| FELO-DE-SE |
| Covering his eyes with his sleeve, Amos put his face onto the ground. He gasped between intermittent sobs, and tried very hard to remember something, which might repel anything that would wish to do him harm. Then he vaguely began to remember an old psalm he once heard in a Black Metal tune. In said song, a girl recited it amidst a chaotic backdrop of distorted giutars and threatening vocalizations. This situation seemed somewhat analogous, and, therefore, a perfect opportunity to repeat the psalm, if only he could remember it. Oppressive darkness overtook the scene, as the noise of the hunt, which Amos quickly recognized as the dunkel-schatten Mister Quirk had warned him of, was indeed growing louder; even causing the ground to rumble as a massive coach, accompanied by the sound of hounds growling, hooves thumping, and an overall wash of wails and screams. He heard it come up the road and slow to a halt by the roadside, in front of his prostrate figure. Mixed in with the dampness of the night air and the stench of his haranguer, was the smell of sulfer this Son of Belial had told him of. Remembering Quirk's warning, he refused to look up from his sleeve, which he had used to stop his mouth from utterances. His mind raced to remember the psalm. Which one was it? How did it go? Then, he heard something nasty, wheezing, as it hobbled to the area Amos assumed was the left side of the coach. There was a sound of a wooden door opening, and a trap falling; then the squeak of tension from wooden steps, as someone alit from the cab. There were footsteps and, suddenly, in the darkness, there was light. Someone approached him with a flambeau, although he dared not look up at them. He could hear the groans and grated whispers of disconsolate souls, mixed with the articulations of iniquitous beings, murmuring in the murk by the coach. The murderous spirit now leaned on his back, and caressing his shoulders in an unwelcome and familiar way, whispered in a slithery voice, as noisome vapors trailed from his mouth, as well as his very being. "Look up, my fine fair fellow, look upon the face of the Mistress of the Hunt. The Nameless One stands before you and demands to be recognized!" Amos continued to try to recall the psalm, as it was used in the song. The girl had a heavy accent, and a nasally voice, but it was mixed loudly. He could almost hear it in his mind's ear. Not quite as well, however, as the other voice in his head. A cogent woman's voice, bidding that he... "Look up boy!" demanded the vile spirit. "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want..." "What?" "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures..." "Listen to you prating palaver, like some fucking black-coat bastard!" "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me..." "Devil take you--look!" "I will fear no evil; I will fear no evil!" Grabbing Amos by the hair, the spirit pulled up his face, causing him to catch a glimpse at the feet of the being before him, which were bristling with snakes. Shutting his eyes tightly, Amos screamed, "Nooooo!" as he turned, grabbed the bogle by his own hair, and felt the reality of his gruesome pate. Wincing, he felt to recoil, but instead pushed with all of his might on the flimsy crown of his attacker, and freed himself from the varlet's grasp. He ran down the highway, into the wood, and left the villain swearing a bloody streak, as the cab door slammed shut, and both Mistress and Hunt thundered away with seeming indifference. "Go on, run you son of a whore! I may not get you myself," shouted old Sam Hill, "but my master's servants are legion, and their guises are many!" |