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E R O T I S P H E R E By Kathy Core ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- DISCLAIMER This Edition: 1999 Copyright (c)1999 Kathy Core All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written or emailed permission of the copyright holder, Carrie Gore. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- AUTHOR'S NOTES This story would not have been possible without the love and support shown to me by Janice Dreamer, Edith Bellamy, and my editor, who prefers to remain nameless but without him this story would never have reached it's potential. CG, 1999. PART ONE Outer Orbit (i.) I have this plant that had, I assumed, been dead for at least six months. I'd never bothered to move the damn thing from my desk; its shriveled yellow leaves the nearest thing to living, breathing life in my dismal apartment, even if you take my own wretched form into consideration. I really should move to another place, you know, but I guess that's far too much trouble for an old widow like me. Too late, perhaps. I like the little window that never lets in the sun. I like the walls, yellowed from years of smoking, no doubt. I gave up trying to impress people with my dedication to neatness and cleanliness long, long ago. Cleanliness is not an inherent characteristic of being a woman, rather of ingrained servitude. Let the lot rot for all I care. I don't get too many visitors these days anyway. Maybe the occasional social worker, the intrusive bastards, checking to make sure I haven't started shitting myself. But that's it. I have my typewriter to keep me company, but I've been unable to write anything of consequence for a while, my thoughts consumed with the only story in me that's of any importance. But how do you even begin to tell a story of real evil? Not Jeff Dahmer evil, rather Exorcist evil. You must think me a mad old woman, even contemplating telling such a tale and having the cheek to pass it off as truth. But, as I have said before, the days of my caring what others think are passed, and mercifully not a day too soon. Every time I begin beating the keys, I have to remind myself how ludicrous this must all sound: A vampire, for God's sake, claiming his enemy as lover. In my life I've seen strange things, mark my words -- husbands running away with other men, women murdering their worthless husbands, daughters murdering their rich fathers. I believed, for all my faults, that I'd seen the rough edge of life, the dirty, repulsive nature lurking in the cracks between the fashion magazines and the soap operas. I've never been one for reading trivial women's magazines, preferring the real thing. People used to talk to me. I used to be influential in my community. I was the head of a family once -- the Edmondsons -- and it is my son, Ray, that this story concerns. You won't attach any importance to the Edmondson name, I'm sure. Perhaps the folks who make the television news still have my ready-and-waiting obituary on their shelves. Did you know that? They make obituaries in advance for celebrities; have teams of people devoted to keeping them up to date. I often fantasize about sending little Billy Clinton a sneak preview of his -- but I'm losing the thread here, and must apologize. Where was I? Yes, the fearsome, handsome Edmondsons -- oh, how things change. It turned sour, of course, many years ago. By this time last year, only Ray and his bitch wife remained, excluding my own worthless self. What little of our wealth remained was tied up in land that we couldn't sell or make a profit from owning. I have no part to play in the running of the Edmondson finances. I imagine it's all left to accountants and solicitors who've probably not even noticed that their clients haven't contacted them in a moon's age. Now, what got me started on all this? Ah yes, the potted plant. You remember I told you I thought it had died? Well, on the first of November 1998, after my son Ray had killed Sebastian Connell, my neighbor, the plant began growing again. I can't quite explain it other than to say that everybody in this building felt relief when Sebastian's rotten body failed to return to his apartment after that fateful Halloween night. I say rotten because it was; His body, his clothes and his apartment had the stench of decay... of death. It is worth noting that I am more interested in the plant than in my son's homicidal act, but I'm sure you have already suspected that. As it happened, the murder of Sebastian Connell was of little consequence, and in truth didn't affect the bastard one slightest bit. You remember I mentioned a vampire? The plant knew, I'm sure of it. You must understand, dear reader, that, had you asked me about the existence of the undead only a year ago, I would have laughed so hard I would probably have broken a rib. But my son killed Sebastian Connell, and Sebastian came back exactly a year later to exact his vengeance. Was he undead before my son killed him, you're probably asking? I expect so, but I have no proof. Only the plant, which, free of the aura of death shrouding this building, had itself risen in its pot for a second shot at life. Perhaps the superstitious amongst you will think that proof enough. (ii.) The murder of Sebastian Connell took place on the night of Halloween, 1998. His body was found dumped in the street with a huge gash in his back made by a circular saw that sliced through his ribcage and spine. You must realize I was not a witness to the events that transpired, nor were the police, come to think of it. I doubt they were ever involved at all -- it was never mentioned in the papers. All the information I have came from my son, so if all this seems a little fantastical, you can blame him. I have no reason to doubt his words. No man could invent such fictions. Well, no man could invent such fictions and tell them to his mother... what am I saying? I do say such foolish things sometimes. What I should say is, to my knowledge, he was yet to lie to me. Ray contacted me, if I remember rightly, around the middle of that October, concerned that his wife, Lisa, was cheating on him. I have no doubts that she was. I told him the day I met her, I said, "She's a scheming little hussy, Ray. You should get rid of her" He didn't listen, as men never do. Thinking with that thing in his pants, as always. Well, my worst fears about her were confirmed with this news. I didn't know until the day after Halloween that it was my neighbor who was the invader in my son's marital bed. Had I known, I doubt the outcome would have been so different. So, according to Ray, that Halloween when he arrived at home to find Lisa bound and gagged, kneeling up on the bed with the good Mr. Connell holding her, he lost control. His first reaction was one of fear: His wife was being raped as he saw it, and he'd caught the wicked trespasser red handed. Of course, as soon as the fornicating couple realized Ray was in the room, they laughed at him. You hear me? They both laughed aloud, Lisa having to struggle to do so through her gag, but laughing nonetheless. His immediate reaction was to turn his attentions to another emotion: Rage. He ran from the bedroom in search of a weapon. He could hear his wife, liberated from the restraints, calling him. "Honey! Come back," she said, or words to that effect. Makes me sick just to think about it, I'm afraid, hurting my son like that. Dirty, dirty bitch. I asked him afterwards "Did you cry?" I imagine he did. I hope he did. Anyway, the weapon he found, in the absence of firearms, you understand, was a battery-powered circular saw. Quite how he managed to do any damage with it I have no idea -- such a clumsy boy when he was a child. "When I went back in," he told me, "he was just lying there, on top of her. In her. I