by R. C. Graham
As I prepare I can feel the grim set of my face. A black sweater goes over my torso and similarly colored jeans on my legs. I pull new combat boots on my feet and my final touch is the black leather jacket with Kevlar implants. The garment would be heavy for a human but the extra weight means nothing to me.
I leave my hiding place, using a side entrance and drawing the shadows around me. I head for my enemy’s abode, taking roofs, back streets and alleys. I’m a lot less likely to be spotted that way.
Soon I vault the back fence of Mandy’s yard. With great care, examining the ground closely, I approach the house where our conflict will end. There’s nothing that appears a danger and I can see no one in the windows. The only light shines from the second floor, one room is in use.
On reaching the deck, I check under it. All clear.
I step on the deck and approach the back door. Now I spot a problem. There are squiggles of some obscure pigment drawn on the floor just behind the glass. I can’t recognize if they are a written language, but I can guess their purpose. So instead of trying the door, I examine the kitchen window. The unfathomable runes form a barrier here as well.
With extreme caution, I investigate each side of the house. Every window is similarly warded. I don’t go to the front. It would be too obvious what I was up to if observed and my veil won’t shield me from intense scrutiny.
It’s then I recall what my surveillance had told me earlier. Mandy had warded the floors used for living. She never went near the attic, so far as I know. So I withdraw to a corner, far from the light. It’s only two stories to the roof. So I crouch and jump.
As I land I freeze, waiting for a response from within. None comes. After a five minute wait, I silently slip across the roof to one of the dormers. My surveillance missed something. This spot is warded as well. But I can see that only the windows are so guarded.
I climb to the apex of the roof and move to the center of it, keeping low. Then I lift shingles from it with care. Once the wood underneath is revealed, I dig with my claws. Soon I have an opening big enough to squirm through
The attic is dusty and long unused. Fiberglass insulation lies between the wooden beams that support the ceiling beneath me. I can see the only entrance to the main house from here, a small trap door. The grime on it shows that it has sat undisturbed for quite a while. There is a tiny mound of dust on the pink wool next to the opening, showing where Mandy moved it when she entered earlier. With great care I step from rafter to rafter. Fortunately, they are all solid and no creak sounds to betray my presence.
The small door comes free with only a tiny scraping noise. I freeze again once finished. Sounds come faintly to me now. They are familiar. Mandy’s at play with her victims. I grin at that. Her activities should keep her distracted. Then I choke back a snarl as I remember who she’s playing with.
There is a closet under the trap door. A shelf blocks easy access, so I bend, slither past it and twist the knob to open the door to the hallway. I don’t push it far and wait for a reaction from within as I do.
Nothing comes. The sounds of Mandy’s entertainment grow louder. Gasps, moans and inarticulate voices full of passion become clearer. My fury spikes for a moment but I push it down. Mandy’s death has to look somewhat natural and small pieces of her spread around wouldn’t appear that way.
I push the door open all the way, fall to the ground and roll to my feet. Instantly I return to the closet, closing the door behind me and wait for trouble. There’s no interruption in the erotic cries coming to me.
After several minutes I open the closet again and check the hall. One door is open and light floods from it. When I check the other direction, I see the stairs to the main floor. All’s clear. With soft steps I walk down the hall towards the illuminated opening and peek in.
There’s another menage et trois on the large bed in the room.
Mandy is on her knees, wearing her harness and with a very large implement in black, larger even than her last one, is protruding from it. She’s driving it with great force into the woman kneeling in front of her. That woman is Diane, my Diane.
My lovely woman works her hips back, obviously overjoyed at the ecstasy created by being so filled. Whimpers and moans sound from her mouth, vibrating the swollen flesh of the vulva it’s attached to.
Helen is the person that Diane is licking. Her thighs are locked on my woman’s head. Her fulsome breasts heave with the motions of her body. Eyes roll in a sweat bedewed face and she pants with heated breath.
