Diva of the mist, p.1
Diva of The Mist, page 1
part #3 of Gothic Shorts Series
DIVA of THE MIST
Table of Contents
Title Page
GOTHIC SHORTS #3 (The follow-up to Red Cold Snow)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
GOTHIC SHORTS #3 (The follow-up to Red Cold Snow)
© Michael W. Huard 2019
Dedication:
This tale goes out to all those that believed in me as a story teller. Thanks for the inspiration and support.
PROLOGUE:
THE BURGOMASTER OF Teevas Island, Ivan Polanski could not sleep too well this evening. He tossed and turned like something was alive within his bloodstream.
It was then that he opened his eyes seeing someone standing before the edge of his bed. She was a tall red-headed woman, wearing the skimpiest, dark purple chemise. She eased herself into the Burgomaster’s bed, rubbing herself up against him.
Ivan’s heart was pounding, he was nervous knowing that his beloved Anastasia was with him in bed as well.
This strange new arrival, the woman singer from the theater, melted into his arms. He was aroused, yet trying to hold back. Her body was cold and she sought his warmth. Something made him desire her, even when knowing his wife may wake to discover such a secret.
“I can’t,” he whispered softly thus making a weak attempt to convince himself. “My darling Anastasia is right here, please, you must stop.”
The woman replied, “You know you want me.”
He tried to push her away, “No this can’t be,” he weakly demanded.
His words fell flat, as his loins said otherwise. The Diva would have him again, to taste his essence once more. They kissed passionately; he could feel her sudden heat beckoning him further. Suddenly his lip was bitten; he tasted a mix of blood and saliva. It did not matter, her smell was so intoxicating. He could not hold back. He mounted her, ready to delve into an ocean of sweet nectar.
Then he woke up, sweat pouring from his forehead. Anastasia was with him, snuggled up near him now. It was only a dream. He breathed a long sigh of relief, and thought out loud, “Oh my sweet Goddess, it was only a dream, and I’m okay, wow!”
His lip was sore, so he still wondered. Had it been merely a dream?
His wife tossed about, and opened her big brown eyes. He smiled at her, she was so lovely. “Ivan, I still love you,” she suddenly said. He kissed her on the forehead.
She then added, “But you know we probably have to tell the villagers what’s going on. They have a right to know that grave danger on this isle is before them.”
The Burgomaster swallowed rather harsh, she was right, yet he knew it would ruin the island forever.
Chapter One
Returning to the North West and then into the Shadowland, via the old cemetery gateway, Claudiva, with her two servants Mavark and Sebastian, and their three new hags stopped before a wide field of brown grass.
She then let the witches out, opening the back door of the wagon.
“I set you free now, here in my world.” She offered, “A place gloomy, and always dark, this land of mist is now your home. You serve me, though may do as you please. Yet always be ready if I call upon you.”
The three older women bowed their heads.
“What are your names?” The Diva asked before they walked away.
The first, the shortest of the three, with long greasy black hair and an uplifted, pointed nose replied, “Agatha Agruel.” The second, the tallest of the three, with short gray hair called out, “Penelope Pier, my darling.”
Sebastian, who was now off the wagon as well, walked over to the three; his seven-foot frame glaring at the final witch, “What about you cutie,” he asked. She was heavyset with warts all about her face and near bald of her brownish hair. Snickering she replied, “You can call me Sparkles, my dear honey.”
The hulking, long dirty-blonde haired vampire grinned and figured her warts were the sparkles she so was named after. How gross he thought to himself. He kind of mumbled, “Oh okay.”
Mavark sitting still in front of the wagon looked over yelling, “Looks like Seb’s got a new girlfriend!”
The three witches all giggled, be it a hellish laugh. But Claudiva had heard enough, “Go on now, flee into this realm. I am sure we will meet again, my minions of wicked magic.”
The women waited no longer. Moving out towards the woods, they headed east.
It was then that a series of eruptions came from the earth. Old graves were unraveled and tons of ornately armored skeletons stood up surrounding the wagon.
The bone soldiers circled about the three onlookers, while raising their curved swords in the air, preparing to attack.
Claudiva floated up before them and suddenly they all bowed, face planted to the ground. “Yes my guardians of the gateway,” she purred, “we’re back, go and rest now; your duty is complete.”
And with those words the skeletal legions dug into their dirty graves, again waiting for the next living thing to enter this shadow world.
A small town that came next was in sight as the rumbling wagon went on. The people there tended to stay inside with their shutters closed and doors heavily locked. Today was no different, and who could blame them? A fork in the road led the wagon west beyond this little town without stopping.
Coming ahead along the dirt road was a caravan of dark wood wagons. The bleak, dingy sky, a sky that never seemed to see the sun, revealed it to be wandering gypsies. The ornate markings on the sides of the wagons gave them away. Claudiva had no reason to stop as the wagons went by them. She knew very well who they truly served, and it was not she. He was their master! The one all called Count Rothchild. She was one of very few individuals who knew that Krons was the actual name of this plane, a name that was once his own.
