Ray Garton - Seductions

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Seductions

Ray Garton

Dedicated to

My wife Dawn

Prologue

The nightmare always began like no other hed had before: with total darkness. Then there was a feeling of rapid movement, smooth sailing through nothingness, of total freedom, touching nothing, feeling nothing, not even air, not even his own body, just the blind movement at a speed he could not even begin to fathom.

There was a tiny spot of light far ahead of him that quickly began to grow and grow until suddenly, without warning, without sound, he was surrounded by clouds, dark and puffy. He eased out of them, downward, and there appeared beneath him houses and cars and people sliding away as he silently glided over them. The street below was familiar. The houses were familiar and so were the cars parked in front of them, and the people were familiar, too. They were all hurrying toward something, all of them going in the same direction. There was a mother carrying a child, a man quickly putting on his coat, two children together, advancing toward whatever lay ahead. There were old people and young people, vaguely familiar, yet strangers, all hurrying forward.

Then he looked ahead to see where they were going. He saw something red, far in the distance. As he neared it, he saw that it was nearing him as well, flowing rapidly on the ground like a flash flood pouring down a hill. It spilled down the center of the street, branching off and sloshing against the curb, running over the sidewalk, washing over the feet of the hurried pedestrians, into the yards, up the front walks, climbing the porch steps like a film running backward, seeping under the doors and into the houses. Its smell rose into the atmosphere and he picked it up easily. Harsh, a coppery smell that seemed to stick to the air and make it moist and pungent. The tide swept the people off their feet, knocking them down; they struggled in the strengthening current, but to no avail. It continued up the front steps of houses, over childrens toys on porches and in yards, picking them up and tossing them over its undulating surface like the wind tossing autumn leaves. It made no sound as it filled the houses and began to gush out of the windows, breaking through the panes of those that were closed securely. And as he floated forward, he knew he would soon see whatever it was that had drawn the others. He wasnt sure he wanted to.

Then he began to rise, to gain altitude, to leave the ugly picture and fade into the darkness above him.

It was very cold and empty, very big, hollow. There were sounds now: voices, whispers, breathing. He was not alone, but he was blind and couldnt see the others. He could feel them, though, could feel their presence, could almost feel their shape. And he did not like it. In the soft, resonant, breathy sound, he began to make out isolated words:

... fuck...

...want you...

... us...

He tried to control his speed, his direction, tried to go back, but he could not.

do it lets do it together

hot and wet

sweeeet sex together touching and licking

He felt a pull, a suction, and his fear began to take over completely; panic set in.

sucking and fucking please lets do it lets do it together

Then ahead of him in the blackness it was as if someone, somewhere, was slowly turning up the lights. A picture began to appear amidst the stirring sounds and floating words.

we can make you beg and plead and want it

fuck me fuck

can make you

me do it to me lets do it rubbing and sweating beg and plead for it

The smell came again, and there was more of it below him. The street, while still there, was covered; only the rooftops of a few of the taller houses remained above what he now knew was blood. There was a lake of it, a whole ocean of it, churning slowly, for as far as he could see, on and on and on.

And there were things in it. Floating. Things, (oh god) (fuck me) Arms (we can make you) and legs (lets do it) and heads (we can suck and lick each other and Ill eat you if you like) and glistening, jiggling lumps floating in it, twisting in the whirlpools and bobbing in the small waves, and (Ill eat you if you like) others were coming to the surface, bobbing, lolling, and (eat you Ill eat you if you like) (oh dear god dear god) he began dropping, falling, almost as if he were being pushed down toward the mess of human bodies and parts, and (we can suck and lick and Ill eat you if you like Ill eat you eat you eat you) he screamed at the top of his lungs as he fell into the wet, thick darkness and sat up in bed, still screaming, his chest heaving...

And then he was silent. Rivulets of sweat trickled down his back and sides, over his forehead, into his eyes. His breath came thick and heavy in long, desperate drags and his mind raced frantically for the relief of total consciousness, wakefulness.

The nightmare had started three weeks ago and returned every night without fail, becoming more detailed, more realistic each time. As usual, he did not go back to sleep. He sat up in his kitchen nursing a glass of Scotch, thinking that something strong and horrible was happening. Something that could be very, very final.

He trembled until dawn.

ONE

FEARS

So on his nightmare, through the evening fog,

Flits the squat fiend oer fen, lake and bog;

Seeks some love-wildered maid with sleep oppressed,

Alights, and grinning sits upon her breast...