Dark Portal 1/Dark Portal 1.adf/TEXT/Bestial-1

Text File | 1992-09-02 | 24KB | 443 lines

@ "BESTIAL INFLUX" (Part One) By Andrew Campbell 1993



                                 -1-

#  My name is Linda Fairhurst. Before I die, I want to tell you
# something:


                                 -2-

 As far as I can tell, it began when I was fourteen, during Uncle
Colin's chaotic forty fifth birthday party. It was a celebration for
him and a turning point towards death for me.
 Uncle Colin lived with his wife, a plump, vivacious French woman,
somewhere around the southern outskirts of Oldham, in a house much
bigger than ours.
 They had three sons : James, Paul and Francois, all of whom were well
into their teens, and I can remember seeing them standing, waiting for
my arrival like tom cats watching a hopping bird, in the illuminated
front doorway that horrible summer evening.
 I was wearing a bright white party frock, a flamboyant, frilly affair
that made me feel over-dressed and somewhat silly. Shelley, my younger
sister, was dressed in a pink frock with a tiered net skirt, much like
mine, but she was only ten and the garment made her look annoyingly
pretty.
 The night was gradually darknening and the air was becoming cold. High
above me, I could see yellowish-black clouds forming, as though
focusing themselves around Uncle Colin's house in anticipation of the
terrible events that were impending.
 Like guards escorting two royal princesses, Mum and Dad walked across
the drive at either side of us, both of them smiling at the three boys
who were stood in the doorway, with glasses of champagne in their
hands, ready to greet us.
 Paul, who was fifteen and had a small, developing moustache under his
nose, locked his eyes onto the front of my dress as I approached and
twitched his brows. Startled, I stopped in my tracks and peered down at
myself, expecting to see an oceanic stain of blackberry juice or a big
brown chocolate smear. I didn't see anything apart from the tips of my
shiny black shoes and the whiteness of my frock, and when I looked up
again, I saw that they were all watching me from the doorstep - Mum,
Dad, Shelley, the boys... all of them.
 Confused and embarrassed, I quickly caught up and hesitantly accepted
a narrow glass of champagne from Francois, before entering the enormous
hallway.
 The dazzling light from an over-hanging glass chandelier, mixed with
the strong aroma of tobacco smoke and the laughing and shouting of the
grown-ups made me feel nervous and dizzy.
 We had arrived early, yet even now there were crowds of noisy people
lingering in the hallway and old men and women appearing randomly from
doors, carrying glasses of alcohol and birthday gifts of varying sizes.
 Mum and Dad vanished into the crowd whilst Shelley and I just stood
together, clutching our glasses, peering up the long, spiral staircase
that led to an upstairs balcony.
 "Wow." Shelley said. "Betcha daren't go up there Linda."
 It was a typical remark that was undoubtably aimed at leading us both
towards a big argument. I wasn't in the mood for pointless bickering
though, so I said nothing.
 "It's crap upstairs." someone said very close behind me and I swirled
around, spilling a portion of my unwanted drink.
 It was Paul, his left hand tucked into the pocket of his grey-checked
trousers, his right hand holding a half-empty glass down by his waist.
He was smiling at me in a suspiciously friendly manner and I felt my
cheeks begin to catch fire.
 Paul was a dark, dreamy-eyed boy with neatly combed, jet black hair
and eye-catchingly broad shoulders. I had met him before very briefly
at a dinner party about five years ago, around the time of the Dark
Operation, but he hadn't seemed interested in me back then.
 "Look, I'm sorry." he grinned, revealing a row of big white teeth.
 I nervously glanced around. Shelley had gone ; mingled with the crowd
as usual, but I was substantially relieved because speaking to a boy
in front of my sister was something I felt strangely embarrassed about;
Shelley was one of those charming little sisters who constantly spat
out unkind remarks about all manner of personal things, especially in
situations that involved speaking to members of the opposite sex.
 "Thorry for what?" I said, avoiding his eyes. I was infuriated that
my lisp had disfigured my speech so horribly.
 "I gave you the eye." Paul said uneasily. "I didn't mean to make you
feel uncomfortable-" I glanced at him briefly. "-but, well, you look
really pretty in that dress." He turned away for a moment as an old man
dressed in a brown suit with a red bow tie hurried between us muttering
many opologies.
 I realised that no one had actually told me I looked "pretty" before,
and I felt a delightful explosion of happiness sizzle through my body.
Even though I was looking away from him, Paul noticed I was smiling and
laughed, in the way grown-up men do when they chat up pretty ladies at
parties like this one. I didn't quite know what to do, and through
confusion, I raised the champagne glass to my lips and took a huge
mouthful. I had never tasted it before.
 It was like drinking battery acid. My eyes opened wide and my cheeks
bulged out, then I coughed and spat onto the floor. I took a sharp
breath and stared at the big wet splodge I had created on Uncle Colin's
expensive carpet.
 Several nearby heads turned and stared at me disgustedly, then Paul
appeared beside me and gently took the glass from my hand. He was
smiling in a strange manner, as though he were wearing a mask, behind
which he was not smiling at all, but growling.
 Growling, snarling and hissing ; like rabid dog.


