Up here at the top,
I look at the rocks below:
Hard and sharp, they teach.
Up here at the top,
I look at the rocks below:
Hard and sharp, they teach.
The Devil’s Hour is an anthology of horror short stories recently published by HellBound Books. I have a short story included in it, one called “The Pet.” I don’t want to tell you too much about it, since I’d rather you got a copy of the anthology and found out for yourself; let’s just say that the pet is always hungry, and he’s a growing boy…
The other sixteen writers in the anthology are these talented people: M.U.Nib, Nick Manzolillo, Richard Raven, Pamela Scott, Thomas S. Gunther, Tim V. Decker, Marc L. Rissmann, Ken McGrath, Brandon Cracraft, James R. Gardner, Lex H Jones, Sergio ‘ente per ente’ Palumbo & Ernesto Canepa, Jim Towns, Sarah Cannavo, Feind Gottes, and J.N. Cameron.
Above all, I want to thank Xtina Marie and James Longmore for accepting my story. You two rock…and…roll!
[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.
“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.
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.
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.
[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.”
“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.
“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!”
Salomé is an opera by Richard Strauss that premiered in 1905, the libretto being Hedwig Lachmann‘s German translation (with some editing by Strauss) of Oscar Wilde‘s 1891 French play. Wilde’s play, of course, was in turn inspired by the Biblical narratives in the Gospels According to Mark and Matthew.
Wilde transformed the brief Biblical story, making what’s implied explicit, namely how Salomé’s dance sexually aroused the Tetrarch Herod Antipas, elaborating on it as The Dance of the Seven Veils, considered by some to be the origin, however unwitting, of the modern striptease. Wilde also altered certain details, such as when, in the Biblical version, Herodias tells her daughter, Salomé, to demand the head of John the Baptist; instead, Wilde has Salome ask for “the head of Iokanaan” of her own accord.
Both Wilde’s play and Strauss’s opera caused scandals on their earliest performances, resulting in performances of them being cancelled or banned, for example in London, for many years. Now, Strauss’s opera is considered a masterwork, a regular part of any orchestral or operatic repertoire.
Here are some quotes from Wilde’s play (some of which are not in Strauss’s opera), in English translation:
“How beautiful is the Princess Salomé to-night!” –Narraboth, the young Syrian, Captain of the Guard
“You are always looking at her. You look at her too much. It is dangerous to look at people in such fashion. Something terrible may happen.” –Herodias’ page
“How pale the Princess is! Never have I seen her so pale. She is like the shadow of a white rose in a mirror of silver.” –Narraboth
“The Jews worship a God that one cannot see.” –First Soldier
“After me shall come another mightier than I. I am not worthy so much as to unloose the latchet of his shoes. When he cometh, the solitary places shall be glad. They shall blossom like the rose. The eyes of the blind shall see the day, and the ears of the deaf shall be opened. The suckling child shall put his hand upon the dragon’s lair, he shall lead the lions by their manes.” –the voice of Iokanaan, heard from below, in a cistern
“What a strange voice! I would speak with him.” –Salomé, of Iokanaan
[Approaching the cistern and looking down into it.] “How black it is, down there ! It must be terrible to be in so black a hole ! It is like a tomb. . . . .” [To the soldiers.] “Did you not hear me? Bring out the prophet. I would look on him.” –Salomé
“Thou wilt do this thing for me, Narraboth, and to-morrow when I pass in my litter beneath the gateway of the idol-sellers I will let fall for thee a little flower, a little green flower.” –Salomé
“Oh! How strange the moon looks. Like the hand of a dead woman who is seeking to cover herself with a shroud.” –Herodias’ page
“Where is he whose cup of abominations is now full? Where is he, who in a robe of silver shall one day die in the face of all the people? Bid him come forth, that he may hear the voice of him who hath cried in the waste places and in the houses of kings.” –Iokanaan, having emerged from the underground cistern
“It is his eyes above all that are terrible. They are like black holes burned by torches in a tapestry of Tyre. They are like the black caverns of Egypt in which the dragons make their lairs. They are like black lakes troubled by fantastic moons. . . . Do you think he will speak again?” –Salomé, of Iokanaan
“Who is this woman who is looking at me? I will not have her look at me. Wherefore doth she look at me with her golden eyes, under her gilded eyelids? I know not who she is. I do not desire to know who she is. Bid her begone. It is not to her that I would speak.” –Iokanaan, of Salomé
“Speak again, Iokanaan. Thy voice is as music to mine ear.” –Salomé
“Back! daughter of Babylon! By woman came evil into the world. Speak not to me. I will not listen to thee. I listen but to the voice of the Lord God.” –Iokanaan, to Salomé
“Thy hair is horrible. It is covered with mire and dust. It is like a knot of serpents coiled round thy neck. I love not thy hair. . . . It is thy mouth that I desire, Iokanaan.” […] “There is nothing in the world so red as thy mouth. . . . Suffer me to kiss thy mouth.” –Salomé
IOKANAAN: Never! daughter of Babylon! Daughter of Sodom! Never.
SALOMÉ: I will kiss thy mouth, Iokanaan. I will kiss thy mouth.
“Cursed be thou! daughter of an incestuous mother, be thou accursed!” –Iokanaan, to Salomé
HEROD: Where is Salomé? Where is the Princess? Why did she not return to the banquet as I commanded her? Ah! there she is!
HERODIAS: You must not look at her! You are always looking at her! […]
HEROD: I am not ill, It is your daughter who is sick to death. Never have I seen her so pale.
HERODIAS: I have told you not to look at her.
HEROD: Pour me forth wine [wine is brought.] Salomé, come drink a little wine with me. I have here a wine that is exquisite. Cæsar himself sent it me. Dip into it thy little red lips, that I may drain the cup.
SALOMÉ: I am not thirsty, Tetrarch.
HEROD: You hear how she answers me, this daughter of yours?
HERODIAS: She does right. Why are you always gazing at her?
