The Summoning

We are back with Scary Stories to Tell in the Bedroom... this is The Summoning. 

Definitely one of my darker stories so prepare yourself for a wild ride...

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:06

Love sounds different when it's whispered in the dark. Welcome to Scary Stories to Tell in the Bedroom, a romantic horror anthology. The need for a person can create a storm with unpredictable results. Sometimes our favorite love songs would sound very different if they were written from the perspective of a love gone wrong. Or worse, from the mind of someone who refuses to let go. In this collection, I'll be sharing stories that are creepy, unsettling, seductive, and sometimes deeply disturbing. And dear listener, understand what I mean when I say not all love is for you. And not all love is good for you. Trigger warning, my listeners, these stories are a little fucked up, extra freaky. But isn't that why you're here? This anthology includes six stories, each dropping weekly on Sunday. We took a little break, but we're getting back into it. Tonight's story is entitled The Summoning. Dim the Lights, get comfortable. And let's begin. Norman Mitchell Widow was a regular man. He was uniform in the way that he was nothing to look at, five nine with a slim build, his shoulders lacked the great width of swimmers and men taller than him. His cheeks were not chiseled, and his chin disappeared into his face. His brown eyes did not hide a fire or a hint of other color that would pique the interest of the opposite sex which he so liked. He did not have the developed wings and dazzling pectorals that many women like to admire in more than a passing glance. At twenty nine years old, he was balding on top of his head, and he knew he couldn't shave his head as he didn't look good bald. His head was far too lumpy for that. He could not comb over his hair, so he set it upon himself to visit a talented barber and ensure his hair was done well enough to cover his expanding patch. He knew he needed to hit the gym more often, but his educational pursuits prevented this. At least he told himself that. In reality, Norman was ashamed to work out in the same space as men he knew were better than himself. That's what he repeated in his mind. He hated how women ignored him but glanced through their peripherals at the men around him. Or at least he assumed that's what they did. So when he went home most nights, many nights, if he was to be honest with himself, he had won too many beers which accumulated in his waist. He could have been more intelligent like Oppenheimer or Dubois. He could not turn a phrase with the wit and romantics of Langston Hughes and Robert Frost. He was not funny. He was not charming. He was painfully average. It wasn't bad, not bad at all, but to Norman it was the worst thing he could be. He wanted to be more. He wanted others to see him as more than a smiling face in their philosophy class, or the man who held the door at the coffee shop. He wanted to be seen as someone special, worthy of their admiration and love, and one would suppose that he was not wrong in that venture. Does not everyone wish to love and be loved? Norman set himself up for improvement. He learned to play the piano quite nicely and took to playing with a jazz quartet in a local club on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. He began to volunteer at soup kitchens on Saturdays. He enrolled in classes on gentlemanly behavior and upper crust male motives to improve his manners and ensure that he held chivalrous tendencies. He learned to dress himself for his height and weight. He took to once a month pedicures and manicures and acquired hygienic practices in bathing himself while adopting the knowledge of layering cologne and aftershave. All these things were great and helped Norman to improve his outer look among his peers, but it did not net him the power, admiration, and most of all, the attention of the opposite sex that he so intensely craved. Norman was not a virgin, no, not by any means. He was ashamed to say that he had paid for sex on more than five occasions, and though he did, he did not consider himself a virginal fool. He did have sex. It didn't matter by which method the sex was had, he did it. No. Norman's problem was his mouth. It was his attitude. It was his meager outlook on society, its values, and his, dare one say it, very misogynistic viewpoints of women. Norman wanted a traditional woman, as he called it, someone virginal and beautiful, someone who possessed secret sexual knowledge to please him when he wanted, but she could not have a body count higher than three men. Goodness, depending on her age, three might be too many. Yes, at twenty nine Norman wanted a woman who was at least between nineteen and twenty five, and still he turned his nose up at women who were close his age. She needed to be between five four and five five, with a slim thick build. She could carry weight in her ass, breasts, and thighs, but never to the point of stretch marks. In terms of her weight, he would prefer it if she was no more than one hundred and twenty pounds, because he would never be caught dead with a woman he deemed a beluga. Women were to be quiet and serve. They should dress modestly with a hint of sexual teasing to remind other men of what they could not have. He didn't have many stipulations or preferences, as he liked to call them. Speaking of preferences, she had to have a specific look about her. He preferred women who had more Eurocentric features. And though he wouldn't admit this out loud, he