After indulging my heart in
the fruitful words of Edgar Allen Poe, I've
come to one conclusion: revenge would be mine. I was
not a creative man, by any means. I had a knack for words and an overactive
mind, but when it came to strategy I was a plagiarist of the worst kind.
So I've spent several
weeks overdosing my mind with the plots of others
and devised a plan to get even with Samuel K. Kinsman III. You see, Kinsman
had a daughter who was a bit of a manic-depressive. Aside from the black
lipstick that she decorated her mouth with and the body mutilations she
took upon herself, she carried a
cloud of gloom above her. I suppose she would be best
described by Poe,
himself, during his highest opium high, inspired by
three shots of liquor
and the realization that life was worth nothing more
than a melancholy,
artistic moment. How better could a man destroy another
than through the
disappearance of his beloved daughter? That was how
I've thought at the time. That was before things took a twist into the
horrifically obscene and the darkest form of dementia altered my mind.
I first spotted Natalie Kinsman on a park bench
in the downtown park.
She looked absolutely woeful staring at the cracks
in the sidewalk, possibly
searching for one big enough to escape into. Seeing
the skull earrings
that dangled from her ears and the combination of
the bar code tattooed on her neck and the lousy make-up art that was meant
to conceal the scars on her wrist did something to me. Something on the
inside. It was as if the
shadow of a deviant, chaotic being had molested my
dreary soul, spewing his seed of fiery filth and impregnating my naive,
sullen heart with the radiant glow of all that is indecent and corrupt.
I suppose it was the feeling of lust. I
fought back the impulse to act upon sudden urge and
gathered my thoughts.
I was a man at work. A man with a mission and nothing
was going to stand
between me and the bittersweet flavor of vengeance.
I did however wonder
about the relationship between the tycoon and his
rebellious daughter.
After coming to the realization that I would be as
inobservant as the old man
had I devoured a gallon of whiskey a day for fifteen
years, I made my approach.
"A lovely day we are having, wouldn't you say,
Madam?" I imposed on the silence.
"Surely, you'd have me believe that it is as pleasant
as the sweltering fever that assaults the atmosphere in the fiery lake
known as Hell,?" she
responded, flashing me an evil glare.
"You're a woman after my own heart. Not only
am I drawn to the
splendor of your uncontestable beauty, but I am impressed
by the craft you display in the art of expression."
"Whatever. And to what Godless madman do I owe the
displeasure of this
nauseating effort to seduce my unsalvageable soul?"
asked the mistress
of Hell.
"This pitiful excuse of what God intended to
be a man is a peasant
that goes by the name of Darius Poledancer. And what
infallible performance
must he display to impress the queen of misery?"
"Perhaps you are un-keen to the obvious. I
am a vile creature spewed
upon the face of this earth to enjoy all that is unclean
and immoral. If you
are here to dance for me take the pep out of your
step and indulge me in
Darius the Unrighteous."
I found myself at a loss for words momentarily,
but upon visioning the
destruction of one Samuel III, I quickly uttered the
most soiled
expression I could congregate. "Suffer my wretched
ejaculation of filthy broth."
"A romantic man is this Darius Poledancer?"
She paused, her face never expelling its hateful
frown.
"That crap saturates my heart with the impudent
lust of hatred and aggression. Suppose that I molest your ears with an
unpalatable word on myself. I have a gruesome fascination with the nonliving
and an insatiable desire to fornicate with the mentally
deranged in a
graveyard during the hour of the dead. How now would
you approach me?"
I felt my heart sink in my chest and my first
impulse was to turn my
back and scamper away, leaving revenge to the avenue
of another great author. I frowned upon my better judgment and continued,
"Suppose that I made mention of a cave that I know of, not far from here.
A cave that is torrent with the stench of bat guano and the decomposition
of flesh. Its filthy interior is damp with the moisture of impurities?"
I felt the cold sting of fear as it raped my heart.
I'd lived my life investing in the belief that I was a morally unchallenged
man.
"On several of unsavory nights have I ventured
into this pit of putrid
substance that you speak of, but with a man of your
unruffled appearance
will I not. You prance about with your clean-shaven
face and well-attended
hygiene. Charles Manson is the male counterpart of
my horrifically
perverse fantasies."
"Leave that to me, my gothic temptress,"
I discharged from a mouth
now riddled with the wretched flavor of the treasonous
vocabulary revolting
against my soul.
Miss Kinsman's face dawned the expression of
contemplation and for the
first time was no longer burdened by the frown of
disgust.
"Impress me by masking the divinity that you reek
of and drag your body to the pit'sportal no later than 11:45. This unholy
pit is cursed with an altar, designated by Lucifer's occult for their rituals
of human sacrifice. With the chains I shall bring we can undergo the savage
sexual ritual of bondage. Also
accompanying me shall be a tape player and the loathsome
music of Nine
Inch Nails. Just a little something to wake the dead,"
she laughed the laugh
of a mad woman and I was bludgeoned by the dagger
of pure terror. I scoured my mind for an image of Samuel Kinsman III during
his saddest hour and
reminded myself of the evil he had done me.
