Jon Fore - Black Water

“That’s wonderful, child. Have you given any thought to staying here?”

His voice was sweet and encouraging, entrancing to Madison, and she found herself entertaining the idea of having sex with a priest.

“Actually, Father, I had thought of it. I have a promising career in modeling and had daydreamed of buying this house.”

“It is a grand home indeed. The Hearts loved it, had their children here, and flourished, they did.”

“Are they no longer here?” Madison was not sure why she suddenly asked this, but was certain of the answer.

“Yes, in a way, they are still about, but they do not claim ownership of the House, not in the way you are thinking. They would like such a lovely girl as you to own it.” He handed her a small tray with some sliced peaches and a medieval-style goblet filled with red wine.

“Thank you, Father,” she said and sipped at the wine. It was fruity but dry and wonderfully aged. “Can you tell me, Father, what happened here? Why are there so many dead?”

“Oh, that, child, is nothing to be worried about. This has been, and for many years, a place for the cleansing of witches.”

“But why have they died?”

“We do not execute witches, dear child. We make an effort to exercise the evil in them, and return them to society. Some, alas, chose not to allow the cure. This does not keep us from trying.” His voice was thick with sweetness.

It sounded perfectly reasonable to Madison, who found a chair to fill near the dancing flames. He was doing good works here, trying to rid the world of evil, and these catacombs certainly teamed with it. She could hear a tiny voice inside her, screaming from a great distance, demanding that she flee.

Father Burns took the seat across from her and crossed his legs with complete elegance. “You seem troubled by this, child.”

“It’s not that, Father. I am surprised you would be here and do such work alone. Isn’t it dangerous?”

“Oh, child, I am not alone. I have many helping me; they serve me and my cause with great devotion.”

Madison tried desperately to remember why she was here, but the wine seemed to be going straight to her head, clouding the memories of her most recent past. She fought for control of her thoughts. “How does someone serve your cause?”

“Well, in many ways, actually. Are you entertaining the notion of helping me?” His voice was gentle and not expectant. It was as though he had all the time in the world, and did not wish to rush her from the fire.

To Madison, this seemed like an inviting idea. She could gaze into those warm blue eyes forever, and to help such a just cause was a noble thing. Still, she hesitated. “It sounds like a good idea…”

“But you are young and full of the lust for flesh and are not ready to give that up,” he stated with authority.

It was as though he had not just plucked the idea from her head but placed it there, even though she knew it to be wholly her own. “Yes,” she said as she lowered her face in shame.

“Well, we can serve that here as well, and in such ways you have not even begun to imagine.”

She looked up again, and locked onto his eyes. Her face ran warm with red, and her mouth wet with the thought of having him. “Father?”

“No, child, not with me, but with others more apt to serve such a need.”

“Others?” she asked gently.

“Yes…” he trailed off in almost a hiss, but still with the same gentle warmness in his voice.

At this, men began to enter the room from a recess she had not seen—large African men, well muscled and beautiful, their faces all of them different but chiseled from the same marble. Their physiques were magnificent, and their eyes held a longing for her she was not used to, but reveled in. They stood in a line, shoulder to shoulder, looking at her with a barely-bridled passion, all completely nude. Madison found herself longing to have them right there, right now and in front of a priest.

“See? I am not ignorant of need. If you join me in my cause, these men will be yours to have as you like, whenever you like.”

Madison found her breath short, and it was almost painful to look away from the magnificent dark skin before her. “For how long would I serve?” She could think of nothing else to ask, her mind made up but almost not by her.

“Only until you wish to leave. None are bound to service. They may choose to go whenever they like,” he said simply around his warm and trusting smile.

“I think I might like that,” she said entranced by the priest’s eyes, longing to return her gaze to the engorged manhood beside her. The desire sent the storm in her head into a wicked howling frenzy.

“You just have to allow me to give you Communion, and it is done.”

Madison would have given him an arm at that moment, just to be able to tear her own clothing off and join with these men. She slid from the chair and to her knees, bowing her head as she had seen on television. “I have never done this before, Father.”

“It is a simple thing,” he said as he took one of the wet peach wedges off the tray. “This is my body…” He held the peach before her lips.

She opened her mouth and felt an exhilarating arousal at his placing it in her mouth.

He took her wine goblet and held it before her. “This is my blood…” he almost sang, his voice perfectly made for the bedroom.

She allowed the rim of the goblet to part her lips, and she drank deeply, imagining it was really of his body.

The priest stood abruptly. “That is it, child. Now, enjoy yourself and we will talk of duties later.”

“You will not be staying, Father?”

He stopped and turned back to her, his face suddenly cold and distant. It had changed so severely that it shocked her.

“No, I have others to attend to,” he said as he turned to leave the room.

The turmoil of Madison’s mind suddenly froze, and her former conscience formed in the eye. This was her last moment of clarity, her final grasp of reality. The men began to encircle her, grabbing and squeezing painfully at her more tender places. As she looked to them to raise a complaint, she saw that they were actually rotted corpses, almost gone completely to bone with the exception of their scabbed and bleeding manhood.

She turned to scream and caught her final vision of the priest as it really was: its dilapidated body, its fist smoking around the head of the walking stick, its legs whole once more. Then the men fell upon her, smothering her voice, and she allowed herself to slip back into the comfort of her own madness.

Ethan and Abby continued, both unaware that Madison was no longer with them. The stress of the past hours and their steel-like need for each other did not allow for such an observation, at least immediately. The passage’s darkness drew from them their need to care for anyone other than themselves, each other, and their current situation.

The passage they traversed broke many times to allow traffic to turn this way or that, but the pair remained steadfast with their decision to seek the end. Maintaining a constant direction should allow, at least at some point, for the running out of mountain, which then would require it to grant them their freedom. It was an unspoken hope between them, an understanding neither of them had to voice.

The mold had grown thicker as they went, hanging like the tendrils of some odd spider, threatening to grapple and suck from them their dissolved innards. They had to, in some places, move it to one side with their arms, loathing the wet and clammy feel of the grayish yellow flesh, but not ready to turn back and seek out other directions.

The passage seemed to continue infinitely, certainly more than was required for a prison and rooms of torture. This place must have served other purposes, most certainly those dark and sinister. Bits of debris found scattered here and there were most certainly bones—human bones—and likely the remains of digits from hand or foot. It was as if the entire British army had come here and been tormented by, Ethan supposed, Captain Black.