Seeing to Her Safety
A Write or Die Response to Somehow Safer Now, by Ré Harris
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Please deliver to: Redmond Wilton Carver, Bourbon Orleans Hotel, New Orleans
From: Trenton Sterling Carver, in transit
My very dear Redmond,
When I began to set down these words, brother, I greatly feared that this would be my last missive to you. My temptress, never far from my thoughts, did indeed lure me back to the great house. Yes, my strength dwindled with every step, but I was unable to close my ears to her cries. Oh, she was in great need! Calling to me endlessly from her feverish dreams, and finally I could delay my return no longer. Her hunger beats at me, even as I sleep.
And I’ve had little slumber o’er these long nights. I feel the familiar urgency rising in me, putting every human soul at great risk. My own nightmares are filled with the brazen hair and silky skin of my temptress — my angel, my love! How shall I ever purge myself of this unholy lust?
But I need not remind you of that which you know so well. Only these events I now disclose, hold close in your memory. Should some calamity befall me before I arrive home, brother, I trust you will seek the cruelest of vengeance.
Now to the harrowing tale: when I arrived at my love’s threshold yestermorn, I was met by no fewer than six fiendish sprites, their heartlights flickering softly through translucent veins. They hid themselves well under human skin, but their scents assaulted me, revealing their true natures. Only a demoness of great power could hold so many in thrall, and far too late, I realized the gravity of my error.
Then the hellion herself appeared before me, affecting a lithe body and enchanting face, but I saw her evil heart clearly enough: this devilish woman had cast my temptress — her own sister— into a sleeping spell, leaving her to scream for mercy hour upon hour.
Over and again, the dreams unraveled all the peculiarities a corpse keeps hidden, and showed the bloody bits being ripped out and unspooled, as no human should ever see.
Oh my poor love! Not weak of mind, never that! She is a healer, an oathkeeper, a truth-holder, and no stranger to death’s vagaries. But now paralyzed by her sister’s magick, reliving the bloodiest of death scenes in an endless circle … surely to be driven mad.
You may well wonder, brother, why did I not cloak myself in mist and evade capture, but I could see no other path to rescuing my temptress, and so allowed myself to be lashed to a cold, gray table. How else could I see to her safety?
My limbs hung over the table’s hard edge while the demon’s sprites eviscerated me, my innards surging, my blood dripping onto the floor as if some untrained hack had severed my flesh with my own dagger.
But I closed my mind to the pain, and cast my senses out, seeking to touch the mind of my temptress, and shoulder the burden of her fear. I felt her, flailing and quivering in her bed, unable to free herself from the fever. Each dream was at once familiar and new, an endless plunge into a perpetual horror.
Firmly, I took hold of her mind. Rise and come to me, I commanded. Come to me now!
I caused a sickening stench to seep into her rooms, and look! She wakes! How swiftly she runs to me, to escape this new horror, so much like sizzling skin and blood, but more pungent and sharp, assaulting her nostrils most horrifically.
Her demon-sister had lit the fire and oiled the pot; my liver simmered upon the stove with wild onion and bitter herbs. It is an aroma that harkens back to their childhood — two precious girls gamboling about in identical dresses, patterned with white and yellow ducks, their tiresome mother endlessly scolding.
“Sister, what have you done?” my love cries out. She is breathless with fatigue and fright, but still she longs for me.
“He was never going to leave us be!” Her demon-sister wore a defiant manner. “He will come and go, driven only by his own cravings, tormenting us at his leisure, do we not end him now.”
A light of truth flickered in my love’s eyes. “I called him to come! I called him to save me from my dreams, and now he lies helpless, a victim of your villainy.”
The demon-sister wiped her bloody hands on a coarse apron. “I hoped for you to sleep through this, but here you are, meddling as usual.” She stirred her vile stew and made to fill a bowl. “Shall we consume his organs first? And then grind his flesh for the pigs?”
Yes! Feed upon me, love! I whispered my desires into my love’s swirling mind. Grow strong with my blood and seize the dagger! Press it against your sister’s creamy throat! Deeper! Deeper still, until she falls! Now toss her lifeless body down the stone cellar stairs!
I ask you, brother, when has my one true love ever resisted my dark urges? Not ever, and this day proves no exception.
I am free now, though in need of some stitching; my love is skilled and meticulous, and she will see to my needs. Alas, I am forced to admit that the demon’s sleep spell was well-executed, and so nearly successful. It has unearthed some long-buried memories in my love’s tormented mind, but no matter. I will quell them with my own talents, as I have all her troublesome thoughts.
How I wish you had come along with me to see these wicked delights for yourself— the kind of debauchery you have always desired. I will bring my temptress away with me now, as I begin my journey home. She can no longer be left to the whims of her deceitful kin, and must remain under my protection at all times. As always, brother, I will welcome your embrace.
Oh, and do prevail upon Matilda to seize and ready a plump bird from the pond. I’ve an unaccountable yearning for roast duckling. Isn’t that mad?
This is my version of Ré Harris’s story, Somewhat Safer Now, which was inspired by Meg’s story, Safer Somehow, and Kathy Jacobs’ tantalizing Write or Die prompt, Death Dreams.
“Brian Fehler, you have been entered to the Hell of the Dead by me. To escape to the Living Hall, you will have to recreate this piece in your own words or extend it as part of the Write or Die collaboration. Failure to comply will leave your name and soul in the Hell of the Dead.”
