[Warning: Another gory story; if you don't appreciate some nice massacre, GTFO now.]
~~~
Whenever it's bulky refuse, three or four times a year, and people toss
out their old, unwanted furniture and other items too large to fit in a
trash can, other people with little money scour the streets for items
that can still be used. Some even come with vans or pickups to collect
things to fix and later re-sell. Most of my own furniture has always
been from the trash, and whenever it's bulky refuse I can't help looking
if there might be something worth saving.
This evening I noticed
there this mirror in a large, wooden frame, the size of a door. The
wood was black and beautifully carved, raised from the mirror itself by
over two inches. But the mirror itself, sadly, was completely shattered,
with large shards broken out. It was such a shame, I thought, for it
had been a really beautiful mirror.
So I rode on, then later passed it once more on my way back home and couldn't help looking once more.
I had other mirrors with cracks in them, so maybe... but no, this one was beyond rescue.
I
carried my bike down the stairs into the basement. But as I walked back
up, instead of going all the way upstairs to my apartment I went out
the front door once more and walked back to where the mirror was leaning
against a house wall; for some reason I felt compelled to look at it
once more.
And when I got back there I found it didn't even look that
bad - for some reason I thought I had seen most of the mirror glass
lying shattered on the pavement, but this wasn't really the case. There
were only some few, small splinters on the ground. Of course, there were
the several spots of impact where the mirror glass had been shattered;
it looked much like it had been done deliberately.
Some people are
such assholes, I thought, they have to destroy things before tossing
them out, just out of jealousy that someone else might still use them
otherwise.
This thought gave me a bad vibe which I feared would keep
hanging on to this mirror - and yet, it would be such a shame to leave
it behind to get destroyed in the garbage truck the next morning.
I
tried lifting it. It was solid wood and thick glass - the thing was
damn heavy. But if anyone could carry it all by herself, that would be
me!
And so I did, although having to set it down and take breaks
frequently. It was quite some distance to walk with it, and I was
repeatedly asking myself what I was actually doing here and if it was
really worth it. But I carried on, for some reason I had to.
I didn't even really have space for it. Might have to toss out some other stuff sitting in the corridor.
And
there I finally arrived with the huge mirror. It didn't fit through the
doorways vertically as it was the same height as a door, and I had to
maneuver it around quite a bit.
Then finally, there it was,
leaning against the wall in my corridor. There I left it and settled
down in my room for the evening. It had been quite an ordeal for a so
badly damaged mirror.
But whenever I passed it on the way to the bathroom or kitchen I seemed to like it better and to feel it didn't look that bad.
Only the next morning I realized something really weird seemed to be going on with it. And I mean really, really weird.
The
previous evening I had thought that I had simply misjudged the extent
of the damage in the start, that it hadn't really been as bad as I first
thought. But now on closer inspection, some of the cracks in the glass
seemed to have fused. There had been a few places where shards had
broken out completely and the wood behind had been visible. In those
spots, new mirror glass seemed to have formed! It looked like pools of
quick silver that had strangely oozed out of the wood behind to replace
the broken shards!
As I said, really, really weird.
I rode to the gym for my regular workout, all the while wondering if I hadn't dreamed or imagined this weird shit.
But
when I got home some hours later it was apparent that the mirror was
"healing" itself. Most of the cracks had partially fused and greatly
diminished.
It was exciting but also eerie and disturbing to witness
that each time I looked at it the mirror was more and more whole again.
Soon there would be only slight creases that had previously been cracks,
and the creases were filling up too. It was a process too slow to see,
like paint drying, but as with the paint it was happening.
Shortly after darkness fell that night, the mirror was one smooth, intact pane. I stood and marveled at it. This is against the second law of thermodynamics, I thought, entropy always increases, so this shouldn't be happening. But I was excited that it had happened anyway. Laws are there to be broken, right? And I had such an awesome mirror now. One that apparently shared my attitude...
I
did some posing in front of it, flexing my large muscles, wearing
jeans-style leggings and a camouflage tank top. The next day I'd have to
take some photos with the mirror, in the daylight.
But wait a
minute. This regenerating mirror surface was seriously weird, no? Yes, I
know I said that already, but I mean seriously! What kind of material
was it that could do this? For some reason I felt hesitant to touch it.
And
as I eventually did I realized with some shock that my intuitive
hesitation hadn't been groundless: Upon touching it, the surface would
ripple like a liquid!
I withdrew my hand so quickly as if the surface had burned me.
Bewildered,
I looked around me for some small object, preferably of some length.
There was a trash bag with the compost by the apartment door and I had
done some weeding and cutting on the balcony lately. A longish twig was
poking out and I took it, avoiding the thorns - it was a bramble. I used
the stick to carefully poke the mirror surface.
With a start I quickly withdrew it again - the stick had actually broken the surface like it was a liquid indeed!
But
that couldn't be. I had carried this mirror all the way home, I had
touched it, had seen the shards, it had been a regular mirror, a hard
glass surface. And it wouldn't have been shattered in the first place if
it had been anything else. Well then again, it was shattered no
longer...
