A Wistful Tale of Gods, Men and Monsters

by David Ruggerio

  His erection made it hard to walk in his tight jeans. He was so excited, he sprinted across the parking lot and ran up to the door, frantically knocking like a teenage virgin (not cool). He couldn’t wait another second. She casually opened the door wearing only the hotel’s white terrycloth robe; it was open in the front allowing an unabashed clear view of her rich olive complexion and her finely manicured strip of pubic hair. Her eyes seemed to glaze over; she viewed him as prey, a piece of raw meat to dig her claws into. Her stare became more ominous, appearing to pierce his skull. She was salivating, a predator; ancient and fierce. She reached directly for his groin, grabbing his manhood and dragging him into her lair. Rather than being intimidated, he was wildly excited. She tore his clothes off; in seconds this vibrant male was helpless; she then shoved him onto the bed. Her index finger held him down while she stroked herself with her other hand. He was on the verge of climax. There was no foreplay necessary; she was raging, hot and intent. She pushed him flat onto the bed; sniffing, her nose ran along the side of his body (is this crazy broad smelling me?). Her tongue then flicked back and forth, up and down his neck; He was attempting to begin foreplay when he heard a “hisssssing” noise coming from his lover. She was in total control, she violently mounted him; the sensation was deep and blazing. She fiercely thrust upon him again and again. In a matter of seconds, he was paralyzed. Her eyes turned blood red; her nails lengthened; becoming sharp claws. Her groans of pleasure became deeper and deeper…she was now growling as she ground his pelvis seemingly through the bed and into the floor. It went on for nearly twenty minutes, the animal-like sweat rolled down her back; the exchange of body fluids was brutal and violent, her head tilted back as a stream of heat filled her and satisfied her hunger. With the reality no longer hidden, she reared her head and howled in ecstasy. Her tongue darted in and out and licked her sensual lips; the saltiness of the sweat intensified the feeling.

  She was done, callously dismounting her spent partner. She stood erect, stretching, straining and arching her naked body. Her buttocks were rock-hard and round, her breast firm and dripping wet. Senses that were already hypersensitive were now even more vivid. She entered a scorching hot shower; the steaming water subdued the beast in her. Her fingers reached down and cleansed any evidence of her mating. James would certainly never know.

  She checked her clothes, fixed her hair and touched up her makeup; she was perfect. She tossed her handbag over the shoulder and with no regard exited the room; she couldn’t even be bothered closing the door behind her. Her mate was lying in bed; his muscular body was now listless and soaked in sweat. There were no longer any signs of excitement. A few moments later, a nosey maid pushed the door open, “Sir, maid service,” The Hispanic maid was young, and when she peered into the room, she seemed startled by his beauty. Without any reserve she entered, she called again, but he didn’t move, his head was arched back. She walked over to him, her eyes fixed on his groin, she then looked over to his face, his eyes where rolled back, white icy colored marbles. She shrieked in terror…

  Anne’s hunger was still not satisfied. It wasn’t just another male she sought; instead, she had a sadistic need to humiliate. She called James as she headed back to Brunswick; “Hey baby, can you get away from the store and met me at home for a little loving.” James was still a man, and he didn’t need to be asked a second time. “I’ll have Warren watch the store; we have two hours before William gets out of school.”

  “I’ll see you there sweetheart.”

  Anne arrived first, as she slowly walked through the dwelling; she disrobed one piece at a time, leaving a trail for her husband to follow.

  James was excited; he jumped from the car and burst through the front door. He looked down at the trail Anne had left behind. My God, how sexy! He bound up the stairs and burst through the bedroom door, his mate was laying in the bed, completely naked. Her legs were spread apart, her right arm was stretched out, her long finger was waving for him to come and satisfy her in the way she demanded. He reached for her, her outstretched arm grabbed the hair on the nap of his neck, and with tremendous force, she pulled his head in between her legs, his tongue was buried deep inside. Her body rolled and writhed about like a serpent while keeping his head deeply buried inside of her. The surreptitious humiliation caused her to climax in a loud and violent human manner. The beast was now satisfied…

  CHAPTER 8

  BALIN

  But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there; and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there

  -Isaiah 13:21

  The mansion faced the conquering blizzard as it had for over a century. The winds would crank up to a woman’s shriek that made the stands of trees rock and groan alarmingly. The mansions darkened windows now bearded with wet snow, indifferent to the occurrences that it had harbored for decades.

