🕸 II 🕸

Lurkson led me to the Longroper estate garden. The pain in my hand from slapping him was still fresh. The mark on Lurkson’s cheek was still very red. Yet as we walked together towards the garden area, each step still felt like a dream.

“Do you still feel like this is a dream, Lurkson?” I asked.

“Yes and if it is, I will savor every dark second of it with you,” he said.

I had to look straight up at him. Lurkson was so much taller than anyone I had ever met. And here was I, so very short. To put into perspective, the top of my head lined just above his waist.

A literal tall, dark, and handsome man walked with me.

I wanted to climb him. Crawl right up to his head. And feast on his face like a female praying mantis after mating. I glared hungrily at Lurkson.

And his eyes clearly were on my chest. I straightened my posture and heaved my mighty chest upward. My chest was quite ample for my size. I did not blame Lurkson’s gaze for fixating on it.

In truth, I relished in his lustful gaze.

“Something has your eye, Lurkson?” I asked.

“Why yes,” he said as his eyes turned from me and looked straight ahead. “Look at what we found.”

Pouting that he no longer looked at me, I followed his gaze. Right outside the gates to the garden was a black bird on the ground. The bird had expired and was so bloated that it was perfectly round. We approached the inflated bird and maggots were eating the eyes.

“How interesting,” I said. “I have never seen a dead bird so bloated before. I cannot even tell if it was a raven or a crow.”

“It looks as if it would burst from the slightest touch,” said Lurkson.

His observation gave me a most dreadful idea.

I circled around the dead bird so that I was across from Lurkson. Without a word, I kicked the bird to Lurkson. He caught it on his shoe and balanced it on his toes. He then kicked the bird back to me.

I giggled after a few turns of “kick the dead bird” with Lurkson. He laughed and his voice was like an echo from a tomb. Our kicks were gentle, at first. But they grew more aggressive.

“Where do you think the gas will exit, Lurkson?” I asked.

“Mmm, possibly out the beak,” said Lurkson.

“My bet is that the gas will exit from the anus,” I said.

“Oh, are we betting now?” asked Lurkson. “What will be the prize for the victor?”

“Mmm, whatever the imagination can conjure,” I said with no subtlety in my seductive tone.

“Oh, sounds like fun,” said Lurkson with a grin. “But how can we determine which hole the gas will exit?”

“Well, my guess will be by scent,” I suggested. “If the gas exits from the beak then its aroma would be like bile.”

“Ah! And if it is from the anus, it would smell of feces,” said Lurkson. “What a logical conclusion, Gothia. Well, let us find out with our noses then.”

And so we kicked and kicked that dead bird to force the gas out. It rolled rather stupendously for a corpse. I became more aggressive with my kicks in hopes to claim my victory soonly. But one swift kick from Lurkson caused all the gas to exit the bird.

It flopped between my legs as it deflated and . . .

We sniffed the foul fowl’s fragrance and it smelled of . . . decomposition. It was impossible to tell from which end the gas exited. We laughed over the deflated corpse.

“Well, does that mean we are both losers then?” asked Lurkson between laughs.

“No, I would argue that would make us both victors,” I declared.

Lurkson’s lips quivered as he said, “Did you hear it? It made such a nice little pop as it erupted.”

I could tell Lurkson was ready to burst so I pushed him over the edge. “Oh, no, that was not the bird. That was me.” And a well timed expulsion of gas from my own orifice initiated more painful laughter from both of us.

We then both laughed for a dreadfully long time. I swear I was going to die from elation. Hades could have swallowed me whole and I would have been content. We both had to sit on the grass because our bodies grew weak. I was so happy that I cared not that Maggy would scold me for getting grass stains on my dress.

One does not think of trivial things when in a moment so deliciously dreadful.

🕷

After we dried the tears away and composed ourselves, we entered the garden. The cliche colors of blues and reds and yellows and oranges became an immediate bore. I was curious why Lurkson was leading me into a place so very uninteresting.

Then he brought me to his personal garden. I recognized the flower, its shape and texture were most familiar. The green balls with sharp spikes where the seeds were kept were also a dead giveaway.

“Datura!” I said, overjoyed. “The most popular hallucinogen of the nightshade family.”

