“As magnificent as the day she was mined from the earth’s bowels,” El Escultor replied. “But…” he paused uncharacteristically.
“Yes?”
He smiled. His confidence was back. “We will talk later about the rock. First,” and he motioned to the bottle of cachaca, a rum favored by the Brazilian elite, saying, “We drink.”
His famed wood bench had been cleared of all tools and transformed to a banquet table, lavishly stocked with roast pig, caipirinha, wine, saladas, and frutas. They drank and ate their fill. All the while, the woman’s eyes rarely left the great stone block for long, always returning, even after making love on the studio floor that had been swept clean and covered with a soft blanket of alpaca fur.
Gazing hungrily at the feiticeira’s luscious curves, El Escultor professed over and over, “I will always love you, meu amor. Till time stands still, and longer.”
She pulled his head against her breast, flaming his ravenous appetite for her flesh. “You will love only me,” she whispered, though if he’d listened closer, more cautiously, he would have heard the viper’s hiss behind each syllable.
“The young puta meant nothing to me,” he confided, aware of the alcohol in his blood.
“I know,” she said.
“My work, it is everything, all that matters.”
“I know that, too, mue carino.”
“And you matter,” he vowed.
She smiled, again gazing across his muscled shoulders at the block. How could a stone so huge be so magnificently blue?
“The stone will be me,” she said under her breath.
El Escultor heard her and she didn’t miss the wary flash of concern in his expression. He averted her sharp gaze and looked down at the silver chalice which held the sweet liquid he’d been imbibing. He swigged until only a few drops remained. “What do you call this?” he asked, his words slurring.
“It is virola, made from bark shavings,” she said. “More?”
“Por favor.”
She filled the goblet, then watched him drink. “Intoxicating, yes,” she said.
“As are…you.” His speech slurred even more. The woman studied how he rested his head back. “I am feeling funny,” he moaned.
“You will,” she said, her eyes no longer on the granite but fixated on the stone carver’s tools. She settled on the heavy mallet and chisel. “What about my gift?” she asked, her tone suddenly harsh.
He attempted to lift his head. “What…have…you… done…to me?” he stuttered. He couldn’t move. Thick sheets of fear coated every word.
“The granite,” she said, her tone as cold as the ice bucket chilling the cachaca. “Tell me what you have planned for the granite.”
Deception was impossible and he knew it. “The village elders have paid a large sum. They have commissioned a statue of Saint—”
“Speak not.” The woman hissed. She positioned an anvil behind his head and pulled both paralyzed arms back, placing them across the steely iron surface.
“Mue amor, no,” he blubbered. Fear became panic and panic, terror. “I will find a new stone, even better, I promise you this. I swear, Franscesca,” he pleaded.
The feiticeira stared malevolently down at this man, El Escultor, so talented and strong, now as helpless as a newborn. “No one but me,” she cursed. “No one but me, Atilio, will ever be in that stone.”
Pressing the tempered chisel blade against the blanched skin of one forearm, she raised the heavy mallet and swung it down. And again. And again. Then she moved to his other arm, ignoring his horrific hi-pitched wails of excruciating pain. In less than a minute her revenge was complete.
* * *
Within days, the angry villagers apprehended the feiticeira and strapped her naked to a hardwood plank. After all, she’d just stolen the small town’s ticket to fame and prosperity. In the most hideous manner imaginable, the men of Ilhéus maimed and brutally tortured the beautiful young witch doctor, ignoring her screams of infinite agony. To both their dismay and surprise, though, she never begged for mercy. Instead, the feiticeira swore by all the black magic at her disposal, she would never die. She belonged to the great granite stone. And within the stone is where her soul would forever reside.
No one could take that from her. No one!
* * *
SÃO PAULO, BRAZIL 1954
The wealthy Peruvian businessman could not believe his good fortune. For months he’d searched for a proper pedestal on which to mount the statues of his three young children—two girls and one boy. He planned to place them around a marble fountain built in the courtyard of his large Liman estate. This would be a surprise birthday gift to his wife who had designed the fountain but had no idea her spouse had commissioned sculptures of their beautiful offspring to adorn the structure.