didn't want a woman who was darker skinned than himself. He held his reservations about dark skinned women, and he believed that there was a reason that historically lighter women were preferred. He would not budge on what he wanted, and he expected a woman to take care of him as he was, he was the man, after all. In this day and age, much to Norman's chagrin, it was harder to get women to see that and understand. So, after lifting to a podcast, he came up with a brilliant idea. After he called in and explained his situation, the host suggested it to him. The occult, supernatural and metaphysical were the realms where man held dominance for quite some time. There was an inherent patriarchy in these fields, and Norman readily admitted that his interest was more than passing. After all, he was a philosophy major, and everyone knew there was a line between religion and philosophy. He studied the two and compared their dogmas while mixing and matching what he agreed with. In this instance, Norman was told to seek the guidance of an entity who looked kindly upon his dire state. He wanted a woman to love, adore, and worship him. Should he not enlist the help of a female deity in his search? There was one problem with this though. After reviewing his list of needs and the magic he needed to speak, he noticed some barriers to his grand summoning plan. One, he needed to wait for a blue moon between October and early November. Extra points if the ritual was done near a vortex where the veil was thinnest, where land met water, a place with immense natural energy like a waterfall, mass soul transition sites, etc. Two, he needed the blood of a long suffering woman. How much? He didn't know, but he thought that with many spells it meant all of it. Norman was nervous. There was so much to do in the little time he wanted to do it in, but at the same time, it was worth it. It was more than worth it, should everything go right. But where was this long suffering woman and what exactly did that mean? He didn't know, and that was the sticking point. Sitting in the university library, Norman smiled widely as he peeked over his Tolstoy novel and stared around the room. There was one woman that he knew, one woman that had paid him a little too much attention. She was not his type, nowhere near the kind of woman he would be attracted to, but he didn't need her. She was his means to an end. She was the ticket to getting him the woman he craved, the one that would be the sum of all his wants. Yenny Rachel Thompson was a charming woman. She was caring and empathetic. Many people liked her, and depended on her for comfort or a listening ear. They sought her advice in many ventures from love to money to daily family matters, where decisions needed to be made based on an outside opinion. She was a dual philosophy and English major and did well in her classes. She was a star pupil and a teacher's aide in her creative writing class. Yinny was funny. She would crack jokes that would make the hardest faced Capricorn smirk. She was a great listener, always there when her friends needed someone to talk to. Active listening was her superpower, and her ability to make one feel seen and heard was why she was so well liked. Honest, clever, inspiring, and generous, people would always say something substantial about Yinny before mentioning her appearance. Which was nothing to snort at. Yinny was a beautiful woman. She carried herself well, smelled like a goddess, and dressed like a perfect ten, which she was. Her heart shaped face and round cheeks made her face cherub like and cute. If someone had something to say about Yinny negatively, it was that she was giving too much. She was very nice. She gave too many chances, and wore her heart on her sleeve, and if you asked her friends, she liked medium to high ugly men and gave them a chance when she was above them. Everyone has a fault, though, right? Yinny found Norman to be quite cute. He was nerdy, kept to himself, and looked around the room like a spooked rabbit. He had some interesting insights to share when he did talk in class, or she could have been being nice about it. Maybe. He had begun to dress better. Gone were the khaki shorts, new balances, and oversized t shirt. He began to wear well fitting slacks, dress shirts with shined shoes. When he walked by her, he didn't smell stale or like mothballs, but soap and some cedar scented aftersave. She heard him playing piano in the music room one day, and when he smiled, it made her smile. He seemed nice and safe. He's ugly, no, Rebecca rolled her eyes as she regarded her friend. Don't you dare? Rebecca held up her pointer finger. I mean it, Yenny, look at him. From across the library, Rebecca stared in Norman's general direction. He's not that bad, Yinny shrugged. He asked to get coffee already, and I said yes. Please be fucking joking, Rebecca sighed. What happened to Will? He's tall, amazing ass, great smile. This is a sixty percent downgrade. Yinny sucked in a breath. He also talked about me behind my back to his friends. Rebecca narrowed her eyes. We are in college. Who the fuck is gossiping like that? You'd be surprised. Yinny wrapped her arms around herself. She had zero problems with the way she looked, but apparently some men couldn't handle her curves. They were always loud about it. That was the problem. I still say no. Rebecca popped the chip into her mouth. Yinny said yes. And on that Saturday morning, she dressed and got ready by walking a short distance to the cafe to meet Norman. He was already inside nursing a cup, but two Danishes were