Free Read: Queen of Samhain

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It’s been a while since I posted a free read. Sorry about that. We’ve been busy under the rock with one thing or another. The original version of today’s free read first appeared in Wicked Karnival Halloween Horrors back in 2005. This revised version appeared in Magus Press’ The Sound of Horror. This free read also became the inspiration for my first novel, The Black Act. Hope you enjoy. And a Happy Mother’s Day to all the Moms out there.



Queen of Samhain

“Lord, woman,” Anna wiped Claire’s feverish brow with a damp cloth, “how this obsession has aged you. I barely recognize you.”

A weak smile crossed the withered face of her twin. “I could have fought this wasting of my body, had the Guild not stripped me of my charms.” She ran a waxy hand down Anna’s sculpted cheek, as a violent cough seized her and pulled Claire away from the straw mattress.

Leaning forward on the hard, rail-back chair, Anna rubbed between the ailing witch’s shoulder blades. “It is not your body, but your soul that is languishing.” She brushed a lock of ginger-grey hair from her sibling’s sweat soaked neck. “I told you not to return to the woods after nightfall. Our kind is forbidden from joining in the revelries of the forest people. We are taught that from birth.”

Lying back against her burlap pillow, Claire nodded and closed her glazed, green eyes. “I have betrayed the Oath of the Wise Women. I am a disgrace to the Guild.”

Anna stroked the side of her sister’s head and listened to her breathing deepen. “There is talk of sending you into exile.”

“I know.” Claire turned her head toward the small window carved into the thick wall of the two-room cabin. “I will not live to see exile. That is why I need your help.”

The gnarled fingers of her feeble twin encircled Anna’s wrist with a desperate strength. “I am too weakened to complete the task myself.”

Rising from her chair, Anna sat beside her fragile sister on the tiny, driftwood cot. “What is it you would ask of me?”

Their eyes met and the hunger, the madness, in Claire’s gaze made her shiver. “I have trespassed in the sacred oak grove, sister.” She bowed her head. “I have captured his queen.”

Straightening her brown, muslin skirt, Anna folded her hands in her lap. “This is not your only secret. I know you have been to the exiles’ camp, beyond the boundary of our hidden valley.”

The weakened sorceress fidgeted with the dark, woolen blanket tucked across her breasts. “I know the Guild will never see my motives as valid, but you can understand my reasons can’t you? I must have him.” Her gaze lifted from her lap, and tears dampened her ashen cheeks. “Once you’ve laid with him …” She squashed her crumpled face into her palm and sobbed inside the protection of her hand. “His charm is like a sickness.”

Standing, Anna walked to the scant pane of glass, and watched the afternoon sun filter through the furry limbs of nearby pines. “The Oak King is best forgotten, sister. You would be wise to set his consort free and let her return to the underworld, before the rising of Samhain eve.”

“But I can be his queen forever, if you will help me perform the Rite of Transformation.”

Anna turned to face the foolish witch, with lips pulled tight in a thin, angry slit. “That is considered a black act by the Guild. If we are caught, it could mean execution, never mind exile.”

Claire’s eyes darted away, but not before Anna caught the spark of lunatic hope smoldering within.

Crossing the short distance to her sister, Anna stood over the bed, folding her arms tightly across the starched bib of her apron. “How did you manage to catch the Queen of the Forest? Was this another trick the exiles’ taught you?”

“She ascends three days before the waking of the dead at Samhain. To rouse the King from his autumn slumber in the sacred grove. To take him below to prepare for the rising of the departed. I waited for her, at the entrance of the clustered oaks …”

“Where is she now?”

Claire shimmied up the rough headboard, clutching the meager blankets tight to her skeletal frame. “In the storage shed out back. I have shackled her in iron.” Her large eyes dropped from Anna’s; her cracked bottom lip trembled. “The metal will not injure her. It only binds her to a physical form.”

Shaking her head, Anna sat, and wrapped her long fingers around the waning wise woman’s shoulders. She stared deep into Claire’s eyes, searching for a scrap of the sage, reserved woman that once dwelled within. “The exiles have taught you well indeed. Tell me then,” she pulled back from her lost sibling, “how did you not wake the King when you took his lady?”

Claire looked away. “I was quiet and quick.”

Dread built a tight cocoon around Anna’s heart. She and Claire had never harbored secrets from one another. “You cloak your mind, so I cannot see your deeds, your heart.”

Scowling, Anna rose from the bed and rubbed her tingling arms as she paced. Claire swung her legs over the edge of the straw mattress, and caught her about the waist as she passed.