I had to be dreaming. I thought about it, and I'd been in
the situation before that I had woken up - thought to have woken, that
is - and felt things were wrong somehow but that I couldn't be dreaming,
not this time, because it felt so real, and I was pretty sure of being
awake until I really woke up.
But not this time...
Carefully
I raised the bramble stick to probe the mirror once more. It broke the
vertical liquid surface and went smoothly all the way in, all the way up
to the hand that was holding it!
Part of my fingers actually went
in. It shocked me since it was completely impossible - the length of
stick was so far in it should have gone through the back of the mirror
and hit the wall behind it, yet still there was no resistance! - and I
was going to withdraw my hand again, but that same instant something on
the other side seemed to have caught hold of the stick.
The mighty
tug barely reached my consciousness as it happened so quickly - and
certainly far too quickly for me to let go of the stick.
~~~
I
was sitting up on the ground where I had stumbled and rolled.
Disoriented, I looked around me in the darkness. A strangely flickering
semi-darkness. I closed my eyes to gather my thoughts - this was
bullshit and it would have gone away when I opened my eyes again, right?
But as I had closed them I became only more aware of the sounds. Some
rushing, rustling, echoing... also of distant voices, mostly sounding
like wails and lament.
I opened my eyes and still saw the strange,
flickering light, like faint reflections of some immense fire, but they
seemed to have no source to them. The ground was coarse rock, and I
seemed to be in some enormous underground cavern, there were stalactites
of colossal proportions hanging from a cave roof somewhere so far above
it was out of sight; some of them had fused with stalagmites jutting up
from the ground to form massive pillars of rock, and the strange shine
from invisible flames was dancing over these rock formations, mixed with
occasional shadows too.
There definitely was some activity going on
around me; wherever I was, I wasn't alone here, but more than doubtful
about whether or not this was a good thing.
Only a few feet from
me there was a cluster of several stalagmite columns, and I decided to
slip into the narrow space in between them as it might be prudent to
stay hidden while trying to figure where I was and what was going on
here.
From my hideout I soon beheld some shapes passing by, human
shapes wearing hooded black robes. More people stood gathered, mostly
in small groups of at least two or three, some distance away where the
ground sloped downward from my vantage point so that I had a pretty good
view of the surroundings.
Over there, about 50 feet away at the wall
of another large cluster of columns, stood two guys, one with long dark
hair, the other with shaven head, who were dressed like at a metal
concert. They wore pentagrams and inverted crosses and were chatting and
laughing like they were having a good time. Some others were definitely
not having a good time though. A group of three hooded people, moving in from the left of me, were dragging along two others, a man
and a woman, who were wearing everyday clothes which were somewhat
ragged and bloodied, and who were bound in thick chains.
There were
more people held in chains by the ones in black, some were being
tortured by them, with whips and other weapons and instruments.
Myself
I was standing here between the columns, unarmed and barefoot, entirely
unprepared and clueless about what was going on. It all appeared like a
rather infernal setting though, and the two metal guys looked a lot
like they might be Satanists, and likely the others were as well. Being a
Satanist myself, I told myself I'd probably have nothing much to worry
about - which was a good thing since I wasn't really exactly hidden
where I stood. I wasn't all too exposed between the columns, yet easily
seen by anyone looking my way. I wasn't quite sure but at least the two
metal guys had probably spotted me already, they'd been looking over
when the new group of hooded folks appeared. In the latter, their faces
could barely ever be seen under the large hoods, but there appeared to
be both males and females among them. Despite the robes this seemed a
rather informal setting, not any formal ritual. What was this place? Was
this Hell, and if so, how did I get here?
Some action seemed to
be concentrated at a location off to my right and obscured behind the
cluster of stalagmite columns where the two metal guys were standing.
Maybe I should simply walk over and talk to them - but I could still do
that; for now I chose to rather observe for a bit longer.
I'd have
to move over to the left for a better chance to spy what lay hidden
behind the stalagmites. So I moved back in between the columns, had to
climb up a bit over the rocks to get around the very thick pillar to my
left, then moving to the front again between that one and the next
pillar. This turned out a more favorable location, I was also a bit
further up now and yet a bit closer, and thus had an even better view of
the place.
And I saw that what had lain obscured to me before was a
sort of abyss from which many single spikes of rock jutted up like
needles. And desperately clinging to some of these rock needles,
suspended over the abyss beneath, were a few more unfortunate souls. On
two rock spikes right in front there were two women, one of them
clasping a small child. They were pleading for help, a good ten feet out
from the even ground where the Satanic crowd were gathered around, as
they were holding on for dear life to the near vertical rock.
On
that even ground in front, several bodies lay sprawled out in their
blood. What struck me like a lightning bolt though was when I beheld who
was in charge here, standing over them. Dressed in black but not
wearing a robe unlike most of the others, his long blond hair radiant in
the strange fire shine, was Satan's son.
And I was a mere 50 feet
away! He looked exactly like in my dreams. Well, and in the movie, known
to all as the Warlock. I felt a strong impulse now to run over there and
talk to him - but I didn't dare. Even all those hooded folks milling
around the place seemed to be keeping a respectful distance to him. I
felt really ambiguous, itching to get closer while fearful of doing so,
and so I stayed put.
