Wrath James White presents Poisoning Eros I & II

by Monica J. O'Rourke

  But there was no way she was going to let that fear overcome her. Not after all she’d been through. “I’m going in,” Gloria said, but her feet wouldn’t move. She was suddenly more afraid of that cave than any of the tortures of hell, afraid of being rejected by the one being who was always supposed to love her no matter what. Rejected by the only one whose love truly mattered, besides her daughter.

  Gloria peered into the sunlit tunnel and felt a tug at her soul. It was calling to her.

  “I’m going in there,” she said aloud. “But not without my daughter.”

  Gloria turned away from the tunnel … toward the catacombs … back into hell to find Angela.

  *

  No weapons. Nothing to protect her. And the demons were everywhere. She didn’t know how long she could continue to outrun them. Twice already she’d nearly been caught. One torturer had reached out from a cave in back of her as she’d stood watching a man being locked into an Iron Maiden. She’d felt the claws dig into her arms and ran as fast as she could, jerking her arms free of his grasp. If his talons had not been as sharp, if they hadn’t shred through her like a hand parting a spider web but had been able to dig in and hold on, she would have been captured right then.

  Later, she’d almost made the same mistake, pausing a second too long to watch a boy who appeared no older than seventeen, have the skin slowly sliced off of him by a demon whose own ill-kept costume of human and animal skin appeared to be decomposing. The demon was cutting long rectangles onto the boy’s skin and then grabbing the very edge of it and wrenching the epidermis free with a pair of ordinary pliers. Gloria was transfixed by that wet ripping sound as the skin was torn away in long blood red strips. She almost didn’t hear the demon’s coming up behind her. Then she was almost trapped as she ran right into another trio of monsters coming in the opposite direction. Only the element of surprise and their sluggish fleshy bodies had allowed her to race past them. But there was no way her luck could hold out for much longer. Not in the hundreds of tunnels she had to venture through, the hundreds upon hundreds of tortured souls she had to pass, the countless demons that lie ahead in those dark catacombs. She had to find Angela quickly before she was caught.

  “Gloooooria …” The wind through the undercroft seemed to sigh, carrying her name as if in a funereal march. The sound led her further into hell, lulled her into the caves. Songs of torment, of endless pain, compelling nonetheless because of their dulcet tones. Dragging her farther and farther away from her escape, from the tunnel of light.

  “I’m not afraid …” she whispered, though her mouth was dry, and she trembled. The surface of the cave wall was cold and tacky as she ran her hands along its surface to guide her through the darkness. Ahead she found candles housed in human skulls and picked one up, aimed it toward the blackness ahead of her.

  Back through the caves, witnessing punishment that she had grown numb against, forms of torture that no longer made her cringe. Focused instead on finding her daughter, not caring what crimes the condemned had committed, what sins they had thrust upon others. Though she suspected that they couldn’t all be guilty, couldn’t all deserve the fate that awaited them. After all, she was in hell under unconventional circumstances, and had to figure others were as well. But she couldn’t care. Like her, they would have to find their own salvation. Their own way out of hell.

  What disturbed her, despite her efforts not to care, were the children. Not that she came across many, but when she did … and now, a small boy, perhaps nine—though she imagined that was just the look of his astral body; not knowing how long he had been in hell. Like the girl at the tunnel, his eyes were ancient; dark and terrible, a child who had seen too much.

  He was alone in the cave, alone except for the endless swarms of insects crawling on his body. He sat in a chair, his arms and legs tied down by barbed wire, and Gloria could tell by the bloody welts that he had been fighting against his restraints.

  The child glanced at her as she peered into the cave. “Help me,” he sobbed, spitting out the cockroaches that skittered into his mouth.

  She moaned, rushed over to him, stomped bugs that surrounded and attacked him. Thousands of cockroaches, waterbugs, red ants, chiggers, brown recluse spiders, dung beetles, hornets and wasps—endless species of bugs swarming and flying and attacking the boy, burrowing into his flesh, biting and stinging relentlessly, crawling up his nose and into his mouth and ears.

