Back In The Saddle!

Sorry it has been so long. Life just has a way of interfering and I had not kept up with the blog site. My apologies.

I will endeavor to post more here and get some of my writings back in the pipe so you wonderful people can see my writing, as horrible as i think it may be, because i have been encouraged to do so by some good Facebook friends who also write.

It's been over a year and I did indeed put forth another try at BAEN's Annual Fantasy writing contest. Which can be found at this link. So many good people were well deserving of the awards this year and from what I have gleaned it was a mountain of entries that the staff and the judges had to wade through.

Alas my meager attempt didn't make it, but I am posting it here so you may view it and see for yourself. Please understand the formatting doesn't work well transferring, so please forgive the mess. Have a great rest of your day and keep watching for more content here.

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Dark Ashes

by

Ray S. McCune

After a rocky childhood fraught with peril and strangeness, I looked forward to University as being a stabilizing influence in my life. Oh, how my naivete would be my undoing.

Do not think that the courses are not rigorous. The efforts I spend reading books and writing papers has become grievously time consuming. In addition to the academic and social demands placed on me by my coursework, and the stress that goes with them, I also seem to have picked up a ghost, while roaming the dark recesses of the library.

Perhaps I to need explain. George S. Wellman, pleasure to meet you. I come from a modest family that resides in Cornwall, England. Currently a fourth year student attending University in Venice, Italy through the generous donations of our family's Parish. Presently endeavoring to become a Doctor of Medicines and Healing. Many look forward to my return and the benefits of their hard won investment in my education. Their trust in my future could never have foreseen the near disaster that would befall me in my second year.

Interest in the art of the written word caught my fancy after a required course in classical literature. Yes, Doctors require a lot of the usual classes in Latin, but many of us required remedial lessons. It seems reading and writing ones own language is a must. The professor was a talented man whose heart was joyous over the texts we were required to read. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Homer's Odyssey, along with many others, all applied with fervor to our lives as wretched mortals. I envied him.

After reading a few stories written by students in past classes I decided to dabble. My efforts were severely lacking and most of what I aspired to write never met with satisfaction. A Jane Austin, Charles Dickens, or Lewis Carol I am not. I was barely passing the class by the end of the term. I would have to take the advanced course for I could ill afford to fail.

Somehow fate turned favorably my way, for a brief instance, and I acquired a job for the summer in the University Library. I was thrilled to be an assistant. The job meant I spent most of my daylight hours gathering books, mending the lightly damaged books and referring the more emaciated and worn texts out for repair. I shepherded them as well by placing the returned and errant books and manuscripts back where they belonged. The advantage to me? I could spend my evenings reading and studying the masters of the written word. While this job paid for my room and board mind you, it also put a few coin in my savings for the next semester's expenses. Traveling to and from England was costly and the money I saved went toward books, food, and supplies to last the summer as well into the following semester. But the long days organizing the shelves also gave time for exploring the vast corners of this treasure house.

It was during this time that the head Librarian, Professor Boccono, was determined to have a rather ponderous mess resolved. The registry that kept both the listing and the location of items was in complete disarray. Students being students you can see his difficulty. But due to my reliability I was assigned the duty to fix it. I then gathered supplies, a large stool to sit upon for comfort, and thus determined to attack the task.

On a bright May morning, a Thursday I believe, the work began in earnest and I was well into Friday afternoon before the first row of ten drawers was completed. At this rate it would take most of a month. But with the repeated routine I became more efficient. Even the professor commented on my skill as he came by occasionally to check on my progress. With all of my hard efforts I finished in three weeks. This then gave me time to explore. Since the rest of the assistants had the other work well in hand I was given a well deserved break.

So explore I did. It was during one of my forays I walked into a deep, cavernous room amidst the far southeast corner of the Library. I hadn't noticed this part of the Library so my curiosity was piqued. The carpet was clean and no dust seemed to be upon the dark oak shelves. All was in order and properly placed according to the Library policies. I looked at the books and found authors and stories I had never heard of nor read before. Some of the stories were in book form, some freehand manuscripts held in leather ensconced folders, others wrapped in parchment, and papyrus scrolls simply laid in stacks upon some of the shelves. I even found a few devices with mirror like faces that I could not begin to describe, so I left them alone. Everything seemed somewhat, what is that word? Fresh? As if they had been written recently. Eerie as it seemed I sensed nothing out of the ordinary nor alarming about them.

