I broke up with Meg because she thought my mentor, Victor Kingsley was a satanist.
I disagreed and decided to pursue Victor’s beautiful assistant as well.
But two weeks later Loren was dead. It was a freak accident. She tripped and fell down the spiral staircase in Victor’s manse.
He was inconsolable as I might expect, so I respectfully kept my distance giving him space to grieve.
However, two weeks turned into a month and just when I thought I’d never see Victor again, I was summoned to his mansion.
“How have you been spending your time away?” he asked. “Been practicing the arts?”
“Of course,” I reassured him. “You know I desire nothing else.”
“So, you’re telling me this is your heart’s desire—to enter into this realm?”
“It is,” I said fervently.
“Then prepare yourself—the day is not far off.”
Two nights later I got my wish.
A familiar voice roused me from sleep. “It’s time, Steven—time to begin.”
The voice was soft as velvet and caressed me, but I couldn’t discern the features of my guide.
I smiled as I was levitated from my bed and floated downstairs. I ended up in the den on my knees staring up at the dark figure before me.
“We must have light,” the figure said, and suddenly my body flared and in the sickly yellow glow I saw a face. It was Loren!
“Are you my guide?” I asked incredulously.
She laughed bitterly. “You always were so naïve, Steven—that’s why Victor chose you.”
“What do you mean?"
“I’m not your guide—I’m a spirit.”
“Have you come to instruct me?”
“Yes, you might say that, but you must understand. I didn’t choose this—I am where I am because of Victor—and you will be too.”
“I’m so confused.”
“You are. You don’t get it—you don’t see things for what they are—but I will show you.”
I stared at her in complete awe as she transformed into a majestic being.
“Now let the phantasmagoric vision begin,” she commanded.
Suddenly it dawned on me—I knew what was about to happen. I tried to get up and run but a heavy, oppressive force pushed me back down.
I struggled on my hands and knees, trying to scamper away from the parade of hideous images that were beginning to assault me.
Out of the darkness came flashes of Victor’s leering face and sickening sights of unbelievable cruelty, culminating in Victor pushing Loren down the stairs.
I was strangling, being slowly suffocated and woke up back in my bed trembling and gasping for air.
As I sat in my den that night, unable to get warm, and chilled to my very bones, a nauseating realization took hold of me. I realized I had been duped—deceived by a master manipulator.
A curtain was pulled back and I saw for the first time deeply disturbing glimpses of evil.
Although shocked and revolted, I felt complicit in Victor’s debauchery. The aura of the vision still oppressed me as did the bitter laughter of Loren, her mocking voice still ringing in my ears.
I sat through the night numb with fear and loathing, disgusted at my own blind pride.
It was a nightmare—it had to be. Dead people don’t return.
But Loren’s laughter obsessed me, leaving me naked and truly defenseless.
Six months have passed since that night and I’m still dealing with the aftermath of that dream—I call it that for wont of a better word that can express what I truly felt.
Victor still tries to make contact. He leaves messages on my phone. I can’t face him—I doubt I ever will.
Just lately Meg has gotten in touch—we’ve gotten together—she remarks on how I’ve changed.
I tell her I’m in transition now—I’ve seen Victor for who he really is.
She’s glad for me but has no idea of what I really mean.
And as for me now, nights are frightening—no more comforting hot drinks before the fire.
I leave a light on, and try to stay awake until dawn, although I’m not really sure it helps.
Still, I prefer to keep everything stark and defined—no walks in the mist, no flickering shadows on the wall.
It’s an uncertain realm, this darkness—physically and spiritually—there’s not enough actuality, not enough reality to discern shadows from real things.
And in the obscurity there are whispers, doubts and misgivings—and laughter—always laughter.