HEROD: Bring me ripe fruits [fruits are brought.] Salomé, come and eat fruits with me. I love to see in a fruit the mark of thy little teeth. Bite but a little of this fruit that I may eat what is left.
SALOMÉ: I am not hungry, Tetrarch. […]
THE VOICE OF IOKANAAN: Behold the time is come! That which I foretold has come to pass. The day that I spoke of is at hand.
HERODIAS: Bid him be silent. I will not listen to his voice. This man is for ever hurling insults against me.
HEROD: He has said nothing against you. Besides, he is a very great prophet. […]
A THIRD JEW: God is at no time hidden. He showeth Himself at all times and in all places. God is in what is evil even as He is in what is good.
A FOURTH JEW: Thou shouldst not say that. It is a very dangerous doctrine, it is a doctrine that cometh from Alexandria, where men teach the philosophy of the Greeks. And the Greeks are Gentiles: They are not even circumcised. […]
FIRST NAZARENE, of Jesus: This man worketh true miracles. Thus, at a marriage which took place in a little town of Galilee, a town of some importance, He changed water into wine. Certain persons who were present related it to me. Also He healed two lepers that were seated before the Gate of Capernaum simply by touching them. […]
THE VOICE OF IOKANAAN, of Herodias: Ah! the wanton one! The harlot! Ah! the daughter of Babylon with her golden eyes and her gilded eyelids! Thus saith the Lord God, Let there come up against her a multitude of men. Let the people take stones and stone her. . . .
HERODIAS: Command him to be silent.
THE VOICE OF IOKANAAN: Let the captains of the hosts pierce her with their swords, let them crush her beneath their shields. […]
HEROD: Dance for me, Salomé.
HERODIAS: I will not have her dance.
SALOMÉ: I have no desire to dance, Tetrarch. […]
HEROD: Salomé, Salomé, dance for me. I pray thee dance for me. I am sad to-night. Yes; I am passing sad to-night. When I came hither I slipped in blood, which is an evil omen; also I heard in the air a beating of wings, a beating of giant wings. I cannot tell what they mean . . . I am sad to-night. Therefore dance for me. Dance for me, Salomé, I beseech thee. If thou dancest for me thou mayest ask of me what thou wilt, and I will give it thee, even unto the half of my kingdom.
SALOMÉ: [Rising.] Will you indeed give me whatsoever I shall ask of thee, Tetrarch? […]
HEROD: Whatsoever thou shalt ask of me, even unto the half of my kingdom.
SALOMÉ: You swear it, Tetrarch?
HEROD: I swear it, Salomé. […]
SALOMÉ: I am ready, Tetrarch. [Salomé dances the dance of the seven veils.]
HEROD: Ah! wonderful! wonderful! You see that she has danced for me, your daughter. Come near, Salomé, come near, that I may give thee thy fee. Ah! I pay a royal price to those who dance for my pleasure. I will pay thee royally. I will give thee whatsoever thy soul desireth. What wouldst thou have? Speak.
SALOMÉ [Kneeling]: I would that they presently bring me in a silver charger . . .
HEROD [Laughing]: In a silver charger? Surely yes, in a silver charger. She is charming, is she not? What is it thou wouldst have in a silver charger, O sweet and fair Salomé, thou art fairer than all the daughters of Judæa? What wouldst thou have them bring thee in a silver charger? Tell me. Whatsoever it may be, thou shalt receive it. My treasures belong to thee. What is it that thou wouldst have, Salomé?
SALOMÉ [Rising]: The head of Iokanaan.
HERODIAS: Ah! that is well said, my daughter.
HEROD: No, no!
HERODIAS: That is well said, my daughter. […]
“You have sworn an oath, Herod.” –Salomé
“Well, thou hast seen thy God, Iokanaan, but me, me, thou didst never see. If thou hadst seen me thou hadst loved me. I saw thee, and I loved thee. Oh, how I loved thee! I love thee yet, Iokanaan, I love only thee. . . . I am athirst for thy beauty; I am hungry for thy body; and neither wine nor apples can appease my desire. What shall I do now, Iokanaan? Neither the floods nor the great waters can quench my passion. I was a princess, and thou didst scorn me. I was a virgin, and thou didst take my virginity from me. I was chaste, and thou didst fill my veins with fire. . . Ah! ah! wherefore didst thou not look at me? If thou hadst looked at me thou hadst loved me. Well I know that thou wouldst have loved me, and the mystery of love is greater that the mystery of death.” –Salomé, holding and gazing upon the severed head of Iokanaan
“She is monstrous, thy daughter I tell thee she is monstrous.” –Herod, to Herodias
“Ah! I have kissed thy mouth, Iokanaan, I have kissed thy mouth. There was a bitter taste on my lips. Was it the taste of blood ? . . . Nay; but perchance it was the taste of love. . . . They say that love hath a bitter taste. . . . But what matter? what matter? I have kissed thy mouth.” –Salomé, still with Iokanaan’s head
HEROD: [Turning round and seeing Salomé.] Kill that woman! [The soldiers rush forward and crush beneath their shields Salomé, daughter of Herodias, Princess of Judæa.]
III: Themes and Beginning
Recurring themes in the play/opera include these: lust, with gazing/leering/staring at the object of desire, hence objectification; the conflict between, and complementarity of, opposites (love/loathing, spirituality/carnality, desire/disgust, white/black, male/female roles, beauty/ugliness, life/death, victim/victimizer, etc.); and the decadence of the ruling classes, as against the assurances for the oppressed that revolution, redemption, and liberation are soon to come.
The story begins at night, just outside a banquet held by Herod, his wife, Herodias (widow of his half-brother, Herod II), and her daughter, Salomé, along with all their guests in Herod’s palace. The moon is shining, silvery-white and bright. Silvery-white because, as Narraboth says, “She [the moon] is like a little princess…whose feet are of silver,” and “who has little white doves for feet.”
Narraboth, a young Syrian and Captain of the Guard, amorously declares how beautiful Salomé looks. The Page of Herodias wishes he wouldn’t always stare at her, for the Page fears that disaster will come of his passion.
