Demon Spawn

Is the price worth the cure?

This is my first attempt at Erotic Horror, so please bear with me. I appreciate critical reviews, however, the reviews should be of a nature that will allow me to build on my creative writing ability, vice just being hurtful. If you want to rant, then write your own stories. I will happily critic them (though never in a hurtful manner...)

Like many of my stories, this starts out slow, setting the mood. But when the action starts, it does so with a dramatic bang. This tory leaves things open, un-ended. If there is enough interest, I will provide a second finishing chapter. Enjoy.

Ian Miller had carried his wife Heather down the long curved tunnel some three miles into the darkness from the entrance of the cave. Flanked by chanting men and women holding guttering torches, he trudged tirelessly onwards to their final destination.

His wife weighed almost nothing, a mere 80lbs. At 28 she should have been in the prime of her life, instead of days away from death. Semi-conscious, she occasionally opened her eyes and smiled at him, aware only that he held her, and not where she was.

A much older, but far wealthier woman was being carried by a group of four men on a litter nearer the front of the line of men and women, an older man that Ian presumed to be her husband trudging along beside the litter.

Another much younger couple walked not far ahead of the older couple.

Ian's escort, a self-proclaimed acolyte, walked silently beside him. He had met her earlier in the week in the little town's church, far above where he now walked. Though no one had been in the church, it was open and kept clean so he had walked in and begun to pray for guidance and for a miracle.

"We can save her." A woman's voice said.

Ian vaguely looked up to see a woman clad in a simple white dress that hung down almost to her feet, which were clad in simple sandals. The dress was pulled tight to her body with a rope belt around her waist. It was obvious that she wore no bra as the dress showed off the body beneath it without openly exposing it. Ian thought that the somewhat risqué display was oddly out of place in the little church.

"Forgive me, are you a member of the congregation here?" Ian asked.

"An Acolyte," she replied in perfect though heavily accented English. "Though not of this congregation. But I often come here when I am called."

"Who called you?" he'd asked, his curiosity briefly peeked.

"You did, even if you did not know it." She answered.

He had looked at her then, seriously looked at her for the first time since she had intruded on his prayers. She was a lovely woman, perhaps in her early thirties. Her light brown hair was almost blonde and framed the face of a true beauty. His heart leapt in his chest at the sight of her. This is what Heather should look like! He thought to himself. The woman's image blurred as the thought brought strong emotions to him.

Suddenly she was holding him and he was crying hard. His face was buried in her breasts, the cloth there becoming soaked with his tears. The emotions of three years of bitter disappointments spilled out of him. Their initial attempts at having a child, the failure of which leading to medical tests that showed she had cancer. The long downward spiral of failed radiation and chemotherapy treatments. The disease slowly ravaging his wife's beauty and vitality. His long desperate search for help going unanswered.

Two months ago he had heard a rumour, a small town in the middle of nowhere in Eastern Europe that was purported to have cured many diseases. Against his doctor's advice, he had taken his wife and come to the town's hospital, where doctors there had told him what he already knew, his wife had only a short time to live.

Now he was being held by an unknown woman in the town's only church, crying as he begged for help for his wife.

"We can help her." She told him quietly. "But there is a price to be paid. You may not like what that price may be." She told him bluntly.

Ian looked at her again. Though she was beautiful, there was something oddly strange about the woman. As he looked up into her eyes he knew what it was. Her eyes had the look of aged wisdom about them. As if this woman had seen many things in the apparent short years of age that separated him from her. Something in those eyes called to him, sought him out. They seemed to look deep into his soul.

He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as those eyes stared into his. He wasn't frightened by her. But there was something about her eyes that spoke of experiences that few could have acquired even in many lifetimes. And that brought a cautious respect from deep within him.

Her last words repeated in his mind and as if she had spoken them clearly, and he responded. "Anything." He gasped out. "Anything at all, I will pay any price even if it dams my soul."