“Oh yeah!” Mandy exclaims. “Work that lovely ass. Show me how much you like it. I can fuck you a lot better than that monster, can’t I?”
Diane lifts her head and hisses with pleasure. “Yes!” jerks from her lungs. “So, much, better. Harder. Please, harder!”
I barely suppress a sound both whimper and growl as I pull away to head for the stairs. If it weren’t Diane in there, all the women would be dead. But that very small part of me that cares for her keeps me back.
Once I reach the main floor, the torturous sounds fade to the point I can ignore them. I take great care to be silent I check the rooms there. Of greatest interest is the kitchen, I note the gas stove. A quick check of the drawers finds sticks of incense and matches. Good. I can arrange an accident when I leave.
The basement is the last place I check. It’s quite plain and unfurnished. There are no partitions, I can see the entire area from where I stand. I find that the furnace is gas fueled as well. Better still.
Then I turn to check something very odd. There is a separate room built in the centre of the cellar. Of heavy cinder block it’s about six steps square and reaches to the ceiling. A heavy steel door, two inches thick lies open to the interior. I walk around it, checking for security. There is nothing but a large key on a hook next to the door. Satisfied it’s safe, I enter the room.
There is a small desk inside, as well as an empty book stand next to it. One wall is lined with shelves. Many bottles and containers sit there, all clearly labeled. A quick perusing of the labels tells these are the alchemical and sorcerous components Mandy uses for her spells. The only potential sources of illumination are candles on the table and set in several scones on the walls. It seems Ms. Richardson is somewhat of a traditionalist.
I decide this is the perfect spot. This is the center of Mandy’s world and it’s fitting she should die here. I sit myself in the chair at the desk knowing I won’t have to wait long. After two hundred and fifty years, a night doesn’t count for much.
It’s perhaps an hour later when I hear voices on the floor above me. I can’t make out the words but Mandy speaks to her thralls and they give short answers back. The front door opens and closes. Ms. Richardson moves to the stairs to the basement and without turning on the lights, descends them to enter the room where I wait for her.
As she lights a candle, I greet her. “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle Richardson, comment allez-vous?”
She drops her match and whirls to face me. Her features are blank with shock.
“It would appear that we are alone now.” My words shiver with a dark glee. “Madamoiselle Coburn?” I inquire.
Mandy does love to gloat. Her satisfaction overcomes her fear. “I sent her to entertain my little girl in a motel room, with orders to stay there until morning.
“And I just told the Dean and that tasty cunt you’ve been fucking to phone my little girl’s husband when they get home and let him know what the two of them are up to and where. Everyone will enjoy that entertaining domestic scene.” She lets out a wicked laugh.
“I don’t blame you for screwing Diane,” Mandy goes on. “Damn, she’s tasty, and she comes like an express train. I want to thank you for pointing her out to me.” Mandy’s eyes light with sadistic glee.
I make my face answer hers with the same expression, and I come to my feet. “I want to thank you for hurting me like that.”
Her face frowns with surprise and puzzlement.
With a wicked chuckle I drop
my human face to tell her, “It will make your destruction so much tastier.” That’s a true statement and my voice transmits my anticipation to her. She pales once more.
Her right hand comes up with a crucifix in it. “I don’t think so,” Ms. Richardson declares.
I hiss at her and flinch. With a smile, Mandy steps forward and I fall to my knees, continuing the hiss and gnashing my fangs in anguish. She takes two more steps.
She’s close enough. I snatch the icon from her grip and stand again. After I place the cross on the palm of my left hand, I close my fist. The crucifix is pewter and crushes like tissue paper in my grip. I casually toss the crumpled mass at her and it bounces lightly from her chest. My dentition shows as I smile and inform her, “That won’t work for you.”
Her left hand appears from behind her back. I have a glimpse of a small spray bottle and something wet splashes across my face.