The two women clinging to the rocks above
the abyss were pleading with him as he was now crouching over one of the
bodies. The woman who was holding the child, a little girl of about
five years old, was trying to cover the child's eyes with her arm while
still holding on to both the child and the rock they were perched on.
The
body to the Warlock's feet was still writhing, apparently in agony. But
the Warlock was about to put an end to the young man's agony now;
positioned behind the guy's head and holding up his chin, he slit his
throat with a dagger. Blood streamed out, washing over the Warlock's
fingers.
The child started crying as the two women screamed.
From
what I gleaned over the distance, he had demanded the child to be handed
over in exchange for the young man's life, and since the woman refused to do so
the Warlock had killed the teenage guy, possibly her older son, whose
blood was now running over the cave floor toward the abyss as the
Warlock stepped to the edge of it, still demanding the child.
"Then jump over here and get her," the woman now yelled at him defiantly.
The
distance from the edge of the abyss seemed way too far for any human
being to jump, certainly with nothing much to land on or even hold on
to.
Hateful though her implication, it only amused the son of Satan.
"I am pleased that we have an agreement," he said affably and I flinched
at my observation point as he did just what she had suggested, and
without any run-up. He simply jumped the three meters distance from
where he stood.
The mother tried hard to fight him off and make him
lose his balance but he stood on firm ground - ground which wasn't
there. He stood safely on thin air. He was a witch. And not any witch
but he was Satan's own son. He snatched the child from the arms of the
hysterical mother who could barely hold on to the steep rock needle to
keep herself from falling while he, now carrying the crying child,
walked back to the edge of the abyss on nothing but thin air as on a
solid bridge which didn't exist.
The mother then took a desperate
decision and jumped, jumped for the Warlock or for the edge of the abyss
or both. She even nearly made it, one hand scraping the edge of the
solid ground but unable to latch on, while her other hand took hold
around the Warlock's booted ankle. But he kicked her in the face with
his other foot and she was gone, her death scream echoing from the walls
of the abyss as she was swallowed by it.
The two metal guys had
watched and they cheered now, but some of the others who were scattered
about the place seemed remarkably disinterested and minding their own
business, as if there was nothing unusual to be seen here.
The
Warlock cruelly threw the child to the ground, then turned away to
exchange a few words with the metal guys. From the distance I couldn't
discern what was said now as he seemed to be on very friendly terms with
them and so no one raised their voices, and some of the others were
also talking to each other while the second woman left by herself on the
rock spike was crying, and so were some others who were here against
their will.
Myself I had my eyes fixed on the Warlock all this time,
yet it hit me completely unprepared when he turned back around and,
looking straight in my direction, for just an instant his eyes met mine
and I felt like my heart was stopping.
Had the metal guys said
something about me? Probably not, as they weren't looking my way now. I
wasn't even sure if they had really noticed me earlier. But I was sure
the Warlock had looked straight into my eyes, for just that brief,
paralyzing instant.
He returned his attention now to the child
though. A couple of the hooded people had made sure the girl had no
chance to escape. Now her blood would be spilled as well, and in most
heinous ways, his anger at her mother taken out on her. He took the time
to skin her alive with skillful and, no doubt, practiced hand, starting
at her ankles and working his way up until he was pulling her skin over
her face.
The child now being a skinless, hairless body of raw flesh, he eventually cut her open to remove her heart and devour it.
Some
of the hooded folks now came forward to remove all the dead bodies and
drop them over the edge of the abyss, an act which seemed to signal the
dispersion of this loose gathering. Some stayed where they were, others
walked away leisurely.
The Warlock walked away too, but with
determination straight in my direction. His words didn't even seem to be
addressed to me when he walked up to me.
"Methinks I left something here which is
mine," he said, and without warning he grabbed me, flung me over his shoulder
and turned to walk away with me - carrying my muscular body, certainly
heavier than his own which was gracefully built, as if I weighed
nothing.
Confounded by what was happening to me I gave a cry of mere surprise.
He
set me down in front of him and I was looking at his face, as fair and
angelical as I remembered it, although now stained with blood.
"Dost thou protest?" he asked sternly.
"No, my Master," I said gently.
"Dost thou mind a little blood?" he pried further, touching my face with his bloodied hands.
I smiled timidly. "No, I don't."
"Wouldst thou cleanse my face of it then," he asked.
"Sure, my Master," I said and looked around me uncertainly, the vague idea of a tissue paper on mind, "but how should I..."
"Thou shalt use thy tongue," he demanded.
What? I was in all sorts of consternation, embarrassed, my heart racing. "Are... you serious?" I managed.
"Do it!" he ordered, gripping me hard by the shoulders, and gingerly I complied.
I cherished doing it but in some way I also felt uncomfortable about it. Do you even know who I am?
He flicked out his tongue to meet mine, then he gave me a cold smile.
"My Master," I said softly, "I hope you know I wouldn't do this for anyone else, ever."
