Analysis of ‘Pet Sematary’

Pet Sematary is a 1983 supernatural horror novel by Stephen King, the one he considered his scariest (King, page ix) because of a real-life situation in which his toddler son ran off to a road and almost got hit by a truck (page xi). It has been made into two film adaptations, the 1989 one starring Dale Midkiff, Denise Crosby, Blaze Berdahl, and Fred Gwynne; and the 2019 version starring Jason Clarke, Amy Seimetz, and John Lithgow.

Here are some quotes from the 1989 film, the screenplay written by Stephen King:

“But he’s not God’s cat, he’s my cat… let God get His own if He wants one… not mine.” –Ellie Creed, afraid of her cat, Church, dying on the road in front of the Creed’s home

“The barrier was not meant to be crossed. The ground is sour.” –the ghost of Victor Pascow

“The soil of a man’s heart is stonier, Louis. A man grows what he can, and he tends it. ‘Cause what you buy, is what you own. And what you own… always comes home to you.” –Jud Crandall

Louis: Has anyone ever buried a person up there?
Jud: Christ on His Throne, NO! Whoever would!?

“Today is thanksgiving day for cats, but only if they came back from the dead.” –Louis Creed

“I knew this would happen. I told her when you were first married you’d have all the grief you can stand and more, I said. Now look at this. I hope you rot in hell! Where were you when he was playing in the road? You stinkin’ shit! You killer of children!” –Irwin Goldman, at Gage’s funeral, to Louis…then punches Louis

Louis: I’ll bite, Jud. What’s the bottom of the truth?
Jud: That, sometimes, dead is better. The person that you put up there ain’t the person that comes back. It might look like that person, but it ain’t that person, because whatever lives on the ground beyond the Pet Sematary ain’t human at all.

Rachel: It’s okay, Ellie! You just had a bad dream.
Ellie: It wasn’t a dream, it was Paxcow! Paxcow says daddy is going to do something really bad!
Rachel: Who is this Paxcow?
Ellie: He’s a ghost, a good ghost! He was sent to warn us!

“Rachel, is that you? I’ve been waiting for you, Rachel. And now I’m going to twist your back like mine, so you’ll never get out of bed again… Never get out of bed again…NEVER GET OUT OF BED AGAIN!” –Zelda Goldman

“I’m coming for you, Rachel… And this time, I’ll get you… Gage and I will both get you, for letting us die…” –Zelda, who then cackles

“Darling.” –reanimated Rachel, to Louis

The deliberately misspelled title is derived from an actual pet cemetery whose sign had the same misspelling, made by a child (page x). In the story, as in the real pet cemetery (it’s safe to assume), a number of the grave markers of the children’s dead pets have other misspellings; these all give a sense of the innocence of children who must learn to come to grips with loss.

I see another possible interpretation of the “Sematary” spelling, that it is a pun on seminary, or a school of theology. To study God is to study life’s meaning, as well as the mystery of death, the afterlife, and how to cope with suffering and loss. In this connection, recall the surname of the protagonist, Creed (the Christian belief system), and the name of their cat, Winston Churchill, usually shortened to Church. Pets are churches that, through their deaths, teach children about loss.

There are two cemeteries in the story, the good one (the Pet Sematary) and the bad one (the Micmac burial ground). The good one helps children deal with their grief and to learn to accept loss; but the bad one, which resurrects the dead and transforms them into demonic versions of their former selves (because the ground is inhabited by a Wendigo, an evil spirit of the First Nations tribes of the area), is for those who cannot accept the loss of loved ones.

So, the Pet Sematary is a kind of seminary, if you will, teaching children how to process the grief they feel after losing their beloved pets. The children can imagine that their pets are going from there to ‘dog [cat, hamster, etc.] heaven.’ The misspellings on the sign and grave markers, as I said above, show us the sweet naïveté of these children in their contemplation of God-like things; for as Jesus says in Matthew 18:3, “Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.”

The Pet Sematary is in a forest at the end of a long path from behind the house that the Creed family has just moved into. The religious often speak of following the right path to salvation, and the wrong path to damnation. There’s the path to the Pet Sematary (“It’s a safe path…You keep on the path and all’s well.” –page 39), and there’s also that road in front of the Creeds’ new house, where the Orinco trucks dangerously speed by, often killing people’s pets, thus filling up the Pet Sematary.

The inevitability of these trucks going by, something that happens regularly, is symbolic of the unescapable reality of death. Each truck is a juggernaut–not the actual Jagannath of the Hindus–but the apocryphal interpretation that Western observers made of it centuries ago: the idea that the chariot carrying the Hindu idol went non-stop down the road, and ecstatic worshippers threw themselves on the road to be crushed under the wheels of the chariot, in a rite of human sacrifice.

The name of the company printed on the trucks, Orinco (almost an anagram of the Cianbro truck King saw almost hit his little boy–page xi), sounds like a pun on Orinoco, the South American river whose name is derived from a term meaning “a place to paddle,” or a navigable place. Well, the road is good for Orinco trucks to drive on, since nothing can stop those juggernauts…nothing can stop death. The trucks are one with this road of death, a kind of via dolorosa.

So, the path to the Pet Sematary is a way to get to (pet) heaven, and the road the Orinco trucks drive on is a kind of highway to hell…or at least to Sheol. Then there’s the way beyond the Pet Sematary, the deadfall leading up to the Micmac burying ground, an evil sublation of the thesis–the Pet Sematary leading to eternal life for pets–and the negation of that thesis–the Orinco truck road to death. The Micmac burial ground is a place of living death.

That the Pet Sematary and the evil land of the Wendigo, leading to the Micmac burying ground, are closer together than the former is to the road suggests my ouroboros symbolism for the dialectical relationship between opposites (see these posts to understand my meaning)–the closeness between the Pet Sematary’s heavenly Godliness, if you will, and the devilish hell of the Micmac burial ground.

When Jud Crandall (played by Gwynne in the 1989 film, and by Lithgow in the 2019 one) takes Louis (Midkiff, 1989; Clarke, 2019) past the Pet Sematary and up the deadfall–“the barrier [that] was not made to be broken,” page 161–there’s a further trek of “Three miles or more” (page 164) to the burial ground, but before long one senses a hellish, demonic presence among the eerie animal sounds one hears (pages 166-169)…the Wendigo. They may be a while before getting to the burial ground, but they’re already in a kind of hell…Little God Swamp, or Dead Man’s Bog.

The dangerous climb up the unstable branches of the deadfall represents that meeting place where the teeth of the ouroboros bites its tail (symbolizing the meeting of the opposites of life and death, of heaven and hell), that meeting of opposites where, paradoxically, too much careful and nervous climbing leads to falls and injury, whereas climbing that is “done quick and sure” (page 161), never looking down, results in a miraculously safe and successful ascent.

That barrier is not made to be broken because it is so easy to break. Victor Pascow himself–a jogger hit by a car and killed before Louis can save him (page 89)–breaks the barrier to warn Louis never to break it, in thanks to the doctor for at least trying to save his life.

Jud advises Louis to have Church fixed (pages 23-24) because fixed cats “don’t tend to wander as much,” and therefore the risk of him running across that treacherous road, and getting crushed under the wheels of one of those Orinco trucks, will be lessened. The castrating of the cat, though, does nothing to prevent him from suffering the very fate Louis has tried to prevent. His daughter, Ellie (Berdahl in the 1989 film; Jeté Laurence in the 2019 film), loves Church so much that she will be heartbroken to learn he’s dead.

All of this leads us to a discussion of desire and the inability to fulfill it. Lacan considered the phallus to be the most important of the signifiers, since its lack (through symbolic castration) leads to desire, which can never be fulfilled. For Church, desire means the wish to roam and run about freely, whether fixed or not, whether the fulfillment of that desire is or isn’t excessive, transgressive, or dangerous (i.e., the racing across the road as symbolic of jouissance).

For humans, desire is symbolically expressed in being the phallus for the Oedipally-desired mother, though we can apply Lacan’s idea more generally–that of desire as ‘the desire of the Other’ (i.e., wanting to fulfill the desires of other people, wanting others’ recognition)–to the desires of the Creed family and Jud. Louis fixes Church in the hopes of keeping him safe, for Ellie’s sake; but when Church is killed, Jud has Louis take the corpse to the burial ground for her sake, too.

Louis, whose father died when he was three and who never knew a grandfather (page 3), has had strained relationships with father figures, particularly with his father-in-law, Irwin Goldman (played by Michael Lombard in the 1989 film). Irwin actually took out his chequebook and offered Louis a sum of money so he wouldn’t marry Rachel (page 146)!

If we see Louis’s love for her as a transference of Oedipal love for his mother, then his hostility to Irwin can be seen as a transference of Oedipal hate toward the father who left this world before Louis could even get a chance to know him. And Irwin’s disapproval of Louis marrying Rachel can thus be seen as a symbolic Non! du père, in turn resulting in Lacan’s notion of the Oedipally-based manque.

Louis has an even better reason to hate Rachel’s parents when he learns that they made her, as a little girl, take care of her sick older sister, Zelda, whose spinal meningitis made her so deformed and ugly that the sight of her traumatized little Rachel…especially when she found Zelda dead in her bed!

But in Jud, “the man who should have been his father,” Louis has found a good father figure, someone onto whom he can transfer positive Oedipal feelings (page 10). So when Jud, influenced by the Wendigo of the Micmac burying ground, has Louis bury Church there, Louis goes along with it, against his better judgement. After all, Daddy knows best, doesn’t he?

