by Michael West
“Now!”
Xilo ignored him. She closed her eyes and continued to ride him as she sang the rest of Cihuacoatl’s hymn, “She comes forth, She appears when war is waged, She protects us in war, that we shall not be destroyed, that we shall never be parted...”
The door creaked open and someone entered the room. Jeff strained his neck to see who it was and caught a glimpse of rainbow feathers, just like Brooke’s tattoo.
It can’t be...
He glared at his wife, her menstrual blood cooling on his lips as he screamed, “Untie me!”
She ran her fingers through his hair, but said nothing.
He heard a long hiss, like a slashed tire breathing its last. His heart hammered and he frantically pulled at his bonds, rattling the bedframe. “Brooke!”
“We’re saving you,” she told him, her voice calm and loving, her eyes aglow. “Now I’ll never lose you. We’ll be together forever.”
The blue pill continued to work its magic, keeping Jeff’s cock an iron rod in spite of his fear, and Xilomen impaled herself upon it again and again, chanting, “She comes adorned in the ancient manner, plumed with feathers...plumed with...feathers...”
Brooke looked up and smiled with excitement. “She’s here.”
Jeff turned his head, following his wife’s line of sight, and his gaze was met by reptilian eyes the size of footballs. Bright peacock quills crowned the serpent’s forehead, and long, slender arms hung from its sides. Its thin, scaly lips peeled back, revealing fangs like walrus tusks. His body tensed, expecting the animal to strike. Instead, it kept its distance, its massive head swaying back and forth, holding Jeff in its gaze as if Brooke and Xilo were not even in the room.
A rattlesnake’s jangle filled the air, providing music for Xilo’s lyrics.
“She comes forth,” she crooned, breathing harder, her hips moving faster, “our mother, a goddess...”
Jeff’s mouth was dry, mute. He closed his eyes, hoping that this was just a nightmare, that his fear of losing his wife had finally pulled him over the edge, dragging him down into an abyss of madness.
“She comes forth, She comes...She comes...” Xilomen cried out in ecstasy, and Jeff’s eyes sprang open to stare into the gutted sockets of a charred skull. The young beauty from the Internet was gone, replaced by a seared corpse that was somehow able to move. Her scorched hand reached down, her brittle fingers caressing his cheek. The blackened, leathery skin around her teeth pulled back to form a grotesque grin, and she finished her song, “...to make you an example and a companion.”
Jeff tried to scream, but all he could manage was a dry, cracked whine. He tilted his head toward Brooke, but his wife didn’t seem the least bit shocked. Either she couldn’t see the ghoul that mounted him, or she’d seen it before.
Cihuacoatl rattled and hissed, and the cacophony became deafening. It reached out, its claw touching his chest, the hot fingers sinking into his flesh as if it were butter. He felt his bones crack and expand, felt the skin come loose from its moorings and drift across his body, congealing into odd, alien formations, and then the room was bathed in blinding blue light.
***
Brooke climbed the stairs. Her last client had been overweight, hairy, more ape than human being, and he came far too quickly. At least his money had been good.
Now what she needed was a real man.
Before bringing Jeff here to the ranch, she’d been afraid he would leave her. She wasn’t blind. She noticed the way he looked at other women, especially Asian women, and in her mind, she saw him having affairs with girls who were taller, younger, thinner, or just more exotic-looking than she was. And when they arrived here that first night, when her husband saw Tanya, the receptionist, and undressed her with his eyes, she knew she’d made the right decision.
Brooke had originally looked at a threesome as a way for Jeff to get those fantasies out of his system, a way to share the experience and keep him from going behind her back. The quest for to make him happy led her here, to a secret meeting with Xilomen, where she learned the truth of Cihuacoatl’s power and was shown the promise of eternal life, of youth and beauty long after death. Now they would always be together, and she would have her husband’s love for all time.
Thank the goddess for saving our marriage, for saving us!
She opened the door to her room, but left the light off. “Jeff?”
His eyes shone like twin lamps, illuminating the darkened corner. Buds of sinew flapped and waved along his sides, and the chain that hung from his collar jingled and slapped the wooden floor.
