Moth to a Flame

The wind had picked up; the night was cold with a steady rain that pelted the old shingles on the cottage. She drew her chair closer to the fire trying to seek its warmth. One of the many disadvantages of being old was that feeling of never being truly warm. The room was small but even so the oil lantern cast eerie shadows on the wall and she felt a shiver move up her spine. Life had been hard for her, a never ending series of misfortunes. At first she had been optimistic that better things were coming her way but as the years went by she knew it was only a pipe dream. People like her were destined to fail; it was written in the stars. She had been married at sixteen to a man of her father's choosing. By thirty she had already given birth to nine children and there would have been more if her husband hadn't died suddenly. She had little time to grieve, her first concern was to feed and house her children. There were years of toil, years of working ones fingers to the bone to barely eke out a living. Her job as a charwoman paid scarcely enough to put food on the table. Extras were few and far between but somehow they had survived.

The years went by and as the children left; life became somewhat easier. By the time the last one was gone; she was well into her forties but looked and felt decades older. Life had passed her by and she felt bitter and resentful. Her children; whom she had struggled so hard to raise had their own lives and she was largely forgotten. Now in her sixties, her home became her world and her refuge. It knew her and understood her, its familiar walls brought peace and comfort. At the end of each day it listened as she poured out her feelings of loneliness and inadequacy. Oh yes her home was a safe shelter; her haven from the cruelties of her world.

That was then - this was now. It had started so gradually that at first she completely missed it. There were a series of small incremental steps that started to form over a matter of weeks. Her house seemed to transform day by day. There was never anything she could put a finger on but she now felt like she was unwanted in her own home. Her warm, welcoming house now felt cold and sinister; she was the intruder. Her gardens; always lush and beautiful; withered and died. The rooms of the house were always cold, even on a hot summer day. The sun often tried to peek through the ever thickening layer of clouds only to be thwarted time and again. The young boy from town who delivered her supplies left them at her door and took to heel as if the very devil was chasing him. Always a loner by choice; she now became shunned even more by the small town. As each day worsened; she knew she was well and truly on her own and her fears escalated.

She had no one; she had nothing. The cloud of doom had seen to that quite effectively. In a period of weeks she was isolated, a virtual prisoner in her own home. The cloud became denser; seemingly to come and go at will. Objects became blurred or distorted in the wavering mist and her mind began to slowly unravel. The creature comforts were secondary now; her main goal was survival from a force she had no power to fight. The days and nights seemed to blend into one; there was no respite from the continual sense of dread that loomed over her.

Until tonight - tonight was different and she had felt it from the moment the sun had sunk over the horizon. Darkness had come quickly; the house had seemingly been enveloped in one fell swoop. It was if the giant cloud had finally completely swept up the little cottage permeating every fiber of its being. She had wandered the rooms trying to understand the change but to all outward appearances it looked the same. No it wasn't the rooms and the furnishings; it was the atmosphere. There was an air of malice, a malevolence that filled her with dread and fear. The evil, malignant stranger had finally captured her home.

Hurriedly she had stoked the fire in a futile hope that she could purge the invader in her home. Pulling her chair close to the fire she took up her knitting. Her hands trembled but eventually the constant repetition of knit and purl seemed to sooth her tension. The crackle of the fire and the steady beat of the rain were comforting and she began to relax. Her eyes grew heavy and the knitting dropped heedlessly into her lap as she drifted off to sleep. It was the wind that woke her with its eerie whistling sound as it moved through the trees. She yawned; it was late and her bed called to her.

It was at that moment she felt the evil return. One moment all was peaceful for the first time in months; the next moment her heart was pounding wildly. The room seemed darker and she stood quickly and banked the fire. Almost in a panic now she hurried to her bedroom and undressed. The heat of the fire hadn't reached here and she shivered in a mixture of cold and fear. Whatever force that inhabited the house was doubly strong here and she looked around the room in dismay. She saw the mist as it rose and swirled around her legs and tried to run but her body was frozen in place. The small mirror on the wall captured her horror as the vapor enclosed her body in an almost claustrophobic embrace and tossed her effortlessly upon her bed.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream as once more horror fought a battle with disbelief. She felt the pressure of an unseen hand as it clamped over her mouth and nose and she fought wildly to breathe. Her hands and legs were wrapped in bands of steel as she was held spread eagle to the bed. Just as her lungs were about to burst; the pressure was removed and she gasped for breath; desperate for air. Her clothes were ripped from her and she sobbed in terror as the cold air hit her body. The vapor had no form, she could see through it but nevertheless she could feel it as it moved over her body. She cried out as she felt her breasts being squeezed by invisible hands.

She blinked rapidly - this had to be a nightmare. The walls of her bedroom seemed to pulsate before her eyes, taking on a life of their own. Familiar objects were now unrecognizable, each one transforming into a hideous caricature of itself. They fluttered in and out of her eyesight adding to the dreamlike quality of the room. Pieces of her life floated by; it was almost as if they took great pleasure in the carnal scene below them. Pictures off the wall, clothes out of her dresser drawers, hairbrush and comb; all battled for supremacy in the surrealistic atmosphere. She had no time to study their motives; no time to try and comprehend what was happening.

Her head tossed from side to side and she shrunk back as she felt the pressure of an invisible body as it covered hers. She tried to break free but the old bed, the bed where she had bore her children; held her captive. Whatever it was; it was earthy and raw and she moaned as she felt teeth clamp down on her breast. Her hips were held fast and she screamed as the being took form and reared back; only to drive itself deep inside her. Her body felt split; torn asunder and the pain threatened to overwhelm her as the entity sawed in and out of her. She had always lived a spiritual life; a life where she gave of herself and everyone took. Now as the beast pounded into her body she felt only pleasure and unbridled lust. For the first time she knew how it felt to be one with something; to meld into one giant mass of aching flesh. Tipping her head to the side she could see herself in the cracked mirror, legs wide as the giant member rammed itself in and out repeatedly. Her eyes were wide and she heard herself begging for release; for the blessed ecstasy to overtake her.

The old bed squeaked and groaned under the frenzied coupling and the room pulsed once more as the sounds echoed through its old walls. Outside the storm was at its peak; the perfect complement to her ever approaching climax. Her back arched as she accepted more of the pulsing, pounding rod and the blood roared in her ears. She was no longer an old woman; she was a wanton craving more. Age and time were irrelevant as her orgasm ripped through her body. The roar of the being above her only served to make her pleasure more intense as it swelled inside her. Around the bed the objects swirled madly as in a vortex, inching ever closer to the primal mating.

Her eyes flew open as the being's seed flooded her body; liquid fire; indescribable pleasure and pain. The lantern crashed against the wall as she reached the pinnacle. Its oil ran down the wall; a perfect accompaniment to the fires that raged inside and she watched as the fire reached the bed. As the flames licked her body she felt exultation; a giddy euphoria and yes - a feeling of contentment and belonging. The heat consumed her; combustion was imminent. Like a moth to the flame and with a cry of pure joy she surrendered and moved into the light.