The Devil’s Whorehouse Part 3

Posted: October 21, 2012 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

This Might be the last post before I publish the complete story on Amazon. Enjoy and maybe next week I will post part 4 who knows …. Enjoy. Chris

She was the focal point of the room, capturing everyone’s attention, and even though no one directly looked at her, everyone was tuned in to her.
He couldn’t help but be drawn to her. His gaze slowly moved south and his eyes found her bottom.
“Perfect” he whispered. A drop of drool slid down his chin. As he noticed what was happening, a blush of shame came over him. Staring at her from behind the door made him very uncomfortable. What if she’s someone’s girlfriend or someone’s wife? His voice of reason quickly made room for his voice of desire. His eyes followed her contour as her muscles tightened and relaxed while she continued playing the piano.
He was in a trance; and so, it seemed, was everyone else. His eyes locked on her firm breasts, her nipples prominent and inviting. He felt his penis push against his pants, begging for air. A warm wave of shame rolled over him again. He respected her, even though they had never met before. Her lips full and plump, she was the dream of every man.
To be kissed by such inviting lips.
As he kept fantasizing about pulling her close and pressing his lips against hers, she turned and their eyes met. It was as if a lightning bolt shot through his body, snapping him back to reality. Her lips slightly moved. Her eyes fixated on him.
Leave. He could hear her voice in his head while she continued to play, as her lips repeated the warning.
“Leave now.”
Dean was startled. Leave? Why. I’ve got nowhere to go. I need help.
The louder the music, the louder her voice echoed in his head. Leave. They’ll kill you, her sweet voice warned him.
Before her words could register, he felt an ice cold hand on his shoulder. He spun around as fast as lightning. Across from him stood a frail man whose recessed cheeks emphasized his old, vein-covered yellow eyes. The man’s long, bony finger pointed at him.
“Can I help you, young man?”
“Oh. Oh, um, I’m sorry; my car broke down a few miles from here and this is the first place I came across to ask for help. Could I use your phone please?”
“I am truly sorry, sir, but we have no telephone on the premises.” The man’s raspy voice made Dean’s bones shiver within his skin. “We are hours away from anything. The telephone companies do not think our establishment is profitable enough for them to invest in any infrastructure and cellular phones do not work here either. In a way, it has proven to be a blessing. We do like it calm and quiet out here.”
No shit, Dean thought.
“Taxis will not drive to our location, no matter what compensation offered. We are out here all by ourselves, but that is what our customers value; a place where they can truly be themselves.
“I see,” Dean said, with faked sincerity. “Perhaps I could catch a ride North with someone? I need to get my car towed.” He didn’t even know why he bothered asking.
The beady yellow eyes glared at him. “I am sure someone would love to have a young man such as yourself be their guest. If you do not mind attending tonight’s gala, it is very possible you could receive a ride to your destination afterwards.”
“Really?” Dean said, surprised.
“We have some very charitable patrons here, sir, but first we need to clean you up.” He pointed at Dean’s ripped Levis and his mud covered Converse. “If you would be so kind as to follow me to our changing room; we are a shirt-and-tie-required establishment, you know. I am sure you will find what you need to fit our dress code. During your change, I will inquire with some of our guests to see if they would like to have you join them for tonight’s festivities.”
The man led Dean upstairs. On their way up, hundreds of eyes stared blanklyat him – wild goats, deer, coyotes, springbok, all sorts of head mounts decorated the walls. It was beginning to freak Dean out.
What is this place?
A door swung open, protesting loudly about being disturbed. The man pointed his bony finger towards the closets in the far end of the room.
“Shirts are in the boudoir to your right; pants and shoes, you will find on the left. I apologize in advance, but we only have black ties: they are in the drawers below. I hope you will find something to your liking.”
The frail man turned and, as he made for the door, Dean stopped him, holding out his hand.
“I’m Dean.”
The man broke into a smile, revealed his cracked teeth, their patina dark and smoky. He acknowledged the gesture and shook Dean’s hand. As their hands touched, a biting cold travelled from Dean’s fingers, through his tendons and straight up to his neck.
The jolt of cold almost gave him brain freeze, and numbs his hand right up to the wrist.
“Varney. Varney Stigori.” His voice slithered as he said it. “Lovely to make your acquaintance, young master Dean.”
“Strigori? Are you Italian?” Dean asks.
“No sir, I am Romanian. Now, if you would excuse me, I have matters that need attending to.”
Before Dean could utter another word, Varney had disappeared.
