by T L Blake
Robyn screamed as her orgasm broke over her. Rising from deep within it shot through her, burning everything in its path. Andrew thrust into her one more time, tearing what little reason she had left from her body and sending her into spasm. She felt his seed spill hot inside her before everything went numb and she collapsed into his hold.
Staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows of tree branches brush across the white paint, Robyn could not turn off her mind.
Andrew slept beside her, his breathing slow and steady, his black hair in stark contrast to the crisp white sheets. She’d watched him in awe and drank in every microscopic detail of his slumbering features to lock them away in her memory. She now stared at the grey patterns being formed across the ceiling, hoping to empty her mind.
It wasn’t working. She was plagued by memories of what they had found: the stark white room, the dark elixir in the bottles and the lipstick. Images surged through her mind of altars and dark priests engaged in depraved and unholy sacrifice. Symbols: Triskeles and Witches Knots swirled like Catherine wheels. She rolled over, trying to get comfortable, but more thoughts of blood plagued her.
She rolled onto her back again as the word ‘blood’ ricocheted through her brain. Blood; it wasn’t the first time she had thought about it this week. The memory suddenly hit her, and so did another.
Robyn slid out of the bed and grabbed a shirt from Andrew’s wardrobe. Her clothes were still wet and lying in a heap on the bathroom floor. Tiptoeing down the stairs, she put on a lamp and quickly found Andrew’s laptop. She went straight onto a search engine and started looking for information to confirm her suspicions.
Reading the information on the screen, Robyn heard footsteps on the stairs and the gentle creaking of the old wood. Andrew entered the lounge barefoot, wearing only pyjama bottoms. His hair was a wild mess and his eyes were sleepy. He smiled when he saw her tucked up on the sofa.
“What are you doing?” He entered the doorway, one hand lazily rubbing his eyes.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I couldn’t sleep. I needed to check on something.”
Andrew took one step towards her to see what she had discovered but he didn’t make it across the room before the lamp went off. The screen of the computer glowed in the dark and lit the space where Robyn sat but she couldn’t see Andrew at all in the darkness beyond. She could however, hear movement. Robyn was just about to say something, to speak to Andrew and ask if a fuse had blown, when she heard shuffling. Something hit the door and sent it flying into the wall with a loud bang.
The dog barked. Robyn could hear Max wildly scrabbling to get from his basket to where the noise had come from and she shoved the laptop aside, ready to rise.
Max barked loudly; he was in the room now, a growl in his throat. Her eyes started to recover from the brightness of the screen and she could see the black outline of the dog and a person. She assumed it was Andrew for only a millisecond as something small, lit up brightly next to the dog making Max yelp.
Instinct had her off of the sofa and on her feet before she was consciously aware of the move. But she was too late. On her feet, half a step forwards, someone grabbed her. One gloved hand covered her mouth and one crossed her chest. Robyn was lifted and pulled back.
She tried to yell, but the sound was stifled by the hand over her mouth. She bit down hard intending to make him drop her and breathed in ready to yell again but a pungent scent stopped her; sweet, sickly, heady. Fear clutched her stomach as she gasped. Her head felt light. She tried not to breathe. She tried to hold the chemical out of her lungs. Robyn kicked her legs but her bare feet were ineffectual against the person that held her.
Flailing in the air, Robyn knocked the computer on the floor, its screen shedding light across the room and she could see Andrew, face down, unmoving.
Terror held her in its icy grip and she upped her struggle, but the effort used up her remaining oxygen. Her lungs burned. Robyn fought; against her captor, against breathing, but to no avail. It was no glove that covered her mouth, it was a cloth and she had no choice but to gasp in a breath of the sickly chemical that it was drenched in.
The sweet scent overwhelmed her senses as she filled her lungs. Her head started spinning and her mind became sluggish. Her limbs felt heavy so she stopped kicking. Unable to control her body, Robyn slumped against her attacker.
