Fury From Hell

Fury From Hell

By Rochelle Campbell

Copyright © 2014 Rochelle Campbell

All rights reserved.

Fury From Hell                            - 1 -                                                                     
                           

Halloween, 10:40 P.M.

Reaching the corner Kyma checked traffic both ways before crossing Atlantic Avenue at the corner of Boerum Place to head up towards the Barclays Center.  From the opposite direction, a man bumped into her just as she stepped up onto the sidewalk on the other side.

“Watch it, Buddy!”

“No, maybe you should watch it, like I’ve been watching you.  Why don’t you come with me over to this nice spot I know?”  The big burly man gestured as if he knew Kyma.  Then, with a firm grip, he steered her down Boerum Place which was unpleasantly dark.

“Look, I don’t know you.  Let me go!”  Kyma said in a loud escalating voice.

With a harsh laugh the man tightened his grip on her.  “How can you forget me?  I was your client last week.  You gave me that great cut and I want to return the favor.”  Kyma felt something blunt and cylindrical jab her in the ribs.  Kyma gulped.  A cold sweat broke out above her lip.

“Don’t you remember me?”

Kyma glanced at his five o’clock shadow.  Noticed his split ends, the bad dye job and knew immediately that she had never seen him nor had anyone from her shop ever worked on him before.  She nodded energetically as her instincts kicked in.  Moving only her eyes, she searched both sides of the street for any other living soul.  She saw a couple coming towards them.  She was about to call out to them when the man pulled her close.  He forced her head up with his paw of a hand and mashed his thin hard lips against hers grinding against her lewdly.  Kyma tried to scream to get the couple’s attention.

“Dude!  That’s how you do it! They like it rough!”  The guy slapped Kyma’s attacker on the back.  That’s when Kyma noticed the Goth attire of the passerby and his girl; the black lipstick, nail polish, the spiked hair and chains.

“Shit!”

“That’s right, Sweets.  It’s just going to be you and me.”

He half-dragged her down the block and turned right onto State Street for a couple of blocks before looking around and pushing her through a hole in the fence of a construction site.  She fell roughly on her side.  She tried to get up and run but he grabbed her too quickly.  “Sorry Toots, you don’t get a pass outta here until I say so.”

He pushed her deeper into the construction site towards the shadows at the back.  It was filled with parked bulldozers and jackhammers around the perimeter.  Scaffolds were scattered about in various stages of completion.  There were roped off areas and plastic tarps that blew gently in the wind giving the place a haunted feel.

“Thanks for being early today.  That’ll give us more…quality time together.”  He threw her to the ground.  That’s when it clicked what was going to happen next.  The horror dawned on her and she started to let loose a bellow that would bring the hounds of hell to her feet.  It was cut short by a sharp slap that whipped her head to the left knocking one of her teeth loose.

“Scream again and see what happens to you, little Lady…go ahead.”  He stared deep into her eyes.  Kyma memorized the dark grey eyes and the unusually dilated pupils and didn’t rise to his baiting.  Maybe if she kept quiet he’d do his business and let her be.  She memorized his red-tipped aquiline nose and the pock marks on his slightly sunken cheeks while trying not to breathe in his smoke-and-whiskey infused breath.  Turning her face she said, “I already went to the bank and I’ve got no money on me.  What do you want?”

Already dreading his answer, she heard a zipper unfastening and closed her eyes, willing the tears to stop, knowing it was a sign of weakness.  In fact, it would probably enhance the beast’s pleasure.  Kyma held her breath and tried to black out before the inevitable happened.  He grabbed the front of her trenchcoat and pulled until the buttons popped open.  The material gave way with a shrieking rent.  A cry escaped her throat as she tried to dodge another hit, but she didn’t quite make it.  The resounding punch rattled her brain to its stem.

“I warned you.  I wanted to keep you pretty-looking but you asked for it.”  He stood up, and with gleeful abandon, he began punching and kicking her.  Focused on landing each punch, his .38 slid out of his pocket, unnoticed.  On his next volley of kicks, he unwittingly kicked it a few feet away beside a square of drying glasphalt.  The gun was obscured by the tarp billowing in the slight wind.

***

Three-quarters of a mile away in Prospect Park, with the trees swaying and whistling high above, thirteen black-robed women raised their arms in unison and began chanting.  The two bonfires just a few yards away were licking and eating at the twigs and small branches that were their fuel.  The small goat, tied to a nearby tree on the far side of the twin fires, bleated and pulled against the rope to no avail.

A quarter of an hour later, as the chant died away, the dark coven’s High Priestess looked around without smiling and said, “It is time for the cleansing.  We shall walk single-file between the bonfires.  Throw your problems, your worries, your fears and guilt into the flames.  Allow the heat and the red-hot embers to cleanse you!  To make you a clear and open vessel so you can receive the gifts you desire from
the Fury
!  Give yourselves to the Otherworld!  Prepare yourselves for the opening of the Veil that shields this world from the other which we seek on this Saimhain night!”

Warbling sounds came from some of the women as they lined up to procession through the bonfires and walk across the smoldering coals.  Cries ripped from a few women’s throats.  One woman fell down after her first step into the scorching hot bonfire alley clutching her throat choking and gagging. The High Priestess came over to her chanting and stroking her forehead.  The choking stopped.  The woman got up woodenly and marched between the fires with her arms stiff at her sides ignoring the smell of her own burning flesh.  The other coven members followed slowly as the High Priestess looked on with a gleam in her eyes noting with satisfaction that no one else hesitated.

