Incubus

She sat up in bed, pushing back the white comforter, her toes touching the spot of moonlight on the wooden floor. She didn't know if she was ready for this, to be dreaming on Halloween. But then, she wasn't sure whether this was a dream.

The shadows of maple leaves moved like sand across the wall as they tossed in the breeze. Outside her window and down the precipitous cliff, the rolling of the waves on the shore was like the sighing of the sleeping world. From where she sat, she could see a big white path stretching across the water, leading to where the moon hung naked in the sky looking somehow startled and embarrassed.

Something was wrong.

Above the gentle snores and steady breathing of the other guests she could hear a muffled thumping from downstairs—alive, urgent, and strangely subdued—and it filled her with dread. Something was struggling, and yet no one else in the inn had woken up. No one else had heard it. Something seemed to be thrashing about downstairs and fighting for its life in the eerie silence of the house

Leah closed her eyes. Maybe she was dreaming. The sound had the stubborn muscularity of a heartbeat, but wildly irregular and desperate, and finally she couldn't stand it anymore. She went to the door and stepped out into the hall.

The moonlight fell on polished floors and the silent uprights of the banister. The hallway was empty and the stark zigzag of the stairs descending into the darkness looked lethal. A paper skeleton with a jack-o-lantern head hung limply over the stairwell, revolving slowly, pointing the way down to that horrible thumping.

She walked to the head of the stairs, put her hand on the banister and looked down.

It was a fish. A large fish, with a sack over its head, thrashing and writhing at the foot of the stairs, suffocating in the air.

Leah raced down the steps. There was no one there. The front door was closed; there was no water on the floor, just the thumping, dying fish. She pulled the sack from its head and saw the eyes, cold, lifeless, expressionless eyes, and yet the creature was dying. And then she saw the lips, that they were like human lips, soft and needy and seeking, pleading with her, and she saw then that the movements of the fish's body were sexual and obscene, the twistings and writhings of a lover's body in desperate need of fulfillment. She realized with a sick feeling that the fish needed sex—needed love—that the fish was suffocating from lack of love, and she felt this cloying, almost nauseating sense of answering arousal of her own...

She woke up in her bed, the shadows of the leaves scrabbling frantically at the underside of the canopy, like things trying to escape. As if shadows could escape.

*****

She raised herself on one elbow and looked about the room, trying to remember where she was and trying to forget the look in the fish's eyes, the obscene writhing of its body. It had some sort of legs, a vagina lined with silvery scales...

She took a sip of water from the glass on the nightstand and brushed her hair back from her face. The room was just a room; the shadows were only leaves. The wind sighed through the beach grass and the surf crashed with reassuring steadiness on the beach below.

Well this is what she got. This is what she got for trying to invoke supernatural dreams on Halloween. She'd taken a room in this old inn just for this purpose; chosen one overlooking the sea where she knew the moon would shine on her and aid her in her foolishness. Candles burned on the dresser, and cups filled with water stood around the bed. She'd put hibiscus and valerian under her pillow, and wore her most romantic nightgown, that laced across the bodice. The clock on the dresser said 12:27, so it was indeed Halloween, although Halloween morning rather than night, but still, it counted.

She didn't really believe in all this, but she didn't really not believe either. In any case, she couldn't very well stay in town because then she'd have to go to Jen's party, and now that she and Tony weren't together anymore, how would that look? And if she stayed home that would only be worse, showing her humiliation at her loss. She'd have to put up with their sympathetic stares and knowing looks. Jen's crowd was like that—like hyenas, waiting for anay sign of weakness or blood. Better to just make up an excuse to get out of town, spend the time walking on the beach, viewing the autumn colors and playing with her tarot and teasing the occult.

She got out of bed and walked to the window. Outside, the dried beach grass bowed before the wind, tossing restlessly down to the cliff that overlooked the sea. Even the clouds seemed to be fleeing the skies. Why do they run, she thought. Why does everything seem to be fleeing?

