6 comments/ 14064 views/ 12 favorites Sideshow Sylvie By: SecondCircle This is for the 2012 Halloween contest so please be sure to vote. This is a long one (no pun intended) but it's well worth the read. Enjoy. * "I swear man, I'm all out of creativity," I said taking another swig of beer. Rick shook his head and laughed. He opened his refrigerator and fetched two more bottles just as I was finishing my beer and tossed the empty container into his trash can. "No you're not, Craig," he told me. "You've just hit a wall. Every writer is supposed to hit a wall now and then, right?" I took one of the beers and twisted off the lid, leaning against the island in the center of Rick's kitchen. "Yeah, but it usually doesn't last six months," I complained. "Roger just called again yesterday to check on the book. I had to tell him I scrapped the whole story and started over." "Agents are supposed to call and check on you, man," Rick said. "That's kind of their job." Rick's two sons flew past the kitchen and ran up his stairs. He shouted something at them about not running in the house. Angela, Rick's wife, walked past the kitchen at that moment. "Hey Craig," she greeted me as she passed. "How's the new horror story coming?" "It's not," I replied with a dull voice. "I'm gonna retire early at thirty and move in with you guys." "Doubtful, sweetie," Angela retorted with a grin. "I can barely handle the testosterone level in this house as it is." Angela headed into the laundry room as she spoke. I took another drink of beer and sighed. Rick chuckled and shook his head again. "You'll think of something, man, I know you will," he said. "You write some good shit. Like the Headhunter series you did. That was pretty freaky stuff, and I'm not just saying that because I'm your best friend." "That's the problem, " I told him. "I've used most of my great ideas already. The last thing I wrote seemed too much like Headhunter." "So, come up with some different ideas," Rick suggested. "That's easier than it sounds," I said. "I've had some good ideas but I can't wrap a good story line around them." Rick appeared to be thinking. Then his face brightened. "I have an idea if you're up for it," Rick said excitedly. "I'm up for anything at this point," I groaned. "A couple years ago I sold the old Morrison Estate," Rick said. "You know, the old plantation house that was renovated?" I nodded. "Well, the guy that bought it was a pretty crazy character," Rick continued. "He was loaded with money, too. He was a really nice guy, but he was a little weird. He must have been from England or something, because he had the accent, you know? Anyway, I helped him close on the place and all that, and he told me a lot about himself. He said he used to be the head of like this crazy sideshow thing that used to travel all over the world." I shrugged. "So write a story about a bunch of sideshow freaks?" "Well, not necessarily," Rick said. "See, this guy, Charles, traveled all over and saw some pretty freaky stuff. He told me a bunch of stories about the places he went, and he said he would bring back all kinds of souvenirs, like shrunken heads and conjoined elephant fetuses and stuff like that." I cringed as Rick was talking, though my interest was beginning to grow. "Was he in the circus or something?" I asked. "I think so," Rick answered. "For a while anyway. Look, if there's anybody you could get a good a good idea from, it's him. I still have his number at the real estate office and we had a really good relationship back when I helped him find the house. I could arrange a meeting for you two and you could pick his brain for some creepy shit to write about." I thought for a minute about what Rick was saying. It was common knowledge that writer's always write about what they are familiar with, and what they don't know they learn from a good source. Maybe all I needed was a good source of knowledge to draw ideas from. "Do you think he'd be willing to help me?" I asked. Rick nodded. "This guy loves this type of thing. He never stopped filling my ear with the crazy things he'd done and the scary shit he'd seen. He's definitely gonna love you." I shrugged and took another swig of beer. "Sure, call him up and have him contact me," I said. ------ Three days later on a cold and rainy Saturday morning, I was in my car in the driveway in front of the huge old Morrison Estate house. It wasn't a gigantic mansion by any means, but it had been a large plantation home long ago, much larger than your average home. Rick was right about the house being renovated, for I couldn't see any signs of age or wear though I knew the house had to be a hundred years old. The long gravel drive made a loop back to the road. The old steel fence that used to surround the house was gone. I could remember seeing this place as a kid when it was overgrown with weeds and vines. I used to think it was haunted like most of the other kids did. Seeing it now with it's trimmed lawn and newly planted willow trees, I hardly recognized the place. I climbed out of my car into the cold drizzling rain. Pulling the collar of my jacket close to my neck, I glanced up at the grey misty sky above. Most people would hate this weather, but as a horror fiction writer I appreciated scenes like this that helped to get me in the mood. I popped the trunk of my car and retrieved my luggage. When Rick had contacted this man to ask for his help, Charles Tibbord, he had called me with an answer that night. He said that he would be delighted to have a talk with me and help with a story idea. Charles had even gone as far as to ask me to stay the night in one of his guest rooms, telling me that he had a plethora of memorabilia and collections that might help with my creative process. Though I was a bit nervous about staying somewhere strange, the idea excited me as well. To spend the evening here in this old house would really help me get my creative juices flowing. Ignoring the drizzling rain, I made my way up the concrete steps of the large house to the front door. I half expected to see a heavy iron door knocker or something like that, but I saw only a small glowing doorbell. I rung the bell and stood patiently beside my bags on the porch. The heavy door swung open a minute later and I was greeted by a short timid Hispanic woman in a flowered dress and an apron. "May I help you, sir?" She asked with a thick accent. "Uh, I'm here to see, uh, Mr. Charles Tibbord," I said. It was then I heard a voice from with the house call out to us. "Outstanding!" The voice shouted excitedly. "Ms. Vasquez, it's alright, I've been expecting this young man." As I peered into the house past the lady at the door, a older gentleman dressed in a casual black suit came walking briskly towards us. Ms. Vasquez, as I presumed was her name, stepped aside and the man came forward to greet me with his hand extended. "Mr. Duncan, it is a good day indeed to meet you," he said with a bright smile. "Charles Tibbord at your service, sir." I returned his smile and took his hand to shake. "Hello, Mr. Tibbord," I said. "Thank you for inviting me to your home." "Oh, please, Mr. Duncan," he said, shaking my hand fervently, "call me Charles." He then turned to the Hispanic lady beside him and said, "Ms. Vasquez, could you be a dear and fetch us both a cup of coffee, Madam?" Ms. Vasquez smiled warmly, albeit nervously, at Charles before turning and heading back inside. I studied Mr. Tibbord as he spoke with her. Though he was older, probably in his early sixties, he was well groomed and healthy looking. He had a fairly full head of combed white hair and a mustache of the same color. His eyes were a bright clear blue and he had a dazzling set of pearly teeth that accentuated his cheerful smile. I couldn't help but think of how much he looked like the actor, Malcolm McDowell. "Please, please, come on inside, Mr. Duncan," he said, motioning to me. I walked in and examined the interior of the house. The hall was directly before us, with a staircase leading up to the second floor beside it. There were beautiful decorations everywhere. I saw exotic looking plants, fine curtains and tapestries, antique furniture and wall decor, and several odd looking paintings. I studied one odd painting on the wall in the hallway. It didn't really depict any scene at all, but was just a wild blotching of paint and confusing color schemes, as though the artist had been blind while painting it. Charles must have strange taste, I thought to myself. Closing the door behind us, Charles motioned me to follow him deeper into his home. "Come, let us go to the sitting room," Charles said. "You can leave your things here and Ms. Vasquez will take them to your room." "Uh, thank you," I said, unsure what to say. Charles guided me briskly down the long hall toward the back of the house, talking excitedly the whole time. "I must say, Mr. Duncan, I am so delighted that Richard suggested that we meet," Charles began. "I am something of an enthusiast for your kind of work. We aren't very