  Twas a wintry dawn; the entryway to the underground cellar was covered with an icy coating of morning dew. The imp struggled as he lifted one of the laden doors, he peered out at the mansion and saw a shadow cast from the steeple of the Gilead Lutheran Church which diffused a prominent cross upon its side wall. He grunted in displeasure. After grasping a lung full of fresh air, he slowly lowered the cumbersome wooden door, his thick stubby fingers labored with the internal latch.

  Balin hopped down the few stone steps. His deformed legs made walking an effort. They were bowed with one shorter than the other. One side of his cranium jutted out, making his deformed skull lopsided. This miscreation had curly wisps of hair that concealed boney knobs that protruded from his hairline. His greyish face held a deep, prominent scar on his right cheek, surely evidence of past regressions. His front teeth were crooked and exposed, adding to an ugliness that would have frightened the interlopers; especially if any of them had ever laid eyes on the evil dwarf? That is to say, if it was when they were still alive.

  Hades had a reputation of benevolence around his village. Upon a death, Hades was always the first on the scene. He made the process easy and painless. He would take the liberty of stopping all the clocks in the home, closing the drapes and turning the pictures of the deceased face down (to prevent any of the close relatives and friends of the deceased from being possessed by the spirit of the dead). He then went about covering all the mirrors, alas the deceased image might be trapped within the looking glass. It was also said that if you saw yourself in the mirror of a house where someone had just died, some thought that you might die too. He would tie a wreath of laurel adorned with black ribbons on the front door. The dead were then carried out of the house feet first, to prevent the spirit from looking back into the house and beckoning another member of the family to follow them.

  As the grieving entered his well adorned funeral home, he always was at its entrance with a rather macabre greeting, “Felicitations and a cordial welcome to this most nocturnal of dwellings. Lest you be turned off by the dim light and the somber means of this place, let me reassure you there is no one else but you and your loved one. Here, your tears are transformed into affirmations and contentment. Your dearly departed have been reborn and are now awaiting you all…Please follow me.”

  The truth be told, he was a corrupt entity, not to his family, but to the dead for whom he was tasked to care. His immorality was shocking to the core.

  Caspar Turch was a student of divinity. His mother Jarvinia had desired for Hades to care for her beloved son for interment. He was only twenty, a victim of a tragic drowning in the Poesten Kill. Balin began his typical assigned tasks, rifling through the deceased’s pockets for anything of value (the last one had an exquisite gold watch that fetched twenty-two dollars). With the aid of a wooden crate, he stepped-up and went about removing the clothes and examining the body. Balin was always jealous as often, the corpses’ bodies were perfect, bearing no deformities.
He grabbed at the young man’s lower jaw and forcefully pried the mouth open. He peered in closer; there they were, two teeth with gold fillings. He pulled a pair of plyers from his back pocket and violently yanked the teeth out. He took them over to a wooden table and with a mallet cracked the teeth as though they were nuts, separating the gold. He rinsed the fillings under water and bit down on them to test if they were real gold, then dropping them into a small cloth bag. There was nothing else of value with this body; it was now time for Hades to take over.

  Hades didn’t bother cutting Caspar Turch open, his was a healthy body, surely there were no growths to extract, and being a male, there was no fetus for him to remove and add it to his collection. Over the years Hades had harvested over thirty dead fetuses, handing them over to Balin, who after close examination, placed them into large jars of formaldehyde and added them to their collection. Vile intentions were reserved for the perfect fetuses, sold to a shadowy benefactor. If only the families knew what irreverent acts he performed on their loved ones. The dead were not safe from this depraved pair.

  . . .

  The three o’clock bell couldn’t ring soon enough; Lilly grabbed her backpack and ran from her class, waiting beneath the snow-laden elm in the courtyard. Seconds later William joined her. Jane wasn’t going to be able to pick them up from school. She told the pair in the morning, “Come right home, no exploring today. Besides I bought two pumpkins for both of you to carve tonight.”

