The Horror of Crooling Grange

[Zodiac]

Incest!  Cool! You could have a story based just on that, can't wait to see how the horror elements play into it. 

[unknown]

Thanks Zodiac

The horror's are just around the corner...

[Trent]

I like the new version better, too.  It gives the characters some extra motivation.

[unknown]

Hi Trent

I am going to to my best to have it finished by Halloween, hopefully before then.

[Rachel Dearth]

Nice work, it has an edgier quality that the first version didn't have and the added naughtiness really peaks my interest! Can't wait to see how the horrors are worked into it. 

I guess the bottom line is, if you want to really grab the audience's attention, add something taboo to it!

The Gothic style narrative really works well, too.

[unknown]

Thank you so much, Rachel

I really have to get working on this thing... hopefuly I will have it finished before to long.

[Rachel Dearth]

Get anymore work done on it in the last few days?

[unknown]

Yah, I have been working pretty steady on it...

[Rachel Dearth]

Done yet?

I got on a roll and wrote another 3 parts to the story I am still working on, it is a lot of fun!!!

[unknown]

Hi Rachel

Not yet, the story is getting pretty involved, I just finished the rough draft for chapter 3... I imagine it will have at least six chapters from 2500 to 3500 words a chapter. I know it's really long for a short story and too short for a novella... but what the hell. It's king of a long story to read on the internet, I know I have a harder time reading longer works off the computer, as opposed to ordinary books. I like to lay down and read... yah know.

I think the story will have some surprising twists and hopefully a few really creepy and hopefully scary moments, I have my fingers crossed.

PS:Sorry, about all the revisions...

[unknown]

revised 10/20/2007


The Horror of Crooling Grange

Chapter 1
The Lovers
 
Lorelei Pierson crept barefoot and silent through the chilly halls of her ancestral home. Almost ghostly in her white nightgown she floated past gold-framed portraits of her hallowed ancestors, towards the stateroom where her younger brother slept.

As quietly as she could, she slowly turned the door handle and opened the heavy paneled door. On a four-posted canopy bed he rested peacefully. The canopy curtains were drawn back and shifting tides of light from the fireplace gently washed over him.

She winced, noticing the bruises on his rugged, yet handsome face. A wave of guilt swept over her. He got those bruises defending her honor along the rough docks of the Baneford canal. She knelt down quietly at his bedside as if in penance.  Lightly she brushed a lock of wavy brown hair away from his eyes. He stirred. “Lorelei,” he said sleepily, “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep, Warren,” she whispered, “I am so sorry, I should have listened to you.”

“It’s my fault, I should never have put you in that kind of danger.”

“Why must you do that? You are not responsible for everything thing that happens, you’re not Atlas you know -- you can’t support the world on your shoulders.”

“I am not trying to…  my angel,” he whispered softly.

She sighed and kissed his forehead gently. Lorelei lingered there, staring into his eyes as if searching for answers to unspoken questions. Softly she kissed his bruised cheek; powerful currents of attraction flowed restlessly between them.

“You remember when we where children?” She asked tentatively.

“What?”

Her hand slid beneath the covers moving slowly over his thighs. “Lorelei, no,” he said in a low almost inaudible tone. 

“I want to see it.” She teased.

Without waiting for an answer she drew back the bedcovers. What she found there made her cheeks grow warm and rosy, a guilty fire burned through her young body. She threw her arms about his neck. “I need you.” She confessed, sobbing quietly, shuddering deeply the tears streamed down her hot blushing cheeks. 

Warren held her head in his hands and forcefully, desperately kissed her. In that fateful moment of moral weakness all his suppressed urges and long frustrated needs were unleashed; overcome with animal passion his hands roamed hungrily over the rounded hills of her thin white gown. 

Over and over, he forced waves of pleasure from her trembling, clenching body. Lightheaded and panting in the aftermath of their love, he held her close, stroking her luxuriant black hair as she cradled contentedly in his arms.

Shame found him then in that moment of unexpected bliss and struck him sharply like a cold slap in the face. The unspoken sin of the aristocracy had arisen like a great serpent out of the depths and caught them in its dark coils.
.
“Oh Gods, Lorelei what have we done!” Warren cried, sitting up suddenly.

“You will never make me feel guilty about this… I love you… and you love me.”