                                  -3-

 "I'll wait outside, Linda." he told me when we arrived at the bathroom
door. "You go and clean yourself up."
 I nodded, wiping moisture from my chin.
 The upstairs landing was decorated in red, white and gold and had so
many exquisite pictures hung on the walls, it reminded me of one of the
Big Galleries I had visited in London as a tiny child. As I had
ascended the stairs, Paul had frequently been forced to take me by the
hand and half-drag me away from the amazing paintings. I was no artist,
but famous illustrations greatly fascinated me, so much so that I had
begged for a selection of Constable's most famous pictures to hang in
my room, much to the surprise of Shelley (who's idea of bedroom art was
semi-naked men, even though she was four years younger than me).
 Apart from a few passing relatives of Uncle Colin's, who I assumed
were carrying out orders for him, it was quiet and gloomy upstairs and
the air was clean, almost refreshing, when compared to the polluted
atmosphere down below.
 Still searching the long, mysterious corridors for paintings, I turned
the palm-sized, golden doorknob of the bathroom and swung the door
open.
 "Hurry now." Paul touched my shoulder gently. "I'll show you some
fantastic paintings when you come out."
 My heart beat quickened. "Will you? Really?"
 "Of course." he smiled again.
 I shivered dicreetly.
 He was still wearing a mask.


                                   -4-

 Uncle Colin's bathroom was spacious, luxurious and very brightly
illuminated. I closed the door behind me and stared at the lock for a
few moments, pondering over whether I should use it. Would Paul take
offence? Surely not. Everyone pulled the latch on when they went to the
toilet... didn't they?
 Feeling suddenly vunerable, I snapped the bolt on. It was a smooth
golden cylinder with a square finger-piece and it fastened securely
enough for me to be satisfied I was safe. A gentle flash of lightning
blinked into the room from an uncurtained window somewhere behind me,
and was soon followed by a deep, groaning rumble.
 I turned around to face the room. The bath-tub itself was shaped in an
enormous pastel-green oval, littered with bottles of expensive shampoo.
There were sponges trimmed into heart shapes, scrubbing brushes that
looked more like toilet brushes, and sat against the far wall below the
fixed shower and the rectangular window, was a tiny furry elephant with
a toothbrush entangled in it's trunk. The toilet was petite and shiny
and also pastel-green ; beside it, nearest to me, was the sink, above
which there was a large square mirror. The ceiling and the walls were
painted creamy white and the floor was an autumn brown ; made smooth
and shiny by the linoleum.
 I walked across to the sink and stared at myself in the mirror. My
dress was splattered with rain-like drops of champagne, but that wasn't
the worst of it. I was wearing a garment that was really much too small
for me, and my whole body seemed terribly exposed. Upon further
investigation, I realised that just above the chest-line of my frock,
my bra was showing by almost two centimetres.
 No wonder Paul stared at you, I thought crossly. How come Shelley
didn't say anything in the car?
 Well, that was a rather stupid question wasn't it? Shelley wouldn't
have muttered so much as a single word even if my knickers had been
showing. She had always been one for a good laugh, even if the focal
point of the jest was upon me, her only sister.
 I wasn't anywhere near as pretty as Mum or Shelley. In fact, staring
at my pale, dreary reflection in the mirror at that moment, I thought I
looked very ugly. My hair was long and blondish-white, unstyled, but
combed neatly so it fell like a fountain onto my shoulders. My nose was
big and rounded, my cheeks were blotchy and chubby, yet even so, my
face was unquestionably childish ; I looked little older than Shelley.
 Staring down at myself, I noticed that both of my nipples had indented
like tiny white plastic moulds through the material of my clothing. I
didn't have very big breasts, but my chest was by no means flat, and
the tight-fitting dress I had squeezed into hardly helped to hide the
fact that I was "growing up" (as Mum had delicately worded it when I
had nervously approached her a few years ago, to ask for my first bra).
My legs were pale, skinny, but not exactly twigs, and I stood as tall
as most girls of my age.
 Cinderella with a lisp and a not-quite-beautiful-face, I thought dully
as I turned on the hot water tap to wash my sticky hands. I played
around with a silky bar of expensive soap for a while, enjoying my
solitude. I rubbed foam onto my face, harmlessly pretending that the
substance was the content of a magic potion created by my very own
Fairy Godmother ; a mixture that would transform me into the most
beautiful girl in the world.
 With my face plastered with soap-suds, I looked up and stared into the
mirror at my white reflection.
 The bubbles were not bubbles, but maggots ; millions of writhing
maggots, eating away at my cheeks, feasting upon my flesh. A trio of
them dropped like living bomb-capsules from my chin and landed in the
shallow water of the bowl, issuing three heart-stopping plops.
 Without screaming, I ducked my head down again, lashed my trembling
hands under the running water and slapped my face feverishly.
 Millions of rainbow-crystal bubbles splattered into the sink and began
to slide towards the plug hole, some joining the speedy flow of water
from the tap. I took a sharp breath, creating a sound like a whistling
kettle, then flicked my head up and stared at myself in the mirror
again.
 My face was clean, smooth, untouched. My breasts were rising and
falling rapidly like two small balloons floating amidst a rough sea.
 Panting, I stared into the bathroom sink, hands clutching both taps.
 There were no maggots.
 Just bubbles.


