The Unseen

by Bryan, JL

  “‘You gave me this button, did you not? she asked.

  “‘And you exchanged me this ribbon, that we may have tokens of our love, each for the other, he said, and he was sorely frightened her love for him had grown cold. Do you still love me? he asked.

  “‘I love you not, she told him, for I am not she that you seek. And the maiden became her mother the enchantress, who had disguised herself by magic, but now cast off her disguise and made herself known.

  “‘The boy was frightened near death, for it was said the enchantress had great powers granted by the Devil himself. And he shivered, but he confessed he loved the girl, and would marry her that very night if fortune provided the chance, so great was his affection.

  “‘Yet the enchantress cared not for his entreaties or declarations, and instructed that he was not to speak to the girl, nor see her, nor search for her, as she would be forbidden to return to the cave again. She promised curses upon him and his family if he disobeyed.

  “‘And thereupon the enchantress vanished, leaving the boy alone with only a scrap of ribbon to remind him of the maiden.

  “‘In his passion, he searched the wild and haunted places by sunlight and moonlight to find his lost love, heedless of all the enchantress had said, clutching at all times the bit of red ribbon in hopes it would by some magic draw her near.

  “‘And it was a year and a day of searching before he found her again, in a grove of ancient oaks said to be possessed by the spirits of Druids, those pagan priests whose infernal faith ruled in the darkness before the light of the Holy Church dawned upon our fair island—in this grove, the maiden discoursed with owls, bats, and other creatures of the night air, for she could understand them and they her.

  “‘The shepherd boy came forward in the moonlight to reveal himself, and the maiden saw him, and welcomed him with her arms and mouth, and he proposed they should wake the priest and marry that night, so they could not be parted again.

  “And the enchantress’s daughter did accept, for her affection had only grown thick as wild blossoms in his absence, and she longed to be his bride, though she knew her mother would curse them both. And so the boy gave her another shirt button and a strand of thread to wear until a ring could be found, and she tied the red ribbon upon his wrist as a sign of their bond.

  “Her mother saw and heard all, for she had it in her power to become as a ghost, and walk unseen among the living. In fury, the enchantress made her presence known, and cast her curse upon the shepherd boy:

  “‘You, who I have forbidden to search for my daughter, have only sought her restlessly each night, in the wild and haunted places; I forbade you to look upon her, yet your eyes have looked widely for her; I forbade you to speak to her, and you have kissed her lips and asked for her hand—

  “‘Therefore you shall wander each night in wild places, your eyes wide and searching, and I shall take from you the lips and hands that have betrayed me.

  “‘And so it was, the enchantress transformed by magic the shepherd boy into an owl. Where the red ribbon had been was now a single red feather upon its wing, a sign of his enduring love.

  “The enchantress punished her daughter with an unwanted marriage to a man forty years her elder, who was said to have a touch of the Sight, and so it was the daughter of the enchantress lived broken-hearted, and took delight in nothing save her own daughter by the old mad man. It is said that she grew to be a powerful witch after the death of her mother and her husband, and became Satan’s accomplice upon the earth, as with all the women of her line.

  “‘If one wanders in the wild places of Darmoughan, one may still hear the sad and haunting cry of a certain lone owl among the stone ruins and dark forests, and one may see its great eyes searching for its lost love, and one may glimpse the single red feather upon its wing.’ And that’s the end,” Barb said. “Look, there’s an illustration.”

  Cassidy leaned over for a closer look at the faded old woodcut at the end of the story. It showed a young woman in a dark forest, playing a goat horn, her feet bare, dressed in lots and lots of her own ground-length hair.

  “Hey, that chick kinda looks like you,” Barb pointed out.

  “No. Does she?”

  “I’m not sure. Take off your clothes and grow your hair five feet longer.”

  “Ha.” Cassidy sat back, her head reeling. “So, that’s the story. Not much there, really.”

  “Except that part at the end, where it says all the women of her line are Satan’s accomplices on Earth. Of course, that’s what anyone would say about witchcraft and magic back then, that it was all the Devil. So, here’s the legend of the witch of Darmoughan, and the power passes from mother to daughter, right? Your mom’s from Darmoughan. So what if—”

  “No,” Cassidy said.