“You still haven’t answered me. Time grows short. I must have the Queen’s blood before the full moon blooms this Samhain eve.”

Anna pushed her away gently. Her hands fluttered to the nape of her neck, tucking wisps of coppery hair back into her loose bun. “What choice do I have?” Defeated, she dropped her head. “Without the transformation, you will perish. Tell me what I must do.”

A crafty smile split the face of her dying twin. “I have the tools for the sacrifice underneath the bed. Would you bend and retrieve them for me, sister?”

Anna dipped to her knees, keeping her gaze fixed on the crazed Wise Woman. She tucked her arms beneath the meager cot. Her left hand fell upon something cold and metallic. The fingers of her right hand brushed against a rough, wooden surface. She gripped the hidden items and dragged them out. Her palm slipped down the onyx-handled dagger, pledged to Claire on their mother’s deathbed. Beside it, sat a freshly carved birch bowl. Anna removed the silver-and-ebony dirk from its sheath and inspected the fine, steel edge.

“The blade that ends her life must be sacred to me.” With a sheepish, yet wild-eyed look, Claire leaned over the bed and scooped up the plain basin in her trembling palms.

“Stab her in the heart. It is the seat of a wood spirit’s essence. Bring the life fluid to me in this.”

Anna clipped the scabbard to a small, silver belt beneath her apron, and took the vessel Claire held out to her. “And what becomes of me, dear sister, after your transformation is complete?” She clutched the bowl tight against her chest.

Claire fiddled with the ragged neckline of her nightgown. Her gaze darted toward the worn floorboards. “I will see you safely out of the valley. I will not leave you for the wrath of the Guild.”

Hands flexing against the rounded sides of the basin, Anna let out a bitter rush of breath. “Your mortal spirit will die, Claire, as you take on the Wood Woman’s form. You’ll barely remember me after the change…Let alone worry for my well-being.” Turning toward the main room of the cottage, she left the dim, cramped bedroom without a glance back at her broken twin.

The door to their shanty groaned in feeble protest, as she swung it back on its rusted hinges. A sudden, autumn wind picked up as Anna stepped out onto the makeshift stoop. Eyes narrowed, she stared at the slat board storage shed, tucked against the nearby tree line of pine and fir.

The dark, towering trees swayed in the late-afternoon breeze, brushing the roof of the shack. As Anna drew closer, she could hear the muted groans of the worn, cedar boards. She drew the dagger as her hand fell on the shed door, feeling little comfort from the weapon.

As she worked the rusted wire away from the corroded hasp for the second time that day, faint, guttural and anxious whispers came from within. Her fist tightened on the haft of the blade, as the crumbling cable slid from the lock and fell to the dirt at her feet. Anna dug her nails into the soft wood, and heaved the entrance open.

Inside, weak shafts of deep golden light poured through the gaps in the faded, uneven walls. Fat motes of pollen and dust floated in the thick air. And nestled in a gloomy corner, avoided by the amber sunbeams, was the Queen.

She went by many names; Queen of the Otherworld, Lady of the Dead, but her station remained constant. She was the consort of the Oak King, Lord of Abundance and Bounty. She was the dark to his light. He was the day to her night. For as long as the Wise Women had existed in the secret valley, they had been taught to respect this balance of Woodland Royalty. But Claire’s dalliance, and subsequent obsession, with the Oak King, now threatened to shatter this natural equilibrium.

The Queen stood, unfurling her long, bluish-grey body as she stepped from the shadows. Anna stepped back and watched her slip, with unnatural grace, toward the center of the storage hut. Streaks of dusty-blue mold grew in the hollows of her sharp cheeks, and down the length of her spidery arms and legs. Fat, wormy branches of orange lichen sprouted from her scalp, and fell over her shoulders in a vivid, straggly carpet. Her eyes were wide, opaque toadstools of black. Their thick, dark caps fluttered with silent anger, shooting pebble spores that floated to the dirt floor and wriggled through the hard earth, burying themselves quickly. She was an organic universe, and Anna regarded her with quiet awe. Never, on the other side of the wooden walls of the shack, speaking with this Wood Nymph in the early morn, had she expected such odd, frightening, yet strangely ethereal otherworld beauty.

Anna’s gaze dropped to the heavy, iron shackles encircling the Queen’s slender, fungal wrists and ankles. Her gaze followed the lengths of chains to a fat, long spike hammered into the ground, near the farthest corner of the shed.

Anna lowered to her haunches, placing the dagger and basin before her, just beyond the reach of the wood spirit. “I should set you free.”

The forest monarch nodded. “You should, but you won’t.”