different, you and I. I regret that I haven't read any of your books, however." "Well, I haven't written that many," I told him as I followed. "I used to write for a magazine. I only started writing horror fiction a few years ago." "Then I'm very sure you'll have a long and successful career ahead of you," Charles said, turning as he walked to give me another bright smile. "I am aware that Richard has told you about some of my work, as well." "Well, not entirely," I admitted. "He mentioned that you used to travel as the head of a sideshow." It was then that he led me into his sitting room, a large open space with a very high ceiling. We stood on a crimson colored carpet, and looking around I saw bookcases against nearly every wall, a large desk, and two large chairs on either side of a long wooden coffee table. Charles stopped as we entered the sitting room and turned to face me, still smiling. "Your friend was correct," he said in his mild English accent. "Though he did not explain thoroughly, I'm afraid." Charles spread his arms, as though presenting himself. "You are looking at the Terrible Charles Tibbord!" He exclaimed. "Once the leader of Tibbord's Traveling Troupe of Terror!" I was intrigued as soon as Charles said the word "terror." "Hold on," I said smiling. "Rick didn't say anything about there being an element of horror to your show." "Why, that was the principle theme, my friend!" Charles said, his blue eyes twinkling. "Come. Sit with me a moment and I'll tell you all about it." Charles took a seat in one of the large chairs near the long coffee table. I followed suit and took my place in the chair across from him. I felt eager to hear what he had to say more than ever now since he obviously was an enthusiast of horror. "My father was a strict man," Charles began, adjusting himself in his seat. "As a boy, I was never allowed to play as the other children did. He always wanted me busy, whether it was helping him with his work as a mortician, or more often at study. I used to spend hours glued to my books, fascinated by science and literature, complex mathematics and biological chemistry. "I grew extremely intelligent at a very young age. Never was I content with any amount of knowledge that I accrued. As I grew into my twenties, my father wanted me to attend medical school to become a doctor, and so I did. At first, this occupation was very interesting to me. I spent a decade as a medical doctor and then a surgeon, enthralled by the science of medicine and the human body." Charles paused for a moment, appearing to ponder something. I waited patiently in the silence of the room. "I grew weary of the profession after some time," Charles continued. "Of course, I had several hobbies that kept me somewhat busy. I dabbled a bit in chemistry, and I even wrote a few fictional stories myself, though I never saw any of them through to publication. "My father passed one summer, my only parent taken from the world. I mourned his death, but received a large inheritance from him. Finally, after I paid the expenses for my schooling, I began to seek after a profession more, eh, suited to my tastes. "When I was young, you see, I remember the circus coming to town for an entire week," Charles went on, a smile spreading on his face. "I couldn't have been more thrilled. After much tribulation I convinced my father to take me. It was an absolute shock for me." Charles through his head back and laughed, a contagious action that made me smile just watching him. "I was terrified, Mr. Duncan," Charles admitted. "All the wild animals that I had only read about displayed before me, their growls and roars deafening to my ears. The strange and foreign looking performers dazzled me, but the clowns.... I was stricken with such a fear of these painted figures that I would wail and hide behind my father's legs. "I remember the midway and coming across the freakshow. Now, it was here, Mr. Duncan, that I learned true horror. The twisted figures that they paraded upon the stage were appalling to me. I specifically recall a man with supposedly no face that haunted my dreams for months." A saucer and a small cup was suddenly before my face, startling me from my trance of envisioning Charles's freakshow. Ms. Vasquez had brought our coffee. I politely smiled and took the dish from her, taking a meager sip of the hot beverage. It was sweet and rich, and warmed my insides as I drank. It surprised me that we were drinking coffee, for I assumed that Charles would have ordered up tea for us instead. "Was your father angry?" I asked Charles as he thanked Ms. Vasquez for his coffee. "To my surprise he wasn't," Charles answered, sipping from his cup as his maid left the room. "He was actually quite understanding of the affair. Though I had nightmares for several weeks after that night, I was incredibly intrigued by all that I had seen. I begged my father to take me back to the circus, and he did. He told me that he was quite impressed by my bravery, a trait that he admired. "So began my obsession with the bizarre and the odd. From that day to this one, I have always collected obscurities from all over, things so strange or grotesque that they bend the human mind. I began to respect and adore the power that fear has over the mind. It guides us to survive, but draws our curiosity." "Is that why you started your show?" I asked him. "Precisely!" Charles said, his finger waving excitedly. "I left my work as a doctor to travel with a gentleman who ran a carnival that roamed the world entertaining the masses. He put me in charge of the very thing I feared as a boy, his freak show. I loved all of the strange and weird characters that I worked with. "Soon, together with the unique individuals in my care, I formed my troupe. I added a specific little twist to my show however. People are repulsed by freaks and things of a twisted nature, but simultaneously drawn to them. I decided my attraction would wield the power of fear, and I designed it as a horror show, complete with bizarre props and freaks of nature, as well as actors that I paid to add a certain hint of theater to it all." "So it was kind of a haunted attraction in a way?" I suggested. "More or less," Charles said, sipping his coffee. "And why not? Why gawk at these people as though they were monkeys at a zoo? Why not give them the exact power that they had over me when I was a boy?" Charles wore a proud expression as he straightened his collar. "And so," he said, "I formed Tibbord's Traveling Troupe of Terror. You should have seen us, Mr. Duncan. There was a Russian man that we dressed as a spider, for he had four arms, you see. We had a Latino woman with the tail of a rat! There was a giant ten feet tall who could crush anything in his bare hands! Agatha was a gypsy woman with no eyes, that could somehow see the future. Siamese twins, tribal cannibal children, a half man half goat... you name your fear, Mr. Duncan, I had it!" I nodded in interest, picturing the bizarre things that Charles described to me. I could already begin to think of directions in which I could lead a new story, but I hardly thought of writing at the moment. I was too intrigued by his story. I found myself wishing that I could have seen such an attraction nowadays. "We traveled the globe, tantalizing and terrifying people of every culture with our abominable attraction," Charles continued. "The freaks and actors basked in their ability to horrify the masses. Yet, even as we served to scare and entertain, I always ran across things in my travels that were even more frightful. Sometimes I would find new recruits that wanted to be part of the show, or new oddities to add to my growing collection." Charles set his coffee on the table between us and leaned close to me. I could feel an electric tension between us as he spoke. "Mr. Duncan, if you could but have witnessed the burial rituals of the tribes in Africa," he said, his voice dropping to a low menacing tone. "If only you could have seen the girl in Ireland that could whisper to the dead, or the Cult of the Moon in northern China and their lewd and perverse offering to a shadow demon that they believed fed on the blood of virgins under a new moon." The hair stood on my neck as Charles spoke, and the sitting room suddenly seemed dark and ominous around me. I felt my mouth growing dry and I took a sip of coffee, which now was beginning to chill. My eyes were locked in the icy gaze of Mr. Tibbord as he wove his tales with great and terrible skill. A smile then suddenly spread across his face. "Do forgive me, Mr. Duncan," Charles chuckled. "It used to be my passion to speak with such suspense and morbidity. It always drew the audience deeper into the show, you see." He paused a moment, tapping his forefinger on his chin. "Has a horrid story idea crept into your head yet?" He asked me with a enthusiastic grin. "I've sort of thought of a few things that I think could do the trick," I told him. "But honestly, it's a bit hard to turn fresh ideas into great stories." Charles suddenly