The moon is a pale, virgin, silvery white, as is Salomé’s flesh. The moon looks so pale and white, “She is like a woman rising from a tomb. She is like a dead woman,” as the page of Herodias observes.
The princess-moon, with her innocent white feet, can drive men lunatic, as can Salomé’s virginal beauty; as, in turn, the holy purity of similarly-pale Iokanaan drives her mad with love for him. In this play, virginal innocence is dialectically related to the deadly sin of lust: the one opposite dissolves into the other.
IV: Enter Salomé
Salomé leaves the banquet area, finding it disturbing how Herod keeps staring at her with lust in his eyes. Of course, Narraboth is eyeing her similarly, but she will soon be an ogler herself, for she hears the voice of Iokanaan from the cistern below.
He has spoken harsh words against her mother, Herodias, as well as against Herod (i.e., his incestuous marriage with his half-brother’s widow); Salomé knows of this, but instead of being offended by Iokanaan’s words, she’s intrigued. It seems evident that Salomé has hardly any less contempt for her mother than she does for her adoptive father: alienation, including that between family members, is a typical symptom in a world of class conflict, in this case, that of the ancient slave vs. master variety.
Thus, any speaker of ill against Salomé’s family is a singer of sweet music to her ears. Small wonder she’d like to take a look at that mysterious man down in that dark, yonic pit. She looks down into it, awed by its darkness. This blackness, of course, is associated with Iokanaan’s mysticism. An ominous, eerie tritone is heard in the musical background when she looks into the cistern and notes its blackness, near the beginning of scene two.
Let’s compare some images used so far. Pale Salomé is consistently associated with the silvery-white, virginal moon, an ominous orb portending imminent evil. The cistern is black, as Salomé observes, but since it houses a holy man, a celibate man, it could be seen as virginal, too, the yoni of a virgin such as Salomé herself. The cistern’s blackness thus has a dialectical relationship with the silvery-white moon, which phases from white full moon to black new moon, and back again. Iokanaan, like the moon, also portends an evil coming too soon for comfort.
She insists on having Iokanaan brought out so she can see him, to have his mysteries revealed…just as Herod will want Salomé to dance a striptease for him, to reveal her anatomic mysteries. The lecherous, decadent tetrarch, of course, also hopes to make the young beauty replace her mother as his new queen, so her virginal yoni‘s dark secrets can be revealed to him…just as she wishes to have Iokanaan, the secret of the dark yoni of the cistern, revealed to her eyes.
The parallels between Iokanaan’s display and that of her nakedness continue, first with Narraboth’s and the soldiers’ insistence that the prophet not be allowed out (by Herod’s orders), on the one hand, and Herodias’ disapproval of her daughter dancing erotically for Herod. Also, Salomé entices Narraboth with suggestions of her favouring him (offering a green flower and a smile) if he’ll allow Iokanaan to come out, and Herod entices her with an oath to give her anything she wants if she’ll dance for him. Both Narraboth and Salomé are persuaded to do what they’d otherwise never do.
V: Enter John the Baptist
Iokanaan emerges from the cistern, pale, hairy, and filthy, but always shouting his imprecations against the decadent kings and queens of the world, especially Herodias. His holiness inspires Salomé’s passion for him, symbolizing the dialectical relationship between the erotic and the ascetic (something also explored in Hindu myth, as Wendy Doniger O’Flaherty observed in Siva: the Erotic Ascetic, pages 33-36).
At first, Salomé loves Iokanaan’s white flesh, a parallel of the love Narraboth and Herod have for her pale flesh. The prophet, of course, rejects her wish to touch his body; indeed, he can’t even bear to have this “daughter of Sodom” look at him. She’s angered by his rejection, feeling narcissistic injury, no doubt; but his chastity fascinates her all the same.
Salomé is used to having a train of admiring men following her everywhere, leering at her, lusting after her. Such men bore her, annoy her, inspire her contempt; but Iokanaan is no lecherous pig. With him, the sexes are reversed, and the man is disgusted with the woman’s lechery. She’s hurt by his rejection, but she can only admire him all the more for it. This man’s spiritual willpower is as rare as her physical beauty is, and her desire for him is made all the hotter for this.
As soon as he rejects her, she speaks ill of his whitest of white body, which she’s just finished praising. Now she speaks of loving his blackest of black hair; note the immediate juxtaposition of opposites–loved/loathed, beautiful/ugly, and white/black. When he rejects her wish to touch his hair, she’s now repelled by it and begins loving his red lips.
She wants to kiss his mouth, saying in Wilde’s French: “Laisse-moi baiser ta bouche.” Baiser, as a verb, originally meant ‘to kiss,’ but it grew to mean ‘to fuck,’ this new meaning starting as early as the 16th or 17th century, having been used this way in, for example, a few poems by François Maynard. This usage began to grow more common by the beginning of the 20th century, prompting the French to start using embrasser to mean ‘to kiss’ instead.
My point is, given the already shockingly erotic overtones of Wilde’s play, as well as in his choice to write it in French instead of his usual English, did he use baiser as a double entendre? Was he suggesting a secondary meaning, a cunnilingus fantasy of Salomé’s, to get head from Iokanaan?
Now Strauss, in using a German translation for his opera, used the word küssen, which only means ‘to kiss.’ Perhaps he was aware of the growing use of the sexual meaning of baiser, and wanted to mitigate the scandal by eliminating that problematic French word. I’m guessing that my speculations hadn’t been discussed by critics back around the turn of the 20th century, given the-then taboo nature of this subject; but this taboo use of baiser has been discussed more recently.
VII: Lustful Staring
Back to the story. The prophet is so shocked by this “daughter of Babylon” that he curses her and goes back down into the cistern. Salomé’s unfulfillable desire has turned into an obsession; speaking of which, Narraboth’s has caused him to implode with sexual jealousy, since he can see she clearly prefers Iokanaan to him. Thus, he stabs himself and dies, fulfilling Herodias’ page’s dire prediction that his obsessive, mesmerized staring at Salomé would bring evil.