Lack gives rise to desire: Church’s castration, meant to keep him safe from the trucks, drives him to run across the road, to the point of him getting killed by a truck after all; “Cats lived violent lives and often died bloody deaths…Cats were the gangsters of the animal world, living outside the law and often dying there.” (pages 52, 53) The Creeds’ lack of a cat drives Jud, feeling compassion for Ellie, to have Louis bury the cat in the burial ground, though Jud knows it’s a foolish and dangerous thing to do. And Louis, lacking Gage after he is killed by an Orinco truck, is driven to exhume his son’s corpse and–with all the pain and exhausting work it involves–to rebury him in the burial ground. Then he’ll do the same with Rachel after demon-Gage kills her.

All four of these lacks lead to desires, which are excessive wants. The barrier that isn’t made to be broken is, symbolically, the barrier to jouissance, the forbidden fulfillment of excessive desire. We all have basic, biological needs, and as we learn language, social customs, culture, etc., in entering the Symbolic Order, we use language to make demands; but demands, especially the demand for love, are never expressed completely through the limitations of language, so some of that need and demand is never fully satisfied.

The residual lack gives rise to desire, an excess that’s never fulfilled. This remainder, incapable of being symbolized in language, is in the realm of the Real Order, a traumatic world symbolized by the frightening, inarticulate animal cries in the land of the Wendigo and the Micmac burial ground…”the real cemetery.”

The Buddhists teach us that suffering is caused by desire, attachment to things in a universe where all things are impermanent. The reality of death is an impermanence too painful for Louis Creed to bear, so his lack of Gage and, at the end of the novel, Rachel, drives him to feel a desire so excessive as to want to use the burial ground to raise them from the dead.

One cannot have the originally desired object–the Oedipally-desired parent, a universal, narcissistic desire, since, as a child looking up into the eyes of that parent, he or she is looking in a metaphorical mirror of him- or herself, a manifestation of the Imaginary Order–so one spends the rest of one’s life searching for a replacement of that object, the objet petit a. This replacement can never be a perfect substitute for the original, so desire is never fulfilled.

The demonic replacements of Church, Gage, and Rachel can be seen to represent the objet petit a, for they, of course, can never replace the originals…though Louis does all he can to have them replace his lost loved ones. When Jud’s wife, Norma, dies, he wisely accepts her death and never even considers burying her in the Micmac burial ground; but its demonic influence drives him to desire to have Church buried there, for Ellie’s sake, since desire is of the other, to wish to fulfill what one believes others want. Similarly, Louis reburies Gage there in part out of a wish to fulfill what he at least imagines is what Rachel would want…to have her little boy back (“She cried his name and held her arms out.” –page 527).

So, the forbidden fulfillment of excessive desires, jouissance, symbolized by the demonic resurrecting of Church, Gage, and Rachel, is another example of the dialectical relationship between opposites–pleasure/pain, bliss/suffering, heaven/hell, life/death–as I would represent with the head of the ouroboros biting its tail. In passing into jouissance‘s indulging in transgressive pleasure, one goes past pleasure and suffers pain; whereas in the Pet Sematary, one learns to accept loss.

Young Jud originally buried his dog, Spot, in the Micmac burial ground (page 181); then, when he saw what trouble the resurrected dog was, he came to his senses, killed it, and buried it in the Pet Sematary (page 45). The problem is that the desires kindled by the Micmac burial ground are addictive, like a drug–hence, Jud’s ill-advised taking of Louis there with dead Church.

One always wants more, that ‘surplus value,’ or the plus-de-jouir that Lacan wrote about. When animals are brought back, their demonic nature is usually not so bad as it is with resurrected humans (“…because Hanratty had gone bad, did that mean that all animals went bad? No. Hanratty the bull did not prove the general case; Hanratty was in fact the exception to the general case.” –page 390); again, as with the animals buried in the Pet Sematary, they act as a kind of warning to us not to play around with life and death, especially not with human beings.

There is our attachment to what we can’t keep, what we love; and there’s what we wish we never had, what we hate, yet what we must have at least sometimes in our lives. The Buddhists speak of the Three Poisons: greed, hatred, and delusion. Greed represents all those things and people we want in excess, because we want to keep them, but must one day let go of them–still, we won’t want to let go of them: hence the resurrecting of Church, Gage, and Rachel.

Hatred represents what we wish would be gone, but must have, hence Rachel’s trauma in dealing with Zelda, and her shame at feeling glad her sick sister finally died…but the painful memories live on, haunting her, for she can’t get rid of Zelda until she’s properly processed her pain. Hatred is also in Irwin’s refusal to accept Louis as a son-in-law.

Delusion is the false belief that things can be permanent, hence Louis’s reburying of Church, Gage, and Rachel. Even though he sees how evil resurrected Gage is, Louis still fools himself with the belief that resurrected Rachel will be better, because apparently he waited too long with Gage. “Something got into him because I waited too long. But it will be different with Rachel…” (page 556)

So, the message of the novel is that we can’t force our desires onto the world…but we can’t help doing so, even though doing so will only make our suffering worse. We know this, but still do it. “Sometimes, dead is better”…but we refuse to accept it.

The sweetness and innocence of children and animals, as expressed in the Pet Sematary–that seminary, if you will, that teaches us to have the misspelling simplicity of a child entering the kingdom of heaven–turns rotten, into Oz the Gweat and Tewwible (pages 510-511, 513ff), if we try to bend the world to our will. The Wendigo makes all the difference.

As we already know, the Micmac burial ground is a demonic double of the Pet Sematary, with their spirals (pages 386-387, 498) and graves curling like the coiled, serpentine body of the ouroboros; the land of the murderous, greedy, cannibalistic Wendigo that so frightens Louis on his way to rebury Gage, is right where the serpent’s teeth bite into its tail, the abyss where heaven and hell meet.

It’s so easy for the sweet and innocent to phase into their opposite, the Gweat and Tewwible.

Stephen King, Pet Sematary, New York, Pocket Books, 1983

‘Sirens,’ a Horror Novella, Chapter Four

“Holy shit!” Eddie Sayers said as he read his sister’s story on the death of Tor. “I gotta go talk to Nancy about this.”

He tried calling her on her phone, but it was busy, so he sent her this text message: “We need 2 talk about this news story U wrote about Tors death When RU free”

About ten minutes later, she texted this reply: “In 2 days I’m too busy right now”

Eddie: “Ok Ur home Thurs”

*************

“Hi, Eddie,” Nancy said that Thursday evening, opening the door to her apartment and letting him in. “So, what do you want to know about Tor’s death?”

“Well, it’s just that he was my friend,” Eddie said.

“He was?” she asked with her eyes and mouth wide open.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “In fact, he’s the second friend of mine to have been killed in freak accidents recently.”

“Oh? Who was the first?”

“My buddy, Ari Schneider.”

“Oh, my fucking God.” Her eyes were opened even wider now.

“He died in a motorcycle collision with a truck.”

“I know,” she said, eyes still agape. “I wrote an article about his death, too.”

“Wow, what a coincidence. Small world.”

“Much too much of a coincidence, Eddie. Much too small a world.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because there’s something strange about their deaths. Those accidents should never have happened. They should have easily been able to avoid their accidents. Ari and Tor were neither drunk nor stoned. They weren’t suicidal, according to their families; nor were they self-destructive in any way.”

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie said. “They were the happiest dudes I’ve ever known. We partied hard all the time together, with my other friends I’m getting together with tonight. Talking about Tor and Ari dying is gonna darken our party tonight.”

“What do you guys usually do together?”

“You know, the usual. Go to dance clubs, get drunk, chase pussy. Man, this one time, about a month ago, we took this one girl to…Virgil’s apartment, I think. It’s hard to remember in detail. We were all really drunk, and we…oops! Never mind. You don’t need to know about that.”

“I don’t, don’t I?” Nancy asked, looking askance at Eddie.

“She consented.” He avoided her eyes.

“Really?” Nancy glared at him. She saw a confession of guilt in his eyes.

“What am I, on trial here?”

“Look, forget it. Just be careful tonight with your friends. Don’t do anything stupid. I have a bad feeling about what happened to Ari and Tor. And your naughty partying is giving me even worse vibes. That woman’s OK, right?”

“Of course. What do think we did…kill her?” He was doing a bad job of hiding that guilt on his face.

“No, but whatever you all did with her, or to her, after that she may have wanted to kill herself.”

“Oh, come on! What’s this bullshit? She was fine when we left her. Really.”

“Really?” she asked, looking hard in his eyes.

“Yes, really,” he said, looking back in her eyes with a more assured attitude.

“Look, something weird is happening to your friends, it seems. It almost seems supernatural. As crazy as it sounds, I don’t know any other way to explain it.”

“Do you think her ghost is coming after us, or something?” he asked with a dopey look on his face, mocking the absurd attitude she seemed to have.

“No, of course not. Just be careful tonight, OK?”

“OK, Ms. Paranoia.” He left her apartment, sneering.

‘Sirens,’ a Horror Novella, Chapter Three

Two nights later, reporter Nancy Sayers got a tip about another accident, this time just outside a warehouse near downtown Sulla. She raced over there in her car. She arrived about twenty minutes later.

A crowd surrounded the police, the paramedics, and the accident victim. Some crates were piled near the crowd; she climbed up a few of them so she could see. The victim, a young white male, was impaled through the belly on the left of the raised blades of a forklift. The paramedics were trying to remove the body from the blade; blood was splattered everywhere.

“Oh, God!” she gasped, wincing at the sight.

A bicycle lay on its left side just by the forklift and immediately after a huge pothole. Nancy assumed that it was the victim’s, him having fallen after hitting the pothole.

He must have been drunk or stoned not to have seen such a big pothole, she thought.

“Come on, all of you!” a police officer shouted. “Make room, clear the way! We’ve gotta get the body to the coroner, and we can’t do that with all you people in the way!”

The young man’s body was on a stretcher now and being carried into the ambulance. The crowd was dispersing, except for a few reporters.