“That doesn’t matter and you know it. We have made a dreadful mistake, we must both try to forget -- put this behind us.”

Lorelei got up quickly, angrily; she slipped her nightgown over her long and elegant, snow-white naked form. She walked to the door and stood there for a moment on the threshold, she turned suddenly her dark eyes blazing, “You will never forget! The memory of this night shall haunt you throughout eternity. Try as you may, you cannot fight it… you will always love me, it is hopeless to pretend and you know it.

***

Warren Pierson sat in the dusty bookkeepers office of his family’s warehouse on Portage Street along the Baneford canal. Neither the light of reason nor of interest ever sparkled in his dim-saddened-gray eyes anymore. Only a dull sense of responsibility kept him going about his duties.

A rusty old Franklin stove in the corner cast a melancholy glow it wavered over the bare pine walls and the little cot he had set-up for himself beneath the crudely framed window.

He stared at the letters on his desk. One was from his father, the other from his sister. He picked up Lorelei’s letter trying to decide whether to open it or not. Then grabbing his penknife he opened the envelopes. Silently he read them in the fading twilight.

Letter from Lorelei Pierson
To Warren Pierson
May 27, 1867

My Dearest Brother,

I shall always look back on the moments we shared with the greatest of thankfulness, do not be ashamed of what we did. For one brief moment we shared what society would deny us, to love whom we choose and how.

Father has promised me to Grayson Mansfield, I barely know the man. In all, I have spoken barely a dozen words to him and I can only assume he wants me as a trophy to parade before his friends, surely he cannot love me.

I am trying to be brave and do what is required of me. I know Father would never ask this of me, if it were not the most dire of circumstances. Yet, I cannot help but feel betrayed.

All my undying love
Lorelei Pierson

***

Letter from Lord Pierson
To Warren Pierson
May 28, 1867

Dear Son,

I am afraid I have some terrible news. The Argos sank, a hurricane came up off the Gulf of Mexico and all hands were lost. It is financial ruin, my son, three ships in one season.  Captain Gardener was a dear friend and his sage counsel will be sorely missed in the trying times that lay ahead.

As you know the Argos was under-insured and I was depending on the cotton shipment to meet our outstanding debt. I know how much you where looking forward to entering Baneford Academy this fall, but I am afraid it will have to wait, son.

I have spoken to the bank’s representative Grayson Mansfield, I am sure you will remember him, he has been to our home on several occasions. He has proposed marriage to Lorelei and assented to pay off our debt in exchange for our property here and graciously offered us one of his holdings, a manor and lands near Ormsblood, the Crooling Grange Estate.

I have made various inquiries and from what I understand Crooling Grange has been unoccupied for several generations.  I have no doubt that it is a crumbling old ruin. I have always tried to shield your mother from the financial realities of life.  I am afraid taking her to a drafty old manor would be too much for her. 

Once again, I must depend upon you, my son. I have every confidence in you. Please see to the necessary repairs and make the Crooling as comfortable for her as you can. We shall be arriving as soon as I can fulfill my obligations here and make the necessary arrangements, if all goes well, we shall arrive about mid-June.

PS: Lorelei, should be arriving within a fortnight, she begged to go on ahead. She did not take the news of her upcoming nuptials well. I trust you will take good care of her, and convince her that it is in the family’s best interest that she complies with my wishes.

Yours truly,
Lord Pierson

***

Warren rode on ahead of the little caravan of buckboards and supply wagons that was bound for the Crooling Grange Estate. At the crossroads he dismounted, and then gave his horse, Ares, a loving pat on the shoulder. The proud black Arabian neighed and stomped his foot in recognition of his master’s affectionate gesture.

The thick morning fog hung heavily around him as he waited for the others. Grateful for the opportunity to stretch his legs, he lit his briar wood pipe, a gift from his father on his sixteenth birthday. Smoke bellowed forth from it, swirling about his head in strange gray wandering shapes. The familiar sound of creaking leather, jingling gear and hooves clicking on ancient cobblestone reached his ears. The little cavalcade was approaching.

“Hee-yah, Hee-yah” Jake said, making little clicking sounds as he drove the first of the party’s buckboards into the clearing. Jake was a gregarious fiery-haired fellow well past his prime. Warren had been reluctant to hire him in the small village of Ormsblood, because of his obvious penchant for drink. The blood-shot eyes, rosy cheeks and red bulbous nose, told the story all to well.