  “What if your mom, and your grandmother, and your great-grandmother, and your great-great-grandmother—”

  “Come on, Barb, it’s just a story.”

  “—were all descendants of the enchantress in this story? And that’s why you have all these abilities? And Ibis knew that about you, but somehow you don’t know? He was trying to tell you about yourself.”

  “I’m pretty sure my mom would have mentioned it by now,” Cassidy said, but Barb just looked at her. They both knew Cassidy’s mom almost never talked about her life in Ireland.

  “What do you know about your grandmother?” Barb asked.

  “Just that she was crazy and sadistic. No details.”

  “Like the enchantress in this story, you mean?” Barb asked. “Like maybe she was a descendant of the same person?”

  Cassidy rubbed her head. “Can we get drunk yet?”

  “If you want. Or maybe you should call your mom and ask her about this. It would help explain what you’re going through. She might have more to say than an old fairy tale.”

  “I doubt it. If any of this is true—and I’m not saying it is—then she’s deliberately not telling me about it. It’s pretty obvious that she doesn’t want me to know.”

  “Maybe you should ask her why,” Barb said.

  Cassidy thought about it, then finally sighed and nodded.

  “Tomorrow,” Cassidy said. “I’ll ask her tomorrow. I don’t think it’s the kind of conversation you should have over the phone.”

  Then Cassidy took a Valium and a pint of vodka from her end table.

  “There’s nothing like a little V&V to keep the hellbugs away,” Cassidy said. She popped the pill and she drank. Barb looked concerned, but Cassidy pretended not to notice.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Take off your clothes,” Reese told Peyton.

  They stood in a dark chamber the size of a walk-in closet, walled and floored with black stone. A wardrobe and a few chests stood along one wall, across from a row of black obsidian mirrors on the wall. Like every room he’d seen down here, it was illuminated by candles in glass sconces. No electricity, certainly no natural light in this underground complex of cave-like rooms, just fire.

  “How weird is this initiation going to be?” Peyton took off his shirt and looked at himself approvingly in the mirror—lean, good muscle tone, not bad looking at all, he thought. He took off his pants.

  “It’s going to be the best thing that ever happened to you.” Reese peeled off her own starchy white shirt, then unhooked her beige bra and let it drop, giving him his first actual look at her bare breasts. Round and pretty, he thought. He reached out to touch her, but she slapped him away playfully. “Not now.”

  “After?” he suggested.

  Reese arched an eyebrow but said nothing. She dropped her black professional slacks, and he thought he would lose his mind at the sight of her nearly-naked body. She hooked her thumbs into lacy black panties.

  “Want to see mine?” she asked.

  “Yeah, definitely.”

  She turned her back to him and slid off her panties. Naked, she pointed to the circular tattoo at the midpoint of her spine.

  Peyton stepped closer
and placed his finger next to her tattoo, resisting the urge to slide his hand down along her lower back and grab a handful of tight, round ass.

  The tattoo had a plain black circle as an outer boundary, about two inches across. Inside it were tiny, densely packed symbols he couldn’t interpret. They were angular and sharp, some of them embellished with circles, triangles, or curved lines. A hundred or more symbols were crammed into the little black circle.

  “That’s the doorway,” Reese said. “That’s how my patron spirit enters me, bringing all her power and knowledge with her.”

  “She can just take over your body anytime she wants?”

  “It’s not like that.” Reese turned to face him. “We work together. We don’t fight. She wants me to be strong. She wants me to thrive. And she keeps me safe—no other spirit can possess me, because she’s there to protect me.”

  Peyton nodded. Reese had told him she’d once been possessed by a demon when she was sixteen and using a Ouija board all by herself. Reese had managed to evict it by burning the Ouija board, but she’d lived in fear until she’d been initiated into the Church of First Light and received her patron spirit.

  “Can you tell me more about her now?” Peyton asked. “I’m about to be initiated, right? So you don’t have to keep it so secret.”

