Horror

When I looked into his eyes, all those concerns faded away and I felt myself giving in to the world around me.

"Hello," his voice held a deep timbre, powerful as he approached me with his hand held out. He spoke with a hint of a German accent, but it was subtle, as if he had been away from his home country for a long time. "I've missed you terribly."

My dream man had never spoken to me before. It was almost a creepy turn of events.

Nevertheless, I advanced toward him and took his hand gingerly. His fingers tightened over mine, and he urged me closer.

"I missed you, too," I practically whispered the response. I suddenly felt intimidated in his presence though it didn't come close to deterring me from getting closer. "I don't understand all of this."

"Shh." The only sound I had ever heard him make was a familiar and comforting one. He smiled as he put a finger to my lips. "It'll all become apparent to you eventually. I promise."

"I trust you." I felt overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. It made me melt inside, and I smiled self-consciously. A huff of laughter offset the tension. "You're so beautiful… I wish you were real."

"Who says that I'm not?" He leaned closer and kissed my forehead. "Just because this isn't real doesn't mean what we have won't be real someday."

"I don't understand." It was the honest truth. I knew that these moments were not merely daydreams but what specifically they were, I hadn't guessed. The worst part was that I was on autopilot outside of them. I was on the verge of questioning my sanity. "How is this possible?"

"I think that we're supposed to be happy here." He kissed my cheek and shifted so he could whisper in my ear. "There might not be many happy days ahead. I don't have all the answers, Miranda, but I do have something almost as valuable--hope."

"Hope?" I began to tremble, and he gave me a careful hug. "Hope for what?"

"The future." He drew his head back to look me in the eyes again. "Ours…the world's… everything."

"That's enough to make a girl afraid." I tried to make the comment flippant, but instead it sounded weak.

"And what's this enough to do?" He leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. The contact was gentle at first but escalated swiftly until we were deep in the midst of a passionate dance of muffled moans.

There was something about his very presence that drove me wild physically. I wanted him to possess me--to comfort me with his touch. In contrast, I was desperate to see him relax his broad shoulders and gaze at me through eyes that spoke of pure happiness--the kind of emotion where one surrenders to all else.

It was my turn to take control.

“Hello, Itana.”

She turned, recognizing the voice instantly, but unwilling to accept who it belonged to. She’d just seen Gershon across the parking lot, but before she could speak, Gershon grabbed her. He pushed her against the wall, mouth moving closer, then pressing against hers. His lips were firm, demanding. His wicked tongue moved against her lips, passing through to touch the sensitive parts within.

Itana had been kissed many times in her life, but nothing compared with what Gershon did to her in that hallway. His body pressed against hers, one muscular thigh sliding between hers, spreading her while she felt his erection rub against her sensitive mound.

She tried to push against him, but he took both her small wrists in one of his hands, holding them above her head. His other hand rested against her rib cage just below her breasts and for a brief moment, she wished that hand would slide up and caress her breast through her shirt.

Gershon was sexy. From the first moment she’d met him, she wanted him. Now he was touching her, plundering her mouth in ways that made her thighs burn with desire. Every nerve ending came to life beneath his body and, for a minute, she didn’t care what the consequences were. She wanted this man inside her.

He must’ve wanted her as badly. Gershon hadn’t bothered dressing, rushing over some time after she’d waved. He wore a leather jacket, no shirt, jeans, and his hair was still wet from a shower.

His mouth broke from hers, kissing a trail down her throat, unbuttoning her shirt and indulging on the flesh beneath. He reached the top of her breasts, causing need to flow through her body. She never remembered craving a man so much, needing to feel those lips encompass her nipple.

“We can’t do this,” she whispered breathless, wishing there was some way to end the worry Veris created.

“Why not? You want me.” He said it as a statement of fact, never questioning her reaction. “Unlock the door. We don’t need to do this in the hallway.” Before she could protest, he took her soft flesh into his mouth, suckling her while one jean clad thigh rubbed against her.

“If we do this, I can never see you again.”

He took the keys from her hand, unlocking the door and throwing it open. Then he looked at her, gaze going over her body and her thighs burned with a need she didn’t know was possible.

“I can be faithful. I promise you that. You’re the only one for me.”

“That’s not it.” He unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it into her apartment. One breast hung over the cup, the other still covered in black lace. “Please, you have to listen to me. I’m not like other girls. This can’t go anywhere.”