“No reporters!” the cop said angrily. “Get outta here. I’ll answer your questions at the station. I won’t have much to say beyond what we see here, because I have to wait for the coroner’s report. C’mon, people. Go!”

Nancy noticed that the forklift blade the boy’s body had been impaled on was chipped and jagged at the edge. Small wonder it cut clean through the body. But why would such a defective forklift be kept for use at a warehouse?

***************

Two days after writing up and publishing her brief, initial story on the death–which didn’t have much to say beyond the fact that the young man’s name was Tor, he was 23, and it was his bike–she heard the coroner’s report. As with Ari, Tor was neither drunk nor stoned at the time of the accident.

How could a sober guy have missed that pothole? she wondered. I interviewed his parents just before publishing my story, and they said he had no suicidal or self-destructive tendencies at all. He was always a happy boy. Just like Ari, this was an accident that should never have happened. It makes no sense at all!

The time of death was estimated at about 6:30 in the evening, a pretty accurate estimate given how quickly his body was discovered and sent to the coroner, about 10:00 that night. There were clear signs of lividity in Tor’s body, but rigour mortis hadn’t set in yet, so he couldn’t have been dead for more than three to four hours upon discovery of his body.

The bicycle was definitely his, for Nancy learned from her interview of his parents that they’d bought it for him as a birthday gift a year ago. Since he’d been riding his bike at around 6:30 in the evening, the sun hadn’t set yet, so Tor had plenty of light to see that large pothole in the road by the forklift. He was perfectly sober, and known to be an excellent bicyclist–he had won several trophies in bike races in his teens, and habitually rode every day.

It doesn’t make any sense at all that he hadn’t noticed the pothole, she thought. Yet it seems he rode right into it, causing him to fly off his bike and onto the forklift blade.

As odd as it was that the blade he hit had a jagged edge, it was even odder to see the blades raised up to about five feet in the air.

It was as though someone had premeditated, planned out his death, she thought. What living person could have done such a fantastic thing? It was like something right out of The Omen, a conspiracy of demons.

Then, Nancy remembered Ari’s accident, and how odd that death was.

Nah, they couldn’t be connected, she thought. I’m thinking crazy now.

‘Claws,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Eighteen

Thurston fixed his tie and looked at himself in the mirror. Aren’t we handsome in that suit? he thought.

He left his apartment and got in his car.

As he drove to the 22 Division police station, he reflected on all that had recently happened.

It’s so good to be connected with Agnes, he thought. Close to her, in body and soul. I really love her; and better yet, there’s no more conflict with the beast. That bullet I put in its head sure did the trick. No more resistance.

He parked in the police station parking lot and got out of his car. He sucked in a deep inhalation of fresh air and smiled.

It’s so good to be fully in control again, he thought.

He walked into the police station, passed a number of desks in the direction of his own. He saw Hicks standing near his desk.

Hicks turned around and saw him approaching.

“Good morning, handsome,” Hicks said with a smile.

“Good morning,” Thurston said.

“Still no sign of Surian?”

“Oh, she’s around.”

“Really? Where? I still need to talk to her about her shooting the beast. If you could tell her to come out of hiding, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Thurston said. “You’ll be in contact with her soon enough.”

“Very well, whatever,” Hicks said with a sneer, which then turned into a lewd smirk. “And as for us, when are you going to come over to my place?”

“How about tonight?” Thurston asked with a grin.

THE END

‘Claws,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Seventeen

[Sexual content]

Ten minutes later, Thurston finally found himself free to move. He swung his arms further than he thought they’d go, and whacked them against the steering wheel and door.

“Oww! Fuck!” he shouted, then: “Hey, I can move. It’s about time.”

Claustrophobic in his car, he swung the car door open and got out.

Fuck driving, he thought. I’ll just run over to Callie’s apartment building. He slammed the car door shut, locked it, and left the area.

Running down the sidewalk, he was approaching her apartment building when he saw a car being driven away from where it had been parked, in front of the building’s entrance. It looked like Surian’s car.

That couldn’t have been her car, he thought. If those visions were anywhere near true, I can’t imagine Agnes walking away from demoness-Callie in one piece.

He ran into the building and raced for the elevator. He pounded his fist on the elevator button over and over again, impatiently with that irrational feeling that doing so would bring the elevator down to the ground floor faster.

“C’mon!” he growled as it floated down floor by floor.

Finally, the elevator arrived. The doors opened far too slowly for his patience, so he pried them open as best he could and squeezed inside. He pressed the seventh floor button.

As the elevator rose with–to him–the same laziness as it had gone down, he shook with rage.

“Come on, for fuck’s sake!” he shouted, then thought, Oh, God, please, let Agnes be OK…at least let her be alive!

The elevator reached the seventh floor. Again, as the doors took their time opening, his impatient hands pried them open faster and he squeezed through.

As he began running down the hall to her apartment, he realized he forgot to hold his breath.

Wait, he thought, stopping halfway there. I don’t smell any pheromone.

Indeed…there was no pheromone smell at all.

He did a light jog the rest of the way to Callie’s apartment, found the door wide open, and took out his pistol. He poked his head in the doorway and looked around. He saw nobody there.

He crept in with wide open, alert eyes. He cocked his pistol as he made his way through her living room area, his eyes darting around everywhere to see if the hairy, clawed beast was hiding somewhere behind the furniture, waiting to pounce on him. He was approaching the bedroom.

Hit the beast dead centre in the heart or in the brain, he reminded himself as he reached the bedroom doorway, the door being halfway open.

Still no pheromone smell at all.

Absolute silence.

He looked past the opened half of the doorway. He saw nobody. He heard nothing.

He turned his head back to get another look around the living room area. No beast sneaking up behind him.

No Surian, either.

Is the beast hiding behind that bedroom door? he wondered, then looked through the crack between the door and the corner wall of the bedroom.

No beast.

He tapped the door open with his foot while pointing the gun straight in front of him, anticipating any possible danger.

The door now all the way open, he saw, on the floor, between the bed and the closet, the hairy body of the clawed beast lying sprawled in a pool of its own blood. That phallic spike was pointing up in a crescent arc from its groin to the ceiling.

Not even a drop of blood was on its sharp tip.

He heaved a huge sigh. I guess those visions deceived me, he thought.

He looked around the rest of the bedroom. Surian was nowhere to be seen, though a fired pistol was lying on the floor next to the beast.

“Where the hell is she?” he said, putting his gun in its holster and taking out his phone. She’s the one who killed the beast, isn’t she? he wondered as he looked for her number in his list of contacts. That’s her gun, isn’t it? It looks like hers. Surely there was at least some truth to those visions, wasn’t there?

He clicked her cellphone number and waited as the ringing repeated eight times before setting him up to leave a message. Beep.

“Agnes, this is Andy,” he said. “Where are you? I’m in Callie’s bedroom with the beast lying here dead. Did you do this? If so, great, but why did you leave the scene? Are you OK? Did the beast hurt you in any way before you killed it? Please call me back ASAP. Bye.” Was that her driving away in her car a few minutes ago? he wondered. If so, why would she just disappear like that, without calling me or Hicks about the beast? I guess I’ll have to get the police over here, instead of her.

Twenty minutes later, the room was filled with police. The beast’s body was taken away on a stretcher, to be driven to a group of doctors and biologists who, having followed the story in the news, were eager to do a necropsy on it to learn whatever they could about it.

Hicks was with Thurston, both of them baffled as to where Surian could possibly be.

“I can’t believe it,” Thurston said. “She found the beast, presumably, shot it, and just left? No calls, no messages as to where she is or what she’s doing? What the fuck?”

“I guess this ‘Callie’ was somehow involved with the beast after all, though she’s as missing as your girlfriend,” Hicks said.

“Where the fuck is she?” Thurston said.

“I guess she ran off with somebody else,” Hicks said. “Try someone else. Try a new experience.” He smiled suggestively at Thurston.

“No offence, but even if I was gay, I doubt you’d ever be my type,” Thurston said. “When we’re done here, I’ll drive over to her place and see if she’s there.”

“And I’ll be at my place tonight if you change your mind, Andy.” Hicks winked at him.

Thurston rolled his eyes.

***************

That night, the doctors and biologists were sighing and puffing in frustration as they looked down on the hairy body on the table.

“We’ve been examining every inch of this thing for hours,” a woman among them said. “It cannot be classified as any known species that has ever existed.”

“It doesn’t even qualify as Bigfoot,” a man standing next to her said.

“Is it a hermaphrodite?” a man standing on the woman’s other side asked. “It seems female, but is this spike in its crotch supposed to be a penis?”

“It’s totally baffling, anyway,” the woman said. “I give up. What do you guys think?”

“I agree,” some of them said together.

“It’s late. Let’s go to bed,” the first man said.

“I doubt we’ll gain any more insights from it through further examination,” the second man said. “I say we bury it and forget about it.”

“Yeah, OK,” she said. “If any new insights come in the future, we can always dig it up then and look at the skeleton.”

*****************

One night later that week, Thurston sat slumped on a chair in his apartment with a frown.

Still no response to my message on her phone, he thought. Every time I go to her apartment, she’s never there. She didn’t die, did she? Ballistics confirmed that the bullet shot to kill the beast was from her pistol. But God, where is she?

Suddenly, his cellphone rang; he checked it–it was her.

“Agnes!” he said into the phone. “Where are you? Are you OK?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she sighed, as if irritated by the question. “I’m in my apartment.”

“So, you shot the beast?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Are you proud of me?”

“Of course, but…why’d you leave Callie’s apartment?”

Because…the sheer terror of seeing that thing, with its…spike-dick…almost stabbing into my pussy, made me want to get as far away from the scene as I could. I needed to lie low for several days, with nobody to bother me…just to calm down.”

“I see,” he said. “Just needed to recover from the trauma, eh?”

Exactly…but I’m OK now. You, Hicks, and the others took care of the rest of the problem all right?”