In my fascination I would take some of these books to my small apartment, which was not too far from the Library, and spend many late hours devouring their contents. There were also beautiful paintings in that room, framed poems that would have won awards, sculptures, and what seemed like fanciful collections of military arms. Most of which I could not recognize. To say these were fantasy would be understating the facts.

During one of my visits, after a tiring day of reorganizing, I was drawn to a particularly aged tome whose bindings were made out of ancient animal hide and layered sinew. It called to me and I will never forget the foreboding surrounding it. I likened it to the horror story where the soon to be deceased victim blindly and naively opens the door where the killer was hiding. I should have left her be. It. I should have left it be.

The tome itself was heavy and solid. Little if any age showed and there was no writing on either front or back. I desired to open it but the edges had been sealed with a pine pitch glue. Ancient but as effective as the modern materials we used to repair bindings. Curiosity won over wisdom and I sought out solvents to unseal the book edges. The pine pitch proved no issue as the mineral spirits I had obtained from the store room made short work of it. After cleaning the edges gently I proceeded to open the cover.

“Whachoo!” I sneezed. I rarely if ever sneezed and I was caught completely off guard. My eyes watered as I proceeded to sneeze three more times. I grabbed my handkerchief and covered my nose and mouth. When the sneezing ceased I proceeded to clear my eyes and nose. “Well that was unexpected.”

I turned again to the book on the table but my eyes instead beheld an attractive young woman with a prodigious display of burgeoning bosom. I swore it yearned to burst forth and do significant damage. Quickly I looked up into her eyes and saw pools of deep, sea foam green. Her hair was bright, with coppery curls hanging down to frame angelic features. She wore fashionable clothing and seemed to peer into my soul.

“Bless you.” She said with a lovely smile.

“Oh, thank you.” I said with a smile of my own. “I didn't notice you come in, please forgive my rudeness.” I again darted my eyes away from the bosom of doom and looked into her eyes and then at the doors.

“Not at all.” She said with a slight accent I couldn't immediately place. It wasn't Italian, Venetian, Greek, or English. She looked too plain to be from France or Spain, Portugal maybe? The skin tone was correct but the hair spoke of a more Celtic origin.

“Lovely afternoon is it not?” I tried to make small talk as this beautiful young woman came closer. My heart was pounding and my mind locked up. What was she doing here? I hadn't noticed her among the students. Maybe she was a new applicant for the women's nursing college across the campus and was familiarizing herself with the layout of the University? My oh my she was lovely!

“Yes it is, thank you. I'm Feebie, by the way. I'm...” She paused a second or two.”...new here.” Her voice sounded like silk flowing over soft skin. Captivating was not a strong enough word as I fought to bring my gentlemanly composure to bare and stood.

“Hello, I am George. George Wellman.”

“I know you are probably busy, but do you know someone who would care to show me around?” Her gaze was formidably beautiful.

“Absolutely, Miss Feebie! I would be very honored to show you around the campus.” I sounded like a desperate school boy to my own ears. She was almost assuredly to deny my over enthusiastic attempt. But I presented my arm and she took it right away.

“Thank you so very much, George.” She replied in that cooing dove fashion that caught my heart by the strings and wound me around her fingers as she stepped in closer.

She brought my left elbow to press into to her right side. Clinging to me like her life depended on it. The effect it had on me was like a laudanum. Is this what love feels like? I closed the book and placed it back on its shelf with Feebie at my side. We left the room and proceeded out the door to the library. It was close enough to three in the afternoon that I wouldn't be chastised for leaving an hour early. I had already done all of the day's work and the professor seemed not to notice the pretty young thing at my elbow as we passed by the main desk.

We spent the next two hours strolling through the buildings and crossing the various open areas. Talking and laughing we made our way to a small cafe that I found pleasant and the food delicious but not expensive. Gino was an excellent host and his wife did all of the cooking. They were very popular with students.

“Hello, Gino!” I said as we sat down at the table. Gino Donatelli was everyone's best friend and an excellent singing voice. Feebie sat down I helped her with her chair like a gentleman should. My mother did not raise a son devoid of manners.

“Ge'orge! So good to see you!” He said in a thick accent that suited him well as he came over to the table. “Shall I prepare your usual?”

“Sure! Two orders. One for me and the lovely young lady.” I waved to Feebie sitting in the chair across from me. I looked at her and said, “He makes the best food around.” Gino looked confused for a moment. This should have been my clue that all was not as it seemed.

“Oh?” Gino stared at the chair and then back at me. “I see you must very hungry today. Two orders of pasta primavera a la Donattelli!” He turned and walked away loudly giving the order to Mama Donatelli who answered in a musical lilt that she would have it prepared shortly.

