Of Devils & Deviants: An Anthology of Erotic Horror by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crowded Quarantine Publications
Published: 2014-04-27T18:30:00+00:00

The Devil: A Love Story

Aaron J. French

The tunnel leading to the surface was a long one, but he had walked it a thousand times. It even cleared his mind, this slow steady uphill trek through granite and sediment, through caverns and caves, up through the underbelly of a mountain in California, USA, where the solitary door stood attached to nothing, composed of ether, not physical matter, invisible to all save the spirits, angels, demons, and the dead.

The flickering black door with an inlaid gold pentagram that had stood from time immemorial under the stars, moon, clouds, and sun. Among wind-seared rock peaks and thunderous oak trunks. The door from which he presently emerged, calm-headed and clear-thinking, into a world of thoughts and matter, which the silly humans called home.

His leather boots crushed into the sod as the black door swung closed behind him, and he took a moment to enjoy the verdant scenery and feel the cold mountain air on his fire-burnt skin. He flipped up the collar on his ageless, heavy-duty brown trench coat.

The woman was on his mind. Nothing short of that could draw him to the surface. Maybe a little war, a little famine, but even those tiresome things had grown old with time. New World Orders, genocide, imposed starvation, black-on-black crime, drug addiction, rape, even a bit of piddly-diddly among the priests and the young boys—all fine, all well and good—but these days it only bored him. He’d become lonely and cold in his subterranean prison. Worse, he had grown blasé, like some kind of jaded Bohemian convinced he’d experienced all there was to life, sleeping with the finest male and female lovers, partaking of the finest opium and hash.

Though life had lost its flare, he felt but a singular mode of expression available, a desire sprouting up from his coiled black soul: the need for female companionship. And not the drowsy fuck-for-alls, the languished huddling boys and girls plowing in and out of each other in the dark, whispering sweet notes of hate into twittering ears. He wanted the real thing, someone to occupy his eternity—a woman, the woman. He wouldn’t deign to call it love, but it was something close.

Something he dreamed of.

Like she dreams of me...

For years now—many years since she was a young girl couched away in the abusive and fragmented world of her family—dreaming of the day he’d arrive and take her into his muscular arms and wrap his death talons around her face.

She had dreamed, and each dream was a message, a bolt shot through time and space, and he was on the receiving end, and yet he hadn’t cared. Why should he?

But now... now her dreams of tender aching, her images of fierce longing, her promises of total unification, these coalesced in him and bound them both together irrevocably. They’d drawn him up to the surface after all this time, even when the most brutal and malicious acts of corrupted free will had failed to garner his attention.

He reminded himself again.

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