Mistress of the Undead

by Isabelle Drake

  “You give me a map. I try to find things.”

  “You won’t need a map.” When he patted the door with his free hand, Hayden spotted the gold band on his left pinky. Where had he seen that design before? But he didn’t have time to remember because Rod flattened his palm, readied himself to push the door open. “It’s all in here,” he said as he shoved the door open and went in.

  The smell hit Hayden immediately. He knew that stench. Had lived it. Hid it under his bed. But in there, it was deeper, more pungent and more powerful than he’d ever experienced it. Instantly, his body began to react, blood quickening, heart hammering, cock hardening. Inwardly, he groaned through his despair, outwardly, he controlled his face, reminded himself to follow Belmont’s advice and not to show fear.

  Stay in control, no matter what.

  Some advice from the man he’d seen crawling around on all fours, whining and crying. But that, he’d since learned, had most likely been partly an act. That man had too many sides. Too many secrets.

  This second room was much larger than the other. It was less gentile, less civilized and much, much more horrible. A living nightmare.

  Hayden went forward. Went all the way in.

  Cages. The first thing he saw were the four cages.

  Then the tables filled with bottles, vials, big jars, small jars.

  A row of knives on a magnetized bar.

  Books and journals. Strew across tables and stuffed onto shelves.

  If it’d been a ‘B’ movie set, he would’ve loved it. Understood it.

  It wasn’t a set. It was real life. It was where he was. It was rotten and frightening. But he did understand it.

  It made sense. It was going to give him answers.

  There was one cage in each corner of the large, rectangular room. Each one roughly 15 by 15 feet and constructed out of round metal bars. There was a creature inside each enclosure. The two on the far end appeared to be asleep. Or dead. Or pretending to be one or the other. The things in the cages closest to him were active. The creature on his left was shrieking, its hands clutching bars, its body twitching. Drab flesh hung from its bones, bulging eyes nearly hung from the bony sockets. The one on his right was on all fours, crawling from corner to corner. Howling, gnashing its teeth, a tattered neon blue dress covering some of its grey skin.

  “Give a shit now, Mr. Reporter?”

  Hayden pushed McKinon aside, went to the cage on the left. The thing inside was tall, must have been huge before, when it’d been human. Whatever muscles it had were now mostly gone, atrophied, flattened, with black and grey skin hanging loose. Each time it thrashed, the skin shook, the dead muscles trembled. Bright green eyes stared at him, willing him to come closer. As he approached, the thing reached through the bars, its fingers opening and closing, grabbing, as it screamed over disintegrating teeth, through peeling lips.

  Stopping just beyond its reach, Hayden turned to McKinon, the obvious question not yet coming from his still human mouth.

  “That’s right. This is what happens when they don’t—”

  “Fuck humans.”

  McKinon jogged to a wooden crate under a nearby table. On top of the crate sat a thick glove. After he slipped the glove over his hand, he reached inside, pulled out a live rat. The rodent squirmed, its tail flicking through the air as he tossed it into the cage. The beast inside snatched it out of the air, held it in its hands for mere seconds before stuffing it, whiskered face first, into its mouth. Blood spurted. A furry leg fell to the floor. The thing chomped through the fur, sucking at the fresh, living, pink insides. It ate the tail in one sharp bite. Hayden’s mouth went dry.

  “They’ll eat everything I give them. They’ll survive on nothing. Doesn’t matter what I do to them.”

  “They just stay like that?”

  McKinon nodded, then went back to the crate, pulled out another rat, headed toward the other cage. The green-eyed thing inside saw him coming, scurried to the bars, mouth opening and closing as it snapped its teeth. This time McKinon walked to the cage, rat squealing and twitching as he carried by the base of its tail. Each time the animal bent upward, trying to bite its way free, he shook it, forcing it to straighten. When he reached the cage, he got down on his knees and set the rat free. The rodent raced to the opposite side of the enclosure, but the undead thing inside was even faster, lurching forward and catching it with both hands. The thing rolled onto its back, feet in the air, kicking excitedly, as it stuffed the twitching rodent between what was left of its teeth. Mangled bare feet continued dancing in the air as the rodent was consumed, bite by bloody bite.

