The Devil’s Whorehouse Part Two

Posted: October 15, 2012 in Uncategorized

To all the great new people i have met in the last few weeks on Twitter, Thanks so much for the support. And to all the great artist, writers and creative minds, never give up.

I hope you enjoy part two of The Devil’s Whorehouse. Coming soon on Amazon.



The brake lights painted the tree trunks red. 

Dean opened the ashtray and stubbed his cigarette out, making a mental note: I need to stop smoking this shit. He slapped the ashtray shut. The headlights stuttered. 

“What the hell?” 

He could feel the car protest under his feet, jolting, bucking, kicking. The gas gauge showed that he still had more than half a tank. 

“What the fuck? Come on, you gotta be kidding me!”He beat the steering wheel as the car gradually rolled off the road. Dean jumped out of the car and kicked it.

“Piece of shit! COME ON. No. No. Not here, not now!” 

 He kicked the car again, leaving an imprint of his Converse behind.  

“Come on, please. Shit! Not here,” Dean pleaded with the car, as if it had any say over its performance. He popped the hood and grabbed his flashlight, checking the battery, hoses and plugs. As much as he expected to find a mechanical error, everything seems normal.  

“Fuck!” he kicked the tire, grabbed his jacket from the backseat and pulled out his phone. 

“No reception – of course. What was I thinking? Great.” He started to walk.

There’s no point in going back; I know what’s there – nothing. I’ve been on this road for three hours and haven’t seen a soul. If I just keep going north, I’ll run into something.

The first 15 minutes flew by, as Dean kept cursing the car and his situation. The next half hour passed excruciatingly slowly and, in his mind, he kept running through all the possibilities that could have stalled his car. Then, not long after, despair started to set in. Dean felt as if he was being watched. 

He picked up his pace. Every now and then, he suddenly stopped, spinning around on his heels to see if he could spot or hear footsteps from whoever was following him.


The hair on his neck stood up straight. 

Stop it; you’re making yourself paranoid. Just as he was about to run like hell, he saw a soft glow of neon lights ahead. Without any need for encouragement, he started running as fast as he possibly could. As he picked up speed, he felt his heels heat up and start to burn. The tight stinging pain in his chest, combined with his heavy breathing, pushed him to the brink of passing out. He stumbled into the parking lot, leaning on his knees and gasping for air. 

The place seemed to be a restaurant of some sort. It looked ancient; it was full of weathered dark wood, overgrown shrubbery and, here and there, shingles clung to the roofline. He could hear the buzzing of the old, red neon sign flickering on and off, its dim light bouncing off the dark building walls. The sign read ‘Crying Wolf’. What a name! 

Slowly, Dean made his way to the entrance. Out of nowhere, a large, wolf-like dog jumped against the rear window of a beat up fifties Ford pickup. The snapping beast pounced against the window, spraying drool all over it. 

Spooked, Dean took a step back, but then laughed in panic and continued to walk as the mutt frantically clawed at the glass. 

  “They should shoot you, crazy dog.” He held his hand up as if holding a pistol, pretending to pull the trigger. 

As he reached the door, he heard the soft tones of a piano drift out from the building. His mother wasted years trying to teach him how to play the piano, but Dean just wasn’t disciplined enough.  The only good that came from it was that he learned to appreciate the classics. He could spend hours listening to the great masters.  

He grabbed the shabby door handle and slowly entered. He could clearly hear the pianist playing Johan Sebastian Bach’s Air. He loved that song. He couldn’t explain why, but he just did. It made him feel light-headed and forget about all the bullshit he had to endure on a daily basis. It made him feel as if nothing else mattered and, for that short moment in time, he could let everything go and it would be fine. His body would relax and he would feel intensely happy. He jokingly called it his ‘musical orgasm’.

The lobby was deserted. 

Where are all the people? The parking lot is packed; there should be a ton of people here!

Old copper candelabras faintly illuminated the deserted hallways. 

“Hello? Anyone here? Hello? Customers?”

  The floorboards squeaked underneath his black        Converse trainers. He walked down the lobby looking for anyone that could help him. The place was covered in taxidermy and old knickknacks. Quail, pheasants, ducks, all plastered against the walls as if they were mid flight. Deer, coyotes and a kodiak bear completed the decor. Their empty black eyes seemed to stare him down, asking what in God’s name he was doing here. There wasn’t an inch of the wall that wasn’t covered in stuff. 

Dean let the music guide him through the hallways, finally coming to a stop at a large wooden double door. The door was delicately decorated; scenes of miniature people running through orchards were carved into the wooden panels, reminding him of the old Dongyang wood carvings he had seen at the LACMA museum a few years ago. A pale light seeped out from beneath it. Gently, he pushed the door open, careful not to make it squeak. He could feel his heart beating in his chest. His palms were sweating slightly. The door barely opened enough for him to peek in. His hand clasped the handle tight as he tried to peek in. 

The warm tunes of Bach now reached his ears directly, soothing him, filling him with warmth. Carefully, he twisted on his heels, stretching his neck, trying to see every possible angle without further opening the door. Alongside the room, booths were carved out of the wooden walls, red velvet curtains prudently draped in front of them. The room prompted images of an old Italian opera house to pop up in Dean’s mind. The booths were filled with people, laughing and chatting away. Pitchers of red wine were prominently displayed on every table, flanked by candles that tried their best to create the ultimate level of intimacy. 

“This place is sweet.”

As his eyes continued to scan the room, he finally saw where the music was coming from. In the middle of the room, a woman sat on a stage, playing the piano. 

She was the most beautiful woman Dean had ever seen. Her fingers floated over the ivory keys like leaves in a summer breeze. Her feet were wrapped in an intimate dance with the piano’s peddles, soothingly playing the finest tunes man ever invented. 

Everything about her was different, radiant. Her eyes were like amethyst, as if illuminated from the inside by an ancient violet light. Her long blond locks seemed to have a mind of their own, rhythmically waving along with her shoulders, plunging down while she hit another note. Her skin was fair and smooth; Dean guessed she must be about his age. 

She was naked. He was stunned that he hadn’t noticed this before.

  This is some kinky shit

  1. mistylayne says:

    I am totally digging this so far. 🙂

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