before him. He looked out the window and back at the register before glancing at his phone. His hand nervously touched the top of his head, and Yinny wondered if he got a man weave. No judgment, it was well done, but how he felt it made her wonder, with careful, gentle, probing fingers. Opening the door she took a deep breath and smiled at Norman, who spotted her and stood up making his way over. Good morning, Yinny, how are you? Great, she chuckled. I won't lie, I'm a little tired. I usually sleep in. Oh? Norman looked her up and down. His stance suggested he was unsure if he should hug her. You should have told me. I would have picked a different time. No no, Yinny held her hands up. I need to get up early anyway. Norman smiled at her before reaching out and touching her arm gently. Tell me what coffee you want. I'll get it for you and you can sit. He placed his hand back in his pocket. Oh no, Yinny started. He cut her off with another touch. I axed you out, Norman grinned. You can have it next time. It's just coffee. He placed his hand back in his pocket. Rebecca would have walked out. Rebecca would have turned her nose up at a coffee date, but Yinny wanted to give him a chance. Sure. Uh vinti apple crisp macchiato? He nodded his head and pointed to the table. Yinny smirked and made her way over, taking off her purse, sliding into the space before seating herself. He got them two strawberry cream Danishes, and she waited for him to return before taking one. She didn't want to assume. Texting Rebecca quickly, she put her phone away just as Norman set her drink in front of her and sat himself down. He slid a Danish toward her. How'd you sleep last night? Yinny figured the edge of her breakfast treat. Pretty well. I finished two papers and free this weekend and next week, thank heavens, she chuckled. How are you doing in class? The corner of Norman's mouth lifted. About as well as one can hope. Finishing this master's degree should be easier, but what are you studying? When he didn't answer her directly, she clarified, I mean double major, just general philosophy. Epistemology. Many of my classes have been heavy in religious philosophy, though, he grinned. I like to dabble in the ideas that the occult presents. Oh, Yinny was not interested in that at all. She was raised as a proper church fearing woman, but she believed in what she did and had her convictions. The classical root of philosophy then. She didn't expect his snarky undertone after he siffed his drink. Well, we can't all be rock stars, I mean will there be another Aurelia, Cicero or Bacon? I doubt it, nothing more to discover. Did she step on his fucking toes that fast? Yinny nodded slowly. I didn't mean to bring up a sore subject. Norman seemed to catch himself. His countenance changed. You didn't, I apologize. What about you? Not many women philosophers, he chuckled, at least worth noting. Wow, Yinny thought. I'd like to think Hypatia, Wollstonecraft, and Joyce Mitchell Cook are nothing to snort at. I'm double majoring. She watched as his jaw tightened and wondered what Norman was thinking. Interesting. Yinny finished her Danish silently while Norman turned the conversation to the weather and his daily plans. The conversation quickly fell into him and what he liked to do and would do. What was his daily life like, and how did he improve himself? He paused to talk about her, only to ask if she lived close by and what she thought of a few bands he had been listening to lately. Boring. He was utterly dull, and Yinny hated to say it, but Rebecca was right. After an extensive two hour spiel about how Catcher in the Rye was one of the most outstanding books ever written, Norman decided it was time to go and tried to make dinner plans. Yinny was ready to go home and decompress. She'd never thought this morning would require her to go home and back to bed to start her day over. I will have to think about it. I may have plans tonight. She smiled at Norman, trying to dissuade him gently. Norman shook his head. I won't take no for an answer. You're a wonderful listener, Yinny. And you talk too damn much, Yinny thought to herself, but nodded politely. Message me on Instagram, and I'll see what can be done. How about I just get your number? Norman opened his phone and pressed it into her hand. Shock and nervousness overtook Yinny. People milled about. Norman stared into her face, waiting for her to make a move. I uh that way I can text you, and I know you'll receive it, Norman grinned. Sure. Yinny tried to keep the defeat out of her voice as she entered her number and handed the phone back to Norman. She hated that. She hated that he practically made her do it, and it wasn't like she could give him a fake phone number. They had class together. Wonderful. I'll text you about four for plans about eight. He was resolute and leaned in to give her a church hug before planting his lips on her cheek, which were incredibly unwelcome. See you later. As she began to walk home, Yinny thought hard about how she scrub her face to erase the feeling of his slightly chapped lips on her. It was all too easy. It couldn't be that simple. No, there was no way that all of this was coming along so well. Norman sat on the recliner in his bare living room and propped his feet up. Yinnie was polite, sweet, considerate. She was perfect, but it was too bad that she didn't fit his aesthetic. She wasn't his preference. In another world, he might have been okay with her. If things didn't pan out like he wanted them to, he would have married her and been content with a woman who liked and adored him. That