She loved him at one time, once, well...maybe thrice. Not anymore.
Continuing on, they came to a large cornfield with two rather ominous scarecrows sticking out above the tall stalks.
Ahead was a dark forest, where a path within led them onward. The trees here bore the marks of the coven, the Crim. An organization of Nosferatu that ruled the area. Each symbol was carved into the trees making note to any non kin; a warning that trespassing was strictly forbidden here.
These tall dark brown trees looked so much alive. Their faces appeared to be gazing at those brave enough to pass by.
It was later on down the road, that the three reached a flooded cemetery. Tombstones were sticking out of the mucky water on each side as they road across a narrow bridge. Something was in the water, yet dared not attack the mistress of the night. Mavark also spotted a gruesome face, bloated and floating in the water.
The road veered right and soon they saw the landmark. A tall bronze statue of the angel of death. They rode by such and beyond that, on a high ridge, set a looming castle. Her home.
Mavark looked at his driving companion, “Those witches make you horny Sebastian?” The big man stuck his tongue out in distress at such mockery.
The moat around the gothic keep was wide and full of a thick dark water, but the drawbridge was down. In the courtyard, tattered mummies served as guards wrapped in old rotten cloth. Many of the creatures parted offering passage as the wagon entered and parked within.
One particularly gruesome mummy approached the Diva. “Master, welcome home,” he whispered hoarsely, bowing deeply, opening his rotting hand and beckoning her onward to a large set of double doors before them.
It now began to rain some. It always rained in the shadow world.
The castle was a large estate, yet hardly kept up. It raised high into the now drizzling sky, many tiers of towers were visible and its gothic weather worn, vine growing, infested walls made for quite a creepy appearance.
“Such a beautiful place,” called out the master. She rolled her neck some, stiff from such a ride, and smiled broadly. “Home sweet home, how nice it is.”
Claudiva stretched her arms up. “I just love this place my boys,” she then added. “Oh, and by the way fellas, it’s time to feed.” Mavark and Sebastian could not agree more. They made their way inside now, Sebastian pushing the smaller Mavark in a joking manner as all headed downward to the deep catacombs below.
After descending the great stairway, they emerged into a large cavern.
There were vertical coffins all about leaning against the side walls. These held prisoners of the shadow world, and those taken from Teevas Isle. Inside each, razor blades were placed expertly to cut into said occupants’ flesh; more importantly their veins. On the outside lower half of all these coffins, those that served as stone prisons, were a nozzle, or keg-like tap.
The three arrivals, each choosing a vessel to take from, placed copper goblets before such. Then they drained the crimson red nectar into their waiting mugs.
The coven now had its master back home; the feeding commenced in full force.
Chapter Two
It was hard to hide the fact that Prince Valen and Snow had one heck of an encounter with those that now appeared to be responsible for the deaths in the northwest.
With the loss of Thorfin, and his brave sister Thoreen, the Dwarven Rattlebones family mourned for quite some time. They now had but one son left, the eldest Thorack.
The prince would recover from his injury through a series of bed rest and exercises. H
He had no interest in returning back to the kingdom where he had come from. Not until they dealt with the issue at hand.
Ivan Polanski was still unaware of the connection he had with Claudiva, but Anastasia was knowledgeable of the Diva’s treachery. However, he was aware a lot of other situations going on. The young witch and the craziness to the north was information he still kept secret. Unwilling to disclose the true nature of the situation.
As for his beloved wife, everything really tormented her. Soon she became gruff; if not commonly mad at the world about her. To have her husband seduced by that woman just killed her soul. The Burgomaster saw this change in her but still was unsure where it was all fully coming from.
He did not recall any such seduction. To him, it was a dream.
Anastasia, who had the clearest complexion, that of the likes of the Goddess herself, knew what all were facing in the coming time. In order to remove the curse from the island, something had to be done. That she could not deny. She was nervous and on edge, day in and day out. It was soon after that others saw her flawless complexion change and her attitude fall.
A torn soul does that to you. He was drawn out and always seemed drained.
A group gathered together to brainstorm a plan, this very evening, in her castle’s dining room.
Obviously, if the Diva was going to return to perform, as she had before through the years, things could get really crazy for the residents on the island. Terror could strike beyond belief!
Yet none present, including Snow, Prince Valen, Ivan, nor Anastasia, would tell anyone about the connection of Claudiva and Svetlana, among other secrets. Their lips remained sealed for the time being.
Snow White, after many conversations, came to the conclusion that the mist was allowing this woman and her companions to enter the island. It appeared to be, according to what Svetlana explained, from down in the cemetery at the bottom of the hill past the stone chapel. It was there, through this older graveyard via a wrought iron gateway opening, where the mist came from, and seemingly the culprit of their dilemma.
Svetlana had talked with some of them before when meeting with Snow, Thorack, or Prince Valen. Such meetings were always in private, never here in the Burgomaster's castle.