This is one fucked up night. No one is ever going to believe me. Dean pushed his Converse off without untying them and walked towards the closet to his right. It was filled with jackets and white shirts.
“Who wears this shit?” Dean asked as he pushed some white tunics aside. After some sorting, he finally found a normal, white button-up shirt and a skinny black tie. He took off his Motorhead t-shirt, unzipped his pants and hung them both over a chair. The other closet didn’t offer any better choices than the first, so he eventually settled for some plain black slacks. As he carefully tried to squeeze himself into the tight pants, he felt something in the pocket. He reached in and pulled out a movie ticket for The Night of the Living Dead.
November 11, 1968. Shit, these are some old pants. But at least this guy knew his movies. Dean enacted a scene from the movie. “They’re coming to get you, Barbara,” he laughed. Fuck, that was a good movie.
He could hear the tunes from the piano again and immediately thought of the girl on the podium. He could feel another erection rising and, in these tight pants, it was anything but fun. How much would it cost to get a hot chick like that to come out and play piano for a night? I need another job. His penis throbbed against his pants.
“Stop it, for Pete’s sake.”
He looked in the mirror and had to admit that he looked quite sharp. I need to get a suit, he smirked to himself as he opened the door.
“Ah, right on time,” Varney said, delighted. Dean was startled; he had not expected to find the old man waiting for him. “This way, young man. You’ve made quite a transformation, if you don’t mind me saying so. I have found a wondefull couple that would love to be your hosts for the night.”
“Cool, that’s really great. Thank you.” Dean followed Varney to the gala room. The petrified petting zoo stared down upon him as he made his way down the stairs.
They entered the room from the opposite side, giving Dean a direct view of the girl behind the piano. Her beauty baffled him and his knees almost buckled. He had never seen anyone so pretty; her skin glowed in the dim light like moonlit snow.
Dean followed the brittle man, awestruck by the size and complexity of the hall they had entered. It was the perfect setting for the girl, amplifying her already extraordinary beauty. It was as if the room was carved out of a giant oak tree. There must have been fifty booths, each carved in a rotunda style. Gothic arches were carved out of the oak wood, running alongside the walls and connecting in the center of the ceiling. Copper inlayed runes covered the walls. The light from the antique candleholders danced over the runes, illuminating them bright orange, creating the illusion of sparks crawling over the wood, trying to start a fire. The air was warm and smelled of freshly harvested apples. Dean had never seen a place like this in his life; it was a room that demanded admiration and worship. Dean’s senses were overwhelmed.
A single tear rolled down the girl’s cheek.
Varney’s raspy voice pulled Dean back to reality. “Mr.and Mrs. Simmons, allow me to introduce you to your guest for the evening.” Varney pulled a chair back. “Mr. Dean, please have a seat.” Varney stepped back as Dean timidly nodded his head and shook his host’s hand. Just as before, a surge of biting cold ran up his arm.
“Thank you so much for your hospitality. I hope I’m not intruding.”
Mr. Simmons shook his head and raised his hand, waving Dean’s concerns aside. “Not at all, Dean, not at all; the more the merrier! My wife and I love meeting new people. We heard you’re having some car trouble.”
“Yes, sir. I don’t know what happened. It just stopped all of a sudden and, well . . . now I’m here.”
“That’s no problem; Victoria and I are heading north after tonight’s performance and we would be more than happy to give you a ride. It’s about a two hour ride to the nearest town but I’m sure you’ll be able to get help once we get there.”
Dean had a big smile on his face. “Thank you, sir, that would be great. Thank you.”
“Adam, please. ‘Sir’ is so formal.”
“Thank you, Adam.”
“Don’t even mention it.” Adam took a sip of his wine. He was in his forties, a good-looking man, although Dean was no authority when it came to judging men. He was wearing a traditional, three-piece black suit with a white shirt and maroon tie, a red rose placed in his lapel. On his wrists, he had copper cufflinks with an old, engraved symbol in them. Dean couldn’t make it out, but it looked cool. It was obvious that Adam and Victoria had plenty of money, but they weren’t bragging about it.
Victoria was a little younger; thirty-five, maybe thirty-eight, although she appeared to have aged very well. She had short, brown curly locks, and had styled them in a turn-of-the–century, vintage look. She was a beautiful woman; her voice sweet and soft, almost hypnotizing. As they became acquainted, waiters spilled into the room, delivering an abundance of refreshments and appetizers. Dean looked towards the girl and her piano. Her eyes glowed bright like crystals, her mesmerizing violet gaze penetrated his soul.