  That green-eyed desperation he’s seen on Mattie’s face made a lot more sense now.

  “You want to know what’ll happen if I get in there and fuck one of them, let them fuck me.” McKinon took the glove off and threw it onto the top of the crate. “Admit you want to know.”

  He shrugged, spoke loud enough to be heard over the wailing and gnashing. “I admit it.”

  “They look like Mattie,” he replied, smiling. “Like Matthew. Like the rest of them. Strong. Frightening. Powerful. Beautifully, perfectly, foul.”

  Dozens of questions shot through Hayden’s mind as he moved further into the room. Maybe he should have been stunned, but he wasn’t. It made sense. They were all connected: Bob, Belmont, McKinon. And now him.

  Hayden gestured to the tables, covered with notes and all matter of equipment. “Experiments?”

  The other man didn’t answer. Instead he spread his arms, inviting Hayden to look. “The treasures await. Bask and enjoy. Study. Speculate.”

  Hayden had adjusted to the shock of the stench, but the nausea remained, swirling through his guts in tight, mean, coils. His gaze moved from one table to the next, each had a clear center area surrounded by the collection of bottles, jars and a variety of other small containers. The table closest to him had a row of bottles, each with a number and letter combination. He unscrewed one, 18UT, pulled the glass rod out and held it to his nose. He recapped the jar, went on the to the next, 19UT.

  “Most of them have no scent.” McKinon propped himself on a stool. “I’ve been trying different mixtures for a couple years now.”

  “Oils?”

  He nodded. “Not the kind like from the ritual. I don’t make anything like that. Don’t know what’s in them. They have their secrets. I have my own fun here.” Reaching for the bottle labeled 23UT, he said, “Smell this one.”

  Hayden did, then shook his head. It had a slight scent, but nothing familiar. “Should I remember it? Know it?”

  Again, no response. Instead, McKinon moved on to the next table. A stack of herbs was scattered across the top. Other herbs were tied into bundles and hung on long pieces of string tied to hooks secured into the ceiling. A pile of mesh bags sat off to the center of the table. A scale and box of zipper-style bags beside it.

  The things in the cages had stopped with the worst of the noise but continued to gnash their teeth, hiss and stare with their gleaming green eyes.

  “But you do make the tea? You drink it yourself?”

  He picked up one of the tea bags, sniffed it, then passed it over to Hayden. “I made the best copy I could. Like I said, I don’t have their recipes. But I think this one is close to theirs. I tried it a couple times but did shit I’d never want to admit. If the press got hold of things like that, I’d be in the tabloids for months.” He snickered. “No offense, man. We all have to make a living.”

  He was right. His tea was very close to theirs. It smelled the way he thought it should—like dirty snow and cold rocks. It made him think things he wanted to forget. “How do you avoid getting… ”

  “Horny? All worked up and aching to get rammed in the ass by some undead piece of shit?” McKinon laughed at Hayden’s expression. “Dude, I’m immune to their charms.”

  It didn’t seem likely, but maybe. He’d made it through that ritual at The Southie. Didn’t he? “These,” Hayden pointed to the herbs, waved over at the small
bottles of oils. “Is this all for your… ”

  “Pets.” McKinon flashed his Hollywood smile as he looked from one cage to the next. “Just these four.”

  Hayden gestured to the rest of the stuff scattered all around the room, “What about Bob? And Belmont?”

  “So now you want to play Truth or Dare?”

  “I don’t want to play any games.” He went away from the table to examine an herb chart tacked to the wall.

  “Bob never comes in here.” McKinon moved around, walking in a tight circle, his gaze darting from creepy thing to creepy thing. “It’s my playroom.”

  Not surprising. The man was too busy collecting dirt to ruin people’s lives. Or control them. Apparently. “Belmont?”

  “He came in here a couple times before you wrote that first piece. Didn’t find what he was looking for and left.”

  “Do you know what he’s looking for?”

  McKinon stopped pacing. “Nope. Nobody knows what he’s looking for.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Nothing really.” He went toward the other two cages. “I mix up different things. Give it to them to eat, see what happens.” Leaning on the bars of one of the cages he looked in at the motionless undead thing heaped on the floor. “I gave them some of that 23. Thought it would keep them quiet, but it seems to have knocked them out.”