was enough. Not this lifetime, though. He had a plan. He had particular intentions that he wanted to complete and see to fruition. He deserved this. He deserved his happiness, and to be able to call someone his. Cracking open his beer at three in the afternoon was a celebratory drink for him. Norman took a long guzzle before burping exceptionally loud. He chuckled and propped his feet up, snuggling into the worn leather chair. Tenebris Meter Amoris Abunta, she is called, the dark mother of love and abundance. She was an ancient goddess with a Babylonian or Akkadian history. Ardat Ratau was a seductress who liked to fulfill heart desires as long as she was pleased. At least that's what he was told, and what many believed. Few dared to summon her, and others only got through half the ritual before being interrupted or realized they were doing something wrong. It was said she was very picky. Norman snorted when he was told that. So long as she did what he asked. The podcaster said in his email that she requires strong male energy. You had to be brave, intelligent, and direct. She valued forwardness. There was a hint of something else in the email, though. Norman pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the email app. She may require a piece of you to complete her ritual. That's what these notes are saying, or at least I think it's hinting at a sexual transaction, so I'd bring my A game. He could do that. He had enough practice and had downpacked the small ceremony elements already. Everything would be perfect. He just needed his ideal sacrifice, a patient woman. Yenny was more than he could have hoped for. All she had to do was meet him for dinner tonight, and he'd begin his wooing of her. He'd do just enough to get her snagged, and in a week everything would be ready, and he'd reap the benefits of his many sacrifices. He found the perfect place. The river cut through the forest long and meandering at a stagnant pace. About fifty yards away was a cemetery. The first blue moon of the year was happening in one week. Everything was too optimistic. There was no way that he was meant to have this happen. Norman chuckled and continued to sip his beer. It was all too easy. Everything was lining up so well. He'd have his perfect woman, and Yenny would be the key. Or so Norman thought. He was so very wrong in his assumption of Yenny. She knew it, reveled that he did not, and took much delight in the horrors soon to come upon Norman. She giggled to herself at the thought of this dangerous. Date gone wrong? One gone wrong for Norman, utterly right for Yenny. She played her part, and soon everything would fall into place and the beautiful portrait left behind would become who she wanted to be in this world. Norman didn't have enough money to send an Uber, but he volunteered to pick Yenny up. She had doubts, and she accepted only because Rebecca said she would be there in a flash. As she opened the car door and sat in the passenger seat, she was immediately taken aback by the musty smell mixed with a tinge of alcohol. Smiling nicely she closed her door and spoke her hellos. You look very nice, Norman grinned as the car pulled away. Smell great too. Thank you. She wanted to say the same, but it was pronounced that his shirt had never seen an iron. Almost as soon as she thought that, she felt bad because what if he didn't own an iron? He shouldn't be taking a woman on a date then, and he damn sure has a dryer, Yinny heard Rebecca say in her head. Why didn't he put it in the dryer on low? She decided to compliment his scent instead. You smell nice, is that polo red? Norman side eyed her, keeping his hands on the wheel. It is. You know your colognes, huh? What was she supposed to say? I think I just recognize familiar smells. Norman hunned softly. He reached forward and turned the radio up slightly. The rest of the time was silent, much to her dismay, as he continued to drive toward the restaurant. Yinny wanted to say that was the strangest thing that happened, but no. They approached the restaurant, and Norman exited the vehicle. She opened her door and was about to step out when she looked up and saw Norman standing there with his hand on the door. I'm supposed to open this for you. The corner of his mouth was lifted slightly. Oh Yinny sat back in her seat as Norman closed the door and opened it again. She felt embarrassed. She slowed her approach as they neared the door and watched as Norman glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He nodded his head as she waited for him to open the door. Yinny would have liked to tell Rebecca that the rest of the night was beautiful and went very well, but it was just average. Nothing happened that stunned her. The mediocre restaurant did not wow her, but she was impressed by the dessert. As the check came, Norman cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows before fishing out his card. He set it down with a loud tap on the table. It made Yenny feel uncomfortable. Would you like me to send you my half? she offered. He axed her out. She didn't have to do anything. Her meal cost less than his, but the way he drummed his fingers on the table made it feel as though it was more than he anticipated. Norman interlaced his fingers on the table in front of him, his smile seeming strained. Yinny, my dear, I asked you on this date and I will pay. I am a man, after all. She nodded her head and took a deep breath. The waitress returned with her tablet, a tight smile as she handed Norman his card, declined, got another. Are you sure? Norman quickly attempted to reach