Revelations in Red: Part 5

I look into the skull's empty sockets, and then lay it over of two black, burning candles. Candle-light sparkles inside those empty holes. A headsman's Jack O' Lantern. I wait until the candles burn their wicks out. Still hot, I place the warm skull inside the mixture I began brewing earlier. Green vapors waft about from crimson liquid. The skull grins idiotically. The ritual entails that the skull, after being brewed in a mixture of a person's blood shall retain memories, soul, should something go wrong when meddling with passages to the Goblin universe, a mental diary. Memento. Is this to be all that is left of me should I perish? A skull to be found by some other psychic? A skull that is now even mine?

A chill shoots up my spine. Even as I leave the kitchen to further consult the books I have on occult defense and protection spells, I am afraid.

"If you fear the hungry dead, then join the beds head-to-head"

A rather silly proverb, not relevant to my interests, and particularly hard to obey when you have only one bed, but my couch will suffice. I am adamant about sticking to my vow to heed every precaution no matter how ridiculous.

I pick up the white sash that is said to ward off evil spirits and wipe my feet with it(The salt I have placed under the entrance to every door can be rather messy in getting off). I head into the kitchen and retrieve the crucifixes from the oven, each blackened and burned, then hang them upside down all around the room, then I quickly check the front door to make sure that the non-burnt, non-inverted crucifix is fastened safely to it. I sprinkle some holy water on the door just to be safe.

That's taken care of. I pick up a wedge of chalk and go over the pentagram on the floor to make sure there are no spots that have been accidentally erased during my constant moving back and forth. Good. I have drawn it so tightly not even the most powerful of demons could get through it(gonna be hell washing it out of the carpet).

That is taken care of. Now I light up a new stick of incense and place it in the mouth of my jade gargoyle incense burner. I let it cleanse the air of the stench of mutilated chickens. Awww, peppermint, my favorite. I stick my finger in some of the blood I have smeared on the walls and sniff it after inhaling the pleasant aroma from my jade friend's mouth. How charming he looks, like he's smoking several cigars.

I adjust the dreamcatchers on the walls and stare at my days handiwork. Bless whoever invented those "Do not disturb" tags you can hang on your door. Landlord would have a fit if he saw this mess of chalk, blood and talismans. Thank god Mr. Malone doesn't know where I live either, he would have a coronary seeing the man he has hired to ghostwrite his book engaging in what he would call "superstitious prattle".

It was indeed vexing to hunt throughout new age stores, head shops, religious bookstores, antique malls(as well as a quick trip to a friend at the morgue) all across the city to find these things after such a peaceful morning in bed listening to the rain, but at least I am prepared for any occult mishaps that may happen later tonight. I am protected against demonic possession, demonic attack, poltergeists, hauntings, psychic vampirism, physical vampirism, spectral immolation(better known as spontaneous human combustion, and what I assume killed the Monk who had once owned The Red Book) and even blocked the kind of crystal quartz neuro-signals believed to be emitted from the ruins of Atlantis and/or the Aztec Crystal Skulls or extraterrestrial beings. My body too has not been neglected, I have inserted sharp pins into every possible space on my body after washing myself with honey, milk and eau' de Pwdre Ser.

In short, I am thoroughly prepared.

Thoroughly exhausted as well. I will not use a pillow tonight. For extra sensitivity, I will sleep with The Red Book directly beneath my head to better process it's secrets. Tonight I must be perfectly attuned, I know tonight is the key to my success, I can feel it. The sun is sinking past the hills, darkness is encroaching. I go back into the kitchen and retrieve the skull from it's brew and take it to my bed, grasped to my breast with both hands. It is time to sleep. To learn. To once more live life as one who lived before.

The last thing I see is the skull's empty sockets.
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O'er me his eyes brood down upon. There is no expression, no life in them, even from the hand of the sculptor who furnished him. His eyes are blank slits; a mask's eyes. Yet the burning embers of a thousand monumental torches dance across the reflections of his golden exterior as though he were alive, as though his radiance kept the columns around him intact, as though they too feared his power.

He is a statue. The gold statue of Zeus, King of all the Gods. Judge and watcher o'er all.

And I am one of his jurors at his feet! A noblewoman of my stature is never denied such a position.

Up steps the man near me, Clad in flowing purple robes and wielding a staff, wearing a mask bearing likeness of Zeus. He raises his staff and glides it o' er our heads, as if to demonstrate his power. He runs it through my jet-black hair. He then turns to two men and their servants. I can tell such things at a glance, but in this case it would be hard to distinguish between master and servant, as all four wear black rags and shaggy beards. One stands out though, their leader obviously; for he seems to revel in his uncouth appearance; a man who is as close in appearance to a satyr as a man can get without horns, with his eyes a blazing orange. The other man who stands next to him also has orange-eyes, he is his son. Alybrx. Both have long, sharp teeth.

