Halloween Quicksand Story Contest: "The Baron Of Black...

[water_bug_62208]

Here's my entry for the Halloween Quicksand Story Contest. Yeah, it's rather long. I had to break it out into four parts in order for it to fit within the character limits of the posts, but I wrote it for the spirit of the season... quicksand on Halloween.

Hope you all enjoy it. Best wishes to all who entered the contest. Happy Halloween!!!

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THE BARON OF BLACK WILLOW MANSION

By Water_Bug_62208

Copyright © 31 October 2009


(Editorial Note: Those of you who frequent the Yahoo! Sticky Situation Group in the past may have read a series of stories under a similar title and will perhaps recognize the antagonist in this story. I wrote these stories in partnership with an artist named Dchon, who now goes by the handle, “Stuckboy.” I’d write the stories while he drew his interpretation of the scenes I described. Of the various sticky situations featured in that series, the one I didn’t write about was quicksand... until now. So, a new story with a new victim and the same old villain.)


Basking in the warmth of a fall sun, the Amazon stretched out her strong, voluptuous body, her curvaceous derriere nestled upon the middle step of a rickety, old wooden porch leading up towards the locked entrance of the team’s newest opportunity. Pushing aside her unkempt, wind-blown hair of golden blonde from her face, she took a moment to admire the trees in their fiery autumn dress... such a beautiful and tranquil scenery... truly it lacked the evil malice of the object behind her. Meredith Michelle McFadden felt relaxed, though irritated as she tilted back her head and closed her blue eyes while she waited... as she usually does.

“Come on, guys. You know how I hate this, ‘Hurry up and wait,’ bullshit,” she complained. “Should’ve been here two hours ago.”

She was, “Mickie,” to her friends, and not as a nickname for “Michelle,” but more for a distant “night on the town” where Michelob beer was involved. Exactly what that particular brand of beer had to do with her handle was anybody’s guess. The only things for sure were she wasn’t going to talk about it, and, if you valued your life, you absolutely, positively, DID NOT call her, “Meredith.” The testimony from a couple of bikers needing some significant dental work sufficiently supported that fact.

Mickie worked for Phantom Finders, Incorporated, a “ghost hunter” service for hire specializing in the discovery, resolution, and, on rare occasions, exorcising, of paranormal phenomena and ghastly hauntings inhabiting the confines of private residences and public facilities. Joe McNamara, PhD in Parapsychology, ran the operation and was partnered with Harold Milligan and Avery Hill, both boasting their doctorates, and earning their fortunes, in the paranormal.

“Talk about working for a bunch of egotistical spook chasers too well educated for their own good,” she muttered while glancing at her watch. “Probably taking their own damn sweet time to get here at my expense… as usual.”

Unlike her colleagues, Mickie wasn’t a PhD, let alone a “ghost buster.” No, she was merely the “roadie,” the “mule,” and the “flunky” of the team who packed the aging Urban Assault Vehicle (as the company’s cargo van was affectionately called) and hauled specter-finding equipment and apparatuses from one haunting to the next. She also provided all of the Internet, literary, and historical research for her teammates to ensure they knew what they were up against. And, when the situation got hairy and there was trouble with trespassers, grave robbers, or the overly curious, she also enforced security and protection through appropriately measured applications of muscle and armaments.

Now looking past the salt-eaten UAV and back down the lone dirt road that led up to the homestead, Mickie let out a loud, drawn-out yawn. Typically, she arrived ahead of the team to set up the computers, cameras, and detection sensors, as well as any other special gadgets the team required to hunt spirits. This time, however, she idled in boredom, as something wasn’t provided her before she left… a way into the job site.

“Joe, you idiot... if you’d been thinking at the time you stuck me with this gig, you would’ve given me the God damn KEY in order to get into this fucking house! Of course, that’s just it… you WEREN’T thinking! Hell, you hardly ever do. And, YOU’RE the one with the PhD. Unbelievable.”

The call to immediately deploy to the newest haunting came over Mickie’s cellular phone right in the middle of her morning workout. She’d dashed from the gym and leapt into the UAV, burning rubber as she sped to the old, renovated garage that made up the team’s “corporate office.” Once there, Joe pointed at a satchel and said...

“...This is HOT! Leave now! Don’t worry about your suitcase... we’ll bring it. You gotta drive non-stop for this cause you have to be there in two days if not sooner to prep the place. We’ll follow in three. It’s imperative you have everything set up inside and out, ready to go when we arrive! DO NOT stay in the house and don’t check into a hotel! Live out of the van and watch the place until we get there... yes, it’s THAT important! When you do your research, you’ll understand why. Record with infrared at night and jot own ANYTHING out of the ordinary. Will rendezvous with you by thirteen hundred on the thirty-first. GO...!”

Then into the passenger seat he tossed the satchel stuffed with maps, directions, blue prints, equipment set-up plans, permission papers and permits, and, supposedly, a means of legal access into the place of interest... in other words, the key!

“And, a skeleton key at that!” Mickie specified. “Perfect. Just perfect. A skeleton key to gain entry into a haunted house on Halloween day. It just don’t get any better than that. Let’s see if I can reach the big boob to see if he brought the key with him.”

Retrieving a metallic red Nokia cellular phone with silver trim from her large, leather handbag of light brown, she flipped it open like a communicator from the original Star Trek series and stared at the lifeless reception indicator.

“Still nothing,” she confirmed, shaking her head. “Guess it really is a dead zone out here for cell phones. Oh well. Wouldn’t surprise me if he forgot the key. Bet good money that he forgot to bring my suitcase as well.”

Stuffing her cell phone back into her handbag, Mickie noted the sun radiating upon her bare, tanned skin. She glanced down at her athletic form, still scantily decked out in the workout attire worn at the gym three days ago. Intentionally fitted at one size too small, the elasticity of the dark gray and red vertically striped short shorts stretched taut over the bold, alluring curves of her broad hips and impressive derriere, fully exposing the thick shapeliness of her powerful legs. The brief shorts barely contained her butt cheeks as they lay considerably exposed upon the roughness of the step. The adhesive conformity of the lower portion of the garment was also most flattering, nicely tucking itself deep within her butt cleavage while superbly outlining the sensual contours of her cameltoe.

