LOGINThe streets were bare of the scars of tires and the wind carried a chilling breath. Dona had stepped out of Crystal's studio, jacket in hand she clicked her way down the sidewalk. Something Madam Alice said, kept gnawing at her. She had forgotten the little boy's name. Dona hailed a cab, stepped into it's minty interior and looked out of the window. It started to rain. The sky turned tar-black and the clouds marched in grey. She got a message from an unknown number.
"Hi, I'm Belle, I'm sure you've heard of me."As quick as she sniffled it continued. "Madam Alice has kept me up to speed with the case, but she spoke of something rather intriguing that you mentioned."
She looked up and noticed that the road was busy. Lights jumped into view and returned to her phone.
"You mentioned, the paranormal."
Instantly, she knew who the woman was. Belle the impervious Medium, that she had heard so much about. When that word pricked at her senses she felt an unease brush over her. She looked up to find no reassurance in the driver. For he himself had turned into something absurd. A gruesome image displayed itself to her, as crisp as the colours of a Francisco Goya portrait. Darkness was highlighted in a tint that deemed superior to the manifestations of the subconscious. She heard a scream, that spun around the vehicle. She only noticed later that it was her own scream.
She fainted. Before meshing into the dreamscape of her mind she remembered the figure. Bloodied, wrapped in a coating of visible muscle having no skin to cover the hole in its chest. She remembered its eyes. Hollow and lifeless, a void of ovals. But what caused her sudden spout, was its mouth. Curving to form an opening, mimicking a scream. That wasn't the end of the night. The night ended with it peeling what's left of its face-off, revealing the driver's face underneath. It had no pupils and so she could not tell whether it was watching her. The thought terrified her. It sat behind its shades, she watched with a voice that seemed inaudible to everything around her. Stunned, it pulled from the neck to the crown of its head. The driver's face grew pale, like a flower that is cut off. She became the flower, and her eyes rolled over and all she could see was white.
She was wearing a classic trench coat, with a fedora and that hid most of her red hair. Sitting across from a concerned family, she stated."Like any private detective, I have seen many things in my years, even previously as a former agent."She took her hat off and entwined her fingers. "But nothing could have prepared me for what was to come." As the husband held his wife in his arms, she wailed as the detective continued. "I am sorry for your loss."
There she was. As a lusting satyr grabbed at a feminine figure, Dona was now the sleeping Hermaphrodite artwork. Approaching her from the rear, Harry thought she represented Venus, but, the front side revealed something unexpected.Why had she been represented as Aphrodite's son and not Aphrodite herself? She was stark naked, posing like a doll with no expression. He wanted to touch her, to stroke her cheek and feel the urgency of the scene in front of him. His chest was caving in, and he found it hard to breathe. The tears st
The doorknob twisted and a light twinkling of metal came from outside. With murderous intent, Harry flung open the door, clinging onto the arch in need for support. Like a cunning serpent, he entered the garden of artworks. Grabbing his phone torch; he lit his way through the gallery.The air was dry, and his sinuses gnawed at him. He sneezed so hard he stumbled into something near the wall. It was wet paint. The gallery was still in the making, the interior design was incomplete, but there were
No matter the room, the smell of rotting flesh followed him like a shadow. He had to steady himself on the walls, trying to escape the voices. Fervent wailing and inaudible speech vibrated all around him. He staggered his way to an unassuming door at the far end of the house.He turned his back to it as soon as he fell, rolling down the door with his stomach clenched. He held his head in his hands, shaken and confused he looked up. Looking down the hallway, the paintings and all their tumult ceased. He was now able to breathe,
*Trigger Warning* This chapter contains graphic contents.Breathless, he stood outside of Tony's residence. His throat was dry, as he swallowed in the sultry rage bobbing around his apple. He kept flicking his forefingers together. It was the witching hour, and he didn't care.
His ribs convulsed with every breath as he sat on the edge of the bed with his hands on his knees. Sweating profusely he tried to stand but rocked his way back to the bed. He felt groggy, a headache, was waiting for him along with the clutter of a new day. He stood and stretched his shoulders, twisted his neck and walked towards the studio.He'd find himself wandering around like a desert wind, without a place to rest. He tried to stay busy with something other than work- he knew that it was a bad idea to be enthralled by the