"My foolish Diana," he hissed back, "I hope thou know'st I would kill thee if thou ever didst."
Such
cold words, yet spoken in such familiar tone, and how they warmed my
heart! Yes, I knew well when he spoke of killing me it wasn't just a
hollow phrase as it might be with someone else; I knew he absolutely
meant it, be mine alone or die, it was the way he was. But he had spoken
my name...
"Certainly I know who thou art, my foolish Diana," he
mocked, having read my thought. I knew he could do this, especially at
close physical proximity, and he was holding me in his grip like a
deadly serpent, his hands still covered in blood.
"Oh my Master, I'm
so glad you know," I told him freely, "I wasn't sure, you know, like, I
got no clue how I even got here and what this place is; I just poked a
mirror with a stick and then I fell into it - oh damn, that sounds so
completely nuts, right?"
He chuckled and tousled my hair as if I was a child, which I probably was to him. Yes I know - foolish Diana, I thought.
His
bejeweled hands slowly gliding over my broad shoulders he then seemed
to examine me, then down my vascular arms, his hands reaching barely
halfway around them.
"You are powerfully built," he acknowledged. "Let me examine your legs."
Obediently
I lifted one leg, and he reached for it and with strong grip stretched
it all the way up almost vertically, with my foot jutting up above both
our heads; I was flexible enough but nearly lost balance and had to hold
on to his shoulder, but I couldn't have fallen as he was holding my leg
tightly against his other shoulder, almost embracing it, while his
hands were probing my thighs and calves, my muscles like thick steel
ropes right under my skin, yet my heart so timidly aflutter and not very
warrior-like under his unashamed touch.
"A strong runner, are you not?" he remarked.
"Yes I think so, my Master," I said untypically modestly.
"I wish that you run the Wheel," he announced, "will you do this for me?"
"The Wheel?" I asked puzzled.
"'Tis
a great apparatus," he explained, "an implement of torture and death. -
Worry not, it harms not the one who runneth it," he added, having
sensed my heart rate jolting up at his words.
Able to sense my heart
rate as a shark can do, I thought while looking into his dark eyes. They
were exceptionally beautiful, like everything else about him, and in
the dim fire shine of our cavernous location they looked deep black, but
there was a tinge of indigo hiding; revealed, just as in the eyes of a
great white shark, to the few who dare look close enough.
He took
me to another part of the vast caverns which were connected through
narrower corridors but appeared to be all part of a natural cave system.
And
there at the center of a bowl-shaped hollow loomed the contraption, a
giant wheel indeed, about 15 feet in height, at first glance much like a
ferris wheel without carts, but with a solid outer rim instead.
"I've
seen you running on those machines at the place you go for your
athletic praxis," said my Master, "and this one will be quite similar."
"You mean the treadmills at the gym?" I asked bewildered. "And you've seen me there?"
"You were thinking about me," he said, "and so I was thinking about you."
What a mysterious explanation.
The outer rim of that ferris wheel was gleaming with sharp metal, studded with some modest spikes.
It
was suspended over a hollow, with a walkway leading to its bottom
section, where it was possible to enter in between all the struts and
spokes into its inner margin, which was a little over a meter wide, with
handrails to the sides, so running inside it as in a giant hamster
wheel would be indeed comparable to running a treadmill. The inner floor
was laid out with wooden boards that were carved with an intricate
pattern of wavy ridges, they felt good under my bare feet, like they
would yield perfect grip and prevent slipping; the rest of the wheel was
metal. The entire colossus had to weigh at least a ton, I thought; it
would have to take quite some power to overcome its inertia - and once
this was achieved it would also be difficult to stop it again.
"It
takes great power indeed to set it in motion," my Master said, sensing
my intimidation at the sight of the huge contraption, "power like
thine."
He ran his fingers down the back of my shoulder and again I
shuddered under his heart-stopping touch. I couldn't help but reached
out my hands to him, however he stopped me, catching me hard by the
wrists.
"I make the rules," he ordered sternly, "first thou shalt run the Wheel."
"Of course, my Master." I lowered my eyes, ashamed at my impulse to touch him.
We
entered the inner rim together. I was a bit apprehensive, because
unlike with the treadmills at the gym there was no outer margin to
either side that would remain stationary when the Wheel was in motion
and where I could set my feet in case I couldn't keep up running, all I
could do was to hoist myself up on the handrails if need be.
"Worry not, you'll have safety assistance right above you," said my Master.
Confused
I looked up at the maze of struts above; even to reach the lowest ones
I'd have to jump up a bit and I was doubtful if I could do this while
running.
But my Master nimbly leapt up and took position among those
struts which seemed, along with the handrails, to make up the stationary
inner part of the wheel while the moving spokes were on the outside.
He could move with ease among the rigging above me. I smiled up at him, "You're my safety assistance?"
