got home was sneak into the garage and run a fat drill bit through her skull to obliterate any remaining memories of Orion or this place.
For a moment, she imagined the hand on her waist was his, and her chest tightened.
“My brothers and sisters!” Aleister tilted his head back and shouted at the moon.
The crowd roared, banging drums and whipping rattles.
“Divine spirits trapped in earthly flesh!” Aleister flung his hands out to the side, moving like the conductor of an orchestr
a.
Ninkasi expected the flames of the bonfire to shoot up on all four sides around him.
“Tonight our planet renews its cycle! The sun moves into the first house, marking a new beginning!”
More insane cheering. The men beside her beat their chests, stomped their feet.
“This new year!” Aleister shook his fists.
The mob mimicked his gestures, howling.
“The fertile promise of spring offers us a fresh start!” Aleister spun in a circle, swinging his arms to address everyone personally from all sides of the pyre. “We shall cleanse our sins and begin anew!”
The man behind Ninkasi made an ear-splitting, rock-concert whistle.
Scrunching her nose, she ducked away from him.
“Tonight we gather to stamp the menace of fear from our hearts!” Aleister clapped his hands.
Four more fireworks shot from each corner of the dais, exploding into a chandelier of glittering white sparkles.
“We gather to examine the coils of history wound tightly around our throats!”
The crowd was in a fervor. What were they here to do? What about Aleister’s insanity made them so riled up?
“We shall release that which does not serve us!”
The gong echoed above the screams.
“We shall release that which prevents communion with our highest selves!”
Another blast of the gong.
How frequently did they have these meetings?
“We shall release that which obstructs the flowering blossoms of our expanding consciousness!”
Three more rounds of fireworks. The entire crowd, men and women, rang bells, rattles, tambourines, beat their drums, hooted and hollered.
“We shall take a moment to thank the earth for her patience, wisdom, and generosity!”
Ninkasi wondered for how long he would belt his nonsense at the heavens, and for how long the crowd would cheer. The men who grabbed her were lost to cries of ecstasy; she slipped backward, taking care to hide among dense throngs of people, and edged toward the forest, away from the cultist hullabaloo.
Ninkasi prowled to the edge of the mob. The trees weren’t far: she walked quickly, quietly. An outright run would draw too much attention to herself; she maintained a brisk stride. The chorus of fanatics drowned out the thoughts in her head—she wanted to be away from it all, forever.
A tall figure bumped into her from behind, locking huge hands around her forearms.
Gasping, she whipped her head around to find herself face-to-face with another unknown acolyte.
“Everyone partakes!”
“What?!” Ninkasi shook her head. She was so close to escape—
A smaller youth wearing a goat helmet and leather loincloth danced toward her, holding a flute. He skipped up to her face, sandwiching her against the man behind her. “Don’t be afraid!” His laughter was gentle.
She wondered if this one hit puberty.
The goat-headed boy clutched Ninkasi’s chin with one hand, pushing her head back, and rammed the tip of his flute up her nose with the other.
Ninkasi shook her head, fighting him.
The burly man behind her grabbed her by the hair, steadying her head.
The goat-boy laughed, and blew through the flute.
Ninkasi clapped her hands over her face and screamed, doubling over: he shot something through the flute into her nose. Something burning, stinging, and horrible.
The goat-boy cackled and danced away.
She fell to the ground, lying on her side, holding her face. Her sinuses burned, her nose, her cheeks, her forehead—everything ached. Eyes tearing, she fought to breathe, feeling the burn spread to the back of the skull, above her neck.
What did they do to her? She waited for the pain to stop, until she could stand.
She cleared her throat, coughing, wincing. Cool jets of snot rushed from her nose.
Wiping her nose with her arm, she noticed the snot glowed a neon yellow beneath the moon.
She clutched her forehead. What the hell? She stood up, unsteady, sniffling.
Staggering toward the trees, she drunkenly zigzagged through the grass, nose pouring, face aching, feeling angry, agitated, and revolted. She didn’t notice the drums, the rattles, or the nonsense Aleister spewed from his burning podium anymore.
She had to escape. She had to. . .
Her toes and fingers tingled. A warm, happy feeling spread through her body, making her giddy. She reached the treeline, and collapsed on an earthen bed of dead leaves, twigs, and pine needles.
Heaving her body through the dirt, she curled behind a rock. The rock was cool against her fingertips. She felt her body heating up.
She could rest for a minute. Just a minute. No one would see her here. No one would think to look for her here.
She sniffled again, smelling the pleasant decay of the forest. It smelled like Orion.
She closed her eyes.
Orion couldn’t sleep. He detested the racket generated by Aleister’s insane rituals. Even with earplugs, he heard the whistles of zombie sycophants, the explosion of fireworks, the blood-curdling screams of worship.