Mickie’s dark gray halter top was long overdue for replacement, but it remained favored and in use for the comfort of its well-worn fabric, which conformed around and complimented her large breasts most graciously while generously displaying ample cleavage for the world to gawk at. Thick-ribbed, cotton socks of dark gray scrunched down upon her dirty, high-top sneakers of white leather completed her tacky attire.

Leaning back a bit further then turning her head slightly to the left, Mickie focused her bright blue eyes upon the secured access into an old, decrepit mansion... a house apparently possessing secrets and a malevolent past far darker than the flat black finish of its rustic exterior. Recalling her research through the chronological records, the property was verified as Black Willow Mansion, with the corner stone of the house being laid six years before the outbreak of the American Civil War. At one time it was listed as a historical site on the county’s registry, but when a cultural resource consultant from the county land office mysteriously vanished at the site during a property assessment and appraisal for preservation, it was dropped from the historical registry and abandoned in place. The consultant’s disappearance six years ago was just the latest chapter in the ongoing mystery of this infamous house’s reputation. Simply put, yet unfounded, Black Willow was haunted.

“Would be the perfect place for a Halloween party tonight,” Mickie observed. “Doubt very seriously, though, that there’ll be any trick-or-treaters coming around here.”

The mansion would’ve been left to rot and Mother Nature allowed to reclaim the land had the declining economy not forced the county leadership to recover some monetary gain from the property. Desperate to cleanse the house of its supernatural fame in order to attract a buyer, the county turned to Phantom Finders, Incorporated, to fix this ghostly problem once and for all!

“Ah, yes... Hi! We’re Phantom Finders, Incorporated... we’re here to help… well, at least I’m here,” she muttered, redirecting her attention towards the autumn scenery before her. “Now that I’ve had a chance to read up on this place and do some research, I can understand why it was a big enough deal for Joe to keep me on-call twenty-four/seven and with the UAV loaded, ready to go, and with me at all times for this past week. Course, if this gig was really such a big deal, you’d thought the guys would’ve been here by now. Guess their parents didn’t teach them to never keep a lady waiting.”

Mickie glared at the company’s name painted on the side of the van, angry with the indifference of its entrepreneurs whom she repeatedly busted her butt for. A glance over to the passenger side of the van, however, extinguished that anger just a bit as thoughts of her usual partner in crime came to mind.

“Wish they could’ve gotten Bill for this job,” she yearned, thinking back to all those hauntings they traveled to over the past two years, especially the multitude of assignments this past summer where he kept her company during three thousand miles worth of grueling crisscrossing across state lines from the Midwest to the Panhandle. “Too bad he had that shoot in Canada. He always rode shotgun for me. Hell, he’s the only one who ever would.”

Bill Houston was an occasional acquaintance of the team, desired and contracted for his photographic skills. A non-believer in the supernatural, his expertise with film, digital, and infrared photography was paramount in the capturing of some rather amazing, though still unexplainable, ghostly images captures at many a haunting. His reputation as a locally reknowned professional photographer, as well as his skeptism towards “ghost stories,” actually gave a measured amount of credibility towards the team’s efforts.

“We always seemed to get our ghost, or at least its picture, when Bill’s with us,” she snickered. “A bit square and kinda geeky, but he’s good people… really good. God, we seem to have so much fun when we’re together. He listens to me. I’m able to share my most charishd thoughts with him... entrust him with my deepest of secrets. He’s the only one who understands me. He’s... He’s my best and only true friend I got in the whole world. (Giggle) I think he even likes me, though I have no idea why. Wonder what he sees in me. I can only hope he likes me as much as I like him. Or, dare I say... ‘love’? Wish you were here, Bill.”

As Mickie sulked in her impatience, frustration, and loneliness, there appeared a shimmering disturbances upon the surface of the heavy, wooden door behind her. Soon, a pair of evil eyes of solid black with gray trim took shape, eventually materializing on the door. They scanned the porch, finally locking onto an intruder sitting upon the steps. Initially perturbed in appearance upon seeing an unwelcomed guest, the eyes suddenly widened with apparent happiness, no doubt intrigued at discovering such a fine, feminine form gracing the porch. The plank beneath Mickie’s derriere inconspicuously sagged a little under her weight and gently molded to the curves of her derriere. A couple of splinters then arose to lightly prick her exposed butt cheeks.

“Ouch!” Mickie exclaimed, her hands wiping across her rump as she leaned her hips to one side to discover what was sticking her. “Damn splinters.”

Blinking with childish giddiness, the eyes admired the woman’s every movement and seemed to savor the “taste” and scent of her skin upon the step. Apparently satisfied with the deed, the eyes slowly closed and phased back into the door. Seconds later...


CRRREEEEEEAAAK!


Mickie froze in her position, the hair on the back of her neck standing as only her eyes rolled slowly towards their left corners in response to that eerie and most enduring sound emanating from behind. With careful subtleness, she pressed her handbag closer against her right hip, her hand reaching into a special pouch and bringing forth into the light of day her Glock Twenty-One.

Now armed with undeniable reassurance, Mickie slowly turned to her left, looking over her shoulder and staring with unemotional astonishment at the once locked door now wide open and beckoning her in. She continued her turn, bringing her pistol to bear upon the entry way while deliberately rising to her feet.

“Hello?” she called out, assuming a Weaver stance through habit of practice, her Glock battle ready for an engagement. “Anyone there?”

With her gun still pointed towards the door, Mickie gradually squatted down and reached over with her left hand to retrieve her handbag and its burden of two loaded magazines and a fifty-round box of two hundred thirty-grain hollow-points in forty-five caliber Automatic Colt Pistol. Shouldering her bag, she slowly advanced across ancient wooden planks of India black, bending and groaning beneath her sneakers as she approached the entrance.

“Hey! You in the house! Show yourself already!”