Anna frowned as the lithe, wood wisp cocked her head and gave a vague, smug smile. “Perhaps I will let you go. I could deny Claire her foolish wish. The wasting will bring death to her soon, I am sure. Her mad infatuation would end, and I would have peace of mind.”

The Queen knelt in front of her, and skulked closer on all four, spongy limbs. “Aye, that would be wise.”

Anna gathered the bowl and weapon into her lap and scrambled back. The lengths of chain appeared to grow, and the Queen’s mossy fingers brushed up against her leg.

“But tell me, witch woman, what will make your heart ache more?” She tossed her head, and her slimy curls squirmed like slugs as they brushed across the earthen floor. “To watch your beloved twin slowly die, or to spill the blood of a forest nymph you despise?”

Anna shimmied away from the touch of her cold, rapid breath. “I do not despise you. I respect the balance your kind maintains, and the code that stands between our people.”

A low, raspy cackle came from the Queen. “If you truly valued these tenets you speak of, you would not be here now, brandishing a knife and ready to pierce my heart.”

Anna’s hands fell from her lap, and her tools of sacrifice tumbled onto the packed dirt between them. “Why is it I cannot deny Claire? I cannot fathom the punishment that will answer this horrible crime of mine, yet I am driven to commit it for her.” She cried into her open palms.

“Do not grieve, child.” The Queen’s rough, velvet touch caressed her neck, and she shivered. “Perhaps the Oak King was enticed as much by your sister, as she was bewitched by him. I think we both know Claire has been practicing the black arts far longer than she will admit. Her beguiling ways have caught up with her.”

“Still, I must try to save her, wretched though she may be.” The smell of rotting pumpkins filled her nostrils, as Anna gathered up the dagger and basin and slowly stood.

Slinking back into her shadowed corner, the Queen nodded sagely. “Just remember, witch, balance always finds a way to restore itself. What happens now, don’t mistake, it was meant to happen. The Curse of Goddard ran far deeper with its taint than we, the Fae Folk, sensed, admitted. What needs to be done, we have ignored for far too long. Cleansing…we knew it then, long ago, but we chose to ignore it, hoped his discarnate spite would wither and fade, or pass to the Summerlands…”

A calm coldness spread through her body, and Anna plunged forward into the deep murk where the forest nymph waited, as the Queen’s words faded into nothingness. She went with eyes closed, letting her intuition guide her. She clutched the dirk with hands that felt awkward and young.

There came a low, sinister laugh to her left, and then her right. Coarse, icy palms cupped her neck, and a murmured chorus of jumbled words seeped into her mind. Anna concentrated on shutting out the distracting glamour. Her fingers itched against the blade.

She hollered out as she whirled around and lunged forward. The dagger found its mark and there was a wet, ripping sound. Black blood jutted from the ragged tear in the center of the Queen’s chest, spraying the front of Anna’s apron. The wood wisp shuttered, and a weak moan gurgled up from her throat. She staggered back, and slumped into a pile of soft, spoiled pumpkins from the final harvest.

Anna dropped her weapon. Quiet tears spilled down her cheeks as she skittered to the corpse, jabbing the basin beneath the wound with shaky hands. “Forgive me.” She looked into the pool of dark liquid collected, and then backed away from the fallen fae.

The shack door slammed shut behind her as she left. Anna jumped, letting out a tiny yelp. The ebony fluid sloshed dangerously close to the edge of the bowl, and she stopped to steady her grip. The moon’s silver light reflected off the murky pool, and she stared at its wavering image.

How did so much time pass? she wondered. The small hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She could not have been more than half an hour in the shed. Anna was sure of that, yet three hours of daylight had somehow slipped away. The full Samhain moon rose high over the silhouette of the distant mountains.

She pulled her attention away from the deepening, indigo sky and picked up her pace, casting a nervous glance behind her as she scampered toward the cabin. The dirt crunched beneath her feet as she drew closer, echoing like thunder in her ears.

The tip of her buttoned boot touched the porch platform as the earth beneath her trembled, and a deep rumbling came from behind her. Anna clutched the full vessel tight against her midriff, and slid her foot away from the stoop.

“Wise woman, what have you done?”

Her heart froze in her chest.

“Turn and face me. You must answer for your deed.”

Anna held her breath until her lungs burned, preparing herself for what was to come, and then turned.

“Lift your head. I must judge your callous act by the guilt in your eyes.”

Anna obeyed, taking in the looming presence of the Oak King. His yellow, hawkish glare bore into her. His pale, Oak-bark brows were drawn together in a frown of bitter sadness.