"So be it." She had said and at the sound of those words a strange peace settled over him. He knew he had committed himself to something unknown, perhaps even dangerous, but he also knew he would do anything for his wife.

A few hours later he was in his hotel when his room door, which he thought he had locked, opened and the Acolyte entered ahead of another woman. He recognized the mystery woman immediately, he had seen her many times in and around the little town. She was referred to simply as the 'Priestess', though of what religion he had no idea. The Acolyte stepped aside and bowed to the other. The Priestess did not acknowledge her as she stepped forward to look at Ian.

The woman's presence was like a blow to his male pride. The overall impression was of overt sexuality tied to innate beauty. He felt himself reacting to her presence on a primal level, his groin twitching at the sight of this incredibly beautiful woman. It was a feeling he hadn't had since before they discovered his wife's illness, and one he didn't particularly want to feel at this point in time.

She was tall, only one inch shorter than his own 6'2" height. Her stunningly gorgeous and statuesque figure was draped in a sheer diaphanous gown made of layers of material playing on a single colour, in this case reds, the colours of autumn. The colours became stronger the deeper toward her body the eye travelled. While the material covered her it did not fully hide from sight the utter beauty of her naked form, clearly visible beneath, yet at the same time the gown sheathed her body from prying eyes. Thus the longer he stared the less visible she was beneath the gown. The effect was to showcase her awesome nudity at a casual glance, yet hide it from prying eyes.

Her feet were clad with a simple but effective Greek style leather sandals with laces winding up strong calves to tie just below her dimpled knees. She wore no jewelry.

What Ian initially thought was a veil turned out to be her rich, dark hair that hung down to the middle of her back. It seemed to be floating, moving in the still air as if blown by a gentle wind. It fluttered around the sides of her incredibly beautiful face, both framing it and giving him that impression of a gossamer veil as it floated gently in the unfelt breeze.

Centered on her head she wore what appeared at first site to be an elaborate crown of thorns, perhaps six inches in height. On closer inspection it turned out to be a crown of wicker branches. A trick of the light made it appear as if the branches were moving, twisting and turning into slightly different shapes as she moved her head but still retaining the overall shape of a crown. He convinced himself that the impression of movement was due to the interaction of the light, the crown, and the floating hair.

She wore no makeup, but then she didn't need it. At first look he had thought her very young. Her face was the face of a goddess but, like the Acolyte, her eyes held a depth of aged wisdom that was out of place on a woman of her apparent age. As Ian thought this, a ghost of a smile twitched on her full, luscious lips.

She began to speak in a rich, lilting voice that was like liquid silk. The tones were the epitome of the perfect woman's voice and sent a shiver up Ian's spine. The Acolyte immediately began to translate.

"We can help your wife," she had said. "But there is a price to pay, both by your wife and by you. The price must be made willingly by both of you in your turn."

"Whatever the price I will pay it." Ian said almost at once.

"Be careful what you say. You do not fully understand yet that price." The Priestess replied through the Acolyte. "Both of you must willingly accept the price. We will give her the gift of health and vitality, but if she refuses the price, that gift will be revoked. As she is close to death, she may not survive the gifts withdrawal.

"In your turn you must accept the price. Your refusal will not mean your wife will lose the gifts given, but your life will be irrevocably changed in a way that may well destroy your marriage, and perhaps your mind and the mind of your wife.

"We will arrange for you to meet with others who have paid the price. You will not be told what the price is, as the choice must be made freely, willingly, and in the moment. Do not ask them for more than they reveal to you."

Ian thought this a rather odd requirement but agreed to it immediately.

The Priestess turned to the Acolyte and spoke to her briefly before leaving the room, the Acolyte bowing as she left.

"The moon will be in the right place Thursday evening. I will arrange for you to be allowed to speak tomorrow to a couple who have been through the ceremony. If you wish to continue after this meeting I am to be your escort during the ceremony. No further offers will be made. This will be your one and only chance to save your wife. I have been to the hospital and know that she has only days to live. Nothing known of this earth can save her."

