All rights reserved with author

B.Marchand

Known Alias:

Beatrix Macabre

WARNING: The following content is intended for mature audiences only. It contains explicit language, graphic descriptions, gore, and themes of a sexual and sensual nature, amongst other subjects that may render a reader speechless. Viewer discretion is advised.

THIS BOOK IS FOR ARTISTIC EXPRESSION.

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Gaze a burning gift of a rainbow kaleidoscope reflecting a passage into the wavering pine of mesmerizing clouds and surreal meadows with candy mushroom tops and valleys of poured sugar.

Did this mean the blood was the seal of the damned or sweeter to drink with golden cups?

The fox stared deep in my eye and climbed a tree, not here I thought, and he giggles “what do you mean?”

I stammer my mind a mettle mess of mayhem, “Can you help me?”

Eyes glow predatory but his lips smirk sly, surely kindlingly and honest;

“Please, never look to places with keys for hidden secrets and chests, inside you’ll find pretty objects but not what you seek to unvest, knives are very much better such handling of tasks, start at the neck - work your way down your chest, use your flesh to catch the splattering mess.”

With that he was gone into the verdantly plush green leafs above, sly foxy fellowships, friendly.

Brandishing my double-edged blade, began my tale, shrieks permeate — a flock of birds bursting into the sunset, rolls the orb to gray and the sky nigh, best with a shot of gin, no ice, like it warm on the velveteen with a wink.

Ossuary of flesh shimmering under the leering moon, such an elegant hue muscle a sinew in the shimmering pool of what I once was. Now a skeleton bear to roam as a zombies queen of matter and bone where larva bore holes for homes and worms sew tendon and skull together.

Bonfire in the distance, mounds of vitae enacting the ritual of debauchery from unseen eyes, but mine of course — as I drink in their essence of life, they didn’t go quietly as I picked them from my teeth - one bye - one by - canine to tongue and lather a few final words for the feasts fete.

Blue-eyed topaz sparrow looked to me for aid and encouragement — I could not bare such malice, kept her in a cage above the fire place, heat a simmer but not enough to ruffle feathers, just *poof* them to smoke.

“Why are you doing this?”such a sad tone and my reply didn’t help her soul.

“because the fox said so.”

Drops of water on the umbra of my agony,

quintessrentialesquerie of thy esoteric despair—

Sunbeam in the meadowlands as thunder recedes,

florals floundering amongst the trees — tis das dream,

must be for I am not adorned such wondrous things?

Rapturous warmth in thy bosom beat fore ye —

beseech de skies — is this ilk mockery of es flesh,

pervasion natured jest bereft of such nestling of vie breast,

minds eye doorway that will blur — testing thy mettle?

Bullfrog jumps off a lily pad — frame starts to settle,

hatter riddle - tea pours from wonderland kettle,

“Welcome home, was your journey incredibly incredible?”

Silently I whisper, “Depend on what’s for dinner,”

snarl-like grin crosses my countenance — was a screamer.

Giggles pours a moist teacup of vermicelli tea with cucumber.

Best if drank with a raised pinky.

Beyond the threshold of the forgotten glade, where the waters defy gravity's cruel grasp, and the fungi reach for the whips zenith, the very fabric of my flesh is puzzle pieced.

The mist-shrouded trees stand like sentinels of the damned, the rabbits and squirrels indulge in a rapturous dance of abandon, their laughter and whispers entwining with the tryst of the petrified forest.

Gaze to see a flash of cash, a boudoir of intimacy, beckons forth symphonies of flesh smacking mesh, as the hidden oak doors creak shut, shrouding the revelry in an aura of secrecy.

The echoes of pleasuring, haunting melodies that tendril sweet nothings in the wind, swirl through the barren, pale-white verdant wasteland, a morbid waltz of the damned — skeleton and hand.

Stitches of debauched flesh coagulate — my frames metamorphosis of hellish countenance, who led me down this path of such delightful decadency?