His massive, tree trunk legs brought him a step nearer. He cocked his head, and his fuzz dappled antlers traced willowy shadows across the ground in front of her, as they played with the climbing moonlight.

Anna’s eyes dropped to his snaky, clubbed feet, and she followed the trail of his white, wide roots with her gaze. They disappeared into a large, jagged hole behind him. Beyond the lip of this chasm, she spied a set of earthen stairs leading down into the underworld.

“You have killed my consort.” The words came out impassive, but she could feel the acrid despair that haunted his undertone. “The consequences will be great.”

Her response caught in her throat, strangled by the gnarled barbs of fear. Anna dropped her head and folded her hands low against her waist. “What will you do to Claire?”

He laughed and stepped closer, wrapping his smooth, icy palm around her shoulder. “Always concern for your sister, yet what care has she for you? You’ve come to commit her crime, despite the danger it has put you in.”

Through the thick fabric of her dress, her skin tingled beneath his touch. A deep, distant pain gnawed inside her arm, spreading up her neck and down her side.

“Still, you both must pay if the balance of the forest is to be restored.”

Anna tried to cry out, but nothing came. She tried to flee, but the Wood Man ensnared her wrist in a feathery, branchlike grip, pulling her tight against his chest.

“A life in exchange for a life.” His thorny fingernails dug into her arm, “That is how it is with the forest people. The dead must rise tonight, attended by the Oak King and his Queen. They shall walk among the living this Samhain, as they have since time forgotten.”

“Then I must get the Queen’s blood to Claire.” She struggled to lift her face from his clammy skin. In a slow, dreamy instant, she realized her hands were empty and wet. Somehow, she had dropped the vital life fluid.

“It is not that simple, I am afraid. Your sister must be punished, not rewarded.” The forest ruler took her chin in his hand. “Besides, my love, are your lips not already stained with the essence of my departed lady?”

His voice came through a haze, and Anna raised her fingertips to her numbed lips. They came away wet and sticky, and an unpleasant fire throbbed in her mouth. “You,” she closed her eyes, and her head spun with a fog of frantic thought, “tricked me.” An absent tickling crawled over her scalp, and she dug her fingers into her thick knot of hair. Her hand came away with scraps of moist flesh and russet curls clinging to it. “What are you doing to me?” She was disconnected from the pain, and her question seemed to come from the lips of another.

“The change will not take long.” The Oak King pushed her back from him, but held fast to her arms. A wide, long-toothed grin spread across his angular face. “Be patient.”

There was a soft pop, and Anna’s ruined eyes dribbled down her cheeks. All went black for a moment, until jet toadstools sprouted from her emptied sockets, and she saw with the preternatural vision of a wood wisp. Something damp and coarse slithered down her neck, and slippery limbs of lichen burrowed underneath her dress, tearing the starched material away from her reshaped form.

“Can you walk, my lady?”

Whispers filled her head as he lifted her into his smooth, large arms. The cool breath of the dead brushed against Anna’s newly transformed body, as the Oak King carried her down the crumbling stairwell and into the fissure.

Where are you going? The protest drifted into her head, but it came weak, and almost alien, to the Queen. What are you doing, Anna? In her mind, the nymph watched as Claire sat up in bed, eyes wide with panic.

The Queen wrapped her newborn, moldy arms around the corded neck of her consort. “What fate awaits her, my lord?”

He kissed her pointed chin. “She will forever waste away, crippled by her mad infatuation until her body turns into a living corpse.”

She rested her head against his collarbone. “It is befitting of her transgression.”

They entered a corridor of clay, and phantom limbs reached out from their loamy tombs to stroke the face of the Queen, welcoming her. She brushed their wispy fingers across her lips and smiled.

“Come,” the King ducked beneath a low archway, and they entered a vast, murky chamber, “let us prepare for our ascension.”

The dead sighed in anxious agreement.


Copyright © 2012 Louise Bohmer. All rights reserved. No part of this short story may be distributed, shared, or posted online without the author’s written permission.


Want more horrifying Louise fiction? Why not check out Detritus or Old School?