“Which way to Crooling Grange, Jake?” He asked.

“Ha -- why the left hand path a-course, sir, Dolman’s Lane.” Jake said, pointing to a path in the fog enshrouded wood. “I still cannoh believe I be a go-in tah Croolin’ Grange. We’ll have to go right through the ‘eart oh-that dismal swamp, sir.”

“What do you know about it?” Warren asked, wondering why it had been so difficult to hire men in Ormsblood.

“Only what I ‘eard, young sir.”

“Which is?”

“Strange things -- if only ‘alf a-what I ‘eard be true. You’ll be a-seein’ it for yourself, soon enough, sir.” Warren shook his head in disbelief, aggravated by Jake’s unwillingness to speak openly.

He walked back to the wagon his beloved nursemaid Maria’s was in. She was truly beautiful in the early morning mists. Her rich olive-toned skin had a warm inviting glow. Her figure was full and robust; her light brown hair fell in wavy ringlets tumbling over her shoulders. Maria’s gracefully aging face was so near to the classical ideal that Phidias himself would have been honored to immortalize her features in stone.

Her beautiful ten-year-old twins, Little Timothy and Lisa Marie were sleeping soundly nestled in her arms, snuggling up against her soft breasts. A heavy, red wool blanket was draped over the little fatherless family’s knees.

“We are almost there Maria, we’ll rest the horses here for a while then move on, it should only be a few hours now.”

“Thank Goodness, I can’t wait to get out this ungodly forest, it’s watching us!” She said unconsciously stroking her little girl’s hair.

“Oh Maria -- what an imagination you have, next you’ll be telling me the woods are full of nymphs and satyrs.”

“Don’t scoff at me, Warren Lloyd Pierson! ‘There are more things in heaven and earth’ as the bard said. I thought I taught you to respect your elders! You’re lucky I don’t cut a switch and….”

“All right, all right,” Warren laughed, he quickly threw up his hands in surrender, hoping to appease her before she got too upset. “I’m sorry, my dear, I promise I’ll be good.”

***

The little caravan moved off again, disappearing into the mists of the dark forest. Black moss-infested limbs hung thick over Dolman’s Lane, creating a sunless twilight realm beneath. Within that dark dryad’s bower all vibrant color and joyous sound had been banished long ago.

The further they traveled into the wood, the marshier it became. Mosquitoes, gnats and biting flies began to swarm like vengeful clouds. They followed the little caravan relentlessly alighting upon man and beast alike, stinging, biting and drawing blood.

“Owww – Mum-mah make them stop!” Lisa Marie cried, her little arms flailing in anger and frustration.

“Here babies,” she said, pulling the thick blanket up over their heads.

“But I can’t see, mum-mah,” Little Timothy wailed.

“Never you mind that, you just stay under here with me,” Maria said.

The little caravan struggled onward. As the sun rose in sky the heat became more unbearable, the air was stale and lifeless, almost oppressive with dank earthy odor of decay.

 Warren saw that slimy black waters had washed out the road ahead. Warren yelled, “Hoo,” and lifted his hand in the air signaling the caravan to stop.

He rode Ares through the brackish water, trying to determine whether the wagons would be able to cross, without getting stuck in the thick muck. As he reached the opposite bank he discovered black slimy leeches clinging to his horse’s legs.  He rode back to where Jake was waiting and said, “Its safe, we’ll take them all across and then stop on the other side, we’ll have to check the horses for leeches and salt them.”

“Right yee are sir -- Devil take these infernal bugs!” Jake said and with a quick slap splattered an enormous horsefly against his temple. “Ha! That aught-ah teach yah, tah be a-suckin’ me blood.”

The fog lifted gradually, but in its place it left hot sticky moisture that hung heavily in the air. Sweat ran in rivulets from the men attracting even more of the accursed bugs. Each time they encountered another wash out they had to stop and remove the leeches from the horse’s legs. 

As the land gradually rose they left the marshlands behind. But now and then thorny bushes blocked their way and had to be laboriously chopped from the path. The few men Warren had been able to hire in Ormsblood were on the point of rebellion when a light but dimly gleaned at first, appeared at the end of that dark passageway. It grew in strength as they neared, renewing their fading hopes of re-entering the sunlit world beyond.