“Yes, I cultivated them myself,” said Lurkson.

I smiled at him and asked, “And what are your intentions with this crop?”

“Oh, nothing too exciting,” said Lurkson. “Gathering and raising them is more of a fancy, really.”

“Really?” I was very disappointed to hear that. Datura had appeared in many of the Gothic tales I had read. The experience of being under the influence of its poison sounded most dreadful.

Lurkson noticed my disappointment and said, “Oh, do not fret. They will not go to waste. I have acquaintances who utilize datura for both recreational and medicine use.”

“You profit from this?” I asked.

“I do, in many ways,” he said with a grim giggle. “The breed I have here is most unique. The flower was originally white.”

“But there is an outline of purple,” I said. My curiosity returned and I asked, “Did you cross breed them? No, there would be signs of such mutation. Oh! The choice of fertilizer then?”

Lurkson grinned and nodded. “Yes, yes, it is bat guano. My family owns a vineyard and there is a cave near it full of bats. They feast on the grapes and expel a purple guano.”

“You used bat feces laced with grapes destined for wine to change the color of a white datura?” I asked.

It was so elaborate and so nonsensical. It was so very foolish. And I was in awe and expressed this by applauding Lurkson.

“Marvelous! To use bat droppings with the goal of turning white datura purple. And does this change the datura’s effect on the mind in any way?”

Lurkson giggled and then said, “Why yes. I have heard all hallucinations made by my datura have been very . . . bat-centric!”

I never wanted to try datura more in my whole life. “Perhaps we should put that to the test, yes? A round of datura tea would be nice.”

“I would be most thrilled to experience a shared hallucination with you, Gothia,” said Lurkson with hesitation in his eyes. “However, Datura does last for a considerable amount of time. Is your schedule open in the near future?”

“My schedule is very open, especially to partake in such a dreadful experience with you, Lurkson,” I said.

The truth was that Maggy had full control of my schedule. I would have to convince her to allow me some free time to spend with Lurkson. I had only just met the man and I already was planning to meet with him again.

A thought occurred to me and I pouted at the white-purple datura. “It is a pity my favorite creature is the spider. Spider droppings are so tiny it would be impossible to use as fertilizer. Oh, to dream that I became a queen arachnid would be the experience of a lifetime.”

“Ah! I am pleased to hear you are a fan of arachnids,” said Lurkson. He leaned over his datura crop and pointed within the cluster. “A marvelous black widow has made her nest here. The scent of my datura attracts many loathsome bugs that she feasts on.”

The black widow sat on her web that had become a graveyard of insects. I wondered how many males she had devoured. The female black widow was much larger than the male. She could easily ensnare any male that falls on her web.

How I envied the black widow. Lurkson was so much larger than I was. I wished I had venom in my teeth so I could have an advantage against him. The hunger raged in me as I watched him admire the black widow.

“I am honored to have such an elegant creature make home in my garden,” said Lurkson.

“So the black widow is a favorite creature of yours, Lurkson?” I asked.

“Mmm, I suppose so but my favorite of all . . . can you guess?” he asked as a challenge.

This was easy. He already gave me a hint. “Bats, correct?” He remained still and expressionless. I then pouted at him from his lack of surprise. “Well, you could pretend to be surprised.”

Lurkson chuckled. “That is impossible. I make no secret of my admiration for all things chiroptera.”

“Look at you using scientific words,” I said, then countered with my love of ancient history. “Chiroptera is Latin, translated to mean ‘hand-wing’, yes?”

This time Lurkson looked surprised. He smiled, baring his dreadful white teeth. And his gaze was so very . . . thirsty.

“I am pleased to learn you are educated, Gothia,” said Lurkson. “It would have been such a bore if you were not.”

“You like your women to be educated then, Lurkson?” I asked.

“I like women who are bold and not afraid to challenge themselves and those around them,” said Lurkson. “And thus far, you have proven to be such a woman.”

“I want you sexually,” I declared. Lurkson continued to smile but seemed to freeze on the spot. “Sorry, was that too bold?”