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The wonderful Carole Lanham, author of The Whisper Jar, has just reviewed the Old School anthology. Carole had some great things to say about this Old School horror collection. She was kind enough to detail what she enjoyed about the stories. Here are her thoughts on my two contributions to Old School:

“Last, but not least, Louise Bohmer lends a haunting touch (along with pitch-perfect editing) to Old School, providing two ghostly tales that ought to be whispered again and again around a crackling campfire on a dark dark night. Oh boy, and they’re a pair of historical pieces too! I can’t help it. I’m a sucker for them. So okay, The Legend of Pierson Point, 1979 doesn’t go back that far in time, just long enough to drape the whole thing in the sort of disquieting fog that tends to whirl around all nasty bits of urban legend, but not long enough to make you feel as though you’re safely beyond it’s spectral grasp. This story reminds me of standing in front of a mirror while murmuring BLOODY MARY BLOODY MARY BLOODY MARY… It’s hard to get any more Old School than that. Then, there’s the fetchingly named, When the Tylwyth Teg Walk Among Us, in which grave-robbers must face the music in 1840 Glastonbury Tor. It’s fearful stuff and a great story to finish things up.” –Carole Lanham, author of The Whisper Jar

You can read the full review here: http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/278825067

Much thanks, Carole!

And you can grab a copy of Old School for your Kindle by clicking the link here or book cover below. Want a print copy? Click here. It’s also for sale on Smashwords during Read An Ebook Week. 50% off, and only one day left!

If you haven’t checked it out already, be sure to read Carole Lanham Talks About Poisoned Powdered Sugar.

Also much thanks to Carole for listing me as one of her choices for Women in Horror Month!

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posted by | on dark fantasy, erotic fiction, erotic romance, erotic romance releases, erotica, folklore, free reads, latest releases, upcoming releases | No comments

Zipping in for a quick blog post before I call it a night early. First off, a peek at the full table of contents for Passion Plays, my erotic romance collection that will be available February 14.

Passion Plays Table Of Contents

Black Silk Stockings
Bio-ink & Blueprint Whores
Kat’s Apprentice
Red Willow
Roberta’s Younger Man
Services Rendered
Tease Time
The Other Woman
Under The Weather

If you’d like to try all these stories before you buy Passion Plays on Valentine’s Day, be sure to download the Passion Plays Teaser for FREE.

And much thanks for all the downloads of the Teaser via Smash and my site! You rock!


Kindlegraph & Amazon Author Page

Would you like me to digitally sign your copy of Old School, Detritus, the Passion Plays Teaser, or the collection when it comes out? You can now put in requests for my digital ink on Kindlegraph:
http://www.kindlegraph.com/authors/louisebohmer

Or check out the new follow me menu in the first sidebar on my site. It also has my Kindlegraph page listed.

And I now have an Amazon author page, which you can visit here: www.amazon.com/author/louisebohmer

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Kate Jonez recently posted the release date for the Detritus anthology. January 13 will be the day you can pick up some Detritus anthology goodness. I’ll post a reminder blog when the release day arrives.

Detritus Anthology Contributors
(In alphabetical order)

Brent Kelly: Ride
Edmund Colell: Shrieking Gauze
Jeremy Shipp: Chewed up
Kealan Patrick Burke: The Room Beneath the Stairs
Lee Widener: Let Them Into Your Heart
L.S. Murphy: The Tick-Tock Heart
Louise Bohmer: Armoire
Mary Borsellino: Shots and Cuts
Michael Colangelo: Arkitektur
Michael Montoure: Heroes and Villains
Neil Davies: Candy Lady
Opal Edgar: Crawling Insect Life
Pete Clark: In His Own Graven Image
Phil Hickes :Mrs. Grainger’s Animal Emporium
S.P Miskowski: The Highest and the Sweetest

Upcoming from Omnium Gatherum. Click the image above to pay them a visit.


I’m also happy to announce I’ll have two poems in I Know What I Saw–an upcoming poetry collection edited by Barry Napier and Rich Ristow. This one will be released by Needfire Poetry, and I’ll have more updates as they come. Another fine collection I’m happy to be included in.

Okay, jaw is aching from another wisdom tooth yanked (but I am so glad that bastid is gone), and there’s holiday cards to get ready. Yeah, I’m that late.

Happy Holidays!

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This free read is fresh meat. An early version of today’s free read once made honorable mention in a long ago Apex Magazine Halloween contest. However, since then this free read has been nipped and tweaked. It’s a PG-13 free read. I say that only because I’m paranoid of irate parents emailing me. Anyway, on with the shiny new fiction.

Midsummer Nightmare

by Louise Bohmer

Before Holloway ripped his lover’s eyes out and feasted on her essence, he wanted to give her a night to remember. Her last memory before death should be pleasant–a token to carry her over to the other side, something to comfort her during the transition.

Her murder would be as quick and painless as possible. Sure, he didn’t care for humans, but Holloway didn’t wish to make them suffer needlessly. He was smart enough to recognize the glorified homo-erectus was a necessary evil in the grander scheme of the universe.