Without another word the Acolyte left the room, the door closing on its own accord behind her, her last words hanging in the room almost as if in warning.

Ian moved to ensure the door was locked, unwilling to be interrupted again. He found the door not only fully locked but even the safety lock was in place. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, but strangely he found it oddly comforting that the two women could have walked through the locked door.

The next day the Acolyte was waiting for him as he exited the hospital. He was taken to a house just off the market. Surprisingly the couple were American. He was invited in and given coffee. The woman appeared to be in her early thirties, the man perhaps a few years her elder. They greeted him warmly.

As they drank their coffee they chatted amicably. There was a child, perhaps two years of age. When Ian sat at the table, the child came up to him rather boldly. No fear there. Ian thought. The child smiled delightedly almost as if he was responding to his thoughts. Once again the hair went up on the back of Ian's neck.

He took a closer look at the child and somehow wasn't surprised to see the same eyes as that of the Priestess and the Acolyte. Wisdom beyond the boy's years seemed to radiate from them. When he looked back to his hosts the parents were watching him, quietly appraising him.

"Is the price worth it?" he asked them.

"We think so." They replied.

Ian left soon after, the image of the boy stuck in his mind. He suddenly had a suspicion as to what the price might be. Was he willing to pay it? Anything! He thought. Anything!

In the early evening of the following Thursday, his Acolyte - as he was now beginning to think of her, arrived at his room carrying a simple black cloak and sandals.

She threw them on the bed revealing her outfit to him as she did so. Her feet were still clad in sandals, but she now wore a gown of a white, single layer diaphanous material that clearly showed her voluptuous body beneath it. It was tied in three places, at her neck, below her breasts and below her groin. On her head, she wore a smaller version of the crown the Priestess had worn only this crown did not seem to move.

"Remove all your cloths and put on the sandals and cloak." She told him. She stayed were she was, waiting expectantly for him to complete the task at hand.

Ian quickly pulled off his cloths and put the cloak on. He was irked by her appraising stare. Apparently, he had passed some kind of test with her, for she gave a brief nod as he slipped the cloak on.

The cloak was made of a diaphanous, light-weight, sturdy, black material. Due to the black colouring, it did not seem to show as much of his form as her outfit showed of hers. As with the Acolytes gown, it tied at three places, at the neck, at his chest, and below his groin. He tied the sandals to his feet, but when he went to pull the hood up over his head, she stopped him.

"As a Supplicant, you go with head bared." She told him. She told him to leave everything behind and to follow her. As they left the hotel, he saw a procession of about 50 men and 50 women. All were similarly clad to him and his Acolyte though hoods were pulled up over their heads. They all carried an unlit torch in each of their hands. The torches looked odd.

Noting where he was looking, his Acolyte informed him: "The torches been treated with a special resin that allows them to burn much longer. Torches normally burn for only an hour. These will burn for most of the night."

He was escorted by his Acolyte to a place between the rows of men and women, men on the right - women on the left, nearer to the end of the procession. His Acolyte walked with him on his left. Ahead of him were what he assumed to be two other Supplicants and their acolytes, a young man and an older man, all with their heads bared. At the head of the procession was the Priestess trailed by two more Acolytes.

They walked quietly out of the town and up into the mountains along a narrow mountain road barely wide enough for the procession. The sun was beginning to set as the procession came to an overgrown trail going from the road to the mouth of a large cave in the distant. As soon as the procession moved onto this trail, the men and women began to chant in an eerie, guttural language unlike anything that Ian had ever heard before. The words seemed to be mostly consonants with few vowels interspersed among the clipped, throaty sounds. Odd whistles, clicks, and other sounds were interspersed within the chanting.

The chanting continued as they walked toward the cave. By the time they arrived at the mouth of the cave, the sun had nearly set.

The Priestess and her two Acolytes moved to the center of the cave while the procession of men and women split to either side.