Answered with continued silence, Mickie stopped at the threshold of the mansion, peering past the doorway into the dark, dank interior.

“Look, this ain’t funny. I’m not playing games here. I’m armed and take pleasure in shooting first and asking questions later. So, stop messing around already, okay?”

Mickie scanned the floor and studied the fine, undisturbed dust for any tattletale signs of footprints. Seeing none left her puzzled.

“That door was locked solid when I tried it earlier. Couldn’t have opened by itself. Someone’s gotta be messing with me. Either that, or...” Mickie paused and chuckled nervously as she summoned the courage to cross the threshold and into the bowels of Black Willow. “...or maybe it was the ghost.”

Like fog drifting amongst the headstones in a cemetery, fine whitish dust rose into the air, responding to Mickie’s sneakers as they tracked across the floor. As she ventured into the foyer, a hazy mist began lingering above her ankles, occasionally licking at her calves and knees as she stopped to survey the sunlit interior.

To her left was a termite-ridden stairway providing access to the second floor. Straight ahead lay the expanding width of a hallway, which passed an enormous full-length mirror framed in gold on its way to the kitchen and dining room, as noted on the blue prints she’d studied during the trip. Mickie glanced to her right at an open doorway leading into what had to be the living room.

Swiveling her body to the right, she swung her Glock towards the living room, took two steps then stopped. She cautiously checked to her left to ensure no one was present in the hallway or at the top of the stairs before continuing her investigation.

Mickie’s footsteps were muffled by her rubber soles and the thick dust as she walked across the old wooden floor. Crumbling furniture and the tattered remains of a large rug consumed by moths accented the decay of this once majestic room. Stopping before a large stone fireplace, she glanced up above the mantle to see an oil painting in remarkable condition, contrasting boldly against the deteriorated state of the room, and featuring the tall, rough, fearsome presence of a man in what appeared to be the mid-fifties of his life.

Attired in a white denim shirt, black pants tucked into jackboots, and a flowing black robe, he was depicted as a man of wealth and power for his era. Clutched in his left hand was the infamous instrument of diplomacy, enforcement, and discipline... his bullwhip! Sharp as a raven’s beak was his nose, while his thick brows fanned out above his eyes like feathered wings. His horrible, sickly teeth, all crooked and ruined from years of neglect, would’ve made a dental hygienist puke her guts out at first glance. Bold, sharp, facial angles, steely blue eyes, a huge frame, and tough, weathered skin all combined to project an image of a most foreboding and all-powerful land baron.

“You gotta be the von Mueller,” Mickie surmised, recalling her research into the history of this mansion and its owner, Baron Boris von Mueller. “Or, do you prefer being called ‘the Master’?”

While reading up on the property and its dark past, Mickie learned that von Mueller made indentured servants out of helpless Southerners facing hardships in the aftermath of the Civil War. They worked his apiary, tended to the land, and produced the honey, beeswax, and mead upon which he made his fortune. All those sentenced to the misery of this hellhole referred to the Baron as “the Master.” He ruled with an iron fist and punished those who failed to obey, produce, or be submissive. Twenty lashes from his bullwhip were usually sufficient to instill discipline, whether the offender be man, woman, or child.

Mickie’s research also revealed a most perverted side to this beekeeper... the feeding of his fetish to see women in peril. He satisfied this hunger by having the ladies on the property become hopelessly stuck in a special honey and pine sap concoction of his own making. Traps of this fabled material were set within the house and across the fields, waiting to ensnare a hapless damsel. The Master would then sit back and watch these caught beauties struggle and scream as they tried to escape the tenacity of the ghoulish honey. Rumors had it that von Mueller supposedly “fed” off the fear and panicked energy released by these women as they fought for freedom.

The dastardly land baron reportedly met his end when he tried having his way with a young woman stuck to the floor of his study and was impaled onto the wall by her rescuing husband. Soon after that, the enslaved tenants fled, the apiary failed, and the estate changed hands several times over the years with no one willing to possess a property haunted by the Master’s mischievous ghost. Add a couple of missing persons report and you had one heck of an unsolved mystery.

“God, talk about a ghost story... or, should I say, an old wives’ tale?”

She uttered a subtle laugh of sarcasm before moving on to check the library for any presence of life. Unbeknownst to her, the eyes in the painting carefully followed the impressive curves of her butt cheeks, thighs, and calves, a crooked grin forming across the face of the portrait as Mickie paused just inside the library entrance. Performing a thorough, visual sweep of the room, she ventured over to inspect the adjoining study before returning to the living room, giving the likeness of von Mueller a passing glance, and heading towards the foyer.

Mickie halted then snapped her eyes back toward the portrait, noting it to be as she saw it before she’d checked out the library.

“My eyes must be tired from all that driving,” she assumed. “Thought for a second he was smiling at me.”

Reentering the foyer, Mickie gazed towards the top of the stairs then decided to sidestep to her right and work her way down the hall to check out the kitchen and dining room. With her pistol leading the way, she walked past the full-length mirror giving it a quick glance and caught the reflection of the staircase. In reaction to this, Mickie then swung her Glock up towards the top of the stairs to ensure no one was above her as she scooted along the wall towards the end of the hallway.

As she returned her attention to a decision on whether to check out the kitchen or dining room first, Mickie had no idea that something was happening behind her. A shimmering effect rippled from the center of the mirror out towards the sides and back, bringing the once peaceful surface to a boil. Materializing within the chaos was the dark, ghoulish gray form of a most hideous apparition, his arms held across his chest as he surveyed the rising trail of dust left in Mickie’s wake. A jagged smile formed upon the maggot-infested flesh of his face as flaring nostrils picked up on the distinctive, lingering scent of a young woman.

Brilliant white hair and a tattered robe of dusty gray flowed in the mystic winds of his realm as he reached out to grip the sides of the mirror and lean out into the hallway. Turning his head towards Mickie’s direction, the once pleased look of anticipation morphed into a presentation of disappointment and scorn.

