The White Moth; Part III

Her house was dark, deep and dramatically colored with black, purples, reds and blues, Jackson’s heart pounded in his chest.  His head spun and his mind was afloat. The last time he felt like this he had been tripping. The only difference was that this time he didn’t think that the lights were alive and trying to eat him.

Regina led him into a dark living room. The floors were a deep, dark wood and they moaned loudly as they stepped across them to a deep, plum purple couch.  As he fell slowly down onto the couch, he felt like he was sinking into warm water. Regina slithered next to him as the down in the pillows shifted and gave.

The boxes around the room were a sign that she hadn’t been living in the house very long, but Jackson couldn’t remember his parents telling him that it was for sale.  Ruby walked into the room, announcing her presence with the “click, clack” of her nails on the floor, and sat at attention next to Regina, almost in a protective stance.  The only light in the room came from a lone, dark amber lamp and a few lit candles.

He could feel the heat from her breath on his neck; his head floated high above his body as if he were drugged.

“Wha….”  He couldn’t finish.

“Sh,” Regina said as she put her finger against his lips.

Soon her lips took the place of her finger on top of his. They were smooth like silk and warm like liquid heat.  Jackson’s heart pounded with the strength of a machine.

“Just breathe.”  She whispered into his ear, the humidity of her breath lingering on his face.

Slowly she kissed his neck and pulled back, as if to see if Jackson were still in his stupor.  He couldn’t move. His body was frozen and limp, but his mind and heart raced.  Regina’s eyes seemed to grow more intense and almost like a fiery green that blazed within her head.  Then quickly she descended upon his neck and sank her teeth into the soft, supple flesh, deep onto the pulsating vein that lie beneath.

The dark, crimson blood flowed into her mouth and between her lips, a few drops escaping onto his neck.  Jackson tried to get up and push her off of him, but Regina’s strength was much greater than he had anticipated, and she held him back with her thin arms and dug her sharply filed nails into his body.  His head spun and his stomach turned in the pit of his body. The room spun and his vision became blurry. Then slowly, Jackson’s eyes slipped shut.

*                             *                               *                             *                              *

Her tongue lapped against his face like a warm, wet sponge.  Jackson’s eyes slowly opened, but they were still blurry. It was hard to see.  He rubbed his eyes and looked around when her tongue lapped against him again.

“Ophelia!  What are you doing?”  He asked.

He felt as stiff as if he had just gone through an intense workout and his stomach ached as if he had a hangover.  Jackson patted Ophelia on the head and scratched her ears, and then her saw it.  A white moth fluttered by his head and over towards the kitchen lamp. He clomped over the hardwood floors, making them creak and moan, as well as causing shelves to shudder, making his way to the kitchen-table lamp.  Slowly and with precision he raised his hands around the lamp, keeping a distance just far enough from the moth so as not to scare it off.

“Thank God.  You’ve been annoying me forever.”  Then, dimwittedly, Jackson moved in a way that landed the back of his right hand directly against two light bulbs.

“Ow damn it!”  He screamed, stomping his foot, causing the glasses concealed in the cabinets to shudder and shake together, sounding a song of high-pitched tones.  As rapidly as it arose, his brief outburst disappeared, and he made his way over to the sliding doors opposite the kitchen table.  Lithely, Jackson slipped through the door to the back porch and threw the moth up into the air, unable to see its line of flight, but sure that it had gotten as far away from him as possible.

Jackson scratched his neck. His body always got itchy after he had been sweating.  As he pulled his hand away, he noticed that there was blood on it.  Back inside the house, Jackson went into the bathroom and looked at his neck in the mirror. There were two “pin points” on his neck.

“What the hell?  Where did that come from?”

He grabbed some tissues and held them to his neck until the bleeding stopped and made his way to the kitchen again.  On the kitchen table there was something silver that Jackson didn’t recognize.  He picked it up and opened it. It was a cigarette case that contained cigarettes so long and thin that they looked like white matchsticks.  Jackson didn’t know why, but he had a sense of foreboding.

“Hamlet!  C’mon boy, time for a walk.”

The End


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