“Yeah, of course. Everything’s sorted out, though I’m sure Hicks would like to talk to you. So, you’re at home?”

“Yeah. Wanna come over?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He hung up.

***********

Ten minutes later, he was standing in front of the front door of her apartment. He rang the doorbell.

She opened the door out wide. His jaw dropped.

Her face was brightly made up, she was in a pink see-through babydoll nightie revealing black lace underwear. She wore white high heels.

He reminded himself to be a gentleman and look back up in her eyes. “Sorry,” he said. “I j-just never realized how…curvy you are under your…normal clothes.”

“Why, thank you,” she said with a grin. “You can look if you want. I don’t mind.” She turned around for him. “You’ve always liked me, and now that the hairy beast is gone, I can confess that I’ve always liked you.”

“Why couldn’t you confess it before?”

“Because I was afraid of falling for you when the beast might kill you. That clawed, hairy animal reminded me of a bear that attacked and killed my old teenage boyfriend in the BC woods–speaking of trauma. If the beast had killed you, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. It’s gone now, so I don’t have to worry about it. And you and I can celebrate our success.”

“OK.” He was grinning like a high school kid.

“Well? You gonna stand out in the hallway forever? Come on in.”

“Oh, yeah, all right,” he said, then entered her apartment.

“That’s a nice perfume you’re wearing,” he said.

“Thank you.” She took him by the hand and led him into her bedroom.

“Are you sure you want to do this now, Agnes? I mean, I’d love to, but we seem to be going really fast here.”

“You may be old-fashioned, but I’m a modern woman.” She removed the nightie and tossed it on a chair near her bed. He removed his gun and holster and put in on her bedside table, between the chair and the bed. “I’ve been through hell recently; I need some heaven to heal me.”

She kicked off the high heels. She then looked down at his crotch and giggled at the bulge in his pants. He blushed.

She removed her bra and wiggled her perfectly formed breasts with pride.

“Holy shit, Agnes. You’re better endowed than I thought.”

She giggled as she pulled down her black panties to reveal a hairless crotch. She now stood proudly nude before him.

“You’re shaved?” he asked with wide open eyes.

“I did it for you earlier today.”

“Wow.”

“OK, big boy. Now it’s your turn. Don’t be shy.”

“OK.” He stripped down to reveal a hairy body and a full erection. She giggled at it, then licked her lips.

“You’re hairier than the beast…and spikier, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“OK, Andy. Let’s fuck.”

They got on the bed in the missionary position. Up close, her perfume was a powerful scent.

When he pushed inside her, she let out a shrill wail.

Oh!” she squealed each time with his first thrusts. “That’s…more…like it! Ah!

“What…do you mean, ‘more…like it’?” he panted.

“The beast…with its…spike-dick…almost did…what you’re doing…now. Oh!

“Yeah,…you said…before. It tried to…rape you?”

“Yeah, but…I shot it.”

“That’s good. Oh!

“But it tore…a hole in a…good pair of pants.”

“At least…it didn’t hurt you.”

“No. Ah!” She came, splashing all over his cock. He pulled out. “OK,” she panted, then turned around to be on the bed on all fours. She looked back at him, and with a lewd twinkle in her eyes, she said, “Fuck me in the ass.”

“You’re into that?” he asked with a slight sneer.

“You aren’t?

“Oh, I’m game, it’s just…I never imagined you to be that kind of girl, Agnes.”

“Are you disappointed in me?”

“N-no, it’s just…well, you’re one surprise after another.”

“Andy, how much of my sex life have you ever known about? Like, none of it?

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Look, the trauma over killing–and almost being killed by–the beast kind of fucked with my head, OK? Wild and wicked sex helps me process trauma, as weird as that must sound to you. I dunno, I’m just funny that way. Can you try to understand that?”

“Yeah, I guess that explains it.” He looked down at her ass. “You’re lubed?

“Yeah,” she sighed. “That’s how horny I am. Terror and trauma tend to get me hot. Now, c’mon, do me before I change my mind.”

“OK,” he said, then slid in. “Ooh! That…feels…good.”

As he moved in and out, he looked over at her face to see if she was showing any signs of feeling pain. She had only a lascivious smirk on her mouth.

I can’t believe it, he thought. I always thought she was the nice, girl-next-door type, like my teenage crush, the one Agnes physically reminds me of. Well, I guess what I imagined of the crush was just an idealized fantasy who has nothing to do with the real Agnes. I’ll have to accept that, and let Agnes just be herself.

Her moans grew louder as he moved in and out, faster and more forcefully with each thrust. Those loud moans began to sound a little bit like grunts.

“Am I…hurting you?” he panted, looking over at her face.

“No, I’m fine,” she said in an unusually husky voice.

“OK.” He kept on screwing.

His legs were as spread out as hers, and his ass was pushed out like hers, too, as if he were willing to get what he was giving her. This would seem appropriate…

…for suddenly, he felt a sharp, bone-like sensation stabbing into his asshole, ripping the anal walls and burrowing deep inside. “Aaaah!” he screamed hoarsely. Blood was dripping all over the bed between their legs. Shaking all over, he looked over at her face.

Agnes turned her head around, revealing the wild, hairy face of the beast, a face combining the features of Callie, Visner, and Agnes. Hair had grown all over the now hermaphroditic body. With painful effort, Thurston straightened up and looked down to see that the curled spike in his ass was coming from her groin…that phallic claw he’d seen on the beast.

He reached for his gun on the bedside table. To his surprise, the demoness helped him get closer to it…by using the phallic spike to pull his body onto her back, merging their torsos together.

Umph!” he groaned when their bodies collided.

He managed to get the gun out of its holster, but Kluh used her power to draw his two arms back to merge with hers, causing him to drop the gun on the bed to the right of the pillow. Their arms slapped hard together.

Ungh!” he groaned at the pain.

He felt his hands and fingers sticking to hers; when he tried to pull his apart from hers, it only hurt, so he gave up on that quickly. His palms felt as if glued to the backs of her hands. His chest was sticking to her back in the same way.

Soon, he could no longer voice his pain from merging with her body, for his face was buried in her hair. His nose disappeared into the back of her head; his lips kissed her neck so hard as to disappear inside it, too.

A bullet, dead centre in her brain, will kill Kluh, as the Yamas told Agnes and me, he thought as he reached with the greatest effort for the gun, fighting against Kluh’s pulling back of their now fully merged right hand. If I kill her, maybe my body will be freed and not killed with her…maybe Agnes will be freed, too. I have to try. If I die, too, at least I won’t live with Kluh possessing me.

His chest and belly had dissolved into her back; their hearts were merging. He felt his still-erect penis elongated and burrowed deep inside her body, plugged into her, as it were. His balls and her vulva were merged; that spike up his ass no longer felt like a stab wound, for it was as ‘plugged into him’ as his cock was plugged into her. Contained and containing flesh was intermingling. Their eight limbs were now four, fully merged.

We’re sharing one heart now–I can feel only one beating, he thought, grasping the gun. If I shoot myself through the chest dead centre, I’ll die with Kluh, presumably. Our brains aren’t yet one, though. If I can point the gun above her ear–which hasn’t merged with mine yet, and if I can put a bullet in the middle of her brain, I have a hope the demon will release me before leaving the physical world.

Despite Kluh’s resistance, he managed to wrap his fingers around the gun, his index finger touching but not squeezing the trigger. His whole face had disappeared into the back of her head. Their torsos were fully merged into one. Only their ears and brains were still doubled, the ears coming closer together, and their brains about to touch.

I don’t have much time, he thought.

It took all his strength to raise the arm with the pistol up to their merging head. No longer on all fours, the body was straightened up by Kluh to be on its knees on the bed. Its fingernails were lengthening into strong, sharp claws.

When the claws were fully formed, the left hand moved over to try to stop the right hand from firing the gun into the brain Kluh was controlling. The back of her brain was now starting to touch the front of Thurston’s. The left claws tried to stab into or slice off the right hand. Because he still had some control of both arms, she was so far only able to slice deep cuts into the right forearm.

She screamed their shared pain.

***************

At about the same time that night, the beast’s buried body–the one examined by the doctors and biologists, and thanks to Kluh’s power, not decomposed in the slightest–lay there underground, with its hair slithering back into its follicles. The phallic claw had already shrunk and disappeared into its groin. Its shape was bloating out in the middle.

***************

Thurston summoned all his strength to wrest control of both arms from Kluh. Not only was she no longer able to use the left arm to reach over to the right one to slice at it, but he managed–by tapping the tip of his gun on her ear as a reference point to feel his way around–to aim it at the head, the barrel of the pistol pointing more or less at the middle of her brain…which was beginning to merge with his.

Still, it was hard for him to stop the hand holding the pistol from shaking.

I don’t have much time, he thought. Gotta keep my hand steady.

Kluh no longer tried to cut off the right hand with the left. She chose instead to give him a false sense of confidence in his aim. Let him shoot, she thought. But keep his hand shaking…and have it shoot at the right time, putting the bullet either in his brain, or if it hits mine, let it be off-centre. Either way, he’ll be assimilated into me with Sandra/Callie, Visner, and Agnes. All options are working in my favour.

Still, he pushed himself to keep his hand steady. The pistol was barely wavering.

He cocked it.

Keep a rhythm, he thought. When my hand sways forward, it’s pointed at the centre of her brain; when it sways back, it’s off-centre or aiming at my brain. Back, forth, back, forth, back, f…

He pulled the trigger.

***********

The buried body was now completely transformed into the fresh corpse of Sandra Brahms.

‘Claws,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Sixteen

[Some sexual content]

Dr. Visner, as nude as Callie now, got on the bed on top of her in the missionary position. Her eyes squinted shut and her mouth wide open, she sighed huffs of excitement, in rising pitches, as he slid inside her.