  The boy jerked his head, struggled against his restraints, squeezed his eyes and mouth shut. Gloria swiped madly at the bugs, squashing some beneath her bare feet, brushing them from his face. She knew she had to get him out of that chair, that her assault on the insects wasn’t making a difference. They just kept coming.

  She had no weapon. She looked frantically around the room for a tool to cut the wire and found nothing.

  The boy kept his mouth shut, and his screams were muffled. She raced back over to him and pulled at the barbed wire, trying not to hurt him further. The jagged edges dug into her skin, but she ignored the pain; she would heal again. She managed to loosen the restraints around his arms, and he began to flail, slapping the bugs away from his face and upper body. The barbs bore into her flesh as she tried to free his legs.

  She yanked him free of the chair and dragged him across the floor, toward the exit. The bugs followed, streaming across the dirt like a tsunami, and she pulled the boy out of the cave and into the corridor, fleeing with his wrist clasped tightly in her hand. The insects chased, noisily chittering, hissing, spitting, their thousands of tiny insect legs sounding like horses stampeding on the packed dirt floor.

  They ran until Gloria could no longer hear the insects’ pursuit, until their terrifying screams died out. She rested against a wall and rubbed her hands over her face, trembling.

  “Are you all right?” she managed to ask, and the boy nodded. The light was faint in the tunnel, but she could make out the movement of his head. “Why were you being punished?” She couldn’t begin to imagine what such a young child could have done to deserve to be in hell, but whatever it was she didn’t care. Even if God didn’t give a shit, didn’t believe in the innocence of children, she did. Condemning a child to hell was beyond her comprehension.

  The boy shrugged.

  “Don’t you know?”

  He shrugged again. “Thanks for setting me free. Those goddamned bugs were getting on my nerves.”

  It felt as though those bugs were swarming again. Her flesh crawled and itched at the chilling tone of his voice. “Did I just make a mistake?”

  “I dunno—did you?” He grinned, but his eyes remained cold, dark.

  She started to move away from him, to head down the corridor, but he followed.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I-I’m looking for someone.” He kept up with her as she backed away. “I have to go now.”

  “Don’t go.” His fingers sank into the flesh above her wrist. Gloria jerked her arm, tried to pull away, but his grip was remarkably strong. He slammed her into the wall, bashed her head against the stone.

  She crumpled to her knees, her head clutched in her hands. Blood trickled between her fingers. “Why are you doing this?” she gasped, trying to look up at him.

  “Because this is what I am. Did you think I was in hell by accident?”

  Then he was upon her, sharp fingernails scoring her flesh, small teeth biting her breasts and face. Her reaction was not to fight but to escape, and she tried to crawl away, to climb out from beneath him. He was a child, after all—and no matter what he did to her, she found it impossible to hurt him. But soon the attack became more severe, and from his blood-smeared mouth fell parts of her body. Her lacerated nipple dangled from her breast by a grisly string of flesh.

  Gloria raised her knee and slammed it hard into the boy’s stomach, finally slowing him. He grunted and tumbled over, wrapping his arms around his midsection. She dragged herself away on hands and knees, blood pouring from her screaming lacerations. Th
e boy reached toward her, unrelenting in his attack despite his obvious pain.

  “Get off!” she screamed, kicking out, her heel connecting with his face. His nose splintered beneath her foot and he squealed, fell onto his back, his small hands covering his face.

  “Help …” he sobbed, his voice small, wounded, and for a moment Gloria forgot what kind of monster he had been, for a moment wanted to help. But he lowered his hands and grinned, his tongue darting, licking the blood that dripped from his nose.

  “Like hell I will,” she said, kicking him in the head again, sending him reeling across the ground. She couldn’t have him chasing after her; he’d already slowed her too much as it was.

  She retrieved a candle from a few feet away. She struggled to her feet, using the wall for support, and headed around a corner. “Where are you, Angela?” she muttered, palming blood and dirt from her cheeks. Endless caves ahead, moans and screams coming from all of them, but none of the voices belonged to her daughter.