I
was more than willing to trust him, and running this very special kind
of treadmill seemed like a fun challenge to an athlete like me. However I
couldn't really see how this contraption might actually be an
"implement of torture and death", as he had announced. Some forlorn and
frightened figures were cowering to the walls of the hollow above which
the Wheel was suspended, but they were nowhere close to it, and even if
they had been, there was a space of nearly three feet between the ground
and the Wheel with its outer spikes. Nobody was going to come to harm
here, at least not now. I was musing about how this setup could possibly
be changed for the Wheel to inflict actual harm, since there wasn't the
trace of a doubt that this was its single purpose. I knew my Master -
had known him before, and now I had even witnessed for myself some of
his cruel deeds. I knew he wouldn't have any interest in this
contraption if it couldn't do actual damage. Perhaps people would be
chained in place right underneath it, forced to sit upright or even to
stand, I wondered. In any case, this right now was obviously going to be
a "dry-run" - just play, or practice.
He was smiling down at me, nodding for me to get started.
My
hands on the rails, I tried to push my feet back against the floor
underneath. Using great force I could actually feel it moving, only very
slightly and sluggishly. I walked forward, up against the incline of
the Wheel's inside, using my weight to push that part back down, which
helped. My Master was patiently watching from above as I figured out how
to get the Wheel in motion. It didn't take me long though and as I was
picking up speed it got much easier, much like a bicycle once it's in
motion.
"You'll need to run a trifle faster to unleash its
power," the Warlock said, having taken position right above me again as I
had moved forward against the Wheel's incline.
"Alright, my Master," I replied, picking up on the challenge as was typical for me, "let's crank it up then - to nuclear power!"
"Show
me," he prodded further, and I boldly picked up speed, the giant Wheel
rumbling on its axis as I did so. The air displaced between the trestles
and moving spokes also produced a rushing noise as of a great wind, but
with a more pulsing quality in the rhythm of the spokes passing by while
I ran.
But something else was also happening as I was speeding up
and thereby set loose the Wheel's cruel, demonic secret. There was some
other noise rising suddenly, and at first it greatly startled me so that
I nearly tripped as some loud, metallic clattering ensued from the
outer rim of the Wheel, both directly under my feet as well as above,
around its whole circumference.
"You're doing splendidly, go on!" the Warlock encouraged from above.
So
I held my speed, although having fallen back into the lowest part of
the Wheel as to not speed up any further, while witnessing the gleaming
blades of metal bursting forth - I could see only the ones angled off
sideways as they were sprouting from the surface directly underneath the
floorboards I was running on - and their sprouting was also accompanied
by the rise of terrified screams.
Strangely, the moving Wheel was
creating a suction, pulling the people who were present in the hollow
below right toward its moving rim, now bristling with appalling
armaments.
The gleaming flashes of shiny metal rolling past me soon
started to mix with the bright red spray of blood as the victims were
being dragged underneath it, being torn, sliced and mangled by the
myriad of spikes and blades.
This was not a drill, nor just for
play or practice - well yes, although to him it probably was play, and I
should have known so much better. It most certainly wasn't a "dry-run"
at all, as it was wet with blood.
It was a massacre.
The Wheel
was now spinning at a steady pace, I just kept going with it running at
about 10 miles an hour; falling back a bit toward the backward slope
and thus running slightly downhill made it relatively easy but would do
little to slow it down since the huge contraption had enormous momentum,
weighing many times more than myself. At times a victim's body would be
picked up by the spikes and carried up by the Wheel, to be thrown off
on its way back down in front of me.
Despite this it took several
minutes until it started slowing a little bit, and it seemed that along
with the deceleration the Wheel's armaments also started to retract
again. Mangled bodies, entrails and severed body parts were piling
underneath. And above me in the rigging, the Master was watching the
carnage with satisfaction.
"Aye, catch your breath a little while,"
he said, "and when you feel ready, advance to swift pace one more time,
can you do that for me?"
I looked up at him doubtfully, not exactly
able to catch my breath much even at the current speed. But he added,
"Worry not, I shall get you out when you need to. But I wish to see you
going as swift as you're capable of."
I looked up into his eyes. "You'll get me out?"
He confirmed once more, and I was willing to trust. "Alright, my Master. Just give me a moment."
I
tried catching my breath as much as possible while staying at the
downward slope, still going at least some 8 miles an hour. The tread was
wet with blood, and yet the wavy pattern of ridges carved into the
floor boards seemed specifically designed to keep it as non-slippery as
possible.
Being an athlete, a warrior, I wanted to do this, I wanted
to show off my very considerable strength and speed and to reach the
finish line he would set for me. Oh let me be good enough for my Master!
"Ok, ready - my Master?"
He was climbing to a more forward position in the rigging and gave me an encouraging nod.
"Alright,"
I shouted as if impersonating my own drill sergeant as I'd oftentimes
do during my workouts, "let's go to thermonuclear level!"
And I took
off to the forward slope again, running against its incline with all
might, speeding up to 10 miles an hour again, getting still faster, and
the Wheel spewed forth again its horrid weaponry, raising a Pandaemonium
of gleaming metal, splashing blood and screams of terror and agony,
which in my mind took on the appearance of a bizarre fireworks display
of bright red and silvery flashes and sprays all around me. I looked up
while surely exceeding 12 miles an hour, my Master right above me
reassuring me he was ready to assist any moment.