The statues were complete, life-size, and stored in his textile warehouse in Lima. The stone mason he’d hired to do the work was a longtime friend and the businessman trusted the artist’s creative judgment completely. Choosing the appropriate pedestal mounts had proved challenging, though. With his wide network of connections in the industry, even the mason could not find the stone with just the quality of blue to highlight the turquoise ingrained in the marble sculptures as well as the indigo stones catching the fountain water. Until three weeks ago, he’d given up on granite and decided a softer limestone or even polished feldspar would have to suffice.
“My wife turns forty next month,” the rich businessman reminded him daily.
“We’ll find her,” the mason constantly reassured him. All carving stones to him were of the female gender.
Then came the call from São Paulo both had been praying for. A trader in quartz and marble had recently acquired a huge block of azul pegaso granite. It was too large to easily place, and though it was unnaturally pure, he was on the verge of returning the block to the Azul Bahia Quarry near Ilhéus where the rock had been mined.
“It is the most extraordinary hue of blue I’ve ever witnessed,” the trader boasted, “bluer than indigo tourmaline.”
“You have cutting tools there?” the mason inquired in eager anticipation.
“For the right price.”
A tentative deal was consummated over the phone and the following day the mason flew to São Paulo, Brazil.
Now as the mason studied the monstrous block of granite, he realized the trader had not been exaggerating. If anything, he’d misjudged the granite’s quality. In virtual awe, he noted the deep azure matrix, as blue as an emerald pendant, though infinitely larger. Nothing in his many years of masonry had ever made him experience what he was feeling that evening.
“Increible,” he muttered repeatedly. Depending on the angle of his vision, the rock would glisten under the cutting studio lights as if a million minute iridescent stars were twinkling just under the granite’s surface. Initially, he thought the stone was moist, but no—cool and dry to his touch. Just placing one palm against the block’s surface made him shiver. And it was a warm night in São Paulo.
For long moments, all he could do was stare. The mason found himself seriously reconsidering his orders to cleave the stone into three pieces. What a shame to destroy such a prize. But he knew the rock was perfect for the businessman’s fountain, and a deal was a deal. With regret, he walked to the door and locked it. He didn’t wish to be disturbed. Earlier, the trader had helped him attach a winch and hoist the huge slab onto her side. Then he’d excused himself for dinner. Before leaving, the trader had told him, “You and your Peruvian friend were quite fortunate. For over two and a half decades this rock sat in Ilhéus. Only last week, it was shipped here. It was to be crushed into small fragments and used as aggregate in a decorative botanical garden walk. But the project engineer died suddenly while preparing the stone for pulverization. Heart attack, imagine that.”
One engineer’s unfortunate luck is another man’s good fortune, the mason concluded. He checked the time. Nine PM. He would finish by eleven, and the three separate
slabs could then be safely packaged and shipped back to Lima, Peru in the morning.
He pushed the bulky cutting saw toward the block. The massive three foot circular diamond-studded blade would make his work go smoothly. He slipped on a mask and pair of protective goggles. Reaching for the earplugs, he paused abruptly, listening.
Someone had spoken. A woman, but when he searched the studio, it was empty. The voice had come from outside, he decided, and was incomprehensible anyway. Perhaps it was only a laugh from the street he’d heard. A tourist.
Shoving the ear plugs in place, he flipped a switch and the big saw blade began to spin. Even with the ear protection, the din was uncomfortable, making him grimace. As loud as a jet turbine.
Positioning the saw, he watched the heavy blade inch nearer the block.
“Dios mios,” he started suddenly. He’d seen a shadow. Something had moved behind the block. He was sure now he was no longer alone. Aware of a new unsettling sensation in his gut, he shut the huge saw down. Didn’t wish to lose a finger or hand being careless. Somewhat nervously, he inspected behind the azul pegaso stone. Nothing. He heard the saw blade whir to a stop. Yet the intangible disquiet settling over the studio wouldn’t release him.