He lit two cigarettes and passed her one. “What do you picture when I say ‘extraterrestrial’? Little grey men with wraparound eyes and egg-shaped heads?”

They’d been going at it hot and heavy, but before Holloway fucked this one to death he craved some philosophical talk. Soon enough, he’d bring her to climax as he ripped off the mask and showed her his true countenance. A face that would make her heart explode as she came. The combination of pure terror and pleasure would boil her essence to the surface, where it would bleed through her porcelain skin.

Holloway would lap it up from her cheeks, using it to steal her form, absorb her being, for cover in tonight’s scheduled mischief making. He had a date set for some genetic manipulation that was long overdue, and absorbing a human mask would save him the wasted time and effort of constant shapeshifting. He needed all the extra time he could get.

The plum-haired goth shrugged. “Never thought much about aliens.”

Holloway leaned in close to her. “Those little grey bastards get all the credit, but there are thousands of other inter-dimensional and extraterrestrial life forms mixing and mating with you humans on a regular basis.” He rolled his eyes at her. “You have no idea.”

Her intense stare burned into him with electric-blue fire, and in the dim light of their cheap motel room he could see fear beginning its dance inside her. Holloway grew hard with desire and his mask–this one stolen from a pedophile who posed as the pillar of his community–slipped just a bit, his true face eager to burst through its seams.

Guilt filled him too. The thick scent of her fear, heavy and meaty, was intoxicating. While part of him nursed remorse for her slaughter, so much of him basked in the primal rush to follow.

“What are you talking about?” She backed away from him, her tiny feet skittering and slipping on the sheets.

“Did you like mythology, folklore, when you were a child?” He kissed her forehead, as his arms split open at the wrists and tore a ragged seam up to his shoulders. He grabbed her by the throat and pinned her to the headboard. Birch-bark pale biceps, near thick as tree trunks and of wooden flesh, ruined the businessman mask as they ripped through.

She managed shaky words between sobs. “What do you mean? Like Greek gods?”

“Not exactly, love.” His fingers of root and bone trailed up her thighs. His tongue of moss slipped down her throat. She struggled weakly beneath his eight foot frame, as he entered her and pumped hard. Holloway felt a pang of pity for the goth, deep in his heartcore. When she climaxed, his jagged fangs clamped through her tongue, cleaving it clean off its root. The first sweet nectar of her essence flooded his mouth, and he groaned.

He worked his magicks on her to make her death satisfying, but still shocking enough to the psyche to give him what he needed. Alien witchcraft, Holloway liked to call it. Adrenaline was a marvelous and curious thing, and it worked to his advantage when it came to the necessary combination of titillation and terror. Endorphins worked in conjunction with his whispered sex incantations to bring the essence of his lover-prey within reach. He could smell more of her spirit flowing strong, crawling up from her belly. Boiling just behind the eye sockets, where it was easiest to pluck out by the roots and let flow free.

“We helped create your race. We’re partly responsible for the thing you call a ‘soul’ or ‘spirit’, and you don’t even know it.” He smoothed a hand over her sweaty brow as she thrashed and screamed silent screams. For a moment, he regretted robbing her the comfort of her shrieks. Everyone deserved release.

Holloway yanked her baby blues from their sockets and her essence–the same color as that piercing sapphire gaze she wore in life–gushed out and down her cheeks. He clamped his furry mouth over one seeping hole in her face. His tongue burrowed deep into her brain, sucking in this biological coating she would no longer need. He groaned in satisfaction.

* * * *

Holloway checked his new female form in the cracked mirror taped to the wall beside the closet. He examined his lush curves and creamy skin. He tweaked his nipples through the sheer, black shirt and smiled. Nice boobs.

Lifting his nose as he opened the door, he sniffed the night air for the scent of the Mother of Evolution. She’d just returned to her motel room, three doors down from his. It was time to move, take care of the task he’d been sent here to complete.

Together, he and Gaia would birth the rebels: offspring who would help bring this mixed up human race to the next step in their evolution. He and the Mother would have to save humanity’s sorry mortal asses before it was too late, thus saving their own dimensions a shitload of natural and political disaster.

Humans had a way of messing with space and time when they didn’t know enough about it to be playing around, and it was creating havoc with the natural equilibrium of other worlds. All their messing with nuclear bombs and the hadron collider wasn’t just causing blips in Earth’s space-time continuum. It was messing up harmony throughout existence.

The fae and snake people, part of a coalition of beings who created the human ‘spirit,’ were suffering the brunt of the Inter-Dimensional Diplomacy Senate’s wrath for conducting the experiment of boosting the ape-creature’s psyche, with just a small injection of their combined bio-ethers, so many millennia ago.