just held the saw out in front of me and dived on top of him." Can you believe that? He ran the saw all the way across Sebastian's back, severing his spine instantly. Oh, the blood -- frightens me to even think about it. Lisa, the little bitch, was underneath them at the time. She screamed, I believe; Sebastian's corpse still erect inside her, its dead weight holding her down. No one has heard from Lisa since then. Not even Ray. As you can probably imagine, they couldn't continue their marriage after such terrible events. However, I have no sympathy for that woman, for the indignities she suffered that night are trivial compared to the fate that awaited my boy, and her pains are but memories. My son's agony continues. I shall tell all, in time, but for now I must continue with this thread. I wonder if I'm putting off the inevitable? My excuse for the delay is quite clear though: I need you to see that what Sebastian has done to my Ray is undeserved, and that I, for all my weaknesses, did all I could. I wish I could save my boy, but I fear my strength has never been the equal of the task I face. So, back to my tale. They had committed crimes that are as old as humanity itself, Lisa the adulterer and Ray the murderer of his wife's lover. I asked Ray only once why he hadn't simply left the house that night, why he stayed to inflict such terrible brutality on the intruder. To this he responded, "You had to be there, Mom. I could tell he was evil, you know? It's weird -- it was like he wasn't alone in the room. There were -- entities -- a presence in the room. It was like they were watching him, encouraging him.... When I killed him, they disappeared." Well, imagine what I thought hearing this! Never before had my son ever spoken so... so biblically. Words like "evil" are expelled as easily as breath itself; all manner of mundane trivialities are attributed with overly dramatic status. No matter; whatever was going through his head that night obviously frightened him profoundly. We never spoke of the subject again, certainly not of the phantom audience of his wife's bondage and fornication. Did I say that from that day on my little plant began growing again? I did, I'm sure. But alas, I look at it now and see its leaves once again stained with the browns and yellows of decay. You see, although my son murdered Sebastian Connell that Halloween, he didn't do as thorough a job as you might have imagined. In all, and this is only my estimate based on the rise and fall of the success of my little dead plant, it took Sebastian a month to recover. The streets and the walls do have ears, you know. They felt his demise that Halloween, and almost lamented it. They knew, as I do now, that Sebastian was no mere man. He was a creature, a creature of power. The mortar and brick of this building believed themselves blessed by the energy he exuded, however sinister, however rotten. You must forgive me, for these are the foolish words of a silly old woman. It's only my opinion, but buildings don't have an atmosphere completely by accident: They collect it, store it, and absorb the emotions until saturated. Some would call such places haunted. Maybe this building is. Maybe that is why I like it so; to remind me this is real. (iii.) Excuse me, won't you? I had to take a small break. My breathing is done quite painstakingly. I should give up smoking; it's bad for you, it kills you, it gives you cancer. Tell that to an old woman who already has cancer and ask her if she cares. I tell you as one who knows, I certainly don't. The days of my longing for an extension to my wretched life are long since passed, and I would happily give every second I have left if it would release Ray from Sebastian's Erotisphere. Oh, I am getting ahead of myself here. Needless to say, you will no doubt become all too familiar with Sebastian's sick toy. I have my regrets. I wish I'd not stayed behind when the rest of the Edmondson clan left in a plane for Greece. They died, you see, each and every one of them. Ray's brothers and sister, my own brothers and my sweet, sweet grandchildren, all perished save Ray. They never even reached France. The accident only left, as you can probably guess, my son, his harridan of a wife, and me to carry the ill-fated Edmondson flag. I've often asked myself why I was spared when the rest of the family perished so awfully. If it was to save my son from his ultimate fate, I have clearly failed in the duty. Instead, I have found myself slowly growing increasingly sick and lonely. As you've noticed, I speak frankly. I do not have the time to mince my words, to make pretty the vile horrors I've been touched by in the last few years. Is my sole purpose to witness the tragic decline of all that I love -- all that I am? If that is to be my lot in life, then I should end it now. But first, I must relate to you the events of the 31st of October 1999, the anniversary of Sebastian's murder. In the telling, I must be strong. I shall try to be as accurate and truthful as I can. I assure you, where this story seems to be at its most unbelievable, it is there you find the facts I am the most certain of. Where to begin? (iv.) Three months after my son believed he'd dispatched his enemy, I bumped into Sebastian at the entrance to our building, him leaving whilst I arrived. Believe me, I nearly jumped out of my skin. There was I, struck as pale as bone china, whilst he gave me not even a second look... the fornicator, the abuser, the body in the morgue, the mug shot in the paper... walking around as if nothing had happened as I sit here writing this morbid filth. I had no idea how long he'd been back, so to speak. It could have been some time, for this was the first time I'd ventured out of my own apartment after nightfall in some time. Do you know what he had the cheek to say to me? He said, "Good evening, Madam." The nerve of the beast! As you can imagine, I was straight on the telephone to my Ray. I must confess that, in my shock and fear, I had no idea how my words would betray me as a lunatic. Perhaps I should take the moment to explain a little more about the involvement of the authorities in this matter. Perhaps, as I suspect, they never found Sebastian's body and nobody came looking for him. In truth, I do not know if Ray was ever questioned -- all I know is that he was never arrested, and certainly not prosecuted. However, he was as surprised as I to find he had, in effect, committed no crime at all! "Don't be stupid, Mom," he said to me. "That... he's dead, believe me." "Hmm!" I replied, quite indignant. "You take your old mother for a fool, boy?" "No, of course..." "Well, you just listen. As I live and breathe, Sebastian Connell is quite alive and well and back in his old apartment." "But that's not possible. I dumped the body myself...." His voice sounded monotone, as if he was growing unsure of his own memories. "I hope I'm losing my marbles, Ray. I really do." He paused at this, daring to hope, I suspect "Well, me, too," he said, the cheeky swine. Oh, look at me; silly old woman, I'm crying. Mustn't bother you, dear reader, with my troubles. I cry a lot these days. I'm used to it. Anyway -- ah yes, my neighbor. Ray never quite believed me about what I had seen, and with no repetition of the incident, I almost began to doubt what I had seen myself. My only comfort -- Sebastian did not know who I was. Oh, how wrong I was, but, at the time, my misconceptions gave me great comfort. I had a great many of those comforts at the time, such as "Sebastian is dead," "Sebastian is human," "Sebastian can't mean my son any harm or he'd have harmed him already." How wrong I was. (v.) Remember how I told you that Ray's wife was never seen again after the incident? That wasn't entirely correct. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that I'd almost skipped over one of the most crucial events in the tragedy that is unfolding slowly before you. Ray told me how she came back to him, once. And once, dear reader, was all it took to take my son away from me. Dressed in leather from head to toe, the wandering adulteress presented herself on Ray's doorstep a week before Halloween, 1999 -- almost, but not quite, a year after the terrible bloodshed that ripped them apart. (Good riddance to bad filth, too!) Ray stood there, in the doorstep, his jaw hanging to the floor. She smiled sweetly at him, wordlessly gesturing for an invitation to enter. "Lisa! You can't come in here. You've got to leave me alone." "You haven't got company, have you?" The sweetness of her smile soured, twisting into an overt display of lust. Ray felt the hair on the back of his neck prick with the anticipation of reclaiming what was rightfully his. "Honey?" she added, extending the "ee" syllable and leaning her head a little. "What do you want?" "I've missed you, baby." Confused -- afraid, even -- he lost eye contact. She must have recognized the weakening of his resolve, for the performance continued. "I need you, Ray." Ray grunted. "What's the matter, Ray? Turned gay on me?" "Look, Lisa. It's great to see you again and everything...." He regretted the confession immediately, and drew breath as if to suck the words back into his lungs. "...But I don't need this right now, okay? I need more time." "No. We need to do this now, Ray." "Do what?" She replied by raising a gloss black painted fingernail which she ran from his neck to his groin. The seduction was crass, but effective. "You'd better come in," he said. Lisa's smile broadened as she passed through the doorway into their old home. Ray felt a little self-conscious about the condition of the place, now overrun with evidence of bachelor occupations. "Exactly how you remember it, isn't it? Has anything changed?" "I've changed." "Oh?" "I'm not the same person I was when I left, Ray." It wasn't her words that frightened him; rather, her actions as she spoke softened him, leaving only fear where once there was lust. He watched, mesmerized, as her hand caressed her own breasts, then moved downward until the same fingers that she'd run over his body were clearly buried underneath her skirt. "It's rude to stare, Ray." Her voice was low and seductive, a purr almost. "Oh -- oh, I'm sorry." She laughed, immediately triggering in Ray a flashback to the last time he'd seen Lisa -- bound, gagged and blindfolded, yet still managing to laugh. His blood boiled at the memory. "Don't be sorry, Ray, unless you really mean it." She approached him, deliberately swaying her hips as she did so, a feline predator stalking its prey. Closer she came, until he could feel her hot, heavy breath on his face, could smell her perfume. How he'd ached for the feel of a woman's flesh in his arms, longed for the taste of her on his lips. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tightly enough to rub her groin against Ray's rapidly growing penis. He gasped aloud at this, finding himself pressing against her with equal vigor. Then came pain: Pain, in his neck, running throughout his body. Appalled, he pushed himself away from Lisa, clasping at what he knew was going to be a wound. He felt wetness there, and his stomach turned. With reluctance, he looked at his hand and confirmed his worst fears -- it was blood. "What the..." But Lisa was not to be deterred. She rushed at him, forcing her tongue down his throat, invading him, penetrating him. Repulsed by the coppery sweetness of his own blood, but entranced by the animal lust she was displaying, he was powerless to resist her. Then, there was a loud crack, a noise that appeared to come from within Lisa's mouth, followed by a fresh rush of fluid. Lisa withdrew her embrace quickly, causing Ray to swallow whatever disgusting concoction she'd somehow passed him. "What -- What was that?" In response, Lisa spat out two half shells of a plastic capsule. "A present," she said. "From Sebastian." "Sebastian?" Her smile soured further, developing into a sneer. She wiped the blood off her face with her arm, backing away out of Ray's reach. "What's the matter, Ray? Thought he was dead?" "I..." "No, it's okay, Ray. You were right. He is dead." "...Don't understand," he said quietly. He was dazed from the bite, unable to clear his head for the few moments he needed to make sense of her words. "He was dead before you met him, Ray. Don't you get it? He's Undead  a Vampire." "What are you talking about, Lisa? What the fuck has happened to you?" "I drank his blood, Ray. Do you know what that means?" "You need help, Lisa. Seriously, I can get you help." At this she threw back her head, laughing, then turned and left as suddenly as she'd arrived. (v.) I'm a little cross with myself at the moment for forgetting to tell you about the sweet-natured side of my boy before telling you about his weakest, most desperate moment. Perhaps it is too late for that now, anyway. I have polluted you with the image of my child as a weak- minded fool, easily toyed with by women. Ah, but are not all men the same? Ray was like all men before all the mess began. He drank, he smoked and he played pool with his pals. He watched football matches in bars. When all is said and done, he was just another man. Maybe you think me a wicked old hag for airing my son's dirty laundry in public? All I say in response to that is -- "it's nothing a mother hasn't seen before." Perhaps you believe an old woman should not speak of such horrors and lusts? You, dear reader, do not know women at all. (vi.) Ray awoke the following evening, having slept solidly for over 18 hours. A cursory glance out of the window revealed the autumn sky already beginning to show signs of darkening, a blaze of yellow and orange bleeding into the most royal of blues. He wasn't just late for work, he realized; he'd missed the day altogether. In his head, he could visualize his bosses filling out the disciplinary procedure forms upon hearing, "Er... sorry guys, I just kind of slept in. I'll be in tomorrow," on the office answering machine. Rather than risk such embarrassment, he chose to E-mail them with the truth - "My wife came back last night - left me feeling kind of drained." He almost laughed until he recalled the events, and as if to confirm the reality of it, he felt his neck for signs of... signs of what? Bites? He staggered into his bathroom, avoiding the mirror. He emptied his bladder and cleaned his teeth, still managing to avert his eyes for a few seconds more. Then it struck him: The gaping holes -- a pair -- announcing their presence on his neck. Could Lisa really have bitten me, he thought? There was something else disconcerted about his appearance. Something subtle, barely perceptible against the backdrop of open wounds on his flesh. Not being able to remember waking in the evening before, he dismissed his confusion as the result of a trick of the warm, flattering sunlight that still lit his home. Daily routines completed, he strolled downstairs to make himself a mug of coffee. Filling the kettle, he tried to resist his body's almost perverse desire to get ready to go to work, reminding himself that he was liberated from the burden at least for one day. "But," he thought, "it was my body that insisted I didn't!" Often, he'd fantasized about the secret art of skiving, but his innate work ethic prevented such a misdemeanor. A blessing in disguise? (vii.) You will think me very foolish for what I did today, and I must confess that I'm beginning to take my lack of any self-preservation instinct a little more seriously. I decided to confront Sebastian myself to beg for my son's freedom. It seems like an eternity since Halloween, and the good Lord Himself