Devia Mara &
the Meaning of Life,
Chapter I
(of more):
Another One in
Devia’s Palace.
by Rewired
--------------------------------------------------------------------
The night was dark and the snow blew fiercly. The mesh of the two made it so you couldn't hope to see anything within a foot of your car's headlights -- which is just the annoyance a certain boy by the name of Jay Bourbon was forced to experience on his way home from college for the weekend.
In regards to Jay, this just worsened a situation that was already dreadfully problematic. This problem had a rather long history – as far back a history as one could have in a lifetime, as a matter of fact: it stemmed back to his birth.
This has nothing to due with astrology, mind you, but was clearly drawn out by the nature of his birth.
Due to be born on Halloween, he came out two weeks later – but he didn’t get it quite right. Indeed, the first part of him to see the outside world this lifetime was his ass, presently layered in an abnormal amount of fur and lifted a few centimeters up off his car seat as his eyes, plastered to the windshield, squinted to see through the snow. His inability to cough up the motivation to depart the womb on schedule or find focus enough to exit the birth canal correctly shed light on two major flaws in his character that carried on to this very day – specifically, procrastination and a bad sense of direction.
He had already been late for supper at his parent’s house and had already been quite lost when he’d gotten caught in the horrid blizzard. His chances of finding his way were slim, and getting there on time was next to impossible.
(Being the omnipotent narrator, I could be so kind as to reveal to you the whereabouts of this particular fellow - but I will not, for the sake of exercising my astounding, godlike ability to hold the truth and keep it all for myself until such a time where it would be most convenient for me or most inconvenient for the reader or the characters in the story to get a glimpse of it. I will sit and spill out my story, and watch the petty characters in the story and the observers whose minds are now in my hands wallow in their curiosity and confusion. I will not reveal this information to you, at least not as of yet: and don't try talking me out of it, for I cannot be swayed by any mere mortal. Anyway, it brings mystery to the story, or so I've heard.)
Forever frustrated and anxious, Jay placed a cigarette between his chapped lips. He then went about fumbling around his hand in the darkness of the car for a lighter. He did it in the hopes that the cigarette, once lit, would calm his naturally-paranoid self, elevated by the massive amount of caffeine he had blasting through his bloodstream setting his nerves on edge.
He finally found his lighter buried under a few books written by the philosopher Friedrich Neitzche, and proceeded to light up, half-consciously aware of the light from above, which he quickly determined must be a streetlight a few thousand watts too bright.
His annoyance turned to panic when he didn’t seem to be passing the source of the light at all – to the contrary, it seemed to be either getting closer, brighter, or both. The blinding light intensified by the falling snow sent him off the road, bouncing and sliding as he tried to maintain control of the car and make his way back on track.
He failed.
His car skidded off the road and wedged itself into a rut. His head slammed into the windshield with great force, his chest pressing down firmly on the horn.
Blood dripped down on the shards of glass strewn all over the dashboard. The engine was dead and it appeared that he was as well. One of the car's headlights and both the tail lights blared out into the white night. The pulsing yellow light of his turn signal called out into the foreign land an SOS.
His body turned colder.
In the background the speakers blared Sad But True by the band Metallica. The lit cigarette slowly burned a hole through his jeans, burning through to his skin, and lighting fire to his pants.
(The author, months after beginning to type this story, rereads it in his apartment in northeastern Ohio, reading this very paragraph when he realizes the song Sad But True is blaring on his tape player. The author grins at the synchronicity).
All in all, it simply wasn't one of Jay's better days.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
He awoke enshrouded in darkness, wondering if it had all been part of some horrific, confused dream. He soon realized, however, that the current situation was equally dreamlike. At the other end of the dark room, a single candle flickered by a mirror. Neither the candle nor the mirror was familiar to him, and he was equally certain this bed he was sleeping on wasn't his own. As he began to become fully conscious, he expected his mind to get together and for things to make a bit more sense – but he only grew more confused.
The room had no windows. He found that very disturbing. Very bizarre.
"You're finally awake."
He turned his head slowly. He'd failed to notice the chair beside his bed, and the slender figure that sat on it and leaned against the wall, swallowed by the shadows.
"Hi," he said cautiously, feeling rather threatened.