into his pocket for his wallet, only succeeding in knocking over his half full water glass onto the table. Yinny quickly lifted her purse and slid it to one side. Slowly, she pulled out her wallet and smiled as she handed the waitress her debit card. Try mine. No, Yinny, I have another card. Norman's tone was harsh, and the finality of it only served to tell Yinny that he probably didn't have another card, and if he did, it had just enough. The waitress took Yinny's card knowingly before swiping it on her key bag. I bet it works, she chuckled, and her joke only served to anger Norman, who dabbed napkins over the sizable wet spot. When the machine dinged the acceptance of funds, the waitress handed Yenny back her card with a raised eyebrow. Have a good night. I could have paid. I had another card, Yinny, I told you that. Norman stood up quickly from the table. The water managed to land on his lap and stain his left pant leg. I realize, she replied calmly. It seemed a lot was happening and I just wanted to take care of it. If it bothers you, you can send me the money or your half through Cash App or Zell. She smiled at him. I have both. Yes, of course. Norman offered his arm, practically grabbing Yinny's to place it over his. Now, this is where the shift will occur, and it is here that the idea of a sweet, innocent Yinny will fall away. Norman thinks he's so intelligent. Norman believes that he has all of this under his control, and Yinny knows another idea to be true. So, as Norman begins to drive away from the city, she sits quietly, watching and waiting for the chance to leap and strike. He's nervous, his hands are sweating, clamping down on the steering wheel in haste. He's sloppy with his turns, and it gives Yinny the ick because why is he turning like that? His sweat smells not from the cologne but from the baser scent of his body. Norman's pheromones disgust her. He doesn't eat well, and it's coming through his skin. It bothers her. Yinny snorts quietly, trying to clear her olfactory glands. No help. Sighing loudly, she's just about had it with this charade of hers as Norman finally comes to a stop. Here we are. I apologize for the drive. Yinny looks around. Where is here? Oh Norman doesn't meet her eyes. He's nervous. Is he second guessing what he wants to do? Yinny isn't. There's a gorgeous waterfall in the cave. It sparkles, just gorgeous and he's faltering, the coward. He brought her out here. Look at him, stumbling, stuttering, the fool. I wanted to show you because I care about you, Yinny. Oh, now he's trying to be generous. He's trying to play up some supposed sentimental feelings that he thinks she has. Not Yinny smiles, a real one, not one of her plastered fakes. She places a hand on her hip, disguising the small syringe that's prepped and ready. He'll be asleep for the first half, and it's better if he doesn't struggle. But what about the last part? He will be wide awake, for he has to see her ascension, the one thing that will set her free. You care about me, Yinny chuckles. You're sweet, aren't you? He seems to notice the shift and shuffles his feet to one side. Are you all right? You seem off. Yinny takes a deep breath. I would like to see this cave. Would you like to lead the way? She turns away from him, looking back over her shoulder. This allows her hair to fall on her face, and Yinny smirks an attractive and flirtatious grin that immediately lowers Norman's suspicions. Well we need a blanket. I wonder if there are staglamites inside to look at. Or that I can spear you with, Yinny thinks. Norman nods and goes back to his vehicle. He brings a backpack, which Yinny figures has rope and whatever else he thinks he'll be using on her. She smirks and shakes her head. Looking down, Yinny examines the ground. This is why she brought appropriate shoes. The soil here is loose and moist, heels would get stuck, and wedges wouldn't provide enough grip. Still, she begins to walk to the river, not waiting for Norman, who finally catches up to her. I didn't think you'd be into walking on this ground, he admits, breathing reasonably hard. Yenny knows that most men look at midsided women like her and assume she loves food and not fitness. She loves both. But the fact that he's standing here huffing and puffing after a few yards and she's not sweating should scream the opposite. Still, it is time to let the mask slip. And here she goes with the first piece. Why would you assume that, Norman? Did you think that being a tall, thick woman I would stuff my face all day and give no thought to fitness? My body's well being, excellent heart health? She watches his dark eyes as they roam over her face. Yinny is still smiling, but this smile is for a victim. It's callous and cold, and full of patronizing mirth. Norman finally catches his breath. I didn't say that. Why are you talking like this? He's confused, and it's now that Yinny notices he finally catches a whiff of who the real Yinny is. Are you feeling alright? You've been quite sassy this evening. Where's my sweet and unassuming Yinny? Leaning her head to one side, she chuckles. We might have left her in the car. Come on now, she continues, splashing into the water. These clothes won't matter soon enough. Yinny, there's a path, a little bridge, Norman calls as he head towards it. The current isn't strong here, and Yinny thighs power through the brisk cold water until her feet hit the bank's other side. The sun is barely above the horizon now, purple light casts a pretty glow in the sky, and Yinny reaches the mouth of the cave with a singular cruel mark on her mouth. Norman