by Lewis Wolfe
In his considerable wealth of experience Baal had never seen mankind produce something quite like Jane Elring. It made him wonder what else they would come up with in the years to come.
Baal watched from the sky as the trio reached the gate to the mansion. It was open. Of course it was open, Baal thought. Jane Elring had arranged all of this hours in advance. She had placed her hands on the foreheads of Ellie and Arthur and shown them exactly what Gold was. She had shown them the beautiful woman’s birth, her orgies by the oak and, of course, the cannibalism Baal had pushed on her.
Jane and Caleb ventured onto the path leading to the mansion, the unconscious Gold still draped over the black man’s shoulder. Even knocked out cold like this, with her blonde curls dangling messily around her face, she was beautiful. Baal was very proud of the work he had done with her. He had created something so appealing to man’s basic instincts that it was almost irresistible.
When the odd trio finally reached the mansion Arthur Toaves was already waiting for them by the door. Baal knew that the old man felt his presence right now. Even if Baal hid out of sight high up in the sky, he couldn’t completely erase his energy from the area. He and Arthur were so intimately connected at this point that there was no escaping the fact.
This led Baal to an intriguing question. What was Jane Elring going to do next? Would she leave them alone? Or was she going to kill Arthur so she could get to him?
From up in the sky Baal watched how Jane stepped aside and gestured for Caleb and Arthur to walk into the mansion. Then she followed them but, just before she closed the door, she turned around and looked up at the sky.
Baal couldn’t help himself then. He lowered his body until he was sure she could see him. With an excited grin he waved at her.
Briefly their eyes locked in an embrace that went far beyond the physical. Baal felt her, everything she was and everything she hoped to be one day. When this was all over, the girl’s mind told him, she would like to try and be a good person.
Baal told her that she couldn’t afford to ever be a good person in the world she lived in. He blew her a kiss.
Jane nodded in acknowledgment. Then she walked inside the mansion and closed the door behind her.
Baal circled through the air in a bout of absolute passion. This was going to be one hell of a fight and he very much looked forward to the enticing distraction. Amusement and consumption. Jane Elring would most certainly amuse him. Would she allow him to consume her, too?
DAY 5
October 28, 2019
1
A beautiful morning arrived at Brettville’s doorstep. It came accompanied by gentle rays of sunlight through which the dark clouds quickly disbanded. Touched by the gentle breeze that strolled casually through town, the birds sang their beautiful melodies, calling people from their slumber.
Agent Bradford was usually an early riser, but today he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. Work called out to him, as it always did, in the shape of countless messages waiting for him on his phone. He couldn’t bring his tired mind to care.
The night had been a restless one and his dreams had been tainted with a feeling of unease that steadily built up inside his core. It was similar to the feeling he got as a little boy whenever he had to go to the dentist. An oppressive mix of fear and anticipation. Something was coming… and it was big, and it was bad.
Of course, when he had been a kid his father was there to pull him through the shameful emotions of doubt and anxiety. A man looked in front of him, not at his feet. Fear was to be met head-on; to do any less was to be a coward. The Bradford men didn’t raise cowards. And if you needed to cry, you did it under the shower.
His father had been dead for several years and there was no man here now with Agent Bradford in his hotel room to yank him out of bed. To hold him accountable. To tell him he was being a shameful weakling and that he needed to get his shit together.
“Get your shit together,” Agent Bradford mumbled to himself as he turned onto his right side.
His phone was within arm’s reach and all he had to do was take it. He didn’t even have to get out of bed. He didn’t have to fight the pressure building up inside his core as he tried to stand against the pull of Brettville’s terrible gravity.
“Just pick up the fucking phone.”
But what if the cause of the terrible feeling that had snuck up on him during the night originated from one of the messages waiting to be read? What if his eyes would inform him of the doom that he knew had been impending for some time now?
As long as he didn’t know, it couldn’t hurt him. The childish thought was an affront to Agent Bradford’s sense of duty, both as a professional and as a man. A man looked in front of him, not at his feet. Even if it meant staring at the ugliest, meanest son of a bitch that lived on the block.
This was his block. He was responsible for it. He had to get out of bed. He had to pick up his phone.
Agent Bradford turned around and found himself staring at the purple curtains he had closed the night before. The sun seemed to struggle desperately to get through and it would only be a matter of time before the hotel room lost the last remnants of its darkness. Not even the purple cloth could prevent the day from reaching out to Agent Bradford.
He was caught between the purple haze that filled the room and the daylight that demanded his presence.
No, that wasn’t true. He was caught in the clutches of whatever it was that filled the depths of his core. It began to reach for his throat now and suddenly Agent Bradford had trouble breathing.
Agent Bradford rolled onto his back and felt an awful dizziness claim his head. The ceiling began to spin and he suddenly felt very sick.
What was going on? He had been perfectly fine last night before going to bed. He had even had a pleasant talk with Becky before calling it a night. Where had that pleasure gone? Why was his health deserting him?
Agent Bradford gathered all his strength and sat up straight. As he did, a terrible nausea assaulted his stomach and he threw up all over the carpeted floor. The sour scent of his own insides crawled up his nose, underscoring the sickness he felt inside his body.