"Hi," the sly, feminine voice returned politely, yet with an undeniable mysterious overtone. She leaned closer, away from the wall, and he could see her face in the light -- pale, slender, beautiful features; shoulder-length black hair, and eyes that looked right through you.
"What the hell happened?" Jay replied, rubbing his forehead. "I feel kinda weird. Tingly."
"You've had quite a bit of sleep," she said. "You've been lying in this bed awhile."
"How long?"
She shrugged. "I can't be sure. I have no calendars."
"Calendar… ? You mean days? I’ve been out for days?” He said, sighing in a mixture of frustration and elevating confusion. His mind quickly came back to the mysterious feminine figure, though, and those eyes of hers.
“You live here alone?"
"No," she said, standing up slowly, "I always have plenty of company.” She leaned closer to him, her smile broadening and becoming a bit more crooked. “I’ll show you one of the reasons why."
She leaned ever closer to him. He lay back, and did indeed learn how she could keep as much company as she so desired. As warm and sensual as she was, as appreciative as he was for what she began doing, he couldn’t sense something errie about her presence.
Beneath the surface of her there was a cold he quickly caught onto, but which she strategically distracted him from.
He also felt a certain emptiness in the house – and beyond mere feeling the emptiness, he heard nothing. Nothing but her rustling and his own heavy breathing. The only company she seemed to have presently was himself, contrary to what she had claimed.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Elsewhere, in a musty, darkened place full of rats somewhere, a man flickered into a momentary consciousness and again attempted to wriggle his body free from his restraints. He tried to speak, but the words came out so softly they were hardly audible. He tried to speak again, and this time was able to bring out a hoarse voice, saying, “must find Rinjbar, o wise one… tell him another is here…”
Though the man spoke at considerable volume, his voice wasn’t at all convincing, and it only carried to ears that were in close proximity to him – but those were the ears of rats, so I guess that doesn’t matter.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"So... Jay – do you... have a girlfriend?"
"Uhf."
"Speak to me. Stay focused," she told him as he looked down at her. She reached up to put her hand around his chin, and shifted his gaze from her naked breasts to her face. "This will be the most important experience of your life. Look at me and speak. Let the animal take over the process. Keep the mind and heart focused here," she replied, pointing her two figures at her eyes, in a peace sign.
"Who... who are you?" He managed to say. "What's your name?'
"Devia Mara," she said, "You can call me Devia. So tell me, Jay: have you ever been stricken with visions of your own mortality? The minute amount of time you have in life; the morbid fact that from the moment your born you begin to die? That in a way it’s all decay, from womb to tomb, from cradle to grave? Ever wonder what death is like? Ever dare to ponder what life might be like... if you ever dared to live it?"
"How... "
"How? How what, Jay?"
"How... how can…”
“Focus,” she said, “focus and speak.”
“How can… uhh… how can… you talk... with your mouth so full?"
"Practice, Jay, it takes practice. Now lay still."
"Uhmk.... "
"Almost there, Jay? Almost Home?"
"Uhhh... "
"Jay?"
Just as he united with the purest form of ecstasy he'd ever experienced, Jay could've sworn from somewhere below him were the muffled words of someone shouting, striving to be heard: "No!" The voice seemed to say. "No! Not another one!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Ty Olking took a moment to breathe. It was a tight squeeze -- yes; that was for sure – but it was necessary. The gun in his pocket didn't help make the narrow shaft any more comfortable to squeeze through; it dug into his leg and he tried to quietly slide onward. He was dying for a cigarette. He had a box in his pocket, but he was afraid the scent would give him away, she might detect him, and his elaborate plan would be over. He knew her cunning mind and acute senses. He knew more about her than anyone, of that he was certain – he’d studied the bitch. It was only a matter of time now; only a matter of time. Soon he'd be there, and his desire for vengeance would be fulfilled. He took out his micro-cassette tape recorder and clicked the red button:
"Time unknown, date unknown. I have the feeling I'm a little over halfway there, though there is no way I can be certain. No... no, perhaps there is. I can smell the presence... the odor of death, I can smell it near... I must be far more than halfway. Yes. So my destination must be in the short distance ahead. I must be close, and so I move onward into the eerie pitch black... (click)."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Devia had the coffee set on the table by the time he got out of the shower, dried off, and got his cloths back on. Seeing her for the first time in the light, he saw why she couldn't be seen too well in the darkness.
