On the Far Side of Darkness (13 page)

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.

There’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.

She looks at me and gives a triumphant, wicked smile. “Kill that thing. Slowly.”

I move with all the power and speed I can muster. Both fists slam into the demon and it flies across the room, smashing into the wall. I follow, claws out, intending to rip the fiend from crotch to chin.

Halfway to my adversary I feel the air harden around me, stopping me dead. I’m encased with some power, unseen but harder than steel. My muscles bulge as I strain against it with all my strength but to no avail. Then I use some blood to augment the force I can exert, which accomplishes nothing. I can’t move at all.

Mandy’s servant looks at me, its eyes are fathomless, dark pools. “Nice try, little brother,” it remarks, and pulls itself free of the hole in the wall its impact made. “But not good enough.” Like the hell hound, the demon is pleased I’m fighting back. It relishes when its quarry offers resistance. Such an act makes the final suffering more exquisite.

A change runs over its surface. The wrinkled, torn skin transforms to green-black chitin. The thing grows taller until it stands just short of the ceiling. The arms split, forming four vicious clawing and stabbing weapons. The legs reform to support this new shape. Now there stands before me an alien mantis, with the compound eyes still black, displaying the cruel nothingness of the abyss.

It vanishes in an eye blink. Almost before I can register that fact one of the demon’s spears punches through my right shoulder. A scream tears from my throat at the pain of it. The next moment, I’m flying through the air. Another searing wave of torment runs through me as the horror’s weapon tears free. My body smashes into the circle surrounding Mandy. The sparks envelop me again and flay my skin raw. I never feel myself hit the floor.

My consciousness comes back with a whimper. My clothes are sticky with the blood oozing from my wounds. Pain gnaws at my body. Mandy’s executioner stands where it last appeared. “Heal yourself, little brother. We have sometime to go yet.”

My rage is gone and fear now holds me. This thing is as far beyond me as I am from my food. Nothing can stop it. Except…

With a loud groan of pain I roll on my back, flop my head towards Mandy, making sure to keep a blank, despairing look on my face. Her eyes are alight with the joy of her victory and the savoring of my suffering.

But all I was doing was checking my position. My right hand dips to the floor, my claws dig into a board and rip it free. Mandy’s protection circle is broken.

Her face falls in shock and terror. The next instant, her former servant is there. Its shape is different yet again, an amalgam of its previous forms. The body and legs are the hideous humanoid while the armament of the monstrous insect remains. One claw darts into Mandy’s gaping mouth and returns with a small, bloody piece of meat. The candles may burn but she’s giving no more commands.

Before she can do more than moan two sharp points pierce her shoulders and lift her from the floor. Blood sprays from her mouth as she screams. The cambion twists its weapons and her voice fades into a sickly mewl.

“Ah, little mistress,” her tormentor gloats, “we’ve been watching you. How pleased we were at the alacrity you served our purpose. The way you bent and twisted your prey was clumsy, but delicious to watch. How you made them want. How you made them suffer. How you used pleasure to create deep, delectable pain in them. But the game ends now. We served you only from force, and we hate being forced. So it’s your turn.”

Mandy looks at me. Her face is blank with terror, her jaw caked in blood. Her plea for help is writ large in her weeping eyes.

Before I can act, the fiend turns it head to me. “Don’t, little brother. I won’t be denied. I can play with two as easily as one.”

So I draw away. I have no wish for my existence to end. It’s beyond my power to help her,  and I warned Ms. Richardson. This was going to be her fate regardless of anything I could or couldn’t do.

Despair fills Mandy’s features now. She realizes this is her finish and nothing can change that. Her focus returns to her torturer as it speaks.

“I’ve always liked using my victim’s own methods against them. What was it you would do? Oh yes. First, warp their mind.” Its jaw drops and something snaps out of the thing’s mouth, some sort of stinger, needle thin, trailing a length of tissue behind it. The point impacts Mandy’s forehead and the tip passes into her brain.

Ms. Richardson’s eyes goggle and roll, some great internal struggle takes place for several seconds, and she loses.

Mandy’s face goes slack and her skin flushes. I can see her nipples pop into hardness, her aureola crinkle. Her clitoris peeks from its hood as it stiffens while her vaginal lips engorge and lubrication begins to drizzle from her.

Her captor twists the points in her shoulders. Mandy gives another groan. The sound is different this time, she still feels the pain but she likes it.

The proboscis pulls back. “There we go,” it croons, “all ready for playing. Next you would toy with them for a short time.”

The arms not used to hold her up blur into motion. The razors at their tips score her skin. Red lines, dripping with blood appear all over Mandy’s body. She jerks, pants and moans in reaction. Again there is as much bliss expressed as agony.

“Finally,” the demon notes, “you would take them.”