He was excited to see her.
Jeff used his lengthy new appendages to crawl up onto the bed. A long, glistening tongue hung from his mandibles, and a massive erection reached out from his pelvis like a fisted arm.
Brooke licked her lips as she closed the door.
It was all for her.
Sanctuary
Snow, merciless, all consuming, carried on the backs of the howling winds; it choked the mountain pass, filling in footprints, blocking out the brightness of the moon, a moon that had seemed so large in the sky, so close, closer here than at any other point on Earth. Zhang Lau trudged on; his Soviet-made RPD machine gun slung over his shoulder, slapping his back with every step, his dark eyebrows now white with ice. He trudged on because to remain still was certain death; death from the biting cold, from the deepening snow, from the dark thing that moved rapidly through it all, stalking ever nearer, the thing that had torn four of his men apart.
Li Tung was at his side, stumbling through the mounting drifts, rapidly carving deep furrows that were just as quickly erased. “What—?”
The rest was lost beneath the whistling wind.
“Keep moving!” Zhang shouted; a natural commander now validated by rank. He dared a backward glance, saw nothing, but knew it was there just the same. He drew the collar of his standard-issue coat closed with gloved hands, covering chapped lips. Frozen as he was, he found he was sweating beneath his fur-lined cap.
An hour ago, they’d been riding horses. Now, those animals lay in pieces, buried in an icy tomb with what remained of his unit, his friends.
An army of the people is invincible, the posters all proclaimed.
Zhang now wished that had been more than party propaganda.
He climbed higher, every breath a fog that blurred his path, every movement a struggle. The swelling white tide enveloped him in its frigid embrace, urging him to slow down, to rest, but fear was a forceful hand upon his back, pushing him onward, upward, blinding him with flashes of nightmare imagery; snow like fresh rice paper, soaking up red ink—a demon scrawling horrid calligraphy with its claws and fangs. He remembered eyes; they burned through the storm like—
Torches!
Flames danced on the wind, burning oil, illuminating steps built into the mountainside as if hewn from the Himalayan rock.
A howl rose above the whistling storm, unearthly, predatory. It echoed through the pass, disorientating, betraying nothing of the owner’s true location.
Zhang tugged on Li’s shoulder, pulling him wordlessly toward the stairs. They climbed quickly, and the first yowl was answered by a second, then a third, joining together to form a chilling chorus. When a fourth cry reached their frozen ears, the men were already halfway up the steps.
The whirling snow teased Zhang’s eyes, allowing him only faint glimpses of the structure waiting for them at the summit; a Chinese-style roof silhouetted against a pale night sky. Deer antlers sprouted from its eaves, making the building appear to have horns.
Someone had to be inside, had to let them in.
Zhang reached the final step and threw himself against the entrance, pounding the wood with numb fists, screaming vapor into the wind. He pressed his ear against the snow-covered wood and heard the slide of a bolt. The huge doors swung inward at last and a bald monk stood there smiling.
“Tashi delek,” the monk said with a slight bow. “We were not expecting to have—”
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Zhang pushed past him, dragged Li inside. “Close the doors!”
The monk’s smile never wavered. He glanced out into the storm, his saffron robes billowing like sails in a typhoon. “Are there no more—?”
“Close them!” Zhang tried to stand tall; to look imposing, threatening, but his arms and legs were shaking uncontrollably.
The monk studied them for what seemed like an eternity. His bright eyes alternated between the machine guns slung across their backs and the single red stars stitched onto their caps. Finally, he turned away and pushed the thick, heavy doors closed against the wind, cutting its whistle off sharply. He then secured the opening with a huge bolt forged of solid iron.
Zhang hoped it would be enough to keep the howling things at bay.
He frowned, still trembling despite the newfound warmth of this monastery. Countless candles burned; the numbing frost melted, soaking his uniform, dripping slowly, rhythmically onto his boots and the stone flooring beneath. Columns lined the center of the vast chamber, creating a carpeted hallway to the statue at the far end—a golden Buddha, sitting cross-legged, its sculpted face smiling as the monk at the door had been smiling. Other monks lined either side of the hall; dozens of them, all mimicked the statue, all chanted endlessly. None looked up at Zhang, or at Li. None showed any interest at all.