He was warm and cold at the same time and his muscles trembled terribly. Through the dizziness he lost his ability to see straight and found himself unable to stand. Unable to clean the vomit from his lips and shirt. Unable to clean the carpet he had soiled.
The only thing Agent Bradford could do was crawl back into bed and pray to God that this horrible moment would pass. He reached for the covers and pulled them far over his shivering body, all the way up to his ears.
Agent Bradford felt like a child, weak and vulnerable, but nobody was here to take care of him. He was alone, all alone, and nobody would ever come to save him from his own body.
To his shock, Agent Bradford felt his stomach rumble and an excruciating pain echoed through his body. It felt as if he had to take a shit so large that a horse would be jealous of it. A shit so large that his very own body had difficulty processing it.
But how? He could barely see straight, let alone fathom that his trembling body would allow him to walk.
Agent Bradford tossed the covers aside and threw one leg out of bed. The pain in his stomach was almost unbearable and a new bout of nausea drew through his body. He threw up again as he struggled to shove his other leg out of bed.
Gathering all his strength he got up from bed and took two steps toward the bathroom. His head began to spin and he fell to the ground. Then he crawled. His stomach demanded that he crawled. He had to make it to the toilet. He had to….
He shat himself. He felt his underpants fill up with loads and loads of his own feces. It was soft and warm and immediately filled the room with a horrible stench.
Agent Bradford cried his eyes out under the realization of what had just happened to him. He felt so horribly degraded. He was a small, weak boy that couldn’t even take care of himself. Somebody even had to help him take a shit.
He roared in anger and closed his eyes. If he couldn’t see the world, his childish reasoning went, the world couldn’t see him.
The next moment he opened his eyes Agent Bradford found himself back in bed. He felt completely fine and the room wasn’t filled with the terrible stink of his shit and vomit. He hadn’t soiled himself and his dizziness had deserted him.
Had this all been a terrible and humiliating nightmare?
Then the ugliest voice echoed inside his head. He knew that voice anywhere. It was the horrible Jane Elring.
Not saying this was me or anything, Agent Bradford. You know that I officially can’t make people experience illusions, so it couldn’t have been me, right?
But what if it was me, Agent Bradford? What if, maybe, you were right all along? What if I am much more capable than Dr. Greer thinks I am? What if I can do things that would make you…forgive me…shit your pants?
If you could prove that, Agent Bradford…. If you could prove that you were right all along…. That I am going to make this world burn… what would you do? Would you alert the task force? Would you push the button?
I mean…if you could PROVE it, of course, to Dr. Greer. To yourself maybe, even? Yeah, I think maybe it’s time for you to get a move on that.
Imagine, Agent Bradford. This world burning because a single girl wants to see the fire. What if that’s all I want? What if it’s all I ever wanted? To see the fire, Agent Bradford?
You best get up now and do what needs to be done. Like your father said, Bradford men don’t raise cowards.
A terrible rage filled Agent Bradford as the words echoed through his skull. As soon as they left him he jumped out of bed and grabbed his phone. He would call the task force. They would come and they would take the girl out once and for all.
She’d tried to fuck with him?! She thought she was that powerful?! He would show her true power, the way only a man could wield it. She’d be sorry. She’d be on her knees begging him not to push the button.
But now it was too late. He would make the moment last before he finally knocked her out cold. Part of him hoped she’d be awake in time. In time for her to feel Dr. Greer cut her head open as he retrieved her brain.
How would he go about proving this? If he couldn’t do that, Dr. Greer would never give the task force the clearance it needed. Agent Bradford took a deep breath as he sat down on his bed with the phone in his hand.
He’d find a way.
2
Mary Holsworth was afraid. Afraid of the big black man walking around the mansion where she lived, over and over and over again. Afraid, also, of the strange investigator that sat holed up with Arthur in his office.
Mary was no longer allowed access to the old man who had become so much more than just an employer over the years. He sat locked up with Jane Elring and the only disturbance allowed was one of the maids that brought them water and food.
The other thing locked up in the labyrinthine mansion was a young woman. Jane Elring and her bodyguard had brought her in last night, tied down and draped over the black man’s large shoulder. She sat now in the enormous basement that stretched out underneath almost half of the mansion.
Why was all of this happening? Any each one occurrence on its own was strange enough, but taken together it all reeked of a conspiracy. Some kind of dark plan that was about to be set into motion.
Mary walked into the kitchen and found Ellie at the table. The young girl sat staring aimlessly in front of her with a concerned frown. Her tired eyes were occupied by the mess of the previous days, Mary knew.
“I’m thinking about calling the cops.” Mary whispered it to the girl as she sat down next to her, afraid that the black man might hear her.
Ellie looked up at her immediately. Her concern was replaced by shock.
“No! You can’t do that! It’s— You just can’t.”
Mary shook her head and whispered, “This isn’t normal, Ellie. There’s a woman locked up in our basement…. And why does that guy keep walking around the house?”
“Still…. You have to trust, Mary. Trust Arthur. He let them in, right? He knows what he’s doing.”