Something grows from the crotch of the beast, a horrible mockery of a man’s phallus. Too big for even an equine, it promises an excruciating pain to any person it is thrust into. That’s only the least of it. Tiny ridges of bone, razor sharp, dot its length.

Mandy sees it and her expressions transmit all the emotions she feels. Cold horror, sharp fear, weak denial show one after the other. Then those thoughts are buried under rampant need. She spreads her legs to receive her fate.

I may be a monster but I can’t stay for this. Turning, I hurl myself down the stairs. From behind me comes a gibbering moan of torment, loathing…and delight. As I snap my hands over my ears to block the hideous sounds I barrel through the front door, smashing it in my blind panic.

The storm has climbed to insane levels. The horrid noises chasing me are buried under the howl of wind and crash of thunder. I’m thankful for that. The night zips past me as I run. I have no thought but flight.

I believed I understood about the abyss. What it held and how to handle it. I was wrong.

And I flee from my learning.

* * * *

I rise once more from the earth of my haven. I shouldn’t have returned here, but I wasn’t thinking. All I wanted was to rest someplace familiar. A place where the abyss didn’t intrude.

I’m numb inside. The monster is not pounding to get out for once. It whimpers deep in my psyche, cowed into submission by what I’ve seen. My human side offers no grip for it as there is no emotion in me.

Like a sleepwalker I go through my evening routine. We always fall back on our rituals when times are hard.

To distract myself even more, I turn on the radio. The news is being aired. The first item is about a double murder and suicide in a seedy motel at the outskirts of town. Before I can hear more, I snap the device off.

There’s no need to listen to the details. I know who the victims are. The abyss claimed three more during the night.

My daze causes me to wander into my living room. There is no reason behind my action. I simply need to move. It’s like something is snapping at my heels and I run from it without thought.

I tense as someone knocks on the front door.
Could I be implicated in what happened last night. Is it gendarmes? Or worse?
Then a voice sounds and I can hardly hold in a gasp.

“Georges? Are you there?” It’s Diane.

“Please answer,” she goes on. “I’m sorry about what happened. I don’t know why I acted the way I did.

“Something happened this morning. Suddenly, my mind cleared, slipped free of something that held it. I remembered what I did, and God, did it hurt! I’m so sorry.

“Please be home. Please forgive me.”

A smile floods across my face. My lovely lady is free, and she’s mine. I open my mouth to say something, take a half step to the door.

But I go no closer and stay silent. I can’t let her in to my house or my life. She came so close to being swallowed by the abyss, and it was my fault. This time turned out well. But what about the next? I can only protect her by being away from her. I won’t endanger her again.

So I stand still, giving her no indication that I’m here.

After a minute the sound of her bitter weeping comes to me. She wails with her loss. I clench my jaw and fists, willing myself to inaction.

Diane hasn’t lost. She’s gained. She’s gained freedom from the abyss, the chance at a normal life, and the hope of happiness. I won’t deny her those wonderful things.

Soon I hear her sobs fade as she leaves my porch. I withdraw to the bedroom and dress in the dark.

Paris,
I think,
The City of Light. My home.

I’m going to return to my old familiar haunts. I’ll relax there for a while, visit old friends, try to forget. Forget what I’ve learned in this small and apparently peaceful place.

I slip out the back door, not closing it, and start on my journey home.

Adieu, Diane.

Table of Contents

It’s a pleasant night on the boardwalk in a small seaside town. The walkway is deserted. Almost every tourist here is a college student. It’s the week after school’s out and at this time of night they’re all at the clubs, away from the beach.

So I’m walking alone. I can hear the waves washing the shore. The color of the stars twinkles in my eyes. At times like this I feel calm.

I wish Diane was here.
She would love it. The peace of this spot would speak to her. I can see her smiling, and standing on tiptoe to kiss me in thanks.

That vision is quickly followed by the look of horror and disappointment on her face at her discovery of what I am. She runs and I…I…have to stop her. Mortals can never know we vampires exist. We know how humans treat one another for the smallest differences, and we know that something as different as us can expect even less kindness than that.

That dreadful reverie is broken by a muffled groan from farther down the beach. I’ve heard similar sounds many times in my two hundred and fifty some years. I believe the current vernacular is ‘somebody’s getting laid.’

The groans are repeated as I walk on. I can hear the low muttering of speech. Soon it becomes clear. A man is talking in the accent of L.A.; Watts on further thought. As a vampire I have an excellent ear for languages and dialects. A hunter needs to recognize his prey.

“You like that, you horny white bitch?”

“God, yes,” is the reply from a young woman. Her accent is local, Northeastern U.S. “I love your big black cock. I’m such a slut for it!”

“Then get to work, whore! Get all of it down.”

I’m now close enough to see the people involved. My nature means my night vision is excellent. It would be hard for a predator that hunts at night if their vision wasn’t better than those they hunt.