  “I suppose it’s okay now.” Reese smiled. “Her name is Yrrgsh’a. She’s a very old and powerful spirit. When she enters me, I just surge up with energy and I know I can do anything. Want to talk to her?”

  “Sure,” Peyton said.

  Reese’s face changed in a way he’d seen before—her blue eye glowing, her cheekbones turning unnaturally high and sharp. She moved closer to him and caressed his abdomen with her hands.

  “Peyton,” she said, her voice low and sultry. She licked her lips as she looked him over. Her sharp red fingernails scraped down his stomach to his white silk boxer shorts. “We crave your flesh. I have held us back for so long...when you are initiated, we will fuck you for three days and three nights.”

  Her hands ripped away his underwear, leaving him naked. She pressed her body against him and kissed him, her tongue burrowing into his mouth, her nails slicing into his hips. Peyton’s hands explored the gentle, bare curves of the body he’d been so hungry to see and touch. He cupped her breasts, her nipples like hard little thorns. His erection pressed against her lower belly. She allowed it for a moment, then pushed him back.

  “After,” she snarled. She opened a chest and brought out a long scarlet robe. It slithered down over her body, covering her all the way to the floor. She pulled the scarlet hood over her head, throwing most of her face into shadow.

  “What do I wear?” Peyton asked.

  She gave a cold laugh, then took him by the hand and led him out of the chamber. They continued down a narrow, dim passage and finally emerged through a hidden door into the amphitheater-style sanctuary he’d seen before, with its enormous fireplace at the center. The thick scarlet and gold drapery had been removed from the altar before the fire, revealing an unadorned slab of dark marble.

  Reese led him slowly down the stone steps. A group waited for them, eight people in a semicircle behind the marble stab. All wore scarlet robes and hoods like Reese, as well as grotesque white masks portraying distorted human faces scowling, glowering, and leering, their teeth oversized, their eyes narrowed to dark slashes.

  The one in the center looked different, his robe golden rather than scarlet. His plain white mask represented no emotion at all, just a flat line of a mouth, thin lips. Peyton guessed this was the prophet, Eli Bernham, the church’s founder who was handling initiations personally while he was in town. Peyton had not met him, only seen a few pictures of him in the literature with which Reese had been teaching him all week.

  On the last step, Reese pressed a hand against Peyton’s chest, making him stop. She stepped down into the stone depression to face the others.

  “Who brings this filthy bag of flesh into our anointed sanctuary?” asked the one in golden robes, the one Peyton believed to be the prophet himself.

  “I, Yrrgsh’a, present this low beast. He seeks discipleship,” Reese replied, still speaking in her sultry voice.

  “No human is worthy of our blessings,” the prophet replied. “Bring it forward for our inspection.”

  Reese touched Peyton’s arm, and he stepped down from the final stair to join the others. She nudged him forward until he stood at the altar, facing the others, then she moved back into the shadows, leaving him alone.

  “Why do you seek discipleship?” the prophet asked.

  “I seek knowledge and power,” Peyton replied. Reese had told him the responses to give. “I seek to be greater than other men.”

  “Do you swear upon your worthless soul to serve our order for the rest of your days?”

  “I swear it.” Peyton was having second thoughts, but he pushed them aside. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life knowing he’d come so close to the great mysteries, only to run away out of cowardice. He wanted to know everything there was to know.

  “Do you choose to spurn the angels of the light and embrace the angels of the darkness?” the prophet asked.

  “I choose it.”

  “You are beneath us. You are a worm that crawls on its belly in the dirt. You must be raised up. You alone are not worthy. Will you accept a patron spirit into your flesh so that you may become worthy?”

  “I accept it.”

  “Place this dirty animal upon the altar,” the prophet said. “We shall give what must be given, and destroy what must be destroyed.”

  The scarlet-robed disciples at either end of the semicircle approached Peyton from both sides. They lifted him up, then laid him facedown on the marble slab, which was so cold it seemed to burn his skin. His testicles crawled upward in protest.