only knows how long the days must be for my boy. I should not interrupt the story at this point to tell of my encounter, but I cannot bear the thought of leaving this unsaid -- what if something were to happen to me, and I found myself unable to finish what I have begun? As you'd expect, I did not persuade Sebastian into releasing my son. What I did release, however, was the truth... the truth about Ray, and the truth about Lisa. And there I was, portraying her an iniquitous wench, devoid of soul. This was grossly unfair of me. And to portray Sebastian himself as a crude puppet of evil, again, is a great injustice. What I know now changes everything, and it is my responsibility to tell the truth, as I see it. So, what of my encounter with my neighbor? It was a rushed affair, when all is said and done, and I could scarcely have prepared myself less. As soon as I had hammered the question mark that ended the last chapter, I stood up and marched to the bottom floor of the building where I knew Sebastian Connell resided. I banged my fists against his door, struggling as I did so to stop my tears from flowing. To my astonishment, the fiend answered, opening up his home to me with a smile. He said nothing, as if he was examining me, playing with me like a new toy. "I," I said, "am Eleanor Edmondson." "And what can I do for you, Mrs. Edmondson?" His voice floated, crisp and elegant. The man's charms were not in doubt, and, were it not for my knowledge of his crimes, I would no doubt have found myself quite enamored, even at my ripe old age. As it happened, my skin crawled at his arrogance. "My son," I said, stressing the "s", stabbing it into the air, "is Ray Edmondson." "I see. You'd better come in, Mrs. Edmondson. We have many things to discuss." "I don't want to go in there." I spat my words, my venom surprising even myself. "I just want him back." "Just come inside, please? I'm afraid it's not quite so simple." Did I dare enter his home? I tried to look past him, but I could see nothing but darkness. My dread, however, would pass. My son's suffering would not. More fool me, but I entered. God help me, I went in. (viii.) Thinking back, I am at a loss to explain what happened next - the darkness of his home that I witnessed previously seemed unending, and, within a few paces, I truly believed I would have been unable to see my own hands in front of me had it grown any darker. But, looking down at my own hands, I saw there remained a soft glow that offered an appalling sight. At first, like my son, I believed what I was witnessing to be a trick of the light, but I saw the folly in such delusion. I was unraveling, my form becoming unknotted. I could see threads of white and red, my skin and blood, unwinding, spinning, and racing ahead of me into the darkness. In my head I heard his voice calling, "Don't be afraid". I turned my attentions to my host to see that his form, like my own, had become a sprawling mass of chaotic lights, a blur. I wished to expel the creature from my thoughts, but I could utter no words, for I had become as liquid, and I was undone. "You have killed me," I thought, believing it to be true. He replied in my head, "On the contrary, Madam." And, with that, the world was remade. Sebastian's world -- The Erotisphere. PART TWO Inner Orbit (i.) I cannot tell more of my journey into the Erotisphere, at least for a little while. What I must do is attempt to correct the damage I have done in my portrayal of the players in this twisted affair. What I know now after my meeting with Sebastian changes my perception of this story, and it is this that I must pass on to you now. For now, against all that I had imagined for this story, I am compelled to re-tell these events as Sebastian explained them to me. What was once black is now white, what was once white is now gray. So, it is with a great heaviness of my heart I start again, from the beginning, free of the deceits and blindness of my own flesh and blood -- Ray. You see, Ray lost Lisa long before Sebastian entered their lives. Ray hadn't seen it coming, but Lisa felt the passion between them fade until her heart broke. Writing this causes me great, great personal anguish, for I must abandon my prior point of view, that my son inflicted his brutality on a creature that deserved it, and that he did so out of rage and fear. I believed him justified in his actions, but that is not the truth. I have learned that I was unsuccessful in protecting him from the corruption and madness that has so cursed the Edmondsons for so many generations. This causes me a great sadness. I must, as a writer, as a story teller, and as a human being, detach myself from him - for now, at least -- and consider the emotions and feeling of the others in this story. Do not mistake me; my hatred for Sebastian runs deeper than ever, and the revenge he has taken on my boy can never be justified, no matter what. But I must tell the truth, for it makes this tale all the more real. It was about three months before the affair's bloody climax that Lisa realized her relationship with Ray was at an end. She sat opposite him at the dinner table, staring into his cold, emotionless eyes. "Ray," she said, gently. "We don't talk anymore." In response, he leapt from the table, seething. "It's the same crap over and over again, isn't it, Lisa? I've had a bad day at work, okay?" Furious, he stormed out of the room leaving his food uneaten. Lisa, stunned, scanned his plate to see the potatoes and steak she'd prepared for him sitting uneaten, unwanted. That's when she knew it was over, and the knowledge brought her no comfort. Tears swelled in her eyes, and, pushing her own plate away, she curled her head into her arms and sobbed for the end of their love. (ii.) The following day, loaded down with grocery bags, she made eye contact with a stranger who floated past her, traveling in the opposite direction. The man passed within inches of her; the air that rushed between them trembled with an expectant energy. The contact, however brief and transitory, left her breathless, gasping with a profound aching desire. Nervously, she turned around, hoping for a second glimpse of the beautiful stranger; alas, he was gone, disappeared into the sea of anonymous faces walking down the same street. Not being the kind of woman who usually fell head over heels just by looking at a man, she cursed her stupidity. She was 26, after all... far too mature to be concerned with adolescent crushes. Lisa was more than a little surprised to find that the encounter -- the moment of pure fantasy where she imagined herself running away with that man -- had brightened her overall mood somewhat. She returned home, hoping Ray could release the sexual tension she'd gathered and stored. Perhaps it was naive to expect her husband to feel as bright and hopeful, but she wanted to try: She had to. This was to be the final attempt to reconcile their differences, to rekindle the fires; if she failed, she wouldn't stop until she had her fantasy man in her arms. Dutifully, she unloaded the shopping and began preparing the night's meal, a simple dish consisting of pasta and a tomato sauce with ham. Uncomplicated, but satisfying. Leaving the food to gently simmer, she moved upstairs to smarten herself up; the day's shopping, battling against slow moving pensioners and polluted roads, had left her disheveled and weary. She took a bath, where immediately her thoughts turned to the stranger who had so completely stolen her heart with such a simple look. She abandoned her soap in favor of more carnal, instinctual behavior. Her hands slipped under the water, between her legs. Closing her eyes, she relaxed her entire body, slipping deeper into the water. It did not take long for her efforts to be rewarded, and she gasped aloud with the warm