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Editor's note: A special thanks to author Stephen Nantz for sharing the opening chapter of his upcoming book with VC Magazine readers. Look for his book, Incubus Succubus, to be released by www.eleitistpublications.com in the fall of 2006.

Incubus Succubus
by Stephen Nantz

CHAPTER I

“This is the beginning of all I know. Were in I shall tell nothing to you. As in your mind you shall perceive A light as though my words glow Knowledge held in hands once you knew.”

- Vodalok-

I stand on the brink of all I am and know not were to go from this point of doom, a place that has in the past been unavailable to me, how many times had I come so close and still found I could not bring myself to this very point. I look back and see all the good and bad things I have done, all the things that have been done to me, to others by me, and I marvel that I have not come here sooner, Here to the edge of all I am. Then I remember the 3 times before that I have questioned whether or not I should remain alive, should I be allowed the privilege of life. And only once did I almost make it, to the land beyond life, to freedom.

The wind blows hard at my back as the sun sets over the edge of the world, slim light breaking the clouds in dark reds and oranges, shades of yellow and purple dancing across my face, and in my eyes the world shows no reflection, only revulsion for what I am, here the rain of life has stopped pouring, the moister on my face a salty mixture of tears, rain, fear.

I look back at the car parked behind me, and see the face of her that has so completely given herself to me, and wonder how I can do this, how can I give to her this pain that has for so long been a part of my life, and were do I go should she in time hate me for it, resent me for it, this damnation I am so soon to place on her. Had I had the chance would I still be standing here? Loving her? Then I realize it is only my mind wandering again and I shake it off as best I can. This is the last day of my lonely life a life spent searching for a reason to go on, searching for some way to fill the void that is the torment of my existence, were I mortal this sort of Messianic devotion to a life that never should have been allowed would have destroyed me long ago. So this is the first day of my end, here I am born again, here I begin my story.

I knew as a child growing up in Mississippi that I was very different from those around me. That I had a gift for making others uncomfortable just by sitting quietly in the same room with them. Watching as they breathed, feeling every breath as if it were my own and counting the beats of their hearts, just loud enough for them to hear me, to feel the pressure of my eyes upon them in them.

I remember staring at my teacher in class one day; she was my second grade teacher I can't remember if it was the dove white skin of her hands and face, the round classic features of her face. Her eyes looking very much like those of some angel out of a painting by any of the masters of the renaissance. Was it her hair a very dark auburn, in and of itself not very remarkable, simple and proper, it was the way it framed her face that cause the shine of her hair to be special? Was it the fullness of her breast firmly held in place beneath her lose angora sweater? What ever it was I began to stair and she began to shake, slowly at first then as she watched me watching her, seeing my lips move as I began counting her heartbeats, when she realized that it was her beating hearts pace I was counting she almost screamed. She tried hard not to let it show, but I was done with what I needed to do, a picture I think we were to draw, a picture of a fond memory or place that made us happy. I sat there staring at her breathing each breath, watching how her breast rose and fell. Noticing that her hair did not move, that her cloths clung to her showing off every inch of her frame as though she were cut from stone by one of the Italian masters. Looking at how her neck was smooth and white never touched by the sun. Till finally she practically screamed my name, every one but me jumped; I merely inclined my head a little to the left so better to see her and replied;
"Yes Mrs. Moore"
"Did you finish your drawing? Do you need anything more to do?"
This she asked with a quiver in her voice almost squeaking the words out past her lips. On these I remember focusing, the red color painted on them for the man she was having an affair with was wet like sticky fresh life, she knew I was looking at them and quickly pursed her lips to dull the color, Standing to move and steady her hands, she went to the board and began erasing the words from the earlier lesson.
"Yes Mrs. Moore, I am done."
Standing up I take my project in hand and begin moving towards her, she sees me approaching and does her best to remain in control of her will, to keep from having an anxiety attack. I offered my drawing to her, she stepped around her desk, moving to my side wiping her hands on her skirt, a skirt that was brown in color, leaving chalk on her hips in the form of her hands. The picture I held out to her, this she took but with a moment’s hesitation, she takes the paper and gasped, then dropped it. She stepped back from me, from the paper, slowly but with the look of some one in slow motion moving at high speed.
"Why did you…? Draw that? Where did you…? How did you Know about this?!!"
Slowly I tilt my head again and began considering what she was asking me, then smiled softly, and with the care of someone comforting the dammed I replied;
"You did not like the riverfront, or the cool wine that was given you? You liked the way we kissed last night."

A silent hush falls after a round of ooh’s and ahh's from the kids in the class. Now frightened, clutching at her chest, trying to pull the cross that hung there closer to her by pressing it into her heart, silently begging for this moment to pass she spoke these words to me that only I heard;
"Outside, now… please get out of this class"
And to her command I go to the hallway, She follows carrying the picture I had drawn in crayon and paint, clutching it in her hand like an eagle clutches a fish or rabbit about to be eaten.

"How did you know about, this, this dream of mine" She points to the image, growing more crumpled in her shaken grasp.
"HOW!"

This last was more of a statement than a request and the teacher passing in the hall a few doors down stops to look for a moment, she sees only a teacher with a child, one that most know is constantly in trouble for one thing or another and moves on. With soft eyes staring up into hers, my head laying back and to the left facing forward my eyes looking into hers out from under my brow, once more I smile, this time letting something of the sinister nature of my soul show through my eyes, just enough to make her back away, with total involuntary motion. To this I step in close answering her bodies need to flee with my own need to be next to hers, with lips pursed as if to say;
"Shhh, be still in your heart and mind, come closer to my words and lips, kneel."
And as a puppet on the string dances so then did she kneel.

The Horror in her eyes was now very clear, glassing over becoming more vacant, to seem as that of a deer stuck in headlights before it dies, and she sobs lightly knowing she is not in control.

Again she asked, lightly and threw hidden internal tears the mark of a soul breaking to the will of the torturer giving in to every demand and whim.
"How…"

I answer her by leaning in closer as though I were telling her a secret, that no one in the world could ever know, our bodies less than half an inch form touching, my 9 year old body exciting over the touch of her shirt, the warmth of her breath on my ear, I whisper to her. And with every word that comes out of my mouth her world crumbles a little more, every ounce of reality melting away, falling further from her mind as the truth of what I say becomes monstrously clear. "I was there, in your dream, by the river, I came to your summons, I came to you last night as I have every night for the last week, letting you touch me, hold me kiss me, allowing you to guide my hands, letting you teach me the ways of a man, the way you do Mr. Hokum." Weakly she braces herself against the wall and floor, all around her swimming as though her world had been shaken to peaces. She moves to slap me and tell me to stop, to free her from the nightmare she was slowly sinking into, and all she could do was whisper; "Please…"

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