The lace-covered nipple was taut, and he dropped his lips to it, teasing her through the bra. She didn’t see him unfasten her pants, but felt it, heard the zipper slowly dropping until her black thong was visible.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” he whispered between breasts. “I’ve given you time, now give me the chance to win you. I don’t mind competing for your affections.”

“I’m not afraid of you. He’ll find me. Don’t you see?” She wasn’t making sense and she didn’t care. He felt too good. She tried again to find the words to convey her situation. If only her body didn’t throb with every touch. “Someone is after me. He tracks by scent. If I come, he might find me.”

That got his attention. He stopped, his mouth at her hipbone. “What?”

Mae quickly placed her foot on the gas, revving the engine. The car made a slow getaway with some aliens still clinging to the roof. Her flat tire made the escape unsuccessful. She honked the horn, hoping the loud noise would scare them away. A few more dropped from view and howled in agony. This made her load lighter. The car picked up speed. She honked again and heard the curses from above. A couple more dropped onto the road. She heard one more move around up there. She swerved the car back and forth on the narrow road, trying to lose it. Mae let out a terrified scream as a green head suddenly blocked her windshield.

“I want to drink your blood,” it said.

Mae drove a little faster, determined to lose the creature. She swerved back and forth. The dirt created a brown cloud in her wake. She gave the steering wheel one quick turn. The vehicle spun around in a vicious circle several times before rolling into the ditch.

She tried to move her body. Everything seemed to be okay. Stay calm. Someone will rescue you. The seat belt cut into her chest. The pressure made it difficult to breathe. Mae felt a trickle of blood run down her face. You’ll be okay. She saw the green alien a few feet away.

Mae managed to unbuckle her seat belt. Her hand fumbled for the door. She gritted her teeth and tried to push it open. The door was jammed. Damn! Mae tasted sweat in her mouth. She pushed her entire body against the door and banged against it repeatedly. The door finally swung open and fell off its hinges. She tumbled into the high grass. Her head was swimming. Mae wiped the blood and sweat out of her eyes. Slowly, she walked away from the wreckage. Her entire body throbbed in pain. She stumbled and tried to regain her strength. There was no sign of the angry mob. Maybe they went back to town.

The dead alien lay stretched out in the ditch. Its yellow eyes stared off into space. Feeling relief about this, Mae took to the road by foot. She needed to go home. Looking behind her one last time, her eyes widened with fright. The alien that had been lying dead in the ditch was gone!

The hunger was acute as Papyan the Sinner looked at the heap they were poised to fight over. He felt himself drooling profusely, but when he noticed the great tendrils of saliva that hung from the other man’s mouth, he was terrified. Papyan the Sinner knew he must have the prize or die trying to get it. His arms swung back and forth as he tried to menace his opponent. “You bag of chicken shit, I’ll use your hide to wipe my ass,” he screamed, his voice pitching too high.

In a blur the two men attacked each other.

They were suddenly wrenched apart and were both overcome with the stench. Each man felt on his shoulder a horny claw that held him in a death grip. They went limp like kittens held by the scruff of the neck.

“What have we here, my two pups?” a voice growled. It seemed to come from the bottom of the never-ending cave, and was drenched in an evil so pure that it was mesmerizing. “You are fighting over this while forgetting what I called you for!” the throaty voice chuckled. The reek that emanated from his mouth was a mixture of decayed flesh and the cloying, fetid smell of a very large reptile.

“I need you to make yourselves useful. There is a man who must die, for with my power, I can see that he will be a problem for me if he is allowed to develop. One of you will have the job of killing him and his entire family now, while he is weak. The other will be there to help if there is a mishap.” He eyed them with a look that was primeval and reptilian. Both the men shivered. He threw them to the ground roughly. With one sharp talon he divided the large mound that was between them. It was a mound of the Sorcerer Gaumata’s excrement that they had been fighting over. Both the men trembled with renewed desire, but the creature backhanded them, his scaly skin stinging like a thousand scorpions.

“I don’t want to die with regrets. My mother always warned me about that,” Andre said.

Seimei finally stood and Andre followed him outside. “After such a night of pleasure, I am hungry. Let’s bathe under the waterfall and then pick something from the forest for our meal.”

As they approached the waterfall, droplets of water sprayed their faces. It was so refreshing, but the water could be quite cold, coming from the snow-capped mountain. Andre followed Seimei in, removing his kimono and wrapping the cotton bathing kimono about his naked body. Seimei laughed at his discomfort. He wore only a loincloth, which allowed Andre to see his perfect body. His chest was broad and well-muscled, yet delicate in the way of a man who has not yet reached his middle age. Andre knew that it was rude to stare, but he couldn’t avert his eyes. The water cascaded over Seimei’s head and he yanked Andre’s hand, dragging him under the torrent of water.