release of her orgasm. Out of the bath, her intentions for Ray hadn't altered; neither had her appetite, which seemed as powerful and all-pervading as ever. Flicking through her closet and drawers, she knew she was dressing for him, the stranger, but she felt no guilt or shame in the act. She selected her favorite underwear, except for the addition of the matching garter belt and stockings that, under normal circumstances, she would never wear. The same was true of the dress, bought in a moment of madness. The trappings of femininity held no appeal for her, believing as she did that such trivialities were for other, less intelligent women. However, she knew the power of the clothing... and its effect on men. It was difficult for her to admit, but she secretly enjoyed dressing like this, at least once in a while. It made her feel like a woman, a feeling she had almost lost forever in her bland, loveless marriage. She applied a little make-up and brushed her hair to make it as neat as she possibly could, and then, feeling thoroughly overdressed, she went back downstairs to await Ray's return home. She waited. She waited long into the night but he did not return. No phone call, no message... just an absence of Ray. Unable to quiet her rumbling stomach, she eventually began eating the pasta alone, feeling utterly heartbroken. She was worried he'd been involved in an accident, or, worse, that he had deliberately not come home. It wasn't worth thinking about. She had bought a bottle of red wine; nothing too exotic, but it was wine, and it was red. She read the label again and again until she was certain Ray wasn't going to come home, at which point she uncorked the bottle and poured herself a glass. "Where are you?" she said aloud, the alcohol making her maudlin. She realized then that she truly didn't know to whom she was calling out. (iii.) Ray didn't offer an explanation when he staggered home, at two in the morning, blind drunk. He stank of perfume, his suit hanging off him with only a few buttons remaining. "I love you," he said, his rancid breath stirring Lisa from her sleep. "You're drunk." "I'm sorry, honey. I love you." His words slurred into each other, his eyes unable to focus. "Get the fuck away from me, you piece of shit. Where've you been?" She was fully awake now, and feeling no less furious as a consequence. "Don't start nagging me, Lisa. I need to go to sleep. I'm tired." "Nagging? Why is it nagging if I want to know what you've been doing?" "Don't start." "I don't believe you, Ray. Why are you being like this, huh?" Ray moved away from the bed, lurching. He said, "I don't have to tell you anything. I doesn't matter what I did tonight, so drop it, okay?" "Yes, it does matter, Ray. If you value this marriage, it does." "Hmm," he grunted. "If you trust me, you won't intrude into my business, okay?" "No, it's not okay, Ray!" At this, he left the bedroom and clumsily banged his way down the stairs. Probably intending to sleep on the couch, Lisa thought. "Damn you, Ray!" she cried, her frustration causing her to sob for the second time that day. (iv.) Ray had left the house long before she stirred. She searched the house for a note, a message of apology or explanation, but found nothing. She caught herself staring at the kettle which had boiled nearly ten minutes before... she hadn't noticed, she was so lost in her own bitter thoughts. "It's over," she said to herself. "It's over," again, louder the second time, her confidence growing. There were no tears as she removed her wedding ring, violently tossing it across the room. She began to decide on a positive plan of action. Firstly, she would change the locks; Ray was not coming back, that was for certain. Secondly, she would call her lawyer and set the wheels of divorce in motion. The final part of the plan, the part she doubted she could actually make happen, was to find her mysterious fantasy lover and have him. But how would she do that? All she had was a glimpse of him, no name, no address, and not a single clue as to the stranger's identity. And even if she could find him, what if the feelings didn't return, so strong though they were the day before? Could the instantaneous, passionate emotions be duplicated? She groaned aloud at the possibility she would never again experience such exhilaration. Now, dear reader, I must interject my own voice here to point out the relevance of Lisa's story to the tale as a whole. You see, if Lisa had Ray locked out, that meant that, on the night of Halloween 1998, it was Ray who was the intruder, the burglar. That night he telephoned me to voice his suspicions about Lisa? That was the night he came home to find the locks changed. He never once told me this. Me, his own mother! You see now how everything is different? But does this mean that Ray deserved the punishment Sebastian has so efficiently dealt? I think not. For all his faults, for all his idiotic, simple-minded selfishness, his dullness, his brutality, Ray didn't deserve what happened. But that's for later. Now though, I must take you to the place where Lisa met her dream man, Sebastian, for the second time. I hope that, in my account of this, I do justice to his power, his attraction. I felt it too, despite my fear and loathing; I felt it stirring desires that I'd imagined would lay dormant forever. In his presence, knowing his attentions are upon you, you cannot help but feel awakened... invigorated, almost. Oh, such a creature, such an evil yet seductive creature! You must recall how I initially described him as rotten. How wrong was I? Indeed, his true nature is not easily disguised from the forces of nature, hence the death of my little plant; but to look at him, he is a wonder. His gentle bones, his translucent skin, his wide, succulent lips and dark, dark eyes. I must confess to a certain amount of infatuation, to the point perhaps where my story had become biased, veered away from its true purpose. But having met the man, and having listened to his tale, and his account of Lisa's tale, how else can I write all this? The tale has become a far darker, tragic tale than I'd first imagined. My son, too, has proven to be rather less than blameless. I truly do not know which surprises me more. Ah yes, where was I? That's it  the moment Lisa and Sebastian exchanged their first words together. (v.) Out of sheer desperation, rather than considered strategy, she decided to return to the street where she had first laid eyes on him, the stranger. She felt awkward and clumsy leaning against a shop window, hoping against all the odds that he would pass by for a second time. Guessing that she'd seen him at around half past four in the afternoon the previous day, and seeing that time approaching again, her hopes rose higher than she deemed sensible. Sensible, however, was not a factor in her emotions at the moment. What she wanted -- what she needed -- was love, romance, and maybe a little adventure. She wanted to feel like a woman again, an exotic, beautiful, sensual being with emotions and desires. The crowds walked past her, swarming. There were many men who would have been suitable replacements for Ray, but not the one she was looking for. But then, as if he'd heard her cries the night before, she saw him. He strode purposefully through the crowd in a straight line. People were moving out of his way, recognizing, subconsciously at least, his authority. Her heart again flipped in her chest, a rush of adrenaline breaking her out in a mild sweat. "Wait!" she yelled, suddenly very self-conscious. He didn't see her, so she began chasing after him. "Wait, please! I need to talk to you!" Then, as suddenly as her dream man had appeared, she became paranoid, embarrassed at the ludicrousness of the situation. Polite women did not approach complete strangers and