Of course, the young Syrian hasn’t been the only one staring at Salomé to the point of such ogling being dangerous. Herod enters with Herodias; he slips on Narraboth’s spilled blood, an obvious omen.
The tetrarch speaks of the silvery-white moon and Salomé’s pale skin, an evident identifying of the one with the other, just as Salomé has identified the chaste moon with celibate Iokanaan. We see more unions of opposites: virginity and whorish objects of desire, in both her and the prophet.
Herodias is annoyed with Herod’s staring at her daughter, with Iokanaan’s insulting diatribes against her, and Herod’s–to her, absurd–belief in omens and prophecies. She is a purely materialist, decadent queen: the moon is just the moon to her.
She wishes he would just give Iokanaan over to the ever-disputatious Jews, who come out and begin a clamorous storm of debating over whether Iokanaan has seen God, whether he is Elijah having returned, and whether this or that dogma is correct. This is another example of wanting to know mysteries, to see secrets.
In all of this arguing among the Jews, we see dramatized the dialectic of contradictory viewpoints. Added to this is the contradiction between the Jewish point of view and that of the Nazarenes, who now come onstage.
Since the Crucifixion hasn’t happened yet, discussion of how the Messiah will save the Jews from their sins is never in the Pauline notion of a Divine Rescuer dying and resurrecting, so that believing in Him will confer God’s grace for the forgiveness of sins. Instead, salvation for the Jews is understood to come in the form of a revolution against Palestine’s Roman imperialist oppressors. Recall Matthew 10:34.
Revolution! Insurrection! Such words terrify decadent rulers like Herod and Herodias, who naturally don’t want to lose their privileges as members of the ruling class. Thus do we see the dialectic move, from the Hegelian sort we heard among the debating Jews, to the materialist sort that Marx discussed: the contradiction between the rich and poor.
Iokanaan prophesies the downfall of sinful rulers like incestuous Herod and Herodias, as well as the redemption of the downtrodden. As the prophet says at the beginning of Wilde’s play, “the solitary places shall be glad. They shall blossom like the rose. The eyes of the blind shall see the day, and the ears of the deaf shall be opened. The suckling child shall put his hand upon the dragon’s lair, he shall lead the lions by their manes.”
Such welcome changes can be seen to symbolize revolutionary relief given to the suffering. The blind seeing, and the deaf hearing, suggests the enlightenment of the poor, hitherto ignorant of the true causes of their sorrows. The idea of gladdened solitary places suggests the replacement of alienation with communal love. The suckling child, with his hand on the dragon’s lair, and leading the lions, suggests the end of the oppression of the weak by the strong, replacing it with equality.
Marx similarly prophesied the end of the rule of the bourgeois, to be replaced by communist society. The bourgeois today, like threatened Herod and Herodias, are scared of their imminent downfall, for many believe their days are numbered.
My associating Iokanaan with Marx is no idle fancy, for in 1891, the very same year Wilde wrote Salomé, he also wrote The Soul of Man under Socialism, inspired by his reading of Peter Kropotkin, and in which Wilde considered Jesus to be a symbol of the extreme individualist he idealized. Wilde would also have been aware of the short-lived Paris Commune twenty years prior, which Marx joyfully described as being a manifestation of his notion of the dictatorship of the proletariat.
IX: The Music
It seems apposite, at this belated point, finally to discuss Strauss’s music. Influenced by Wagner’s musical dramas, Strauss used Leitmotivs (“leading motives”) for each character in Salomé, as well as for many key moments or concepts in the story.
There’s the light, dreamy Leitmotiv heard when Narraboth expresses his admiration for Salomé’s beauty at the beginning of the opera. There’s the Leitmotiv when she sings of wanting “den Kopf des Jochanaan,” which gets increasingly dissonant with her every iteration of the demand for it, to ever-reluctant Herod.
And there are Leitmotivs for Iokanaan and his prophetic abilities, the former being a stately, dignified chordal theme heard on the horns; and the latter melody being a trio of fourths, C down to G, then F down to C, then–instead of another, third perfect fourth–there’s a tritone of A down to D-sharp, then up to E, now a perfect fourth (relative to the previous A). These three sets of perfect fourths symbolize Triune, holy, divine perfection; the tritone, though the diabolus in musica, nonetheless resolves to E, symbolizing a prophecy of sinning imperfection soon to be made perfect, redeemed.
Strauss, as a late Romantic/early modern composer, anticipated many of the revolutionary musical ideas soon to be realized in full by such modernists as Stravinsky, Bartók, Schoenberg, and Webern. Strauss was thus a kind of musical Iokanaan. Strauss, through his extreme chromaticism, pushed tonality to its limits, while not quite emancipating the dissonance, as Schoenberg would soon do. Since some have seen the emancipation of the dissonance as linked with the emancipation of society and of humanity, the music of Strauss–as musical Iokanaan–can be seen symbolically as heralding the coming of that social liberation I mentioned above.
The harsh discords in his score symbolize the contradictions not only in the class conflict between the decadent rulers (puppet rulers for imperial Rome) and the oppressed poor, but also in the conflicts between what Narraboth, Salomé, Iokanaan, Herod, and Herodias each wants. Also, the contrast between these dissonant moments and the prettier, more tuneful sections suggests the dialectical relationships between beauty and ugliness, and love and loathing.
Finally, the choice of ‘harsh‘ (at least from the point of view of English speakers), guttural German–instead of Wilde’s erotically lyrical (if a tad idiosyncratic) French–reinforces the dramatic tension, especially when Salomé demands the prophet’s head on a silver charger.
X: Dance for Me, Salomé
Back to the story. Herod is so obviously troubled, on the one hand by the threats Iokanaan is making against his rule, and on the other by his fear of the prophet as a man of God–which means he can’t kill him–that the soldiers note the tetrarch’s sombre look.