Andre’s body almost convulsed with the cold. He was shivering within seconds, but Seimei pulled him close in an embrace that made him tingle. The water pounded over their bodies as they stood still. Andre breathed in the cool air and took in the scent of the water, the mountains, and the underlying spicy scent of Seimei. They stayed under the water like this for so long that Andre lost track. His initial discomfort was replaced by a sense of awe. It was they kind of awe that makes one tremble in the face of nature’s majesty. It made all of Seimei’s stories seem so plausible.

They finally left the water and Seimei donned his dry robes. He clucked at the way Andre tied his inexpertly, and showed him the proper way. Then they took rice fiber baskets with them as they set off for the forest. Around them birds chattered happily. Andre was afraid to look at them, but finally he did. He saw what he’d feared. Some of the so-called birds were mountain tengus, small monsters who were supposed to inhabit the ancient mountains. Some stood in trees with their arms crossed over their chests in belligerence, while some threw their heads back to sing heartily. Andre knew what they were thinking. He wondered how many of them had watched their lovemaking and he shuddered. He thought of himself as a private person—so unlike Seimei, who was used to being in the company of so many souls.

“These are yama-no-imo. The roots are the part to eat,” Seimei said, pointing to a plant.

“Mountain potatoes,” Andre said. “They aren’t really very good.”

“Yes, I wish I were eating with the emperor too, but we take what we can,” Seimei said.

“Konnyaku! There!” Seimei pointed to a plant Andre knew as Devil’s Tongue. He wasn’t too fond of that plant either.

They filled their baskets and Seimei smiled. “Now for a real treat. There is a mikan tree growing in a meadow not far from here.”

Andre followed him until they came into a clearing that seemed magical. In the middle of it was a gnarled old tree with orange fruit on it. They were ripe, and many were on the ground, being devoured by tengus and tanukis. Andre picked one and smelled it. It was a kind of citrus. He could tell by its texture and smell. He picked as many as he could hold in his sleeve and headed for where Seimei was already seated, peeling the fruit. The peel was rather thick, and the fruit small, but it was sweet and delicious. They ate until Andre was almost full. Andre felt like joking, so when Seimei got up to pick more fruit, he took the pile of peels he’d produced and added them to Seimei’s pile. When he returned, he gave Andre more fruit and resumed peeling and eating.

“You must have been starved,” Andre said. “Look at your pile of peels!”

Seimei said, “Not half as starved as you, my friend. I notice that you even ate your peels!” He laughed and Andre saw he’d been defeated at his own game. Seimei was just delightful.

They returned to the hut with their bounty, and Seimei began to set a pot on the tripod for boiling the yama-no-imo. He put Andre to work pounding the konnyaku.

“Seimei, you said that some people can become oni-devils even while they are alive. How does that happen?”

“I can tell you one story that is pretty grisly, and then I’ll tell you one from my own experience. The first one I only heard.”

Once there was a man with many wives. The first wife was quite old, and sick as well. The youngest was a girl of sixteen. As you know, many rich men will treat themselves to a young wife even at an old age. The girls these men choose are often poor and their families are more than happy to sell them to some old rich man.

You can imagine that the older first wife was very displeased with this. Instead of becoming angry with her husband, she became hateful and angry with the youngest wife. As the days passed and she became sicker, her husband rarely came to see her, preferring the company of the young new wife. When she felt her time was near, the old wife called upon the husband.

“My dear wife, I wish that all of the doctors I hired could have cured you. I really tried hard.”

“I only wish that you live long and enjoy life, Husband, but I have one request.”

“Anything, dear wife.”

“I want to speak with your youngest wife. I want to leave instructions for her so that she may serve you well.”

The Hero saw the short, slender girl as she stood for a moment and moved her backpack to her other shoulder. Her black hair was straight and her face as pale as a silvery full moon as she looked around herself timidly. The Hero smiled and thought that the girl was beautiful and innocent. He prayed that she’d be safe as she returned home.

He was still gazing at her when he saw a movement behind the girl. The red-faced man peered in her direction and licked his lips. After a moment, he looked behind him and signaled to another hulking figure, which slowly emerged. He was merely a misshapen shadow until he smiled and his long, white teeth shone from his angular black face. His eyes were yellow and feral and although this was frightening enough, when the red-faced man again faced him, his eyes shone too, but with the greenish incandescence of a wild animal.