clapped his hands together and stood. "Well then, Mr. Duncan," he said to me with a sparkle in his crystal eyes, "would you like to see what I have in storage then? I've still kept a few 'odds and ends' if you catch my meaning. One thing in particular is sure to spook even you, I'd wager." A tiny shiver crawled down my spine. Even so, I was eager for whatever Charles wanted to show me. I set my coffee on the table and rose from my seat. "I'd love to," I answered. "Follow me then my friend," Charles said happily. He straightened his jacket and headed for the door of the sitting room. Again he kept a brisk pace, teeming with excitement. I followed close behind him, feeling a little nervous about what he might present to me. While it was true that I loved horror and macabre, these elements were entirely different when confronting them in person. I always used to chastise Rick for criticizing horror movies too harshly. He used to point out things that he would have done differently in certain situations, or laugh at a girl that tripped over a fallen tree in the woods while trying to escape a killer. I would point out that while you could sit on your couch in the comfort of your own home and talk about how easy these situations could be to handle, being right in the middle of a terrifying experience is a different experience altogether. Now I began to realize how true my own advice was. I had spent the last decade writing horror stories and terrifying my audience with fictional characters. Here I was about to come face to face with whatever horrid things this man had hidden away from his travels. Sideshow Sylvie We came to stop by a door near the entrance to Charles's kitchen. He pulled it open and I was staring down a long flight of stairs. It was his basement I realized. The cold air from below hit my skin and the hair on my arm raised. I gazed into the dark pit at the bottom of the steps, my eyes searching for the monsters that my brain had already conjured. Charles glanced back at me. He wore a broad smile and he was practically trembling with excitement. "Let the show begin, Mr. Duncan," he said. He reached over and flipped a switch, illuminating the stairs and the large room below. He then began descending the steps, and I gave a moment's hesitation before following him down. The basement was huge. It had to span out underneath about half of his house. My eyes were bombarded with the scene before me, for there must have been a thousand things to look at in the room. The walls were covered with shelves, stocked full of the strangest items I had ever seen. Jars lined the shelves, all filled with murky liquids and bizarre figures floating inside. I spotted small conjoined animal fetuses in some of the jars. In others there were fleshy things I couldn't identify, and perhaps didn't want to. Odd looking masks hung here and there, some of them tribal looking, while others appeared to look like women's faces. The floor was cluttered with a plethora of strange items. I saw a large taxidermy collection, yet no animal or figure I saw appeared normal. There were conjoined squirrels, six legged sheep, a monkey that had two heads, and so on. Exotic clothes hung from tall racks, as well as malicious looking weapons of all kinds. I even spotted a guillotine in the corner of the room, and it didn't appear to be a prop. There were skulls of many different types of animals, and many were human. Walking amongst the clutter, I saw a human skull that appeared to be disfigured and undersized. I dared not assume whom it could have belonged to. We came to a large stand with an enormous skin of some kind hanging from it in such a way that it was spread for display. It was a dark shade of brown with a thin coat of sleek hair on its surface. The skin appeared to have belonged to some sort of animal about the size of a large dog. At first, I thought it was an animal skin. Then I took a closer look, and my mouth dropped when I saw the creature's face. I saw a what used to be a round head with a long face. Two very large eyes bulged from either side of the head, creamy white and lifeless. The nose was a hideous, puckered, snarling mass of flesh, reminiscent of a bat's snout. From here, there were long appendages that resembled tentacles that stretched several feet down to the floor. At their ends were several nasty grey claws or teeth. I could also see sharp looking barbs on the underside of these appendages. Horrified by the skin but fascinated at the same time, I built up enough courage to touch it. I reached slowly for one of the tentacles and pulled it aside. There behind the hairy appendages, I could see a hole. It honestly closely resembled a pink anus, though I knew it must be a mouth of some sort. I released the tentacle and stepped back quickly, repulsed by what I saw. I turned a frightened gaze to Charles who stood watching patiently beside me, his arms behind his back. My lip quivered as I searched for the words to say. "Th-this is just a fabrication, right?" I asked him nervously. Charles shrugged. "Truthfully, I do not know," he told me. "The troupe and I had performed in Australia, where we met an old aboriginal man who kept this skin on the wall of the cabin in which he lived. He told me that this creature killed his son many years ago, and that he hunted it down in the bush and killed it. From what I can tell it appears to be skin from an actual living beast of some sort. The giant in my show used to wear the skin for our performance." Charles motioned to the far wall of the basement. "If you'll follow me this way, Mr. Duncan, I'll show you something even more fascinating," Charles said. As he walked away, I followed slowly, my eyes still glued to the wretched looking skin. A chill resonated deep within me as my mind conjured up the image of that thing living and breathing and lurking about. I shivered and turned to see what else Mr. Tibbord had in store for me. I was led to a large stainless steel door, that appeared to be the threshold to a huge walk-in freezer. I wondered briefly how Charles managed to get it down in his basement. He was already pulling the door open and reaching inside to flip on a florescent light. The freezer was now illuminated, glowing a frosty pale blue color. Inside, past the clear flaps that hung in the threshold, I could see a long box. To me, it looked an awful lot like a casket. Charles turned to face me. He wore a serious expression on his wizened face. "Mr. Duncan, you must trust me when I tell you that you are in no danger," he said, "but I must warn you that what I'm about to show you might be unsettling. You must also know that I am taking a considerable risk in showing you this, and I ask you only for your complete confidentiality." I swallowed hard, somewhat unnerved by his grave tone and the icy glimmer in his eyes. I nodded to him. "You have my word, Charles," I assured him nervously. With a nod and a polite grin, Charles turned and entered the freezer. I could hear him talk as he began to open the box inside. "The lid sometimes gets frozen shut in here," he called from within. "I suppose that is for the better. Ms. Vasquez is already quite skittish about working here without something like this walking around in the night." The words Charles spoke sent a spike of fear through my chest. What could he have inside the casket? Another creature from a foreign land? Or something worse? I heard a cracking sound, and I saw through the freezer flaps that Charles had gotten the lid open. Again I heard him talking, although now he wasn't speaking to me. He was muttering something to whatever was inside of the casket. "C'mon, my dear," I heard him say in a soft coaxing voice. "C'mon out of there. Come here, my dear, let's go for a walk. You can do it." I felt like running. I was no longer comfortable here in the basement. My mind raced, trying to think of what I should do. I wanted to leave, yet my curiosity was drawn like a magnet to the freezer. I stood anxiously by, my palms sweating and my breath becoming shallow and labored. I could see a figure sit up in the casket slowly, though I couldn't yet make out any specific features. Charles had both of his arms extended, as to help whomever or whatever it was rise from the casket. I could see the figure standing now, with Charles holding it steady for a moment. It was about as tall as Charles, possibly 5'10" in height. A second later, Charles emerged from the freezer alone with a grand smile stretched across his face. I studied him with anticipation. He turned his head back to the freezer. "Sylvie, could you join us out here?" Charles called into the freezer. "It's alright, my dear, it's time for a walk." My breath caught in my chest as I glimpsed a pale silhouette through the freezer flaps. Then, a head pushed through the flaps. I suppressed a cry of shock when I saw the pale figure that emerged. The first thing I noticed were the eyes, pale white and glazed over, with only a cloudy hint of the irises that once were. It was a woman, but