***

As the beating raged on, Kyma managed to curl into a fetal position trying her best to limit the damage to her vital organs and her face.  After what seemed like eons, the raining blows slowed to a stop.  She curled tighter dreading what was to come.  She felt him press his mouth to her ear.  “Did you like that?” he rasped in a gleeful tone.  “There’s more fun coming.  I’ve got Seymour coming to visit you, soon.  You’ll like him; he’s rather nicer than I am…much
nicer
.  He doesn’t yell or beat.  He’s gentle and gets right to the point!”  The man cackled roughly turning her over and ripping the rest of her clothes off.  He totally ignored the copious amount of blood around her head and neck.  He couldn’t care less about her swollen eye, either.  Trying to cover her torso, her hair flopped over her face as she sobbed and shivered in the crisp late October night air.  He smacked her hands away from her breasts and shoved her hair off of her one good eye.  He shook her until her teeth clacked.

“You are going to let me look at you and you’re going to enjoy this as much as I am…or else.”

The unspoken threat arrested Kyma’s breathing.  She stared at him, dumbfounded.  Her brain refused to go the next logical conclusion.  Kyma’s kickboxing lessons flew from her mind as she froze; immobilized by the images of a thousand news reports she’d seen in her lifetime about rapes gone wrong.  Some part of her brain begged her to kick him in the nuts while another part told her to run.  She did neither as her limbs refused to respond.  He shoved her onto her back.

Frantically scrabbling around in a wan attempt to get away, Kyma found herself very close to one of the plastic tarps.  Something clicked within her.  She grabbed at the tarp trying to pull and throw it at him simultaneously.  He laughed cruelly and wrenched the sturdy blue plastic out of her hands.  Kyma smelled the fresh glasphalt.  In a surprising move, Kyma twisted and crab-walked the few inches towards the glasphalt.  She grabbed at the ground thinking to gather some up and throw it in his eyes.  She only succeeded in ripping her nails and marring the almost hard surface.  She only managed to throw a few flecks of glasphalt at him.  He laughed and wiped them off.

“So, you do like it rough?”

Her eyes grew wide as he grabbed her again and palmed her left breast while forcing her legs open with his knee.  “Let’s see if you like it as rough as I do.”

***

The dark coven’s High Priestess was the last to walk between the bonfires on the smoldering ash-coated coals.  Once she was back on the park’s cool grass, she walked over to the others ignoring her scorched flesh while refusing to limp.  She entered the center of their circle and reached within the folds of her robe.  With flourish, she pulled out two objects — a shiny silver curved knife with a dark leather handle and a shallow silver bowl.

“With this ceremonial knife, I will take a drop of blood from each of you, mix it with my own and we will say the final incantation.  Using the blood from the goat we will offer our essences to the Fury for it to bless us with its presence!  We must move quickly.  It is almost the witching hour of Samhain — our High New Year!  Call upon the Fury!  Ask it to avenge the wrongs done to us collectively and individually!  Ask it to come and work through us to find the perpetrators and wrong-doers in our lives!  Call upon the Fury!”

The keening of the women rose as the Priestess went around the circle taking blood from each woman’s finger.  Her smile grew broader as she nicked her own finger and added it to the dark viscous liquid already in the bowl…

***

With his hand around her slight throat her good eye rolled back so only the white showed.  He relieved himself, yet again, inside of her.  Kyma barely gurgled.  The pain was blinding and the lower half of her body was on fire.  Her nipples were bloody from his masochistic foreplay.  Her stomach was scored beyond recognition from the knife he used to elicit her screams which he smothered with his mouth and teeth as he bit her tongue while driving deep into her.

With her knees tented and as far back as he could get them, he gave one last thrust which tore her irreparably.  His hand loosened from around her neck as he doubled over her panting.  Even so, his excitement was still building for the climax that would not be physical for him but would definitely be for her.

***

With all of the blood collected, the High Priestess motioned for the goat to be brought forward.  She knelt on the grass.  Her feet were numb but throbbed incessantly.  She ignored it in her rising elation at the culmination of 5 years of dreaming of this very moment.  She began chanting as she nicked another of her fingers with the knife.  She watched as the blood dripped to join the rest of the blood in the bowl.  With a triumphant grin, the dark High Priestess threw her head back as she chanted and swayed while still on her knees.  With her eyes rolling back into her head, she brought the bottom of the bowl to her forehead touching it lightly.  All the while chanting in the old language calling the Fury to them in the way it would most understand.

It was mere moments before midnight and the Priestess could feel the tug from the Otherworld; could feel the Fury struggling against the Veil trying to burst free and come to them.

“Join me my sisters!  The Fury comes!  Chant with me the prayers of old!”

On cue, they all began warbling.  Seconds later several of the coven members began spinning like whirling dervishes, robes ballooning with air, as they called to the Fury begging it to come; imploring it to assist them in moving to the next level in their lives and in their wicked development.

“Louder!  Call the Fury to us!”

The High Priestess screeched her joy as she felt the initial rip in the Veil.  The Fury pushed against the small tear forcing it open.  It was seconds until midnight…

***

Kyma’s assailant reached up over her head and grabbed the wickedly sharp bloody Swiss Army knife.  He straightened up and looked down at her.  He smacked her lightly; he wanted her awake for this the important moment of their joining.  He wanted to see the life flee from her one good eye; the other was now permanently shut.  He wanted to drink it in and experience the raw power of being the one to take her life.

“Wake up!”

He slapped her harder and her undamaged blue eye focused on him dull recognition coming into it slowly.  The face beneath him looked nothing like the young 29-year-old former cheerleader and beauty queen.  This woman looked old.  Battered.  Used-up.  Bruised.  Her face so swollen and mottled it was barely recognizable.  But, she was his masterpiece;
his
creation for Halloween.  With a deep sigh, he smiled and breathed out the one word that summarized all of his emotions.