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By Lawrence J. Dumas |
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From the newest “Master” of horror and suspense. |
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Witch Coomb |
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Unholy, primordial words, voyaging on a breeze older than time, pervaded the Coomb that was cloaked in ghostly shadows. For hours she'd waited, her fangs glistening in the firelight, a bizarre adornment to the passionate beauty of the untamed young woman who was alone, save for the darkness. Slowly her eyes glowed a misty green, and the luminescence issued forth like ripples on a pond as primeval desires churned in her soul-less depths. Wantonly, the she devil with the vixen red hair, began swaying in time with an un-godly sound that was emanated from the gaping maw of the burnished skull on the altar - the Skull of Jezebel. A small double edged dagger - forged with virgin blood when the earth was still a sea of molten rock - flashed in her hand and the viscous, hot, dark liquid sparkled in the firelight like a thousand black diamonds. Shrugging free of the red, silk lined cloak, her breath quickened when the night breeze swirled up and around her body, pausing to lick around the stiff, pink nubs of her breasts. Then, thrusting the heaving peaks forward, she gasped when the ancient medallion, a red and black outlined goat inside a silver five pointed star, burned against her skin. Once, then twice, the lump of still-warm human flesh quivered in her hand, the last few remnants of life giving blood tracing tiny red rivulets between the long tapered fingers clutching it. Staring at the organ that only moments ago had been at one with hers, she smiled remembering how, just moments earlier, their two bodies had pounded together in wanton abandonment upon the stone altar. Lifting the heart into the night sky, the succubus’ strawberry red lips parted to embrace the warm trickle of creation, and she drank deeply. When her lust was satisfied the demon woman let the flaccid remnant of humanity fall into the waters of the stream. Suddenly her smoldering emerald green eyes flared when the funeral pyre flames crackled higher and higher into the air, the flames eagerly consuming the grisly remains of her now-dead lover. In the amber glow of the fire her body began swaying again, while in her throat a growl started, uniting with the corrupt song still flowing from the skull. Ecstasy coursing through her, Janna Warner closed her eyes and surrendered to the depravity sweeping through the coomb. |
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Also get Mr. Dumas’ first novel, ”Cradle of Evil”, at |