“What in the name of Satin have I let into my house?!” he thought as he studied the woman before him. “My eyes must be getting terribly bad to have been so deceived.”

The specter judged her to be around twenty-eight years of age... a bit older than he’d prefer. Though he found her robust and somewhat muscular form amazingly shapely, quite feminine, and rather appealing, she was nothing like the one he had before.

“Alas, this cow lacks Jenave’s slim features, though I must say I’m rather intrigued by her unique combination of muscular voluptuousness and femininity. She’s definitely far thicker and heavier in body, but amazingly tone, curvaceous, and sexy. There truly is plenty of woman for me to love.”

His deeply sunken eyes closed while his left hand reached out towards Mickie to evaluate her internal essence. Thick, white brows raised in delight then cringed across his forehead in disgust.

“Damn! Jenave she is NOT!” he shook his head in revulsion. “Though Jenave was athletic and certainly of strong mind and will as this one, she was at least subject to the emotional frailty typically associated with women. But, this one... no, she’s quite different... and, in a most disappointing way!”

The polterguist opened his eyes as an angry sneer dominated his angular face. He pointed an accusing finger at Mickie, shedding a few maggots against the staircase and upon the floor in the process.

“This one is powerfully athletic, strong in mind, will, and physique, and possesses a very high tolerance for fear, far more so than any woman I’ve ever come upon! In fact, her internal discipline and mental training are such that fear is instinctively converted into action and reaction. She has no time to be afraid! Any opportunity to feast upon raw fear and panicked energies from this one would happen with extreme rarity, if at all. Gad, she truly is one of a ‘no fear’ demeanor.”

He shook his head, the look of defeat dominant in his eyes.

“Could this be it... the end? The end of my realm as I know it? And, to perish on Halloween of all days! Unthinkable!”

Another gaze upon the woman was cast, conniving eyes depicting a thought process to work some solution.

“It would require tremendous expenditure of precious energy on my part to even gain a morsel of digestible fear from her. Determination? Yes, I can get that emotion from her, but it only goes so far for my recovery. Anger and frustration? No doubt she’s filled with spit and vinegar, but there’s not much nutrition in those emotions. But, I can’t simply let her go. When would such an opportunity present itself again? A mere snack is better than nothing at all. Given the fact I haven’t fed in years, beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, who knows, I might get lucky with this one.”

Desperate eyes once again studied the big-boned features of the young woman now peering into the kitchen. Starting at her feet, his experienced eyes worked their way up her five-foot, nine-inch frame, taking in the strong voluptuousness of her large flaring calves, huge powerful thighs, magnificent buttocks and shapely hips, and finished with a study of her thick biceps and broad shoulders. A glance at her delectable breasts, shoulder-length hair of blonde, and attractive, though somewhat plump face, was enough to convince him.

“She stays! I’ll find some use for her. It’s a shame, though. Jenave had the elegance of a fine quarter horse, while this one has the clumsy grace of a Clydesdale! Damn the bad luck!!!”

Just then he noticed Mickie suddenly halt her advance into the kitchen.

“Oops! My thoughts betrayed me. She heard!”

The ghost retreated back into the confines of the mirror just before Mickie spun to her left, bringing her gun to bear upon the front door.

“I know I heard something!” she thought. “Maybe the guys are finally here.”

Mickie carefully moved towards the front door, her eyes cautiously maneuvering up towards the top of the stairs as it gradually came into view. Turning left and rapidly aiming her gun up at the second floor doorway looming above her, she let out a sigh, relieved to find no one there. Following through with her turn, she faced the mirror.


“BOOYAHHHHHHHHH!!!”


Shouted the specter in the mirror, his crooked teeth snarling, his hands held above his head with fingers spread wide open as he lunged at the woman.

Mickie’s eyes bulged out at the horrid sight before her. She gasped in shock and awe, the slight panic resulting from the suddenness of the ghost’s unexpected appearance pinning her hard against the staircase behind her. The Glock Twenty-One was instinctively aimed towards center mass and instantly followed up with a repeated engagement of the trigger. She emptied the magazine in a hail of lead unleashed upon the ghoul, perforating his chest and splattering necrotic tissue and maggots, yet to no avail. The clinking of spent brass casings upon the wooden floor were barely audible over the creature’s reverberating scream and haunting laughter.

Reaching out, the ghost latched onto Mickie’s wrists and clamped down hard. She cringed, pain etching across her face as the searing cold of his putrid flesh burned her skin and numbed her limbs. Within a split second her Glock was effectively dislodged from her right hand and send to the floor with a heavy “CLUNK!”

Mickie now desperately fought for traction upon the slippery dust beneath her feet as her ghastly foe pulled her towards the mirror. Violently twisting and yanking, she tried ripping free of his relentless grip, but could not.

“My, a strong one she is!” the demon mentally exclaimed with elated surprise as he found himself near the verge of being dislodged from the mirror.

“ARGH! LET ME GO! LET... ME... GO!!!” Mickie demanded, her arms and body writhing and jerking while her powerful thighs quivered as they braced her feet against the lower frame of the mirror.

“Oh, what fun!” he thought. “Fight! Fight with every once of strength you have! Ah, she is so WONDERFUL and FEISTY! I’m registering some minute panic, but as I predicted, all her fear is being channeled towards action and reaction. How efficient! But, enough is enough... time to end this.”

The specter leaned back casually to snatch her off the floor, but met unexpected resistance when with renewed strength Mickie pushed with her thighs and threw all one hundred and ninety-five pounds of her weight backwards. In a mighty heave she successfully dragged the apparition about three quarters of the way out of his mirror.

“How foolishly of me to underestimate a muscular maiden such as she,” he chastised himself. “Never before have I had so much woman to handle! This is going to be SO much fun!”

As he fought to reel his prize back in, the evil spirit could feel the mirror beginning to buckle, threatening to break free of its mountings. Although he loved this challenge, he had to subdue his prey and fast... Oops! Too late!