offer themselves wholeheartedly. But the damage was done, as she had caught his attention. "Hello?" he said, a pleasant smile on his face. "Look, I'm sorry - this is all very..." Her mouth was so dry she could barely speak. "I'm Sebastian." "Oh! Oh - er, Hi! I'm Lisa," she said, crimson. "We met yesterday, didn't we?" He'd remembered the eye contact! By now she was so exhilarated, so nervous, she believed she wouldn't be able to hold herself together for much longer. She said, "Look, this must all sound very stupid of me, but I think - er, what I mean to say is..." "It's all right, Lisa. I know what you're saying. Do you want to have lunch with me?" "Yes!" she yelled, and then again, a little more softly, less desperate. "I'd love to." (vi.) They sat together in a cafe, talking to each other. That's not correct, really -- in reality, she told him all she could about herself, whilst he simply listened, occasionally interjecting a question. "So, where's your husband now?" "Oh, Ray..." She glanced at her watch, noticing that by now he would know he'd been locked out of the house. "He's homeless." "I've seen that story played out a million times," he said. "Always the same: Love turned sour." "I don't know where it went wrong." "You tried your best. What else could you do?" "I can't believe it has ended like this though. I thought we'd be together forever." "Forever?" he said. His eyes lit. "Naive, I know. But yes, I thought we'd never be apart." "If I said we could be together forever, and I mean forever, what would you say?" She looked at him, examining his face; in her mind she caressed it with her hands, the touch electric. "I would say I'd like that very much." She spoke softly, as if the words were a contract. "We should go," he said. "Do you want to go back to your home tonight?" "No, I don't." "Do you want to come with me?" "Yes, I do." "Lisa," he said. "You have to be sure -- there's more to me than meets the eye. Some people can't handle it." She surprised herself; she believed him. From another man, that would have been an obnoxious boast, but from Sebastian? Anything was possible, she was sure. Slowly but surely, she was becoming his, and there was precious little she intended to do about it, other than run with the feelings. "I'm prepared to give it a go." "Good. Then let's go." (vii.) She moaned with the pleasure of his kisses on her body, as if he were leaving no part of her untouched. His tongue weaving spells, entrancing her, embracing her. They passed no words between each other, their passion requiring no verbal acknowledgement. Both were content to leave unsaid what they both knew to be true. The location for this liaison would not be worthy of mention had I not needed to rule out Lisa's home and the Erotisphere as possibilities. The hotel room was plush and expensive, offering the kind of privacy and luxury only the truly wealthy can ever afford. He brought her expertly to climax, again and again, his tongue deftly teasing her, exploring her clitoris until the silence was broken with her gasps. It went on all night, each taking turns to give each other as great a pleasure as was humanly possible. They fell asleep in each other's arms, without uttering a single syllable. It was not a romantic encounter. It was fucking, plain and simple, but it was no lesser an experience for both. The rawness, the honesty - it was the single most satisfying sexual encounter Lisa had ever indulged in. She had never had sex like that before, not even in her fantasies. If it wasn't true before, it was now. She was his, forever and ever. (viii.) In the weeks that followed, in the run up to Halloween, Lisa quickly learned a little of Sebastian's true nature. At first it was little things, like haphazardly dropped hints and mistakes he had made. Most importantly, she knew nothing of Sebastian's life before they had met, and this troubled her. She didn't even know how old he was, as he had no answer for her. Her revelation came, as with me, by visiting the Erotisphere. As I have said, this is a place of horrors, not love, but just as I'm certain Sebastian took her there, so I am certain that he controls it, guards its secrets, allows the 'Sphere to show only the aspects he wishes to be seen. In my meeting with him, Sebastian told me little of Lisa's journey or the subsequent days that led up to what he called "The Great Travesty". He told me that his own pain came not from the damage Ray inflicted upon his back, but what Ray's actions denied to his wife. Gone uninterrupted, Lisa would have been made immortal, to live forever at his side. I asked him, "Is that still not possible?" To which he replied, "No, Eleanor. I had begun the ritual that must be completed without interruption, without human soiling." "Soiling?" "He infected it, desecrated the union we were forming." He hung his head low, and I believed him. In my son's ignorance, he had condemned Sebastian to a life of loneliness, having to watch the woman he loved (and he did love her, of that I can be sure) age and eventually die. Ray also took away from Lisa the single greatest gift anyone could possibly be given. I, however, still had questions. "But, if this is the case, why did you laugh when he burst in?" "Laugh? I assure you, Madam, there was no laughter. I wept, wept a million tears for our love." He painted a picture of words for me, a picture that illustrated perfectly the terrible, terrible tragedy that took place that Halloween night. The story he told began, as Ray has said himself, with Lisa gagged, blindfolded, and bound to the bed. Sebastian's explanation was absurdly simple: "It was symbolic," he said, "of her devotion to me." Why her bedroom, I asked, and not in the 'Sphere? He had no answer for this. Was it black magic, I asked? Again, he told me it was an ancient ritual, involving incantations, blood and his own powers. He would not be probed on details, except to say that the most crucial part of the ceremony, the gruesome exchange of fluids, was not to be interrupted. His semen, his blood, his saliva, his breath... all had to be passed to her, quickly, without another's influence. She was to consume his essence in its purity if the ritual was to succeed... she would have to inhale his soul. It was reaching the finale when Ray arrived; the incantations were done, Sebastian was ready to ejaculate, and so he reached up with his hand to remove the gag so that she could taste of his blood and sweat. Whatever powers Sebastian had summoned were already present, witnessing and blessing the dark ritual. I remember Ray had said something of them, the shadows in the room, watching. Be that as it may, they were the gatekeepers to Lisa's immortality, and they were only going to give her once chance. Suddenly, Sebastian heard Ray's angry shouts. He'd broken down the front door, fully intending to wreak terrible harm on Lisa. "Keep away, damn you!" Sebastian cried, hoping his influence would extend to the man at this most crucial moment. He felt his erection soften, and that, dear reader, is when the panic set in. "Lisa?" Ray yelled. "Have you got some man in there?" He was climbing the stairs, his heavy, drunken steps echoing throughout the house. Lisa, on hearing his voice, screamed against her gag, knowing he would spoil everything. "So help me God, Ray! Keep away! You have no idea what you're doing!" Hurriedly, he removed Lisa's gag and moved into position to finish the ritual. Lisa was crying; she knew it was going to be ruined. And it was. As Sebastian's breath flowed into her, filling her, Ray burst the door open, and Lisa felt it instantly... the contamination in the air, the dirt, the impurity. "What the..." Ray stood, red-faced, his anger and confusion visibly distorting his features. Sebastian's own face curled into a snarl, his lips drawn