WHISPERS OF A DARKLING COME
I
Moira sighed loudly, a sound of relieved exhaustion, as she slumped against the frame of her front door. She was always so tired those days, now. She was young, barely turned thirty, and her comely face took a few years off her age. Dark blond hair framed her small face and brushed her shoulders. She wore her uniform still, now that she had stopped changing her uniform in the ladies’ room at the restaurant where she worked. The uniform was maroon with silver braiding and her apron had a picture of a large, jolly-looking gentleman holding a Franklin stove in his hands. Under the picture, the words: The Cast-Iron Stomach
This apron she wearily tugged at, trying to remove it, as she switched on the light. The sixty-watt bulb illuminated the living room in a blanket of dim light. She closed the door behind her and finally getting the apron loose, pulled it off and dropped it to the floor where it lay looking like a mound of warm flesh. Moira stared at it for a moment or two, lost in memories which plunged their claws into her subconscious and pulled images screaming in protest from their dark, locked niches.
Her husband, Jeff, had been a wonderful lover. He had known how to bring her to ultimate ecstasy with his hands, his tongue, his member. Many nights they had moaned together, covered with sweat, their flesh sliding together, merging, until they were truly together, a single entity of pleasure. Moira had never come home tired from her job as a waitress then. She always had a bounce in her step, a smile on her full lips, and a black silk teddy under her clothes.
Moira averted her eyes from the apron, then shut them tightly as if she could squeeze out all of those thoughts that hurt her so much. Fourteen months already since Jeff was killed and it still felt like only a few hours ago. After the funeral Moira’s father had asked her if she wanted to come live with him and her girlfriend but Moira had insisted upon staying at the apartment she had shared with Jeff for three years. Moira shuffled over to the curtains covering the large window overlooking the street outside and drew them open so that she could look at the scarlet sun sinking below the horizon. She wondered if it was as tired as she, after being up in the sky for over twelve hours, pouring out energy constantly.
Keeping the place meant working double shifts and a practically nonexistent social life but she wanted to stay. It was the only place she had truly felt at peace with herself, when Jeff was still alive. Now . . . she left nothing except pain and loss. Still, better than the self-hatred she’d had when she met Jeff. She had been on the brink of becoming a prostitute, desperate for even a false pretense of love, an euphemism for selling her body to men. She had been in a state of deep depression and then Jeff had come along, with his liquid brown eyes and slightly off kilter but adorable face. He had saved her from the hell she had been facing and married her.
Moira flung herself onto the couch and sank into the soft cushions, tears falling unnoticed down her cheeks. She had cried so often in the past fourteen months, she wasn’t even aware of it at times. Upon more than once occasion, her customers had asked her if anything was amiss and Moira had raised her hand to her face, surprised to discover that her cheeks were wet. Moira made herself comfortable, sweeping her gaze around the room.
The shelves that Jeff built were still there, with her collection of assorted thimbles displayed upon them. She would never get rid of Jeff’s ghost, Moira knew. His musky scent lingered in the recliner, the couch, and the bed. The echo of his deep laughter clung to the walls. Maybe she wasn’t letting go of him properly, but the ache within herself could not be dissolved in mere months. Moira let her head fall back and her eyes focused upon the ceiling for a moment before they closed. Her consciousness retreated into the deepest reaches of her mind, even as the sun sank out of sight and darkness closed its cold fist around Moira.
II
Moira looked up into Jeff’s dark eyes with adoration. They were walking down Lake Road, a small dirt road that wound through the countryside of Minnesota, through beautiful meadows and spacious farmland. They made love sometimes in these fields, running from the road and stripping as they ran, giggles bubbling from their mouths and lust streaming through their pores.