“Uh, oh,” he gasped, a look of surprise filling his huge eyes and pulsating face as he looked above him, drawn to the screeching sound of heavy screws stripping out of the masonry before feeling the mirror begin its inevitable collapse forward. “Oh, shit. Woa... Woa... WOAH!!!”

The scream never had a chance to leave Mickie’s lips before the mammoth of a mirror and its resident hellion came crashing down upon her.


BOOOOOMMMMM!!!


The resulting sonic concussion knocked pictures off the walls and splintered the crystal prisms and light fixtures of the chandelier hanging above the foyer. The mirror’s colossal impact sent a thick plum of dust rising into the air and created a seismic event that shuttered the house down to its foundation.

Minutes layer there was absolute dead silence in the hallway, and as the dust finally settled it unveiled the humongous mirror laying perfectly flat and solid upon the floor. Yet, there wasn’t even the tiniest shard of shattered glass nor the expected oozing of bodily fluids to be found anywhere within close proximity of the looking glass. Then with the slightest creak, the mirror began slowly rising like a drawbridge back towards the wall, leaving nothing beneath it save a rectangular outline on the floor completely devoid of dust and human remains.

(Continued)

[water_bug_62208]

Part 2: The Baron of Black Willow Mansion

Mickie slowly regained consciousness, her heavy eyelids forced opened before they blinked once or twice. A slight groan issued from her mouth, followed by a scowl on her face from the oncoming nausea and an intense, echoing pain above and deep behind her gentle eyes of blue.

“I’ve had hangovers that felt better than this,” she mumbled, closing her eyes again as her discomfort level rose. “Of course, it’s to be expected when I have the Mother of all Mirrors fall on me.”

As realization finally set in, it was apparent she was sitting down, her arms propped behind her with legs slightly pulled in and feet solid on the ground. She looked around, impatient for her eyes to adjust to the dimness as she performed an initial survey of her surroundings.

There was a crinkling of her nose and a look of disgust in her face as the cold, dank air filled her nostrils with the sweet, heavy stench of stale honey.

“God, it stinks in here,” she muttered, her eyes just now picking up needed details of her whereabouts. “Looks like a cellar… probably for the house.”

Still trying to comprehend the events that delivered her to this current locale, Mickie took in the scenery around her. The basement was huge, stretching out along the entire foundation of the house. Circa 1860s construction, the basement walls were actually that of the foundation, comprised of old cut stone meticulously fitted in place by hand. Looking over her left shoulder and behind, her eyes were challenged to make out even a hint of detail in the deep, black void dominating the far end of the basement. A small incandescent bulb hanging from a wire just barely shed enough light to cut the darkness immediately around her, revealing the presence of water pipes, utility lines, an anvil with a bicycle inner-tube hanging from it, and a heavy, pumpkin orange material of seemingly waxy composition spewed in preponderance throughout the cellar. As she studied the hardened, taffy-like stuff, a query came to her mind.

“Must be the honey-based product von Mueller made to entrap women with for his wicked fantasies. God, the legendary accounts I read were true… he actually manufactured this shit and carried out those perverted deeds. Looks like he had some sort of industrial accident down here.” Mickie scanned the huge mess, coating everything thickly into non-recognition, partially filling the cellar, and consuming about half of the majestic flight of stairs rising before her towards a landing. “Speaking of, ‘down here,’ there’s my way out of this hell hole.”

The stairwell descended along the wall to her left ending upon the landing from which the final flight of stairs led down to the basement floor. The entire stairwell seemed to be thickly covered in that same gooey, amber-like stuff, the source of which was apparently somewhere above. Where these stairs went matter not as anyplace would be better than where she was.

“Time to get the fuck out of...”

Mickie tried to stand up, but unexpectedly remained in the seated position, unable to budge. Glancing down over one shoulder then the other, she was perplexed at finding herself sunk to the wrists in the same orange gunk that was splattered everywhere. Redirecting her attention along her body, she discovered her butt cheeks cradled a few inches into the same stuff and her legs taken up to the ankles.

Contracting her abdominal muscles, Mickie simultaneously pulled at her arms and legs, using her butt as leverage to work them free. Yet, they remained stuck fast in the highly viscous matter, the effort succeeding only to press her derriere even further into trouble. Assuming she hadn’t tried hard enough, Mickie again pulled at her arms and legs, grunting slightly at the attempt. This time the amber glop reluctantly stretched up with her rising extremities, sticking to them like glue, and hampering her escape. As she pulled and jerked, her squirming butt worked itself deeper into the entangling ooze. Unable to make any progress, Mickie relaxed, her hands and feet being sucked back into the depths of hybrid honey.

Now shifting her weight onto her hands and feet, Mickie grunted and groaned as she arched her back and tried lifting her butt free of the thickly gelatinous substance. Twisting and rocking, her derriere rose slightly by maybe an inch, but no higher before being jerked back in, the impact forcing out any remaining pockets of air with the sound of a fart. Getting rather frustrated and annoyed at her inability to improve upon her situation, she again arched at the back, pressing down harder upon her hands and feet to try and rip her rump free. No good, as she seemed to be in an even worse dilemma than before. It matter not how hard she lifted and pulled, her butt refused to budge even the tiniest of a fraction from the gluey suction. Meanwhile, the stinking goo yielded readily beneath her hands and feet, taking her in halfway up her forearms and shins.

“I don’t believe this. I’m …Ungh! Stuck!”

Again her body writhed, Mickie doubling her effort towards yanking her hands and feet from this peculiar adhesive. But, she couldn’t move at all, held fast and tight by the honey-like morass. In fact, if anything, she seemed to have loosened the imprisoning glue to the point to where she was now sinking into it at the ever so slow pace of a snail.

Mickie renewed her struggling, eager to free herself of the sticky bonds that held her tight. Then, through her grunting and the squishing of the coagulated honey, her ears picked up on the repetitive creaking of stressed wood just in front and slightly above her. Ceasing her thrashing about, Mickie cautiously cast a gaze up the stairs towards the landing, letting out a slight gasp at the sudden appearance of a ghastly human form sitting comfortably in an antique rocking chair and watching her every move. She quickly recognized the creature as the apprehending poltergeist in the hallway mirror.

