Page 31 of The Flesh Remembers
The corpse was a mottled grey and green, with some sections of flesh a shiny, bloated white. Eleanor could not tell if the corpse had once been a male or female, for it was far too decayed, but somehow it seemed to have a sense of purpose. And that seemed to be holding Eleanor down within this grave. It’s bony, rotted fingers gripped her ankle like an iron shackle. Eleanor screamed, trying to kick it away, but she had no strength. She could only lie there and watch the events unfold with horrified eyes.
Another corpse soon followed the first, and then another and another until there were four of them, each one taking a wrist or an ankle and holding her fast to the ground. The unholy monsters then began to rip her filthy, torn clothes from her body, their long claws scraping her skin. The corpses worked in silence, seemingly not aware of anything around them other than the horrific task they were set to do.
Once she was completely naked, Eleanor felt the wormlike creatures that had crawled into her clothes now descend unfettered by those restraints. They covered her, as more and more of them seemed to rise from the ground, slithering in a giant mass together, thousands of them. They covered her body, moving on top of her almost as one sentient creature, each slimy worm reaching out its pink, wet body and moving along Eleanor’s white flesh.
Eleanor wanted to scream, the horror and torment greater than anything she had ever known, but no sound came from her mouth when she opened it. Instead, those horrible pinkworms wiggled along her face and poured into her open mouth, sliding down her throat. Eleanor gagged as she tried to stop the onslaught. The worms were now writhing on her breasts, creating a strange suction around each of her nipples. Though Eleanor was disgusted and horrified, the movement across her breasts was gentle and pleasant, which somehow made it worse. And then further down the creatures went between her legs, they began to pulsate and move in a strange rhythmic way, opening her most private places. Eleanor moaned as she felt the worms fill her. They seemed to know just the right spot to touch on her body to bring her pleasure, and she felt their wet pulsating bodies rub and thrust around and within her. As Eleanor arched her back in horrified ecstasy, she jerked upright in her bed, sweat glistening on her brow. There would be no more sleep coming to her tonight.
Sitting up in bed, Eleanor expelled a ragged groan as she tried to get the sensation of those lurid worms out of her head. She stepped out of bed and stripped off her sweat-soaked nightgown. As she did, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and felt her stomach drop in horror. Around each delicate pale wrist and ankle were vivid red marks where her skin had been chaffed by…something.
“Oh God…” she whispered before sinking to the ground and letting her tears come.
She stood at the threshold of the great hall, her breath shallow as the heavy wooden doors swung open. The air within hit her like a wave, thick with incense and the primal musk of bodies entwined in shadowy rituals.
Her gaze swept the room, and the swirling chaos seemed to shift under her scrutiny, as though the space responded to her attention. The once-clinical walls now pulsed with a dark vitality, transformed into an altar of indulgence, a temple of carnal abandon that seemed to breathe with its rhythm. The floor, a mosaic of glowing runes, throbbed in time, her heart pounding as if syncing to her essence. Candles flickered inevery corner, their flames casting shadows that writhed and twisted like living entities. The masked figures moved in hypnotic, serpentine rhythms, their forms illuminated by the flickering light, but the room seemed to orchestrate the dance, watching, waiting, and alive.
And at the centre of it all was James.
He stood on a raised dais, his body half-restrained by the galvanic apparatus that pulsed with an eerie blue light. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, his muscles straining against the bonds as arcs of energy danced across his skin. His eyes locked on hers the moment Eleanor entered, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath catch.
“Eleanor,” he rasped, his voice low and guttural. How he said her name sent a cascade of emotions surging through her: icy dread, fierce determination, and something darker, unspoken. It was a plea, a demand, and a promise simultaneously.
Before she could step forward, the glow of the runes beneath her feet surged, their light spilling over her like liquid fire. The room seemed to react, its shadows converging and coiling toward her, as if beckoning her into its depths.
James’s eyes blazed with a raw intensity, and though his voice was barely audible over the pulse of the chamber, his following words sliced through her like a blade.
“Don’t let them take you.”
The shadows closed in, the air crackling with unseen power, and then, all at once, the candles extinguished.
Excerpt from the diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft
My nightmares have returned. I had terrible nightmares right after James was killed and for weeks afterward. But they had slowly been lessening as time passed, or so I thought. The nightmare I had the other night was abhorrent. But that was not the worst of it.
I did not want to lie back down after that and risk another horrifying erotic dream, so I took a turn around the corridors, coming to a stop outside of Marian Collins’s room. I didn’t consciously realize where I was going, but I wasn’t disappointed with my destination either. I knocked upon her door, and just when I thought she was fast asleep and had not heard me, she opened the door and allowed me inside.
I stayed with Marian that night. We did not speak at all. She took my hand, led me to the bed, and pulled me into her arms. We lay in an embrace for a long time, only the sound of our beating hearts filling the room. But then, after some time, Marian and I looked at one another and gently kissed one another’s lips. It was soft and gentle; unlike the hungry passion I had felt from and with James. This was comfort. This was care.
We spent the whole rest of the night exploring one another. We shed our nightgowns and, with our breasts pressed against one another, we touched and tasted, exploring every secret place the other offered. For the first time since I came here, I felt safe.
But now I am wracked with guilt for knowing I have betrayed James. Do these tender feelings that I had for Marian mean that I love James less? I don’t understand what is happening to me. I feel so out of control and unsure of what will happen in the future.
I must try harder to focus solely on the end goal of this process, which is to bring James’s back to me as he was before. I will see this through to the end.
Let the Flesh Become a Vessel
Eleanor looked at him there, unnaturally pale and gaunt, eyes hollowed by death, the smell of decay upon him. She stood amazed at how far she had come from the happiness that had been theirs for that briefest of moments.
Eleanor slowly stretched her naked limbs, the warmth and softness of her bed feeling like heaven on the cool morning. A soft mumble to her left brought a smile as she turned to look at James. He lay next to her, his naked form sprawled out in the complete oblivion of sleep. His blonde hair was completely dishevelled, and Eleanor gently used her fingers to comb down some of the wilder sections.
At the touch, James smiled and then slowly opened his eyes. They were still heavy with sleep but seemed to brighten instantly when he saw Eleanor lying beside him.
“Good morning,” he said softly, his left arm snaking around her waist.
“Hello there,” Eleanor replied with a soft laugh, allowing James to pull her closer to him. “I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”
“Well, can you blame me? We tired ourselves out quite a bit last night.” James laughed, then pulled her even tighter until her naked breasts were flattened against his chest. James stared into Eleanor’s eyes, their foreheads pressed against one another, their lips a hair’s breadth from touching.
“James,” Eleanor breathed softly, her heart so full that she felt it might burst with her love for him.