"I love you, Jeff." The words floated upon the chill September air. The autumn air gave the words an extra crispiness, so that they seemed to crackle like the leaves fluttering down the ground, tongues of flames twisting and turning in the breeze. In reply, he caught her in his arms and swung her around once, twice, thrice. He laughter surrounded them in tiny trails of fog, a cocoon of security. They had kissed with passion, while Jeff still held Moira aloft. She had reached down with her free hand towards his pants. Lost in each other, neither one of them noticed the dark green Camaro catapulting at them, churning up dirt and leaves and the driver braked in desperation. Moira felt the impact as the car bulldozed into Jeff’s back, snapping his spine and shattering his pelvis. Moira, not understanding what was happening, fell from her dead husband’s arms to the ground. She closed her eyes as the wind was knocked out of her, then opened them, gasping for breath.
She saw Jeff; blood trickling from his ears and mouth, and the leaves floating gently down. One landed upon Jeff’s brow covering one vacant eye, the liquid brown now a brittle grayish brown. Moira had thought: The leaf. He can’t see that leaf covering his eye. She had reached out for his face, but was interrupted by the shrieking of the teenager who had rushed out of his car and vomited in the weeds lining the side of the road.
"Ain’t my goddamned fault, man! You guys were in the middle of the fuckin’ road! Necking, man! You gotta stay off the goddamn roads!"
Moira simply stared at him, uncomprehending, struggling to her feet. The boy kept on screaming-
Screaming-
Screaming-Moira woke with a start. She turned wild eyes in the direction of the phone in the kitchen, which had been ringing for a while. She got to her feet, wiping the sweat from her forehead and neck. She had these nightmares frequently and she wished that she could wake to see Jeff’s concerned face, give him a hug of relief. The phone stopped ringing seconds before her hand touched the receiver. Moira grunted in annoyance, and decided to call it a night as soon as she fixed herself some hot chocolate.
III
In the kitchen, she busied herself with heating the milk and thought about the book she was currently reading, Sidney Sheldon’s The Other Side of Midnight. She thought she might actually even read a few pages before she settled off to sleep. Checking the microwave clock, Moira saw that she had been asleep for only little more than an hour. She changed her mind and decided to take a bubble bath while reading. God knew, she could use some relaxation. While the milk heated, she went through the bedroom into her bathroom, and turned on the faucet. She adjusted the temperature of the water, letting it run over her hands, thinking of silk and oil.
She took off the uniform, kicking it into the corner of the bathroom and put on her terry robe before going back into the kitchen to check the milk. The milk was ready, so she poured some into a mug with a picture of a zebra on it and added some Hershey’s chocolate syrup to it. Moira leaned against the kitchen counter and stirred the milk dreamily, listening to the water splashing in the bathroom. It made her think of Hawaii and of sex under waterfalls. She caught herself, uttering a startled yet amused sound. She hadn’t been this horny in a while, thinking of all those erotic images.
Laughing softly yet sadly, she turned off the stove and the kitchen light. Then she moved towards the living room light switch. She flicked the light off gripping the mug firmly to make sure she wouldn’t spill any hot chocolate on the carpet as she walked through the darkened room to her bathroom. As soon as her hand left the light switch, she instinctively looked towards the window.
, Moira dropped the mug. She could feel the sting of the warm milk splashing on her toes and soaking into the carpet. Framed against the November moonlight stood the silhouette of a tall man, wearing a hat and overcoat. In the darkness, Moira could not make out his features, but she could detect a faint glimmer from his eyes. She groped frantically for the light switch, stammering out frenzied questions.
"Wh-who are you? What are you doing here?" she shrilled, turning on the light just as the figure began to raise a hand to its hat. Moira stared in bewilderment and uttered a single word: "What?"
The figure was no longer there. Moira let her head fall forward, blaming her exhaustion for the hallucination she had just seen.
She groaned, looking at the spongy brown mess at her feet. She had no desire to clean it up. She decided to simply put a wet rag on it and clean up in the morning. The tub was getting pretty full by now. This chore she completed, not bothering to turn on the kitchen light. She turned out the living room light again and when she glanced in the direction of the window, the scream that ripped from her throat was a truly terrible sound for any human ear to receive. The figure had returned and was moving slowly towards her. Moira backed up against the front door and briefly considered escaping from the apartment. Then a strange whim seized her and she lifted one hand slowly towards the light switch, fascinated by the figure as it approached her sensuously. The whispering of the overcoat as it brushed against the couch reminded her of the rustling of strong hands over the lace of her lingerie.
