The Acolyte
Copyright 2007 by Mary Harris [aka redplanetes]
Chapter 18
His head was pounding. He was muffled in dark cobwebs, and thankfully there was no light, but the pounding was almost audible, like the grinding thump of heavy machinery. A momentary wave of nausea swept over him, and he swallowed hard several times to quell it.
A snuffling near his face made his hair stand on end. Henry couldn't see what was sniffing at him, but it sounded like a very large animal. Rising panic threatened to engulf him, and he moaned, trying to remember if there were bears in this part of the country, or mountain lions.
He must have hit his head, or fallen into a cave, or an abandoned mine shaft. He tried to remember where he had been last.
Helen Murdoch... he was eating lunch at her house, and then, ...and then what?
A gravelly voice cut through the darkness. "Not good ...bones," the disembodied voice rasped out, travelling away from where he lay sprawled in the darkness. Henry had the unpleasant thought that the voice belonged to whatever had been smelling him, but ...talking animals? That was crazy, crazier even than the demon he had been tracking down.
It hit him like a ton of lead, that the voice might be the demon thing, the Shadow Man. A few of the witnesses had warned him to stay away from it, not to attract its attention, but what if the thing had found him out? Fear encompassed him in a new shroud, numbing his skin, making his heart pound wildly.
He realized there was a hood covering his head only as it was pulled off. The hasty fist that yanked the cloth away also tore a few strands of his hair with it, squeezing a yelp of pain and fear from his parched throat. Blinking rapidly, Henry tried to focus on the blurred surroundings.
He wasn't in a cave, but in some kind of industrial command center. Soft, flickering light came from several kerosene lamps, and from a few weakly glowing bulbs in wire cages. When his eyes paused on the worktable covered in a bloody ruin, his mind reeled. Half a human face, eyes bugged out blindly, ribs standing exposed. A body, God save me - I've stumbled into a killer's slaughterhouse! His vision dimmed around the edges; all he could see was that half-destroyed corpse.
A voice from behind him made him jump. "Rise and shine, sweetie." He snapped his head around, saw a familiar face. It was the woman, Helen, staring at him cooly, smiling - like the Mona Lisa - as though a secret, witty joke had just been told. "You're in luck. He doesn't think you're much good to eat... not just yet anyway." She chuckled. "He has been known to change his mind when he gets hungry."
There was no sign of the 'he' she spoke of, but that didn't ease his roiling mind. He wondered if maybe he shouldn't have left this so-called quest alone after all, certainly it had been foolhardy to go chasing after a demon. Helen seemed to read his thoughts.
"Snooping into things better left unseen, tsk, bad choice," she said casually, but with a steely, threatening undertone. "Who else knows what you've been doing?"
He had the sense to know what she was driving at. If he hadn't told anyone, they could kill him. He and all his research would disappear, and how many people would go looking for a travelling preacher? If, however, he had told anyone about his quest, he would be safe for as long as it took these people to go after them. The pathetic truth was that he had never shared his suspicions with anyone, fearing they would think him crazy. He lowered his head in shame and terror.
"No one, huh? I'm not surprised." Helen laughed. "Nobody likes people who stick their noses," she reached up a hand, threading it through his ruffled dark hair, jerked his head back, "where they don't belong."
Henry cried out, though he tried to stifle it. His head was still tender, and the woman was rough with him. She mussed his hair, making him wince, as she rose stiffly. "Make yourself at home," she called over her shoulder. Helen reached down, picked up a small object from the floor, tossed it at his feet. It was a granola bar. As he reached to pick it up, he was dismayed to see that his ankle had a huge, crudely-formed shackle around it, with a chain that ran to a pipe on the wall. He was a prisoner to these murderous people.
* * * * *
Mena watched the man from a catwalk, hidden in the shadows. This young minister was an unexpected surprise. She had barely been able to look at him when he came in for lunch at Aunt Hel's. Partially because he had made such a tragically funny mistake coming there that she could barely contain her laughter, but also because he was so damn cute.
Rev. Henry's hair was black, or dark enough brown to look black anyway, once cut short, but getting shaggy. He had eyes a sparkling midnight blue, and a clean-cut beauty that sometimes cropped up in Tennessee or Kentucky. Mena wondered if roses would come to his cheeks if she slapped them.
He was weeping quietly now, after a long bout of mumbled prayer. She'd had to shove her fist in her mouth during that; if he thought a plea to a higher power would help him here, he was welcome to it, but she also felt strangely solemn about it. Interrupting his fervent prayer with laughter somehow seemed... rude.
His timidity irritated her. There must be more to him if he can preach successfully; to move people with words takes a strength not of the body, but of the spirit, of the will. Mena had an urge to prod him, to make him show his teeth. Somehow...