Piercing cacophonies cacophonous cacophony of chaos, where the shriek ilks rabbits demise is abruptly silent, and the creaking hinges of the oak door issue an ominous invitation.

As the badger's paw, a titanic force, sweeps across the sodden earth, it settles upon the lifeless form, a once-pulsating heartbeat now silenced, like a tender hymn's final reprise. The badger's guttural voice assumes the cadence of a forbidden incantation, as it utters a wicked refrain:"Thus, ye pitiful hopscotch will learn to die, thrice dear cadavers, swiftly surrender your sheers, pay the fee with thy tattered pelt."

A tantalizing flick of their tail, a chitter, like the rustle of a secret shared 'mong shadows.

I approach weary,“Can you help me sir?”

As I approach the badger, a sense of fear washes over me, like the slip of a snake's skin on polished stone. The flicker of their tail, a chitter, sends a shiver down my spine, as the air thickens with the promise of secrets shared 'mong vines. The badger's rumble, a rumination of primal force, echoes through the caverns of my mind, as I behold the silver vortices of their eyes, crescent moons that shine like knives in the concrete of my minds eye reverie.

I feel the weight of their gaze, sledge hammers against the placid stone of my being, as the badger's voice resonates through the hollow of my chest."Mh-mmh-mmmmh, lookey here, missy, I can manage."

The words churn like the wet earth beneath my feet, as I question,"Where am I?"

The badger's reply,"Minuet thy maiden of pulchritude, course,"sends a shiver like the whisper of a slithering snake.

“A fox lead—”

“Fox!? ‘ELL OUT OF HERE!”And the door slammed shut, I turn to see the four squirrels exchanging glances that were fiendish but they meant not to be rude, just sizing up dinner.

Their benevolent tone, a velvet softness, wraps around the steel of their intent, concealing the barbs that lie within. And yet, like a veneer that peels away, revealing the rot beneath, their words, a whisper of terror, dismantle the very fabric of my sanity.

Their laughter, a harmony of hysteria, chimes in my soul, like the melody of a dying bird. The whisper of their scissors, a lullaby of despair, whispers in my ear, "Sleep, dear one, and dream of the pain that is to come."

The silence that follows, like a bomb about to detonate, is a pause before the cataclysm of their creation. The maidens, angels of destruction, merge with the shadows, their scissors whirring like the whisper of the devil himself. This I a willing participant in this dance of damnation, move to join their ranks, as the night unfurls its shroud, and the torch of knowledge is extinguished, revealing the true nature of the maiden's scissors.

Swiftly the maidens, those angels of mercy, kind and benevolent, their oversized scissors dripping with blood, scattered—parted for me to pass, should have moved out of my way.

A vision appeared ahead that stole my breath - a vast glade flooded with blooms of impossible hues. Crimsons and blues so vivid they seemed alive, backlit by an inner luminance unknown on the mortal plane.

Exotic flora mingled in riotous abandon, serrated leaves that could flay flesh intertwining with velvet petals big as one’s palm. Rills and streams wound like quicksilver through the fantastical bower, their waters tinted every color of the rainbow where they flowed over glittering smooth stones.

Impossible mosses and fungi blanketed rotting logs, emitting a bioluminescence that pulsed in mesmerizing patterns. Butterflies floated by on gossamer wings, rendering me nearly mute with wonder at their iridescence.

Here in this surreal glade resided the missing sun - a singular golden bloom the size of a grand home, throbbing at the bosom of the verdant expanse. Its corona rippled like living fire, showering the space with an aura beyond any mortal light.

Through the surreal flora passed to ruins — I could scarcely comprehend. Stonework blackened and brittle enough to crumble under featherlight tread, yet immense as mountains. Embedded runes shifted and writhed with no earthly logic, seeming some code of elder beings not bound by the physical.