joins her on her right side, the good side, her striking side. Yinny takes a deep breath and begins. I think I know why you brought me here, Norman, she begins. He doesn't move, looking at her from the corner of his eye. You want me to do something for you, Yinny continues. She peers into the cave slowly. You want me to give you something you cannot get alone, right? Norman swallows audibly, and the sound greatly upsets Yinny. It sparks something in her soul and causes her patience to swell dangerously at the borders of her being. What are you talking about? Let's not play games. She turns to face him, leaning against the mouth of the cave. The syringe is pressed against her wrists, and Yinny is anxiety ridden with the need to stab him, right in the eye, if need be. No, directly in the throat, right into his esophagus. She wants to feel the thin metal tube slide under his skin and is ravenous about the need to do it. You want me to summon her, don't you? Norman's grip tightens on the pack. His eyes are wide and rabbit like. The whites are showing. Whale eyes are what they call in dogs. The sclera is fully visible. He's distressed. His intention is entirely upon her, but his mind screams for him to get away. He's been made. He should get out of here. His skin is taut, goosebumps running across his flesh. Humans give off a particular scent when they are scared, and Yinny has smelled it on enough men that she recognizes it. It becomes an aphrodisiac to her. She can feel her body clenching, channel moistening from the anticipation of his absolute terror. A man, afraid of a woman. The taste could not be sweeter. Summon who Yinny, what are you talking about? He steps back, and Yinny's hand strikes out grasping his bicep, or whatever he calls that part of his pitiful body. Her nails dig into his skin painfully. Norman winces and gasps. Stop. He tries to pull away to no avail. Why? Yinny laughs. You pictured this going a different way, didn't you? You pictured me in your embrace. You'd knock me out or overpower me. Norman tries to pull away, but her nails sink deeper, calling wells of blood to appear on his skin. You wanted to gut me and lay out my entrails as a pretty present thinking she'd help you. Joke's on you, my dear Norman. Norman tosses his backpack down and tries to escape towards the bridge. He tries to run, but Yinny is right behind him. The irony of the whole situation is making her laugh too hard, and when she jumps onto his back and knocks Norman to the ground, Yinny screams in delight. Norman flails and kicks, his movements mean nothing to her. MMA training has done Yinny exceptionally well. Her legs are wrapped around his waist, she applies pressure with the top half of her body to keep Norman's arms pinned under his form. Yinny stabs the syringe into the side of his neck, salivating when the shaft sinks through his flesh. This needle is much too big, and she knows that, so she chose it. Yinny shivers in pleasure when the hub of the needle is the only part showing from Norman's flesh. His cry is short lived, his body jerks and stills as the massive amount of ketamine flows through his system. Most know it as a horse tranquilizer, but the drug acts as a beautiful anesthetic as well. Standing up, Yinny kicks his unconscious body and looks back toward the cave. Norman has done all this hard work for her. There's no need to waste it. Smiling, she slings the backpack on and grabs one of his arms. Time for you to help me, Norman. Nothing goes to waste, my dear. Especially not you. Four stalagmites sit in the opposite corners of each other inside the moist cave. Here, the sigal lies on the ground, where Norman had planned to lay Yinny. Too late, you snooze you lose. Naked, she stands in the middle straddling Norman's body. There's a blade in her hand, and she pricks her fingers with it watching as her blood falls on Norman's bare chest. He should be waking up soon. The candles around the room flicker softly in the cave. They waver and move around in gusts of wind that kick up. Norman groans on the ground. He moves his head from side to side and slowly gains consciousness. His vision wavers, but soon his faculties will be about him, and the horror will set in once more. It will come upon him and move up his legs until it reaches his heart. If it doesn't explode in terror, Yinny will be surprised. Yinny, he moans, smacking his lips. He's moving his arms and soon realizes he can't. He flails his arms and legs and groans. Oh God, what are you doing? He's naked, and he looks down at himself finally blinking in the dim lights. Yinny, please please what? She pricks her forefinger once more and flicks the blood on his chest. Isn't this what you planned on doing to me? Yinny scoffs stepping around Norman's form. Wasn't all this here for me? Tie me down, stab me with this she holds the knife high. Tell me it wasn't and watch what happens. Norman grunts. Yinny, listen, I was hesitant about this. He pulls on the ropes, and they tighten further around his wrists. I knew it wasn't real. I knew it. It was it Norman grunts, pulling and flailing. He screams into the air and Yinny leans against the wall watching as he expends his energy. Walking over to him, Yinny leans down, jabbing the knife into his side. She clenches her jaw as it pierces his body and feels the metal sliding past flesh resounding through her hand, into her arm and her womb. It creates a sense of euphoria that feeds the part of Yinny's brain that craves the oxytocin release. It is soon sated, and Yinny moans, holding back the orgasmic feeling that threatens