* * * * *
Time passed like cold molasses. Henry wept, sure that these were to be the last hours of his life. He had tried to pray, but the urgent words just seemed to bounce back at him from the high walls, mocking his despair. He now rested his head on folded arms, with knees drawn up to his chest. As he prepared himself to die, and probably in some messy, painful way, a desire rose ever so slowly within him. A desire to live.
An inner conversation began to form, an argument with his own soul.
Maybe I can reason with them.
Arguing with madmen will get you nowhere. They've already decided, they won't listen to reason.
The Shadow Man, maybe he's not real, maybe these women are just insane and using the legends as cover.
He is real, I've seen enough evidence, heard enough witnesses describe the same thing.
Perhaps then, I can appeal to their humanity. The Shadow Man is no friend to humankind, surely they fear his bloodthirsty hunger, too.
If these two ever had any humanity, it is long gone now. I saw her dismembering that corpse. Eating from it.
The argument went on and on, confusing him, driving him deeper into despair.
* * * * *
He started, realized he'd been drifting off. Not just drifting off, but asleep for awhile, as the deeper shadows in this hellish den announced. Henry lifted his head, checked his surroundings once again, hoping for some loophole in his prison, some miracle. Instead he saw the third member of the gang, dragging a headless body by one foot across the room.
What the hell is that?
What is it? Oh my God, it's real, it's not a costume. And that's... that's what they described. That's the man - thing - that killed all those high school kids in the bus accident. The thing has - oh my God... it has wings. Enormous, leathery bat wings, like... Oh God no.
It's the Devil.
Ugly as sin, what other way would the Devil look? A grotesque mockery of a man. The hawkish nose, long pointy chin with an illusion of beard hairs, the cruel, malicious face. I'd recognise that set of characteristics anywhere, any child would. His skin isn't red, though... that's odd. It looks lumpy... rotten. The color of slimy old mildew. And... no tail. But it is the Devil. I know it.
Ah God! - it's coming over, ...can't bear its gaze, it's so evil. Bending over me, its vile skin in my face. It's... smelling me again. What does the Devil smell for? What does it want? Its head, up close, and I can see them now.
The horns.
Not at all like the pictures, two little neat black Pan-horns, no. These are horns ...like fingers - long claws around its horrible misshapen head.
Its eyes narrowing - ughh! they're awful! No... it's grinning. God, guhhh... the teeth! Jesus, help me!
Henry began struggling, squawks of panic rising to short screams. The creature had grabbed one of the his flailing arms, and brought the hand to its face. A lick to a fingertip, then it disappeared into those spiky jaws, was gone in the blink of an eye. Henry screeched shrilly, stunned at his sudden loss, while the monster crunched happily. It watched him panting and moaning for a few moments, then abruptly turned away and left the him to clutch a mangled hand to his chest.
As the monster returned to the worktable, Helen gave it a questioning frown.
"Crunchy." was her companion's response.
Helen barked out a laugh. "Bet you can't eat just one!" The monster leered, reached for the chalkboard.
Henry could hear the woman's laughter, unaccountable in the hellish dungeon. Her words, and the Devil's growled speech, seemed to be referring to him as snack food. He felt consciousness draining from him, and fell limp and senseless to the floor.
* * * * *
Pressing her foot hard against the accelerator, Mena pushed the engine in the preacher's old car to go as fast as it could. She followed landmarks described by her aunt, made her way towards the old quarry where the monster sometimes dumped cars. It certainly wasn't easy to find; she had to drive back and forth on the two-lane highway several times before locating the tiny road, so overgrown as to be virtually invisible.
The gaping maw in the earth opened up before her at last. Trees and weeds grew right up to the edge, even spilling down the steep sides to give it a strange inverted beard. She peeped over the edge; sure enough, down in the shadowed depths was a pile of rusting automobiles, empty windows staring blankly up at her. Some of the cars looked downright ancient.
Mena carefully inspected the reverend's car, making sure no clues remained. Releasing the emergency brake, she pushed it carefully to the edge. Flashbacks of the recent disposal of her own Mustang flew through her mind, but she heaved steadily until it rolled on it's own momentum. The car slid over the edge like a dead fish, crashed into the pile below with a heavy crunch. Mena sighed, glad to be rid of the useless monstrosity.
She mulled over the present situation as she walked back to the highway. One gorgeous young preacher, not quite food-quality to the monster. A man who could possibly provide hours or days of live entertainment.
When she'd brought the boy Danny back to the Catacombs, she'd only thought to maybe have a laugh, play around with him a bit. Feeling sorry for him, she'd known full well that he might not fare any better by being 'rescued' from the roadhouse. Which is worse, being burned alive, or having your face bitten off while you come? She smirked, remembering. At least he went off with a bang.