Whoever held Robyn started putting her down onto the floor as fog crept in around the edges of her vision. She was drifting. She could no longer feel her limbs. She couldn’t tell when they touched the hard surface of the floor. Desperately clinging on for as long as she could, she looked into the room, looking for escape even though she knew she couldn’t get to it. The last vision she formed was that of a white expressionless face, lit by the computer. No mouth, no nose, just black cavernous eyes. Then the world went dark.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Robyn was in the graveyard again. Around her, rows of stark grey headstones stood in linear rows like soldiers on procession. Picked out by moonlight, the narrow rounded tops of each monolith glowed whilst the fascia’s stood dark and foreboding. It was a silent platoon, monochrome and still. Robyn ran.
There was something after her, a creature, a monster. She couldn’t name it, but she knew it was there. If she looked behind, turned around, Robyn knew it would be on her heels; its eyes glowing, its saliva frothing and dripping from its mouth and its tongue slithering across sharp teeth.
She tried to scream but her mouth produced no sound. The air was too thick. How could that be? She ran on.
Underfoot, the grass grew with her every step. Blades penetrated through the soil and reached endlessly for the light in this dark, this night. The fronds snagged against her legs, whipped across her bare skin, and clawed at her flesh. Each ravenous ribbon tried desperately to entangle and trap her, so she lifted her knees high and moved with as much speed as the ground would allow.
She could see the great monumental obelisk that showed the exit. It was right in front of her. The black, highly polished granite towered out of the ground and she was nearly there, she was nearly out, but she fell.
Overpowering long blades twisted around her legs, knotted around her ankles and brought her to her knees. Robyn’s hands hit the ground allowing opportunistic shoots to wrap tightly around her wrists and bind her to the ground. They tightened, cutting into flesh and Robyn watched as thin slivers of blood trickled down her hands and flowed across her fingers like spidery gossamers of graffiti that portended her demise.
She couldn’t move.
The rasping creature was closer. It was directly behind her now. Its ragged breaths filled her ears and sent shivers into her soul.
Too afraid to look behind, Robyn looked up.
Carved deeply, with great precision, into the hard, black granite was a symbol. A metre in diameter and surrounded by a perfect circle was an icon consisting of three spirals. The Triskele. Robyn stared at the crisp-cut lines, defined so clearly in the moonlight, and knew that this was indeed the end.
Captured by the image and tethered into position, Robyn had not yet taken in the writing beneath the mark. When she finally lowered her gaze, she saw letters cut deep and embellished in shining silver. Emblazoned onto the stone, carved clearly for all eternity were the immortal words.
R.I.P.
ROBYN DARROW
Soft footfalls neared as deep, raspy breaths filled Robyn’s ears. When the footsteps stopped, when paw and claw ceased to crush the blades of grass in its motion, Robyn held her breath and awaited the final blow.
She heard it lunge.
Numb and resigned to fate, Robyn stared at the great symbol that would be with her for all time and watched as thick, red, blood streaked across the mark. As slash after slash of the beasts claws cut through her frozen body, Robyn’s blood spilled and fell in torrents on the stone. Splashing over the glistening black, dripping through the indented channels of the carvings and running and dripping down the stone, the blood covered the
legend.
Robyn finally found her voice and screamed.
Robyn felt like her senses had been smothered in a thick blanket of nothing. She knew the dream was thankfully over because she felt her shudders ebb and the scream subside, but still she couldn’t move. Somehow the grass still bound her limbs.
It was a sound that tried to break through first. It was quiet, distant, and at first she didn’t recognise it but she knew that she should. What was that? She wanted to shake her head and clear the haze but she was afraid, afraid the beast would return if it knew she was awake.
With time came clarity and as Robyn stayed still, the fog started to lift from her addled brain. The noise she was hearing sounded as if she was listening from under water, but it was unmistakably a voice. She couldn’t make out words, because everything was elongated and twisted, but she knew it was male.
“. . . . hurt.”