The light clicked back on and the figure was gone, no longer even a shadow. Moira gasped, badly frightened, yet curious. She turned the light off again and watched the approaching figure as it reached for its hat. It was too much for her and she fled, running into her bedroom. She locked the door, hastily jabbing her finger against the button. She ran into the bathroom and turned off the water, which was a centimeter or two from spilling over the rim of the tub. She sat on the toilet lid, trembling badly.
Jesus Christ, I’m going to be raped by Freddy Kruger, she thought hysterically. She cursed her stupidity for having taken the phone that had been in the bedroom when she still shared it with Jeff and putting it in the kitchen. The only way to call for help was to leave her bedroom, and with that thing out there, she couldn’t do that.
Jesus Christ, I’m going to be raped by Freddy Kruger, she thought hysterically. She cursed her stupidity for having taken the phone that had been in the bedroom when she still shared it with Jeff and putting it in the kitchen. The only way to call for help was to leave her bedroom, and with that thing out there, she couldn’t do that.
Moira dropped to all fours and began emptying the drawers underneath the sink, desperately searching for some kind of weapon should the intruder kick the bedroom door down and come for her, erect member throbbing under his clothes. Seeking her flesh, to plunge hotly into her. Moira made a disgusted noise; amazed she could think such things while trapped in this dilemma. Her search through the assorted objects turned up nothing and she stood up, wrenching open the medicine cabinet. She hoped maybe there were still some of Jeff’s shaving appliances left; a razor blade maybe that she could try to use on the intruder’s eyes. Nothing. She had been very thorough in the disposal of non-sentimental items belonging to her deceased husband.
Moira turned on the sink faucet and splashed some cold water on her face, rubbing her eyes. Then she thought of her own shaving razor, the one she used on her legs and armpits. She slammed the medicine cabinet shut, ready to whirl and rummage through the shower rack but the image reflected in the mirror stopped her. Behind her, emerging from the tub, rose the figure. Even under the fluorescent glare, it had no color, no texture. It remained a shadow, albeit a very solid, three-dimensional shadow. Its glittering topaz eyes locked with her bright blue ones as it continued to rise, beads of water rolling off its shoulders, down the folds of the coat. The hat dripped onto the tiles, tiny splashing sounds, each of which caused a small stirring in Moira’s loins.
Moira spun around, moaning in terror. Her eyes strained to focus on the empty space above the water of the tub. Water continued to drip off the shadowy figure, but the figure was no longer visible. Only the water drops suspended in midair, slowly changing shape, merging with each other to make miniature rivulets returning to the tub could be seen. The dripping from the brim of the hat continued although Moira could not perceive the hat itself.
The invisible figure opened its eyes and Moira gasped in fascinated revulsion to see the topaz irises suspended under the unseen hat, nothing else. Then she realized the figure was becoming opaque. Slowly, the figure darkened, becoming more and more the image she had seen reflected in the mirror. In a few moments, a man with the appearance of being carved from obsidian stood in her bathtub. Moira found herself relaxing somewhat and her thighs moved away from each other. Her terry robe slid over her legs, away from her inner thighs, and Moira realized she was spreading her legs to reveal herself to the apparition.
She tried to clasp her knees together, but oddly, she found that she didn’t want to. Her breathing began to accelerate and she could not honestly decide if it was because of fear or desire.
"What are you?" Moira gasped, as the being lifted one leg and stepped out of the bathtub, water cascading from his feet. She realized that although the being had risen from underneath approximately forty-five gallons of water, it was dry. The water slid off like lake water from a swan’s feathers. She moved one hand between her legs watching the figure as it removed its hat and coat by tossing them contemptuously (it seemed to her) onto the floor. The clothes absorbed the light so completely that they appeared to be merely a dark puddle. She would have had to lay flat on the ground to discern the shape of the hat and the folds of the coat. The apparition took another step towards Moira. She began to breathe in quick little gasps, her hand rubbing strongly now.