The Hero saw them gesture obscenely, as if to announce their intentions. The men-monsters moved incredibly lithely, considering their sizes, and after hiding behind a dumpster of rotting waste for a moment, they came out into the open, and began furtively creeping toward the girl, who seemed totally unaware of the danger.

He could see their tongues lolling with lust and their fingers moving suggestively, but the girl saw nothing as she stared at the ground in thought. The monsters moved rapidly now, and he knew it was the time of reckoning. His blood was icy with fear for her, but he allowed the heat of his rage against evil to warm his blood rapidly.

They were almost upon the girl when he leapt and confronted them, his cape dashing before him dramatically as he stood, arms akimbo. He grimaced as he landed gracefully in front of them, and stood his ground bravely, but when he opened his eyes, there was nothing before him. A tight laugh escaped his lips as he realized what had happened. Somehow, they were so overcome with fear for him that they disappeared into thin air. Yes, they must have power, power that was growing by the hour, otherwise how could they disappear? This had never happened before. They had the power. Evil, wicked power!

The Hero looked around, peering into the dark of the alley, looking for the flash of their eerie eyes, but they were gone – gone as if they had never existed at all. The girl must have seen them too, because she dropped her bag and was making little whining noises of fear, and she held one hand to her mouth as she clutched something small in the other. He moved his head close to her so that he could see what she held, but she mewled softly and pulled back. It was a little toy, a monkey, or something equally silly, but he hated to see the girl whimpering like that.

Wordlessly the Hero tried to put a comforting arm around her. He saw her delicate beauty and felt the warmth of her breath on his bare chest. He pulled aside his cape and his nipples were hard as he felt himself becoming aroused. He put one hand under her buttocks and pressed her to the growing hardness between his legs. He suddenly recognized her cries as those of intense desire, and realized that she must be older than she looked. It was all right, he thought. He’d never before allowed any woman into his life as a superhero, but this one wanted him badly.

Maybe he would make her dreams come true.

He decided that if she loved him for saving her life, he could also allow himself to love her. They were now linked forever by this altruistic act of his. She was shuddering all over and the whining noises were increasing in volume. The Hero hugged her gruffly to his bare chest and she began to cry like a child. He’d heard that women cried like this when overcome with love. She tore her face away for an instant and sobbed in a breath, but he pushed her face into his chest again, to soothe the tears. Without explanation, suddenly she began to struggle fiercely.

A shrill, desperate sound tore from her throat and the Hero suddenly realized the trick. This cunning little vixen had been in league with the lurking men who’d been pretending to stalk her. She was in league with his mortal enemies. They’d put together an elaborate plan—a hoax, meant to embarrass and disgrace him, or maybe worse. Maybe they knew, finally! They knew that using a woman was the surest way to increase the toxin of their taunts. Now she was mocking him, making like she was really a woman in distress. He could feel her lips against his bare chest. They were writhing with amusement and merry laughter, even as her body thrashed against him.

He felt the hardness between his legs become suddenly flaccid and his body began to shrink imperceptibly. Their trick would cause him to become a helpless little boy again if he didn’t act soon. He had to stop her from laughing. He just had to! Panic made his eyes tear and sweat dripped from his brow and trickled into his eyes to sting him. He had to act before the weakness set in.

He shook her like a rag for a moment and the toy fell from her hand. Pulling her close by the hair, he used one hand to push her head into his naked chest and put the other in a bear hug over her back. He squeezed her with all his might and her struggles grew frantic until he heard a sharp cracking sound, and then they suddenly subsided and she was limp, but the Hero felt his retractable nails pushing out again. Although the strength was draining from him rapidly, he felt their blade-like substance as they eagerly sought the skin on the girl’s back, but before the nails could avenge themselves, he heard someone yell. It must have been one of the men she was consorting with. He dropped the girl and ran. He would get them later. They would be forced to pay for mocking the Hero.

A light touch on his shoulder startled him. It was the lovely tengu who always came now to hear Seimei’s stories. He was much bigger than the other tengus, and his face was nearly human. He wore gossamer robes that floated around his body, as if in respect for his divinity. Today he was dressed in a color between crimson and deep plum bordered in delicate gold that glimmered in the sun. At almost seven feet in height, he sometimes stooped to look into Andre’s face, something that never failed to make him feel disconcerted. His body emitted a slight, yet captivating perfume that reminded him of Seimei. It made him feel unreasonably jealous, thinking that they had been together for so long.