I gave it all I got
and perhaps got it up to 15 miles per hour, a speed I knew I could do on
a treadmill for half a minute at most. I felt I'd been too bold, felt
myself falling back toward the backward slope, but even here I wouldn't
be able to keep up with the Wheel's momentum for much longer. I felt my
body failing, I couldn't get enough breath, felt my vision blurring,
knowing I'd be swept up by the Wheel any moment now--
-- and swept up I was, but not along the circumference of the Wheel by its momentum, but in the strong grip of my Master!
I
never saw how, but he had sensed it when I reached my point of no
return and had in an instant rescued me at that exact point. All I knew
was I found myself up in the rigging, held by his arms as I was
momentarily unable to hold myself, but he was holding both of us amongst
the rigging as no mortal person would ever have been able to do. I felt
dizzy; the Wheel was still spinning fast around us and I had the
feeling we were spinning with it.
But I was safe now, held in his
embrace and resting my weary head against his shoulder. But I was also
acutely aware of being dripping wet; I had just finished an extremely
hard workout, after all.
"My Master," I said self-consciously as soon
as I could halfway breathe normally again, "I'm sorry I'm so dripping
with sweat, don't you think this is nasty?"
With a chuckle he replied, "Nay, 'tis mostly blood, my dear."
I
was looking down over my body and only then I realized it wasn't only
my bare feet and ankles that were covered in blood but it went all the
way up my legs and the rest of my body, my clothes completely drenched,
as if I had taken a shower in the blood - which basically I had when in
these final moments of my run at that literally slaughterous speed the
Wheel had dealt out unprecedented carnage. But to me it had been a
serious athletic performance and I had been so focused on it that I
hadn't been entirely aware of it, fresh blood being at human body
temperature, and I hadn't felt its wetness either as it mixed with my
own sweat. As I looked around now, the entire rim of the Wheel,
including the tread I'd been running on, was completely covered in blood
as well, and a vast mass of bodies lay piled underneath the Wheel, all
dead or dying, men, women, children - all mangled, twisted, ripped open,
missing limbs or torn to pieces entirely, along with blood drenched
rags that were left of the clothes they had been wearing. A few victims
had been beheaded or disemboweled by the blades of the Wheel passing
over them. Some body parts and entrails lay scattered about, impossible
to tell which bodies they had belonged to. I had been vaguely aware that
toward the end of my run at its top speed, the monstrous Wheel had
pulled in more and more bodies underneath it which came from who knows
where - it escaped my comprehension how so many people could have been
present in the hollow. And it wasn't quite over yet; although it would
very gradually slow down now the Wheel was still spinning under its own
momentum while its jagged blades kept butchering away. The greatest mass
of bodies lay behind its direction of motion where they tended to get
thrown by the armaments; it seemed to be at least a hundred or more,
ready to fill a mass grave.
And high up here in the rigging of
the infernal Wheel sat the orchestrator of all the carnage, holding in
his arms, somewhat like a trophy, the executioner whose service he had
employed for it - me.
"Trouble thyself not about it," he said, "thou hast done splendidly well, my little warrior. I love all this blood."
He
certainly didn't try to hide his taking great pleasure in having me all
covered in blood, fondling my wet hair that was hanging in heavy,
dripping crimson streaks over my shoulders and down my back, and a
little blood sprayed out as his hand was gliding over my undercut,
stroking against the grain where my hair was shaved really short on my
temples. I just closed my eyes and thoroughly relished his caress while
the Wheel was slowly spinning down around us. And just as the Wheel was
spinning down my heart rate was also gradually going down closer to
normal. Not all the way back to normal, of course - not while held in
the embrace of Satan's son, which was exhilarating and a little bit
frightening as it ought to be.
"Diane? Ready to leave?" he asked me after a while.
I raised my head from his shoulder, having recovered from my brutal workout, smiling. "Sure, my Master. Where are we going?"
I
was already climbing down into a sort of reverse pull-up on the struts
above the tread that was spinning out at a very leisurely pace by now,
then jumping down on it into a slow jog and then exiting the Wheel to
the side onto the walkway.
"Home, back through your mirror," the Warlock said, exiting after me in the same manner.
"You mean you're coming home with me?"
"I am."
"My
Master, that's so awesome!" I was excited - but then I added
embarrassed, "Oh well, but it's a hole really, it's so totally messy, I
hope you don't..."
"I've seen, I'm familiar with how you live, Diane," he interrupted me as if it were the most obvious thing.
"You've seen?"
"I
can see through your eyes, remember?" he reminded me in a tone leaving
no doubt about his status of absolute power. "And you need not invite
me," he continued, "remember all the letters you wrote me?"
"I sure do, my Master, I don't remember all of what I wrote but..."
"But I do remember," he threw in sharply, "each and every word. You invited me into your life long ago."
"Yes of course, my Master. Would you expect me to dispute this?" I asked reverently.
He
took hold of my face as if to make me look up at him, as if I were a
whole lot shorter which wasn't the case, made me look straight into his
eyes, into that indigo darkness lurking there.