The monk at the door took a step forward, motioned toward the cavernous hall. “Come, let me get you men some tea to warm your bones.”
Zhang was slow to take his eyes from the door, half expecting a shower of splinters as clawed hands punched their way through to get inside, to get him. His lips quivered; his teeth chattered. “Th—th—” He forced it out, “Thank you.”
As the monk rushed past them, Li turned his head toward Zhang in a jerky, birdlike motion and managed a single world, “Safe?”
Zhang gave a hesitant nod and followed their new host into the great hall, casting quick glances over his shoulder at the door as they moved away.
The monastery stank. Spicy incense and pungent oils burned, joining forces to combat the musty smells lurking just below—the reek of yak hair and rugs, soaked by melting snow and ice, by human sweat, and left to dry in this stale air; the unpleasant perfume of a place long closed off from the outside world.
“I am Yeshe,” the monk said without looking back at them. He held out his hands, indicating his many brothers who sat chanting on either side. “We live a simple life, but what little we have is yours.”
What little you have?
Zhang’s gaze journeyed around the vast chamber, lingering a moment on a pair of solid gold dragons that clung to the rafters, their jeweled eyes sparkling in the firelight. Gilded prayer bells hung from every column, complementing the enormous golden Buddha at the far end of the hall. So much wealth, tucked away here at the top of the world, buried in ice, when his home village and others like it lived in poverty and starvation. The sale of but one of these items could feed his entire family for a lifetime.
Something moved in the tail of Zhang’s eye; a dark, skulking shape. He spun toward it, his still-frozen hands moving instinctively to the comfort of his machine gun, his head a blur of claws, of teeth, of strong, able-bodied men reduced to steaming entrails, and he saw—
A young woman.
She’d pulled an embroidered door curtain aside to peek in on them. Her long, black hair nearly swept the floor.
“Dohna,” the monk, Yeshe, called out.
The girl stepped into the light, her head bowed. She wore a white chuba, a robe made from sheepskin; the black belt around her thin waist kept it closed. “Yes, Trapa-la?”
“Our friends have traveled far in bitter cold,” Yeshe informed her. “Bring cha süma.”
Her dark eyes lifted, regarded Zhang through raven strands, and then she was gone, the door tapestry swaying leisurely in her wake.
Zhang turned back to Yeshe. “She called you Trapa-la?”
“A term of respect,” he told them. “I am abbot to this monastery. You’re Chinese, yes?”
Zhang nodded absently, his mind still on the girl. “Henan province.”
“You’re a long way from home. Tell me, what brings you to the roof of the world?”
“Your leaders signed an agreement with the Chinese government. We’re here to liberate you, protect you.”
Yeshe shook his bald head slowly. “I know nothing of this ‘agreement.’” He led them to the foot of the massive Buddha, large pillows placed evenly on rugs, and motioned for them to take a seat. “But I can assure you that we are in no need of your protection here.”
“Of course not.” Li knelt, fell back onto his pillow, and rippled with muted laughter until tears welled in his eyes. “What protection can there be from monsters?”
“Monsters?” Yeshe looked from Li to Zhang inquisitively as he took his place next to them on the rugs.
“I don’t think we can hope to convince you of what we’ve seen,” Zhang explained. “I’m not sure that even I’m convinced of it, and I was there.”
The girl, Dohna, reappeared. A metal tray formed a shelf across her outstretched arms, and on it, an ornate copper teapot with three wooden bowls—two small and one large. She made her way quickly yet carefully over to where the three men sat and knelt down before them. When the tray was flat on the rug, she took the copper pot and gently tipped it, pouring liquid into the bowls and passing them out. Yeshe received the largest of the bowls, Zhang and Li the smaller two.
Zhang felt warmth soak through the wood into his hands and was grateful for it. The concoction inside, however, did not look like any tea he’d ever seen before. It was like thick oil, crowned with scummy yellow foam.