She was dressed in tight black cloths, wearing an open black sweatshirt with a hood, unzipped except for about three inches at the base. She was sprawled out on the chair, one leg over the armrest, and looked very relaxed, very pleased, and very sedated. She smoked a cigarette, and as he walked closer to her he could see her shirt was cut off just a bit, and you could see her tummy when she moved -- a tummy that was almost concave. Her black pants were tight, but loose around her waist, and as he came closer to her he could see down them: she wore no underwear. Her shaved vagina made him salivate. He looked at her, but she gave him a look of sinister resistance.
"So," he said, looking at her, trying to ignore his blood pressure and rising anxiety. "Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No."
He shrugged. "Do you want to have sex?"
He paused right after the last word slid out of his mouth: "Do you want to have sex?"
What the hell did he just say that for? Why had he suddenly turned into a horn ball; a hormonally-driven animal, a being whose only desire was to satisfy his base, sexual impulses? What had happened to his ideals; what he stood for? Come to think of it, what were they again? He looked at her for a response, but found nothing : her face remained unaltered and unimpressed by his comment. She seemed indifferent to his blunt request.
"No." She finally said, exhaling smoke.
He fell disappointed by her response, but still utterly confused by his question. “Okay,” he said.
She snickered and looked down at him slyly. "You've never gotten laid before, Ty, have you?"
He went down to his knees beside her and looked up at her: she looked down at him like a hawk, and put the cigarette to her lips and took a drag. Her one eye squinted as she took it in, and the toxic fumes she took into her lungs seemed to give her the greatest ecstasy, judging from the looks upon her beautifully wicked face.
“Look, I…”
She held up two fingers to silence him. "You got some coffee,” she said as-a-matter-of-factly, and in a disconnected fashion. “Light up a cigarette. Shuffle your feet, get up and look around."
He shrugged, sensing the defeat and wondering what had gotten into him. As he stood up he grabbed his mug, and began walking around. He saw the stairs, and although he thought his curiosity would pull him in that direction, it seemed to pull him instead to something closer -- an open door to what seemed to be a library. He stepped inside. Books of all colors, shapes and sizes were on the shelves of the clean room, filled with chairs and couches, and couches supplied with ashtrays.
For awhile he peered at the shelves, glancing at titles and thumbing through them, even taking a cigarette and a few sips of coffee and reading a chapter or two. When he went back for more coffee, he found Devia in the same place he had found her before. She just looked at him. She didn’t need to – her dark beauty was enough of a tease to him. She knew it, too, and that just edged her on. It was a strange game she played.
As he filled up his mug with the pot that lied on the table, he spoke to her: "Is there any place nearby where I can get my car fixed?"
"No." She said, with a laugh that made a little adrenaline shoot into his system. "Wait until the blizzard's over – it's been the worst we've had in two centuries, the radio says."
"The radio said that?" He said, looking at her as he stirred his sugar.
She looked blankly at him. "Yeah."
He shrugged, and went back into the library, sipping his coffee as he surveyed the shelves once more, looking for more books. As he took the last swig of his coffee, running his finger along the binders of the books, it took a moment for the title of a book to register in his mind. He brought his finger back to it and looked at it again. Sure enough, there it was: Jay Bourbon's Story.
"What the fuck?" He said. He grabbed it, opened the book to a random page, and began reading. His mouth dropped open. It was his life, yet he didn't remember these things. He kept reading, and then took a look behind him to make sure she wasn't creeping up. She was.
"Jay." She said. "What are you doing?" He just kept reading.
She took it out of his hands, closed it, and put it on the shelf. "You shouldn't be reading that shit yet."
He picked it up again. He looked over a few more pages.
Suddenly the words blurred, and reappeared in a different type. With different words. He flipped the book over to look at the cover.
He shook his head. "This was NOT Webster's dictionary," he said, shaking the book at her and glaring at her in a weird, psychotic kind of way that seemed to indicate he was on the verge of a mental breakdown or something. She gazed at him in an almost worried fashion. She rang her fingers along his cheek, smiling shyly and gazing deep into his eyes, relaxing him. She then shrugged in a slow manner.
He just shook his head, and pulled back to get her hand off him.
"This was NOT Webster’s Dictionary, dammit.”
“That’s okay,” she said, “because this isn’t Kansas.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------
The ground rumbled, and a claw pounced out from the frozen earth. The creature rose, slowly but surely, onto the snow-covered surface, confused that it was in a foreign land. Rain; it had always awoken in rain... and by a forest, by a house, where it would...