This sucks so badly, still-immobilized Surian thought as she strained to see the action through the two-to-three-millimetre-wide slit separating the closet’s folding doors. I can’t even watch the show.

The bed creaked to the rhythm of their sighs, moans, and grunts as the lovers rocked back and forth on it.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, the psychiatrist thought as he looked down in his patient’s eyes. I shouldn’t be doing this.

Callie played more mind games with him. The demoness would make him see–every ten seconds or so at a time, and each time about a second or two in duration–that black-haired, brown-skinned, curvaceous Thai beauty he’d had when he was young, instead of seeing blonde Callie.

So every time he saw a flash of black hair and brown skin, instead of the usual blonde hair and peach skin, he twitched in guilty agitation. With each successive switch from light to dark, he never twitched any less. He could never get used to it.

She gave him an evil grin with his every twitch, not just because of the sadistic pleasure she got from tormenting him, but because the union of opposites–his psychological agony and his physical pleasure–were giving her more power.

The same was the case with what was going on in that closet: the juxtaposition of life and death–living Surian huddled together with the headless corpses of the Yamas. Furthermore, Surian planned to shoot Callie, but Callie could easily kill Surian.

***********

Immobilized Thurston was fidgeting in his car no less than Surian was in that closet. What was worse, Callie flashed images before his eyes of Surian there.

He saw, from Surian’s point of view, her first sight of the headless corpses when the light was turned on, the jagged claw-cuts on the stumps of the Yamas’ necks.

He screamed, realizing this is what she’d seen.

“Agnes!” he gasped.

From that sensing of her point of view, he also felt how immobile she was in that cluttered closet, not his own immobility, but from the same cause–the power of the demoness Kluh inhabiting Callie’s body. He fidgeted violently, frustrated that he still couldn’t move.

Now Callie showed him flashes of Surian’s face up close.

He saw her agape eyes and mouth.

He felt her fear.

“Fuck!” he grunted, still able to do no more than fidget.

************

Callie screamed with pleasure when she came, splashing her ejaculation all over Visner’s cock.

He shook, imagining for a split second that that scream was her about to have a psychotic episode. Still, he kept thrusting, for she made him do it. He couldn’t refuse to screw.

He pulled out of her, then saw the Thai prostitute’s body for a second. Callie laughed when she saw the jolt she’d given him.

She may have traumas from being raped, he thought, but if anything, she’s raping me.

She rolled over and got on all fours. She stuck her ass out, pointing it at him. He looked at it: it changed from her peach buttocks and brown anus to the brown buttocks and black anus of the Thai prostitute.

He got another jolt. He looked at what was now the face of the Thai girl, who had a lewd grin and a sparkle in her black eyes. “You want fuck my ass?” Callie asked in the girl’s Thai accent and ungrammatical syntax, just as he remembered it from years back.

He looked at her ass again, with Callie’s peach and brown again, then back up at her face, with her blue eyes and golden hair. “W-well, I’d like to, but your step-father–“

“Oh, I’ve forgotten about Mort. Stick it in. I’m lubed.”

He looked back down there. She was.

Voodoo girl, he thought. Demon girl. I can’t say no.

He pushed in slowly, carefully, checking her face to make sure she wasn’t in any pain.

Callie wants anal? Surian thought. Doesn’t ass-fucking make her violent? She remembered the time she and Thurston watched her and that other lover of hers through his apartment window, when his attempt to force anal made her change into the clawed beast. She wants Visner to provoke her into killing him, doesn’t she?

She fidgeted, and still could do no more than budge slightly.

Visner moved back and forth, loving the tight, hugging sensation, but looking in her eyes with concern, for she was looking back at him. Her eyes sometimes told him of her desire, and sometimes of her fear.

His face would mirror that fear back at her.

Sometimes, her fearful face was that of the Thai prostitute, her dark lips in a frown, and her black eyes full of shame.

Again, Visner felt a jolt of fear and guilt shoot throughout his body, with her every change to the Thai girl.

Then, she’d change back to blonde, lewdly-smiling Callie. Though his arousal was rising, he found her changes back not very reassuring.

Surian squinted her eyes trying to see what was going on outside those folding closet doors. Is Callie’s skin switching back and forth from white to black, and back to white again, or am I seeing things? she wondered.

**************

Thurston was too exhausted to fidget anymore, so he let his body sit loose in his car. He’d budge every ten seconds from now on, to see if Callie had set him free.

Sometimes, he’d budge on other occasions, such as when Callie made him see such split-second visions as this:

Surian being stabbed between the legs with a phallic claw.

“Agnes!” he yelled with a jerk.

**************

Visner heard, after giving her a strong thrust, a grunt of what sounded like pain. He checked her face when she looked back at him. He saw a frown, like the kind the Thai girl would give him.

He thrust hard again, feeling forced to do so by Callie, in spite of her apparent discomfort. He saw another frown…and he heard a growl.

He kept moving back and forth. All he wanted to do was pull out, get off the bed, grab his clothes, and run, but he couldn’t. Her power was forcing him to continue with the sex.

She looked back at him, moaned, and gave him a ‘reassuring’ grin. His fear and arousal were merged and strengthening each other. And that merging of opposite feelings made her all the more powerful.

He felt himself nearing orgasm. Then he heard another growl. A shot of terror went through his body as he shot his first ejaculation. He saw hair growing on her arms as his come kept firing out. Claws were growing from her fingernails, making his eyes and mouth open wide. She looked back at him with a wild, hairy face.

She let out a loud roar.

He screamed. Then he felt his face being forcefully shoved into the hair on the back of the beast’s head.

Surian was shaking in that closet with all her might to overcome, still in all futility, her immobility. “C’mon, goddamnit!”

She peaked through that slit between the closet doors. All she could make out was his relatively hairless body seemingly stuck to her hairy body.

The odd thing was that there didn’t seem to be any slashing or stabbing with those claws, no blood splashing anywhere, just the two bodies clinging together.

***********

Thurston saw split-second visions of Callie and Visner, seeing the two lovers face-first as if he were sitting at the head of the bed, only she was getting hairier with each flash of them before his eyes. Her claws got longer and sharper with each flash, too. Strangest of all was how Visner grew closer and closer to her, as if glued to her.

“Fuck!” Thurston shouted, shaking in his car still with the same futility as Surian’s. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Where’s Agnes! What’s happened to her?”

***********

“Let me out of here!” Surian screamed.

The reply she received was a growl and the calm words, “Soon, Agnes. Real soon,” only they weren’t with Callie’s voice, but with Visner’s.

The shaking on the bed had stopped. No more creaking, no more fucking. Just the sounds of the clawed beast’s grunts.

Surian strained again to see through that crack. Visner’s body seemed to lie limp on the beast’s hairy back, from what Surian could make out. What she could no longer make out was where Visner’s body ended and the hairy beast’s began, for the one seemed to phase into the other.

She wasn’t sure, but it also seemed that Visner was now beginning to grow long hairs on his torso, ones similar to the beast’s.

The width of the two torsos, one on top of the other in profile, seemed to be narrowing.

**************

Thurston’s visions of Visner and Callie on that bed now showed split-second flashes of what seemed to be one huge hairy body, with his head merged with hers from behind, as if Visner’s face were lost in the sea of Callie’s hair on the back of her head.

“What the hell am I seeing?” Thurston asked, sneering.

**************

Through that slit between the closet doors, Surian saw what seemed a singular, hairy figure get off the bed and stand in front of her, the closet doors the only things separating her and the beast. She heard a grunt.

Finally, she felt free to move. The demoness had let her go. She shoved the doors open.

Before her stood one naked, hairy beast with breasts and a curvaceous figure, but with Visner’s gut. It had a face that was a cross of the female beast’s and Visner’s, and between its thighs was a long, sharp, thick claw for a phallus, pointing up in an arc at her, ready to stab.

Eyes agape, she screamed an ear-piercing wail, then pointed her pistol at the beast’s chest, frantically trying to find the dead centre of its heart in so short time.

Her eyes and mouth still wide open, Surian couldn’t stop screaming, but the beast would end the noise. Its red, slithering tongue shot out of its mouth and went deep into Surian’s, a tongue of seemingly endless length, flying at her face like a snake racing inside a hole in the ground. That spike of a phallus reached for her crotch.

Gagging, she shook all over, but kept her aim: she fired a bullet in the hermaphrodite beast’s heart, as close to dead-centre as she could hit it, just when the point of the phallus had punctured a hole in her pants and underwear, between her legs, meeting her vulva.

‘Claws,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Fifteen

“I’m gonna end this once and for all,” Detective Surian whispered to herself, then jumped in her car and raced over to Callie’s apartment building.

Detective Thurston didn’t even notice her car drive away when he arrived at the Yamas’ dry-cleaning shop. He got out of his car and, eyes and jaw agape, looked at Vanessa’s and Raymond’s heads on those poles stabbed into the front door of the shop. He retched.

When the other police cars arrived, he’d be too busy explaining what happened to the two owners to think about Surian.

************

She parked her car in front of Callie’s apartment building, got out, and took out her pistol. She ran up the stairs and through the front door, got into the elevator, and went up to the seventh floor. She pushed open the slowly-opening elevator doors to get out faster and squeezed through in her frantic impatience.

As she ran down the hall to Callie’s room, she noted that the pheromone smell was as powerful as ever, but it wasn’t weakening her will at all; indeed, after forgetting to hold her breath, she was surprised at not feeling in any way controlled by the demoness.

In fact, Callie’s front door was open.

She wants me to go in, Surian thought, remembering the opened door to Dr. Visner’s office when she’d gone in to plant the hidden camera. This is a trap. Still, I’ve got to try to stop her. There seems to be no other way, and I’m sick of this shit. A memory of that bear killing her teen boyfriend flashed before her eyes again, as did that dream of the hairy, clawed beast attacking Thurston. A bullet fired directly dead-centre into her heart should kill her, as the Yamas said it would.