“Cha süma,” Yeshe announced with that pleasant smile of his. “Butter tea. Dohna churns it for us.”
Zhang lifted his eyes to the girl. She sat frozen; head bowed, one hand in her lap, the other on the teapot’s copper handle. Her long hair draped over her shoulders and ample breasts like a black shawl.
“Thank you,” he told her.
Dohna offered only a slight nod in reply.
Zhang took a long sip, letting the hot drink bathe his tongue. He winced at the taste and quickly swallowed, the warmth filling him, chasing off any lingering chill.
Li was more hesitant, but he too drank of the tea.
Dohna lifted the copper teapot and moved toward them once more. Half her face lay hidden behind the curtain of her hair. Her single visible eye focused on her work, she filled each of their bowls back to the brim.
Yeshe noticed their surprise. “It is custom,” he informed them. “After every sip, the guest’s bowl is topped off. In this way, their bowl, their good luck, is never drained.”
Zhang nodded, but his eyes never left Dohna. He reached for her, ran his fingers through her shining tresses. Like strands of fine silk. “I thought nuns shaved their heads?”
Dohna jerked away from him. “I’m not a nun.”
Her voice was soft, her tone injured.
Zhang held up his hand. “I meant no insult.”
“I was taken from my family years ago,” she told him, “brought here to serve the gurus, to protect dharma.”
Zhang offered her an understanding nod, thinking of his own conscription, how his own mother had cried as he was led from his village, his home, never to return.
Yeshe spoke up. “Dohna and others like her serve our earthly needs, so that we may concern ourselves with purely spiritual matters.”
“I see.” Zhang wanted to smile, but looking at Dohna –her dark, sad eyes; pale skin that had rarely been kissed by the sun; her full, expressionless lips—it was impossible to muster even a polite grin.
“You spoke of monsters?” Yeshe said, changing the subject.
“Yes,” Zhang replied. “Monsters.”
Monsters who take children from the love of their families and exile them to the cold, to the—
“—Nightmares. They came with the storm; fell on us when we entered this mounta
in pass. It happened so quickly... I...” He swallowed hard, trying to keep the bloody images away from his eyes, to force them back down into the dark. “I’ve heard the stories...tales of creatures roaming these mountains, big-footed apes who walk like men.”
“Yeti?” Yeshe laughed briefly, humorlessly, then his eyes and voice turned serious. “No, friends...you saw no yeti here.”
“Something killed my men,” Zhang assured him. “If not the yeti, then—” He stopped. Wild, hungry howls seeped through the monastery walls. Beside him, Li stiffened, and together, their wide eyes shot toward the door at the opposite end of the hall.
The monks on the floor gave no sign of acknowledgement. They continued to chant, eyes forward, arms and legs crossed, heads nodding slightly, the stream of words flowing from their mouths in an endless, meaningless drone.
“What are they?” Zhang finished.
“Mamo,” Dohna told them.
Zhang and Li gave her their full attention.
Her dark eyes were on the bolted door, but she showed no fear. “Powerful dakini.” She tilted her head toward Zhang. “Demons.”
“Demons,” Zhang repeated.
She nodded. “Cunning, ferocious...it is said they once attacked the lord Buddha himself, as he meditated in the shade of the tree of enlightenment.” At that, her gaze rose to the downcast face of the golden Buddha, and her expressionless lips curled into a beautiful, awe-struck grin.
Another long, baleful howl. Louder. Nearer.
Li instantly scurried backward on all fours and huddled up against the base of the statue, his hands clamped over his ears. “Keep it away!” he cried. “I won’t die like the others. Not like that.”
“No one else is going to die,” Zhang promised. He turned back to Yeshe, pleading, “What can we do?”
The monk sat calmly on his pillow, seemingly unconcerned. “Of all the gods and demons, mamo are the most vicious.” He nodded at the machine gun strapped to Zhang’s back. “Bullets cannot stop them, but they can be subdued.”
“How?” Zhang wanted to know.
Yeshe motioned toward the other monks that filled the hall. “Our chant pacifies the turmoil of the mamo. So long as the chant continues, we have nothing to fear from them.”