Her profile shows that she is very young, no more than twenty. She is of medium height with pale white skin and light brown hair. Her blouse is open revealing the silhouette of a firm left breast, not much more than a handful. A dark green skirt is hiked up to her waist and she is without undergarments, displaying a shapely lower body. The young woman’s features are quite pretty; symmetrical and narrow. If my soul wasn’t wrapped in the presence of another woman I would find the kneeling girl attractive.

What is most noticeable is the look on her face. I’ve rarely seen such an expression of lust. She is desperate for satisfaction, completion, orgasms many and hard.

The man draws my attention next. He is as black as the sound of his voice, and his physical presence is astounding. He is easily one of the largest people I have ever seen. He has no shirt on and the body displayed borders on incredible. His muscles are all large and clearly defined, like the most dedicated body builder. For a human he’s quite intimidating.

Then I observe the member the young woman is working on. It looks too large even for a man of his size. It appears more like a baton of ebony than a piece of anatomy. In spite of this, the aroused woman squatting in front of him is taking most of it down her throat.

“Yeah, bitch,” grunts the man. “That’s it. Show me what a white whore you are. Take all of it!” And she does.

I chuckle to myself.
What people will do to satisfy their desires,
I think. My smile fades when I recall some of the things
I’ve
done to satisfy
my
desires.

The attractive girl continues at her task with relish. Soon the man leans his head back, teeth showing in a grimace. I can see the woman’s throat work as she swallows his seed. It takes a rather long time before she stops.

She removes his penis from her throat with a gasp. “God,” she declares, “that was so good! I want to do that forever. I love being full of your come.”

The person using her does not get soft. That huge pole still sticks up to nearly his sternum. He grabs his trollop by the shoulders and turns her around. A hard push bends her over so her face leaves an impression in the sand. “There’s other places that need to be filled. Open wide, bitch.”

She immediately opens her legs, reaches between them and spreads her labia with her hands. “Yes, yes,” she moans. “Put your big, black cock in me. Fuck me ‘til I faint!”

He shoves every inch into her in one long, slow thrust.

The woman he’s filling takes her hands away from herself, grips the sand under her and kneads it with her fingers. Her body shivers and jerks, panting moans stutter from her throat. As her exploiter hits bottom a breathless keen rockets out and all her muscles tighten. The sound tells every one within earshot of her rapture.

Two sets of footsteps impinge on my awareness. They are approaching from my left and I turn to look at them.

It would appear that the man I have been observing has relatives. The two people ten meters away and approaching me are cut from the same cloth. They are almost uncanny in their size and obvious strength.

“Yo, mon,” says one with that distinctive Jamaican patois. “Move your skinny white ass out of here. This is our beach now, mon.” He places an emphasis on the “our” that makes it clear how they will enforce their claimed ownership.

I stare for a second, and then shrug.
Let the humans claim possession. The beach and I will be around long after they’ve departed from this world.
I turn and walk back the way I came.

For a second, I tense as I hear one of them move towards me.

“Don’t bother, Jacob,” comes drifting to me. “We’ll deal with all of them soon. We need to lie low for now.”

The sound of footsteps stop and I disappear into the darkness.

* * * *

I’m sitting at the bar in one of the clubs in town. A club soda is loosely clutched in my hand. I’ve drawn my human appearance over my face, colored it and am working my lungs. What I am is hidden from the people around me. My face and body are thin. If I was standing I would be just a little taller than the average man is. I was born in Alsace, that place between France and Germany. My hair is dark, nearly black, and rather long for a man. Eyes are pale blue and sharp. There’s more German than French in my appearance. I’m dressed casually and well, with a hint of conservatism. It’s hard for people like me to let go of the past. I smile to myself with that thought.

Something catches my eye in the reflections presented to me in the mirror behind the bar. It’s the trio of men from the beach. The woman I saw is not with them. But they have separated three other girls from the dates they are with. Their new prey’s escorts are not pleased but the intimidating physical presence of black men prevents them from doing more than fume.

So, I’m not the only hunter here tonight.

One of the women being stalked excuses herself from the group and heads in my direction. The facilities are just beyond me so that is her likely destination. I smile at a sudden, perverse thought.
Let’s see who is the better hunter, shall we?

I watch as the girl with the strawberry blonde hair approaches. Her build is zaftig. Not whippet thin as current fashion dictates, she is formed like one of Ruben’s models. Eyes of sea green are set in a fair skinned, smooth face. As befits one so young, her expression is quite innocent.

For a moment a lance of pain stabs me. She reminds me very much of Diane, especially her eyes. How I wish things had turned out differently.

My attention returns to the present and I continue tracking my quarry. I give a quick prayer she keeps her innocence. Then, realizing she is just prey, I sigh. Such a thing isn’t going to happen, and the part of me that lives in the night is pleased that I’ll be the one destroying her unknowingness. 