Even in the faint light of the cellar, Mickie could make out the grotesque features of the specter’s face, the myiasis of white maggots squirming through his tissues so evident and sickening. A few minutes would pass with neither side saying a word. For Mickie, she was a bit too startled and grossed out to initiate an intelligent conversation in any shape or form. Besides, with the exception at yelling at the thing in the hallway, she’d never spoken to a ghost before, let alone been attacked by one.

Eventually, the spirit tired of the staring game and went back to his business at hand of meticulously rummaging through something, perhaps a bag of some sort, lying hidden upon his lap. Mickie looked on, wondering what inanimate object would fascinate the non-living to such an extent. Strangely intrigued by the phantom’s inquisitiveness, she watched as he pulled out and stared at a stick of lip balm before tossing it over his shoulder. Next came a Nokia cellular phone in metallic red and silver trim, which he opened and began pressing a series of buttons to bring forth the recorded greeting…


“Hi, this is Mickie. Can’t come to the phone right now, so please leave your name and number and I’ll call you back.”


…He then carelessly dropped the cell phone upon the wooden landing before digging further into the bag. The expression of awe and curiosity in Mickie’s face now gave way to one of anger and annoyance as she finally realized what it was the ghost had in his possession.

“That’s my handbag you’re going through. HEY! I said that’s my handbag you’re going through!” she informed the preoccupied ghoul. “Stop messing with my stuff!”

The specter paid her no mind in spite of her protest as he reached back into Mickie’s handbag to continue his random search through its contents to find something else with which to amuse himself. Mickie tried again to draw his attention

“You know, it’s rude to go through a woman’s purse.”

But, it was to no avail as he simply ignored her. A set of keys was found then send flying across the cellar. Next went her BlackBerry careening off the wall of cut stone, shattering, and falling in pieces upon the hardened goop. Then came her SureFire E-Two-D LED Defender, which he flung towards the ground next to Mickie where it impaled itself into the solidified honey mix like a knife.

“Be careful already!” she demanded.

He seemed oblivious to anything Mickie had to say, his infested hands sifting through her handbag and producing some tampons and sanitary napkins. Obviously fascinated by his discovery, he held these up, showed them to her, and smiled. She then caught him staring between her legs at her cameltoe, forcing her to casually bring her thighs together to block his view.

After studying her intensely for a few minutes, the poltergeist seemed to change in shape and form, stretching at the waist as his head, shoulders, and arms made their way down the stairs like a serpent towards the trapped Amazon. Mickie made a move to the right to evade his approached, but couldn’t budge, reminding her that she was hopelessly stuck and thus evoking a touch of helplessness in her. Never before had she been trapped in such a predicament and unable to defend herself.

Upon reaching her, he smiled then placed his deteriorating hands upon her knees. Mickie grimaced, the sharp frigidness of the ghost’s lifeless hands burning her flesh and sucking the living warmth from her body as he tried prying her thighs apart, determined to see what he was being denied.

“Hey! Knock it off!” Mickie ordered, finding the need to use every once of strength she had to keep her thighs together. “Stop it. I SAID STOP IT!”

The idea of possibly being raped or fondled by a ghost was beyond comprehension, but that appeared to be just what this thing had in mind. With considerable effort, the spirit finally managed to force her thighs a few inches apart before she slapped them back together. Again he began pushing her thighs apart, this time spreading them aside far enough to begin elongating his neck and sliding his head slowly down along the inside of her thighs. Where his head contacted her skin remained a cold, slimy smear of decayed tissues and writhing maggots.

“NO, DAMN IT!” Mickie commanded, the powerful muscles of her thighs flexing to the extreme and slamming close, squishing the demon’s head flat between them.

The entity tried pulling his head free from her thighs, but she maintained her hold on him. Mickie wasn’t sure if she should let him go or keep him captive for a change; however, that decision was easily made when the icy bitterness of his skin against her thighs became too much to bear. Forced to give in, she reluctantly released him. Now free from his leggy imprisonment, the denizen of Black Willow backed off, inhaled deeply, stuck his thumb into his mouth, and blew hard, popping his head back into its original shape. As he withdrew back towards the rocker, the ghost winked and flashed Mickie a rather perverted smile.

“You’re getting way too personal, ya know!” she warned.

“I know,” he replied with a chuckle and a wink of an eye as he retracted his upper body back along the stairs and reassuming his normal physical state upon reaching the rocking chair.

The ghost’s response monetarily stunned Mickie, though she quickly regained her composure to avoid showing weakness.

“Well, then stop touching me and don’t mess with my stuff!” she insisted.

“I don’t take orders from you, Clyde!”

“Who?” Mickie asked, a bit confused.

“Clyde.”

“Who’s Clyde?”

“You are.”

“Where the hell did ya get ‘Clyde’ from?”

“Let’s just call it a ‘pet’ name, shall we?”

“Fine, but my name’s ‘Mickie.’”

“Actually, no, it’s not,” the apparition corrected as he lifted Mickie’s drivers license from her pocket book and pointed to it. “Your name is ‘Meredith.’ See? Says so right there.”

Mickie cringed at the sound of her given name. Oh, how she hated it!

“Don’t call me that.”

“’Meredith?’”

“YES!”

“You don’t like it?”

“NO! I’d rather be called ‘Clyde.’”

“Then Clyde it is!”

“Argh!” Mickie growled in frustration then strained and writhed within her gummy trap. “Look, you have no right abducting me and holding me prisoner in this dump! I demand you release me!”

“Dump?” The specter took immediate offense to the description. “This is my home you’re talking about and she’s rather sensitive of what people say about her! That’s no way for a guest to behave!”

“Guest? You gotta be kidding me. I certainly don’t want to be here, especially with you! Now get me out of this shit and let me go!”

“Now wait a second, my muscular cutie, you trespassed onto my property,” the ghost retorted. “I’m merely exercising my rights as a landowner and holding you for the local authorities… which happens to be me in this case. Therefore, that makes you my guest.”