What would it do?
It howled in the vast cold wasteland, walking, growing ever closer to the mansion. It's eyes were hungry, demanding to be fed, needing the prey it sensed so close. So it picked up speed through the forest and the blowing snow.
It couldn't see, but it knew it would get there. Wherever `there' was.
It would feed; they would bleed – again.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Ty Olking climbed a bit further down the shaft before stopping. He stood perfectly still, trying to focus on some movement he saw just ahead of him in the Shadows. He waited, his eyes straining to see a sight and his ears grasping for a sound that might reinforce his dreary suspicions. He heard a squeal, he heard chatter, and he saw a long fuzzy protrusion lift up in the darkness, with two little appendages wriggling a quarter away down from the top. That was just the reinforcement this bitter, pessimistic bastard was looking for. He picked up his recorder.
“Time, unknown. Date… date, unknown. Lost for who knows how long in these dark, twisting maze of shafts, I sense that I’m near. The shafts have gotten wider, almost like rooms in some areas, covered in old brick. The musty smell is fading, so I must be closer to the surface. I… I still really want a smoke, but she’d know it was me in an instant and send her little fiends after me… they may be close now, for I caught sight of some movement up ahead in the shadows,” he looked ahead, and saw movement more clearly. “I've spotted a dozen or so black devas, the familiars of that Sinister Spinning Woman. Hopelessness has grasped a hold of me, and yet I go on into the danger, for there is no holding back, I will do my best to... aiiigh! aiiiiiiiighmff.... (bonk, bonk, bonk).... (click).... "
Ty awoke to find himself bound to the stone table, a strange man looking down on him, with one big red eye and a smaller green one. His skin was green and purple and black, depending on what angle you caught him at -- it was almost translucent, and the smile on the creature's face and the pug nose stuck between the bottom of where the two eyes met made him look all the more sadistic.
“Where’s my fucking tape recorder?” Ty whined. “I’ve got to document—”
The creature giggled, and slammed down the lever.
"Aiiiiig!" Ty yelled, and again he saw the images.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
the Meaning of Life,
Chapter I
(of more):
Another One in
Devia’s Palace.
by Rewired
--------------------------------------------------------------------
The night was dark and the snow blew fiercly. The mesh of the two made it so you couldn't hope to see anything within a foot of your car's headlights -- which is just the annoyance a certain boy by the name of Jay Bourbon was forced to experience on his way home from college for the weekend.
In regards to Jay, this just worsened a situation that was already dreadfully problematic. This problem had a rather long history – as far back a history as one could have in a lifetime, as a matter of fact: it stemmed back to his birth.
This has nothing to due with astrology, mind you, but was clearly drawn out by the nature of his birth.
Due to be born on Halloween, he came out two weeks later – but he didn’t get it quite right. Indeed, the first part of him to see the outside world this lifetime was his ass, presently layered in an abnormal amount of fur and lifted a few centimeters up off his car seat as his eyes, plastered to the windshield, squinted to see through the snow. His inability to cough up the motivation to depart the womb on schedule or find focus enough to exit the birth canal correctly shed light on two major flaws in his character that carried on to this very day – specifically, procrastination and a bad sense of direction.
He had already been late for supper at his parent’s house and had already been quite lost when he’d gotten caught in the horrid blizzard. His chances of finding his way were slim, and getting there on time was next to impossible.
(Being the omnipotent narrator, I could be so kind as to reveal to you the whereabouts of this particular fellow - but I will not, for the sake of exercising my astounding, godlike ability to hold the truth and keep it all for myself until such a time where it would be most convenient for me or most inconvenient for the reader or the characters in the story to get a glimpse of it. I will sit and spill out my story, and watch the petty characters in the story and the observers whose minds are now in my hands wallow in their curiosity and confusion. I will not reveal this information to you, at least not as of yet: and don't try talking me out of it, for I cannot be swayed by any mere mortal. Anyway, it brings mystery to the story, or so I've heard.)
Forever frustrated and anxious, Jay placed a cigarette between his chapped lips. He then went about fumbling around his hand in the darkness of the car for a lighter. He did it in the hopes that the cigarette, once lit, would calm his naturally-paranoid self, elevated by the massive amount of caffeine he had blasting through his bloodstream setting his nerves on edge.