Yet this was merely the edifice of this accursed nightmare, not its deepest unknown. For as the light failed — specters appeared through thinning petals aglow with their own phosphorescence. Grotesque silhouettes seemed to peer and gesture from the shadows, then submerge once more as if never having been.

At the glade's bleak heart loomed a tower vast yet obscene, a blasphemy of architecture that warped the mind to regard. Upon its cruel pinnacles perched ravens screeching their malefic call, wings aglow like coals as they took flight, trailing cinders down upon the crumbling stones.

Bracing myself against the door's immense weight, I heaved with all my strength. With a tortured groan, it ground slowly inward, showering me in plumes of ash and dust. Beyond lay a vestibule cloaked in absolute night.

No shapes could be discerned in that all-consuming dark, though uncanny awareness of being watched prickled thy nape. With faltering step I ventured into the yawning void, my ragged breaths the only sounds penetrating the abyssal hush.

A spark appeared suddenly ahead - a single tongue of orange flame that blossomed to life and illuminated what lay beyond in a sepulchral glow. I gasped softly — bodies littered the filthy floor in anguished postures, flesh sloughed away to expose glistening bone.

Some clawing blindly at empty eye sockets, others with open jaws frozen forever in a final endless scream. Their innards spilled from gaping cavities carved with esoteric blasphemies as if by unholy surgical tools.

Through the horror house of death I picked my way unsteadily, eyes scanning for any clue as to this ravaged keep cryptic secrets. A whisper echoed from the dank recesses, indecipherable yet urging me deeper into the lightless bowels.

Steeling frayed nerves, I followed through a stone archway that led into a curving stairwell descending into endless gloom. No end was perceptible, an oubliette swallowing all hope. Then began the claustrophobic descent, the grating of stone beneath each footfall magnified in the choking dark.

Countless turns were rounded in that light-devouring spiral before catching a flicker of movement ahead. Thy lantern revealed gnarled hands scrabbling at the steps just beyond its nimbus of light. A withered visage raised to peer at me with empty caverns, its jaw unhinged in a soundless scream.

In my haste to flee, thy foot struck loose rubble. I tumbled headlong into nothingness with a choked gasp, lantern flung from tenuous fingers and voice dying upon velvet lips as I plunged into the lightless depths.

The darkness. It's a void so profound, it's as if the very fabric of existence has been cleaved asunder. I a kind sensual scribe, find myself standing at the precipice of this abyss, eyes struggling to pierce the impenetrable veil of blackness. The silence is oppressive, heavy with the weight of secrets and unseen terrors.

As I strain to see, I become aware of the faint rustle of spider legs clicking against the stone floor. The sound is like a slow, deliberate drumbeat, drawing me deeper into their world. My heart quickens, my breath hitches and catches in my throat as I whisper,

"Who's there?"

The words are barely audible, lost in the void. But then, like a mirror, two eyes glimmer in the darkness. The pupils are like shiny black marbles, shining with an eyeshine following the light, drawing me closer to the precipice of the unknown, a strobe of lightning, and I see it but for a moment..

But there is no windows - what?

And then, a grin. Oh, the grin. It's a beacon of malevolence, a twisted curve of joy. The eyes, they seem to bore into my very psuche, draining the life from my lungs.

Everything around me becomes a blur, the darkness constricting my vision like a chokehold. My senses reel, my thoughts scattering like leaves on an autumn breeze. The click of the spider legs grows louder, a clamouring of sound that threatens to consume me.

And then nebulous, I'm lost in the void, my consciousness hanging by a thread. The last thought that echoes through my mind is... was that my face? What does it mean? Is it a warning, a message, or simply a product of my ravaged mind?

I'm adrift in the darkness, a shipwreck of thoughts and emotions, struggling to stay afloat in the abyssal depths of uncertainty. The darkness closes in, a suffocating shroud that threatens to extinguish the flickering flame of my consciousness.

Maybe I will wake up and this was all just a nightmarish dream, a somnambulant walk.