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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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