He finally found his lighter buried under a few books written by the philosopher Friedrich Neitzche, and proceeded to light up, half-consciously aware of the light from above, which he quickly determined must be a streetlight a few thousand watts too bright.
His annoyance turned to panic when he didn’t seem to be passing the source of the light at all – to the contrary, it seemed to be either getting closer, brighter, or both. The blinding light intensified by the falling snow sent him off the road, bouncing and sliding as he tried to maintain control of the car and make his way back on track.
He failed.
His car skidded off the road and wedged itself into a rut. His head slammed into the windshield with great force, his chest pressing down firmly on the horn.
Blood dripped down on the shards of glass strewn all over the dashboard. The engine was dead and it appeared that he was as well. One of the car's headlights and both the tail lights blared out into the white night. The pulsing yellow light of his turn signal called out into the foreign land an SOS.
His body turned colder.
In the background the speakers blared Sad But True by the band Metallica. The lit cigarette slowly burned a hole through his jeans, burning through to his skin, and lighting fire to his pants.
(The author, months after beginning to type this story, rereads it in his apartment in northeastern Ohio, reading this very paragraph when he realizes the song Sad But True is blaring on his tape player. The author grins at the synchronicity).
All in all, it simply wasn't one of Jay's better days.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
He awoke enshrouded in darkness, wondering if it had all been part of some horrific, confused dream. He soon realized, however, that the current situation was equally dreamlike. At the other end of the dark room, a single candle flickered by a mirror. Neither the candle nor the mirror was familiar to him, and he was equally certain this bed he was sleeping on wasn't his own. As he began to become fully conscious, he expected his mind to get together and for things to make a bit more sense – but he only grew more confused.
The room had no windows. He found that very disturbing. Very bizarre.
"You're finally awake."
He turned his head slowly. He'd failed to notice the chair beside his bed, and the slender figure that sat on it and leaned against the wall, swallowed by the shadows.
"Hi," he said cautiously, feeling rather threatened.
"Hi," the sly, feminine voice returned politely, yet with an undeniable mysterious overtone. She leaned closer, away from the wall, and he could see her face in the light -- pale, slender, beautiful features; shoulder-length black hair, and eyes that looked right through you.
"What the hell happened?" Jay replied, rubbing his forehead. "I feel kinda weird. Tingly."
"You've had quite a bit of sleep," she said. "You've been lying in this bed awhile."
"How long?"
She shrugged. "I can't be sure. I have no calendars."
"Calendar… ? You mean days? I’ve been out for days?” He said, sighing in a mixture of frustration and elevating confusion. His mind quickly came back to the mysterious feminine figure, though, and those eyes of hers.
“You live here alone?"
"No," she said, standing up slowly, "I always have plenty of company.” She leaned closer to him, her smile broadening and becoming a bit more crooked. “I’ll show you one of the reasons why."
She leaned ever closer to him. He lay back, and did indeed learn how she could keep as much company as she so desired. As warm and sensual as she was, as appreciative as he was for what she began doing, he couldn’t sense something errie about her presence.
Beneath the surface of her there was a cold he quickly caught onto, but which she strategically distracted him from.
He also felt a certain emptiness in the house – and beyond mere feeling the emptiness, he heard nothing. Nothing but her rustling and his own heavy breathing. The only company she seemed to have presently was himself, contrary to what she had claimed.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Elsewhere, in a musty, darkened place full of rats somewhere, a man flickered into a momentary consciousness and again attempted to wriggle his body free from his restraints. He tried to speak, but the words came out so softly they were hardly audible. He tried to speak again, and this time was able to bring out a hoarse voice, saying, “must find Rinjbar, o wise one… tell him another is here…”
Though the man spoke at considerable volume, his voice wasn’t at all convincing, and it only carried to ears that were in close proximity to him – but those were the ears of rats, so I guess that doesn’t matter.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
"So... Jay – do you... have a girlfriend?"
"Uhf."
"Speak to me. Stay focused," she told him as he looked down at her. She reached up to put her hand around his chin, and shifted his gaze from her naked breasts to her face. "This will be the most important experience of your life. Look at me and speak. Let the animal take over the process. Keep the mind and heart focused here," she replied, pointing her two figures at her eyes, in a peace sign.