                                   -5-

 "Hey, are you alright?" Paul asked me when I finally exited the
bathroom.
 "Thure, I'm ok." I said softly, closing the door behind me ; muffling
out the hissing and swirling of the recently flushed lavatory.
 "What say we check out those paintings?" he suggested.
 I considered telling him about the vision of the maggots I had
experienced, but ended up deciding it would be a bad idea. Paul was not
the kind of boy who listened to crazy things like that. He was the son
of Uncle Colin, the richest of all my relatives ; it would be silly of
me to mention such a horrible episode of my own sick imagination. Which
was surely all it had been : just the dark side of my brain giving me a
late April Fool's joke.
 Hand shaking, I planted several knuckles between my lips and began to
chew nervously. I glanced down the landing in the direction that Paul
was looking and a crack of thunder exploded louder than ever outside.
 "Whath down there?" I asked him, bringing away my glistening knuckles.
 Paul gave me a vaguely repulsed look before straightening his face and
putting on his eerie, smiling mask again.
 "The bedrooms." he said quietly.


                                   -6-

 I was so entranced by the surreal beauty and artistic brilliance of
the re-production of Dali's "Metamorphosis of Narcissus" hung on Uncle
Colin's bedroom wall, that I hardly noticed Paul close the door and
begin to approach me.
 In the picture there was a large hand that looked as though it had
been created from stone, rising out of a dark, murky beach - the shore
of a reflective pool of mysterious water. Clutched between finger and
thumb was an egg from which a small white flower - rather like a daisy
- was beginning to blossom.
 I focused on the fore-ground of the painting, examining the strange
little figures with distorted faces, and the blackening mountains which
were atmospherically hooded by thunder clouds.
 Then I felt raindrops pattering onto my legs and a warm wind blowing
against my neck. I stood still, staring at the illustration, feeling
icey rain tickling my thighes, running down into my panties. I felt a
hot wind bite into my neck, tousle my hair and nibble at my ears.
 I returned abruptly to Uncle Colin's bedroom and the strange visions
evaporated.
 The wind and the rain, however, did not retreat.
 "Paul?" I said, blinking.
 "Shhhh." he was right behind me. "Just stay still. Enjoy it."
 I became aware of his presence ; his fingers mingling with my pubic
hair, his tongue swirling around the back of my neck, the front of his
pants pressing up against my bottom.
 "No!" I swung around and crashed against Dali's masterpiece, making
the frame totter on it's nail. Paul's mouth was wet and his eyes were
narrow. I wanted to scream, for his mask had finally been lifted and
what I saw before me was inhuman ; a creature than feasted upon the shy
innocents, and I knew for certain - by searching his lizard-like eyes -
that I was by no means the first of his unfortunate victims.
 "Thay away from me." I said, briefly closing my eyes.
 The creature moved closer. "Linda, I won't hurt you-"
 "Juth thay away from me."
 "Linda, don't make me cross."
 "Go away. Right NOW!" I shouted, gasping for air. Paul's face was half
concealed in darkness and his only visible eye twinkled menacingly. I
watched his lips curl and his nose slide upwards.
 "Lift up your skirt." he demanded.
 "No." I said fearfully.
 "Lift it now. Or I'll hurt you."
 "No. I thed no."
 "Fucking ugly bitch!" he hissed and planted his hands onto my breasts.
I grabbed his wrists furiously and tried to move them, but they were as
equally strong and immovable as two metal posts.
 "Pleathe," I begged. "Don't touch me. Juth leath me alone."
 Breathing like an exhausted lion, the Paul-creature forced his right
hand down the front of my dress and began to rummage around, in the
same manner as a starving tramp might search a dustbin.
 "Jesus you're so small!" he growled into my ear, pinching my left
nipple and attempting to cup my breast as a whole. His elbow brushed my
nose and I caught a strong aroma of male, adolecent sweat.
 "You know your problem?" he said suddenly and snatched his hands away
from me. "You're ugly. I mean REALLY UGLY. Have you ever looked at
yourself in the mirror? Don't you want to scream when you see that?
Huh? Do you? Huh? You fucking grotesque whore!"
 He crashed his right shoe down ontop of my own and I screamed.
 "Ugly!" he laughed wickedly, lifting my skirt up as high as it would
go. He stretched the hem up to my face and tried to cram the material
into my mouth, yanking at my knickers with his other hand as hard as he
could.
 "Go away! Leath me alone!" I cried, waving my hands around blindly.