to burst over her clitoris. As the blade slides back covered in his dark red blood, she turns it left to right before lifting the steel in front of her face. Norman's blood pulls beneath him, soaking the sigal painstakingly into the rock. You want to lie again? Yinny asks, smiling down at him. I dare you. Let's see how far this knife will reach. And closing her hand over the blade, she wipes his life source into her palm, tapping her fingers against the blood. You think I can tickle your kidney with it? The tears that fall over Norman's cheeks leave lines of raw emotion etched into his weary face, like silent tributaries carrying the weight of his unspoken pain. Each glistening droplet bears guilt, a testament to the struggles he believes he has weathered and a reminder of the strength he no longer possesses. No, he groans, please. His lip quivers in pain and fear, a subtle yet profound manifestation of his turmoil. Turmoil he will never escape. It trembles, a fragile boundary that holds back the flood of emotions threatening to engulf him. The vulnerability in that quiver speaks volumes echoing in the depth of his anguish and terror. There are no long drawn out speeches or flourishes, there is no waiting, nothing is happening, everything has been done, and Yinny now stands over Norman. Legs on either side of his body, she smiles down at him. A haunting grin stretches across her mouth, almost stretching from ear to ear. Her breath comes in spurts, making her chest rise and fall rapidly. She's too excited. This moment has accumulated momentum to barrel into the situation before her. His eyes are wide and panicked. She loves it. She craves it. His fear is acrid and bitter, it stings her nose and makes her mouth water. Leaning over, Yinny drags the tip of the blade down Norman's chest. She ignores his cries, his pleas, and now his outright screams as he pulls against the rope, causing burns on his skin and leaving raw chafed lines. With a swift and determined notion, the metallic tang of blood fills the air as Yinny's eyes remain unyielding, locked onto Norman's. Her every movement is calculated, and in that instant she knows that this decisive act is the culmination of a journey filled with pain, betrayal, and the relentless pursuit of justice. The blade, a symbol of retribution, now rests under Norman's diaphragm, and the small open room of the cade is imbued with an eerie silence that echoes the sound of dripping water. With a swift twist, Yinny slides the blade to the right, relishing in the feeling of intestines against metal. The resistance of entrails is forced from their cavity. Sliding her hand across his body, Norman's blood coats Yinny's fingers and warm and sticky. She rubs it on her face and begins a soft chant. Dark mother Lilith, ancient and wise in shadowed realms your power lies, you rise and soar from the depths, always symbolizing strength. To the left the blade slides, and once again Yinny rubs the blood on her forehead, crafting a small symbol. Mistress of the night, your spirit calls, in whispered chants, I give my all. Protector of secrets, I honor your name, I'll never be the same in Lilith's embrace. The room begins to spin, or at least feels like it. The smell of warm roses and the chill of the night erupt onto yet Yenny's warm flesh. Norman's pallor begins to pale, but he hangs on to consciousness long enough to listen to Yenny's song continue. With darkness as your shroud and guide in your strength I will confide. Lilith hear my voice rise, with Lilith's grace, I'll lie in your embrace. Dark mother Lilith, I sing to thee. Darkness is not enough to describe the level of pitch that covered the room. It's a profound abyss, a deep void that even the concept of darkness seemed inadequate to capture its intensity. No trace of light dared to trespass here, and even the bravest shadows appeared feeble in this consuming, bottomless expanse. It was as though this unyielding inky blackness had devoured the essence of light, leaving nothing but an eerie and unsettling void that defied any attempts to fathom its depths. In that darkness, a single light finally pierced. Red from the hole in the ceiling, it shined heavily on Norman's stomach, and the man gurgled. A man a sweet and sultry, disembodied voice spoke into Yenny's ear, and suddenly her mind was alive again. The synapses fire and the neurons began communicating with each other as if nothing had happened. A man's life for my sake, and here you want me to give you more. Yinnie feels her heart thump, its normal sinus rhythm escalating as she draws air into her lungs again. Breathe, Yinny, Rachel Thompson. Breathe the air of freedom and listen to my proposition for you. Yinny coughs. She drags the air into her lungs several times by the mouthful, only to heave it out again. Her chest and abdomen work together to dispel the air from her body. Climbing off Norman's form, Yinny watches a hand emerge from the wound on Norman's waist. A slender hand reaches high, and Yinny stretches forth, grasping the woman's hand. Her strength is more significant than Yinny imagined, but she pulls the woman forth, ignoring how much Norman's body rips in two, his entrails soak the ground, and his eyes whip about in his skull as the last throes of life leave his form. Every time I'm awoken by the women who follow me, past, present, and future, I feel them, she cries. I gain their knowledge. Yinny, raise me again. Her voice betrays the lyt of a proper English accent, why Yinny doesn't know. A tail branches into the light, the woman steps into the sigal and kicks the intestines