Herod hopes that Salomé will dance for him, to take his mind off his troubles. This escape into sensuous pleasure is an example of the manic defence, to avoid facing up to what makes one so unhappy.
Always annoyed that her husband stares lustfully at her daughter, Herodias forbids Salomé to dance for him. But his oath to give her anything she wants, even to half of his kingdom, puts a sly grin on her face and a twinkle in her eye; so Salome agrees to dance.
Wilde‘s brief stage direction, of Salomé dancing in seven veils, has been made so much of. It says nothing explicitly of a striptease, but why else would she dance in those veils, if not to remove them one by one?
Strauss’s exotic, sensuous music certainly makes much of the dance, starting with a slow, erotic, mysterious aura and building up to a fast, frenzied, and dissonant climax, once almost all (or absolutely all, depending on the boldness of the woman playing Salomé) of the veils have been removed.
XI: Getting Naked
As each veil is removed, more of the mysteries of her body are revealed to horny Herod, just as the mystery of Iokanaan was revealed to lascivious Salomé when he emerged from the vaginal cistern. This story is all about the desire to have secrets revealed, including, as the Jews obsess over, the mysteries of God, through such things as prophecies, as the Nazarenes are concerned with. Mysteries thus may be sensual or spiritual: note the dialectical relationship between these two.
While we usually think of men objectifying women, as Herod is doing with Salomé here, in Salomé the objectifying is a two-way street, since she lusts after chaste Iokanaan. And while it is usual and correct to be concerned with the injuries done to female strippers, sex workers, and pornographic models and actresses, consider how pathetic the men are, those addicted to porn, prostitutes, and strippers, using these as a manic defence to avoid facing their own sadness. Consider their shame at knowing what pigs they’re being (or at least seen as being), each a modern Herod, walking guiltily in and out of strip joints, whorehouses, and the porn sections of DVD rentals.
There are two sides to objectification: the view to destroy, as Salomé does to Iokanaan, and as Herod does to Salomé at the end of the opera; and there’s the view to admire, to worship the beautiful object, as any connoisseur of art understands…and as Salomé and Herod also do to their adored objects. Looking to admire and to destroy are, again, dialectically related. This obsessive urge to look, a pagan adoration of divinity that is–in this opera–thematically related to whether or not the Jew or Nazarene has ‘seen’ God, is also a weakness that can be exploited.
Salomé is certainly using her sexuality to take advantage of this weakness of Herod’s. And since, on the one hand, the tetrarch is objectifying and using her for his pleasure, getting her to strip down to a state of nude vulnerability; and on the other hand, she’s turning his lust against him, we have here a male/female variant of Hegel‘s master/slave dialectic, or a dialectic of feminism meeting antifeminism.
XII: Switching Roles
The master (Herod) uses the, so to speak, slave (Salomé) for his own pleasure, but she uses her creativity (her dance) to build up her own mastery over him. Thus, master and slave switch roles, making her especially triumphant, since she’ll cause the doom of two men–decapitated Iokanaan, and the revolutionary toppling of Herod, as it is assumed will happen to him when the Nazarenes (and God!) are so enraged to learn of the execution of their beloved prophet.
Women are perceived to be inspiring of lust and sin (the misogynistic, antifeminist side of the dialectic), yet Salomé and Herodias triumph in thwarting the tetrarch and killing the male religious authority (the feminist side). What’s more, Salomé is all the more feminist in wishing for Iokanaan’s head for her own pleasure, not out of obedience to her mother.
Herod pleads with Salomé to ask for something else. The tetrarch has made himself a slave to his oath, of which she’s the master. He offers her rare jewels, ones even her mother doesn’t know he has; he offers her rare white peacocks. All she does is repeat her demand for “den Kopf des Jochanaan,” each time given more and more aggressively, with increasingly tense music in the background. Finally, he is forced, in all exasperation, to relent.
XIII: The Head
When the executioner is down in the dark cistern, Salomé waits by the hole and listens. Suspense is built when she hears nothing. She grows impatient, thinking she’ll need the soldiers to do the job she imagines the slave who went down with his axe is too incompetent or cowardly to do. Nonetheless, he emerges with Iokanaan’s bloody head. The ruling class’s indulgence of their petty desires always brings about violence of this sort.
Still, there are contradictions even among the desires of the different members of the ruling class. Herod is horrified to see Salomé’s maniacal gazing at the head, but Herodias is pleased to no end. Salomé kisses the mouth, triumphant in having achieved what the living prophet refused to let her do. In her mania, she imagines for the moment that Iokanaan’s eyes should be looking at her, as if the severed head could possibly be alive. She is thus disappointed that the eyes don’t look at her.
She wishes that he could have accepted her love, that if he’d looked at her, that if he’d just let her kiss his mouth, he would have loved her back, for love is a greater mystery than death.
XIV: Decapitation as Symbolic Castration
Since Wilde’s use of baiser has the implied secondary meaning of “to fuck,” and since she says, “Ah! thou wouldst not suffer me to kiss thy mouth, Jokanaan. Well! I will kiss it now. I will bite it with my teeth as one bites a ripe fruit. Yes, I will kiss thy mouth, Jokanaan,” she is implying that she has a symbolic vagina dentata, which will castrate him when they make love. She compares his body to a column of ivory, a column being a phallic symbol. Thus, ‘fucking’ his mouth with the implied vagina dentata means his decapitation is a symbolic castration.
Herod’s unwillingness to have Iokanaan beheaded is thus an example of castration anxiety, especially since loss of the phallus is a symbolic loss of power. Herod’s fear of Iokanaan’s execution provoking a Nazarene revolution, spearheaded by none other than God, reinforces this symbolic fear of castration. Iokanaan’s “Kopf” is a cock.
XV: Conclusion–Who Wins the Sex War (and the Class War)?
Salomé (and by extension Herodias, since she has wanted Iokanaan’s death from the beginning), having the prophet’s head in her arms, is now symbolically the powerful phallic woman. She, especially in her madness and perversity, is a threat to Herod. Regarding her as “monstrous,” he orders all the torches to be put out. He says, “Hide the moon! Hide the stars!” For the whiteness of the moon and stars resemble her pale skin far too much for his comfort.