She went into the room, her eyes darting around everywhere to see if Callie was there. Her pistol was cocked.

The apartment seemed empty of people.

The bedroom door was wide open.

She went in.

Nobody was there.

She checked behind the bed.

Nobody.

She went over to the closet, which had two folding doors. She opened the right-side one.

No Callie hiding in there.

The pheromone smell was so powerful, it cancelled out any other possible competing smells.

There was enough room for Surian to slip in and hide on that right side; the other side seemed crowded with clothes on hangers, and with boxes on the floor, so she figured she’d have no unwelcome company while hiding there.

She went in and closed the closet door.

She’d wait for Callie to return, then surprise her with bullets in the chest.

After a few minutes of waiting, she came to her senses and realized she should have properly checked the other side of the closet; the pheromone smell had interfered with her thinking after all.

She moved a few of Callie’s dresses aside, then groped around in the darkness with her left hand. She felt what seemed to be an arm. She raised her pistol in her right hand, ready to shoot, but realized the body wasn’t responding to her touch. It didn’t move at all.

She moved her hand up the body, above the shoulder, and felt around for the neck.

She felt only a stump, and the jagged, bloodless cutting-through of claws.

She gasped.

Just then, the bedroom light was turned on, and enough light shone through the crack to let her know that she was standing next to not only Vanessa’s headless body, but Raymond’s behind it.

Surian stopped herself just in time before screaming. She wanted to kick open the closet door and point her pistol at Callie, but found herself suddenly incapable of any movement beyond fidgeting of a few millimetres all around.

“Not yet, Agnes,” Callie told her from the other side. “Don’t worry, though: we’ll all be together soon enough.”

It took all of Surian’s effort to remain calm while paralyzed in that closet indefinitely, tolerating the proximity of those two corpses. She just shook and shook.

Callie, nude as usual, sat on her bed, closed her eyes, and–from what Surian could make out through the narrow slit in the closet door–began meditating.

Come, Dr. Visner, Callie thought, using the mana from the semen she’d swallowed during her sexual encounter with the psychiatrist. Come to me. Let’s make love.

************

Visner left his office like an automaton and went down to the underground parking lot to find his car. He didn’t need to know her home address: her power would guide him there.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, behind her remote control of him, a small voice was whispering in his mind’s ear: I shouldn’t be doing this. He also saw images of that Thai prostitute flashing before his eyes, flashing between the changing of the traffic lights.

************

Surian kept trembling in that closet, cringing at the thought of those two bodies she couldn’t distance herself from. She felt a presence inside her stomach, some kind of energy that felt connected in some vague way with Callie’s ejaculation in her mouth when Callie had manipulated Surian to perform cunnilingus on her; it was forcing her to stay in that immobile position, able only to jiggle a bit. Is this that ‘mana’ that the Yamas were talking about? she wondered.

She saw Callie still sitting cross-legged on her bed, her eyes closed and concentrating on something.

Come to me, Doctor, she thought. Come make love to me.

That mana in her belly, from Visner’s ejaculation in her mouth, was like a doll she could move around any way she liked, and Visner was the doll outside, his car nearing her apartment building.

**************

After enough discussion with the police about the Yamas’ heads, Thurston finally remembered Surian.

“Agnes!” he said with a jolt.

“Yeah, what about your girlfriend?” Detective Hicks said. “She found this horrible display, then just took off? Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know,” Thurston said. “I imagine she got so upset, she just went over to Callie’s apartment to arrest her.”

“We have no proof, apart from your hocus-pocus bullshit, that this ‘Callie’ is in any way connected with all these deaths,” Hicks said. “Hairs of the animal weren’t found anywhere near that apartment this time.”

“Still,” Thurston said. “I should go over there and help her. She’s putting herself in danger.”

“She ain’t interested in you, Andy,” Hicks said, then put his hand on Thurston’s shoulder. “Try a new experience. Open your mind.” He smirked lewdly.

“Sorry, Hicks. I’m not into men.” Thurston ran to his car, got in, and drove over to Callie’s apartment building.

As he was driving away, Hicks watched his car disappear. Andy’s an idiot, just like his girlfriend, he thought. He is good-looking, though.

************

Dr. Visner arrived and parked his car by the park across from the apartment building. As he crossed the road, he thought, This is dangerous. She really has killed people during sex, hasn’t she? I’m not in control of my body; she’s controlling it.

He went through the front door of the apartment building and approached the elevator.

This is some kind of voodoo magic, and I don’t even believe in such things, he thought.

He remembered fucking the Thai prostitute in the ass, then reading the news of her death in the paper.

What if my fucking of Callie triggers a rape trauma of her step-father, and she uses these powers to kill me, or do some other terrible thing to me?

He got in the elevator, and Callie willed him to push 7. See? he thought. How do I know she’s on the seventh floor? I have no control over my movements. I can’t stop myself from having sex with her. I’m putting myself in danger; she’s making my mind want to have sex with her. What is her plan?

He reached the seventh floor, got out of the elevator, and went straight to Room 717, knowing that’s where she was.

The door was still open. He went in.

“Hello, Dr. Visner,” Callie purred as he entered the bedroom.

Oh, shit, Surian thought. I should have known Callie would be luring him here. And I can’t stop her.

Callie spread her legs and lay on her back. Dr. Visner felt compelled to begin undressing.

***********

Thurston was a few blocks from Callie’s apartment building. All of a sudden, though, he felt himself being controlled by an alien intelligence, making him park his car in a parking lot in the area, instead of in front of her place.

“What the fuck?” he said. He budged to get out of the car, but now couldn’t move beyond slight budging.

Not yet, Callie’s voice whispered in his mind’s ear. Don’t worry, though: we’ll all be together soon enough.

‘Claws,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Fourteen

[Some sexual content]

After leaving two…mementos…of her encounter with the Yamas at their dry-cleaning shop, the hairy beast ran and jumped down the streets in the direction of The Gold Star. Though she was seen by onlookers, including cops in patrol cars, throughout Toronto, the growing power of her pheromone smell kept everyone too dazed to follow her.

Eventually, by about midnight, she stopped her running and jumping, calmed down, and began shedding hair. Her claws shortened into normal fingernails. Her pheromone aphrodisiac, though adding to the erotic pleasure of seeing her transformation back into shapely, nude Callie, nonetheless kept its dazed sniffers at bay as she walked, in the most carefree, insouciant way, towards the front door of the strip joint.

One of those sniffers of her sexy smell was none other than Dr. Visner, who felt compelled to see her again at The Gold Star. In fact, he was walking on the same sidewalk that the balls of her pretty bare feet had just tapped on, so he noticed the growing amount of wisps of her bestial hair.

He picked up a few and sniffed that arousing pheromone smell. “Callie,” he sighed with a smile.

He looked further ahead down the sidewalk, and saw a beautiful nude female figure from behind. The street lights and shadows worked together to caress her buttock cleavage.

He walked faster towards her.

She sensed his approach and grinned.

When he was about five feet behind her, she turned around to face him. She grinned when he stopped and let his eyes roam down her body to feast on those wiggling breasts and that hairless crotch. Embarrassed by his lust, he yanked his gaze up to her eyes.

“You can stare at my body if you want to,” she purred. “Enjoy yourself. I won’t be mad.”

“Yes, but…you’re my…patient,” he panted, resisting the temptation to let his gaze drop back down below her neck. “I shouldn’t–“

“Come here,” she cooed. He did.

She put her arms around his neck. He put his hands on her ass and gave the cheeks gentle squeezes as they French-kissed.

She pulled her tongue out of his mouth and said, “Let’s go into a VIP Room. My services to you are free of charge tonight.”

They held hands as they walked into The Gold Star.

They went into a VIP Room, he sat on the couch, and she sat on his lap. Rubbing her buns against his erection, she leaned back with her flowery-fragrant hair (another example of Kluh’s growing powers, to smell so lovely after having just been the sweaty beast) brushing against his face. She turned her head back and looked in his eyes.

“I love revealing…all my secrets to you,” she sighed in his ear. “I revealed all my…private pain to you…during our therapy. Now I can…reveal my…private parts to you.”

“Yes, but is it…the real you…that you revealed to me?” he asked. “Is this some game?”

She frowned and stopped lap-dancing. “Of course it was the real me. All my private feelings.” She turned her frown back into a smile, then resumed rubbing. “Now I can…reveal my…private parts to you.”

“I’d love that, but…,” he grunted from the sensation of her massaging bottom. “I still feel…as though…I’m taking advantage of…a vulnerable, fragile patient.” The memory of that Thai prostitute he’d had when young flashed before his eyes.

“Dr. Visner, it is I who am taking advantage of you.”

“You are?

“Yes,” she said, grinning as she got up and turned around to face him. She rubbed her breasts against his face and slid down between his spread-out legs. “I’m practically raping you.”

“Oh,” he said with a slight smile.

She unzipped his pants. Another image of that Thai prostitute appeared in a flash before his eyes, a memory of her about to perform oral sex on him.

“Wait,” he said, stopping Callie’s hand. “Not here. People in the bar might hear us.”

“Oh, they’d hear my screams for sure, if you put it in my pussy.” She moved his hand out of the way and put her fingers inside his open fly. “That’s why it’s best if it’s only your moans, drowned out by that metal music the DJ’s playing.” She took his cock out and wrapped her wet lips and tongue around it.

Her hypnotic eyes stayed fixed on his as her head went back and forth.

As she continued blowing him, he saw her face shift back and forth between Callie’s and the Thai prostitute’s. His heightened guilt augmented his arousal as those moist lips and tongue slid and slithered back and forth along his length.

Is this me seeing both girls? he thought. Or is Callie somehow making me see this?