Chingada, he cursed as the saw blade began to spin again. What the fuck. Cutting machines didn’t turn themselves on. Briefly, he gazed at the monster spinning blade, tempted to check the switch for a malfunction.
But his escalating unease drew his attention back to the great rock. Perhaps his measurements had been inaccurate. He would recalculate the stone’s cleavage points. Climbing on top of the thick block, he noticed the granite was no longer cool, but warm. And it felt moist! Very odd, indeed.
Yet, it was the sweet fragrance of flowers that caught him by total surprise. Puzzled, he glanced around the studio but there were no flowers. An unexplained cold fear took hold that he was powerless to ignore. Where was that strange scent coming from? He gazed down onto the stone’s smooth surface and saw his own frightened face reflecting back.
The smell came from the granite!
He continued to stare and what he suddenly observed inside the great rock stole the breath from his lungs. “No!” cried out the stone mason, leaping from the block. Too late, he realized his mortal mistake.
Catching one boot on the winch cable, he stumbled, sending both arms falling toward the spinning diamond saw blade, severing tendon, muscle, and bone seconds before the wails began.
Though armless, and unable to unlock the studio door or staunch the flow of blood, death came not from exsanguination, rather emotional shock. Utter, absolute terror!
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Read how Franscesca’s vengeful spirit becomes Girl Blue in Alan Nayes’ erotic horror story GIRL BLUE published by Samhain Publishing.
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Alan Nayes has never seen a spirit in stone, but he has seen plenty of stoned spirits.
Read more about Alan Nayes and his books at www.anayes.com or follow him on Facebook and Twitter
Soul Eaters
R.G. Porter
Chapter One:
Kaitlyn’s shopping bags slammed against one of the stone pillars as she left the store in a rush. With thunder rumbling across the sky, she knew she didn’t have much time. Moving to the parking lot, she heard a whisper near a large fountain in the middle of the walkway. Glancing down, she watched as her image shimmered in the depths of the sparkling water. She nearly lost her balance when a brush of wind moved in from the north, pushing her to the side. Her hand caught the stone fountain, her hair whipping around her face. She felt a small tug and noticed as one of her earrings fell into the water. Uncertain of whether to retrieve her precious heirloom, she glanced around to see if anyone was nearby.
“Oh great,” she muttered.
The air bristled with electricity from the coming lightning, and cloud shadows darkened the street beneath her as she searched for her grandmother’s earring. She checked her purse to see if she had remembered to pack her stylish black umbrella, but with a great sigh, she remembered leaving it on the floorboard of her car. She glanced up for a moment, confirming what she already knew—rain was imminent and by the time she got back to the fountain from her car, it may not be safe to open a metal umbrella at all.
“Fine.”
Kaitlyn sat on the edge of the stone fixture. Praying the rain would hold off, she rolled up her sleeve and reached down into the crystal-clear basin. As soon as her skin broke the surface of the water, a chill ran across her skin. Lightning arced in the sky in a ferocity she’d never seen before. The air around her infused with energy as thunder began roaring. Quickly grasping across the basin floor, her fingers brushed against the cold metal of her earring. The moment her hand wrapped around the small piece of jewelry, a jolt rushed through her. The suddenness of it took her by surprise, and she lost control of her legs. She felt her body falling forward into the cold water. She expected a frigid shock, but none came. Instead, a dark vortex of energy wrapped around her.
“Help!” Kaitlyn tried to scream, but her voice never reached her own ears.
The world faded away, and she found only darkness staring back. Everything in her soul told her that she was peering into purest evil, and her mind tried to steel against the onslaught of cold and evil just as the menacing presence tried to push its way in. As the world continued to shift into darkness, she felt her body give in to the malevolent creature. She fought against the invading wraith, willing her conscience to overpower it, but as the seconds became agonizing minutes, a nagging fear began to take hold. Her mind might be strong enough, but her body simply could not withstand the lure of this terror. Soon she found she had no choice. The cold and darkness wrapped tight against her; her mind and her body both folded. She prayed this was just a dream.
