Vampire Hunter D by Hideyuki Kikuchi Page A

the darkness below the neck?
    “He’s a fine specimen, sisters.” The whispers from the head on the right sounded deeply impressed, and she licked her lips. Her red flame of a tongue was slim, and the tip was forked. “At long last, we have a man worthy of our pleasuring. And not just a pretty face, either—look at how muscular he is.”
    “Sisters, you can’t have him first,” the third head—the one on the left—declared. “Just five days ago, the two of you fed on the huntsman who wandered in here while I was asleep. This time I shall be first. First to take him to the heights of rapture, and first to taste his blood when he hits that peak.”
    “The nerve of you! We are your elders,” the head on the right—and apparently the second-in-command—bellowed.
    “Stop your sibling quarrels,” the middle head scolded them, turning to the head on the left. “You may be the first to drink of his blood. However, the three of us shall pleasure him together.”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m amenable to that.”
    Without another word the three heads nodded in agreement. Little flame tongues flicking in and out and the women fondled every inch of D with smitten eyes.
    “But be on guard,” the oldest sister said quite plainly. “This man does not fear us.”
    “Rubbish! Could anyone know what we are and not tremble? When we grew angry at our meager repasts and bared our fangs, did not the Count himself beat a hasty retreat, never to return to our realm again?” asked the second sister.
    “Even supposing that he is not afraid, what could he do? Manling, can you move?”
    D remained silent. In truth, he couldn’t move. From the first moment he laid eyes on the women’s heads, his whole body had been gripped by countless hands.
    “Do you comprehend, manling,” the second sister went on. “That’s our hair at work.”
    Exactly. The reason why the necks and torso of the Midwich Medusas melded with the darkness was because everything below their jaws was hidden by black hair that fell in a cascade of tens of thousands of strands, shrouding the rest completely. However, this was no ordinary hair. Once on the water’s surface, the strands spread out like tentacles, drifted about, and when they felt the movement of something in the lair, in accordance with the will of the three sisters, they would lure the prey into the center. Then, when the appropriate time came, they could wrap around the victim’s limbs in a split second and rob the victim of his freedom with the strength of piano wire.
    And that wasn’t all. The truth was, it wasn’t water that was in the three sisters’ stone-bordered den. The eldritch stones diverted the aqueduct and sent the water flowing around either side, while their lair was actually filled with a secretion from the hair itself. The liquid flowed subtly to complement the gently swaying movements of the hair, swirling it around, and even D—with a sense of touch far more sensitive than that of humans—hadn’t been alerted to the presence of the strands. Unbeknownst to D, the hair had crept up from his waist and wrapped itself around his wrists and upper arms, as well as his shoulders and neck, completely restraining his limbs.
    Even more disturbing, the rest of those countless hands—nay, tentacles—had started slipping in through the cuffs and seams of his clothes, creeping across him, rubbing against his naked flesh, teasing him, plotting to make D a slave of inflamed desire. No matter how resolute their will, a person’s reason would dissolve after a few seconds of these delicate movements, reducing them to lust-driven mindlessness—this was the Midwich Medusas’ obscene torture, and no one could resist it.
    “Well, have you come to crave us?” the oldest sister asked. “Ordinarily, we would take your life at this point. Like so.” With her words as their signal, the three heads twisted through the air to part their locks. The black cataract changed its course, and three