This is your mess, Holloway, and you and that runaway bitch can clean it up. Concordia Discord, son. Chaos in one realm causes a ripple of turmoil throughout realities.” The Highest Elder’s shrill scream pierced his third eye, and Holloway almost fell on his ass as he tried to maneuver the six inch platforms the goth had been wearing.

He reflected over recent instructions from the Highest Elder:

You need to be covert. I don’t want Gaia to remember who she is before you can corner her. She mustn’t recognize you. She’s buried deep within the human mask, our sources tell us. Don’t spook her or she may bolt.

“Go in wearing the mask of a woman. A small, vulnerable woman preferably. That will let her guard down.

He fished a cigarette out of the goth’s purse and lit it, mumbling a reply to the Highest Elder around the filter. “How the hell do I impregnate her while I’m in the skin of a woman, smart guy?”

Don’t worry about the details of inseminating the human mask. Just get in there, you idiot.”

One of them needed to be in human skin for this fertilization to work. But would the mask survive? Would Gaia let it? Inter-dimensional kinds had long ago left behind the need for crude reproductive methods.

Holloway knocked at her door, and checked the parking lot over. Deserted. He was just about to kick at the door with his monster shoes when the entrance opened a crack.

A woman, shorter than the waif mask he wore, peered out at him. Her hair was as dark as the room engulfing her and it was bobbed beneath a tiny, pointed chin that made her look like a china doll. All she needed was a pink bow clipped at each temple.

Gaia’s mask looked nothing like the forceful beast within. The one he remembered so well. There wasn’t a trace of sleek scales or her ancient lizard eyes. Holloway winced at her façade of fragility, and at his own. They looked so like frightened children, searching for their mothers on a playground, rather than the great, inter-dimensional beings they were, who’d mastered arts far beyond homo sapien’s comprehension.

“H-hello there?” The mask frowned at him, and then gave a rapid barely-there smile. “Can I help you?”

“Ummm, yes. I mean, I hope so.” Holloway swallowed, and cursed himself for not thinking up an excuse for all this sooner. “See, my boyfriend kicked me out of our motel room.” He faked a few tears. “Asshole. Could I come in and call for a ride home?”

Gaia back up and looked like she was going to close the door.

“You can totally search my purse,” Holloway added desperately. “If you’re still afraid I’m carrying anything or whatever,” this he said seductively, leaning against the concrete wall to show off his stunning breasts, “you can search me.”

Gaia’s mask blushed, and Holloway wondered if the show of bashfulness was a ruse. Or was Gaia buried so deep within the skin she truly didn’t smell his inter-dimensional heat coming through his stolen flesh? He wouldn’t let his guard down.

Smiling, but dropping her wide-eyed gaze to the worn carpet, Gaia opened the door and gestured for him to enter. “Would you like a drink while you wait for your ride?”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, smudging his mascara down his cheeks. It was time to get this over with. He’d have to do this quick if he wanted the mask to survive the insemination. There was still a chance Gaia would try to sabotage the pregnancy by destroying the mask. Really, Holloway couldn’t blame her. What higher level being wanted to find itself stuck in the skin of a hairless monkey for nine months, carrying around a half-human brat? The idea made him shudder.

He walked up behind her, stealthy and silent, while his true self broke through the dainty female form he wore. He wrapped his long fingers around the mask’s waist as he whispered frantic incantations and threw out psychic, sealing glamours, trying to trap Gaia in the human shell before she could set herself free.

“Don’t struggle, love. I know you’re in there, and I know you can hear me. You know why I’m here, and what we must do. Do you remember? I know you do.”

He heard the ripping of soft tissue, and Holloway smelled the perfume of inner meat and blood. He was too late. The dying mask twitched in his grasp as Gaia broke free from within. Holloway had failed.

The shredded mask fell to the carpet and the Mother of Evolution rose, like a phoenix, from the remains. “Oh yes, I remember all of it Holloway. Indeed, I remember, but do you? Obviously you don’t. The Highest Elder lied to get you here.

“Why do you think I’ve been running for so long, protecting you for all these centuries? I can run no longer. You’ve had your time to adjust. Our time has come.”

Oily black writhed and turned to forest green. Holloway watched her scales plump and take on a solid yet fluid shape. His heartcore did a strange flutter-beat.

Supple reptile fingers wrapped around his cock. “Come into me, love. Come into me.”

He couldn’t hold back the moan at her slippery touch. Visions, aeons gone, wafted into empty rooms in his mind.