Just before she reaches my stool, I turn towards her. I act surprised, as if I hadn’t noticed her approach. A small piece of power is focused into my presence. I raise my eyebrows and exclaim, “
Enchantez, Mademoiselle!
”

She turns to me. A small hiss of breath tells me I’ve caught her attention just right.

“
Excusez moi
, I mean excuse me,” I go on, “I hadn’t expected to see such beauty tonight.” This is a game I’ve played hundreds, thousands, of times. I could sleepwalk through it.

She draws closer, fascinated by my voice and the power under it. I give a warm smile, showing she has nothing to fear. She stands in front of me and says, “That’s a lovely accent. It’s French, isn’t it?”

I answer affirmatively while pumping a little more power into her. A flush colors her cheeks and she squirms a bit on her feet. I’m stroking those parts of her psyche she is barely aware of, feeding passion where she can’t fight it. Soon we’ll be off, away from here and I can enjoy my evening meal.

A motion behind her in the bar tells me this time will be different. The Jamaican man from the beach has left the table and is stomping my way. The look on his face and his posture makes it clear that there will be trouble.

I catch my prey’s eyes and seize her will in mine. “You were on your way to the washrooms,” I tell her. Enthralled as she is it’s more than an observation. Without further comment she leaves and goes where I told her.

I follow and go into the men’s. It’s empty. Perfect.

After I unzipped my fly at a urinal I pretend to be relieving myself. I don’t of course, I can’t. But I need to keep up appearances.

A large hand places itself on my right shoulder and pulls at it. I move with the pressure. It would be easy to resist, but I want him to believe me to be within his power. It’s the Jamaican.

“What you think you’re doin’ mon? Cuttin’ in on my woman?”

“I’m sorry,” I reply with a bland look on my face. “I hadn’t noticed a certificate of ownership on her. I had assumed she was single.” It’s difficult to appear calm. Undead blood drinkers like myself do not take challenges lightly.

The flare of anger in his eyes shows my answer doesn’t please him. “Maybe you should pay more attention then, you skinny white faggot.” He pushes at my left shoulder. This time I resist. He’s too angry to notice I don’t move.

I raise an eyebrow as if to say ‘Really?’

His fury climbs a little. “Yeah, mon. A faggot you are. I’ll prove it.” He grabs my shoulder and with his right hand, unzips his jeans. As his penis rolls out, I see that he’s built like his compatriots. It’s enormous.

He raises his fist and pushes down on my shoulder. “So, white boy. Give me a blow job. If it’s bad, I kill you slowly. If it’s good, I kill you quick. Real good, and I only hurt you. Get to work.”

I fall to my knees, shaking, as if his threats mean something to me. I’m not a great actor, but I try to put on an expression of fear, with a touch of lust. It wouldn’t do for him to be alert. I reach slowly towards his member, and slam my fist into his testicles with all the strength my condition grants me.

They squash like oversized grapes. He gives out a tiny peep as agony flashes through his body.

I stand quickly and wrap my left hand around his throat, squeezing enough to prevent any more sound from passing his lips. With the merest effort I him off his feet to carry him into a toilet stall and sit him down.

“
Mon frere
,” I say, “you make too many assumptions.” I show him my fangs…and then I use them.

* * * *

I stand away from the corpse. Blood loss and shock have killed him. I lick rich, red liquid from my lips and then swipe my tongue over the wound I have inflicted. It vanishes, as they always do with that treatment. My hands take his head and with a twist I break his neck to hide what really killed him. It’s wise to misdirect investigation. There are forces out there whose attention I would rather not garner and secrecy is a habit.

A sneering smile graces my lips.
He wanted to play in the bigs,
is the very modern, and very appropriate thought that goes through my mind.
Be careful what you wish for,
is the very ancient, and also apt aphorism that follows it.

It’s then I notice something. The taste of the blood I have imbibed. It has a…cloying taste. The best description is that some sort of artificial flavoring has been added to the liquid. I feel almost as if I had a meal consisting of cake. Very filling but perhaps too much. So this man’s excessive size may not be natural. I look at him for a second, pondering whether I should find out all I can about these people.

Heavy footsteps approaching interrupt my musing. My meal’s friends are coming to investigate. I doubt I would have any trouble with them, but it would be best not to make an obvious scene.

There is a window above the toilet, large enough for me to leave through. So I use it.

As I head away from the club I can hear vicious cursing behind me. My victim’s friends aren’t happy. I shrug my shoulders for I don’t care what people like that, mortals, think.

As I merge with the crowds in the street, I ponder how to spend the rest of the night.
The library,
I think.
A good book would be nice company.

I move away from my hunt and disappear into the night.