***

As they entered the open air of the Grange, Warren quipped, ”Gods -- I feel like Orpheus for I have just traversed the road into Hades.”

“Ha -- you’re ah beginning tah get the picture, young sir!” Jake laughed, scratching at the bites on his face and arms.

Off in the distance the Manor appeared out of the mists like the dream of a dissolute God, disturbing to the eye and unsettling to the nerves, more like the work of a demented titan than something built by the hand of man. It was a three-story structure, vaguely reminiscent of a medieval fortress. It was built on a high mound surrounded by low hills of emerald that wound and dipped in snake-like undulations into shallow vales.

The outer walls were composed of huge cyclopean blocks. Smaller block had been added over the centuries heightening the walls and altering its original contours. Ancient standing stones radiated out from it like the spokes of a giant wheel. Some of the stones had remained true and upright while others leaned at weird angles or lay broken and half-buried in the fecund earth.
 
In the background was a low range of mountainous hills from which arose a lone tower stretching into the sky like a lost soul reaching out in desperation for the light. Surrounding all was that silent dark and deep, somnolent wood.

***

After a half-hours journey through the fields of the Grange they finally stood before the huge, ironbound oaken doors. “Give me a hand here, Jake.”

“Certainly, sir. You there -- give us a ‘and ‘ere.” Jake said, Warren began to realize that Jake was a natural leader.

Jake called out a rhythm, “One, two, three,” and they shoved on the door all together. On the third try it opened, creaking loudly and groaning in defiance. The courtyard within was choked with weeds, small trees had pushed their way up through the paving stones and clinging vines swarmed over abandoned horse carts and strangled the lonely hitching posts. The serviceability of the place was immediately apparent to Warren. There was a stable, a barn, and a smithy. Everything they would need to begin a new life here.

“Can’t you feel that?” Maria said, rubbing her arms. “This place makes my hair stand on end.”

“I feel it.” Warren said quietly.

As they swung open the doors of the manor house they were rudely greeted by the smell of dust and mold. Nature had begun to reclaim Crooling Grange. Although the huge oaken timbers were still sound, the roof had collapsed in several places. Fungus grew thick on the floors and climbed hungrily up the walls.

Before them was the great hall. A wide winding staircase led to the second floor. Ancient tapestries hung from the walls and two huge oaken tables were set in the middle, each of them large enough to accommodate a hundred men. There was an enormous fireplace along the back wall from which hung three great black kettles. An owl perched sleepily on one of the primitive wooden chandeliers, twenty feet above the floor. It barely lifted an eye to greet the noisy new tenants invading its once secluded roost.

Mari exclaimed over and over in a loud indignant tone, “Oh, this will never do!” She had her trusty broom out almost immediately and began clearing away the cobwebs and sweeping the dust from the main hall. “Sweep the Devil out,” she chanted, as her broom drove clouds of dust before her.

“Ring around the rosy, pocket full of Posey, ashes, ashes we all fall down,” the children sang, as they chased each other about Maria’s long pleated skirt. They looked almost ghost-like from the gray dust that settled over them.

“Now stop!” Maria scolded, “Mummy has work to do!”

The men made a bonfire of rotting furniture and other debris in the center of the courtyard. Warren gave orders for the men to gather wood for the fireplaces and the stove; others he had draw water from the well for cooking and cleaning.

Then with torch in hand, he climbed the dark creaking stairway that led to the attic. He wanted to determine the extent of the damage to the roof. As he opened the trap door to the attic he was startled by the multitude of bats that covered the ceiling like a ghastly living shadow. He returned to the courtyard and there he ordered the men to make torches to drive the bats out through the gaping wholes in the ceiling.

One by one the men slowly climbed through the trap door and gathered around it. As if warned by some primitive instinct the bats sprang suddenly to life. They attacked, circling and diving at the men’s faces. Jake swung his torch igniting one of them in flight. The men swatted furiously trying to fend them off with their torches, igniting more of the winged vermin. Soon a hideously smoking brood of flaming bats filled the attic. 

“Jake! Grab some men and get some water up here fast, before the we burn the place down!” Warren shouted. Bats swooped and dove as the flames consumed their bodies, like vengeful daemons they clung to the men, burning, biting and flapping their leathery wings

A man screamed horribly as two flaming bats latched onto his back. His raggedy coat suddenly burst into roaring flame. Desperately he tried to rip it open to escape the flames engulfing him. Just then Jake’s red head appeared through the trap door.