"Now that would be a daft thing to do, would it not?" he said.
"Indeed it would be, my Master," I whispered.
He
turned to leave but then loitered, setting his eyes on the dead body of
a child that lay on the edge of the walkway where it had been thrown by
the spikes of the Wheel. It seemed to have been a little girl, telling
from a few long, blonde curls left on one side of her head, otherwise it
was hard to tell, so badly mangled was she. Half of her face had been
ripped off along with her lower jaw; one leg was also missing, the torso
ripped open in various places.
The Warlock squatted over her and
started tearing at her maimed body more. He ripped out the spine with
her skull still attached, wet with blood and some chunks of flesh
dangling on it. This he held out to me as he got up and turned back to
me.
"Please take this with you as a gift from me," he said so sweetly
as if offering me the loveliest jewel, and so I reached for it,
accepting it.
For how could I possibly refuse a gift from my Master!
Whatever it be. Holding the spine in my hands, I had no idea what to do
with it, it would be quite some work to clean the bones so it wouldn't
start rotting, and I'd sure have to hide it out of sight at all t--
--and
I screamed as the spine coiled around my arm like a snake and the
child's skull, albeit missing its lower jaw, tried to bite me! In a
quick, panicked reaction I managed to fling it off me.
There I stood
in consternation and embarrassment as the Warlock was laughing at me.
And slowly it dawned on me. That spine was merely a dead body part with
no life left in it, it couldn't possibly have moved on its own. Unless a
witch would cause it to move! A witch with a sense of humor - with a
cruel but adorable sense of humor.
"No fucking way," I muttered, although starting to grin myself now, "did you just pull a prank on me?"
He
only nodded while still laughing at me. Then he grabbed my hand and
pulled me away with him, leaving the spine behind where it had fallen.
I
couldn't help but give his hand a loving squeeze as he did so. Yes,
someone else in my place might have been mad at him. Sure, I'd have been
mad about it if he were someone else. But my Master having fun with me
couldn't fail to warm my cold heart... You're so, so adorable, my
Master.
In one of the tunnels we traversed on our way back we
chanced upon the two metal guys and exchanged greetings, but with a
somewhat sheepish impression from their side, as if knowing they weren't
really supposed to be here.
"Jaden, Karel, all too curious, were you not?" the Warlock said, to which they both admitted.
"The Wheel?" asked Jaden, the long-haired guy, eyeing me all covered in blood.
"Is she the one?" asked Karel. "Do you think she can do it, Master?"
"If anyone can, 'tis she," Satan's son asserted, "but leave now, and follow us not. You will surely know it when we succeed."
"I'd have loved to see her running the Wheel," Jaden remarked, "just look at those legs..."
"She is mine," the Warlock rebuked sharply.
"She sure is, Master," Jaden agreed more reverently, "she sure looks like she was just made for you."
They
both gave the Sign of the Horns and said Hail Satan before we parted,
it seemed specifically directed at me and was the only time they
addressed me. So I returned the same greeting, "Hail Satan," I said,
giving the Sign of the Horns.
The encounter had felt a bit awkward to
me, with the guys talking about me but not to me, but I could see the
reason for it. It was out of reverence for the Master and recognition of
his ownership of me, the claim of which he had made quite clear - from
the very start he had, and now again to Jaden. Both of the guys had
apparently been trespassing where they weren't supposed to be, had
perhaps intended to secretly watch what they weren't meant to, yet they
were otherwise loyal souls and Satan's son was lenient with his own.
My Master and I then soon reached the place where I had first found myself after falling through the mirror.
At
least I assumed that it was the exact same spot - but there was nothing
there, just like I remembered from my arrival here. I had simply found
myself in some random spot on the cave floor, without any indication of a
gateway or passage I might have come through.
But the Warlock was
holding his hands stretched out in front of him, as if probing for
something - some energy, a difference in temperature, or what else I
didn't know. Before long he zeroed in on a precise spot and spoke some
words I didn't understand - a spell. He then made a vast gesture in
front of him as if indicating a doorway - and instantly it appeared!
I
stood behind him, amazed at the all too familiar sight. The doorway
resembled the reverse side of my mirror that I had collected from the
trash, but it looked more like a window pane than a mirror; just four or
five feet behind it could be seen a wall with wallpaper painted a
faded, pastel violet and covered with water stains, there was a teenage
girl's pink and purple mountain bike parked in front of this wall, and a
mess of various boxes, plastic bags, sneakers, and other items on the
floor. The bike was mine, standing in the corridor of my apartment.
I
stepped next to my Master with a smile but he stalled, then grabbed me
by both shoulders and gave me a look so stern I was at once overcome
with concern.
"Hearken, Diane," he said, "this will be far less easy
than it appears to your eyes now. Here in this place, which is part of
what is called Hell, I can do anything. I can craft the Wheel and have
you run it. Here I reign supreme. But I cannot leave for the living
world to wage war on it as I desire. I can open the gateway, yet I
cannot traverse it - not on my own. I am not meant to be in that world,
'tis why I had need to have you come here first."