a pale ghost of a woman. She had long, straight, milky colored hair, which I assumed at one time might have been blonde. Her facial features were smooth and round. She wore a long Victorian dress, which obviously was an antiquity. It left her shoulders and the tops of her ample breasts exposed, for the sleeves were but frilly straps that slipped up to the top of her arm. Her skin was a pale bloodless color, and her lips and the sunken areas beneath her white eyes had a slightly blue tint to them. Her figure was marvelous to behold, and the simple but elegant dress displayed it well. The pale woman's breasts appeared large and supple, though they were compressed upward by the tight dress she wore. Her waist was narrow down to where her hips flared wide. The dress masked her legs, for it extended to the floor where its frilly edges were dirty and shredded. Though she was a frightening thing to behold, the ghastly woman was undeniably beautiful. "Mr. Duncan," Charles said, smiling proudly at me, "I would like you to meet Sylvie." I gawked at the woman before me, at her pale skin, white eyes, and faded hair. I watched as her head rolled slowly about on her neck. It appeared as though Sylvie, as Charles called her, was examining the room, though the strange way she held her head also made her seem like she was listening for something. She swayed ever so slightly, her hands brushing the air feeling at something that wasn't there. Sylvie seemed unaware that we were in the room with her, though she appeared to respond to the sound of Charles's voice. It was her eyes that disturbed me the most, however. They were lifeless and void of emotion. She didn't blink, but instead maintained a blank expression. They seemed almost fake at times like they weren't able to move much like a doll's eyes. When they did move, however, it was a shutter inducing sight to behold. "W-what...." I stuttered, flinching as Sylvie's eyes fluttered across me when she heard my voice. "What is-" "Who is she would be the more correct question," Charles interjected. "Or rather, who was she. Sylvie was a performer in my troupe, just before we disbanded and I moved to the United States. I recruited her in France where she lived. She spoke many languages and was a very smart girl. She was a contortionist, and the very best in my opinion. She could position her body and her appendages in ways that disturbed the mind at the sight. Sylvie was, and still is, a very beautiful young woman, but she was very vain and unpredictable." Charles paused, his eyes wandering up and down the ghastly figure's form. "When we traveled to the islands in the Gulf of Mexico," he continued, "we stopped in Haiti for a show. I happened across a small shop that sold a wide variety of local curiosities. I found a book there, a small tome that was actually written in Latin, a language in which I am well versed having been a doctor, as you know. The shopkeeper was a young peddler who didn't have much enthusiasm for the things he sold, and told me the tome was a book that someone had fabricated. He said that within it were certain rites and spells that ancient Haitian tribesman performed routinely. I read through it, and decided to purchase the tome, thinking at the very least that it would make a neat prop for one of our shows. "Reading the book one night, I discovered a passage that translated to say 'recall he that has gone.' By the context of the passages, I discerned that this was an incantation for reanimating the dead." My blood ran cold as I heard Charles say the words. Staring at the horrid yet tantalizing creature before me, my mind reeled, unwilling to accept what he was telling me. "She...." I fumbled for the words. "Sylvie is dead?" Charles turned to look at her, his brow furrowing. "I believe she is," he said. "It is a sad tale. She poisoned herself. I found her as she was dying and held her in my arms. I couldn't.... I couldn't let her go." Charles now wore a very somber expression. "I had always fancied experimenting with the incantations in that devious tome," he said in a low dreadful voice. "I never thought I would be so mad as to try them on Sylvie." I swallowed hard. "Why did she kill herself?" Again as I spoke, the ghastly woman's eyes drifted upon me, chilling me to the marrow in my bones. Her head twitched, and her fingers groped at the air beside her. "She was in love with me," Charles answered. I shot him a surprised look. He gave me a regretful grin. "I thought it unprofessional to bed a woman in my employment, no matter how lovely she was," he explained. It was then that Sylvie's mouth opened. I was somewhat intrigued by her now, though still hesitant. I dared to step closer, examining her every feature. She rolled her grey tongue around in her mouth, her head reclining to stare at the ceiling. Though this was definitely creeping me out, I couldn't stop watching her. "H-how can something like this be possible?" I asked him. Charles shrugged his shoulders. "I am the most knowledgeable man I know, and I do not have the answer to that question, Mr. Duncan. For all my years of study, the science of this phenomena eludes me. Even so, that is still one question to which I don't think I want an answer." "What did people think of her?" I asked him. "The audience... how did they react to seeing her?" "I will never know," Charles said. "She... She was never in the show? Why not?" I asked bewildered. Charles gazed at Sylvie dreamily and said, "I was afraid of what they would do. With the discovery of Sylvie, the world could do spectacular things... and terrible things. I thought it best to keep her hidden. Many times I have thought to destroy her, but I can't bring myself to be rid of her." Suddenly, Sylvie was upon me. I yelped as her arms shot up and around my back, her open mouth closing in on my face. My open mouth was met by hers, her ghastly face now pressed against mine. Her cold lips met my own, and her icy tongue slipped into my mouth but for a second. A low groaning noise escaped her throat. I shoved at her, breaking the frightening embrace and stumbling back. Sylvie did not advance, yet seemed at once uninterested in the entire exchange, peering off to her side at a shelf against the wall. Charles was by my side immediately. "Mr. Duncan!" He cried. "Are you alright?" My heart fluttered in my chest like a snare drum. It had happened so fast that I didn't know what to think. I could still feel a chill on my lips and my tongue from her cold advance. My eyes were glued to her as she shambled toward a shelf full of jars. Her arm raised awkwardly, and her fingers brushed a jar that contained a strange looking worm or snake of some kind. Her movements were wrong. She walked so inhumanly, as though unbalanced or unsure of how her own body worked. Sylvie's pale figure was so elegant and beautiful, yet it seemed all grace and fluidity had left her body. After I calmed down a bit, I rubbed the chill that clung to my lips. I looked at Charles in shock. "Did... did she just try to kiss me?" I asked him bewildered. Charles sighed, watching the pale woman that admired his collection with a lifeless expression. "I feel terrible," he told me. "I should have warned you. I simply didn't think she would act the same way towards a stranger." "What do you mean?" I asked confused. Charles gave me a smile. "It is my belief, judging by Sylvie's actions these past years, that in death we cling to the things we enjoyed most in life," Charles explained. "Sylvie loved to paint, and she still does. When we use to travel she would paint the most beautiful portraits and landscapes. Now I'm afraid that she can only manage to merely touch paint to canvas." I studied Charles in disbelief. "The paintings you might have seen upstairs were some of hers," he told me. "Though she lacks the skill she had in life, Sylvie hasn't lost her desire for the art." Still in shock, I asked, "But why did she try to attack me?" He glanced over to Sylvie, who now was making her way to a rack of costumes and props. Her head leaned far to the side and turned strangely, as though she was confused at the sight of the clothing and was trying to study it from a different angle. Again the movement was wrong, too exaggerated and inhuman. Her bare feet scuffed against the floor as she walked awkwardly around the rack, and her torso swayed oddly with her every step. There was a moment when her head turned to face us, her neck twisting impossibly around so that her chin was behind her shoulder. I couldn't bring myself to hold her lifeless gaze, for her milky eyes sent a chill through my veins. "Sylvie...." Charles started, searching for the words to say. "Well, she was a harlot. She had an addiction to intercourse and a talent for it as well. She could seduce men and women alike. Sylvie's death was most likely my own fault. I didn't believe in having relations with anyone in my employment. She was quite drunk one night and made an advance on me. I was more than stern with her and she took it terribly, apparently