“Hold on.” Jake yelled, quickly scrambling up the stairs he through his bucket of water over the man. Then he yanked the bats off him one after the other he threw them to the ground and stomped them to death.

Warren watched in wide-eyed horror as a bat latched onto a man’s face, he grabbed it by the flaming wings and with quick wrench yanked it away. He threw it violently to the floor and began stomping it to death, the flames licking up his pant legs.

He examined the man’s face; it was swollen, blackened, and crisp. Blood seeped through cracked skin. The poor man’s eyes stared vacantly; he shivered in pain and shock, hands trembling he reached for his face. Warren grabbed his arms quickly and said as gently as he could, “Don’t touch your face.” A wave of quilt swept over Warren as he realized the man was blind.

Warrens hands where badly burned, his brain was seared with intense throbbing pain. The stench of burned flesh and hair was overwhelming. They had one hell of time driving the vermin out, but finally all the bats where either dead or had flown out through the gaping holes in the roof.

Several of the men had been badly burned and were bleeding from wounds inflicted by the bat’s hooked claws and needle-like fangs. “I’m getting the bloody ‘ell out ah ‘ere,” a skinny balding man shouted glancing fearfully into the shadows and then waddling quickly down the stairs on his spindly bowed legs.

“Aye! ” another man yelled, others grumbled their assent.

“Wait!” Warren exclaimed, “I will double the pay for any man willing to stay on.”

“Gov’na, I would’nah stay ‘ere, for all the crown jewels!”

Warren put his hand on the man’s shoulder, “Please, there are women and children here.”

“No by God! What ‘em bats did hain’t natural.”

“Let ‘em buggers go, sir, we ‘ave no need a yellah bastards ‘ere.” Jake said.

The other men laughed. They began pointing their fingers, slapping their knees and jeering at the fleeing men. Warren had no doubt that Jake’s timely intervention had turned the tide in his favor.

“Saints be praised, sir. We drove ‘em bloody vermin out!” Jake exclaimed, tipping his silver whiskey flask up to his lips and taking a long sip.

Warren patted him on back, “That we did.”

[unknown]

The Horror of Crooling Grange

Chapter 2
The Tower

Warren Pierson’s Journal
June 1, 1867

Dear God, forgive me, but I love her…

I have lived with this pain and longing for as long as I can remember, the pain of a hopeless love, a desperate longing for something that could never truly be mine. It was made all the more unbearable by the improper nature of my desires. What whim of fate, what curious force of nature, molded my tormented psyche in this way?

Why is it I am so drawn to the forbidden? What makes me long for that which is beyond my faintest hopes of attaining? Why have I become so attached to that which can only bring me pain and grief? Why can I not free myself from the desire that fills my days and nights with misery?

I know I am responsible for what happened, Lorelei’s profession of love does not alter that fact. The tempting looks, the lingering touches, the playful teasing, has finally, perhaps inevitably led to the violation of a sacred trust. I have brought shame upon myself and dishonored my family name. I have led my beloved sister into inequity and endangered her immortal soul.

Lorelei may never been able to see it the way I do. She was always ruled by her heart and fearlessly followed wherever her intense passions led. The world will not be forgiving, and Lorelei’s passion will quickly cool. Love’s once bright flame will dim and falter, under the icy stares and bitter winds of criticism that we must surely face.

The flaming sword of righteous indignation will be brandished before us, driving us forth from polite society, just as it once drove Adam and Eve from their earthly paradise. Even this, I would gladly bear for her sake. If I didn’t know that as fierce as her love is -- her hatred would burn just as fiercely someday, if we were ever to openly declare our love to the world.

 She is the reason for my fall from grace and my only hope of redemption. Desire for her has driven me to commit the gravest of mortal sins, but with her too, I have known the most wondrous of divine gifts -- love.

***

The coachman’s face was pale as climbed down from the coach. His hands shook visibly as he opened the coach door. "We have arrived, Milady.” His trembling hand held Lorelei’s as she stepped out. She smiled as she paid the coachman, thanking him for his troubles. He brought her luggage down quickly.

Then he climbed aboard, whipped the horses fiercely with the reins and yelled, “Hee – yah.” The coach rolled over the cobbled road through the fields towards Dolman’s Lane.