  The candle sputtered. Not much life left in it, and she’d again be plunged into darkness. Wandering around hell was like being lost in a topiary maze—many false starts, corridors that led to solid walls. She’d often had to backtrack, and at the same time tried not to lose her way. She still needed to remember how to return to the tunnel of light.

  The candle flame died. Gloria cursed, dropped it to the ground. The individual caves were lit, but now she wouldn’t be able to see if her corridor resulted in a dead-end. Her fingers slid along the stone surface of the wall and she crept along. She sensed someone—some thing—ahead, could hear its shallow breath, phlegmy and raspy. Turn back? Turn back to what? This was hell. She wasn’t exactly safe no matter what direction she took.

  “Gloria,” the thing in the darkness said, and she froze, sucked in a useless breath. “It’s about time you joined us. I was just starting to miss you.”

  “Who are you?” she gasped, and she felt a hand take hers, a clammy hand, but a human one nevertheless.

  A moment later she was inside a cave, face to face with Vlad.

  *

  “What happened to you?” he said, tongue racing over his bloated lips, corners of his mouth upturned in a jackal-grin. He reached out and flicked her damaged nipple, and she flinched, backing away until she was up against a wall.

  “What do you want, Vlad?” she asked, trembling.

  He laughed. “Let’s not be coy.” He turned partially and stretched his arm out dramatically, as if showcasing the room. “Let’s make a deal. Shall we?”

  Across the cave, Angela lay out on a rack, splayed arms and legs stretched unnaturally, almost at the separating point of limbs to joints. Bite marks and burns covered her flesh. Torture devices were displayed on a table beside the rack.

  Vlad grabbed Gloria’s hair and shoved her toward Angela. He pushed her again, and shoved her to her knees.

  In front of the table, he fondled the various devices until he selected one, and lifted it to show Gloria. “This is my favorite,” he said.

  It was a speculum, but three times the normal size, its metal sides layered with razor blades and barbed wire. A knife-life protrusion jutted from its head.

  “Angela seems fond of it as well.” He pushed it into the girl’s cunt, and she threw back her head, unable to move her stretched limbs. She sobbed, begged him to stop.

  “No!” Gloria screamed. Still on her knees. She reached out, grasped handfuls of air. “Please stop,” she cried.

  Vlad fucked the girl with the speculum, chunks of her flesh flying with streams of blood.

  “Goddamn you!” Gloria screamed, jumping up and rushing toward Vlad. She threw herself on top of him and knocked him away from Angela.

  They landed in a pile a foot away, Gloria pounding her fists into his face. But Vlad laughed, and punched her hard across her mouth. She went flying and landed on her back.

  “You’re no match for me, you stupid cunt,” he said, standing, returning to Angela.

  Gloria lay on the floor, moaning, weeping quietly. He was right—how could she ever expect to fight him? He outweighed her by a hundred pounds, and he was a massive little troll. She’d always been intimidated by him, and it seemed as if he had been controlling her life forever. Now he was even controlling her death—and worse, controlling her daughter.

  He was raping Angela again with that hideous contraption, and Gloria sat on the floor and watched. Watched the assault on her only child. Watched as the disgusting little man did as he pleased.

  She couldn’t watch any more.

  Maybe Vlad didn’t know what Gloria had endured, on earth and in hell. Maybe he didn’t know what she was capable of. But she knew. And she wondered how she could have let this fat little bastard intimidate her for as long as he had.

  She climbed to her feet and approached the table. Quite an assortment to choose from … she wanted something powerful, something with substance when hefted. The mace’s handle was thick seared wood, and a blackened steel ball embedded with six-inch spikes topped it. She lifted the medieval weapon high overhead and swung it at him.

  He ducked, but it still clipped his shoulder, and sent him reeling across the floor.

  “You stupid bitch!” he yelled, climbing to his feet.

  “Stay out of my way, you fuck! All I want is Angela.”