  William pulled his Duncan Butterfly XT Yo-Yo from his pocket. It was brand new, shiny and blue, Lilly’s eyes lit up, “Please, pretty please, can I try? Can I--Can I?” William happily handed his prized yo-yo over to her, he had a deep love for Lilly, it was a love suited for a blood sibling or more likely a twin. There was nothing in this world he wouldn’t do for her. As she struggled to perform a trick, they turned the corner and passed by James Willowsby’s sole competition in the village;

  St. Paul’s Potions

  Treatments, Cures, and Apothecaries

  Beverly Townsend, an interloper from Salem, watched from the window. She smiled at the two and gave them a subtle wave, which garnered a delightful smile from Lilly. Notwithstanding the shops’ appellation, this fledgling store was not trying to compete for the conventional cures for the locals’ traditional infirmities. She knew of the village’s past. Her treatments were to help the frightened and haunted souls of Brunswick. Lilly turned to her friend, “William, what’s apa, apo…”

  “F…fo…orget it Lilly, th…they think they’re l…like my father’s st…store, but they’re just fa…fa…fakes.” Williams’ loyalty to his father was to a fault. Whenever he passed the apothecary, he would turn his head.

  William had a more pressing matter, he explained in detail what he had read the night before. He told her in vivid terms about the Skywoman, he frightened her with the Limikkin. “Lilly, th…they are wer…werewolves!” He then stopped and pulled her shoulder closer and lowered his voice, “You kn…know th…that Anne is Mo…Mohawk.”

  Lilly’s eyes widened, “Yes.”

  “I th…think th…that it’s her.”

  “A werewolf?”

  William cautiously glanced over both shoulders, fearful who might be listening and then turned back towards Lilly and nodded. Lilly’s eyes widened with fright. She knew fully well that William didn’t make-up grand fibs and elaborates stories like most other children. She took his findings very seriously. They needed to keep this secret while they explored further. The question was, if they were right, what could they do?

  . . .

  There was bitterness in the air, a pubescent resentment, as the pair headed home. Unknowingly, just behind them, were Rex Herkimer and his gang of marauders.

  Herkimer was fifteen years old; a town bully who was brimming with piss and vinegar. His faults included smoking and drinking beer since he was twelve. His family life was a cliché; his father had been a miserable, bullying drunk, beating Rex, his older brother and his mother whenever the scotch hit a high point in his nervous system. Carlton Herkimer had a good enough job, securing a position as a maintenance man at the Samaritan Hospital in Troy. He was a large man at six feet, two inches tall. Carl, as his few friends called him, won all his arguments with the use of his fists. His ill-treatment of his family had progressed over time, spankings led to black and blues which led to black eyes that culminated with a broken arm. He was hard-pressed to explain his son’s injuries to the doctors; damn kid fell down the stairs. Rex’s mother suffered her husband because her Catholic upbringing said she must. Near the end, she was put in the hospital for no good reason. His dinner was ready at six as he demanded. It was Wednesday’s perfunctory meatloaf, mashed potatoes’ and peas all piping hot. Plates were filled, milk was poured, cold beer at the head of the table, and along with the ketchup came a huge freckled hand that came down upon her face and fractured her eye socket. Both the boys sat silent, heads hung low, eye contact could be deadly. Finally, when Rex was eight, his father abandoned the family. It seemed like a Governor’s reprieve. Only a few weeks later his aunt called and informed the family that during a drunken stupor, his father had fallen onto the tracks of an oncoming Amtrak train in Philadelphia and was instantly killed. Rex’s brother, numb from his upbringing, silently left for college, leaving the youngest to fend for himself. His mother was weak, spending hour upon hour in a dark corner, popping pills and sipping insipid peppermint tea. She made feeling sorry for herself a pastime. She could offer little support. Rex became a terror in his small village. He and his gang of hoodlums did everything possible to cause problems. They were collectively calling out for help, but when their actions escalated to the mutilation of neighbor’s pets, the town’s empathy for the adolescents became nonexistent.

  . . .

  Lilly couldn’t wait to get home and carve her pumpkin. This was her favorite time of the year. Her father, Green Beret Sergeant Thom Mueller, who was stationed in Afghanistan, would weekly FaceTime with her and her mother. “My girl” was reserved only for his daughter. The last time he was deployed, he brought home a myriad of colorful fabrics and exotic clothes for both the women in his life. Lilly was hoping to get the pumpkin done before speaking with her father; she wanted to share it with him.

  . . .

  As the pair neared Checkerberry Lane, Lilly noticed Julius, a nebbish teen with fiery red hair who was never seen without a slightly crooked, petrified tree limb that served as a walking stick (used more as a hitting stick). He was never far from Rex. Lilly alerted William by poking his side and pointing, “Come-on William, let’s hurry up.” The two instantly recognized Rex’s shrill voice, “Hey, where do you two think you’re going.”