 The Paul-thing cackled and wafted my skirt down. He slapped my face
continuously, making my cheeks sting with pain.
# SLAP! SLAP!
 "That lisp is just so stupid!"
# SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
 "I betcha can't ask for a fuck can you? Eh? Well, can you?"
# SLAP! SLAP!
 "Go on. Ask me. 'Than I Thave a thuk please Thaul?'"
# SLAP!
 He began to laugh. "You've never been fucked have you?"
# SLAP! SLAP!
 "Well have you? Eh? No boys even look at you do they? Eh you tarty
slut? Eh? None of them ever will because you're so ugly. I'd rather
have sex with an elephant than try to fuck something like you."
# SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
 He came down again, meaning to grab my hair, but this time I whisked
my hands onto his wrist and held him securely away from my face. His
fingers waved around like pink worms.
 "Ith my teeth!" I yelled into his cruel, twisted face. "Ith my teeth
that make me have a lithp! Ith not my fault-" Whilst I cried out the
last word of that desperate speech, Paul spat down my throat.
 I was instantly silenced ; drools of saliva decended my chin. A flash
of lightning illuminated the room for a split second, giving me an
unwanted glimps of an evil, merciless monster.
 Whilst a storm ravaged the land, Paul ravaged me.


                                 -7-

 Uncle Colin, who was seated at the very end of the huge, crowded
dining table, stood up to make his greatly demanded birthday speech.
 "Ladies and gentlemen!" he waved his hands around like a composer and
the laughter, chatting and tinkling of cutlery slowly died away.
 Uncle Colin looked very much like a stereotype mad professor. His head
was blistery and balding, and the only hair he possessed had, for some
reason, chosen to cluster in untidy greyish mound at the back of his
scalp. He had a heavy jaw-line, a half-developed double-chin and two
beady black eyes that twinkled in the yellowish light coming from an
overhead bulb (which was flickering occasionally, reminding us all of
the thunderous storm that was currently overhead).
 He used his hands to dramatically emphasise his speech ; this, working
in close partnership with his black and white suit and tie, made him
look perhaps more like an insane composer than a mindless professor.
 "Well I can't believe I'm fourty five." he announced and paused,
anticipating an outburst of posh laughter that quite literally rattled
the contents of the dining table.
 I found nothing about Uncle Colin's "joke" funny at all. I thought he
looked and sounded utterly pathetic. Shelley, however, was giggling
beside me and glancing across the table at Mum and Dad every so often.
I gave her a long, disbelieving stare, then reluctantly returned my
attention to my Uncle. He was wafting his arms up and down furiously as
though trying to create a breeze to help carry away an incredibly musky
fart.
 "I wish to express my greatest thanks to everyone here this evening,
you are all so very kind. And, since I'm not very good at making
speeches, I'll just say a few individual hello's."
 Paul was watching his father through the narrow eye-slits of his mask.
The mask with the innocent smile ; the mask that, less than an hour
ago, I had seen fully removed.
 "...and thanks to Sarah and Douglas..." Uncle Colin was saying,
grinning broadly at my parents.
 Paul's head slowly turned. A clap of thunder boomed behind the
curtained windows and I shivered uncontrollably.
 "...and of course, their lovely daughter Shelley..."
 Paul's eyes engaged mine and I felt a pain between my legs. Fear and
the knowledge of rejection began to work together and churn my stomach.
 "...oh and not forgetting Little Lispy Linda." Uncle Colin laughed.
 There was a pause so sudden and so excruciatingly silent, that I
momentarily forgot about the Paul-creature and focused entirely on my
parents. They were looking at me with unsure smiles, and it wasn't
until the first few heads turned to examine me - the subject of Uncle
Colin's joke - that I felt an instinctive urge to verbally defend
myself.
 "I don't have I lithp." I said, and in the silence of the room, my
voice seemed to possess a humerous, babyish tone.
 Mum allowed a sharp giggle to escape her and she placed her hand
wisely over her mouth. I stared at her, horrified.
 No way, I thought. Surely she didn't laugh at me just then. Surely she
didn't do such a thing, not to her own daughter-
 Before I knew it, the whole room was shaking with laughter. I watched,
my mouth hung open, as roudy, fat old men held their stomachs and women
covered their faces. Paul - that monstrous demon who wore a sinister
mask - grinned broadly as the laughter droned on, and mimed across the
table to me:
# UGLY BITCH.