thinking that I thought her undesirable. I later found her diary, learning that she was very smitten with me." Charles smiled at me. "Sylvie was a passionate being," he told me. "Even in death, she lusts after flesh. I admit that until now I thought her advances exclusive to me, but it seems she likes you as well, Mr. Duncan. She is still a very lovely being. I would be remiss if I didn't mention that even I have indeed succumbed to her ghastly charms." I looked at Charles in complete shock, almost repulsed by what he had said. "Y-you mean to s-say that you've let her, uh...." I stuttered, searching for the words to say. "You've had sex with her?!" Charles nodded somberly. "I do admit that it is the most horrific thing that I have done, but I was in a terrible place after my troupe disbanded, and I was quite intoxicated. And Sylvie.... Sylvie can be quite hypnotic. It is something I am not proud of, but nonetheless it happened." I examined Sylvie. It was true that she had been beautiful, and that she still was. Her skin was smooth and tight, and she was quite slender and curvy. My eyes were drawn habitually to her cleavage where her soft and ample breasts pressed firmly againts the tight dress she wore. Her waist was slim and her stomach flat. Though much of her hips was hidden under the flare of her dress, I could see that they were wide and plentiful. For a moment, I imagined her naked, her pale flesh exposed, every curve bared for my eyes to see. I pictured her on top of me, her full breasts hanging free before me and her cold thighs straddling my hips. I thought of how her ass would feel in my hands, how her skin would feel pressed against mine. In my momentary fantasy, I saw her young and pretty face, pale and blank above me. I saw her eyes, those pearly orbs boring down into me, seeing me but not seeing me. "Well, Mr. Duncan, it is growing late," Charles said. "I'm afraid I haven't even shown you your room. Ms. Vasquez should be preparing our supper. It shouldn't be long now." I snapped out of my trance. I looked to where Sylvie stood motionless, staring lifeless but intent at an old poster for Tibbord's Traveling Troupe of Terror. She seemed to have forgotten we were there. "B-but what about Sylvie?" I protested. "You can't just leave her... out... can you?" "Oh she'll be alright," he assured me. "She isn't dangerous, and she rather likes it down here. You have nothing to fear, Mr. Duncan." I glanced back at Sylvie. Whereas a second ago she stared at the poster, she had now turned and was glaring straight at me. My heart skipped a beat and my blood ran cold. I quickly headed after Charles. I kept glancing back to assure myself that Sylvie wasn't following us. I wished that I hadn't. Her head turned to watch me, her eyes tracking me my entire way up the stairs of the basement. When I reached the door at the top behind Charles, I breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be away from the thing in the basement. ***** That night, I sat in a large elaborately designed chair in the guest bedroom, where I was to sleep, my laptop open before me on my thigh. After sharing a short supper with Charles, we had sat and talked more about his sideshow and his travels. I was beginning to develope some original story ideas, one revolving around the skin I had seen in the basement. Charles had made suggestions here and there, and wasn't bad at telling a good story himself. We traded memories of frightening instances from childhood, and laughed about how silly it all seemed now. Sideshow Sylvie I asked several questions about Sylvie, but only learned a little more than what he had already told me. I did discover that the dress she wore was one that she wore as part of the show. She had been twenty six when she died. When I asked him more about how she had stayed so well preserved, he couldn't give me a straight answer. He was baffled by a lot of details concerning her. Charles had retired for the night, and I had sat in the guest room ever since trying to outline a new story. I had made pretty good progress already. I decided that coming here and talking with Charles had revitalized my creativity. Strange creatures had begun to crawl around in the shadows of my brain, practically weaving their own horrid tales. I couldn't help thinking of Sylvie, though. Part of me felt shy and skittish just thinking of her, and it made me feel like a young man with a crush again. Sylvie was so gorgeous and lovely, so delicate and desirable. The thought of her warmed me inside. I wished that I could have talked with her or flirted with her. However, Sylvie's glazed eyes had burned their image into my brain. I remembered how her movements had seemed disturbing and robotic, how her head had spun around impossibly. The thought of her then seemed unsettling and horrifying. She couldn't be dead. That was impossible. Charles had to be using some sort of smoke and mirrors on me. I tried to put Sylvie out of my mind and focus on my new ideas. I wrote for quite some time before looking down at the time display in the corner of my computer screen. It was almost midnight already. Time had seemed to fly as I wrote, and I knew that I needed to get some sleep. I got ready for bed quickly and moved my laptop to my stomach as I laid down. I wasn't tired at all and decided to read over my outline and my notes to make sure that everything fit together well. Reading at night made me drowsy and I knew before long that I would be nodding off. I started to do just that as I read through my notes, hardly reading even half of them before my eyelids felt like warm heavy blankets. I moved my mouse over to shut down my computer. I reached over and clicked off the old lamp, my face lit with a blue glow from the laptop. Beyond the bed was pitch black. Just before the room went dark as I closed the computer up, I spotted something move in my peripheral vision. My eyes shot up, trying to see what was there in the dark. I could have sworn I saw someone at the far end of the room straight ahead of me. My eyes hadn't adjusted from the bright light of the laptop, so all I could see was spots. I held my breath and listened close, my skin flushing warm and heart growing icy cold. I could only hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Then, I heard a faint brushing noise, the sound of feet on the hardwood floor. A wave of fear shot through me and my arm darted over to turn on the lamp. In my panic, I accidentally knocked it clear off of the end table to crash loudly on the floor. I cringed, for the intruder had surely heard the raucous. I again held my breath, my eyes wide and glued to the darkness before me. I still could not make out any shapes in the room, except for the foot of my bed. Building up my courage, I whispered, "Mr. Tibbord? Ch-Charles is that you?" I waited but received no reply. I heard the brushing sound again, and I could clearly tell that they were footsteps. "Ms. Vasquez?" I hissed. "Hello?" Again I was met with silence. A dreadful thought occurred to me then. I had dined with Charles and had spent some length chatting with him, but even when he retired for bed, he never mentioned anything about putting Sylvie back in the freezer. My eyes still fixed in the direction of the footsteps, I quietly opened my laptop and pressed the power button, cursing silently at the the seemingly deafening whir of the device as it powered on. In seconds the bright blue glow of the screen flicked on. I slowly spun the computer around in my lap to cast its light on the rest of the room. At first glance, I didn't see anyone in the room, though the light from my laptop didn't go very far. It did slightly help that the walls were a faded white color, for I could see no silhouette in front of it. Then, I saw part of the whiteness turn and look my direction with two milky glazed eyes. I slammed the computer shut, my mouth open wide to scream. I bit down on my fist hard, suppressing any sound in fear of being heard. Again I could hear the shuffling of feet on the floor. I tried to erase the image from my head. It was Sylvie. Her pale bare flesh, for she appeared to be naked, had hidden her almost perfectly against the faded white wall in the corner of the room. How or why she had gotten into the room, or why she was nude, I didn't know. It didn't matter. I was terrified. As quietly as I could, I set my computer on the end table in the dark. I eased myself down under the covers and lay still and silent, afraid to even breathe too loudly. I pulled the heavy comforter to my chin, feeling as helpless as a child. I could hear Sylvie's shuffling steps getting louder. She had seen me. Those empty white eyes had found me in the light from the laptop. I thought to call out for Charles or Ms. Vasquez, but I didn't want to draw any further attention from the ghastly dead woman in my room. Then I saw her. My eyes had adjusted somewhat with a little help from the one window in the room, and I could make out her pale form approaching the bed. Sylvie's head twitched