This clean-cut preacher, though, was a whole different thing. The monster was not very interested, which meant he was fair game for her and Aunt Hel. A plaything, an amusing diversion, a dangerous witness. He was all of those, but Mena felt something strange towards Henry. She liked him.
She thought he was slightly deluded in his beliefs, but he also had something about him that made her want to know more, to get close to him, physically and mentally. He had tracked the monster; something in common, though the aim might be different. I wonder, I wonder... If he could hunt down a monster, maybe he could hunt with us, if only we could turn his focus onto a more suitable prey.
Mena emerged from the dense undergrowth, and stepped onto the crunchy verge of the highway. It's going to be a while, she thought, looking both ways along the lonesome pavement. She started walking, whistling to the twilight air while she waited for a car to come by.
* * * * *
Henry awakened reluctantly, remembering where he was before he'd opened his eyes. The throbbing in his head was now matched by the burning ache of a missing fingertip; half of his right index finger, gone forever.
He was cramped from having lain on the cold concrete for so long, and stretched cautiously. Henry didn't want to attract the Devil's attention again. A soft sound made him freeze, a groan, but it was hard to tell the source. He looked around carefully, saw the horrid shape in front of its worktable. It was standing there, half bent over... heaving.
Henry saw the demon's muscles contract, its lower back tense up. It appeared to be trying to regurgitate. Good. I hope he chokes. Henry had a flash of illogical thought, that maybe the monster would vomit up his finger, and doctors might be able to save it. But as he watched the intermittent spasms, he noticed a strange pattern. The slow, convulsive movements were too careful... too measured. Then he saw what was on the table in front of the Devil.
No, the monster wasn't dry heaving. It was copulating, with the woman Helen.
She lay naked on the edge, her braced leg propped up on the monster's shoulder. Henry could see her other foot stroking the beast's thigh, pressing against its buttock. The groans were coming from her, each time the creature pushed into her. A bolt of erotic heat shot through him at the sight, even as grotesque as it was, but it was followed by a cold wave of fear. Henry knew what he was seeing here, he'd heard of it, but never given full creedence to the ancient legends.
The Shadow Man was an incubus.
There before him was that ancient monster, painstakingly clenching its stomach muscles, curling its hips into the woman's body. Henry tried not to watch, tried not to be aroused by the sight. It was too late, though, he was under the Shadow Man's spell. He burned with the knowledge that he shouldn't be seeing this unholy marriage, yet he couldn't manage to look away. With each careful thrust, it was as though his own loins were there, pushing against a warm wet secret. The light skin of the woman's thigh reflected in the kerosene lamp's glow; pale skin encaged by steel straps and bars, pierced by thick pins that drove inward to the bone. The demon opened it's mouth and uncurled a glistening tongue, began licking at the pins and the impaled flesh, clanking its jagged teeth against the torturous metal.
Henry was entranced. Though across the empty room, he clearly heard Helen hiss when the vile creature found a tender spot on her calf. Her reaction to pain quickly melted into a moan as the monster kneaded her leg, stroking and squeezing the back of her knee.
It went against everything natural. The demon was enjoying this perverse act, and so was his victim. Her tender human flesh, which should only be touched by a man, was being caressed and inflamed by this revolting spawn of hell. Henry swallowed hard, trying to keep his thoughts together. If he could somehow stop the demon, he could impede this evil.
Stop the demon, put himself in its place. She would gasp for him. No, that's just what it wants, it's tempting me!
He watched, struggling within; the Shadow Man's horrific wings were unfurling slowly, sweeping down to scrape gouges into the concrete floor. The clawed wingtips flexed and curled in time with the monster's pleasure; slowly opening, then tensing, quaking like leaves in a storm.
The monster's entire body began to shudder deeply, as though it was experiencing an earthquake all its own. A rancid howl broke from the beast's upraised mouth; such a sorrowful sound that Henry blinked for a moment, almost forgetting to hate the incubus.
But it was over. The creature leaned over the woman now; face to face, they nuzzled, they were kissing. How could a demon be so ...affectionate? The impossibility of what he was seeing fluttered amid the shreds of a deep arousal. He could feel the touch of her swollen lips on his own. Henry wanted to be the demon, just for a moment.
An intense shame crashed into him like a physical blow. This woman didn't attract him, and what the heck was he doing allowing himself to be attracted anyway? Was a vow of chastity so easily forgotten when it came to actual battles with demons? Maybe she really was a witch, consort of a demon. Henry at last looked away, his face burning.
The tears didn't come until the third time, when the incubus rutted with Helen on the floor in front of him, both of them bent over like animals. He covered his face with one hand, wiping the tears away as he desperately fondled himself through his pants.
* * * * *
Mena stumbled in late, arm slung over the shoulder of her latest victim; a drunk and giddy old man, nearly beside himself that he'd caught such a fine young thing. He had happily given Mena a ride to the old power plant, never caring why she chose such a godforsaken place to lead him.