“I’m not trespassing!” Mickie argued. “The front door opened and I walked in!”

“An open door is not an invitation to enter uninvited! And, by the way, you barged in with a gun in your hand!” noted the being. “That makes you a trespasser with intent to commit armed robbery and perhaps murder!”

“I’m not a trespasser!” Mickie protested. “I have written permission from the county government and the sheriff’s department to enter this house.”

“I don’t recognize their authority! This is private property and you’re a trespasser!”

“Look, I’m on assignment here to...”

“Assignment? You some sort of reporter?” The specter resumed his search through Mickie’s handbag for an answer. “Where’s your press credentials?”

“No, I’m a…”

“Ohhhh, lookie here,” the entity interrupted, retrieving a business card. “You’re a ghost buster! Oh, how delightful! I’ve never met one of you before. Of course, this is the first time your type has ever been around here.”

“I’m actually in charge of technical support, equipment management, and historical research,” she specified. “I only work for those guys.”

“Matters not! You’re guilty by association, Clyde!” the specter shouted. “And, ghost busters are good for only one thing… killing ghosts!”

“We don’t kill ghosts.”

“Liar! It says so right here on the card… ‘Discovery, Resolution, and, Exorcising of the Paranormal.’ You drive ghosts from their dwellings, do you not?”

“Well, we try,” Mickie couldn’t argue with him on that point.

“See? You really kill the spirit of a ghost when you evict him from his dwelling. So, you’re here to drive me from my home, thus sentencing me to death!”

“Wait a minute… you’re already dead!”

“Don’t try changing the subject, Clyde! You came here specifically targeting me! That makes you guilty of premeditative murder!”

“Target? Premeditative murder? I don’t even know who the fuck you are!”

Mickie was growing tired and impatient with the stupidity of it all… stuck and sinking in some kind of stinking molasses while having a debate with the dead!

The ghost initially seemed a bit taken back by Mickie’s ignorance of his identity. Then a scowl came across his face as he pointed a finger of accusation at her.

“Don’t play blonde with me, Clyde... even though you are! If you’re responsible for historical research for these goof balls, surely you took the time to do your homework about this place and its resident!”

“Of course I did! What kind of incompetent idiot do you take me…” Mickie fell silent, feeling the color draining from her face and goose pimples erupting on her exposed skin as a frightening thought finally sunk in regarding whom she’d been dealing with all this time.

Mickie was awestruck, looking up towards the apparition as she recalled her previous thoughts about this very guy while in the living room and gazing upon his portrait. She shuttered slightly as she remembered all too well what kind of evil and decrepit creature he was.

“Boris von Mueller,” she acknowledged.

“That’s ‘Baron von Mueller’ to you, Clyde, but you can call me, ‘Master.’ Might as well beat the Christmas rush and start addressing me as such. Now, let’s say it together, shall we? ‘Master.’ Come on girl, you can do it... I know you can.”

“I will do no such thing!” Mickie protested. “I’ll show no respect whatsoever to a fucking pervert who took shear delight in tormenting young women by entrapping them in…”

Mickie paused, her eyes closing as feelings of anger and embarrassment swirled in her head. The irony of it all was simply killing her! Mickie casually glanced down, seeing her body settling further into that very form of entrapment no doubt employed by von Mueller all those many years ago.

“You were about to say…?” the Master pressed, the jagged smile upon his hideous face beaming wide.

Mickie chose silence in lieu of possibly providing any more unintentional forms of entertainment for von Mueller. The Baron rose from his chair through levitation, crossed his legs, and drifted down the stairs towards his trapped beauty. Occasionally maggots would be displaced from his putrefied flesh, bouncing off the wooden steps and abandoned to fend for themselves.

“Ingenious stuff, ain’t it?” von Mueller gestured with both hands in open presentation, admiring the rancid honey mixture imprisoning Mickie. “I call it ‘concoction.’ Made it myself. A precise formulation of honey, pinesap, and bees wax all blended together to adhesive perfection for holding you fast while providing just enough give to allow you to sink. Quite marvelous, actually.”

“Well, I don’t find anything marvelous about it at all!” countered Mickie as she rocked her hips and randomly jerked at her arms and legs. “Now let me go!”

The specter eased down upon the last step and sat, his elbows upon his knees with chin resting on his hands. He carefully studied the rhythmic quivering of Mickie’s powerful arm and leg muscles as she struggled and slowly sank before his dark, sunken eyes. Breathing in deeply, the flowery scent of Mickie’s perfumed skin and feminine pheromones flowed in through his nostrils, permeating throughout his mind. Although these sensations, along with the pure brute energies expelled by this woman, fill the Baron with excitement, they did little to reverse, let alone suspend, the cellular lysis of his paranormal tissues. What he needed from her was pure, unabated fear for his spiritual recovery; unfortunately, he wasn’t getting anything near that from this muscle babe. Still, he could have some fun with her to make it worth his while.

“Let you go? Hmmm... okay... make ya a deal, Clyde,” he offered. “Before your wonderful crotch sinks out of sight, let’s do it... right here... right now... right on top of this wonderful concoction. Let me ‘sink’ into you and fill you with my essence. Satisfy me and I’ll consider your release from your sticky situation.”

“Sex with YOU, a ghost? That’s SICK! I’d rather die!”

“Oh, you would, eh?” von Mueller rose to his feet and walked back up to his rocking chair. “If that’s your choice, I can arrange it! If you want to die then die you shall!”

“WHAT?! Come on, I’m being facetious. I don’t want to die!”

“Well, then you’ll have sex with me, right?”

“NO!”

“Then that means you want to die!”

“NOOO!”

“Make up your mind, woman! Which will it be?”

“God, I don’t believe this!”

“You keep His name out of this! HE has no authority here!” the Master hollered, his finger pointing towards the heavens. “You’re all alone in this, Clyde, so don’t be asking for any help from Him as he cannot intervene. HIS jurisdiction stops at the front door. Within this house, I and ONLY I reign supreme!”