slightly this way and that, her glazed eyes searching for the source of the light to which she had been drawn. Her stringy but beautiful white hair fell over her shoulders to rest at the tops of her breasts, which hung pleasantly on display from her bare chest. Her large nipples were a terrible purple or bluish color from what I could see in the dark, with web patterned veins sprawling out from her areolae. Her waist was flat and smooth and her hips spanned out wide. Though I trembled as I watched her, I felt the blood stirring in my dick as I saw the black patch between her thighs. Sylvie's head jutted forward on her neck and cocked to the side disturbingly as her petrifying eyes scanned for me in the dark. I shivered and held my breath when her milky orbs glanced over me once. Her arm now felt in the dark and found the mattress. I wanted to scream when she suddenly threw her leg awkwardly into the bed, her whole body twisting with the motion so that her torso jerked up to stand erect. She all but fell to the bed beside me then, her uncoordinated arms not able to catch her. She was now lying twisted and naked beside me, her ass stuck high in the air as she crawled and twitched her way closer. I squeezed my eyelids shut. A trembling breath escaped my quivering lips. This couldn't be happening. Again I wanted to scream but found that I was petrified. How would Sylvie react if I called for help? It terrified me to think of stirring her into panic, if it was even possible. I felt her hand press firmly into my stomach, and realized with horror that she was crawling onto me. I felt her spastic body straddling me awkwardly, with no care as to if her actions hurt me or not. Sylvie made a sound that was not unlike the creak of a heavy wooden door. I felt her head on my stomach as she appeared to feel her way onto me with her every limb. I opened my eyes to peek at the thing on me. There was Sylvie writhing her pale naked form up my body. Her eyes and her head flitted back and forth, twisting and turning, searching hungrily for her prize. Her face drew near mine and her jaw dropped open wide, her tongue rolling and curling. I was paralyzed with fear, and at the same time, mesmerized by this beautiful creature. Sylvie's face was now right in front of my own, her body pinned to mine with only the comforter between us. She still didn't seem to see me though she surely must have felt me. Her milky eyes still searched for me, until her hands crept up to my shoulders and felt their way up to my neck. Her touch was cold, and her hands didn't caress or comfort my skin, but rather groped and clawed at it greedily. Sylvie's then let out a low wordless moan that was unlike any sound I had heard a human being make. Her head plunged down and her open mouth found my neck. I let out a startled yelp, fearing that she might tear into my neck and eat me. Though she did attack my neck fervently, it was with her tongue, not her teeth. Sylvie sucked and licked at my pulsing neck, her hands clutching the back of my head desperately. I felt her hips rocking into me, her thighs and her crotch squeezing and grinding hard against mine. I was frozen in shock, unsure what to do. My heart was still thundering in my chest, though I was starting to gain control of my breathing now. I remembered what Charles had told me about Sylvie and how she had been a sex addict. I now could see the depths of her addiction as she writhed and humped on top of me like she was in heat. Even in death it seemed she lusted for flesh. My fear did not subside, especially when Sylvie worked her tongue up the side of my face. Still I feared to protest as she licked and sucked at my cheek, then moved to run her cold tongue across my closed lips. I kept my mouth sealed shut, until I felt one of her hands clutch the side of my head with her thumb dangerously close to my eye socket. She apparently was becoming frustrated that she could find her way into my mouth, and she let out a feral groan and clawed at my head. My squeezed my eyes shut, wanting to scream. I couldn't take it anymore and opened my lips slightly to appease Sylvie. Instantly her curling greedy tongue slid between my lips and her mouth pressed hard against my own. Her tongue left no part of my mouth unexplored, licking behind my teeth and between my gums and cheeks, and writhing about on my tongue. My eyes opened. My breath came heavy again as I saw those ghastly eyes open wide before me, our faces wreathed in her long, white, stringy locks of hair. I felt one of her hands jerking at the sheets between us in futility. She suddenly pushed herself awkwardly up from my body, breaking our horrid kiss, and let out a terrible screech of frustration. I saw her pale heavy breasts hanging between us, beautiful but wretched. I watched in terror as her head turned on its side and twisted inhumanly around, her jaw as wide open as possible. It was a disturbing thing to watch. I flung the covers away from me as best I could praying that Sylvie would stop, my bare chest now exposed. She slunk down to my sternum, her face on its side and her mouth open wide. Her tongue still lapped hungrily at my bare flesh as she slid her way down to my waist. She grasped the bed sheets and pulled them violently aside. I tried my best to help her as she went into a frenzy tearing and pulling the sheets away, getting herself tangled as she did. We were at last free of the covers, and I knew Sylvie wasn't finished. Her white eyes glared back at me, her head cocked to one side strangely. I thought to flee at that moment, but seeing how Sylvie reacted to rejection, I was terrified to try. I examined her naked form near the foot of the bed, crouched on her hands and knees with her thighs spread wide. Though she looked ghastly and horrific with her empty white eyes studying me, I couldn't deny that she looked undeniably sexy. Sylvie began to crawl awkwardly toward me, her jaw open wide and her tongue busy and rolling. Her large breasts swayed as she moved. Her back was arched and her ass was just visible from over her shoulders. Blood again pumped into my dick and it began to strain against my briefs as I watched Sylvie approach. I thought of Charles, remembering how he said that he had succumbed and had sex with her. I started to realize how he must have felt, terrified and turned on simultaneously. I wanted Sylvie but I trembled at the thought of giving in to her, yet now it scared me more to reject her. It was not without a measure of dread that I made my decision. Moving quickly, I pulled off my briefs and tossed them aside, my dick flopping free and erect. Sylvie was drawn to my cock like a magnet. Before I could react, both of her hands clutched my stiff rod at its base and her head twisted yet again. Her grip was so tight I thought my dick would burst in her icy hands. Her mouth found my dick and her head dove down hungrily. I let out a yelp and my legs bucked as the magnificent sensation washed over my dick. Sylvie's mouth was cool and surprisingly moist, and her skillful tongue wrestled around my dick erratically. I beheld the scene before me. This pale dead beauty was gobbling my dick with her ass in the air, with her lifeless eyes staring blankly ahead. She looked like a ghost between my thighs, greedily groping and twitching like an addict after receiving a long awaited fix. Sylvie emitted strange sounds unlike any I had ever heard, her groans and creaks humming across my cock inside of her cold mouth. I was rock hard and utterly confused. I clutched the bed sheets, horrified that this dead woman had my dick in her mouth but intoxicated by her transcendent lust. Sylvie's head came up at once and again she began her eerie twitching crawl, making her way up to my face. She straddled my crotch with her own as her wide glazed eyes came inches from mine. Her cold heavy tits brushed my chest and almost stole my breath. I felt the patch between her thighs against my throbbing dick as she climbed onto me, and again where I expected warmth, her lips were cool and moist. It made my cock grow even harder. Sylvie must have felt my straining sex, for her hips ground against me as though from reflex. I was locked into her pearly haunting gaze, mortified but enthralled by her lifeless beauty. Again her mouth opened extremely wide and she produced a long sickening croaking sound. I trembled beneath her, tossed on the tumultuous tides of fear and pleasure that ebbed and flowed throughout my body. I still clenched the sheets tightly, afraid to touch her body and how she would respond when I did. Sylvie rock her hips into me erratically without rythym, and though I wasn't even inside of her I could feel my dick growing slick with her cold juices. How was she wet if she was dead? How is any of this possible? I decided not to care. I bolstered my nerve and let go of the bed sheets, slowly moving my hands toward her pale round ass. When I touched her, her body at once melted against me. Sylvie's face fell against my own, forcing my head to turn