Finally, the male/female dialectic sways back in the antifeminist direction, and Herod orders his soldiers to “Kill that woman!” The men surround Salomé with their shields, and crush her to death with them, ending the opera with a barrage of discords.
Still, we know that the days of all decadent kings and queens–as well as those of the tetrarch, it seems–are numbered. Herod is still quaking in fear over the consequences of killing a holy man. The Nazarenes believe the tetrarch cannot stop the march of God through history, just as we Marxists believe the bourgeoisie cannot stop the dialectical movement of historical materialism.
Herod can hide the moon and the stars for only so long. Recall Iokanaan’s words: “In that day the sun shall become black like sackcloth of hair, and the moon shall become like blood, and the stars of the heaven shall fall upon the earth like unripe figs that fall from the fig-tree, and the kings of the earth shall be afraid.”
Furthermore, Salomé may be dead, but her double, that pale moon overhead, is still shining. In his poem, ‘Problems of Gender,’ Robert Graves wondered which gender to assign the moon, asking, “who controls the regal powers of night?” In Salomé, I think we know which sex controls them.
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.”
[some sexual content]
Nude Callie had a special guest in a VIP Room in The Gold Star that night: Dr. Visner.
“How did you know,” he panted as she rubbed her ass against his pointy lap, “that I was with…a Thai prostitute…when I was a young man?”
“How do you think…I know?” she sighed, getting wet from the pleasure of that point rubbing against her vulva.
“You must have found…an old…archived…newspaper story…about what…happened to her,” he moaned.
Callie took him by the wrists and put his hands on her breasts. He wanted to resist her sexuality, but her aphrodisiac pheromone smell was too powerful to resist. “What happened…to the Thai girl?”
“Stop pretending…you don’t know,” he sighed, enjoying the softness and smoothness of those large breasts cupped in his hands. “You must know. It was in…the story I read. It’s the only way…you could have known.”
“Oh? Refresh my…memory.”
“I’d rather not.”
“It makes me feel…as guilty as I feel…with you now.”
Callie got up, turned around, and sat on his lap facing him, but not without first rubbing her breasts against his face. “Confession…is good for the soul. Tell me…what happened to her, and you’ll probably…feel better.”
“She…killed herself,” he groaned. “I read about it…in the paper…the day after…the night I’d had her. I recognized…her face in the photo.”
“Why do you think…your fucking her…was what made her…want to kill herself?” Callie asked. “How was your fucking her…any worse than…what any other man…could have done to her?” She put his hands on her ass, his fingers resting against her anal cleft.
“Because I…had anal with her. I paid her well, but I don’t think…she was too…accepting of how I…fucked her.”
“Were you too rough?” Callie asked, spreading her ass so his fingers would touch her anus.
“I don’t know,” he panted, one of his fingers massaging Callie’s anal ring. “I don’t think…I physically hurt her, but I think…she thought…what we were doing…was shameful.”
“I wouldn’t think that,” Callie said. “Ooh,” she moaned at the feeling of that finger. “I’d let you…do me that way.”
“But, your trauma…with your stepfather, Mort. I remind you…too much of him.”
“Oh, but you’re like…a good version of him,” she purred in his ear, then pecked him on the lips.
“How am I…’a good version,’ given what I did…to the Thai prostitute?” he asked.
“Because you resist…the temptation to have me. I like that. You’re a challenge. You can control your lust.”
“I didn’t…with the Thai girl.”
“You were young. You’ve learned to be good…since then.”
“My lust…made her kill herself.”
“You don’t know that. Anything could have happened…to make her want to kill herself. Stop blaming yourself.”
“But you’re my patient,” Visner said. “To sleep with you…would be a breach…of professional ethics.”
“And yet, you’re still here.” Her hand gave the erection in his pants a light squeeze, getting a grunt out of him.
“And that’s why…I should go.” He got up, the song having just ended, and put some money on the table. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon in the office.” He left.
And that’s why I like you, Callie and Kluh thought together. You’re no pig. She put the money in her purse and left the VIP Room, too, not bothering to put any clothes on.
Back in the main area of the strip joint, she saw Thurston standing by the tip rail, alone…Surian wasn’t with him this time.
What I wanted, Callie/Kluh thought.
The psychiatrist passed by Thurston. “Goodnight, Dr. Visner!” Callie shouted out to him.
“Good night,” he called back, just before going outside.
Thurston recognized her voice, but–being addled by his divided attention between it, and seeing the man she’d called out to–he wasn’t sure which direction he’d heard her calling from. He was noting the erotic scent of her pheromones, though. The demoness in that curvaceous nude body went up to him.
“Good evening, Andy,” she said from behind him.
He turned around, then gasped at the sight of those beautiful breasts and shaved crotch. “You know…my first name?” he asked.
“I know a lot more about you and your girlfriend, Agnes, than you realize.” Thurston was amazed to see Callie’s sudden resemblance to Eva, his old teen crush.
“Agnes isn’t my girlfriend,” he panted, trying not to look down at her tits. Her pheromone scent was like drugs, dazing him.
“Oh, but you want her to be your girlfriend. She wants to be your girlfriend, too, though she’s too shy to say. You’ll be together with her one day. We’ll all be together one day. In the meantime, how about you and I be together for a while in the VIP Room? Would you like me to give you some lap dances? They’re lots of fun. $20 per song.”
“Oh, uh, OK.” As long as Agnes doesn’t know, he thought, she won’t doubt how much I like her. He followed Callie into the VIP Room, and they sat on a couch there together.
Five minutes later, she was grinding on his lap. She brushed her long, wavy hair against his face; the pheromone smell was overpowering.
If Callie seduces me tonight, he thought as he fondled her breasts, may she turn into the beast and kill me right then and there. She may be hot, but I’d rather make love with Agnes. Callie is making herself look like my old teenage crush to fuck with my mind; Agnes, however, is like Eva, in body and soul. I must never forget the difference; I’d rather die than betray Agnes for this demon-whore.