"Who... who are you?" He managed to say. "What's your name?'
"Devia Mara," she said, "You can call me Devia. So tell me, Jay: have you ever been stricken with visions of your own mortality? The minute amount of time you have in life; the morbid fact that from the moment your born you begin to die? That in a way it’s all decay, from womb to tomb, from cradle to grave? Ever wonder what death is like? Ever dare to ponder what life might be like... if you ever dared to live it?"
"How... "
"How? How what, Jay?"
"How... how can…”
“Focus,” she said, “focus and speak.”
“How can… uhh… how can… you talk... with your mouth so full?"
"Practice, Jay, it takes practice. Now lay still."
"Uhmk.... "
"Almost there, Jay? Almost Home?"
"Uhhh... "
"Jay?"
Just as he united with the purest form of ecstasy he'd ever experienced, Jay could've sworn from somewhere below him were the muffled words of someone shouting, striving to be heard: "No!" The voice seemed to say. "No! Not another one!"
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Ty Olking took a moment to breathe. It was a tight squeeze -- yes; that was for sure – but it was necessary. The gun in his pocket didn't help make the narrow shaft any more comfortable to squeeze through; it dug into his leg and he tried to quietly slide onward. He was dying for a cigarette. He had a box in his pocket, but he was afraid the scent would give him away, she might detect him, and his elaborate plan would be over. He knew her cunning mind and acute senses. He knew more about her than anyone, of that he was certain – he’d studied the bitch. It was only a matter of time now; only a matter of time. Soon he'd be there, and his desire for vengeance would be fulfilled. He took out his micro-cassette tape recorder and clicked the red button:
"Time unknown, date unknown. I have the feeling I'm a little over halfway there, though there is no way I can be certain. No... no, perhaps there is. I can smell the presence... the odor of death, I can smell it near... I must be far more than halfway. Yes. So my destination must be in the short distance ahead. I must be close, and so I move onward into the eerie pitch black... (click)."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Devia had the coffee set on the table by the time he got out of the shower, dried off, and got his cloths back on. Seeing her for the first time in the light, he saw why she couldn't be seen too well in the darkness.
She was dressed in tight black cloths, wearing an open black sweatshirt with a hood, unzipped except for about three inches at the base. She was sprawled out on the chair, one leg over the armrest, and looked very relaxed, very pleased, and very sedated. She smoked a cigarette, and as he walked closer to her he could see her shirt was cut off just a bit, and you could see her tummy when she moved -- a tummy that was almost concave. Her black pants were tight, but loose around her waist, and as he came closer to her he could see down them: she wore no underwear. Her shaved vagina made him salivate. He looked at her, but she gave him a look of sinister resistance.
"So," he said, looking at her, trying to ignore his blood pressure and rising anxiety. "Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No."
He shrugged. "Do you want to have sex?"
He paused right after the last word slid out of his mouth: "Do you want to have sex?"
What the hell did he just say that for? Why had he suddenly turned into a horn ball; a hormonally-driven animal, a being whose only desire was to satisfy his base, sexual impulses? What had happened to his ideals; what he stood for? Come to think of it, what were they again? He looked at her for a response, but found nothing : her face remained unaltered and unimpressed by his comment. She seemed indifferent to his blunt request.
"No." She finally said, exhaling smoke.
He fell disappointed by her response, but still utterly confused by his question. “Okay,” he said.
She snickered and looked down at him slyly. "You've never gotten laid before, Ty, have you?"
He went down to his knees beside her and looked up at her: she looked down at him like a hawk, and put the cigarette to her lips and took a drag. Her one eye squinted as she took it in, and the toxic fumes she took into her lungs seemed to give her the greatest ecstasy, judging from the looks upon her beautifully wicked face.
“Look, I…”
She held up two fingers to silence him. "You got some coffee,” she said as-a-matter-of-factly, and in a disconnected fashion. “Light up a cigarette. Shuffle your feet, get up and look around."
He shrugged, sensing the defeat and wondering what had gotten into him. As he stood up he grabbed his mug, and began walking around. He saw the stairs, and although he thought his curiosity would pull him in that direction, it seemed to pull him instead to something closer -- an open door to what seemed to be a library. He stepped inside. Books of all colors, shapes and sizes were on the shelves of the clean room, filled with chairs and couches, and couches supplied with ashtrays.