“Not in the least,” said Lurkson. “I too am very sexually attracted to you. But I am also willing to show some restraint. I believe that desire should marinate until it drowns the very soul. Then when the release finally comes, it will be—”

Lurkson then bent down so his lips were right over my ears. His breath smelled of decay and rot and reminded me of that dead bird. He then whispered in my ear:

“It will be all the more sweeter when our sexual apocalypse comes and ends our innocence and purity. The reckoning will be the most dreadful experience of our lives. So, be patient, dear Gothia. I will be yours and you will be mine . . . in due time.”

I wanted to rip my dress off, leap into Lurkson’s arms, and force him down onto his datura bed. Then make dark and ravenous love out in the open. In the open for anyone to find us and cause a scene. Maggy would have been so dreadfully upset.

I wanted to do that so badly.

But I showed restraint. Lurkson was right, marinating the desire would make it all the more sweeter when we finally gave in. And there was still time left in the day. Nightfall would be more appropriate for our mutual dark destruction.

I had to change the subject to distract myself from my desires.

“I have always considered taking the ashes from a crematorium and using it as fertilizer for roses,” I said.

Lurkson grinned from ear to ear. “I am so very pleased you said that, Gothia. Look around my datura and behold my other project.”

A rose bush was planted on the other side of the datura garden. My heart stopped and I gazed in awe. I thought I was dreaming because before me were the blackest roses I have ever seen. There was a shine to the dark petals as if they rejected the sunlight.

“The nearby town has a mortuary and they cremate their clientele,” explained Lurkson. “Sometimes the ashes are unwanted and I gather enough to make suitable fertilizer.”

“Please tell me that you can perform black magic with these excused beauties,” I said.

“Sadly, no, our library is painfully dull and has no grimoires of black magic,” said Lurkson.

“Mine has grimoires,” I said. “My step-mother is a bibliophile and hungers for any text that is old and unique.”

Lurkson’s eyes grew in awe. “Surely you jest, dear Gothia.”

“Never assume I would jest to one I desire so,” I said as I strategically bent in a manner to display my cleavage to its fullest. “Mmm, now you have incentive to visit my humble abode.”

“I look forward to browsing your library,” said Lurkson as he reached into his suit. He then pulled out sheers and snipped a black rose. “And I present this gift as a reminder.”

“I shall not forget,” I said as I reached for the rose.

Lurkson then pulled it away and reached for my hair. “May I?” he asked. I allowed him to place the black rose in my hair. The rose meld with my dark hair as Lurkson laid his hands on me.

His touch was like being buried in a cold grave. It was so very dreadful that I was ready to surrender right there. Marinating our desires be damned, I wanted him so much it hurt. And I was ready to make him mine when someone entered the garden.

A maid of the Longroper estate approached us and said, “Begging your pardon, Lurky. The Earl has summoned you and Madame Vineharth to the target range.”

“Whatever for, Raven?” asked Lurkson disappointedly. “Madame Vineharth and I were getting on so well. Brother’s reasoning for such a summons better be important—”

Lurkson then paused as the maid smiled in a knowing way. I felt left out but remained silent. My ears could not help but burn when the maid addressed him as “Lurky.” Such a casual nickname would be forbidden between servants and nobility.

Lurkson grinned and said, “Oh, I see. Does he request a rematch with me? To show off his skills in front of Lady Vineharth?”

“He would, Lurky,” said the maid. “Will you be holding back to make the Earl more impressive in front of the Lady?”

“I would have, like all the other times before,” said Lurkson as he looked at me. A fire rose from within him. “But I have incentive to not hold back this time.”

“What manner of challenge has your brother burdened you with?” I asked.

“Oh, it is not a challenge,” said Lurkson as he cracked his knuckles. “It is mere childsplay. My brother hates to lose so I hold back when a suitress comes to visit. He likes to show off.”

“I feel as if I am lacking some vital information,” I said. “Enough suspense, Lurkson. What sport do you and your brother compete in?”

Lurkson then grinned like a minion of Hades. I forced back the urge to swoon. I had to hold back and let my desire marinate. Especially since the mysterious maid had spoiled the mood.

“The sport is a proud family tradition,” said Lurkson. “And one I am most exceptional at.”

“And what sport is that, exactly?” I asked.

Lurkson then told me with fire in his eyes, “Dagger tossing.”

My jaw dropped in awe then I smiled as I said, “Oh, how dreadfully interesting!”

🕷