back over his gums, revealing his elongated, piercing teeth. His head thrown back, he roared his rage until the shadows -- the presences in the room -- shared his anguish; they began circling the room, panicked, a maelstrom of suffering souls. The contamination was now affecting Lisa. Where previously she had felt Sebastian's power flowing into her, protecting her. Now the feelings dissipated; every corrupted molecule of Ray's breath causing searing, burning pain in her partially transformed body. She screamed. "What have you done to her?" Ray said, bellowing but terrified at the unnatural scene. I wonder if he actually saw the spirits in the room at this point. Perhaps he did not. Perhaps his mind was always too dull to see such things. "Get out of here, Mortal, or I shall inflict upon you suffering like you could not possibly imagine." Sebastian spat his words, and the sincerity of them was in little doubt. At them, Ray fled. Sebastian turned his attentions back to his lover, who was at this point suffering from the painful removal of all of his divine influence. "I'm sorry, my dear. I could not prevent it." Lisa wept loudly, her pain and frustration too much to bear. Sebastian rested his head on her chest, whispering his love to her. Even in his own eyes, he found tears, the first for centuries. It was then that Ray returned, armed this time. Sebastian had not expected it, but perhaps the spirits did. They revealed themselves, and their malice, to Ray. He broke. There was madness in his eyes, a true insanity. But the spirits had done all they could to protect the man who'd summoned them, for Ray leapt viciously onto the bed and set to work making lethal lacerations in Sebastian's back. If Sebastian screamed at this, it was not the pain that caused him to do so. It was the humiliation, the injustice, and the senseless tragedy. He vowed, there and then, that, whatever happened in the future, Ray would pay dearly for his crime. PART THREE The Final Approach (i.) I grow weary of telling this story, for I do not know who I should believe any more. In the previous part, I have completely ruined the reputation of my own son, and have raised Sebastian and Lisa on a pedestal as tragic lovers. I started this tale hoping to reveal the truth of what happened to my boy, the great vengeance Sebastian inflicted, but now I see everything that has happened has done so with predictable reason. How mistaken was I, to sit in this wretched apartment, pronouncing my judgement on the affairs of the hearts of others. In retrospect, whilst I feel awful that I cannot save Ray, I must confess my desire to see him freed has lessened. Maybe -- and this is something I've been thinking about a great deal as I write this - maybe my infatuation with Sebastian has clouded my thoughts, my beliefs. That would explain why he did me no harm in the 'Sphere; he wanted me to tell his truth, overriding my own. But, alas, this is not the case. Sebastian's word is true; I know this sincerely. His loneliness, his own suffering for such an awfully long time, watching those whom he has loved wither and crumble to dust... or worse. As I have said before, Sebastian has a great many secrets, of which the Erotisphere itself is merely one. I am at a loss to describe it. Not simply its appearance, which defies explanation; although, in time, I shall attempt it. But its very existence is an enigma. It was as if it wasn't a place, but a state of being, manifested. I suppose you are imagining a giant ball, but it is nothing so simple. It's a sphere like atmosphere or stratosphere; it's another layer, perhaps beneath our own. I have a feeling we've all been to the 'Sphere at some point in our lives. There was something familiar about it, as if I recognized a location from the darkest recesses of my own, long since dead fantasies. It's a place of love and lust, desires and fears. As I have said, I am at a loss to explain it. Perhaps Sebastian himself isn't its master; perhaps he is an inhabitant, a conquering invader taking a portion of it as his own. Ah, but this talk of the Erotisphere is carrying me away from the story... the events that followed that fateful Halloween night. I would confuse you further if I don't put all this mess into context. (ii.) You recall I told you of Lisa's seduction of Ray a week prior to the anniversary of the great tragedy. When I first told you of this, I imagined, as you probably did, that she had become undead like Sebastian, and that she was acting under his orders. It seems nothing could be further from the truth. In the months following the incident, Ray claimed the house back as his own, returning as quickly as possible to normality. He glazed over the truth of that night's events, blanking them out efficiently and effectively. The insanity of his brutality passed, but there was a part of him that never returned. I know this, because I am his mother. Something had died in him, but I don't know what that something was. Maybe -- and this is pure guesswork -- it was his hope that left him. On the infrequent occasions when we met, I sensed a certain hollowness, an aching void that would never be filled. I will never know if more time would have healed his wounds, for he had only a year in which to try. Oh, the whole mess was so pointless, so damaging, and for what? I'm sure Ray's current predicament offers Sebastian no real pleasure, and Lisa is very much lost in this world. Ah yes, Lisa. Dear, sweet, tragic Lisa. Have I changed my tune? I certainly have, haven't I? I now feel a sisterhood between us, for I know that, in her position, I would have acted just exactly the same. This is frightening to me, for I know how sour this whole affair has turned. Let me turn to Lisa's life, which turned from magical, to tragic, to horrifying at a shocking pace. She moved out of her house, hoping to live with Sebastian, immortal or not. But, it turned out she had a disappointment coming, and it was one that would change her irreversibly. She arrived, almost a week after the incident, at Sebastian's apartment. (Yes, the one on the ground floor of this building.) There was no journey to the 'Sphere this time, however. Instead, she found a tiny, empty dwelling, devoid of furniture and light. "Sebastian?" she called softly, worried that her theory - that Sebastian would have survived his injuries - was incorrect. "Leave me alone." There, in the darkest corner, a figure slumped; nursing its battered form. "Oh, you're alive!" She skipped towards him, jubilated. "Stop!" There was anger in his voice. "You must go." She stopped, mortified. "But -- why? What have I done?" "It is not what you have done, my sweet. It is what your wretched husband did." "But, I don't care if I grow old! I just want to be with you for as long as I live." Crying now, rejected. "Please, Sebastian. Don't do this to me." "You don't understand, Lisa. I cannot bear the hurt; I have done this many, many times before, and I have failed each and every time." "You haven't failed anybody!" "No, Lisa. That's not true." He looked at her, his eyes wet in the darkness. "Do you not want me to see you crying? I don't mind." "Don't make me scare you away, Lisa. You have to trust me -- you must go on without me." "Why, Sebastian? I don't understand! I love you." "I cannot stand to lose you to old age, Lisa. I am too old; I have seen so much suffering." "You said there was another way -- something else we could try." "No, no. Not for you, Lisa. You are too beautiful for the Erotisphere. You are needed in the real world." "The Erotisphere?" "Trust me, you don't want to know." "But I do! Please, if there's a way I can stay with you, I'll do it, no matter the cost!" Sebastian sighed, and to Lisa it appeared the shadow that veiled him grew, plunging him further into his isolation. She