Far in the distance and away from the moon's path of light, she could see the lights of a ship in the darkness headed out to sea, and she wondered as she often did if there might be a man on board she was destined to love and who was destined to love her—if fate was even then including her in the vast games it played or whether she were still just being ignored. If he was out there, would he understand what she felt when she looked out the window on a night like this? Was he wondering the same things about her as he gazed at the shore? It seemed like there should be some way to tell, some way to capture all these thoughts and missed connections and examine them and sort through them and understand the workings of that hidden world. What happened to those thoughts and feelings? Did they just all curl up and blow away like the dead leaves? Or did they echo somewhere forever, a feeling once felt being like a pebble dropped into a pool—a spirit pool, a pool where all feelings existed forever. Did her imaginary lover feel the ripples from her heart? Did she feel his?

Halloween was Samhain, the night when the crack between the two worlds widened. One world was our world, the world of the everyday. The other world must be like that spirit pool, that's what Leah had decided. A world not just of ghosts and spirits, but of lost feelings and missed opportunities, of unspoken thoughts and loves unrealized, a world where words were never needed.

The fish dream disturbed her. She knew she was the fish and she hated it.

She got back into bed and pulled the covers up. The wind blew harder and the leaves fluttered urgently against the window, as if to tell her something. Oh, give up, she thought, turning her back to the window. Why do you cling to those branches so stubbornly when fall's already here? Tomorrow will be November. Just let go and fly away and die! But the leaves hung on, still baring autumn's florid colors and not yet dry and sere, and secretly she was pleased.

*****

The waves beat on the beach below. The ship moves on the water, leaving her behind. Something stirs the candles, but when the comforter slips down off her body, Leah doesn't move, and now the shadows of the leaves dance over her sheet and nightgown as well. The room has grown warm so she doesn't miss the heavy quilt. She clings to the cover sheet, only vaguely aware of the darkness that gathers like a thick shadow under the canopy of the bed, a roiling, muscular mist.

Her dreams this time are sweet and sensual—sensual enough to make her smile and stir in her bed as she feels a warm breath upon the inside of her ankle, the lightest touch on the outside of her thigh. She doesn't see the water tremble in the cups or the ripples of light they throw on the ceiling. She barely feels the sheet slipping from her hands and dragging slowly down her body with the whisper of fabric upon silk, over her breasts and her stomach and across the plane of her hips; down across her thighs and her knees, her shins, and up over the hills of her toes to lie in a heap at the foot of the bed.

Her nightgown is silk, the color of moonlight. Three dimples appear on her thigh as if she's being touched, but no fingers are visible. Leah smiles as the dimples slide up her leg then disappear, then reappear and repeat the motion. She sighs.

The dimples appear on her breast. They slide across the bottom fullness, then circle across the top and disappear, as if waiting. She's sensitive there and she smiles, thinking on some level of her mind how typical of her it is that she'd dream of having her breasts caressed before falling back to sleep. The dimples reappear—four this time, two on each breast—and perform the same gesture, circling her nipples, mirroring each other, shadows of invisible pressure moving over her flesh. They finish by copping her breasts gently and squeezing, the fabric bunching between invisible hands.

Leah moans and opens her eyes but she's still asleep and sees nothing, not even the darkness directly above her. She closes her eyes again and falls back into her dream as into the arms of a lover, sighing, her hands on her chest.

The bodice of her gown fastens with a lace. As her breathing steadies and her sleep deepens, the laces begin to move. Slowly, the bow unties. The lace crawls like a snake through the eyelets, slowly slipping beneath her fingers as it removes itself from her bodice. Unconsciously, Leah raises her hands to her pillow, as if to give the laces room to move, placing them on either side of her head. The maple leaves toss excitedly against the window and cast wild shadows over her face, and the moon looks down in hollow wonder as the lace creeps out of the last eyelet and drops silently to the floor.

At that moment her eyes open and she knows she's not alone. She feels the bodice of her gown being opened, exposing her breasts and her eyes go wide with surprise. It's like a dream. She can't speak, can't cry out or move.

she thinks frantically.

It is I. The voice is rich and masculine and terribly intimate—somewhere in her head, strange and familiar at the same time.

Who are you?.