Finally, he came in her mouth, his body shaking as he shot every squirt down her throat. She swallowed every last drop greedily, as if dying of thirst. Grinning, she put his spent dick back in his pants and zipped him up. “OK, Doctor. I guess that’ll be all for now.”

“OK,” he panted, unsure whether to smile after getting the most amazing head, or to frown from his guilt. He took out his wallet.

“No, no,” she said, waving her hands. “I told you: my services are free tonight, as they will be from now on.”

“Very well, then. I’ll see you in my office next time.” He left the bar, still holding that wisp of beast hair between his fingers.

She grinned from the feeling of his ejaculation inside her body. Its energy, its mana, would be useful to her very soon.

***********

The next morning, Detective Surian was woken up by her ringing cellphone.

“Hello?” she said into it.

“Remember me, Detective?” the caller said in a rush. “I’m Sam. I helped you find the Yamas.”

“Oh, hello, Sam,” she said after a yawn. “What’s going on?”

“Hurry over to the dry-cleaners!” Sam said with agitation in his voice. “Something terrible has happened. You’ve got to see it. It’s too awful for me to describe. Hurry!”

She rushed over there in her car so fast, she forgot to call Thurston.

When she got there, though, she took out her phone to tell him. “Get over here, Andy,” she said. “I’m at the dry-cleaners. I know how the exorcism attempt worked out.”

She stood before the entrance to the dry-cleaners. Vanessa’s and Raymond’s bloody heads were on steel poles stabbed into the top of the wooden front door.

‘Claws,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Thirteen

“I never asked you before: how much did it cost you to fix the dent?” Thurston asked Surian as they got in her car with the Yamas, who brought with them a small gong, a jingle bell (to be shaken on a handle), and incense sticks.

“It cost far too much,” Surian said with a frown, then she put her key in the ignition.

“What caused the damage to your car?” Raymond asked.

“Not what, who,” Surian answered, starting the car.

“Was it Kluh?” Vanessa asked.

“Yes,” Thurston said. “She jumped high in the air and came down on the roof.”

“Don’t remind me,” Surian said, remembering also the bear attack from her teen years as she got the car on the road.

“What else can you tell us about Kluh?” Thurston asked.

“What else do you want to know, specifically?” Vanessa asked.

“Like, what motivates her to kill sometimes, and other times, just to lure you in for sex?” Surian asked.

“Well, there are many motives for her to kill,” Raymond said. “Revenge on, or protection from, a rapist. Also, any threat to her growing power–“

“Which means, my husband and I are putting ourselves in danger,” Vanessa said.

“Since you know the danger, are you sure you want to go through with this?” Surian asked.

“Yes, we must do this. Only we can stop Kluh,” Raymond said.

“And if she kills you?” Thurston asked.

“You’re all screwed, not just you two, but everyone,” Raymond said. “Vanessa and I are your best hope to send Kluh back to the spirit world. Of all the people in the Polynesian community in the Toronto area, we are the most knowledgeable in how to perform the kind of exorcism that can defeat this demon.”

“If you two fail, and she kills you,” Surian said, “Andy and I will be standing by to shoot her if necessary.”

“No!” Vanessa shouted. “You drop us off at Callie’s apartment, tell us her room number and the floor she lives on, and Raymond and I will do the rest. You must drive far away when we begin the ritual.”

“Why can’t we be with you?” Thurston asked.

“Because you’ll distract us,” Vanessa said.

“We’ll be quiet and stay out of your way,” Surian said.

“No!” Vanessa said. “Your very presence, your psychic energy, your mana, will contaminate the ritual. With any luck, no one else in the halls outside her room will interfere, psychically or physically. I’m hoping anyone she may have made love with in the apartment will not be anywhere near there.”

I’ll have to make sure ‘Super-stud’ isn’t at home, Surian thought, assuming what the Yamas is saying isn’t total bullshit.

“You see, she is acquainted with both of you,” Raymond said. “Certainly with Andy, in an intimate way. The more intimate you’ve been with her, the more you’ll contaminate the sacred space.”

I guess I’ll have to stay far away, too, Surian thought, remembering her encounter with Callie.

“Kluh can exploit the mana she’s absorbed from you, to thwart us in our attempt to exorcise her from Callie’s body,” Vanessa said.

“From Sandra Brahms’s body, as I told you before,” Surian said, then handed Vanessa a photo of Sandra. “This, I believe, is how ‘Callie’ originally looked.”

Vanessa looked at the chubby teenage girl in the photo, then showed it to Raymond before giving it back to Surian. “If our exorcism is successful, we can expect to see Callie’s body change into this Sandra girl’s,” Vanessa said. “But as I said before, you two mustn’t be present. We also fear Kluh will try to kill you if she kills us.”

“OK, we’ll stay away from your exorcism, if you insist,” Surian said. “We’ll wait for a phone call from either of you, and if we don’t hear anything by tomorrow, we’ll go to your dry-cleaning place, and if you’re not there, we’ll assume Kluh has killed you.”

“OK,” Raymond said.

“But what else can you tell us about Kluh?” Surian asked. “Why d0es she have sex with some people, and lets them live?”

“Well, sometimes she does it for pleasure, of course,” Vanessa said. “But always to take some of her lovers’ mana, and now that Kluh seems to have a permanent female body–that is, she isn’t moving from one girl’s body to another’s with every sexual encounter–we can assume this Sandra, or Callie, is her ideal female, her female mate, so now she’ll be looking for an ideal male as a mate, to make herself complete.”

“So, she’s looking for Mr. Right?” Surian asked.

“That’s a good way to put it,” Raymond said. “Remember that she builds power by merging opposites.”

“And the fusion of male and female is one of the most powerful kinds of a merging of opposites,” Vanessa said. “I’ll bet that psychiatrist she got naked for in the video is her chosen male mate. He doesn’t seem to be a lover she wants to have only one time.”

“Oh, yeah,” Thurston said, remembering the night of his encounter with Callie. “I saw her say goodbye to Dr. Visner in The Gold Star.”

“She’s getting regular psychotherapy sessions with Visner, too,” Surian said. “What will happen if the two of them…mate?”

“Kluh will be almost unstoppable,” Raymond said.

“Oh, come on!” Thurston said. “Can’t we kill her by filling her chest with bullets?”

“Only a hit dead-centre in her heart, or right in the middle of her brain, will send Kluh back into the spirit world,” Raymond said.

They arrived at the front of Callie’s apartment building, Surian parking at the curb of the sidewalk there. The Yamas got out of her car with their things for the exorcism ritual.

“Are you sure you don’t want us in there with you, in case Callie turns into that thing, claws you to death, then goes rampaging through the night?” Thurston asked, looking up at the setting sun.

“We’re absolutely sure,” Vanessa said with urgency in her face. “Drive far away, and don’t phone us until tomorrow morning, if you hear nothing from us tonight. Or, you can try to contact us at our shop tomorrow.”

“OK,” Surian said, looking around the area. “I have to make sure ‘Super-stud’ isn’t in his apartment…oh, wait. There he is; he’s leaving.” She spotted the first-floor neighbour who’d had Callie; he was walking away from the apartment in a uniform, about to do the night shift, apparently. “That’s convenient.”

“OK, we’ll contact you tomorrow if you haven’t said anything by then.” Thurston said. “She’s on the seventh floor, Room 717. Goodbye.”

“Bye,” the Yamas said together, then watched the detectives drive away. Once Surian’s car was far enough away to have disappeared from sight, Vanessa and Raymond felt comfortable to begin the ritual. They heaved a huge sigh together. They then each lit an incense stick for themselves, to carry with the gong and jingle bell stick.

They went through the front doors of the apartment building, and as soon as they were inside, Raymond began hitting the gong with a mallet, getting a gentle, ringing bass tone from it, and Vanessa began shaking the bells. They were playing a triple-time rhythm of one gong beat for every three shakes of the bells.

Vanessa pressed the button to bring the elevator down to the first floor. They got in the elevator. As soon as it began going up to the seventh floor, they, always playing their 3/4 rhythm, began whispering a mystic chant in their native Tahaiwi language.

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!” (Kluh, go back! [to the spirit world]) The whispering grew louder as the elevator rose up the floors.

By the time they reached the seventh floor, the door opened, and they stepped out of the elevator, the whispering had grown to a loud, vocalized chant.

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!”

They smelled the powerful pheromones, but their incense protected them from its hypnotic properties.

Vanessa began a twirling, hopping dance as she and Raymond went down the hall towards Callie’s apartment. They hadn’t needed to know the number: both the growing smell of the pheromones and their ability to sense the presence of Kluh led them to the right apartment–Room 717.

Vanessa continued twirling and hopping in front of Callie’s door. The Yamas were shouting the chant now: “Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!”

No one else in the apartment opened his doors to find out where the shouting was coming from. Everyone sensed the effectiveness of the ritual intuitively, even without a conscious understanding of the nature of Callie’s power. There was a collective feeling of hope that their apartment was soon to be freed of a vaguely evil presence.

Callie, nude from head to toe as usual, opened her door to receive the Yamas, as if she were being compelled to. She reacted to them almost like an automaton.

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!” They entered the room.

Raymond had to use all of his strength to resist the temptation to enjoy looking at her shapely, buxom body, to focus on the ritual, to remember that he loved his wife. Callie, having closed the door and turned around to face the exorcists, flitted back over to him, and danced around in front of him to entice him with her body.

Still, he and Vanessa carried on with the ritual, not allowing themselves to be distracted by Callie.

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!” they shouted to the 3/4 rhythm, over and over again, him hitting the gong, and Vanessa shaking the bells and doing her twirling, hopping dance.

“Don’t you want me, Raymond?” Callie purred at him, gyrating her hips and jiggling her tits before his eyes. “That wife of yours looks like a little elephant-lady, she’s so chubby. Don’t you think I’d be more fun in bed?”