                                 -8-

 It was Shelley who triggered me to act.
 "Linda you sound so silly!" she giggled at me, eyes watering.
 That was IT.
 During the period of time I had been sexually molested by Paul - less
than an hour ago - I had not plumetted over the border-line that
seperated anger from uncontrollable rage. No ; because Paul had
instilled fear into me.
 This however, a humiliation of the most painful kind, was far from
frightening : it was infuriating.
 I was being laughted at, joked about, plagued and teased for something
that I had no control over, something that none of Them had ever
experienced. They didn't know how horrible it felt to think words
clearly, then hear them slur when they were released from my mouth.
They didn't know about Paul, about what he had done to me in the
bedroom. They didn't know about the Dark Operation - what it felt like
to experience agonising surgery without any anaesthetic... and They
didn't care.
 My head screaming with inner-pain, I thought : They include Mum and
Dad, because Mum and Dad LAUGHED. They laughed at me. I saw them...they
were laughing at me just like all the others.
 "...their charming daughter Shelley..." Uncle Colin had said, and he
had been correct in every way. Shelley was their daughter. I wasn't -
not anymore ; parents didn't make fun of their own daughters. It just
wasn't right. Wasn't... acceptable.
 Shelley, I remember chanting through my mind until the moment my
soaring rage exploded : Shelley... their daughter Shelley, Shelley,
SHELLEY, SHELLEY, SHELLEY SHELLEY-

                                 -9-

 I stood up, grabbed Shelley by her hair and threw her onto the dining
table. She landed with a scream and sent clusters of dirty dishes
catapulting in all directions. Glasses spilled, cutlery clashed, and
the laughter vanquished from the room so suddenly, it was like someone
had pressed the MUTE button in the middle of a popular TV-quiz show.
 "Linda!" Mum gasped and stood up. Shelley was crying from her sprawled
position in the middle of the table. No one offered to assist her,
because no one was looking at her ; all eyes were upon me.
 "Get lotht." I hissed to my mother, not a flicker of guilt burning my
heart.
 She blinked at me disbelievingly and shouted : "Linda sit down now!"
# "No!"
 "If you don't sit down you stupid girl I'll-"
 "Oh fuck off!" I screamed and kicked back my chair. Mum sat down
jerkily as though dragged my ropes and Uncle Colin's mouth opened and
closed ten consecutive times. "I'm thick of you all! You're all tho
horrible! So fucking horrible! I hate you! I hate you all!"
 Those last few words reduced me to tears.
 I bolted around, crashed into my chair with a wail and a thud, heard
Paul cackle at me hysterically, picked up the stupid chair in both
hands, turned to face the dining table, threw the chair at those red
faces, swung back around before the collision occured, ran for the door
of the room whilst screams and cries and exploding glass followed me,
grasped the handle, tugged it open, ran down the seemingly eternal
hallway, passed the stairs, heard my mother and father shouting for me,
ignored them, reached the front door, gasped for air, opened the door,
felt the cold wind whip against my cheeks, squinted and stared into the
blackness...
 Then I ran out into the angry, hostile night - alone.


# Now read part two... and prepare to shudder.