Just then, when the song ended, his cellphone rang. He fumbled to get it out of his jacket pocket. It was Surian.
“Hello?” he said into it with a shaky voice. Callie sat in the chair facing him, a smirk on her face.
“I found some Polynesians, living near Queen Street, who know how to exorcise demons,” Surian said. “Are you in The Gold Star, Andy?”
“Uh, yeah,” he sighed. “Sorry. I felt…compelled to come here.”
“Are you sitting at pervert’s row? The music isn’t all that loud, from what I hear.”
“I’m in a…VIP Room.” He looked up from his phone and saw Callie grinning.
“Are you with her?” Surian asked, almost in anger.
“With ‘Chloe,’ yeah,” Thurston said, with a tinge of guilt in his voice, and noting ‘Chloe’ grinning a wider grin.
“Andy!” Surian said. “Get out of there. You know how dangerous she is!”
“I know…I can’t…help it.”
“She’s turning you on. She’s hypnotizing you.”
“Don’t be jealous. I like you more. You know that.”
“Oh, fuck off with that. You’re in danger.”
“I’m not gonna fuck ‘er, Agnes.”
I wouldn’t be too sure about that, if I were you, Andy, Callie thought.
“Andy, you know how that woman’s sexy smell can mess with your mind,” Surian said. “I’m coming over there. Don’t let her take you out of there.” She hung up.
“Wanna go to a hotel with me?” Callie asked, still grinning.
“Oh, uh, OK,” he said, his eyes half open.
Twenty minutes later, Surian arrived at The Gold Star. She ran in, looking around everywhere in the strip joint. All the VIP Rooms were empty at the time.
“Fuck!” she shouted. “He left with her.” She ran back outside.
In a hotel room just a few blocks away, nude Callie was riding on top of clothed Thurston (his zipper open and his hard cock sticking out), in the cowgirl position. The mattress of their bed squeaked with her every bounce.
“Oh!” she screamed, orgasming. Panting as she got off of him, she noticed he was still as erect as a monolith. “You need to be finished off.” She knelt at the side of the bed, and gestured to him to sit with his legs on either side of her.
He sat there, and she–looking up into his eyes–took his cock in her mouth. He looked down in her eyes, amazed at her skills as her head went up and down on him.
Memories of her blowing her stepfather flashed before her eyes as she sucked Thurston off. Mort’s cruel eyes looking down at her, from her teen memories, made her shake and flinch in agitation.
Surian had driven to Thurston’s apartment, then to Callie’s. No sound of moaning or sex could be heard in either place, let alone any other sounds indicating they were at home.
Memories of that bear attacking her teen boyfriend flashed before her eyes. Please, God, she thought, not knowing anywhere else to look for them, Don’t let the beast kill Andy. “He isn’t answering his phone,” she said to herself as she put hers back in her purse.
I shouldn’t be here, Thurston thought as he looked down into Callie’s eyes. Her mouth and tongue feel fantastic, but I’d rather be with Agnes. She must think I’m just another typical pussy-chasing dude, but even she knows that ‘Chloe’ is controlling my whole time here with her. Sometimes I see a slutty smile on her face, sometimes…I see anger, fear. Is something going to set her off, make that hair grow all over her, make those claws grow from her fingertips? Agnes is right: I’m in danger, but how can I break Chloe’s spell?
As Callie looked up into Thurston’s eyes while sucking his cock, images of his face alternated with those of Mort. She was shaking all over.
As he was approaching orgasm, he listened to her moans–at times, lustful, at other times, menacing. Finally, just before he came, he heard a moan sound like a growl.
His eyes widened.
He thought he saw a few hairs growing on her arms as he shot bullets of come down her throat. He gasped in a mix of pleasure and terror. He squeezed his eyes together as he continued coming in her mouth.
He heard what seemed another growl or two.
Finally spent, and with her lips no longer wrapped around his penis, he dared to open his eyes.
All he saw was smiling Callie, putting his penis back in his pants and zipping him up.
Now he gave a sigh of relief.
“OK,” she said as she rose to her feet. “I think we’re done here, Andy. You can go. We paid for only a ‘rest,’ as you’ll recall.”
“Oh, uh, OK,” he said, his eyes half-open. “Good night. Thanks for the good time.”
“No, thank you,” she said as he staggered to the door. Your come inside me will strengthen our connection, she thought. It’s a good thing I reined myself in at the last second; otherwise, you’d be lying in a pillow of blood.
As Thurston staggered down the street back to his car in The Gold Star parking lot, he felt his cellphone vibrating in his pocket. He took it out. “Hello?”
“Oh, thank God you’re OK!” Surian almost sobbed. The memory of that bear killing her old boyfriend flashed before her eyes again.
“Yeah, she didn’t change into the beast.”
“Did you fuck her?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m sorry, Agnes. She–“
“I know she made you do her. I’m just glad she didn’t kill you.” He thought he heard a sob or two.
“Really? You mean, you do like me?” he slurred, still feeling a little dazed from the aftereffect of those pheromones.
“Oh, shut up, Andy. You’re my partner, that’s all. I need you.” That bear’s face flashed before her mind’s eye again.
“You need me as…a partner of another kind, I do detect.”
“Fuck off with that, will you? Look, I’ve learned some useful things about her. Not only can we get these Polynesian immigrants to exorcise the demon from ‘Chloe,’ but I know that she’s been seeing a shrink named Dr.–what was it?–Visner.”
“Hey, that name…sounds familiar.”
Agnes Surian lay in bed that night, tossing and turning in her sleep.
Walking in the woods in British Columbia with her boyfriend, back when they were teens…Sometimes, it’s daytime, sometimes, nighttime, going back and forth between light and dark…she looks to her left and sees Thurston beside her, instead of her teen sweetheart.
“So, the beast is hiding among these trees?” he asks her.