  He slowly approached, eyeing the mace. His face was contorted with rage. “You think you had it bad before? Do you?” Spit flew off his lips. “That was nothing. Nothing!”

  He extended his hand, and Gloria froze, positive that he had some powers, that he would use them on her. She’d seen him appear in her apartment through locked doors, had witnessed the creatures he’d brought back from hell. Surely he had some ability, favors bestowed by hell.

  The mace slipped in her hand, but she held on to its shaft.

  Vlad rushed the table and retrieved a razor-studded belt. He swung it at her and it tore into her cheek, gouging out chunks of flesh.

  She hefted the mace in both hands and swung. It tore his ear off, sent it flying across the room. Blood gushed from the gaping wound, and Vlad slammed his hand against his head.

  He looked up at her, stunned. His mouth dropped open and he took his hand away, examined the river of blood pouring through his fingers. “No!” he screamed. “you promised! You promised me immortality!”

  Gloria looked around, wondering who he was talking to, expecting to see someone else in the cave. But they were alone. Whoever he was yelling at, they weren’t in the room.

  Vlad was overcome with a fit of rage and attacked Gloria with the belt, swinging wildly, the razors shredding her skin, flaying her. The last blow gouged out her eyeball, and she threw up her hands, trying to flee his assault. She used the table as a shield, pushed it on top of him when he charged after her again.

  Lifting the mace one last time, she brought it crashing down on Vlad’s head. The spikes imbedded in his skull, splitting it open, blood and brains oozing from the gaping holes. Vlad spasmed and shuddered, his feet kicking out, vomit trickling out of his mouth.

  Gloria dropped the mace. “Do you heal, you motherfucking troll?” She rushed over to Angela and untied the girl from the rack. Angela screamed as her limbs were loosened, as her arms and legs popped back into their joints.

  “Can you walk?”

  “I don’t know.” Angela’s words were hesitant, her voice weak. “I’ll try.”

  Gloria wrapped her arms around her daughter’s waist and lowered her to the floor. Angela stood on wobbly legs, but they supported her weight.

  Angela looked up at her mother. “Why’d you come for me?”

  “That’s a silly question.”

  Angela leaned against the rack and rested. “No it’s not. After what I did—why would you come and rescue me?”

  “Because you’re my daughter, and I love you. We’re getting out of this place.”

  Angela shook her head. “And go where? There is nowhere else. I belong here. In hell. I deserve to be here
. And so do you. I don’t love you—I don’t even know you.”

  “You don’t belong here, baby. Nobody deserves this. I don’t care what you’ve done. Nobody deserves an eternity of this. We’ll leave together, and maybe someday you’ll love me. But for now—we have to leave!” She grabbed he daughter’s hands and pulled her from the rack, and ran with her toward the cave exit.

  Back toward the sunlight.

  *

  There were horrible sounds coming from up ahead, from the direction of the tunnel home. Sounds of pain, violence, of tearing flesh, splintering bone, shrieks of terror. Gloria knew there was something different about these screams. They were not the normal tortured cries that echoed ceaselessly from every direction. They were more urgent, more like the sounds of battle.

  Gloria gripped her daughter’s arm tighter and continued running in the direction of the tunnel. The noise increased as they advanced, sounding like a massacre in the darkness. Angela clung desperately to her mother, as if the battle-scarred woman could provide any real protection. Her daughter’s fear vibrated through Gloria’s skin; the girl’s resolve crumbled with each step.

  “Are you sure this is the way? It sounds like people are being killed up there.”

  “This is the way. And we can’t die remember? Nothing here dies.”

  “I’m scared. That sounds so horrible. You hear those screams? Mom, I don’t think we should go this way. Something’s going on up there.”

  “We have no choice. This is the way out. I don’t care what’s up there. If it’s standing between us and freedom from this place, then we’re going right through it!”

  Gloria gritted her teeth and continued forward, staring straight ahead, unblinking, practically dragging her daughter behind her.

  “I’m not going!” Angela dug her heels in and locked her legs.