Gino came back with some wine and poured a generous portion for me but not for the lady.

“Uhm, Gino you-” I started. He looked at me patiently as I began to ask why he ignored Feebie.

“Oh, don't mind me. I don't like wine.” She interrupted me.

“A glass of water for the lady.” Gino again looked confused and probably assumed it was a cultural difference or meaning he didn't understand. But he brought a glass of water and placed it in the middle of the table toward Feebie. Mama Donatelli sang from the kitchen and Gino turned away quickly to take care of the few other guests enjoying their food and drink. Again I blindly ignored the obvious warning.

“So, Feebie. Where are you from? I forgot to ask you earlier.” Her form was so perfect sitting there. Though she hadn't touched her water.

“I come from a place near Budapest, Hungary.” She smiled again at me causing my heart to beat faster.

“What's the name of the city? Perhaps I know of it.”

She looked down as if to think, “Szenvedely-muvesz.”

“What a wonderful pronunciation. What does it mean?” The name struck a chord inside of me for some reason.

“In the language it translates as Passionate Muse.” She looked up at me.

“Passionate muse. Like the Greek demigods of the arts?” I asked.

“Yes, the very same.” She replied with a grin.

Gino arrived with the two plates and bid a good appetite. I sank my fork into the dish with enthusiasm and held myself to a gentlemanly and proper pace. It was not long and both our plates were nearly clean. I drank my wine, which was nice as usual, and I noticed that Feebie had finished her water but I had not noticed her touching the glass nor the food. I believed at the time I had missed it. We had been conversing of course. Again another clue.

Finished with the meal I paid Gino a little extra for his kindness and we left to go back to the campus since it was now early evening. We walked and talked as we made it back to the library steps and I bid Feebie a good evening and looked forward to seeing her around the campus.

She kissed me. My mind reeled as her lips pressed harder and it felt like I was losing my mind and soul. Whatever I had thought of her before she was pressing her body against mine. It was soft and curvy as my hands instinctively reached down to her waist. I returned the effort and then it was over.

“Thank you for a lovely afternoon, George. Thank you for the meal and for the tour.” She bit her lower lip on one side and looked up into my face as she said, “Maybe we can share more at some time later.”

I audibly gulped. “I..I..I would like that very much.” I stammered. She had me at 'Thank you.' and I was all hers to do with as she pleased.

“Tomorrow afternoon then. The same library room?” She said as her voice smoldered it's burning influence into my being.

“I wouldn't miss it for the world.” I managed to say without gasping for air.

“How prophetic.” She kissed me gently this time and I didn't see her leave as I stood there like an idiot for several minutes afterward. I had been hooked like a great, big, willing fish.

The next day I wandered into that same room and examined where I had working on the book and noticed a small folded paper that had apparently dropped unnoticed out of that great volume. I opened it and was surprised to see some writing that looked all of ancient Latin or Greek. I could tell the base meaning of it. It was a warning about the book or rather what was in the book. Feebie startled me as I quickly placed it in my waistcoat pocket and smiled at her.

“Hello, George. Are we ready for another adventure?” Her voice and eyes were adorable.

“Absolutely.” I replied like a puppy wanting to follow it's master anywhere.

This time she wore something similar to what the Italian girls were wearing. A plain cotton muslin blouse, hanging off the shoulders with appropriate corseting underneath to enhance her figure as well as a skirt in light blue. There was a Rosario, a rosary, with a silver cross on it and blue scarf around her neck that matched the blue skirt. Her shoes were the same style of plain canvas slippers I had seen some of the other college girls wearing. Her feet and legs were very pretty and I admit that I had a hard time not staring in shameless abandon. She looked at me and looked at herself then pirouetted like a ballerina as she turned for me to see.

“You are very pretty, Feebie.” I meant it. She had stolen my heart in just a day.

“I'm glad you like it.” She took my hand and started pulling me along. “Let's get going.”

We walked for hours hand in hand throughout Venice and I felt myself falling for this vixen with the fiery hair and green eyes. We also talked spending quite a bit of time discussing classical literature, music, statues that were in the town and around the campus, subjects like paintings and styles of architecture, almost every subject we could discuss. She was smart and beautiful! But at the time I had no idea who she really was.