“Yes. I’m sure of it,” she says. “Trust me, Andy, I know what I’m…”
Suddenly, a brown bear appears…She and her old teen boyfriend scream.
The bear attacks her boyfriend, a claw swatting his face.
She pulls out her gun and aims at the bear…A fog floats before her eyes, blurring everything…She drops the pistol…That pheromone smell…The fog clears…Instead of seeing the bear killing her teen boyfriend, she sees Thurston again, being gored by Callie as the beast…Surian screams.
The beast’s body hair falls off, and she changes back into nude, beautiful Callie.
She smiles and spreads her legs for Surian.
“Lick me, Agnes,” she says with lewdness in her eyes.
Surian woke up with a jerk and a grunt.
“Oh, Jesus!” she gasped.
The next morning, Surian went to Callie’s apartment building, to the first floor apartment across from the crates in the alley. She saw the man in his kitchen through the window, the man who’d had sex with Callie that other time.
Surian rapped her knuckles on the window with one hand and flashed her badge with the other. “Detective Agnes Surian,” she said when he opened the door. “I’m working with the Toronto police. I’d like to ask you a few questions about a female tenant of this building, one I know that you’ve had…contact with…She’s blonde, beautiful, and often…without any clothes.”
“Oh, yeah,” he grunted with a lewd smirk. “Her.”
“What can you tell me about her?” Surian asked.
“Oh, she was nice,” he groaned, then licked his lips. “Such a beautiful…”
“Sir, I”m not interested in the pornographic details. Did she tell you her name, or which apartment she lives in? What floor does she live on…do you know?”
“Oh, uh, I think she lives on the seventh floor. I went up to her by the elevator and asked if I could have another screw.” Surian struggled not to roll her eyes. “She told me to fuck off.”
Gee, what a surprise, Surian thought.
“Then I saw her get in the elevator alone. It went up to the seventh floor. Later, I went up there to look around. I turned right after getting off the elevator and went down the hall. There was a powerful, sexy smell that got stronger and stronger as I continued to the end. It was at its strongest when I’d reached the farthest room on the right. It put me in a daze, though, and I couldn’t remember anything after that. Funny thing: the next thing I remember, I woke up in bed here in my apartment. There’s something voodoo about that chick.”
“Thank you,” Surian said. “I think I know all I need now. Goodbye.” She started walking out of the alley.
“Hey!” he shouted just before she disappeared out of the alley. “If you go talk to her, let ‘er know I’d be happy to satisfy her with my cock again!” His eyes were beaming with hope.
“I sure will, Super-stud,” Surian called back, then laughed.
She went into the apartment and got in the elevator. When she got out at the seventh floor, the pheromone smell was already in the air. She held her breath as long as she could as she hurried down to the end of the right-side hall. She opened the hall window by Callie’s door as wide as possible to air out the powerful fumes. She stuck her head out, exhaled, and breathed all the fresh air she could hope to get from outside. Still, that sexy smell dazed her.
Room 717. Her eyesight grew blurry, but not so much that she couldn’t read the number on the door and remember it. She knocked.
Callie answered, opening the door wide.
She stood before Surian, naked from head to toe.
“Good morning, Agnes,” she said with a grin.
“How do you…know my name?” Surian slurred.
“I know a lot about you and your boyfriend cop. The vibrations unifying the universe give me access to all kinds of knowledge, including your life.”
“Andy’s not…my boyfriend.”
“He will be. You want him to be.”
Surian looked down at Callie’s breasts and hairless crotch. “Do you…ever wear clothes?”
“Not if I don’t need to. Anyway, you’ve already seen every inch of me many times, so there’s no point in my hiding my body from you. Do you like it? Check me out again.” Callie turned around for Surian, who admired the roundness of Callie’s buttocks. “I know you’ve experimented with lesbian sex a few times. Come on in. Lick my pussy.”
“Oh,…uh,…OK,” Surian sighed, then entered the apartment.
Callie closed the door and took Surian by the hand, leading her into the bedroom. Callie lay on the bed on her back and spread her legs. Surian put her face in between: the pheromone scent gave her no choice not to.
Callie moaned and sighed as Surian licked and sucked on her hard clitoris. Kluh put a thought in Surian’s mind, repeating it over and over like a psychic chant: Google Kluh…Polynesian myth…know more about who I am…
Callie sprayed her orgasm into Surian’s mouth. Before she knew it, she’d already gulped it down. She rose to her feet, then stood before smiling Callie like a soldier ready to receive her next orders.
“Thank you, Agnes, for giving me so much pleasure,” said the demoness in flawless human form. “You will forget all that happened here, including where my apartment is. Now, go…and don’t forget to Google me and my myths.”
Surian walked out of the apartment like an automaton.
That afternoon, Surian was at the 22 Division police station. She sat in a chair in Detective Hicks’s office, reading something on her phone when he and Thurston entered the room.
“So, what have you got for us about the beast, Detective?” Hicks asked as he got to his desk.
“Just a minute,” she said, her eyes widening as she read.
“Oh, sorry, Detective,” Hicks growled. “I didn’t know your social life on Facebook and Twitter was more important than finding the beast and saving lives. Don’t forget the hashtag when you share your posts!”
“Hicks, please,” Thurston said. “For your information, we’ve come a lot closer to catching this beast than all your cops combined.”
“Don’t talk back to me, Thurston!” Hicks shouted. “You and your werewolf/Dr. Jekyll story? Don’t make me laugh! Its ‘magic’ erased your video of the girl’s transformations, eh? How convenient!”
“C’mon, Andy,” she said, rising to her feet and putting her phone in her purse. “Let’s follow ‘Chloe’ and see if she ever talks about a spirit named ‘Kluh’.” She and Thurston walked out of the office.
“So, there’s an evil spirit now, eh?” Hicks shouted as they walked past all the other detectives’ desks towards the exit. “You’ve even deluded yourselves that it has a name? You two are a joke!”
“Ignore him,” Thurston said. “What have you learned?”
“Well, I’m wondering if there are any Polynesian exorcists in the Toronto area,” she said.