Then I’m blind and in agony. I howl as I feel my skin bubble and eyes dissolve. A sulfurous stench thickens the air. Tiny splashes spatter as the slush that used to be my face falls to the floor.
Once again I let my power free. I can feel the melted flesh reform, my destroyed orbs regrow.
And they dissolve once more. Whatever covers my face is very potent.
I fall to my knees, teeth and fists clenched to wage war against my destruction, and I begin to win.
The liquid burning my tissues begins to lose its effect. Blurry images become visible. I can see one of them move as through a dim fog. My head snaps towards it. The vague outline moves faster. Snarling, I rise to my feet. The mist clouding my vision clears, and I see Mandy closing the door to the room.
I leap to stop her but too late. A jarring impact shakes me as I hit the steel sheet, but it doesn’t give in the slightest. A concentrated assault is required to make this door fall. I howl at my prey, “That won’t save you. Nothing on this Earth can save you.” There’s a tiny click as the lock of the door is thrown.
So I set my feet, draw my arm back. A little concentration sends some blood coursing through my body to augment my strength. I thrust a fist forward, focusing my blow on the lock. It never reaches the door.
An instant short of its target my hand hits a barrier. Bright arcs of power lance out, dance over me. I can’t even scream, the pain is so intense. Knocked to my knees once more, I curl into a ball, whimpering.
“Thanks, teach,” comes from the other side of the door. “I wasn’t sure this would work. I had this room built just in case. As far as I knew, nothing supernatural could get in. I figured I might need a hidey hole someday.
“But it makes a good prison as well, doesn’t it? There you’ll stay, vampire. I have the key that can free you. Only it can take the wards down.
“But don’t worry. You’ll have company by morning. I’ll leave the key where my pet can find it. Then you’ll be out of my hair.”
“So long, prof. It’s been a slice.”
My fury peaks and I hurl myself at the door once more. There is nothing motivating me save the blind urge to destroy.
I slam up against the barrier again and my darkness is filled with the light of anguish. The power throws me to the centre of the room, smoking in spots where the arcs have burned. I flush blood through my body, wash the pain away and heal the wounds flayed by the wards.
With a roar, I pick up the desk and hurl it at the door with all my might. It splinters without seeming effect. I launch myself on the same trajectory, hoping the desk broke the protections. Again I land on the floor, my nerves burning.
Despair washes over me, curling me up into a ball. I was overconfident, and soft. There should have been no hesitation on my part. The monster was correct. Mandy should have died first chance I had and be damned to the consequences. A whipped animal whine shivers in the close confines of my cell.
For some time I lie there, feeling nothing. Listening for my executioner, knowing my destruction will not be swift. I won’t even be able to fight back. I’m almost drained.
There’s a noise then, from upstairs. I strain my ears to make out soft footsteps on the floor above. A voice sounds although I can make out no words. It appears to be a human voice. My despondency lifts a little. There’s a chance I can be free, and that I can feed.
The footsteps and voice fade. I wait, trying to hold back disappointment. The person returns. Then I smile as I can hear them coming down the basement stairs.
“Au secours!” I shout, making sure only the man shows in my voice.
“Mistress?” comes from the other side of the door. It’s Helen. The tiny part of me still human screams in terror, wants to warn her of the danger.
What I am smiles wider “Help,” I gasp, “the key, find the key. Get me out. Help.” I flavor my words with despair and pain. Which isn’t difficult to do.
“All right,” I hear. With gleeful anticipation I wait, knowing I’ll soon be free to act. In any manner I chose. My eyes slit with expectancy.
At the sound of the key sliding into the lock, I cover my face with my arms, start a quiet sobbing. I want to draw her close. I’m too weak to move very quickly and I can’t risk her closing the door again.
The portal grinds open and there’s a gasp of shock she sees me. “Who? Georges? What are you doing here? I came to end it, like you told me.” Her voice becomes frantic as she notices my seeming distress. “What has she done to you? Oh God. Is there anything she won’t do?”