  “How long have they been that way.” If it worked on these ones, it had to work on the others.

  “About a day, I guess.”

  He moved closer to the bars, tried not to breathe. “Think they’ll come back? Wake up?”

  McKinon reached his leg between the bars, kicked at the thing on the floor. “Don’t know. First time it has happened.”

  Hayden went to the other cage, looked in at the thing. Its leg was twisted beneath its torso, and its head was facing the wall. It could have been a giant size zombie doll, something someone bought for their kid’s Halloween party. “This is all really fucked up. It’s an epic high level. You know that right?”

  “Yeah.” He kicked it again, harder, hard enough to make it roll over. Its leg hit the floor with a soft thump. Its eyes, still open, weren’t green. They were brown.

  “Why do you do it?”

  “To see what happens next.”

  “What is going to happen next?”

  Keeping his fist wrapped around the bar, McKinon dropped his body down and started swinging on the bar. “Truth or Dare time?”

  Hayden tried breathing through his mouth, but the stench was so thick it made him gag and salivate. Soon it would be so far inside him it may never come out. “Let’s go back.”

  McKinon contorted his body into one of his famous mind-bending poses. Once he was sure Hayden had gotten a good look, he switched it up, put himself into another uncanny position. “Don’t you want to know why I brought you in here?”

  He found out one very useful piece of information and that was enough for him. “Bob told you to.”

  Still twitching himself around, he asked, “You think I do everything Bob tells me to?”

  “I don’t care about whatever the two of you have going on.” The thing in the blue dress was now climbing the bars, using its feet like monkey hands. When it reached the top of the cage, it began crawling across the top, upside down, hair hanging, tattered dress fluttering.

  “You don’t care that your boss has a movie star for a pet?”

  He watched the thing reach the other side and crawl down, face-first, to the floor. “No.” He looked back at McKinon who was still trying to impress him by doing terrible things with his arms and legs. “If that’s what you are, that’s your business, and I really don’t care.”

  “You’re very sophisticated.” McKinon’s sarcasm meant nothing to Hayden.

  The guy finally let go of the bar, did a full backwards stage roll so that he was standing again. “Let’s go back.”

  Hayden let the other man get about ten feet in front of him. He walked slowly past the tables, pausing when he was within arm’s reach of bottle 23. They passed through the buzzing hallway, stepped back into the cozy, wood-paneled room. Hayden was breathing easier, the rotten smell no longer assaulting him. Belmont and Bob were quiet, sitting beside each other in a stand-off style silence, each puffing the last of their cigars.

  McKinon went to the bar, got himself another beer, even though his first sat on the table right where he’d left it.

  Bob had the small gold box in his open palm, balanced on his opposite thigh. Belmont continued to puff on his cigar. McKinon popped open his beer, took a long drink. Bob lifted his arm, holding the box aloft. “Here’s what you asked for,” he barked, locking gazes with Hayden. “Once you’re in, you’re in.”

  McKinon came to stand beside Hayden, shoved him toward Bob.

  “I didn’t ask for anything,” Hayden said.

  “Take it.” McKinon jabbed him with his elbow. “Open it. Wear it.”

  “Or don’t,” muttered Belmont, holding his bare right hand up.

  Hayden took the box, flipped the latch, lifted the lid.

  A gold pinky ring was tucked between two rolls of black velvet.

  Hayden snapped the lid shut, offered it back to his boss. “That’s okay. You guys have your club and that’s cool, but—”

  “Once you’re in, you’re in.” Bob wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was staring at Belmont, who appeared oblivious to Bob’s attempt at a threating look.

  Belmont ashed his cigar, jabbed it into the tray until it went out, then braced his hands on his knees to get up. “Come on, Hayden. And bring the stupid box. You don’t have to wear it. You just have to keep your mouth shut.” He stopped at the door, turned back to Bob. “Tomorrow morning in print and online.”

  “Fuck you,” Bob called.

  “Fuck you too,” replied Belmont.