Cloaked in the early morning fog, Lorelei stood like an ethereal vision of Athena in the clouds. A ray of sunlight gently caressed her face, accentuating the snow-white perfection of her skin.  Her silken black tresses flowed gently in the morning breeze.

“Well!” Lorelei said, holding out her arms and looking around at the expectant little crowd gathered there to greet her in the courtyard.

“My baby,” Maria cried and grabbed Lorelei in her arms giving her long hug, kissing her cheek. Maria stood back holding her arms and said, “Let me look at you -- you’re starting to fill out nicely, dear!” Lorelei blushed. Little Timothy and Lisa Marie tugged at Lorelei’s long white skirt calling, “Aunty Lorelei! Aunty Lorelei!”

She kissed Little Timothy on the forehead and mussed up his dark curly hair. She picked up the adorable Lisa Marie kissing her cheeks and making a big, “Mmm-ouhh,” sound. Lisa laughed happily. Lorelei set Lisa Marie gently back down on the cobblestone road.

Warren stood with his hands behind his back, shuffling his feet and looking down. Maria put her hand on Jake’s shoulder and said, “Lorelei this is Jake Corbin.” Jake bowed, kissed her hand and said, “A real pleasure, Milady.”

“My, my, Mr. Corbin, you are a real courtesan. Aren’t you?” Lorelei’s word’s enchanted Jake, but then, there were few who could resist her charms. Lorelei made sure she was introduced to all of the men who were working there at Crooling Grange. She greeted each of them by name and for that one brief moment they had all felt like kings.

“All right, Lads back tah work.” Jake called out waving his arm in a sweeping gesture. Following Jake’s lead the men went back to their labors.

“Warren?” Lorelei said, a hint of doubt and hopeful expectation in her warm silky voice.

Warren walked over to where Lorelei stood. The scent of lavender filled his senses and stirred memories of a night not so long ago, when he had held her in his arms. Maria slapped him on the back. “You give your big sister a kiss, Warren, what’s wrong with you!”

Lorelei leaned in presenting him with a cheek and as he moved in reluctantly to kiss it, she turned her head suddenly and there lips touched. A sharp tingling current flowed over his lips and Warren’s manhood swelled, throbbing and insistent. Lorelei looked down and then whispered softly in his ear, “I was beginning to think you didn’t want me anymore.”

“Alright my babies, do you want to help your Mum in kitchen?” Maria said.

“I want to stay with Aunty Lorelei!” Little Timothy cried.

“Me too!” Lisa Marie said, in her most demanding voice.

“Now, now, you come along and don’t pester your Aunty.”

***

“Warren, where is Aphrodite? I want to go riding.”

“She’s in the stables. I guess Jake and Maria can take care of things, till we get back.”

As Lorelei and Warren rode over the fields of the Grange, she suddenly reined in Aphrodite, her white Appaloosa. She gave Warren a mischievous grin. She pointed up towards the lone tower and remains of the old cathedral, “I just have to see those ruins!”

Ares neighed and shook his head. Warren felt an overwhelming sense of foreboding as he looked up toward that ancient craggy tower. Lorelei focused her eyes on him giving him a willful look of command. She knew that Warren could refuse her nothing and like a so many times before his will bent to hers.

They rode leisurely up into the foothills. As the climb became more difficult they were forced to leave the horses tied beneath a gnarled old apple tree. Ares and Aphrodite were not at all happy about being left behind, they snorted and stomped making their indignation all too clear.

Lorelei’s dark eyes sparkled sprite-like in her excitement. “Hurry up,” she yelled, waving him on. Their feet slipped and slid in the gravel and loose earth; grabbing anything they could in the steep climb. Finally, after a long struggle they reached the summit, and stood in the road that led to that grim tower and silent churchyard.

When they reached the high road, just below the ruins, they saw to their frustration that the bridge across the gorge was blockaded with a high-wooden fence. Lorelei stood on a narrow outcropping looking down the slope at the thick forest surrounding the mount.

Suddenly her eyes lit up. She brushed against him, put a hand to his belly and looked up into his expectant face. “Give me your knife,” she said. He gave it to her without thinking. She grabbed the bottom of her long white skirt, pulled it up, and began to cut a slit up between her legs.

“Lorelei! What are you doing?” He protested. 

“You great ninny,” Lorelei laughed. “I can’t climb the barricade like this!”

