The Vortex

Carlisle Chamberlain shot a glance at the yard of his raised-ranch style home. The tulips swayed in the distance. A shovel stood amidst the flowers, its tip rooted in the soil. He prayed his garden would hold firm. He could detect a hint of incense, probably carried through by the breeze. The howl of the wind masked the thumps of Carlisle’s cane hammering against the wooden floor. The windows needed to be bolted, of course. The time of year was ripe for hooligans up to no good, emboldened by the rage of the skies. Carlisle wheezed as he gripped the railing and climbed up the stairs. He paused a few steps from the top to catch his breath before powering through to the doorway of his bedroom.

Lana stood by the window, shouting into her phone, her pink nipples hard from the biting cold, her tiny skirt hoisted by wind.

“Le temps est misérable.” She jabbed her finger towards the glass. “Les nuées d'oragen sont bizarres.”

She watched him enter the room and waved before tossing her phone into an armchair. Carlise felt her hand wrap around his as she helped him towards the window.

“Mon amour! Ze sky is magnifique.”

He leaned against the pane and gazed out the window. The dark clouds had a deep purplish tinge and had funneled into vortex. From their vantage point, the winds hardly seemed to be moving.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, running a wrinkled palm over the smooth flesh of her thighs.

She pushed him against the bed. A groan escaped from him. His back had hit something sharp. He rolled over and reached to toss the pack of sweets off the bed. There would be no trick-or-treaters wandering the streets tonight. Lana leaned over, held his hand and waggled a finger at him. Her pigtails brushed against his face. She reached for a lollipop before straddling him. The skirt fell to the floor. He felt her grind against his crotch. She smirked as she let her tongue run over the lollipop. He felt a familiar stirring in his groin. Age hadn’t conquered him just yet.

They froze at the sound of a crash of metal. He reached across the nightstand and felt the familiar grip of his Ruger LC9. He pushed her off himself and sat up. For a moment, he paused. Carlisle shoved the gun to Lana and motioned towards the door. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head before letting out a heavy sigh. Carlisle watched her ass strain against her lace panties as she stomped out the room.

She reminded him of his wife. Ex-wife. Young, exotic and desperate. She was one of his more recent purchases. It had been nearly two years since the last incident. Oh, how he wished Salma hadn’t ruined it all. If only she’d been different. But she had been a stubborn one. Just like the others. Why didn’t they understand? Pride didn’t get you anywhere. Money did. And he had plenty of it.

He blinked as a flash of lightning illuminated the room. For a moment, he saw her face. Salma. He let out a low laugh. The tricks your mind plays on you. The room’s solitary bulb sputtered its last few gasps before giving way to the darkness. The storm was getting nearer. He felt around under his pillow for his blanket, wrapping it around himself. The whistles of the wind grew louder. He held his ears to his pillow, muffling the noise. The house groaned with the rustle of loosening nails. Oh, how he wished Lana would hurry up. He peeked a glimpse out the bedroom window. His garden was disheveled. The tulips and shovel nowhere to be seen. Fuckin’ wind. The strange vortex of clouds picked up speed. It was so close. And then there was silence.

“Lana? Baby, hurry it up.” he said to no one in particular.

He could hear his heart beat. He picked up the phone next to his bed. Static. Goosebumps broke across his flesh. He closed his eyes tight. There is something comforting about the blackness of shut eyes. He didn't fear the darkness. People rarely do. It’s the shadows that move just out of sight, on the borderline of reality and imagination, which make nightmares come to life. The clang of a door slamming shut echoed through the house. Carlisle dared not move. A gentle creak broke a bead of sweat on his forehead. The house is old, that’s all. Why the fuck is Lana taking so long. And then there was another. Louder this time. It was accompanied by the groan of pressure on the wooden steps. He heard whispers in the darkness accompanied by the laughter of a child. We don’t want to be alone. He tried to cover his ears. But there is no hiding the thud of approaching footsteps in a silent house. His heart pounded in his chest and his sheets were drenched. The creak of the bedroom door slowly opening did little to calm his nerves.

“Lana? Is that you?” he said.

There was no answer. But he could hear a figure moving across the bedroom and closer to his bed. His eyes remained shut. For the first time since he was a small child, he said a prayer. The rustle of his sheets sent a shiver down his spine. But then he felt the familiar snuggle of Lana’s ass against his crotch. His breathing slowed. He rubbed his cock against her and felt it begin to harden. He wrapped her arm around her. He smelt her hair and inhaled deeply. He gagged. What the fuck?

The smell of mould filled the room. His eyes opened wide as he felt a cold arm across his body. He turned. There she was. Salma. Her hair wild, mixed with tulips and soil. Her face was hollow and her flesh pale. With a shout, he turned to leap out of bed but she held him back. Her grip was like iron. Lana faced him now, her eyes shut. But there was something different about her. The bulb glimmered to light. He froze. His voice caught in his throat. There lay his French import. Dead. Unmoving. The skin peeled off her face. Blood red. Her eyes weren't shut but just gaping black holes of nothingness. She had no lips. A stream of wetness passed across his thighs. And then the face of the dead woman broke into a smile.

“Mon amour!” she said, reaching for his member.

He screamed. He was paralysed, held down by Salma’s hands. She rose to face him.

“I’ve waited a long time, Carlisle. Did you miss me?” Roaches ran across her flesh. “Oh, how you loved your dirty perversions.” she said with a smirk, reaching for his flaccid cock.

He felt a surge of white-hot pain as she sunk her yellow teeth into his cock tearing it from his body. He screamed as he had never screamed before. His face was wet with tears. He couldn’t care about the maggots eating away at the last piece of his manhood. The blinding pain was too much.

“I was just a girl, Carlisle. You took my future. Now I take yours. “

He sobbed like a child. Lana kissed him, blood dripping from her face. He clawed at the bed as Salma dragged him across the room. Lana reached for the window clasp, letting in a rush of cold air. The sky had changed to a mix of colors. Hazy violets, blues and grays. He watched the trail of blood he left across the room. Salma paused for a moment before dragging him into the vortex.

“Carlisle,” she said. ”Welcome to eternity.”




Word Count - 1288