As I left the vile bitch to sit upon her park
bench an explosion of
emotion and thought overtook me. I'd been forced into
a great moral dilemma. I was unsure of whether I was in the midst of winning
the battle or losing my mind.
The arousal of lewd, vulgar perversions had corrupted
my once decent being
and I couldn't help to wonder if the Devil and I were
making a soul
transaction. On the other hand, Kinsman had done me
wrong. What man
flaunts his money before the lover of another and
steels her away with the charm of a mind submersed in liquor? In the words
of the great Montresor, I vowed revenge. It would be mine regardless of
the unsavory mission in which
I'd partake.
* *
I'd done more than impress myself with the creative
artistry of my
make up. The swastika's appearance was that of one
scorched into the flesh that had weathered its days in prison. A dusty
wig, an ex-possession of my ex-wife, was exhumed from the cellar and added
a preferable dimension to the
disguise. The participation of my mischievous lover's
red contact lenses offered another vital appendage.
By the light of my ex's trusty flashlight I
trekked into the woods and
maneuvered my way to the cave's entrance. At exactly
11:44 and a half I
was greeted by the demented, monster child of the
great Samuel Kinsman III
with all items she had mentioned in her possession.
Together we entered the
mouth of the cavern, the light leading the way.
In silence we trampled through the muddy bed
of the cave. An occasional
squeak of a rodent or the flutter of bat wings aroused
a delusional giggle
from my woeful companion and I thought back to Montresor,
leading the
unfortunate Fortunado through the catacombs, to his
final resting place.
We passed by the carcass of a fallen beast. The stench
of its hide lingered
in my nostrils, tempting the expulsion of my dinner
and teasing my mind with
the possibility of hysteria.
"Perhaps we might turn back. There is a great
possibility that you could fall ill," I offered, no longer sure that I
cared to partake in the mistress of darkness's twisted libido.
"It is a disgrace to the disguise that you
wear to worry of such
nonsense. Would Charles fear the existence of bubonic
plague in this deviant
sanctuary?" she asked, torturing my confused mind
even further.
"Than it shall be. We will subject ourselves
to the infestations of
unruly beasts."
I didn't receive the response that I'd wished.
Instead a moan escaped from
her throat and, if I'm not mistaken, it was the sound
of erotic arousal.
I attempted to swallow my fear, but not even
the thought of Kinsman's suicide not could subdu my fear. I quickened my
pace, perhaps in attempt of
distancing myself from the diabolical enchantress,
but to my horrific
dismay, felt her hand grasp mine.
"Perhaps we should be headed back," I attempted, "Your
father will be worried."
"No," she responded. "That heathen bastard
has no love for his
futile daughter. The altar is here."
I shined the light in the direction that she
motioned and saw the most malevolent item of man's creation. It was stained
with the blackened blood of the victims that were
once destroyed upon it.
I stopped, my heart thudding wildly, and shined
the light on her face.
Again I was visited by the animalistic urge
to dispel any strand of morality
that could restrain me from pursuing the powerful
impulse that so desired
fornication with this creature of unholy presence.
Lucifer had stolen my
soul. Unfortunately this did not occur to me at the
time. Lacking the
restraint of a divine power I was deceived into reacting
upon the urge of
temptation. I forced my lips to hers and was surprised
at her sudden
withdrawal.
"Not just yet, my psychotic prince of slaughter.
This is my playground," she informed me as she wound my right hand in a
chain. The bulge in my pants
was thickening and all rational thought had fled from
my mind.
"Now repeat after me: Take me now you wretched
slut and fulfill my raunchiest desires of the most putrid molestation.'
She removed the flashlight from my left hand as I obeyed her demand. She
pressed her mouth to my neck, the warmth of her breath tantalizing
my aroused body.
"That's good, my heathen boy toy.
" She allowed her tongue to massage my neck as she
imprisoned my left hand in a chain.
It wasn't long before I was fully undressed
and completely restrained
to the altar by means of locks and chains.
"Now for a little music, to set the " I heard the
click of a button being depressed and then the cave's silence was raped
by heavy metal racket,
"I want to fuck you like an animal!" Yes, I'm sure
those are the words. The song has played continuously now for the last
four to six hours.
* *
Jed Thompson stared at the naked Manson look
alike and inhaled a drag
from his cigarette. "So Shaggy, she bound you up and
tossed the carcass of
Scooby Doo on your nude body?"
"Odd, yes, I know. She left me here, mumbling
something under her
breath. Something to do with my wife and steeling
her father away from her."
Jed's face remained expressionless, "That's
strange, the same gal
that you speak of came into the precinct and reported
her dog missing several hours ago. She was a pleasant young lady, a might
bit on the over friendly side I might say. She said that some neurotic
lunatic was seen dragging it into
this very cave."