The tengu was extraordinarily beautiful. His wings were feathery and black, resembling those of a cursed angel. His long hair was tied up in a knot at the top of his head in the style of the ancient Japanese men. His large, liquid eyes conveyed wisdom, but also a deep sadness. No, maybe sadness wasn’t the right word. Andre knew now that wisdom—that infinite knowledge of truth, brought with it a quiet look that could be misinterpreted as melancholy.

The tengu’s lovely lips moved as if to say something, but Andre couldn’t hear him. He sat on a large boulder and signaled Andre to sit by him. His diaphanous robes floated about him, and it was difficult for Andre to work up the nerve to sit so near a creature that was so obviously divine. The tengu spoke louder now. He must have realized that Andre wasn’t capable of hearing his normal speech.

“I know what you want to hear, but Master Seimei does not wish to speak of it. I will tell you the story of how he came to be immortal, but you must never speak of it again. My name is Tarobo, and I am the dai-tengu of this mountain. I have known Seimei since he retired here. I protect him from the eyes of humans. Even if a human were to stray here, they would see and hear nothing. By my magic, I would cause them to become confused and leave.”

Andre held his hands together to keep his trembling from becoming apparent. “How is it that I was able to see him?”

Tarobo smiled slightly. Andre had never seen him smile before, and he was dazzled.

Looking out at the Gulf of Arta, Cleopatra VII, self-proclaimed reincarnation of the Goddess Isis and sovereign of the Ptolemaic Egyptian Kingdom, strode fretfully along her galley, passing row after row of slaves, bodyguards, handmaidens and soldiers.

This was the final battle. If she and her lover, Marc Anthony, could overthrow the forces of Octavian, they alone would control Rome and all its power. The might of Rome coupled to the wealth of Egypt was a prize worth fighting for, especially with her own empire fading in significance and power.

This, then, was the day of reckoning, when the strong would triumph. So why did Marc Anthony not attack? She glanced at the dozens of immense quinqueremes of Marc Anthony’s fleet. Many of them were on fire, the thick black smoke coiling up into the overcast sky.

Marc Anthony had ordered his own ships to be set alight. Malaria had claimed so many of his men, he no longer had enough left to crew the entire fleet of five hundred ships, so he burned their tactical advantage in order that the vessels would not fall into enemy hands.

The omens were not good. The gods were toying with them. Being a self-proclaimed goddess mattered little if the true gods had willed your fate. Maybe Cleopatra had once believed her own myths of divinity. Today, with fire burning and an enemy fleet staring her in the face, she was not so sure. Death hung over the entire gulf.

“Why does he not make a move?” she snapped at her commanders.

The men shuffled and tried to avoid her glare. None wished to draw attention to himself. The queen’s wrath was well known against those who gave bad advice, and in war, any advice could turn out to be bad.

“Well? Answer me!” demanded the queen of queens.

“It could be a feint by Marc Anthony,” said Panhsj eventually, a young, arrogant officer.

“Maybe a ruse to trap Octavian,” said another after a long pause.

“More likely Marc Anthony realises he has already lost, given the malaria that has decimated his forces and the exposure of his battle plans by the traitor Quintus Dellius,” said a deep, grating voice.

Cleopatra swung round, looking for the speaker. It took her several seconds to realise that the voice came from beneath her, from the crew of slaves who worked the oars. For one to speak without permission was unheard of on the galleys. All slaves knew their place and that place was as cattle, beasts of burden for those higher up in the world. This knowledge was driven in over a lifetime of indoctrination and was emphasised by the lash of a whip on a daily basis.

“You dare?” hissed Cleopatra in fury, looking for the speaker along the long row of shackled men. “You dare raise your voice in the presence of the goddess?”

“Does the goddess have the faintest idea what is truly happening here?” replied the voice. The speaker looked up, his mocking eyes burning intensely. “Does the goddess know anything of the true threat that faces us?”

“You will hold your tongue, slave,” yapped Panhsj. “If you do not, I will see to it that you lose it.”

“You have no power over me, over any of us, not now,” growled the slave. “You have only the threat of violence and that is no longer effective.”

“We will soon see about that,” snapped Panhsj as he unwound a leather whip from his belt. “When I have removed your skin, you will no longer be so keen to talk.”

“I can talk as much as I wish, for we are marked for death.”

“You dare spread such sedition through the fleet?” demanded Cleopatra, a cold shiver of apprehension passing through her. The slave seemed so certain. He really seemed to believe that he had no need to be fearful of his queen for he was facing death itself.

“It is not sedition,” replied the slave, his facial muscles twitching as he finally put words around his knowledge. “We are being tracked by the Death Ship.”