I am a darkling, whispered the being, although she could not see its mouth moving within the darkness of its features. The golden eyes were fixed upon her. I come to those who have need of me, and you have need, it murmured sibilantly. Moira inhaled deeply of the musky scent of sex emanating from the darkling’s skin and slid forwards, hesitantly, her toes touching the cool tile floor. She reached out a tentative hand but the darkling did not respond except to draw back just the tiniest bit. Moira found herself crying out to him mentally not to retreat.
The darkling smiled, although Moira did not know how she knew; staring at the darkling’s face, smooth except for the glittering eyes. Its whole body was smooth and Moira could not tell if he wore any other clothing other than that he had already discarded. The darkling put out its hand and caressed Moira’s cheek. Its hand was cool, yet she could feel warmth radiating from his body.
She closed her eyes and ran her tongue over her lips, responding to its touch. She could feel herself releasing warm lubricating fluids within and she put her own hand to where the darkling’s cheek would be. She found his skin to be silken in texture and she imagined how it would feel to have the darkling enter her with his silk-covered member and a moan escaped from her lips.
"How did you know-?" she implored in a murmur filled with aching and longing and desire. The darkling slid its hand around her neck and leaned closer, the topaz eyes burning into her own. Moira’s lips parted in anticipation.
I sensed the emptiness you harbor within. I exist to balance what has been stolen from the heart, love lost to the intricateness of Fate. I come to those who are lonely. I am a darkling. I am desire incarnate. It is my purpose. Your destiny. With these words, the darkling kissed her, its lips sucking on hers, its tongue probing, setting thousands of her nerves on fire. Moira began to pant and the darkling held her in its arms, supporting her. You have a void that needs to be filled, the darkling whispered, and I will fill it . . .
I sensed the emptiness you harbor within. I exist to balance what has been stolen from the heart, love lost to the intricateness of Fate. I come to those who are lonely. I am a darkling. I am desire incarnate. It is my purpose. Your destiny. With these words, the darkling kissed her, its lips sucking on hers, its tongue probing, setting thousands of her nerves on fire. Moira began to pant and the darkling held her in its arms, supporting her. You have a void that needs to be filled, the darkling whispered, and I will fill it . . .
It kissed her fiercely and Moira could see nothing but darkness, then two orbs of gold flashing so brightly she squeezed her eyes shut.
IV
When she opened her eyes, Moira stood on her bedroom and the darkling stood before her. She now knew it to be naked. She glanced down at herself and saw that she was wearing a very exotic lace and satin teddy. She raised one finger and rubbed it against the material. It swirled and little wisps of darkness kissed her fingers. She realized it was an extension of the darkling’s essence.
Moira stared into its eyes, overcome with wonder and wanton lust. The darkling took her hands gently into its own and led her to the bed. It then picked her up in its arms and laid her down on the mattress, not bothering to pull the cover and blankets back. He moved to the foot of the bed and then with his head between her legs, blew the misty material away from her body. Tremors of pleasure shook Moira’s body as the dark mist evaporated into the air.
Then she began moaning and writhing, for the darkling was now exploring her folds of flesh with its tongue and fingers. After several minutes of massaging, probing and lubricating, Moira was on the verge of exploding with rapture, her ecstasy was that powerful. Then the darkling abruptly drew back and watched her shivering and panting for a few moments.
Now, said the darkling, as it moved further up, its erect member sliding like velvet against Moira’s thigh. Moira threw her head back and screamed. It was a scream of delight. The darkling poised itself above her for a second and then descended.
As the darkling slid into her and brought her to unimaginable heights of pleasure, she thought fleetingly of Jeff. Then she put him out of her mind as she clutched at the darkling. And desire and passion and the darkling held illimitable dominion over her.
V
The darkling stood up and strode into the bathroom. It picked up its hat and overcoat and put them on slowly, thinking of its recent deed. With a final tug on its hat the darkling exited the bathroom, and glanced at the empty bed. The darkling smiled, its topaz eyes glittering with contentment. All was well. Moira belonged to it now. Now . . . and forever.
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