By Craig Podmore
Painting © Georganne Deen
She demanded me to puke on her, I was discouraged by her erratic behaviour, almost demonic; her eyes bulged like septic cuts in her forehead, her nose streamed a constant fluid as she beat at her own breasts. She would pulsate with a sexual frenzy and then with an unpredictable switch, she would decline into a depression, ululating, crying uncontrollably; my only answer to such disturbed, psychotic actions was that she was under some kind of hysteria. That certain hysteria that had once plagued and haunted the medical industry back in the early 19th century, their only diagnosis was that it was a form of hysteria that was subdued only by massaging the genital area via many absurd treatments.
“Madam, please, I can’t do anything if you’re like this. It scares the hell out of me, I don’t feel right…”
All of a sudden she had stopped, pure silence. The pallid flecks in her eyes almost became utterly pervasive, it had diluted her pupils to a milky blue and with a sudden urge of rage she had hit me directly in the eye with her contorted fist. For that moment I couldn’t see, she started to cackle with such an insidious quality. Her hands then grasped my head and forced my face into her crotch. I could not breathe, I tried so hard to free myself from her vice-stained pit but the strength in her legs deemed it impossible.
“Let go of me!” My muffled vocals instructed her with such vehemence.
I neglected to use my tongue, for that she was malignant about but had soon released me from her lusted cradle of flesh, I could now taste and smell her womb, as if her uterus had galloped to the periphery of her genitalia and had then sat above my lips. At this moment in time, I could clearly verify Plato’s theory of the wandering womb for it had just physically made contact with me. I got up off the bed, away from the mad woman, at this point; no form of seduction could entrance me enough to sleep with this crazy but beautiful woman.
“You really need to see a doctor young lady. I think you have that ghastly hysteria.” I had composed myself to an acceptable stature.
She had increasingly calmed, I even heard her snore. Perhaps all of that frustration she had vented drained her well. I was about to leave but thought that if I stayed, she may wake in a more palatable persona. I re-arranged myself and began to observe her apartment. It was not a place of complacency; in fact, it had felt very much like a prison. The unfinished décor, shredded wallpaper and crumbling corners due to a vast amount of damp, her windows have been blacked out; I could not fathom any possible reason for this. There were no pictures on the walls apart from a postcard that is strangely nailed to the wall next to her mirror, the postcard illustrated a detail of a Goya painting taken from the Spanish Inquisition series and another strange note was the fact that it had not been sent to her by anybody she may have had sentiment about. The bathroom was adjacent to the main room, which was basically her bedroom also, deprived of much materials of interest including the normalcy of owning a television one might add. Her bathroom cabinet didn’t have any expected pharmaceuticals relating to any psychosis or bipolar disorders. After I looked in the bathroom I returned to the main room to find that she was no longer on the bed. I raced to the main door but it was locked, I struggled to pry it open. I would have heard her leave, the door makes an immense sound when it is opened; I remember for when I first entered the room.
As I stood in the main room I could see everything, the dingy walls, her four post bed, a dresser with minimal elements of make-up usage and the door to the squalid bathroom. It occurred to me then that I must look under the bed, it felt awfully ridiculous that a woman in her mid twenties would do such an act but it was the only place she could be right now. Slowly, I descended onto the floor and looked under, my hand leant onto the hard carpet that was stained by an abundance of rancid solids and fluids. I saw into the darkness of the underneath of her bed, there was nothing, no sign. I stood up slowly and had noticed how cold the room had begun to be. A slow shiver pervaded me through and through, it was an uncomfortable factor, I then heard a moan, I couldn’t locate it, it felt like it was within me, inside my head. I ran towards the window to see if there was any possibility of opening it but they were nailed shut. The panic and the fear settled in, cold sweat perforated my skin, my clothes sticking to me, the glands of one’s mouth had ceased to produce saliva hence a huge amount of dryness, which gave me the taste of sincere fright. The shrieks rose increasingly loud, I covered my ears but it had made no difference, I fell onto my knees, I started to rock back and forth, I stretched my chin up – my neck craned up towards the ceiling, I screamed with desperation only then I opened my eyes and found the woman on the ceiling, stretched out, her vigorous masturbation appalled me, her arm shook like a murderer’s right hand. She had foamed at the mouth, her lips turned purple and her breasts were now scarred, it was as if she was having intercourse with violence itself. I started to walk back, away from her vision and her physical self, as I did not watch my step whilst I backed up, I knocked over the dresser and due to my ineptitude I had stumbled upon a shocking revelation. Inside the dresser I found was what to be a micro-camera; I saw that it was connected to a large wire going though the wall that was situated behind the dresser. I felt numb and sick. I started to hit the wall with confusion and frustration, I heard the door unlock, I stopped the banging and had watched the door compulsively until a man had walked into the room, however, not only was he a man but a priest. He concocted some Latin mumblings, her hellish vocals reverberated, I could not move; a stasis of horror shook me. Another man entered, he looked at me with a cutting stare and then covered me in holy water.
“What it this foul situation? This is inhuman!” I bellowed to the intimidating figure.
“Do you have faith?” The man asked with such stoicism.
“What?” I was taken aback by such a question.
“Do you believe in our Lord Jesus Christ?”
I was stunned by all of the commotion, the possessed woman started to speak in a Latin I was unsure of, I couldn’t define it as she spoke in tongue with brutal spasms, she began to descend from the ceiling slowly, I was in a seizure of disbelief. The unfathomable spectacle that drew out before me, a rush of blood to my head, a voodoo-like emotion came over me and the stinging cold that enveloped the room became a cloak of comfort. I noticed to my own horror that I had an erection as if such evil seduced me, the bestiality of her nature morphed to a thing of beauty, although the priest and his helper formed into silhouettes, I started to laugh at their shallow existence and went on to violently rub my crotch.
“He is now with Satan, let’s leave them be, come on!” The priest and the other man exited the room, we stared at each other with a wanton desire as strong as death itself and no longer did we neglect such immense passion; moral, religion and madness were meshed unto an oblivion as I penetrated her until chaos reigned in our very flesh.
* * *
On the monitor, in the room next to the possessed man and woman; an audience of several men in suits whom happen to be clients of some nature; they pay the man who had acted as the priest and they then allocate themselves into booths where other monitors are watched. Although, there are others that are displayed and watched, other subjects that happen to be demonically possessed and are subjugated to lurid sexual acts and perversions. There are female clients too; all seem to be of a higher class. Some monitors exhibited men by themselves, copulative acts, deformed sexual acts such as the consumption of their own flesh, most just display the lunacy of their actions like rigid contortion, self-harm and other ills.
“How come there are so many possessed? How can the devil be in multiple beings?” A client asked the pseudo-priest.
“There’s obviously more than one devil. Perhaps the devil is more human than you possibly know. These subjects are all of those who have been rejected treatment by the Catholics, most claim them to be mad but with what we witness here, that is not madness. However, we should embrace it sir, they give us what we want, the devil is at least, a fucking great capitalist.”
The client acknowledged the comment; he entered his booth, unzipped his pants and began to satisfy himself as the possessed fucked each other relentlessly on their monitors. The fake priest counted the money gained from his lurid business, he smiled wickedly.