  “R…Ra…Rex, we d…d…don’t want any tr…tra…trouble.”

  “Well guess what you stuttering freakazoid, trouble has found you.”

  As fearful as William was at that moment, he didn’t want to bolt and run. He knew it would be fruitless. Rex would easily catch up to them.

  “Hey Billy boy, nice yo-yo there, give me a try.”

  “O…k…k…ok, b…but give it ba…back.”

  Lilly tugged at his arm, “Don’t give it to him William.” The hatred smoldering within Rex could easily be felt. He wielded an unconscionable need to hurt people, animals and other living things. “Who’s the boss Billy boy, you or the shrimp?”

  Lilly was indignant, “Don’t call me a shrimp!”

  Julius had an evil grin as he twirled his stick overhead as though he was a helicopter, “Sticks and stones, I will break your bones…”

  William and Lilly looked at each other, no words were needed at this point, Lilly yanked at Williams’ jacket signaling escape, and the two bolted down Checkerberry Lane as fast as their legs would carry them. They knew that they could lo
se these no-good-teenagers in the woods at the end of the street. Neither took notice that there were flakes of snow suspended in the air. They crouched behind a thick bush, Rex and his gang spread out. They were intent on harm. Ralph Walters, the fat boy of the clan, spotted them, “Hey Rex, there they are!”

  They left the safety of the bush and ran to the only place that afforded them any refuge, its massive wooden door was slightly ajar, ostensibly offering comfort and solace, and more importantly, escape from Rex. Without hesitation the two burst through the door of Hades’ mansion, the massive portal slamming behind them. Rex and his gang ran right up to the property line and would go no farther. Rex’s freckled arms spread wide, holding his guys back; this was the one place that they would not dare enter.

  . . .

  It took a rather long carpeted runway to enable the two to come to a full stop, smack dab in front of the stained-glass window of hell. Flumes of red and yellow fire darted, it pointed flames engulfing the helpless. All the poor, tortured souls doomed for eternity; the depth of the gloom made the deadly flames appear almost welcoming. An enormous devil-like entity was gleeful as he pushed man after man over the edge and into the depths of hopelessness; William’s eyes became round and wide, “Ohhh myyy G…G…God!”

  Lilly grimaced, “Will you stop saying that? You’re going to disturb him!”

  The two realized that they had sought refuge in the one place that even their parents wouldn’t enter. They reached for each other’s hands, both cold and clammy, there was undoubtedly safety in numbers, even if that number was only two.

  Lilly glanced at William, “What do you think of this place?” William had a look of puzzlement, “I d…don’t know, bu…but I do…don’t think I’m going to like it.” They were already in, curiosity got the better them, and so they began exploring. Their eyes were opened wide as saucers, their hearts throbbed from fear. Suddenly something tugged at one of Lilly’s pigtails, “Hey William! That’s not funny!” Before William could defend himself, Lilly tugged at his hand to follow. They cautiously wandered through the expansive hallway that led to the parlors, unknowingly going ever deeper into the bowels of the mansion. It seemed endless. The rooms were gloomy and oh so full of shadows and dark corners. Their footprints in the thick coating of dust on the carpet surface left evidence they were surely the first inhabitants of the mansion in decades. The shhh…shhh reverberation of their shoes against the nap of the rug was unnerving (don’t be silly). It was a type of thick-pile, folk-art rug with odd geometric patterns that repeated and repeated in a hypnotic manner. It had a musty, ancient odor. The shroud of apprehension that came over them had put them both in a quasi-trance. They gazed from viewing room to viewing room, hoping to God that there was nothing to see. Lastly, they stopped just before the entrance to the last and grandest of the viewing rooms, the bitter sense of the deceased was loathsome. After a moment of hesitation, the two rounded the corner, and their paths were halted. Unlike the others, this room was emasculate and ablaze in candlelight. Great bouquets of white lilies filled the room; although they were devoid of their sweet scent. There, in the rear of the salon, framed by bulky burgundy drapes, in the niche awaiting the coterminous coffin, was a boyish vision. The child was possibly six or seven years old, was well dressed and incredibly handsome. His regalia was of the early nineteenth century; although those were details that neither William nor Lilly knew or cared about. The boy’s voice was tender and sweet, “I watched the both of you; I know of those bad boys, I can protect you from them.” William gathered his thoughts; the young boy who stood before them was much smaller than he was. Protect us? How?