Another week went by and we were into June now. The Library only needed a few hours of my time each day and Feebie almost always found me in that room. That day we visited the different restaurants and cafes around Venice commenting on each of their specialties and what variations on the same theme of pastas. But all too soon the afternoon slipped into evening and instead of ending up at the library steps we were outside the door to my small apartment house. The butterflies were swatting my insides as she again kissed. This time I only remember the kissing, the warm skin, her scent, and I woke up in the middle of the night with her beside me in the small bed. I froze in panic as I realized we had slept together. Except I did not remember engaging in intercourse. Just the kissing and the warmth and then nothing except my waking in bed with her beside me. I rubbed my eyes and shook the cobwebs of sleep form my brain.

I pulled the cover to the side and raised the sheet to look. She was facing away from me and I saw her nude and perfectly formed posterior. It was a sight to behold. I dropped the sheets quickly, embarrassed. I could not think. I could not breathe. I had just committed carnal acts with a young lady I barely knew. Thoughts of her father and mother being ashamed of her ran through my mind. Images of my own parents anger at my lack of morals and even the Parish that sent me here excommunicating me forthwith from their midst in a declaration of disapproval. Banning me to the lower depths of hell for taking advantage of an innocent girl. I slipped from the bed slowly as to not awaken her and made my way to the only other room in the apartment, the kitchen. The bathroom, which was communal, was outside and down the hall. But I was wanting some water on my face to wash this nightmare situation from my mind.

After washing my face and taking a drink of wine to bolster myself I turned to go back to the bed and admit my sin to her. To confess and see if we could right this wrong we had done. She met me at the kitchen doorway completely nude. The moonlight was a glowing sheen off of her skin and her body was pure perfection. Her hips, legs, breasts, shoulders, only Greek Goddesses looked this way.

“Oh! You are...ah...awake.” I smiled half halfheartedly.

“What's the matter, George?” She asked with a softness that had me wanting to kiss her again.

“Uh...it uh...seems we, that is to say, engaged in, uhm..some activities that are...” she stopped me by placing her finger on my lips.

“Why are you so nervous? We did nothing wrong.” She kissed me again and I forgot whatever else I had been thinking. She led me back to the bed and as we crawled into bed I took her in my arms and said, “I think I am in love with you.” She kissed me harder and pressed against me. I don't remember what happened next. No memory at all.

I awoke alone in bed. Feebie, apparently having been satisfied, had took her leave. I was hoping to at least make her some breakfast. I wore a robe and toileted down the hall in the communal bathroom where I realized there was no aftermath of love making. Why that did not occur odd to me at the time was a mystery.

Dressing for Saturday and sitting down with a loaf of bread and some cheese for breakfast I could feel the heat already coming up this early in June. Perhaps it was best that I had not used the tiny wood stove. As I placed the tray on the table I had to move some papers out of the way. They turned out to be a few poems I had finished and forgot about. I started reading them. The familiar words of my failure turned in to gold before my eyes. When did I rewrite these? The question blared like a siren in my brain.

My senses scrambled to remember the time I had spent, but came up empty. I vaguely remember the words and the writing, but it again eluded me as to how and when I had done this. Even by my low standards these poems were genius! The flow of the meanings, the pentameter, the phrasing, use of visual description, all wonderfully written. I did not know I had it in me! Glancing over to the desk in the corner I saw several small sets of papers arranged in a fashion that seemed again, familiar. I went to the desk and started reading through the materials and could not remember precisely when I had written these story ideas down either. What is going on? I asked myself.

Feebie. Somehow she was inspiring me to write like this. Several manuscripts were in the process of being written and the notes were extensive. It was my hand writing and my brain knew I had written these. But to remember exactly when it had been done was just out of my grasp of memory. I was snapping. My knowledge led me to believe perhaps that I was developing dementia, brain trauma, or mayhap a disease like unto Catherine the first of Russia? My mind raced for answers. A knock at the door tore me away from my terror.

“Yes, one moment!” I opened the door and there stood Marie the Landlord's daughter. She was about my age and always hanging around the apartments tidying up and doing laundry for the tenants. I had forgotten she was coming by like she usually did before they went to mass. This way the giant pots of boiling water could sit bubbling away at the dirty linens while they were away. She was short and raven haired. Cute face, pleasant figure to the eyes, and always a positive attitude. I apologized for not having it ready for her. As I gathered the bag of dirty shirts, underwear, pants, and socks she had apparently started reading one of my poems.

“Senor Wellman! This is wonderful! I did not know you wrote poetry!” She held the paper as though it were a precious document. “Have you thought about becoming a poet or writer?” Her face was an awe inspiring look that took away my breath. She would made a great wife to someone someday.

“Well that would be hard when I am here to become a doctor.” I handed her the bag and placed the paper back on to the table. “But thank you for your compliment.”

