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Pygmalion's Anathema or The Misogynist and the Succubus
The incense was kindled, the candles lit, the circle cast. The warlock had taken great pains to follow the grimoire to the letter. He had fasted, prayed, and remained chaste for a full quarter of the moon—during which time he gathered all the necessary accoutrements for the ritual—and now he was ready to reap the rewards of his labors. He had, of course, taken part in every sin and vice known (and some unknown) to man. He had broken all Ten Commandments and committed each of the seven deadly sins. Anything of a sexual nature was especially vile, and he relished in performing such abominations. Sadomasochism, voyeurism, bestiality, necrophilia—the list was endless, and he had done it all. Having grown quite complacent in his sin-making, his nervous system had become callous and needed increasingly greater stimulation and intensity to produce the desired effects of rapture and trance that he had once known when he was young. Sex was his obsession and the sensations it produced. Sometimes, he did have trouble in seducing his quarry and luring them back to his den of iniquity. He would remedy this situation by simply weaving a spell to enchant the nubile young maiden into his power until he had utterly deflowered her. Consequently, she would flee from his cottage in tears of shame only to be found dead at a crossroads later on by some passing merchant or hill-dweller. Such was the case of Sarah Pritchard, a young maiden related remotely by marriage to the Mather clan to which the famous Cotton Mather belonged. In his frustration he had grown hateful of women and all mankind, but now the warlock would finally find what he had been yearning for since the day of his birth. He had heard how beautiful and insatiable succubi were from his interrogation of demons in the black morning hours. The time was now at hand. He raised a white hare above his head by the nape of its neck and chanted, "Komm Raster under Knaster mie," after which he cut the poor animal's throat with his magical dagger. He allowed the blood to flow into an earthen vessel and placed it on the ground before him. The incense was thicker now. He soon found himself cloaked so heavily by it that the full moon and the surrounding trees were totally obscured. He repeated the incantations several times with increasing forcefulness. A bright ethereal figure collected itself in the smoke and advanced toward him. He was anxious now, but he held fast. Yes, it was the mistress he had summoned for the night and, upon beholding her glorious beauty, he shed his robes eagerly with desire and pounced on her. Even though her flesh was ice-cold he held her tight as she straddled him in the air. He too was aloft by now but took no notice since he was absolutely enticed by this ravishing enchantress. "I love you! I love you!" he said, as they were tangled in an act of love or, more appropriately, lust. All the while she remained mute. They made love the whole night through and upon sunrise she was gone and he lay dead just outside the protective magic circle.
The End
[Note: This was a very early short short story
written for a creative writing class in college.] Copyright © 2008 by Kevin Dunn |