stepped back at this, afraid; her tears, of which she'd seen so many in the past month, again flowing freely. "You would not say that," he said, "if you knew what a price you would pay." "I don't care," she said, weeping. "I'll pay it, I promise." "Then I shall show you, if that is what you wish." (iii.) It took Lisa over 11 months to escape the Erotisphere. It held her captive as it now holds my son. Without Sebastian to bring her out, she had been trapped, lost, and helpless. She emerged on the 21st of October 1999, ragged and disheveled. Her eyes were glazed, her skin toughened and bruised with a myriad of intricate markings that subtly tattooed her; the 'Sphere had changed her. Her devotion to Sebastian was now greater than ever, even though he'd abandoned her, left her to spend eternity waiting for him. What she intended to do, hoping it would win back his favor, was this: For the anniversary of the disaster, she would do what Sebastian had threatened to do that night. She was going to take revenge. Everything she had suffered, everything she had been denied, had been Ray's fault and Ray's fault alone. With her, she carried the tools of her vengeance -- Sebastian's semen and blood, along with her own fluids that now contained a measure of power, although, outside of the 'Sphere, she wondered how potent they would be. She had learned the trick she was to perform during the many hours spent waiting for Sebastian's return to the 'Sphere. Was she sane? I seriously doubt it. I've been in the 'Sphere myself; I've felt its fingers probing me, changing me. Have I not changed since I began this tale? I think I have. Lisa's plan was this: She would offer Ray to Sebastian as a gift, at which point he would take her back into his beautiful, extraordinary arms. What she had been denied, she would inflict upon Ray. Her goal was not simply to make him immortal, for that would be a blessing. Instead, she hoped that her fluids, her knowledge, and her limited powers would remake Ray in her image, transforming him into a duplicate of herself. Then, Sebastian would have his mate. Then, things would be better. If you had seen her in the days she was free of the 'Sphere, you'd have run a mile. She had been touched by the supernatural, the same forces that sustained her lover. She reeked of it, exuded it; she could not escape the massive rebuilding it had made to her very being. She was a part of the 'Sphere now, and she would never be anything else. I'm sorry, dear reader. This is all so confusing, I know. Perhaps, had I explained a little of what I saw in the Erotisphere, this would make more sense. But I think this is better; I show you the symptoms before the disease itself. (iv.) I need not tell you again how Lisa passed her vile poison to my son, for Ray, in his remaining last moments in the real world, gave me a pretty accurate account of the event. It was at this time that he gave me his full confession, the one that formed the original interpretation of this story. How glad I am now that I did not rely completely on it, for this would have been a much poorer tale. After Lisa seduced and passed Ray her potion - you'll remember she carried it in a plastic capsule at the top of her mouth - the Erotisphere claimed her back. Again, I do not know the exact details of how this happened; Sebastian was deliberately evasive on the subject, but I sensed it had claimed her. In my head, I imagined the foul spirits that attended the evil ritual that Ray spoiled to be responsible, but that is pure conjecture. In the days that followed, as Ray began to slowly transform, he never knew the pain she would endure for her venture outside of the 'Sphere. I doubt, however, that he would have cared. Sebastian said that Lisa has been rewarded for her efforts, and that she was now free of any suffering. I probed him on this, desperate for words of comfort. "I do not know where she is now," he said, his voice low. "Is she here?" I was referring to the Erotisphere, where I had this conversation with him. "I doubt it," was all he could offer. My thoughts have become cloudy; I have realized, suddenly, that perhaps Sebastian is not to blame for my son's condition. His role in the suffering of my son is minor. I see now that he is not the master of the Erotisphere, nor Lisa's master either. Like me, he is perhaps an innocent, a lost soul searching for a love that would not die, nor fade, nor leave him. It's as if I was so certain of his guilt for such a long time that I was not prepared to accept any other truth. Oh, oh, but then I remember the horrors... his "experiments". You know, reader, that Sebastian had attempted his ritual many, many times - the same ritual, in fact, that made him what he is today. He had not succeeded even once. Sometimes it was his own impurity, his own promiscuity, that soured the process, leaving his would-be lovers wretched, wounded messes. Do not mistake me. Sebastian has committed a great many selfish, arrogant, conceited sins for which, I hope, he burns. (v.) There has been a catharsis in the writing of this story, as I've rushed to explain the background, then gone back to correct my own misconceptions. I've hinted at the nature of the Erotisphere and indeed the nature of Sebastian Connell himself. I've described, in detail, Lisa's journey from bored housewife to God-only-knows-what now -- or, for that matter, where she is now. I've told you how Sebastian's latest chance at a mate for all eternity was taken from him, stolen... by my son. But now, the moment I've been dreading. Strange that I would be so reluctant to write the part of the story that is the one single reason it exists. If you'll remember, I left Ray pondering his unusual reflection in his bathroom mirror. Knowing what you now know, you may have guessed that the peculiarity was not, as he had believed, a simple trick of the unusual evening light. It was, in fact, the very first part of his gradual transformation from man to woman, from Ray to Lisa-Ray -- a perfect duplicate, as a gift to Sebastian. He first discovered there was more to his puzzling appearance, as I have said before, when he raised his coffee cup to his lips and realized immediately that he'd not shaved, yet his face was perfectly smooth. Panicking, he almost dropped the cup in shock. He controlled his nerves, though, and rushed back to the mirror for a second opinion. It was true. He had no beard growth, and not even a trace of stubble. He thought it strange that he had missed such an obvious difference in his appearance, but, then again, he had two gaping wounds in his neck to distract him. It was then that he remembered the fluid, the taste of which still could be found in the crevices of his mouth. He would not have thought anything more of it had he not also remembered the previous year's Halloween. The images, like a hallucination, haunted him. His wife in bondage, her rapist (as he saw it), and the shadows that circled the room. Their wrath at his interference. Yes, the images haunted him daily, a curse he could not forget. He did not understand what he had witnessed and had no comprehension of the damage he'd done. But, he connected the lack of beard growth and the oversleeping to Lisa's reappearance the night before. Would she appear again, inducing further changes in him? The lack of beard had not disturbed him greatly; nothing else had been touched. It was a gift, perhaps, liberating him from the burden of daily shaving. Looking in the mirror though, his bald chin seemed overly smooth, the skin lacking the nicks and scars of a lifetime of shaving. The underlying shape remained and it was his chin all right, but he looked younger, like he was eighteen again. He decided, there and then, Lisa had returned to give him the gift of youth. He blew her a kiss, hoping that, w