"Drachyllus and Alybrx, and thine two vile servants--" intoned the priest of Zeus. "Thy both hast been found to have escaped the reach of justice and the weapons of our soldiers, but thou couldst not escape the bolts of Zeus! Twas thee who corrupted Lycaeus, loyal servant of Zeus and made of him a wanton fiend whose behavior is like that of a bacchante, who ran with wolves and feasted on the flesh of his brothers!" he paused. 'Lycaeus--he who made an offering of human flesh to the King of Gods!" he said to Drachyllus, the leader. "Twas thou who hunted and prepared the flesh of an infant!" he pointed to the two slobbering servants. "And twas thee who didst bring unto the person of Lycaeus the corrupting presence of thine father!" he shouted to Alybrx, who gloated.

"We had thought thine dead, we burned the chambers of the once-great king and tried to amend the pestillence great Zeus had brought down upon us for Lycaeus's fall into butchery! But still ye live! Still thou plagues us! What hast thou to say? What manner of fiend art thou?" he shrieked, pointing to the father and son.

"Twas I who am guilty, but only of allowing those who followed me eternal life! I cannot influence, for I am only of power when invited into the homes and hearts of those who seek me out. I am of the everlasting, the blood that flows through my veins is that of many, through me, all who follow and allow me to drink are eternal, as I am through them! As they drink of me! I am god of bat, and wolf, and the dead who walk! I, vampyre, Nosphoros, Lamia! I am the book, the chronicle that never ends! I am revelation!" intoned Drachyllus. His son nodded approvingly. The two fiends were facing judgment, but their sheer glee at voicing their beliefs gave them satisfaction tantamount to victory.

"Fiend, for that you shall die by thine words!" shouted the Priest. Several soldiers, garbed in the priestly robes of Zeus, came upon and seized Drachyllus, dragging him away.

'Thou son of fiend most unholy, Alybrx. Thou hast requested a reprieve earlier in exchange for freedom, thou shalt be denied." intoned the priest as he raised his staff to end the trial, but a sly grin crossed the face of the orange-eyed prince. Then laughter. He spoke:

"Pity. For bargains are my specialty. Twas not by mine hand that my father was brought about into the kingdom of Lycaeus, or into the woods for in which he has since dwelt. Twas by the hand of one of the priestesses in employ of Lycaeus's worship of Zeus, a seeress, she who knew Me, she who knew my father, partook in our rituals even if she never became as we are. It is she who gained me entrance, and she shall fall with my father!" he laughed maniacally, and suddenly he was gone. In his place, a bat which flitted towards the statue.

He took once more his human shape, his orange-eyes gleaming, his form wrapped around the head of Zeus. He spoke once more. "She who stands in this very jury, she of wealth and power! She of green eyes, raven's hair, alabaster skin and fingers like unto claws! She!"

He then pointed at me. His mad laughter was lost on the night wind, as a storm picked up, and thunder crashed the heavens. I could not move, the guards already have their arms around me.

I attack one by trying for his eyes, I pluck it out with ease and marvel at my handiwork, but it is a futile gesture. I am taken to the chamber where Drachyllus was, and as thunder blasts the night about, I see what they have done to him. Now I see the tub they have also used.

"The blood that flows is that of many" says the Priest mockingly. "Now here it all is." he said. "Drink of him and know everlasting life" he laughs. My hair is seized back, my head is grasped by one of the soldier's hands--my neck! No--*ugh* All I see is red! I'm being forced into it--no--!
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I awake. I have learned the secret of The Red Book now. Now I know of the image of the satyr's face, and the woman's hand reaching up from a pool. It was not from a lake, simply a tub. Now I know who the Orange-Eyed man who dealt with the nobleman was. I know.

My candles have burned out. I must have been asleep longer than I thought. There is no light in the room. I get up to turn on the light in the bathroom, still clutching the skull. The light is on. I look into the mirror.

I don't know how quickly I turn it off.

The face in the mirror I saw wasn't mine. The things I'm clutching aren't mine. The skull I just dropped wasn't the one from before. I don't know what the time is, but it must be midnight, there's no light anywhere, pure blackness. The smell of the incense is gone.

All of my charms, all of my incantations, did they work? Did they fail? Am I in any danger? I don't feel the pins in my body. I don't feel my psychic powers burning in my brain. I don't even feel that I'm drained, yet I'm more terrified than I ever have been before in my life. All I know that indicates I'm alive is that I can hear myself breathing, and that these lungs and the breath that flows through them, are not mine.

Do I dare to turn on the light?