Mollified for now she bent over and picked up the bag I had placed on the table, smiled that bright smile, then left. I closed the door and heard the bells at Saint Mary's of Grace ringing out the half hour and realized the time. Nine thirty.

I had been in bed with a beautiful women, written some very wonderful poetry and stories all in the last week or so. But I did not remember anything in specific detail. I felt light headed and started crafting reasons why I couldn't recall the details.

I left the apartment and made my way to the campus. The Library wouldn't be open until later, also I needed to return several of the books I had taken from that strange room. I also needed to talk to Dr. DeLareiss who was a psychology professor and would be preparing for the symposium on Monday. Maybe, just maybe he could help me understand what was happening to me.

The sound of Church bells rang out the beginning of Mass at several cathedrals by the time I reached the steps of the Mental Studies Wing. The professor was in his office as I inwardly sighed relief. I knocked politely on the frame of the open doorway.

“Si?” The professor responded. His desk was a small pile of organized chaos and he lowered his pipe and looked up from his reading. His dark gray hair was slightly unkempt but short and his eyes showed the stress of dealing with students for over thirty years.

“Excuse me, Professor. May I discuss a few things with you?” I was hoping he would have a spare few minutes for an impromptu consult.

“Is there some concern, young man? “He placed the book on his desk and rose to come over to me. He had always been polite and never rushed as far as I could remember. One of the favorite teachers and a man of solid character.

“I have noticed something odd. I can't understand what's going on and things are starting to bother me.” I fumbled with my description trying hard not to sound crazy.

“Hmmm….” He gestured to a large chair in front of his desk and he went back to his own and sat down. “I take it University is very stressful?”

“Oh, yes. But this is not about...well...it could be related but...it is hard to explain. There is this beautiful gir-”

“AH! Amore! You have found love, no?” He smiled, nodded his head, and looked as though he was reminiscing about a past love of his own while puffing on his unlit pipe.

“Yes! No...maybe...I do not know! It is complicated.” I was botching this up like my first vivisection of a frog. “I met this girl in the library and since then I have started writing poetry and stories.”

“That's not unusual. Many things are unknown as to how the biology of male and female relations effect each other. However Solomon wrote a very accurate description of love as a sickness that one is more than willing to be infected by.” he used his pipe as a visual emphasis. Using it like a wooden pointer and twirling it like a western cowboy before returning it to his lips. “Enjoy your first love, my young man. It is always the best remembered one!”

“That is my point, Professor. I cannot remember writing them!” I said pointedly. “And they have been written within the past few days!” I saw his eyes dart to my own. Something inside them flashed and he started to open his mouth, shook his head, and then leaned forward.

“I cannot help you.” He rose and offered his hand.

“Wait, you cannot help me?” I was stunned. This was not right. A leading Professor in the top echelon of Mental studies and treatment was telling me he could not help. “I have not described any-”

“Tell me. Did you find the secret room in the Library?”

He knew about the room. “Yes.”

“You unsealed the book I imagine.” He stared into the corner of his office.

“I did. How did you know?”

“Because I had sealed it nearly thirty years ago myself.” He lowered his head and closed his eyes. “You are doomed, young man, unless you reseal her in the book and place her back in the room.”

“Reseal her?” My face showed my confusion. “You wrote the note in the ancient Greek!”

“No, that was another unfortunate fellow by the name of Medius who was an engineer. The book contains some scrolls he had written.” He paused and lowered his pipe. “Her name is unpronounceable in the ancient tongue, but she calls herself 'Feebie'.” He looked sad. Almost morose. He let out a deep sigh and tapped out the old chunk of burned tobacco from the pipe. “I assume she showed up immediately after you opened that Devil's tome?”

“This is crazy, she's just a girl! My age if not a bit younger!”

“I fell in love with her thirty years ago.” He began. “I was in the library searching for more resources for a paper I had to write. I believed at the time that I found that room quite by accident, but it was planned all along.” He tamped a new charge of tobacco into the pipe and lit it. “Her influence on that room is strong and she draws people like a moth to flame.”

Moth to flame. He said it so dispassionately. “Why?” I asked. Probably knowing the awful truth that started revealing itself to me.

“She's a Muse. Or rather I should say, a Demonic Muse by the way she behaves.” He puffed again on the pipe and let out a train of smoke rings before he continued. “My passion was sculpture. But I was very much lacking in skill. Until I met her.”

“The statue of the Eagle. That was yours?” He nodded. “But that was done so well. So life like.”

