Enemy Unseen by Ryan C. Thomas

Author:Ryan C. Thomas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cia, thriller, cuba, zombie, new york city, voodoo, undead

Chapter 8.

The world is covered in saran wrap, blurred and full of lens flares. She is not awake, yet she is not asleep. She is somewhere else. In the distance, the sound of Pierre’s weathered voice speaks of betrayal and gifts to the gods. At their mention, her view suddenly changes, and she is now lying naked on a dirt floor, encircled by dancing men and women. A pole rises from the earth next to her, adorned with herbs and bones, ascending into an onyx sky where unhappy shapes swim through the clouds like veins of light under the surface of a lake. Drums beat wildly, a pulsing rhythm that manages to spin the world. Around the pole men and women undulate, their ebony bodies slick with sweat, eyes rolling back in their heads. Mist swirls around them, moving as if it has a life of its own, encircling their torsos like vines. Touching them in a way both tender and sinister. She watches the dancers bend low, placing their hands in the mud beside her, crawling on the ground now, growing horns from their heads. Their skin sprouts hair, their pupils grow ovoid and green, tails flip from their bare behinds. Now they are not human, but a hybrid of man and animal, tongues lolling as they salivate. They crawl over each other sniffing, licking, and with a feral cry, begin to copulate. With each pelvic thrust, the mist grows more solid. Phalluses, pink and slick with joy, flash in the strobing lights from the sky. The mist takes shape, becomes the form of men and women. Some of the mist people are still, watching. Others are angry, joining in the orgy, making slaves of their partners, tearing their holes wider. Knives are drawn from somewhere and the hybrids bleat as their throats are slit in time with orgasms.

With a fury, the mist people sup on the blood, coating themselves in the viscera of the dead. These are the loa, she knows, though she does not know how she knows this. And yet, they are not the loa. They are something more, something far deadlier. The feasting goes on for what seems like hours, until all parts of the animals are consumed, everything from eyes and tongues to phalluses and hooves. Now full, the spirits hover toward Rhonda, who is unable to move from the earthen floor. Blood from the slaughter runs over her feet, arms, and face, the stench of copper thick in her nostrils.

There is a hand in front of her, coated in blood, nails curled like scythes. It wants something from her but she cannot speak to ask it. Not that it matters; it traces the lines of her body, between her breasts, over her belly, down to the soft flesh between her legs where it grips hard, squeezing. In her mind she is screaming, begging to wake up from this dream that is not a dream. More hands join in, all made of mist and blood, and squeeze all parts of her body.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.