It was so difficult to focus, everything swam in and out. In one moment her mind cleared but in the next, the fog clouded over her again. She hated it and concentrated hard on that one voice, knowing that it held the power to pull her out of the darkness.
“Robyn?” he called, “Robyn?”
Now she could hear the crackle of a fire and the steady thump of her own heart. As she listened, her heart rate picked up. She opened her eyes.
Robyn was in a dark room with her head slumped on her chest. She could see the pattern of a carpet beneath her and light danced across it, making shadows come alive. It took a few seconds to realise that it was firelight illuminating her view, the licking flames making the shadows appear to dance. She was sat in a chair. She could feel the hard wood against her back and legs.
Robyn lifted her head and groaned as pain shot arrows into her brain and what had begun as a dull ache, now throbbed. She was hit by a sudden wave of nausea as her vision swam.
“Robyn, are you alright?” She could hear the voice, but her groggy mind struggled to comprehend it. The sound was off, not quite like she was underwater anymore but almost as if the sound was a tape recording that was playing back too slow.
“Robyn, are you hurt?” Concern filled his tone, apparent even with the sound distortion. Robyn turned to the sound and blinked but couldn’t clear her vision. She knew without sight though, that it was Andrew speaking.
Blinking, trying to banish the oppressive fog that clouded her view, she looked around her. A fire blazed in the hearth in front of her, flames licked up through the air and into the awaiting chimney. Next to the fire sat an empty padded chair. Opposite the chair, sat on a wooden dining chair was Andrew.
“Are you hurt?” he repeated as her eyes fell on him.
He sat very upright. He looked awkward sitting so formally, his back rigid and his arms resting on the arms of the chair from elbow to wrist. He also looked odd wearing only pyjama bottoms, his chest and feet bare.
Robyn opened her mouth to speak but her mouth was dry and she was suddenly aware of a foul taste on her tongue. She tried to swallow, to wash the unpleasant tang away but she couldn’t make any saliva.
“Where are we?” she croaked.
The room was unfamiliar. Heavy velvet curtains covered large windows and dark wood pieces of furniture filled the space. On every surface there were trinkets, ceramics and ornaments. She couldn’t turn her aching neck to cover every aspect of her vicinity and she dared not move too quickly because of the nausea, but she knew that she’d never been in this room before. She kept blinking to ward off the grogginess.
“Keep fighting it Robyn. It’s okay, it will wear off soon.” Andrew’s voice was a beacon in the dark. Robyn turned to look into his eyes knowing that they would help to pull her mind out of the miasma. Sure enough, the haze receded and her mind started to function again. The nausea subsided but the pounding in her head only worsened as she became more aware of it.
“Are you hurt?” Andrew asked again with gentle insistence.
Robyn focused on herself. Her neck was sore. She felt a pain in her hip and shoulder on one side and her head ached. But aside from those small things and her nausea she was fine.
“I think I’m . . . I think I’m alright.” She struggled to form the words with her dry throat. “What happened?”
The words were accompanied by a vicious throb in her temple and she instinctively went to raise her hand. It wouldn’t budge.
Looking down, Robyn was surprised that her wrists were not bound by sticky blades of grass. Instead, they were tied to the arms of the chair with plastic ties. Further ties strapped her ankles to the turned front legs. Pulled tightly, each strap dug into her skin and allowed very little movement.
How the hell did she get here? Her body stiffened as her mind questioned. And what was she wearing? Her legs were bare right up to her thighs where her skin finally met with an oversized white shirt, the only item of clothing that she was wearing.
It hit her then: the lights going out, the face in the mask, the hand over her mouth, the sweet smelling vapour. Snapping her head up in panic, Robyn pulled at the bindings. She yanked, wrenched and tried to get either a hand or foot free, but the straps remained firm. The more she pulled, the more the plastic dug into her flesh but the pain didn’t stop her.
“Robyn.” Andrew’s voice was calm. How could he be calm? They had to get out of there. She pulled harder, until she whimpered in her own pain.
“Robyn.” This time the word was louder, demanding.