“A lie.” He stood and walked slowly to his office window. “She was beautiful. Shapely. Lips like strawberries. Heart like an imp.” He looked at me gravely. “I couldn't sculpt a sandcastle today, but with her I...” His face lightened a bit into a smile. “I...could accomplish anything.”

“You're not making sense, Professor. How can she be so young thirty years later?” My question had already been answered but I was refusing to accept it.

“You are young man becoming a physician are you not?” He said sarcastically as I nodded affirmation. “Then why do people recover as if miraculously touched by God or die even when they are in the fullest of health?”

“I don't know.” I said.

He said, “She is something ancient akin to Baal, Shoggoth, Cthulu, or others. But she is far more powerful and dangerous. I nearly lost my life in sealing her away.”

“I...I...don't know. I think I love her.”

“LOVE?” He yelled at me. “Boy you have no inkling as to how dangerous she really is! She doesn't love you! She is feeding off of your soul and will destroy you!” He slammed his fist when he said it causing me to wince. “And when you are dead and gone she will use another and another and another! On and on ad naseum until we are all dead or dying! Our souls locked in her embrace and drained away!” He suddenly looked pale and stared at the door in horror.

I turned immediately to see Feebie standing there looking so beautiful.

“Feebie?” the professor whispered.

“Hello, Frank.” She said with a wicked grin. “It's been so long.” She somehow floated across the room and tucked herself into the professor's arms. It was like he could not help himself. “I missed you so much!”

The professor's eyes rolled back and his body slumped to the floor. “Ahk...” Whump!

“Now THAT was good!” She said. Licking her lips seductively.

She walked over to me slowly, looking like a cat about to pounce on her prey. She was so lovely! Lovely? She had just sucked the life from the Professor and I was next! Why was I thinking she was lovely after she had done that?

“Feebie, what's going on? Who are you and why are you doing this?” She was now straddled on top of me. “Stop it, Feebie. You don't have to do this.”

“Oh, but I want to, Lover. Now let's go back to your place!” She whisked us away to the apartment and I found myself writing stories at an incredible rate while she teased me. I had no idea time could pass so slowly as to allow myself to write such enormous volumes. It was barely afternoon when I stood to get some wine. The morning's events were faded and fuzzy in my mind as if it had been a bad dream forgotten. I poured a good amount of burgandy and downed it fast. It hit my stomach like a stone in a pond. She was there beside me. Holding me and rubbing herself on me. Urging me to write. The feel of her, the groping of her hands, the hair falling softly against my back, I had to write!

Some of what I had put on paper I knew, other subjects were not familiar, still others were about the sky and stars which confused me. I sat back down after I refilled the cup again. All of the stories and poems I had written so far were being placed in a new book. I did not noticed it until then. A bright new leather bound spine and covers. The pages of materials were being absorbed like water joins water or sugar dissolving into hot tea. I continued writing.

“I'm having trouble with this scene here. It makes no sense.” I told her.

“Don't worry about it.” She cooed. “Just keep writing, Lover.” her lips brushed my neck and she nibbled on my earlobe.

“But he is in a self motivated car, not a train car, whatever that means, and I am assuming he is trying to escape the antagonist. But should he be steering the car to escape instead of trying to push the other car off of the pathway?” I asked.

“Highway” She corrected. Her breathe in my ear sent fire through my soul.

“Highway then.” I said as I melted from her passionate heat.

“Oh! Watch out! The man with the plasma rifle is getting angry!” She pointed at my paper urgently as she squeezed herself closer. I could feel her firm breasts on my back. Warmth of a woman is so very hard to ignore.

But I stopped to ask, “What' is a plasma rifle?”

“Just write!” She somehow grabbed me by my imagination. The flame of her urgent need, her desperate desire for me to write on flowing out of her and through me. I could only imagine this was far better than any coitus would ever be!

Insanity never felt so good as I wrote word after sentence after paragraph of...what exactly? I didn't know or care. Only her being close and showing me delicious ways of torturing my characters, twisting my plots mid story, lashing out and receiving satisfaction in the depths of my passion. She made me all but beg to write for her, and maybe even that. I do not recall much.

Feebie grew stronger and more compelling. As I continued to write she changed subtly. Her figure grew more imposing and her skin traced itself with blue lines that resembled tattoos. Deeply ingrained like the patterns of the table top on which I wrote, and they fairly throbbed with power. I sensed it but did not care.