“I’m not so sure. What is that girl doing with Arthur in his office? None of this makes any sense, Ellie….”
Mary felt Ellie’s hands take her own. The girl held on and squeezed gently.
“Jane is a good person! She helped me get better. She— Look. I know you don’t understand right now. But you have to believe. Believe in Arthur and believe in Jane Elring!”
With a deep sigh, Mary got up from her chair and walked over to the kitchen sink. Her solution to complex problems was always the same. She had learned it from her mother, and her mother had learned it from hers.
Tea. Everything made more sense when you had a nice cup of steaming hot tea. Instantly her mind was filled with old, and not so old, memories of the hours she had spent at the kitchen table with her mother. Drinking tea, talking about her day, listening to stories about old people that weren’t with them anymore.
Her heart filled with a strange sense of melancholy and Mary couldn’t fight that feeling. A few tears ran down her cheeks as she put water in the kettle and placed it on the stove.
What was going on with her all of a sudden? Why were these memories, and the feelings they triggered, dominating her frustrated mind? She had to focus on what was going on inside the mansion. She had to take care of Arthur, and of the young, vulnerable Ellie.
Yet there she stood, gently wiping the tears from her eyes that had spawned at such a random moment. Mary didn’t like feeling this weak. It made her angry and that anger pushed the memories away to the background of her mind.
You feel weak, do you?
A voice Mary vaguely recognized crept up from the back of her mind. At first it was very gentle, hardly more than a whisper, but soon it became stronger.
I think you’re very strong, Mary. You don’t feel strong?
What was this madness inside her head? Where the hell did it come from? Whose voice was that?
The door to the kitchen opened and, when Mary turned to look, she saw the big black man walking inside. She feared him because he was strong and powerful. She feared him because she couldn’t read the intentions off his face. She feared him because his eyes roared with a thunder that was unmistakable. Immediately her mind returned to the cops that she wanted to call.
Hey, Mary? Do you remember your uncle Jacob? I know he’s dead now… but can you remember his face?
The stranger’s voice summoned images of her long-lost uncle to the forefront of her mind. Mary had loved Uncle Jacob. He had been kind and patient with her, and supported her all the way through college with his money and his wisdom. She would have made it without the former, but the latter served her to this day.
Don’t you think the black man kind of looks like Uncle Jacob? I mean, look at his cheekbones and his lips. His nose is a little off, right? But aside from that?
The voice controlled her eyes and Mary couldn’t look away from the black man that stood in the door opening. She couldn’t understand why, but slowly her mental image of Uncle Jacob began to blend with the stranger she had feared. It took only a few seconds before her new familiarity with the black man’s features made her feel secure.
What was happening to her? Mary was a strong and intelligent woman; that belief in herself had always carried her through. Now, though, she knew that she was falling victim to the manipulative voice inside her head and she lacked the tools to handle it. She couldn’t banish the voice from her head and, somehow, it felt as if it belonged there. As if it had lived in her head all along before finally finding the courage to speak up.
Hey, Mary? Why don’t you make everybody some tea? I’m sure Uncle Jacob would love some too. You guys should all sit down together. You have loads of catching up to do!
The black man had vanished then and in his place stood the long-lost Uncle Jacob. Without hesitation Mary ran toward him and threw herself around his neck
.
“Uncle Jacob! Uncle Jacob! I’ve missed you so much!”
The man’s arms around her waist were warm and welcoming. Together they shared an embrace that could only exist between two souls that had known each other for years. Souls that understood and connected on levels that far transcended the physical.
Mary spent the next few hours in that warm comfort. She forgot all about Ellie, about Arthur, about the black man walking through the mansion, about the strange woman in the basement and, most importantly, she forgot about calling the cops.
3
A vague mix of fungus and dust lingered in the air, untouched by the sun that would never reach the darkness that filled this basement. A dampness gathered in the room, grabbing the throats of all visitors and slowly choking the life out of them. To be cloaked by the shadows underneath the Toaves mansion was to slowly succumb to an unnatural madness.
Unsettled by their new guest, the rats scurried along the walls, ever hesitant to get a closer look. Eventually their curiosity would outlast their fear of the unknown and they would approach her. Perhaps they might even take a nibble from her toes, just to see if she could replace the spiders they usually hunted.
Large spiders that built massive webs in the corners of the dark basement. Large spiders that crawled up and down the walls. Traversed the ceilings with their silent little legs, sneaking up on unwitting creatures innocent enough to stay in the basement longer than they had to.
Here, underneath the Toaves mansion, predators found prey. It was nature at its finest, confined to the microcosm of shadows and dust and beyond illusions of morality and decency. Here all was dark and only dark things lived here.
In the middle of the basement sat Gold on a tired old chair that groaned underneath her weight. Her hands and feet were tied and she had never felt this vulnerable. Naked, alone, and slowly choking in the dust and fungus that defiled her lungs.
Gold was dizzy and her jaw was burning. She didn’t know where she was, let alone how she had gotten there.
All she knew was that the squeaking rats were getting braver by the minute and that, eventually, she would become their meal. Their tiny snouts would puncture her flesh and taste the blood underneath. From there on, Gold knew, there would be no stopping the little monsters.