You know who I am, he says in her head.

I don't! I don't know who you are or what you're doing! How'd you get in here?

I'm the one you've called, the one you've been calling. I've come to you from a great, long ways away. Just to be with you, Leah. Just to be with you on this night.

She tries to struggle, to move her hands, but it's as if she's paralyzed. All she can see above her is the slowly roiling cloud of darkness. Fear clots in her stomach.

I never called anyone! I don't want you here! Go away! Why can't I move, damn it?

You called me, his words say. You called me every time you walked in the woods and saw the leaves change color. Every time you stood on that beach and felt the sea grass whip around your ankles, or felt the world was so beautiful it would break your heart. When you looked at the moon on face of the water tonight and felt that ache in your bones, you called me, Leah. You called me. From that place where feelings go, you called me.

As she hears his words she can see him begin to appear above her, as if emerging from a fog, or being formed of a fog—a man, and more than a man, an animal too, perhaps wolf, perhaps bear or cat—glistening coal black with muscles of polished ebony, and such power in him! His face is indistinct, as if she can't focus on it all at the same time. But his eyes! At first she thinks they burn like coals, but then she sees it's their depth that gives that effect, their incredible depth and intelligence that goes so deep it's like gazing into the heart of a star. He knows her. He knows her with a certainty and intimacy that stuns her, and as well as he knows her he wants her. He wants her with a desire she's never dreamed of seeing in a man's eyes. It's too much for her—dizzying, overwhelming, irresistible.

As she tries to tear her eyes from his, she feels her arm start to move. Against her will, as if she has no control, she feels herself lift her left hand, palm out, as if in greeting, and she sees his own right hand lift to touch it, pressing his palm against hers. His hand is warm, but much bigger than hers, and his touch is not entirely human. It's like touching another kind of life, a different kind of intelligence, and for some reason, it's deeply thrilling.

It makes her gasp, and then his hand is gone, and hers is back on the pillow.

His eyes hold hers and she feels his words. Like an arrow shot from a bow I've come to you, to sink into your sweet earth. From the crack between the two worlds I've come to you. I am the moon and you are the light. I am the darkness and you are the night. Without one there is no other.

His hands are on her wrists like bands of iron. Her bodice is open, her naked breasts yearning up for him as if of their own will. She can't resist his desire and she closes her eyes as if to hide as his lips come down on hers with trembling hunger. She's helpless as he feeds on her mouth and she can't help but feel herself respond. She feels him quiver, as if the beast in him surrenders to some power she didn't even know she had and she feels the scorching breath of his nostrils on her cheek. He moans softly as he kisses her, his tongue slipping between her lips so that her mouth is filled with his strength. The hardness of his chest presses against her nipples and she feels the strong beat of his heart in her own chest.

Wait! she thinks. Wait!

His hand goes beneath her and takes hold of her panties and, like stripping the leaf from a blade of grass, he skins them down off her hips and raised thighs as she's arched, locked in that helpless kiss. She still can't move and dimly remembers that the touch of an incubus paralyzes his victim.

An incubus—a phantom lover who comes to a woman and takes her in her sleep. Leah knows that's what he is as soon as she thinks it, and it thrills her as it frightens her.

Yes! That's what I am, he says, for his thoughts are like words now, even though his lips are pressed against hers and his breath is hot in her mouth.

She'd heard about them, she'd read about them, but somehow she'd expected something more ghostly, more insubstantial, not this solid weight of masculine hardness that makes the bed creak softly as he positions himself on top of her. She can smell him—a scent like wild rain and horses and warm rock—and his tongue is so alive in her mouth and so muscular, almost making her swoon in his selfish hunger for her.

Already he's worked his way between her legs and she's unable to resist. Her knees lift to form a saddle for him, moving as if on strings, her gown spilling down her thighs and puddling in a white pool upon her stomach, exposing the naked slit of her sex. He wraps his arms around her and the hard dome of his cock slides against her pussy like some devilish snake looking for its burrow. His breathing is heavy and quick with excitement and the air is thick with animal heat. Leah still can't move and is all but eclipsed by the bulk of his body. All she can see is the shadows of the leaves on the canopy of the bed looming over his shoulder as she feels his hand trail down her body.