"Not meant to be?" I asked troubled.
"Of
course, I intend to enter it regardless," he announced, "as you may
remember, someone once keenly stated that 'thou shalt bend divine law to
thy will'."
At that he paused, emphasizing the significance of his statement, expecting a reaction.
"Yes I do remember it, my Master, but who said this?"
"You
did, Diane. You are quite capable of such insight - and of so much
more, I hope. You see, this will require sacrifice, yet even that alone
will not suffice."
I felt my heart sink at this, and yet I knew I'd have nothing to live for besides the one I was ready to die for.
My throat felt dry, my voice hoary. "I am... I'm willing to die for you, my Master."
He
pulled me closer to himself. "You shall not die, my little warrior," he
said emphatically, "You have passed the first trial already, which was
the Wheel and which has marked you with the blood of many slain - this
will be the sacrifice. Yet I require more than this from you."
"What do you require, my Master?"
He
slipped his hand into my hair, although streaky and matted with blood,
and embraced me. "Your strength of will," he said. "Your loyalty."
"You will always have my loyalty, my Master."
"Your devotion," he asked.
"And my devotion, always," I offered.
He
studied my eyes and read in them for a moment, then he kissed me
passionately. I felt his need to bond with me completely, and I was more
than ready to do so.
"Are you willing to go to battle for me, my little warrior?" he then whispered. "Forsake me not."
"My Master, I love you beyond anything, I'd never forsake you!"
Strangely,
this seemed to be what he had waited to hear from me. I could tell
which part. The very word he himself shunned to utter.
Holding on to
each other we stepped into the mirror, but immediately the familiar
corridor on the other side was gone, replaced with a gray maelstrom, and
something like an almighty wind was pushing us back, a wind or a
current of water, I couldn't tell which and it was most likely something
of completely different nature altogether than of the familiar world.
It was a psychic force raging against us, the force of the enemy tearing
on us to refuse us entrance back into the living world, tearing on us
and trying to separate us. I knew if I let go of my Master, this force
would likely let me pass through.
Fuck you, I'll never ever let go of
him, I love my Master! Fuck off, I'm ready to kill you, bastard tyrant
god or whatever you are!
We were straining against this force, and it was on me to fight it down. I felt my stance of defiance was showing an effect.
Defiance, that's my name, remember? 'Diane', plus just three more letters!
The
wind was tearing on my long, blood-drenched hair. The blood of many
slain - I'm a warrior, and I'm ready to fight you to the death for my
Master!
The vile wind current continued trying with all might to
separate us, but I was holding on to my Master with more might. Somehow I
knew that despite his inhuman power he wouldn't be able to hold on to
me by himself if I'd let go; here in this vortex the roles were
interchanged, here it was on me to fight for both of us.
I found it
very hard to breathe against the maelstrom, but whatever might happen -
yes, I'd be willing to die for my Master! I tightened my arms around him
- I would not forsake him, not ever!
I love you, my Master!
Suddenly
we found ourselves tumbling to the crummy floor and against the
bicycle, and with a fast reflex I brought up my leg to prevent the bike
from falling on top of us.
"Are you alright, my Master?"
"Aye," he
said, getting up already while I was somewhat comically struggling with
the bike and then dislodging the bramble from my foot, not knowing
where or when I must have stepped on it - the same bramble twig I had
used to poke the mirror with at the start of this adventure.
"We made it!" I cheered as I got up and put the bicycle right, and then I clasped my Master into my arms again.
"Diane?"
"Yes, my Master?"
"For how much longer dost thou intend holding me in this way?" he asked, getting a bit impatient.
"Oh, just for the rest of my life, my Master."
"The rest of thy life might last but merely another moment in this case," he threatened.
I looked at his angelical face and boldly decided, "Doesn't matter - it's worth it," and I hugged him again.
He
freed himself, however, and pushed me away with such force that I
tumbled against the bike and to the floor, and this time the bike fell
on top of me.
"I'm sorry, my Master," I muttered somewhat befuddled, "I sure didn't mean to anger you."
He shook his head at me, "Foolish maiden," then he helped me lift the bike off me and reached me his hand.
"Come here," he said leniently, "'twas thy folly after all which helped us cross over."
"What do you mean, my Master?"
"Thine
extreme measure of affection for me," he explained with a smile not
quite concealing a little trace of contempt in it, "I was, admittedly,
not entirely certain it would succeed, yet it did. At times thou needst
beat them by turning their own powers against them. They cannot attack
such. 'twas our own forces, our Father's, which achieved the rest
through the blood sacrifice."
I realized only now that we both were
now clean of all the blood of the victims of the Wheel. My Master, who
had never been as entirely drenched with it as I had been, except for
his hands from his own previous killings, seemed entirely clean of it
now, and looking down over my body I found only a few dried specks of it
on me, even my clothes and hair were nearly clean of blood. It had been
used up by the Infernal forces in getting us through the mirror back
into the living world, against the opposition of the Heavens.
"So, ain't we a dream team, my darling," I said lovingly.
"Wouldst thou restrain thine insolent speech," he chided. But then he kissed me.
***