* * *
Kaitlyn woke with her head pounding. What had happened? The last she remembered, she’d been fishing out her earring from the fountain. Everything had gone dark after that. Rubbing the back of her head, she tried to recall just what had happened. Kaitlyn tried to move, but her body felt heavy. Cursing under her breath, she needed to figure out where she was.
Open your eyes Kaitlyn. You can’t stay here. You must get up. Uncertainty laced the woman’s voice.
Kaitlyn’s eyelids fluttered open to darkness. Nothing around her made sense. Moments slipped by as her eyes adjusted to the area. Trees were everywhere, their limbs reaching out as if to grab hold of her. Where was she? Reaching into her jacket, she found only lint. Someone had taken her keys and pepper spray.
“Dammit.”
Loud stomps echoed in the distance. Though she was lost, Kaitlyn had a deep sense of danger heading her way. Suddenly, she fully understood the fight or flight reflex. Normally one to stand her ground, flight won out as she wasn’t about to wait to see what was coming. Running seemed the best idea for now. Getting to her feet, she looked around for anything familiar. Trees and bushes were everywhere, but none of the foliage looked familiar, no landmarks, and no buildings. Where had she ended up?
“Okay, Katie, let’s move our body.”
Her voice sounded strange, but she had no time to think it over. Getting to her feet, she moved away from the sounds and to the left. She wasn’t sure where the sounds were coming from, but they seemed to be everywhere. With every step, it was as if the noises were following her. Her body shivered with the brush of a cold wind.
Running as fast as her feet would take her, she found it difficult to maintain balance against the uneven forest floor. Roots and rocks jutted out to slow her progress, but Kaitlyn refused to stop. Several times her leg was sliced with the edge of a limb, the sting of pain enough to bring tears to her eyes. She wanted to shout into the darkness but held her tongue. And still, nothing was familiar. No lights or cars, just pure darkness. All around her were trees, stars, the moon and the howling of animals from within the shadows.
The sounds were getting closer, but her pursuers were steeped in shadows. Kaitlyn
kept moving forward. The full moon shone through the clouds now, and she crashed into trees and foliage less frequently, but the pursuing cacophony continued to increase. She had to find shelter somewhere or else meet whatever was following her. Just when she was sure she was going to meet those from the shadows, two hands grasped her waist and pulled her into the moss-covered earth. Kaitlyn opened her mouth to scream but the same hands covered her lips. Had she fallen into a trap?
“Shh before you get us killed.” The man’s voice whispered in her ear. “Be quiet or we will be found.”
Kaitlyn struggled to get out of the man’s grip, but his arms held her tight. She needed to move, to breathe before he suffocated her with his hand. One thought ran through her mind, though she feared doing it. Her need to breathe won out. Biting hard on his hand, his yelp and a quick intake of air was her reward. She thought about screaming but stopped. The sounds were even closer, and danger from the man next to her seemed smaller by comparison.
The man pulled her close to him. “That was uncalled for.” He rubbed his hand. “Not to mention it hurt like hell.”
Kaitlyn hated being held against her will but at least she had gotten her point across. “I had no choice. I couldn’t breathe!” He loosened his grip on her. She turned to try and face him but found shadows across his face. “What the hell were those and why did you try to suffocate me?” If she was stuck next to him, she needed answers. “And who are you?”
His body tensed under her inquiry. “My name is Jack Sinclair. Now hush ‘til they are gone.”
“Fair enough. I’m Kaitlyn, by the way.” Leaning in closer, she whispered in his ear. “So what the hell are those things?”
Jack glared at her. “I’ll answer you when it’s safe, now be quiet.”
“But…”
She was about to speak when his fingers covered her lips. She wanted to protest, but the approaching sounds made her pause. Now that she was closer to him, she could see his face. She could see his eyes through the darkness and found compassion in their depths. That thought eased the tightness developing in her chest. Nodding, she felt his fingers move from her lips.