I was well into a story about giants bursting forth and conquering the world from massive ice mountains falling from the sky when, exhausted, I lost consciousness. I must have slept for what seemed like days. When I awoke it was mid afternoon as far as I could tell. I rose from the table and walked down the hall through my open door and used the facilities down the hallway. Stepping out into the hallway floor and I noticed a small mouse in the corner of an entry way. I stepped over and reached down to it. It wasn't moving. I tried to pick it up but the mouse seemed stuck to the tile so I pulled harder, using considerable effort. It moved a little. I also saw the air beneath it turn into a vapor from where I had pulled the mouse up about a foot above the floor. The mouse pulled apart like a blood filled cotton cloud. I jerked my hand back quickly and scrambled away from the gore, fleeing back to my room and washed my hands thoroughly.

I noticed that everything in the apartment seemed normal. The water, the wine, the furniture, everything seemed exactly as it should be. I rubbed my eyes and looked around clear minded. The book on the far table was bigger than I remembered it. Heavier. Glowing softly like a dark and forbidding omen of death. I grabbed a stylus and threw it toward the door and out into the hallway. It stopped in mid air outside the doorway like a moment caught in a painting. I knew I was not affected by this circumstance because of her. Where was she? I looked around the room and under the bed covers but no sign of her.

I remembered Professor DeLareiss. She had drained him of life and brought me back here to use me as well. What had he said? I tried to wade through the thoughts flowing in myself. He had said she needed to be sealed away. I had no answers but I had an idea.

I dressed and made my way to the campus library. The scene of everything and everyone like statues sent chills up my spine, but I was on a mission. I grabbed the book, it lifted easily. I grabbed some binding glue from the table, it also seemed unaffected. It must be Feebie's influences. I hurried back to the apartment. Maybe the book held answers. I had refrained from checking on the poor professor because I felt I had no time. Reading the book, even though it used some terms from decades before, I marveled at the what the professor had written.

Wait a minute! I glanced over at the the far table. This book was about sculpture!

Crazy ideas rushed through my brain. I was sure to die, but at least I would be with her, trapped in a book forever. My time ran out.

“George, darling.” She cooed from right behind me. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, Feebie! Where have you been?” I laid the book down and tried to look nonchalant while hiding the book.

“You naughty boy...tsk tsk tsk!” Feebie said with a grin on her face.

Her body lines became binding tendrils, like some wicked Octopus, pulling me up into some depraved parody of a hanging rack. A favorite among the sexually deviant in some of the more tepid parts of the local bordellos. Judge me not. It was a requirement in some classes to know what the human body could take and what the injuries looked like when damage was done. This almost felt painfully...erotic.

“Why are you using me?” I had to find a way to seal her in that book again.

“Power. Now you know.” She walked over to caress my cheek. “I intend to pull that very strong and passionate spirit from you and use it to release my brothers and sisters upon the world. With me as their Queen of course.” She waved her hand in theater fashion and suddenly her body was now scantily clad in a matching leather bodice and extensively high heeled footwear.

Was that a riding crop in her left hand? “Oh, is that all? Why would you do that?” Come on think of something!

Feebie put her hand to her face and shook her head like she had a headache. “George, you beautiful and well endowed bastard, I can't imagine you are that naive.” She reached down and into my chest. “I want your spirit, your soul, everything that is you, my love! I want you to be mine willingly.”

As she reach into me I faded like a candle at the end of it's wick. Drowning in the pool of power she held over me. I was doomed to be hers.

I felt wind on my face and sun on my skin. I was at the beach near the coast on one of the good days between rainy seasons in England. My mother and father were there having a picnic lunch as the tides played with the shoreline. Feebie rolled over on top of me and kissed me softly. Her lips tasted of fine fruit wine in summer. Her skin smooth and creamy like a well made tea. She wore a traditional swimming suit but with her shoulders exposed. Very daring, very Feebie.

“Hello sleepy head. How was your nap?” She giggled. Her bosom pressing itself against me and reminding me why I married up.

“Oh, Feebie. Stop teasing me.” I pulled her close and kissed her right back. She giggled more and flushed with embarrassment as my Father shouted for us to hurry up with making grandchildren. “I think that is a hint. Want to get started?”

“Here?” She laughed. “You are such a cad and rapscallion as to think to ravish me here? You brute!” She mocked and feigned innocence at such horrible actions then filled my arms and pulled my mouth to her tender neck. “Oh help me! My husband is ravishing me on the beach no less!” My mother practically died of the vapors right there. My father laughing at the public display Feebie put on. She was such a flirt!