* * * *

“You want me to what?”

“I’m sorry, Holloway, but I have the better temperament for taking lead in this mission. You’re more maternal, I’m more feral. You know that, even if you won’t admit it.”

“Not more feral,” he narrowed his eyes at her, and crossed thick arms over his wooden chest, “just crueler.”

She bit her serpentine lips, and shook her head at him. “That’s not fair.”

Holloway hadn’t experienced pain in quite some time, so when it ripped him apart and sucked him into Gaia’s bio-ether, smashing his own dense bio-ether to bits like a sledgehammer taken in the teeth, the odd sensation pleased him greatly. He remembered what it was to feel again.

He saw Gaia’s hypnotic green eyes in a dream, and it was then he recalled the fine print on that Treaty of Inter-Dimensional Diplomacy they’d signed so long ago. She talked him into it, with those bewitching lizard eyes and promises of great sex. Without much argument, he’d agreed to work as a melded partnership, on this millennia long mission. They’d play the role as one, rather than two, and he’d take the backseat. He’d be the mother, this time, and she’d be the protector.

* * * *

Gaia woke up with her face mashed into the soiled carpet, drenched in sweat and the afterbirth of her transformative mating with Holloway.

She moved to the full-length mirror hanging by the closet. The mixture of Holloway’s fae essence and her reptilian features made for a striking contrast in this temporary human-looking mask they’d created. Beautiful in an odd way, with exaggerated green eyes and a too-small nose.

Shapeshifting was necessary at this point, but before they went out to find themselves a sturdy, 100 percent human male mate, they’d need to find some sex kitten mask to steal for the insemination. They had to be in a human body for the pregnancy to take. And, they needed a pure human mate.

“Where should we start looking for a suitable mask, Holloway? We’re running out of daylight, and time.” She looked at the weak sunlight pouring in the curtains. They might have to send time back six months, a year or two, even though it was frowned on by the Elder Council and the Inter-Dimensional Senate. But, if they were going to complete this mission, it might mean breaking a few rules. They’d already wasted a handful of years.

Holloway found a comfortable place in the back of Gaia’s mind and settled there. “I still don’t see why we have to share a body on this one, or why I have to bare the brunt of these pregnancies.” He pouted.

She chuckled at her reflection and grabbed their purse off the nightstand. Then, she cooed soft words to him, trying to soothe his broken ego. “We’ve discussed it all before. If someone needs to separate, defend or go out and hunt, I’ve the hunter instincts. Let’s face it, you’re more nurturing, babe. You’re the brains, I’m the brawn.”

Holloway snorted, and it tickled her brain something fierce. She knew he was disgruntled about the combination of their bio-ethers, and the fact that her essence was taking the helm in this mission. But they needed a stronger female bio-ether mixed with just the right combination of male bio-ether, to combine with pure human DNA–nothing too diluted with offworld bio-ethers would do–for this conception to take. And for the children born to successfully receive the next genetic code that would give human’s another step up. Worlds within worlds were demanding the chaos infecting their existences be settled, and she and her partner only had 485 years left to finish the job.

“Don’t be sore, sweetheart.” She slid into the seat of their Corvette. “Aren’t you just happy to be back with me? I did try to save you from this for as long as I possibly could. That’s why I ran. I knew you weren’t happy with the Treaty conditions, and I was worried how it would affect our results. You needed time to forget, to adjust, to soften to the idea.”

“I’m sorry I snapped, hon.” Holloway sounded genuine. “I’ll keep my third eye peeled for a man-killer mask in thigh high boots, while you grab me a pack of smokes in that club over there.”

Gaia chuckled and sighed. “You won’t be able to smoke once we’re knocked up.”

Holloway grumbled something she couldn’t quite make out.

Acquiescing to his request, she guided the Corvette toward the club he’d pointed out.


Copyright © 2011 Louise Bohmer. All rights reserved. No part of this short story may be distributed, shared, or posted online without the author’s written permission.


Want more horrifying Louise fiction? Why not check out Old School? Fourteen short tales offered by David Dunwoody, Jackie Gamber, R. Scott McCoy,Natalie L. Sin, Horace James, Gregory L. Hall, and Louise Bohmer, all tied together by selected poems from Zombie Zak – Old School reminds one of terrors best not forgotten.

Within these pages, evil children terrorize, witches gather the teeth of the young, cosmic blobs eat the world, while creepy crawlies ruin a man’s life and a headless ghost seeks revenge. Wander down this spooky path with poems and stories that revive our nightmares about golems, harpies, and other creatures.

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