She looked up, commanded by Andrew’s tone.
“It won’t work.”
She stilled, fear clenching her insides. Andrew’s feet and arms were also bound. In his case, a row of cable ties ran from elbow to wrist and knee to ankle.
Air absconded from her lungs until there was nothing left. As her ribcage contracted, her organs fell away, one by one into a chasm in her abdomen. Understanding finally began to surface through her muddled mind.
She didn’t want to die.
Forcing a breath, Robyn found her voice.
“Where are we?”
“The manor.” Andrew’s disgust was clear. “James is here, somewhere. I’ve heard his voice in the corridors, but he’s not alone.”
Andrew knew James was involved but it would never have occurred to him that his grandfather would do this.
“We’re in trouble.” She held back her tears. They would do no good now.
“I think that’s an understatement. When they realise we’re awake they’re going to come for us.” He tried his bonds again, but made no progress. “I’m sorry. I had no idea James was into this kind of evil.”
“He’s not.” She pulled at the restraints until she all but snapped off her own hand. “I got it wrong. They aren’t devil worshippers, Andrew. I think it’s much worse and much older than that.”
Footsteps cut off their conversation. The door swung inwards, silent, smooth and suspenseful. Light, from outside, shone on the wall of the room and the silhouette of a tall, thin man stood black against white, on the makeshift screen.
“Ah, they’re awake.” Came a sneer from across the room. The scratchy voice did not convey concern.
A wiry man, tall and gaunt, glared at Robyn with small sunken grey eyes that were intensely magnified through thick lenses. The coldness of his stare, accompanied by a huge smile, which bared his teeth and gums, had her instinctively pull back in her chair. As he crossed the room, his unnerving glower did not falter and the look of glee on his face had Robyn fighting back bile. She knew this man. He was her doctor, Dr Sanger; the same doctor that had prescribed her the pill only a few weeks ago. He had never looked at her so salaciously in the surgery though.
“So much trouble caused by such a little one,” Dr Sanger held out his hand and stroked her cheek with dry, brittle fingers. He had only the thinnest layer of dry skin and his fingers felt like claws as he grabbed and rubbed at her face. Robyn leaned away from him, but his hand followed any move she made. Her skin turned to ice under his touch.
“Leave. Her. Alone.”
Andrew growled. She didn’t need to look at him to know that he was angry.
Sanger lifted his eyes and turned his head, but his fingers still grated along Robyn’s skin.
“Hmm. Protective aren’t you?” he spat with obvious interest and clear malice, “and I haven’t even begun, yet.” A slow smile spread across his face as he spoke to Andrew, taunting and sinister. Fear sliced into Robyn. This man was deadly.
“Don’t tease them yet, Douglas.” A female voice stated jauntily and Robyn stilled as she saw Jane Symonds walk into the room.
Douglas stopped stroking Robyn’s cheek and instead grabbed her jaw. His fingers clenched tightly around her chin and dug into her flesh as he closed in, making her look away from Jane and focus on him. His overly magnified, beady, slate-grey eyes, took in every detail of her features and they gleamed with pleasure. Robyn could see his sinister intent as his breath, sweet and sickly, washed over her from his increasingly eager inhalations. She tried to stay still, to show no fear but, when his lips parted and his tongue slowly rolled over his top lip, she pulled backwards in disgust.
Douglas’s eyes lit up at Robyn’s discomfort and he tightened his grip, making her wince. He pulled her closer and held her, as this time his thin tongue snaked out from his smile and licked across her mouth, one side to the other.
She couldn’t get away, even when his tongue slowly retraced its path and left a wet, sickly sweet trail over her mouth. Robyn wanted to scream but she didn’t dare open her lips.
She could hear a commotion beside her. Andrew was rocking his chair on the floor, struggling with his bindings, but she couldn’t look, didn’t dare. Her vision was filled with greedy, evil, eyes.
“Get away from her,” Andrew shouted, “I’m going to kill you for this. Do you hear me?”