  Then they left.

  Chapter Eight

  “Give a shit now, Mr. Reporter?

  “Give us a show, Hayden.” Rachelle opened her mouth wide and made a show of circling her lips with her tongue. Wouldn’t her rich associates be shocked to see their fancy friend wearing a black leather corset and carrying a whip.

  “And if its good enough,” Matthew sat in the chair and pushed back the fur cloak covering his naked body, “we’ll take you to the crypt like you asked.” Matthew started caressing his dick, slowly pulling it to its full, hard length. Hayden tried not to watch but couldn’t pull his gaze away from the man’s huge cock. When Matthew noticed, he reached down with his other hand, pinched the tip, then laughed. The harsh barking sound snapped Hayden from his dismal trance and he turned away, his stomach flipping over as he looked across the room.

  Wavering yellow light from the lanterns hanging in the cage stroked the walls, casting shadows over the girl crouched in the corner. They hadn’t even given her a cloak, so she was already naked. The glazed lust in her gaze was from the tea, probably. Not him. None of this was about him. Or her, whoever she was. He didn’t even give a shit who or what it was about. This was his one last time at the camp. He’d get what he could, then get out. Him and Belmont.

  “You’re not going to be able to fuck me from there.” She said, laughing as she crawled forward, then stopped to lean back on her haunches. She spread her legs, invited him to look at her dark snatch. “Unless you have a horse cock.” Smacking her lips, she continued opening and closing her legs. “Do you have a horse cock, Hayden?”

  Rachelle chuckled, then snapped the whip. “Maybe I should make him trot, so we can see what kind of horse he is.” The soft pop of the whip continued as she moved forward, cracking the leather into the air.

  Matthew snorted. “He doesn’t have a horse cock, baby, but he sure wants to get into the crypt.”

  “You going to fuck me good, Hayden? Give them a show?” She glanced to the other side of the room, then looked at him with half-closed eyes peering through thick red hair. “I want to be part of the show.”

  Matthew and Rachelle how
led with giddy excitement. Rachelle cracked the whip several times, then handed it to Matthew, so he could flick it at her. The teasing snaps left red marks on her legs. Laughing, she grabbed the whip back, started snapping it toward the cage.

  “Maybe I should come in there, Hayden.” She cracked it again. She and Matthew shrieked with laughter.

  Hayden’s stomach tightened, and bile rushed upward. His throat burned, his guts continued to wretch. He held his mouth closed and pulled in a long, deep breath. Even his nostrils burned from the acid churning within him. But he had to get in to the crypt and meet up with Belmont like they planned.

  He looked at the girl, felt his lips tighten as the hot liquid burned deep in his gut, creeping lower, then spreading outward, making his arms and legs burning and hard with pain and need. He felt emotions that had no names. Emotions that didn’t belong inside him.

  Or maybe they did.

  Hayden stalked forward, feeling the smooth, wooden boards beneath his bare feet. The girl wriggled, her narrow shoulders shifting as she crawled around, her hips rolling as she made a tight circle. Around and around, she continued crawling, her skin pale and soft looking. Her knees made a thump against the wood, her palms barely made a sound. The wooden slats of the cage sliced hard in the background. Beyond the log walls, the night wind wailed, the rest of the world continued. Normal. Mostly sane. But there at the camp, Hayden had to play by their rules.

  Do what they wanted to get what he wanted.

  The girl in the cage was beyond all reason and human awareness, her eyes glazed as she moved, looking like she was intentionally pulling herself deeper into the dark trance. The continued circling, knees thumping, arms and legs swinging. Even though she was acting like an animal, looking like an animal, she wasn’t an animal.

  Rachelle had thrown down the whip and was running her hands over her breasts, pinching her nipples, and wiggling her hips. Matthew had taken out his dick and begun playing with it. His breathing rasped as he pulled on his cock, playing with himself, smiling. There was an undeniable, extra charge to the air. Matthew was more focused than usual, but also coiled, more emotionally tight. He was holding something in. Rachelle giggled, the high pitch squeak out of place in the dismal space. She too was hiding something, but like the tribe leader, she was on overdrive—excited, electric and unstoppable.