My meal is close enough and I spring from the ground. There is a glimpse of her face, terror stamped on her features as the discovery of what I am fills her.
Then all I know is ecstasy. I’m utterly lost in the deep, rich taste of her blood. Nothing else matters.
With a snarl of disgust, I drop her body. There’s no more life to take and I want more, much more. My victim’s face still contains the blank dread that was her last thought. Her ripped open throat glistens in the candlelight. I smile with pride, pleased that I bring fear and death to the world.
I lift the Dean’s body and carry it upstairs. Once I seat her at the kitchen table I return to the basement. I open the furnace and disable the pilot light. A quick twist, the main valve is broken open and gas starts to flood into the room.
Back in the kitchen, I wet a mop and wash away the wards to the back door. Luckily the ink is water-soluble. I light some incense and place it in a holder on the table. Extinguishing the pilot lights on the stove, I turn all valves wide open. When I exit through the sliding door to the deck, I wrap the shadows around me, hurdle the back fence and head to the place where I’ll face Ms. Richardson for the last time.
I’m two blocks away when the thunder of an explosion rumbles behind me. There won’t be any sign of me, or what I am, left behind.
A ferocious grin pastes itself on my face. I’m still in existence, free to kill. Bending all my power to running, there is only one thought in my mind.
I had better hurry. I wouldn’t want to keep Death waiting.
* * * *
I pull up, ceasing the pumping of my legs. By cutting across country I have taken only a little more than a half hour to get here. I can’t be far behind my next victim.
A thunderstorm has come up while I approached. It seemed to coalesce out of the air. Now rain falls heavily and frequent bolts jump through the sky.
The farmhouse crouches in the wet dark, maybe the length of a football field away. I stand at the edge of its influence. The border between the domain of the twisted, corrupt building and the rest of the world is clear if you know how to look. The grass on its side is unreal somehow, as if life had been drawn from it and something profane has flowed in to take its place.
There is a tree to my left, inside the line. The branches are gnarled and coiled, nude of leaves. The bark is a tainted black and very unwholesome looking. There is a hint of movement in the dark limbs unrelated to the wind.
I understand why Mandy comes here. The abyss is close. Calling it forth will be easy at this spot.
The
re’s no time to waste. With quick, careful steps I head to the farmhouse.
When I enter the sound of the storm fades somewhat as I close the door. I can hear someone chanting above me. Only the occasional word is clear but I can identify the language as Latin. “Open”, “come”, “obey”, tell me what is happening. I must act now or my fate will be sealed.
I bound up the first flight of stairs, hastily find this floor empty, and climb up to the attic.
It’s too late.
Ms. Richardson sits nude in the middle of a circle of complex symbols, eight candles burning just inside its circumference. An odd motion fills the air in front of her, a bending of space. For an instant I can glimpse beyond this world.
Then something stands before her. Its shape is of an old, fat man. Naked, his skin is rent with deep wounds and a black, sticky ichor runs from them.
I know now how my victims feel. A freezing terror fills me. If I were capable of it, my bladder and bowels would let go. A hideous evil flows from this thing, permeates the very air. But being a similar being flight is not an option. I prepare to fight instead. Panic is something I cause, never am I a victim of it. My body poises to spring and I wait for the moment to strike.
The demon pays no attention to me, all its focus is on its summoner. “Again you disturb me.” The voice is what you would expect; abominable, hideous. “I grow weary of answering your call. I’m not chattel to be ordered about whenever you wish.” The timbre of its speech communicates a fury only the abyss can contain.
With a snarl and sudden movement, it lunges at Ms. Richardson. That familiar shield of sparks erupts and drives it back. But unlike when it affected me, the demon merely falls away unharmed.
“While the candles burn, I command you,” Mandy intones.
The fiend snarls again. Then it wilts slightly. “What do you wish of me, little mistress?” The fearsome voice now contains resignation and frustration. It has to follow the rules and doesn’t like it at all.