Not until he looked around him did he begin to question the wisdom of this adventure. There was blood on a long table, puddled in hard black pools on the floor. A man huddled, shaking and weeping, against a wall; he appeared - against all belief - to be chained there, like a prisoner in some medieval dungeon. As it all began to sink in, the old man turned to look for his frisky companion for reassurance, and instead got a punch in the face.
He screamed and held his nose as it began squirting bright blood. Other figures assembled around him, nightmarish faces, mocking his confusion. An older woman, handicapped by an uncomfortable-looking brace, swung her stout ivory cane at his knees, dropped him easily to the floor. He wailed as his elbows struck hard concrete, but they closed in on him mercilessly. The two women held his struggling limbs while a third person ...not a person, a horror! - knelt over him.
Screams shrilled through the control room as the monster peeled skin from the man, stuffing the long bloody strips into its mouth. He died after half an hour of the creature's attentions, after which the body lay alone, forsaken and naked of skin, until the beast's hunger reduced it to a few moist bones.
* * * * *
The little preacher was deeply ashamed; it was obvious from his attempts to hide himself. He tried so hard not to look her in the face. Henry hid himself as she walked by, cowering under her condecending chuckle.
She had seen him as he had watched her last night. He'd been deeply affected, seeing her with the monster. The young man obviously was scandalized, thought it was the worst of evils, but she couldn't blame him for his misconceptions. And the monster had been very tender with her, and so attentive, it was no wonder her homecoming had gotten Henry all hot and bothered.
She walked over to him, pointedly made herself comfortable. Helen handed him a canteen of water, and after a few seconds he took it, still unable to meet her gaze. Henry drank, now realizing how terribly thirsty he was. Anger swelled in him; they had degraded him, and obviously meant to continue, all because he strove to rid the world of its darkest evil.
"So he did kidnap you... it was true what they said," he spoke bitterly, his head lowered.
She paused for a moment, choosing her words. "He rescued me."
He stared at her, aghast. "He's a monster," Henry sputtered. "A killer, a... a devil!"
Helen laughed. "All that and so sexy too!"
"Oh my God! ...with that... that... that's disgusting!" Indignant rage rose up in him. "You're a murderer, a cannibal..." Henry spat out.
"You're in no position to be calling me a cannibal." She retorted. "What do you think you had for lunch yesterday?"
He was silent for a moment, his skin turning a sickly green as it sank in. "You, ...you're crazy!" he burst out. Then he looked up, recoiled at the deadly glare in her eyes, but then steadied himself again.
"You people are serial killers! This is no hobby, this is murder!"
He rose clumsily to his feet, the fury of his rampage giving him strength to fight back, if only in words. "Acting like it's a big game, ...torturing ...killing, ah God! What you're doing is so unspeakable, how can you sleep?" His voice rose to a shout. "This is atrocity against nature! And perversions with that... beast. It's evil."
He hung his head, trying to shake the images from his mind. Helen stared at him malignantly, face gone deathly still.
"You call me evil?" she growled. "When you and your kind spend every waking minute deluding yourselves that you are so blameless. At least I'm honest about my killing," she hissed, pacing back and forth in her growing fury. "This is no game. This is evolution. I loathe your filthy civilization, your self-righteousness, and I will do everything in my abilities to hinder it."
She grabbed Henry's face, squeezing it hard between taut fingers. "What you do is depraved. Send your own children off to be brainwashed until their minds are ruined, their spirits crushed. Little wonder they grow to a stifled adulthood and suffer nameless frustration in silence for the rest of their lives. And then, because it's the norm, they send their own beloved, cursed children to be crushed in turn." Helen released his face as though it were tainted, and walked away a few steps.
"I don't think I'm better than any other person." she said in a low voice. "I'm just the end result of your hateful cycle. Did you think it could go on forever, without repercussions?"
She humphed, calming. "Now Mena, she's more devoted than I am. That girl is bent on making trouble, and she'll have no mercy." She laughed. "Be sure of it, you are in for a ride."
"I don't know what to do with you." She looked him up and down. "We have more than enough to eat so you're surplus. He doesn't really want you, and I won't kill you if you're just going to sit around and rot. That would be evil." Helen paced again, slowly, thinking. "You're going to be here for a while. Try not to be such a downer."
Henry's mouth hung open; he was aghast at the tirade he'd just heard. And to top it off, she was telling him to stop sulking. He held a shaky, bloodstained hand up. "That thing ate my finger, and you want me to be cheerful?"
Helen shot him a glacial stare. "If you're gonna act like meat, you'd better not bitch about getting eaten."
End of Chapter 18
The Acolyte and illustrations Copyright 2007 by Mary Harris [aka redplanetes]
~plagarists will be flayed alive~
redplanet@trinidadusa.net