"Oh don't!" she says. "Not like this!"

"Yes. Exactly like this."

He strokes her between her open legs and Leah closes her eyes in fear. He's testing her, seeing if she's ready, and she's shocked to feel his finger glide wetly through a film of her own lubrication. She can't believe her body's so aroused, that she can respond to him like this, but then his cock finds her and begins to open her and slide inside and it's incredible. She can feel in her mind how much he needs her. She can feel his deep, hard, masculine ache and it almost makes her want her herself, to be fucking herself along with him. She realizes she's in his mind too, just as he's in hers, that he knows what she's feeling just as she knows what he's feeling, and it's like nothing she's ever experienced.

She cries out as he sends the entire length of his veiny stalk into her, filling her completely then thrusting again, convulsively as if stamping her with a seal, grinding his groin against her so she can feel the power in his thighs, blinding her with pleasure.

She jerks her hips up to meet him and they freeze there in temporary truce, each waiting for the other to adjust. Her move was so instinctive she doesn't even realize she's moved. She still feels paralyzed, but she's aware she's trembling, quivering around his cock like a speared animal. Her body's responding to him with a need that's beyond her ability to control, and it's shameful and exciting at the same time. There's nothing she can do.

He keeps his cock there, as he smoothes back her hair and moves his fingers over her face, stroking and caressing her. His lips follow where his fingers have been, his kisses tender as if in apology for the brutality of his cock. She begins to relax, telling herself it's a dream and that dreams can't hurt you, not really, and as she begins to relax her hips fall back into the softness of the bed, leaving him. He suddenly spears into her again with a savage, possessive thrust, like a fisherman setting a hook, and Leah cries out as her hips again jerk up reflexively to intercept the blow.

She doesn't know what this is. If it's a dream she should wake up because it's too real, and yet it can't be real because it's just impossible. She can see him clearly now, or rather, she can see those parts of him that aren't covered in shadow, and he's incredibly handsome in a bestial, feral kind of way, and much too big to be anyone in a costume. His eyes are closed, his mouth slack with pleasure. His nostrils are wide as he breathes deeply, trying to control his passion, and again she can clearly sense his desire for her, his animal need. The way he aches for her is astonishing. He aches so much it makes her ache as well, and so when he starts to fuck her, it's almost like a relief.

He's slow at first, tentative, pulling his cock out and then sliding it back in as if unsure of what might happen. He's incredibly hard, like a piece of ebony, and he fits her perfectly. Each stroke is just they way she wants it and she stares at his shadowed face in amazement. He gets up on his knees and starts moving faster, rocking his hips and Leah closes her eyes in bliss, trying to hide the raw pleasure she feels.

He pulls his knees higher and slips his hands down under her ass. He's easily able to encompass the globes of her ass in his big palms and he holds her hips off the bed as he slides his dick into her with increasing rhythm. His big head is at her breasts, kissing and licking them, giving her love bites and drawing his big tongue against them. He teases her nipples, tracing circles around their margins with his tongue, then lashing the tip until they stand up for his teeth. He nips at them and tugs them, draws up great sucking mouthfuls of flesh and runs his teeth over them, and all the while his thick, hard cock is pistoning relentlessly between her legs like some infernal machine.

Leah is lost now. Her body's totally betrayed her and she has to bite her lip to keep from crying out in her own animal pleasure. Something about her own paralyzed helplessness excites her terribly, as if she's not responsible for this but can only witness her own debauched seduction, the way he uses her for his own selfish pleasure, and it sets her on fire. She can see the ecstasy on his face as he fucks her, feel the desire in the way his fingers dig into her ass and the feverish way his cock slams into her with all the strength of that massive body.

It's too much for her—too much. It's like riding a stallion, a powerful black stallion across the night sky, and she can feel the wind in her hair and the stars against her face and feel the muscles of the incredible beast moving atop her body and between her legs. She no longer cares whether this is real or not. She no longer cares about anything except what she's feeling.