He reclined against the headboard of his bed, sealed in the comforts of his belfry, thick curtains drawn snugly over the windows. He extinguished the butt of a hand-rolled cigarette in his skull-shaped astray.
Flicking open an RCU, he curiously flipped to his tracking application. He wondered what Ninkasi was doing. At this hour, she likely slept.
Or she lay wide awake, tweaking out, wondering when the screams and explosions would stop, thanks to that bastard Aleister’s inconsideration.
Occasionally, he caught the dot that was her bracelet speeding up and down the hall. His heart sank. He felt awful for her, locked in the abandoned wing of the chateau. She must be so bored, so homesick.
He dropped his cigarette. The RCU indicated Ninkasi’s bracelet was outdoors, on the fringe of Aleister’s mad ceremony.
Delivery of Evil :: Nightmare 8
VII.
It began innocently. A gentle, electric current of bliss swept through Ninkasi’s body. Her fingers, stiff and digging into the earth, uncurled. She fell onto her back, breathing rhythmically, eyes closed. The tides of an ocean crashed through her body, waves of warmth and safety cresting through her.
She felt her motionless body begin to sway, gently, side to side, as if rocked softly on a porch swing. To and fro she drifted, lolling in currents of bliss. She didn’t need to move, didn’t need to open her eyes; her body moved on its own.
The swaying intensified. Behind her eyelids, she saw faint crackles of electricity, blue sparks, geometric shapes whirling and disappearing. She rocked until the blackness became a sea of blue, rippling, sparkling, endless waves of rolling energy.
A plane of energy peeled itself from her vision and lifted, moved of its own accord, like a carpet pulled from the floor, and wrapped itself around her body, nestling her in its ecstatic embrace. Sheets of energy manifested and surrounded her, swaddling her, wrapping tighter, soothing her. With every added layer of energy that swathed her, Ninkasi felt safer, more elated and at peace.
A dim golden light burned at her forehead, like a heat lamp over her body.
The blue energy enveloped her, stilling her mind until she thought nothing of her surroundings, where she was, what had happened to her, or what she wanted to do.
The gold light brightened steadily, accompanied by a droning pitch, a ringing in her ears. The gold light heated and blasted her, until there was no rippling sea of energy, no waves, no motion, only an all-encompassing bright white light.
Ninkasi emerged from the dirt, punching up through the earth like a sprout in the center of a circular grove of ancient trees. She looked up at the azure sky and the golden sun; she saw the gnarled and leafy denizens stretching strong, knotty branches toward the sky.
She rose through them, surrounded, ascending with the trees toward the heavens. She lifted her palms, an eyeball glowing i
n the center of each hand. She floated upward, steadily, reaching for the sun and yearning for it, obtaining nourishment from it, like the beautiful, wise and gnarly trees. She soared above the shaggy tufts of an old willow taller than a dinosaur.
The sun flashed a bright white light and Ninkasi saw through her palms, saw the white bones in her hands. She felt the trees’ love for the sun, their adoration of it.
A voice echoed through her head: “Reach for the light.”
She spun in a circle, faster and faster, rising above the trees and into the sky. Everything became a blur of blue and white, and the vision disappeared.
There was blackness.
A heavy rumbling vibration began at the base of her spine, in her pelvic area. The rumble increased in volume, deep and growling, rattling like trucks speeding down a highway. She felt a tingling, and felt if the vibration continued to increase, her entire body would explode like a piñata into a confetti of infinitesimal specks.
The vibrations formed an expanding circle, a disc over her pelvis, and opened like a vortex. The vortex thundered and yawned, swelling, glowing red, expanding its circumference beyond the limits of her body.
The tremors shook her, throttled her. Spiraling, billowing plumes of crimson hot smoke erupted from the vortex, wafting into space. Her body was hot, molten. Bolts of blistering red heat shot from the disk and traveled up her spine, to her head, making her dizzy, making her crazy.
Erotic energy turned and twisted her insides. The power of the smoldering vortex was too much; she wanted to crack, cry, crumble like a dry log on the fire. She felt her legs spread apart, her arms stretch out beside her head, opening, reaching.
The growling vibrations peaked, and the force of the universe to procreate struck her, shattered her. The impetus to know itself, to fuck itself, to scream and invade and penetrate and obliterate, to copy itself, to reinvent itself—the animating drive of every atom in existence towered beyond reason, beyond measure, beyond explanation.
It was the force of waves breaking against rock on a shore, the heated, indiscriminate fury of an erupting volcano. It was the unstoppable force of fault lines ripping apart, the gravity of a star collapsing on itself.