Lorelei handed Warren the knife, “Do the back,” she said.  He held the knife nervously cutting through the thick cloth. Warren’s eyes wandered with a will of their own, over her shapely calves, the backs of her knees and thighs. Warren felt a sudden compulsion, a desperate urge to touch her, to feel his hands glide over those soft and graceful limbs once more. She turned her head to watch, “That’s far enough,” she laughed. 

There was a brisk wind and Warren watched as Lorelei climbed the barricade, catching glimpses of snow-white skin beneath the fluttering folds of cloth. “Be careful.” He cried. Inwardly he cursed himself for his lewd thoughts and the throbbing ache in his loins. He climbed the barricade clumsily; unable to clear his mind and focus on the task at hand.

They stood there for a moment, trying to catch their breath. On either side of the ruined cathedral the remains of flying buttresses rose up like skeletal ribcage, a deserted corpse waiting hopelessly for a proper burial.

They walked slowly and reverently through the charred remnants. Near the altar, before the empty jagged framework of a stained glass window, was a smoke stained statue of St. Michael. The Archangel’s sword was lifted high over his head. A dragon’s tail wound about him in a strangling embrace. The unknown sculptor had caught the moment perfectly, that one brief instant just before the sword stroke that would sever the roaring dragon’s head.

“It’s magnificent, it’s almost alive. I wish we could bring it back down with us.” Lorelei said.  She walked through the debris, circling about the statue, examining it carefully.  She stopped momentarily and smiled seductively as her hands roamed over the archangel’s muscular thighs.

Warren moved slowly around the statue trailing his hand over the spikes on the scaly serpent’s back. He looked the roaring dragon in the face, scowling at it. Lorelei laughed at his antics. He put his hand on its brow and then pretended to be prying the jaws open. “Yow, ’ He exclaimed, pulling his hand back quickly.  “Look -- I am bleeding.”

”Let me kiss it, and make it better,” Lorelei said, taking his finger gently into her mouth and sucking the blood from it. “Mmmmm, yessss,” Lorelei sighed, a glazed look entered her dark eyes.

“It is so wrong, Lorelei…” Warren whispered. Whatever strength of purpose, whatever resolve, whatever vows Warren had made to himself and to his God… vanished, dissolved into nothingness as he felt the warmth of her soft plump lips, the moist inner depths of her mouth and heard her heartfelt sighs.

They smoldered in each other’s arms. “I must have it, Warren, you are mine.” Lorelei breathed heavily. The fires of forbidden passion raged within as their lips and bodies melted together. There beneath the shadow of the angel and the dragon they consummated their love.

Warren’s guilt reasserted itself. Irrationally he feared being caught in an act. “Let’s get out of here, Lorelei, I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this.”

They dressed hurriedly gathering up their scattered clothes. As Lorelei pulled one white stocking over her long and gracefully sculpted leg, she reached out a hand to steady herself. Her hand rested on something that moved beneath her touch.

 “Wait -- what’s this? Some kind of lever?” She pushed down on the lever, cleverly disguised as a dragon’s claw. There was a harsh grating sound and they watched in amazement as the statue rotated out of place, revealing a long dark tunnel. Suddenly, the statue ground to a halt. The mechanism had been damaged long ago in the fire that ravaged that ancient place of worship. Warren grabbed a tall candle stand and pried on the statue until he had made an opening large enough to enter.

“Oh my God, how deliciously exciting!” Lorelei exclaimed, clasping her hands together and bringing them her up against her tiny breasts.

As Warren descended the stairs he saw strange barely discernable figures below them in the darkness. “Stay there!” Warren commanded.

“Oh, no! I’m going with you.” Lorelei exclaimed, following close behind him.
 
The vision that confronted them was worse than anything they could have conceived of. Warren stared in mute shock, horrified in the extreme by that phantasmagoric nightmare. Lorelei was enthralled, simply fascinated by the grisly spectacle.

There in the darkness lay the twisted skeletal remains of the monks of the abbey. She imagined what it must have been like for them, desperately fighting to escape the pit as the heat and smoke overcame them, sealing their fate. “They roasted alive down here,” She said softly, as she moved among the skeletal remains. She crouched near one of the dead monks, gently touching it’s blackened skull. She looked sadly into the ebon pits that had once held human eyes. “Oh, it must have been so horrible for them,” she said, sympathetically.