Run; get out of here, her voice bounced around in his head.
He started at her, forming words with his lips. “How do you do that?”
Don’t talk; just think it in your head. I can hear your thoughts. You need to leave. You are in great danger.
Dean didn’t understand what was happening. What do you mean? I’m stuck here. My car broke down miles from here. There’s nowhere to go!
Your car is ok; there’s nothing wrong with it. They wanted you here. This place is not what you think it is.
Who are you? Dean almost asked out loud.
I’m trapped here, just like you. Only I’ve been here for a long, long time. I will make this very short, Dean, because we don’t have much time.
What do you mean? Tell me your name. What do you mean ‘trapped’? Hundreds of thoughts ran through his mind.
Stop thinking, Dean; I can’t read your mind if it’s racing at a hundred miles an hour. What you involuntary stumbled into tonight is an ancient fertility ritual. Take a closer lookat the people around you. See anything out of the ordinary?
Dean took a closer look around the room, scanning both floors, careful not to attract any attention.
They’re all couples.
Yes. Vampire couples, the girl laughs.
Dean choked on his drink. It gushed out of his nose painfully as he tried to compose himself.
“Are you ok, Dean?” Victoria asked as she handed him a napkin. Her hands touched his. Cold as ice
“Thank you,” Dean mumbled, with his nostrils burning.
Vampires. Are you fucking crazy?! Dean thought, so loud his brain hurt.
A naked girl talking to you by reading your mind – how is that, Dean? Cause it’s happening right now, isn’t it? Every seventy-five years, when the moon is at its highest point and all the elements are perfect, vampires can have children, if they choose too. Everything you see here tonight is carefully orchestrated just for that purpose.”
Dean swallowed. How do you fit into all of this and how do you know all of this? How do I know you’re not a Vampire?
Have you looked at me closely? And I don’t mean the childish staring at my breasts when you came in. Look at my ears, Dean.
He looked closer and finally saw it. Your ears are pointy like an…
Like an elf, Dean, yes. I am an elf. Dean almost choked again. My name is Elska. I was supposed to marry Volunder, our ruler; I refused because I wasn’t in love with him. He could not stand the embarrassment, so one night he kidnapped me and sold me to Strigori, the old vampire lord, and told my family I had disappeared. I’ve been a slave to the Vampires ever since.
Why do they need you? Dean asked. Why don’t you escape? Don’t elves have magic or something?
See the white circle on the podium?
Yes…
It’s salt, Dean. Not only can salt burn elves, but the vampires reinforce the circle by writing spells in the salt. This is my cage. This podium is all I’ve known for centuries.
But why? Why do they keep you here – to look at?
Elves promote fertility. We are a symbol of life and light.We represent everything a vampire is not. In order for them create life, they need to drain my energy. I play the piano because it relaxes them. Later in the evening, they’ll go into a trance and they will start to mate. That will be your only chance to escape
Why am I here? Dean asked.
You’re just a snack. The cigarette after the deed, if you will. Vampire women with child need a lot of food.
Why are you helping me?
Because I need your help, Dean. I don’t want to wait another 500 years, hoping for someone to wander in and help me.
What do I need to do?
When they go into a trance and start to mate, Varney and some staff members will be the only ones around. You need to cause a distraction and break the circle of salt so I can be free. Once we are outside, you need to kill me.
What?! Are you insane? I won’t kill you, no way. I’ve never killed anyone. . .
Dean, Dean slow down. I can’t talk to you this way. You have to kill me. I want to be free, I’ve been trapped for centuries. Please Dean – promise me. Tears rolled down her cheeks.
Elska, if we get out of here, you’re free. We can move on; we could . . .
We could what, Dean? Run away together? Have some children? Be a couple? I don’t age like you, Dean. For me, your entire life is like a month. I would see you get older and weaker, and eventually I would see you die. I loved a human once before and I won’t do it again.
I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean it that way, Elska – I. . . I’m sorry.
It’s ok, I don’t expect you to understand. I just want you to free me from my life in hell.
Couldn’t you go home when you leave here?
No; Volunder would kill me and my family. When elves die, we go to another dimension. We become one source of energy and reunite with the souls of our friends and family that passed before us. To us, death is eternal freedom.
I just can’t make you that promise, Elska. I can’t. I’ll try. Ok? Let’s get out of here first.
With no effort at all, she transitioned from playing Mozart’s Lacrimosa into Beethoven’s 23rd Sonata.
Don’t ask too many questions, Elska said, as the double doors swung open.

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