to one side. It reminds Yinny of a lion's tail, but the hair is much longer. They are wispy and silver in color. The skin of the tail seems glossy and the figure walks into the light. Yellowed lights are placed strategically around the symbol on the ground where she stands. The nails on her toes are long and painted a beautiful fuchsia color that's a bold contrast to the deep black of her skin. Her legs are well defined with stiff calves and her thighs are heavily muscled in tone. Slight marks line her skin akin to stretch marks. She has the height of a basketball player or a high jumper. She has the figure of an ancient Greek statue, soft curves and gentle lines with a belly. She is Aphrodite's birth. The figure's arms are long and reach out towards Yinny. Covered in blood the woman breathes profoundly as she speaks once more. Yinny brings her attention to the female's face. I am the dark maid, the lady of the night, the paragon of women, the eternal dark mother, the sister of shadows. Her face is statuesque and brilliant. She has high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes, but the silvery pink eyes and massive horns sprout from her head sides are not lost on Yinny. Folded behind her back are wings, now she opens them wide, black and thick, they block out the light around her. Hooks on the ends of her bat like wings move on their own accord. Naked, she stands before Yinny with heaving bosom shaped like teardrops, and speaks once more from her full heart shaped lips painted gold. Many names know me, but I think the one I like best. She winks at Yinny. The one that most know me by and you have called is Lilith. Yinny breathes slowly through her mouth as their eyes watch each other. Thank you, Lilith. Yinny's knees hit the ground in front of her. Dark mother I ask for so little but to carry out your will. Stepping forward, Yinny notices Lilith does not leave her symbol on the ground. She doesn't move past the last line separating them. I must protect women. And this is what you wish to do now, right? Yes. Men are a disease. There's no argument there. They are an affliction on this earth, a burden to women destined to rule it. Every matriarchal society we know. Harmonious, effective communication, active listening, and reading comprehension skills. Longer lives are lived, advancements in medicine and science can be achieved. Lilith takes a deep breath. Men hinder society. They're good for nothing but breeding, pleasure when you want it, and even then that's fleeting. She rolls her eyes. They make excellent soldiers. Men are good at obeying orders. They're not meant for roles of leadership. This world is rotten because of them. This world will die because of them. No man thinks of the greater good, no man puts others before himself. They must be taught to do what women do inherently. Yenny knows she's speaking facts. Lilith continues. I am tired of avatars that will not listen to me. They fall prey to the folly of man. Love. Scoffing Lilith spits on the ground, and the stone sizzles, releasing whiffs of smoke into the air. I am as powerful as my avatar. You called me here. I know you're picking up what I'm putting down. She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. I want nothing more, Yinny breeze. I wish to serve, I wish to be the right hand of my dark mother, crafting the destruction of men in your path to build a better world. Lilith's eyes turn hard, the once delicate pink pupil in them flashes bright, and her eye is covered in the magenta colour. Then you shall, my tiny seed. Her wings flap hard, and the dust surrounds Lilith flying into Yinny's face. I want them to be subjugated to every ounce of anger from being unheard, lost aspiration, the feeling of hopelessness and the loss of self worth and degradation that they have placed upon women. Lilith seems to realize the intensity of her words, and calms herself down. Her eyes return to their typical silver hue. I want us, you and me, to lead a tide of retribution and restore the glory of women in a tide of blood that will choke out the penis having bastards, leaving behind the submissive and malleable to create a new world. There is no way to describe the joy overflowing from Yenny as she reaches forward and takes Lilith's hand. Her transformation is underway, rending her flesh from bone to turn her into a succubus. At that moment, as their hands touch, a surge of dark energy courses through Yenny's vein, and she feels the ancient power of Lilith infusing her very being. Her skin takes on an obsidian like pallor, her eyes darken to an intense shade of magenta, and a pair of sleek dark wings unfurl from her back. The sensation is exquisite and agonizing as Yenny's humanity is stripped away, replaced by a newfound otherworldly allure that will forever bind her to the dark mother's will. Lilith whispers ancient secrets, passing on her knowledge and wisdom with a voice that resonates like a siren's call into Yenny's ear. As the transformation continues, Yinny can feel her senses sharpen, her desires open, and her connection to the shadows strengthen. It is a rebirth into a world of eternal night, where seduction and power are intertwined and where she will serve as an emissary of Lilith's dark desires for all of eternity. Lilith's voice rings into the shadow. Let them see you and tremble, my dearest one. It is as they say, Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. I hope you enjoyed The Summoning. Definitely one of my darker stories. Next, we will continue the descent with Take Me Back to Eden. Until next time. Sleep carefully.