Warren began to notice eyes gathering about them in the darkness.  Dozens, perhaps hundreds of red feral eyes stared silently, ominously at them from the surrounding darkness. With each passing moment Warren's anxiety grew more pronounced.  Unnerved, he wanted nothing more than to escape that infernal pit. He stood behind Lorelei as she crouched near the corpses, “Lorelei, let’s get out of here,” He said, touching her shoulder gently.

Suddenly a gust of black wind arose from nowhere, forcefully swirling around them. Rats poured from the darkness in a squirming black mass. The vermin swarmed over them, climbing up their clothes. Warren thrust Lorelei up the stairs; she screamed hysterically tearing at the rats covering her white dress. Warren stomped hard again and again, his heeled riding boots crushing them with a wet sickening crunch into the stone floor. They squealed shrilly in the darkness as their bones shattered, guts squishing, their blood spattering up his legs. Relentlessly they scrambled up Warren’s clothes; he tore them off in desperation trying to keep them from his face and throat. 

Lorelei ran up the stairs into the Cathedral, “Warren!” she yelled frantically.  He raced up the stairs behind her with the bloodthirsty rats still clinging tooth and nail to his clothes.  One rat clung stubbornly in his hair. He ignored it. The blood throbbing in his temples, he groaned, in an effort to push the statue back over that abysmal pit. In rabid ferocity the black vermin gnawed at him, their grisly heads burrowing deep into tender flesh. 

They streamed forth in shadowy black tide up the stairwell. After what seemed an eternity he got the statue to budge, then grind slowly back into place, mercilessly smashing the rodents caught between statue and stair.

A desperate killing frenzy blazed fiercely in his gray eyes. He grabbed the candle stand and began smashing scurrying rats against the altar floor. Lorelei looked at him. A sheen of blood streaked across his grim sweaty brow. Suddenly and for the first time in her life, fearful of his masculine power, she drew away from him.

Warren saw the look in her eyes and the frenzy faded, leaving him emotionally and physically drained. He dropped the candle stand. It clanged loudly, rolling across the floor of the cathedral. He sank down on the altar stairs breathing heavily and covered his face in his hands. She came to him then and sat down. She put her arms about his waist, snuggling her head against his chest and began to sob softly.

***

Ares and Aphrodite neighed and pranced as the couple approached. Warren saddled the horses just as the sun was setting dream-like in the west. His thoughts revolved around the horror, the mystery of what they had discovered in the burnt out cathedral. They rode silently in the growing darkness along the narrow cobbled road that led to Crooling Grange.

The manor bathed eerily in the light of a blood-red moon. By that moon’s light it was easy to see why Crooling Grange was surrounded by superstitious dread and why it had lain dormant for so many decades. 

Maria was standing before the heavy oaken doors as they rode up. Warren dismounted and Maria ran out to greet them. She wrapped her arms around him crying with relief, “Oh, thank God, you’re back!” Her mood changed as suddenly as a leaf blown through the air in an autumn breeze. “Oh -- You kids will be the death of me! You had me worried sick!” She scolded, slapping Warren about the head and shoulders. Warren was in no mood for this, he grabbed her arms and held them tightly.

“What is it Maria? What’s wrong?” Warren asked, looking sympathetically into her teary eyes.

“Your covered in blood… I knew something was wrong. I kept imaging rats and black skulls around Lorelei!” Warren was no longer surprised by Maria’s uncanny intuitive abilities. She always seemed to know when they were in trouble and usually guessed nearer to the mark, then he cared to admit. “How could you run off like that, where did you go?” She cried in exasperation.

“Not now Maria.” Warren said with a tired, yet firm voice.

Lorelei wiped the tears from her face. “Oh, I am so sorry, my dear,” Lorelei apologized, kissing her cheek. She put an arm about her waist and led Maria inside.

As they entered the torch light of the hallway, Maria asked, “What happen to your dress, dear?”

“It’s a long story, honey. Let’s get some tea.”

Warren quietly walked Ares and Aphrodite back to the stables.

 

[Trent]

Nice work, Unknown, very detailed, descriptive narrative.  Is it going to be a novel or novella now?

[unknown]

Thanks Trent

I think it is going to be an awkward size, I think a short story can be around twenty thousand words. I don't think it will be any longer than that.

[Pagan]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!