George! Hold her there! I heard the voice in my mind. Just a little bit more! “Professor DeLareiss?” I called out loud. My mind snapped back as the vision faded and I was back in the room holding Feebie in my arms. I remembered what had happened and struggled to hold her close.

“NO!” Feebie fought hard against me and it was everything I could do to to keep her still. “You shall not stop me!” She growled loudly and heaved away from me like I was but a piece of cotton twine. “Fools!” She grabbed me and the Professor as he was putting the old book inside the new one I had written.

“Oh Feebie, you know I love you!” DeLareiss cried out. “I missed you so very much over these decades!” He said as she started flailing us around the room. “Please listen to me!”

“What? Listen to your futile attempts to distract me as you make for me a new prison?” She brought him close to her face. “I am older than time itself and nothing you can say will change your fate. I should have killed you outright for what you did to me.” Her hold tightened noticeably.

“My beloved,” The professor said calmly. “You were the first and only love of my life. I have never loved another.” He loosened a hand and stared into her eyes as he placed his fingers on her cheek.

“You had such passion back then, Francis.” She reminisced, her countenance noticeably softer. “I tasted that when I drained you near death. I only left you alive out of that memory. But I have found a new love.” She looked in my direction. “He has even greater passion and power as a writer.” Her gaze returned to DeLareiss once again. “When I finish I will have enough power to bring my kind into this world full of such people as yourself. Then we will feed and you will all be happy because of us.”

She started pulling me closer and I felt weaker. I was sure she was doing the same to the professor. My thoughts clouded. It was getting hard to think. She was giggling and chuckled deeply as the power coursed through her and into the books.

“Kiss me!” The professor yelled. Feebie stopped and stared at him.

I woke with a start. I was on the floor and someone was yelling at me. All I heard was, “Close the book!” and I was to my feet. The professor had Feebie in a tight grip with the books held to their heads. It was like some ancient fable. Some story I had written about defeating evil. I grabbed what I could of the edge of the books and fought them closed. The professor and Feebie were absorbed by some means into the books. He had her in a lover's embrace and kissing her hard on the lips. I felt a tinge of jealousy at the sight.

The book fought back and like a drowning sailor at sea, Feebie pleaded as the professor pulled her in. “Save me, George!” A flash of her sinking below the waves came through my mind. I shook it from me and it fought harder. “No! Don't let me die, Doctor! Do something!” I saw my bloody hands, clamp and probe working away at the gushing wounds of a soldier as they begged and pleaded. I smashed my head against the table. The pain brought me back. “Don't you love me?” She was in a fine white wedding dress. I slapped her and I was back again. The professor reached up, grabbed her ethereal tendrils and pulled her the rest of the way inside.

I lay on the book and held it down as I painted with the glue all around the edges and bindings. I thrust the book over the flame of a match and as the glue caught fire it melted, sealing the edges closed. I dunked it into the water basin in the kitchen to cool and harden the glue. I had scorched my hands in doing so but they would heal.

The sound of bells outside and the voices of people returning and talking about how Mass had went caught my attention. Gripping the book hard for that she may return I tried the book edges carefully and they stayed solidly glued in place. I sighed relief and heard a squeal of fright from the hallway. I looked through the opened door and saw Maria standing away from where the mouse had come apart and splattered all over the door frame down the hall. I had forgotten about that.

“Are you alright?” I asked. Heart still pounding from the last few moments of terror.

“I hate those cruel cats. To play with their food so badly.” She turned and scolded one of the local felines that was sniffing around wondering where the smell of fresh mouse had come from and shooed it away. She walked to my door and looked in. “Good day, Senor Wellman.” She smiled sweetly.

My heart skipped a beat at her natural beauty. “Good day, Maria. You are looking lovely as ever.” I smiled back. “What day is this and what time is it?”

“It is Saturday. About noon I think. Mass just ended. I was about to ask you if you wanted starch in your shirts?” Her look was pure innocence.

“Oh thank God!” I hugged her tightly and kissed her joyously on the lips. “I have not missed a thing!”

Maria looked stunned and she was taken aback by my frowardness. But she blushed and smiled and probably thought of me as quite insane. “Are you okay, Senor?”

“Yes! I am now.” I held up the book in my hands and sadly knew without the professor's sacrifice the world would had ended. Not an apocalyptic burning, but with passionate creativity. “Care to walk with me?”

“Where are we going?” She asked, hand still on her lips and rose in her cheeks.

“To return a library book that is long overdue.” I said offering my arm.

“Will you be charged for overdue?” She took my arm as we headed to the door.

“No. I think the fine was paid about thirty years ago.”