  “You are a fortunate beast,” the prophet said. “For Sarinoth, a great celestial, an angel of darkness, has consented to lower himself into your skin as your patron. Do you accept him with honor and humility, though you are a lowly, undeserving creature?”

  “I do,” Peyton whispered, but his body was trembling from more than the cold. Until now, none of this had seemed entirely real.

  “Then we create the doorway.”

  A red-robed disciple presented the prophet with a stone bowl of soot-colored ink and a single long iron needle. The prophet dipped the tip of the needle into the ink, then stabbed it into Peyton’s back. Peyton grunted in pain. The prophet stabbed him again, and again, and again, while the others chanted in soft whispers behind their masks.

  With the primitive single-needle method, the tattooing went on and on, the prophet stabbing Peyton thousands of times. The chanting gradually grew louder and faster, but it wasn’t a language Peyton recognized.

  As time passed, he felt intense sensations radiating from the center of his back—extremes of cold, heat, and pain. Hours seemed to go by, but he couldn’t be sure of the time.

  At last, the prophet drew back and flung the needle into the roaring fire.

  “The doorway is opened,” the prophet said. “Let us begin the holy invocation. Sarinoth...Sarinoth...”

  The others joined in, whispering the spirit’s name, then saying it louder and louder, until they were shouting. Peyton felt his heart beating fast in fear and anticipation.

  The enormous fire blew out, leaving the room in the dimness of the candles in the wall sconces. A sound like a thousand hissing snakes filled his head, and then he felt the spirit enter him. His back arched up, and every cell in his body screamed in agony.

  After the pain came the power—the flood of ungodly power, with which he knew he could do anything at all, rip his enemies to pieces, torture and kill those who displeased him. Sarinoth, he suddenly knew, was an ancient deity, worshiped in temples long since lost to time.

  His body changed, growing sinewy and strong. Patches of green scales broke out all over his body. His canine teeth grew long and hollow, punching into his lowe
r lip, dripping venom that felt like acid on his face. His fingers extended, yellow claw-tips ripping out through the ends of his fingers. The transformation was horrifically painful, and the pain was sweet and delicious.

  The demon filled him, and there was no denying now that it was demonic force, brimming with hate. Peyton’s mind was now nestled in a much greater mind, with immense designs, and he felt Sarinoth delight at the sensation of entering Peyton’s flesh.

  Peyton rose to a kneeling position, but he was not kneeling to any here.

  “I am Sarinoth,” Peyton’s mouth announced. His forked tongue flicked out between his sharp teeth. “I am made flesh.”

  “Hail, Sarinoth.” Reese approached, her hood down, her face glowing with her inner demon’s power. “We have awaited you. We welcome you back to the flesh.”

  Reese touched his face. On the surface, Peyton and Reese gazed on each other with desire. Underneath, Yrrgsh’a and Sarinoth craved defilement of the bodies they wore.

  Reese stripped off her robe and climbed onto the altar with him. She pushed him onto his back and scraped her red talons down his chest and stomach, leaving eight lines of blood in their wake. His penis rose like a cobra, unnaturally long and thick, and she took it in her hand.

  She squatted over him and fed it up between her legs, and its head wriggled and slithered inside her, stretching her out and filling her up. Reese let out a long groan through her sharp teeth, tossing her head back as his unnaturally swollen penis slid in and out of her. Her body grew elongated and sinuous as he she rode him. Peyton and the demon inside him let out grunts of carnal pleasure.

  The disciples around them growled, snorted, and hissed, stripping out of their robes and masks. The men and women had distorted bodies and limbs. Some had horns, fangs, or scales on their twisted faces.

  The spirit-possessed disciples grabbed each other’s bare bodies and copulated without foreplay, some falling to the stone floor, others toppling onto the altar alongside Peyton. Hoarse, screeching animal sounds filled the air. One man extended a warty, hairy tongue as thick as an elephant’s trunk and lapped at Reese’s stiff, pointy nipples, then the tongue slid down her abdomen, leaving a trail of thick saliva, and licked at their genitals.