Svetlana could not be seen just yet, the word was people were still after her, so she had to keep incognito.
She felt that the only way they could stop the madness was to destroy the portal as well. Thorack, their dwarven comrade, was all for it and welcomed the challenge. However, just how, no one was quite sure.
All Svetlana, the one-time sweet, quiet farmer's daughter, wanted to do was to clear her name and to once again be part of the community. To hopefully be someone respected, and maybe perhaps finally find love, a love that she had always dreamed of.
Today the Burgomaster and those at his long table came to the same conclusion regarding the portal being taken down, wrecked, dismantled, and its magic sucked away.
The whole meet here and meet there, and hide Svetlana from watching eyes, still was chaotic for sure. The one thing Snow had realized was that she really liked Svetlana. They were roughly close to the same age, and got along great. She was a good witch, if that; a druid more like it, thought Snow. They both had wished life would have been different, yet held out hope for change.
Snow would tell her new friend, “You can’t live a good life without doing for others, those that cannot repay you, and this is what makes one feel truly helpful and alive.” These words rang true for Svetlana.
She had always wanted that, she really had. One day, perhaps all her dreams would come true. For now she stayed in hiding while the others talked.
HANSEL AND GRETEL WERE good kids. They lived with their parents in a place lost in the world’s many realms. This place was a dark land, raining most days and the sun barely shined, if at all.
Their dad Ramos was a kind soul, a tall brown-haired man in his forties who had lost a leg years ago, yet still did the best he could. The sawing accident had not helped in any shape or manner. The farmstead was doing badly and, sometimes, even he was one to lose hope.
There were few goods to bring to the local town nearby as of late and soon they would be out of everything to get by regarding a four person family. He could only do so much.
Eden, their mother, was not so nice. She was depressed and frustrated. She chopped at her long, dark hair daily and dug into her skin with knives to help relive her constant anxiety. They were both down on their luck with crops and animals dying and could little afford to upkeep their home or lifestyle. Something had to be done.
They tried and tried but could not earn enough to feed the family, nor keep their living quarters intact.
One day Eden took the kids and sent them off into the dark woods. She explained that deeper in the forest was a tree of great fruit, luscious, red apples, that which the family needed. “Go and fetch those apples you kids,” she demanded, “then we can make more silver and keep the farm going. Run along kiddies, you can really help us.”
Ramos knew nothing of her sudden insanity. She had tricked the kids, telling them that if they used breadcrumbs to mark their travel, they would find their way back home later on.
It was an hour or so thereafter that the children, out seeking the tree, noticed birds feasting on the crumbs via the trail behind them. The kids were now lost in the woods.
Hansel, a brave ten year old, was just a cute brown-haired kid with a strong spirit. He waved to his sister to relax. “It is okay sis, we will get back, have faith. Trust me okay?”
Gretel, a blonde-haired softie, was a year younger than her brother and not so optimistic. “Hansel, I’m scared, what are we going to do?”
They kids tried to find their way home but were really lost, and soon enough darkness came in.
They talked and rambled on, but both were very frightened. It was then, luckily, that each spotted an old cabin in the distance. A light was on inside and they headed that way. The entire little home was built of gingerbread, and the kids were really surprised. Hansel peeled a piece off to eat, it smelled so good. He was starving!
The door then abruptly opened and a slouched over woman, she in her older years came out and called to the kids, “Hello little ones, you must be cold and hungry out here, come in, come on in, you two.”
She seemed nice enough and it was dark outside now and all, so Gretel looked to her brother for approval. Hansel scratched his head some, the smell of food was lingering in the air and he was tired and hungry for sure. He nodded his head as if to take up the offer, “I guess we can go in for a bit.” Gretel smiled at his words, and ran over to the door, both kids then went in.
Inside the place was filled with treats like dough boys, licorice, apple pie, cotton candy, cinnamon rolls, lollypops, and so much more. The kids ate tons, so much that they were ready to bust. Inside two other older women were seen, making it a total of three now. Each concealed their true identity all the while.
Penelope was the tall one, she had gray, short hair and an ugly demeanor, and as the night went on she became more of her true self in looks and attitude. She quickly put the two children to bed. “Yes, time to rest, you rascals get some sleep and in the morning there will be a wonderful breakfast.” She soon had them tucked in, and went about muttering to her sister, “Food for all of us, ha ha, yummy, real food to eat very soon!”
Agatha, the shortest of the three, had long stringy black hair and the longest uplifted nose anyone would ever lay eyes on. She smiled with her two remaining teeth stating, “So nice to have guests this evening.”
It was not after a few minutes when both Hansel and Gretel were sound asleep. They would not wake up under such a spell.
Sparkles, the last of the three hags was itching her facial warts, while admiring the two little ones in bed. She had very little hair on her head and always tried to touch her nose with an elongated tongue for no reason other than boredom. She went over and mixed a cauldron of liquid and added, “It’s about time we have visitors, life is good!”