For awhile he peered at the shelves, glancing at titles and thumbing through them, even taking a cigarette and a few sips of coffee and reading a chapter or two. When he went back for more coffee, he found Devia in the same place he had found her before. She just looked at him. She didn’t need to – her dark beauty was enough of a tease to him. She knew it, too, and that just edged her on. It was a strange game she played.
As he filled up his mug with the pot that lied on the table, he spoke to her: "Is there any place nearby where I can get my car fixed?"
"No." She said, with a laugh that made a little adrenaline shoot into his system. "Wait until the blizzard's over – it's been the worst we've had in two centuries, the radio says."
"The radio said that?" He said, looking at her as he stirred his sugar.
She looked blankly at him. "Yeah."
He shrugged, and went back into the library, sipping his coffee as he surveyed the shelves once more, looking for more books. As he took the last swig of his coffee, running his finger along the binders of the books, it took a moment for the title of a book to register in his mind. He brought his finger back to it and looked at it again. Sure enough, there it was: Jay Bourbon's Story.
"What the fuck?" He said. He grabbed it, opened the book to a random page, and began reading. His mouth dropped open. It was his life, yet he didn't remember these things. He kept reading, and then took a look behind him to make sure she wasn't creeping up. She was.
"Jay." She said. "What are you doing?" He just kept reading.
She took it out of his hands, closed it, and put it on the shelf. "You shouldn't be reading that shit yet."
He picked it up again. He looked over a few more pages.
Suddenly the words blurred, and reappeared in a different type. With different words. He flipped the book over to look at the cover.
He shook his head. "This was NOT Webster's dictionary," he said, shaking the book at her and glaring at her in a weird, psychotic kind of way that seemed to indicate he was on the verge of a mental breakdown or something. She gazed at him in an almost worried fashion. She rang her fingers along his cheek, smiling shyly and gazing deep into his eyes, relaxing him. She then shrugged in a slow manner.
He just shook his head, and pulled back to get her hand off him.
"This was NOT Webster’s Dictionary, dammit.”
“That’s okay,” she said, “because this isn’t Kansas.”
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The ground rumbled, and a claw pounced out from the frozen earth. The creature rose, slowly but surely, onto the snow-covered surface, confused that it was in a foreign land. Rain; it had always awoken in rain... and by a forest, by a house, where it would...
What would it do?
It howled in the vast cold wasteland, walking, growing ever closer to the mansion. It's eyes were hungry, demanding to be fed, needing the prey it sensed so close. So it picked up speed through the forest and the blowing snow.
It couldn't see, but it knew it would get there. Wherever `there' was.
It would feed; they would bleed – again.
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Ty Olking climbed a bit further down the shaft before stopping. He stood perfectly still, trying to focus on some movement he saw just ahead of him in the Shadows. He waited, his eyes straining to see a sight and his ears grasping for a sound that might reinforce his dreary suspicions. He heard a squeal, he heard chatter, and he saw a long fuzzy protrusion lift up in the darkness, with two little appendages wriggling a quarter away down from the top. That was just the reinforcement this bitter, pessimistic bastard was looking for. He picked up his recorder.
“Time, unknown. Date… date, unknown. Lost for who knows how long in these dark, twisting maze of shafts, I sense that I’m near. The shafts have gotten wider, almost like rooms in some areas, covered in old brick. The musty smell is fading, so I must be closer to the surface. I… I still really want a smoke, but she’d know it was me in an instant and send her little fiends after me… they may be close now, for I caught sight of some movement up ahead in the shadows,” he looked ahead, and saw movement more clearly. “I've spotted a dozen or so black devas, the familiars of that Sinister Spinning Woman. Hopelessness has grasped a hold of me, and yet I go on into the danger, for there is no holding back, I will do my best to... aiiigh! aiiiiiiiighmff.... (bonk, bonk, bonk).... (click).... "
Ty awoke to find himself bound to the stone table, a strange man looking down on him, with one big red eye and a smaller green one. His skin was green and purple and black, depending on what angle you caught him at -- it was almost translucent, and the smile on the creature's face and the pug nose stuck between the bottom of where the two eyes met made him look all the more sadistic.
“Where’s my fucking tape recorder?” Ty whined. “I’ve got to document—”
The creature giggled, and slammed down the lever.
"Aiiiiig!" Ty yelled, and again he saw the images.
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