aside as our cheeks pressed firmly together, our heads facing the same direction. Her cold breasts smashed against my bare chests as our bodies became one, her pale writhing form molding to my warm but shivering flesh. I clutched her ass cheeks in my hands, marveling at the feel of her flesh. Her skin was strangely dry, whereas her mouth and her pussy had been moist. Sylvie rolled her hips into me while I awkwardly tried to position my hips so that my dick could slip into her. It was difficult, for I was pinned beneath her. With my hands, I lifted her hips slightly and I felt the tip of my dick pushing lightly at her lips below. She needed no assistance here. Sylvie slid herself down the length of my cock, letting out a frighteningly inhuman groan as she did. My dick plunged all the way into her and a chill crept through me as I was swallowed by her cold snatch. Sylvie pushed herself up, with one hand digging into my chest. Her mouth was still open wide with her tongue rolling about, and she worked her jaw around oddly. She stuck her crooked fingers into her mouth to clutch her jaw and pull at it disturbingly while her tongue still licked and curled. She began riding me very deep and hard, her dead white eyes glaring down at me. I realized that touching her was what she wanted me to do. I brought a hand up to her full pale breasts, only slightly repulsed by the webs of tiny dark violet veins that surrounded her large areolae. I grasped her left breast and squeezed. Sylvie's hand left her mouth and thrust upward into her hair and she pulled violently, apparently intoxicated with her own undying lust. The sensations I felt were overwhelming. I wanted to shut my eyes and hide from the hideous view of Sylvie's dead body gyrating on top of me. At the same time, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Her spastic motions sent orgasmic chills through my dick. I grew harder feeling her cold pale ass clenching and thrusting in my hand, as well as her huge, fleshy, discolored breast. Sylvie came crashing down upon me suddenly, her body once again locked against mine. I shivered from her cool embrace as she continued to ride me. Her breasts were now in my face and I had nowhere to go. Her dark nipples waved in front of my eyes as her breasts bounced. I wanted to take them into my mouth, to suck and bite and feel their softness, but her sickening areolae made me hesitate. Looking up, however, I was met by her haunting eyes through her flailing white hair. I submitted to my desire and plunged my head between her waving breasts and began licking at her cold flesh. I heard a shrill but hoarse moan escape her throat, a sound I assumed was one of pleasure coming from Sylvie. With yet another sudden movement, Sylvie was crawling off of me, my still throbbing dick sliding from her pussy. I froze, realizing that she was crawling further up my torso. Sylvie's knees were now beside my head, and it horrified me that she was lowering her cold wet cunt to my face. Was fucking her not enough? Did her lust for sex run this deep? This was too much. I clawed at her thighs and her ass, fighting with all my strength now to pull Sylvie's dead form off of me. My shoulders were pinned underneath her however, and her body was as strong as her will. I realized she must think I'm enjoying this, if she could think at all. I saw her pursed pussy lips lowering to my face, and above I saw her flat stomach, the bottoms of her heavy breasts, and those glazed wicked eyes watching me. Her cold pussy was now against my cheek as I turned my head in an attempt to keep her sex from my mouth. Sylvie rolled her hips, and the side of my face was smeared with her cold nectar. She let out a terrible screech and squeezed her thighs tight against my head. Yet again I submitted to her will, turning my face upright to meet her waiting pussy. Sylvie grabbed two handfuls of my hair and jerked my head into her dark flower. I was bombarded by putrid aroma as my mouth pressed firmly into Sylvie's crotch. My nose and cheeks were now buried in her bristled black pubic hair. The smell was stale and horrid, and I refused to open my mouth, but when Sylvie tore at my hair and face I had to abide. My mouth opened and her sickening taste poured into me. I lapped at her cold pussy with my tongue and she rolled her hips again, enveloping my face with her cunt. The taste was awful, though I didn't stop for fear of her reaction. Looking up at her, I saw her hands shoot up to her large discolored breasts. Sylvie squeezed them and clawed at them violently, tossing her head back and emitting another disturbing groan. She rode my face hard, squeezing her pale thighs tightly around my head. Sylvie suddenly lurched backward, bending impossibly until I lost sight of her upper body. Her legs stayed locked around my head, though her hips shifted slightly, causing the bottoms of her ass cheeks to mash into my chin and her gaping pussy to slide up my nose. I felt her tongue.... No. That wasn't possible. Sylvie was bent so far backward that she was licking my dick with her cold mouth. It dawned on me then as I remembered a certain detail that Charles had mentioned. Sylvie had been a contortionist in his show, which explained all of the disturbing motions she had been doing with her body. Sideshow Sylvie Sylvie now formed a bridge with her pale body, and I knew her spine would have been broken in half if not for her strange talent to contort herself. Her hands clutched my thighs and I felt her white stringy hair on my stomach and my pelvic area. Though my fear hadn't subsided, even with my face buried in her foul crotch, my cock was still throbbing stiff. I now felt it swallowed up into the depths of Sylvie's cold mouth. Part of me was glad that I couldn't see Sylvie's broken form on top of me, for I knew the sight of the spectacle would be disturbing and horrific. Sylvie bit and gnawed at my hard dick, and then tightly sucked her frigid lips to my tip before plunging down again. My face was locked between her thighs, so I continued to lick and slurp at her sour cunt. I rubbed my hands up and across her smooth stomach and down to find her plump round breasts spread wide on her chest. When Sylvie had ridden my dick moments before, her ass cheeks had been positioned here. Because of the way her twisted body bent over me, I was now squeezing her fleshy cold breasts instead of her thick ass. Feeling a marvelous orgasmic sensation stirring within my cock, I began to pump my hips, my rod thrusting upward into Sylvie's head. I basked now in the putrid taste of her pussy, setting my previous inhibitions aside. I felt nasty and sick, but so devilishly horny and naughty. Just as my tongue and jaw began to tire, Sylvie lusted for a new position and sprung forward to sit up straight, my cock sliding from her mouth. I was released from the grip of her thighs as she moved her ass down to my hips once more. This time I was ready for her. I sat up and took my hard slimy cock in my fingers and guided it into her snatch. A chill swept through me again as my dick plunged easily into her cold hole. Sylvie was now mounted in my lap as I sat upright on the bed. She wasted no time rolling her hips into me. I clutched her ass tightly with my hands, feeling an orgasm stir within me. Her breasts were directly in front of my face. Drunk with lust, I took one of her discolored nipples in my mouth and sucked greedily. Sylvie's arms were around my shoulders now, and her hands clawed ravenously at anything they touched. She pulled at my hair and raked her slender fingers up my back, all the while producing another of her hoarse throaty groans. I dared to glance up at Sylvie as we fucked. Her faded white hair swayed around her head into my face. Her dead eyes watched me blankly, boring into my very soul. Her tongue licked repeatedly across her open lips like a hungry rabid animal. I almost startled myself as I began moaning, feeling my dick pulsing inside of her. Sylvie responded by turning her head on its side, her neck twisting inhumanly. Her chin was now almost impossibly pointing toward the ceiling. I was on the edge of an orgasm. Sylvie moved close and our mouths locked in an extremely strange but passionate kiss. My tongue swam against hers in her cool mouth. She clutched the back of my head tightly, locking me into the embrace. My eyes were open and hers were, too. I stared into those lifeless white orbs, enthralled by her horrific beauty. Sylvie rode me harder and faster until my cock exploded inside of her. Her cold cold pussy was injected by my warm seed as I fired shot after shot inside of her. The warmth of my cum enveloped my stiff pulsing dick. Sylvie did not release my head from her kiss. She wiggled her hips downward as she continued to ride, shoving my cock as deep as it could go into her cunt. With one hand I squeezed her ass firmly against her relentless onslaught. With the other I reached up behind her and grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled as hard as I could. I was