To the left of the Priestess Ian saw his wife sitting in a sedan chair, clad in a white gown, her head uncovered. Her skin, stretched tightly across her face, had a deathly grey pallor to it. Sitting in the open in the chair, she seemed to have lost even more weight than when she was in her bed in hospital. Her hair had lost most of its colour, though it still hinted at the red tresses she used to have.

Two women, dressed as the others with heads covered, were busily working to remove various medical shunts and needles from Heather's arms and legs. Ian briefly caught the faces of the women and recognized them as nurses from the hospital.

On one side of his wife an old woman sat in another sedan chair. She too was dressed in a gown with uncovered head. Her desiccated and shrivelled body, thinner even than Heather's, looked like nothing more than skin and bones. Her skin was a patchwork of large brown liver spots and wrinkles. She had a few patches of uncoloured hair hanging limply from her scalp. Ian estimated her age as at least late nineties. The old man at the head of the procession moved beside her. The age difference was large, Ian estimated him to be in his early sixties.

Beside the older woman stood a beautiful woman with head bared. She had the typical looks of the local people. The young man joined her as Ian moved to take his place beside his wife.

The Priestess spoke briefly in the guttural language and began to move toward the back of the cave, where Ian noticed what appeared to be the entrance to a tunnel. The procession lit torches as they passed the fire near the tunnel entrance. Men and women took it in turns to place a torch in a holder every few hundred feet or so along the curving tunnel as they marched.

The young man took hold of the young lady's hand and they began to follow. Four men came forward and picked up the sedan chair of the older woman. Her husband trailed along, holding her hand as they began the long walk into the darkness.

Ian reached down and as he did, the two nurses helped him lift Heather into his arms. He was shocked at how light she was. Heather briefly opened her eyes and smiled at him. Her eyes, once so vibrantly green, had a washed out look to them. Almost immediately her eyes closed and her head rolled onto his left shoulder. This close to her, he could smell the foul, fêted stench of the disease on her as she breathed.

Despite her lightened weight, it wasn't much into the descent before he found himself tiring from carrying her frail body. He concentrated on the sounds of the chanting, the words spoken in an odd rhythmic cadence unlike anything he had ever heard before. But, the more he concentrated on sounds, the clearer they seemed to become and the easier the faltering, stumbling rhythm came to him.

"They are letting him know we are seeking his help, asking for his blessing." His Acolyte told him. "Do you want to know what they are saying?" She asked.

At his nod, she began to recite in English, a language that it was immediately apparent to Ian that did not fit the cadence or rhythm of what was being translated.

"We three walk your halls, moving to join you in the other place below. We are three who have been harmed by man, women who have done not to deserve our fate.

"One who is poisoned by man and has become old before her time; we beseech that you restore her vitality that she may live the life she should.

"One who has been poisoned and is unable to conceive, we beseech that you restore to her the gift of life that only women can bring.

"One whose body has been ravaged by disease. We beseech that you restore her health, her vitality that she may live the life she should.

"They who walk with us are seeking your aid, your strength, and your guidance. They are willing to pay the price asked for your gifts, the women this night, the men in their time.

"We ask that you accept the price and bestow your gifts on these three.

"These are the words we speak." The Acolyte finished.

Ian took time to look at the woman. Once more he noted the aged look in her eyes. What was it she had seen, had endured to have such eyes? He wondered.

Ian began to concentrate harder on the chanting. He slowly began to catch the rhythm and found himself moving with it. As he did so, he found that he was better able to endure the long walk in the dark tunnel. He seemed to be drawing strength from the chanting.

The chanting slowly filtered into his mind. He found that he could pick out words here and there that fell into place with the translation given him. Once he did so, it was easier to believe he could understand the strange words.

He began to chant along with the procession, slowly gaining confidence in the pronunciation and conviction that he was saying it correctly. A glance at his Acolyte showed she was surprised at his ability. She gave him a nod and a brief smile.

Heather woke up from time to time, listening to the chanting and watching her husband. The odd sounds grated on her nerves, but somehow seemed to sooth her mind. She drifted in and out of sleep with the chanting going on around her.