rotting shutters.
Megga shook her head, trying to push that awful imagery from her mind, but like a leech it clung, it held on, it fed on the darkness of her mind, bloating itself. Those villages…none were Cobton. These were in a far-away place where the crops had withered in the fields and the houses stood like leaning monoliths.
That woman looked like she was in agony, she looked…defiled.
Now it was invading Megga’s mind, the truth of what she had seen up there. The memory crowded in, filling her with unease. In that woman’s eyes she had seen the spectral darkness of alien lands laid empty by a creeping pestilence and she could hear the woman’s voice…a strange tongue, thick and guttural, Slavonic. She could not understand the words spoken, but the malevolence and spiritual decay behind them was all too evident.
Then Megga could remember herself standing there as that…that woman moved in at her and, no, she was not beautiful at all. Her face was gray and fissured like an old root, the eyes a sullen sickly yellow, and the smile was not friendly but wolfish and starving, the teeth long and sharp. And that’s when the dread had engulfed her, locking her down in an icy embrace, an ebon fear sucking into her pores and filling her with an almost hysterical panic as she saw that grinning mouth whose smile was mocking and pale and poisonous. She looked into eyes that simmered with a black anti-human hatred, a hatred of the life in her and an almost carnal need to violate her and empty her veins.
That’s what she had really seen as those withered fingers had reached for her and that mouth had puckered into a shriveled gray blowhole to be pressed against her throat.
Megga lit another cigarette and tried to tell herself it wasn’t so, but it was true and she knew it. Maybe she’d always known that’s what those things would be like.
Leeches, nothing but leeches.
And if they offered you other things or gave you a glimpse of cold beauty or eroticism or whispered graveyard poetry in your ear, it was only a means to an end so they could feed upon you.
Yet…even knowing the truth of it and feeling the fear still kicking in her belly like a grim fetus…the hypnotic allure of the woman still clouded her mind and whitewashed her brain. Its influence was powerful. It lingered and haunted her skull like a ghost. And what frightened her most was that after Wenda had driven the crone away, Megga herself had become very much aware of how turned-on she was, how she’d wanted that woman to touch her and violate her and penetrate her with those long mottled teeth…and that, more than anything else, had made her go after Wenda, kiss her, tongue her.
She wanted her.
God, how she wanted her.
Her brain rioting with lewd, profane impulses, she would have done her right there on the cold floor. The woman offered death and death was the ultimate aphrodisiac.
Nothing burns so hot as death.
Nothing.
Feeling hot inside, Megga pulled off her cigarette and tried to calm herself. She looked over at Wenda who’d apparently been watching her the entire time.
She was still sharpening the stake and doing so almost reverently like it was a religious ex perience for her. Megga was all too aware of the phallic shape of the thing. The heat was building up in her and she could barely contain it.
Morris poked at the fire with a stick. “I wonder when they’ll come for us,” he said.
Megga didn’t know but, God, she hoped it would be soon.
24
At first, Doc saw nothing when he opened the door. There was just the corridor leading to the foyer and nothing else. He saw shadows and a clutching darkness pushing out at him that was nearly suffocating. Then he smelled a dark and pungent odor of carrion. He heard a low moaning noise like wind blowing through a pipe. He lifted the lantern high, casting its light out into the corridor and, instantly, panic tore loose inside him with an almost audible tearing sound.
A column of
Megga shook her head, trying to push that awful imagery from her mind, but like a leech it clung, it held on, it fed on the darkness of her mind, bloating itself. Those villages…none were Cobton. These were in a far-away place where the crops had withered in the fields and the houses stood like leaning monoliths.
That woman looked like she was in agony, she looked…defiled.
Now it was invading Megga’s mind, the truth of what she had seen up there. The memory crowded in, filling her with unease. In that woman’s eyes she had seen the spectral darkness of alien lands laid empty by a creeping pestilence and she could hear the woman’s voice…a strange tongue, thick and guttural, Slavonic. She could not understand the words spoken, but the malevolence and spiritual decay behind them was all too evident.
Then Megga could remember herself standing there as that…that woman moved in at her and, no, she was not beautiful at all. Her face was gray and fissured like an old root, the eyes a sullen sickly yellow, and the smile was not friendly but wolfish and starving, the teeth long and sharp. And that’s when the dread had engulfed her, locking her down in an icy embrace, an ebon fear sucking into her pores and filling her with an almost hysterical panic as she saw that grinning mouth whose smile was mocking and pale and poisonous. She looked into eyes that simmered with a black anti-human hatred, a hatred of the life in her and an almost carnal need to violate her and empty her veins.
That’s what she had really seen as those withered fingers had reached for her and that mouth had puckered into a shriveled gray blowhole to be pressed against her throat.
Megga lit another cigarette and tried to tell herself it wasn’t so, but it was true and she knew it. Maybe she’d always known that’s what those things would be like.
Leeches, nothing but leeches.
And if they offered you other things or gave you a glimpse of cold beauty or eroticism or whispered graveyard poetry in your ear, it was only a means to an end so they could feed upon you.
Yet…even knowing the truth of it and feeling the fear still kicking in her belly like a grim fetus…the hypnotic allure of the woman still clouded her mind and whitewashed her brain. Its influence was powerful. It lingered and haunted her skull like a ghost. And what frightened her most was that after Wenda had driven the crone away, Megga herself had become very much aware of how turned-on she was, how she’d wanted that woman to touch her and violate her and penetrate her with those long mottled teeth…and that, more than anything else, had made her go after Wenda, kiss her, tongue her.
She wanted her.
God, how she wanted her.
Her brain rioting with lewd, profane impulses, she would have done her right there on the cold floor. The woman offered death and death was the ultimate aphrodisiac.
Nothing burns so hot as death.
Nothing.
Feeling hot inside, Megga pulled off her cigarette and tried to calm herself. She looked over at Wenda who’d apparently been watching her the entire time.
She was still sharpening the stake and doing so almost reverently like it was a religious ex perience for her. Megga was all too aware of the phallic shape of the thing. The heat was building up in her and she could barely contain it.
Morris poked at the fire with a stick. “I wonder when they’ll come for us,” he said.
Megga didn’t know but, God, she hoped it would be soon.
24
At first, Doc saw nothing when he opened the door. There was just the corridor leading to the foyer and nothing else. He saw shadows and a clutching darkness pushing out at him that was nearly suffocating. Then he smelled a dark and pungent odor of carrion. He heard a low moaning noise like wind blowing through a pipe. He lifted the lantern high, casting its light out into the corridor and, instantly, panic tore loose inside him with an almost audible tearing sound.
A column of
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