trying to break our kiss so that I could breath easier, for I was struggling for air. At last my orgasm subsided. Sylvie must have felt it because her erratically rolling hips slowed to a slow roll. Still she kissed me and all I could think to do was return the favor. I silently wondered if I was losing my mind. I had just cum inside of a dead woman. My sensitive dick twitched unbearably within her when I felt her pussy squeezing and constricting. I knew that women possessed muscles that could do this, but this was somewhat stronger. It felt as though her cunt was attempting to swallow my cock. Sylvie finally broke our kiss, though she proceeded to lick my face. Exhausted, I fell back to the bed. Sylvie came crashing down against me. She continued to lick and nibble at my skin, with my flaccid used dick still inside of her. My chest heaved up and down as I tried to catch my breath yet Sylvie seemed unaffected. Realizing that she wasn't getting off of me any time soon, I simply wrapped my arms around her and held her. We laid that way for what seemed like hours. Once or twice I tried to push Sylvie off of me, but each time I received a cold lifeless glare and a sickening groan. Sylvie never tired of licking and sucking at my flesh. The room was dark and quiet and I finally felt my eyelids growing heavy again. I feared what Charles would do if he or Ms. Vasquez found me like this in the morning, but I dared not try to move Sylvie off of me again. Soon, I drifted into a deep sleep with Sylvie still licking my skin on top of me. ***** I awoke with a terrible pain shooting through my neck and back. There was a blinding light above me. My eyes weren't adjusted yet and watered as I tried to squinted and shielded them from the bright light. I was on a cold hard floor that felt like smooth concrete, and I was naked. I realized that I wasn't in the bed that I had fallen asleep in. I wasn't even in the guest room. As my vision returned to me, I began to panic. I saw that I was in an empty room that was maybe twenty square feet in size with a single florescent light hanging from the ceiling. The walls were made of concrete blocks. There was a large, heavy looking, steel door at one side of the room. I also saw a large hole in the wall on another side of the room. It appeared to have been busted open and was about the size of a large doghouse. All I could see in the hole was darkness. I clutched myself closely, shivering in the cold room. I was confused and frightened. The last thing I could remember was falling asleep with Sylvie's pale dead body on top of me. How I had gotten here was a mystery to me. Suddenly I heard the sound of keys jingling and the door being unlocked. The heavy steel door slowly swung open. To my surprise, Charles stepped into the room and gave me a bright smile when he saw me. "Are you enjoying your stay, Mr. Duncan?" He asked me. "Where the hell am I?" I demanded, crouching and shivering in the corner of the room. Charles's eyes sparkled wickedly in the florescent light. "You need not worry about that, now," he said. "I simply came down to thank you for all that you've done for me, Mr. Duncan." "What the hell are you talking about!" I yelled. "Why am I in here?!" "Not to worry," Charles replied, patting the air with his hands. "Everything will be explained to you." He turned and motioned to someone behind him. "Could you join us for a moment my dear?" He said. My heart skipped a beat as Sylvie stepped through the door. She looked different than she had last night. She wore the dress I had seen her wear the previous day, but her skin was flushed with color and her hair now looked more yellow than white. Her lips were no longer blue and were now a shade of pink. I almost gasped when I saw her eyes. While they were still glazed and foggy, her eyes were now a vibrant green color. They no longer seemed to examine the world as oddly as they did, for now they studied me closely much as a normal person would. Sylvie smiled at me. I was shocked to see such a human expression on her now lively face. She was so incredibly beautiful that it pained me to look upon her. It was hard to believe she had been the twisted pale body riding my dick before I had fallen asleep. "H-how...." I muttered in confusion. "I thought it would be kind for us to thank you together," Charles said. "I admit that I lied about a few little details last night, Mr. Duncan. I did indeed find a tome with many devious rites and incantations written within. However, I failed to explain the full extent of the particular passage that I read when I reanimated Sylvie's body. It had actually translated to mean 'Recall he that is gone. Restore life by placing life within'." "W-what are you t-talking about?" I stuttered. Charles and Sylvie exchanged smiles. "Sylvie and I were quite close when the show was still running," Charles told me. "We are now even closer. She never killed herself, Mr. Duncan. She merely donated herself to my study. I wanted badly to experiment with some of the rites in the tome I had found. Sylvie loved me so much that she wanted to fulfill my wishes. Can you believe it? The veil of mystery between life and death is growing thinner, and we have merely scratched the surface!" I shook my head, wishing that this was all a dream. "I don't get it," I muttered. "You had me... You had her fuck me? Why?" "I had you place life within her, Mr. Duncan," Charles said. "It makes perfect sense to me now, but I assure you I was as confused as you are when Sylvie died. That is until she made an advance on me and I made love to her. I do admit it was terrifying, as I'm sure you know. She was in even worse condition back then than when you saw her last night, however. Now, your seed has rejuvenated her even more. We couldn't thank you enough, Mr. Duncan!" Sylvie gave me a hungry smile and a wink. She said something in French that I had no way of understanding and let out an evil laugh. I was speechless, amazed, and mortified. I shivered violently, though I couldn't be sure if it was because I was naked and cold or because of the way Sylvie had laughed at me. At that moment, Ms. Vasquez appeared at the door. She glanced at me nervously before tapping Charles on the shoulder. "Mr. Tibbord, I have prepared our dinner, sir," she said with a thick Hispanic accent. Charles clapped his hands together with excitement. "Outstanding, Ms. Vasquez," he said. "We'll be right up in a moment." As Ms. Vasquez turned, I gasped. Protruding from the bottom of her dress near her knees was a long tail, much like that of a rat. It flicked from side to side as she walked from my sight. I then faintly remembered Charles mentioning a woman with a rat's tail that had been in his show. "Well, Mr. Duncan," Charles said, "I thank you again for all of your help, but I'm afraid I must bid you farewell." I blinked and my breath caught in my chest. "W-wait, you have to let me go!" "I'm sorry," he said with a polite smile, "but I can't do that. Sylvie is almost completely healed, but I'm afraid she needs the seed of a fresh mate. You can no longer help her, Mr. Duncan, though there is one more way you can be of use to us. After all, she isn't the only one that needs you." He smiled before turning and walking out the door. I looked at Sylvie, who gave me a look of pity. She walked gracefully to where I hunkered in my cold corner and squatted before me. Her beautiful green eyes peered into mine. "Je vous remercie de votre vie," she said with a smooth lovely voice. Sylvie planted a long kiss on my lips. She then stood and dropped something to the floor in front of me. It looked like a piece of chocolate. Sylvie turned and left the room with her dress flowing behind her. The door was pulled shut with a loud bang. I heard the lock turning and I was alone. I shivered and held myself close. I had no clue what Sylvie had said to me, and I was confused as to why she had dropped the piece of chocolate in front of me. Was it pity? Was she sneaking me food? I heard an inhuman sound from the side of the room. My eyes snapped over to the dark hole in the wall. My eyes were wide and my breath had caught in my chest. There was something moving in that hole. I heard more sounds and I realized something was coming out of the dark. I gawked in horror as I beheld the creature that crawled from the abyss. It was a creature I recognized. I had seen those eyes before, and I remembered those tentacles that hung from its terrible head. Never had I beheld its legs though, which pulled it awkwardly along much like a spider. The horrible thing seemed to study me for a moment, its blank eyes blinking like a lizard. The long tentacles felt at the floor in front of it, its sharp claws scratching and scraping along the concrete. I now knew why Sylvie had placed the chocolate at my feet. The horrid creature darted forward and I let out a shrill scream just before the florescent light went dark. Sylvie's beautiful face flashed in my mind briefly, and then the creatures tentacles were tearing at my head.