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!” the Yamas repeated, as if Callie hadn’t said anything.

Callie frowned. “She’s mine!” she shouted. “Sandra Brahms is mine. You’re not taking her from me. Make love with me, Raymond, and I’ll let you live.”

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!”

Callie began faltering in her counter-exorcist, erotic dance. Now scowling, she said in the Yamas’ native Tahaiwi tongue, “Sandra is my mate. I searched a long time, all over the Earth, for centuries, to find the ideal female body to control, and Sandra Brahms is she! She’s perfect. A pretty face with a chubby body: beauty merged with plainness. She would have been modest, avoiding sex, but her stepfather made her into his whore: chastity and unchastity combined. She’s suffered, but I’ve made her happy: joy and sorrow united. She’s the perfect merging of opposites, to give me enough mana to make me more powerful than anyone could ever know. She’s my mate, she’s mine! I have her male mate in my sights, too, and he’ll be mine soon!”

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!”

Callie fell to the floor in front of the living room sofa, on which a white blanket lay. She began shaking all over, as if having an epileptic seizure.

“Please,” she said in the whining, pleading voice of a frightened teen, “Get this demon out of me. I just want to be Sandra again. Please, help me!”

“Kluh, sa-bang! Kluh, sa-bang!” The Yamas drew closer to her as they continued chanting.

Callie’s body started changing. She became shorter. Her pubic hair grew back. She lost her shapely curves, her body growing rotund, like Vanessa’s.

Nude Sandra looked up at the two chanting exorcists, who were staring at her with ritual intensity. Blushing, she pulled the blanket over herself.

“Thank you,” she said in a tremulous voice, her eyes avoiding theirs as they continued their chanting, shaking the bells, banging the gong, and dancing up close to her.

The chanting of “Kluh, sa-bang, Kluh, sa-bang” grew softer and softer until becoming the whisper it had been in the elevator. The Yamas, even closer to Sandra now, bent down to get a good look at her to make sure she really had Kluh exorcised from her.

Raymond was still hitting the gong, though softer, and Vanessa was still shaking the bells…softer and softer. They looked into Sandra’s eyes.

They never noticed the hairs snaking out of her arm follicles.

“Unh!” they grunted together when they felt her stabbing claws dig into their guts.

The tall, curvaceous, hairy beast grinned, looking down at the two bloody bodies lying on the floor.

**************

Late that night, Surian and Thurston were sitting together in a café with their cellphones lying next to their half-drunk coffees.

“Come on, Vanessa,” Surian said. “Call me!”

‘Claws,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Twelve

The next day, Detectives Surian and Thurston were sitting on a bench in a dry-cleaning store, waiting to talk with the mom and pop owners, both of them of Polynesian descent. The detectives were watching a video recording on Surian’s cellphone.

“How were you able to sneak a hidden camera into Dr. Visner’s office without him or his receptionist knowing?” Thurston asked.

“I think ‘Chloe’ used her powers to distract those two so I could get in,” Surian said, trying to fast-forward the video to the exact point where Visner’s session with Callie began. “The door to his office was conveniently left open, with neither the shrink nor the receptionist around at the time to see what I was doing there.”

“If ‘Chloe’ used her powers to help you get info,” Thurston said, “then this must be part of a trap she’s laying for us. We’d better be careful.”

“Yeah, I know,” Surian said. “We’ve always known the dangers involved in pursuing her. Let it work. We need everything we can get to learn as much as possible about her. We’ll have her hoisted on her own petard soon enough. By the way, since I’ve already watched this video recording, I know what name she goes by from day to day: Callie Seaver.”

“So, ‘Chloe’ is just her stripper stage name?”

“Yes. It’s also Sandra Brahms’s mother’s name. And Callie is Sandra’s middle name, and Seaver was her mother’s maiden name.”

“Hmm. Interesting set of coincidences.”

The store owners walked up to them.

“Hello,” the female owner said. “My name is Vanessa Yama, and this is my husband, Raymond.”

The detectives got up and shook their hands. “Hi. Detective Andrew Thurston. Call me Andy.”

“Detective Agnes Surian,” she said, shaking Vanessa’s hand. “To get an idea of what I was talking about before with you, let’s watch this video I got of ‘Chloe,’ the stripper name of Callie Seaver, during a psychotherapy session with a man named Dr. Visner.”

“They allowed you to record this?” Vanessa asked.

“No, but I think the spirit inside Callie allowed me to sneak in and put a hidden camera in the room,” Surian said.

“If Kluh helped you do that, then she has plans for you as well as Callie and the psychiatrist,” Raymond said. “Kluh is all about…bringing people together.”

“So, what do you know about this ‘Kluh’?” Thurston asked.

“Let’s watch the video first, to see if this Callie really is possessed by the demoness,” Vanessa said. “We’ll be able to tell by her manner if Kluh is controlling her.”

They all sat side by side on that bench with Surian in the middle, all of them leaning over to look at her cellphone. She pressed PLAY.

“So, what has Kluh done lately, besides almost seduce me in The Gold Star?” Dr. Visner asked Callie in the video.

“I seduced one of the two cops who have been following me,” she said. “He was fun in bed.” She giggled.

Thurston’s face went red. Surian looked over at him and smirked. Now the Yamas’ faces went red.

“Did the beast claw him to death?” Visner asked as he jotted a few notes down. “I didn’t hear anything in the news about any killings lately.”

“We’ve heard about all those killings, of course,” Raymond said. “A hairy female beast with claws slices up her male lovers during sex. That sounds like Kluh.”

“And the girl in the video sure looks like a typical female host for the spirit,” Vanessa said. “Beautiful, sexy, and seductive.”

“Kluh can change the physical appearance of the host to make her more attractive to men,” Raymond said.

“We suspect that ‘Callie Seaver’ was originally Sandra Brahms,” Surian added. “A rather plump teenage girl sexually abused by her stepfather, who was killed by the beast in Hamilton a month or so ago.”

“She wrote about trying to contact the spirit world in several entries in a diary we found in her stepfather’s house in Hamilton,” Thurston said. “She tried to contact her mother’s ghost.”

“That is how Kluh is typically summoned,” Vanessa said with widened eyes. “The demoness initially pretends to be the ghost of a loved one trying to communicate with it. She exploits the emotional weaknesses of people she wants to take over, to get in.”

“Hey, let’s pay attention to the video,” Surian said. “Watch what Callie is doing. She’s undressing in front of the shrink!”

“Callie, please don’t do that,” Visner said, covering his nose and mouth. “That isn’t just any old perfume, is it?”

“Kluh’s pheromones,” Raymond said. “Her aphrodisiac for luring you in.”

In the video, Callie was standing before Dr. Visner in only a black lace bra and panties, and in black high heels.

“C’mon, Doctor,” she said, unhooking her bra. “You’ve seen it all already. Live a little.” She removed it and shook her breasts.

“She must be Kluh,” Vanessa said, noting the black panties coming off. “This is exactly the kind of exhibitionism we’d expect from the sex demoness. We’ve seen enough. We’re convinced this girl is the host.”

Surian stopped the video, saying, “Right when it was getting interesting.” She set her phone up to get an MP3 recording of her conversation with the Yamas. “OK, what do you know about Kluh? What does she want? How’s she going to get it?”

“I remember hearing stories about a ghost named Kluh back in my childhood, when Raymond and I grew up in Tahaiwi,” Vanessa said.

“Tahaiwi?” Thurston asked.

“It’s a small, obscure island in the Pacific Ocean, just south of the Equator at the northeastern-most point of the Polynesian triangle,” Raymond said. Thurston and Surian still had confused looks on their faces. “It’s northeast of the Marquesas Islands.”

“Thanks for the geography lesson,” Thurston said. “But what about Kluh?”

“To know about Kluh, you need to know a bit about Polynesian beliefs,” Vanessa said. “Our gods are similar to those of other Polynesians, but we have a lot of local beliefs that are really different from theirs, including how we conceive of mana.”

“What’s that?” Surian asked.

“It’s a special power in all living beings, but some have more of it than others, due to political influence, success in war, or, as we in Tahaiwi understand it, due to a stronger connection with the spirit world, which unifies everything,” Raymond said.

“We Polynesians stress the duality of all life,” Vanessa explained. “Body vs. spirit, good/evil, birth/death, pleasure/pain, etc. But in Tahaiwi, mana can grow through the merging of opposites.”

“OK,” Surian said. “But where does Kluh come into all of this?”

“Well, she builds power by uniting such opposites as beauty and ugliness–for example, having a sexy body, then turning into the horrible, clawed beast. She has sex, implying the creation of life, then kills her lover, causing the end of life,” Vanessa said.

“The merging of her spirit with Callie’s body is another merging of opposites,” Raymond added. “The same is true of her merging of opposing identities: the uniting of self and other.”

“That’s what Kluh has done with Callie,” said Vanessa. “And she’ll continue to do that, again and again, until…” She paused, not knowing how to continue.

“Until what?” Thurston asked.

“It’s hard to say,” Vanessa said. “It’ll sound over-the-top. You won’t believe it.”

“Just say it,” Thurston said.

“Until she’s absorbed all life on this planet, making it all a part of her,” Raymond said. “Causing the end of everything as we know it, like the end of the world. Then, there will be a new beginning. The end of the old life cycle, and the beginning of a new one.”

“You’re right,” Surian said. “I don’t believe it.”

“Look, all you need to know is that we need to stop her before she kills again,” Vanessa said. “We’ll need to do an exorcism as soon as possible, before she gains any more power. I’m not sure if we’ll be able to stop her as it is, but we must try.”

“Yes,” Raymond said. “Let’s go over to her place right now. You know where she lives?”

“Yes,” Surian said. “Let’s go.”