“Whatever!” Mickie dismissed his claim. “Look, get this through your head... I do not want to die!”

“You do, too! You said so! You’d rather die than have sex with me. That means you want to die! And, I can give you a quick death, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t want it at all! Enough of this! Now get me out of this shit!”

Again the Master ignored her as he reached the landing, his attention focused upon levitating her handbag from the rocking chair and have it hovering before him. Reaching inside, von Mueller drew Mickie’s Glock Twenty-One and ejected the spent magazine. He then retrieved a fresh magazine from her handbag, inserted it into the grip, and slammed it home before bringing the muzzle to bear upon her.

Mickie bit her tongue and went silent, wondering what von Mueller’s intentions were regarding her gun. The Master returned down the steps with a mischievous smile affixed upon his lips. With the weapon still precariously pointing at her, von Mueller sat down, pulled the slide back, and released it to chamber a round.

“Okay, we’re all locked and loaded,” he announced. “The Glock Twenty-One, forty-five caliber, with thirteen-round magazine capacity. That’s quite a bit of fire power ya got there, Clyde.”

She knew not how to respond as the Master aligned the sights upon her. He then swung the pistol to the right, unleashing a rapid fire of five rounds towards the wall. One by one, five mason jars shattered where they stood, sending a shower of glass particulates upon Mickie.

“Oh, how marvelous!” exclaimed the Baron. “If this was my old Colt, I’d be out of bullets now and would have to hand load the powder and rounds into each chamber. But, with this I got eight more shots.”

Swinging to his left, von Mueller grinned from ear to ear as he pulled the trigger several times, the force of the recoil dislodging several maggots from his arm and raining them down upon Mickie. Seven rounds flew from the barrel, rupturing earthen vessels to release their gooey contents of ancient honey and pinesap.

“A most spectacular piece my friend!” The Baron marveled as he drew his fingertips along the lines of the Glock. “You truly have an excellent taste in handguns. Not bad for a girl.”

He looked upon her, grinning slightly as he witnessed the slightest of uncertainty fill her eyes and perhaps, just maybe, an ever slightest tinge of fright. Oh, how GOOD that felt! Far more flavorful than her earlier radiance of controlled panic.

“FINALLY, to absorb the minutest grain of genuine fear from this beast of a woman!” he thought triumphantly. “Damn, that was SO difficult to extract from her!”

Yet, in spite the limited quantity achieved for the effort put forth so far, it was such a MARVELOUS feeling for one who “lived” for such moments! Perhaps putting the fright of all-mighty Satin into her would dredge up even more fear... if it didn’t kill her first.

Pity now seemed evident in the Master’s eyes as he watched his guest gradually sink deeper into his concoction. The orange goo flowed thickly across her abdomen, sucking in her elbows, and creeping up the broadness of her thighs and calves.

“Oh, you poor, suffering thing. I’m afraid within the hour you’ll drown in that wonderfully dreadful substance.”

“Drown?” The word held significance for Mickie from a mishap long ago that still brought on nightmares even today.

“Why of course. You’ll submerge in this stuff long before your butt reaches the cellar floor.” Her slight dwelling upon drowning did not go unnoticed by the Baron as he felt her minute burst of frightened energies soaking into his being. “Fear not, though, as I shall show you the same mercy as I would a horse trapped in your dismal predicament. Time to put you out of your misery, Clyde. That’s why the thirteenth round… was saved for you.”

Without aim, von Mueller casually directed the Glock’s muzzle in Mickie’s direction, its final deafening...


BOOOOOM!!!


...echoing within the cut stone confines of the cellar. It was strange how things seemed to unfold in slow motion from that point on. The ejection of hot, ignited gasses and unburned gun powder were clearly seen erupting from the barrel just behind an ensuing hollow-point projectile of forty-five caliber, jacketed in copper. Mickie could actually track the bullet’s trajectory as it flew towards her and see its slow spin induced by the barrel’s rifling. Recovering from the weapon’s report, her auditory senses actually picked up on the “PING!” of the spent brass casing as it was extracted out of the Glock’s chamber and sent careening off the cellar wall.

In spite of the protracted evolution of the unfolding events, Mickie didn’t have time to be shocked. As the bullet approached imminent impact, it came to a dead stop a couple of inches away and between her startled, crossed eyes. Focusing to compensate for the close proximity of the hovering projectile, Mickie simply stared at it in awe, doing her best to maintain her wits about her. Then a thought came to her as information acquired during her readings and Internet searches at rest stops along the way came flooding into her mind.

“Why are you doing this?” she inquired, trying to conceal her confidence with the slightest of nervousness in her voice.

“Awfully cool headed, aren’t you, my sweet?” observed the Master.

“Answer my question,” Mickie requested sternly.

“Very well... I’m measuring your fear factor,” he answered.

“Figured so much. Trying to see how scared you can get me in order to acquire sufficient fear for your regeneration.”

“Well, well... someone’s been doing their homework,” marveled the Baron. “I’m most impressed and flattered.”

“Well, well... then you should’ve figured out by now I don’t scare easy and that you’re wasting your time and precious energies on me. You really ought to cut your losses and let me go free.”

“Actually, you’re free to leave this place anytime you please... provided you escape from your prison,” the Master spread out his opened hands and looked about the cellar. “AND, that you leave via the Portal through which you came into my realm. Of course, that’s not going to happen, so you need not worry about leaving.”

“Fine, you won’t be snacking off of me then,” countered Mickie. “It’ll be a pleasure watching you fade away into some mystic void.”

“Charming to the last,” replied the Baron, a sly smile breaking across his face. “Got news for you, Clyde... I still have use of you. Since I can’t economically distill fear from you for my daily nutritional needs, I’ll settle for feeding you to the house.”

“Feeding me to your house?”

“Of course! She has to eat, too, ya know. Ya see, the structural integrity of this house gets its supportive energies from me. But, as I’ve weaken and deteriorated over time since my last victim, I must conserve my mystic powers for my own existence at the expense of the house. Fear not, though, as she understands. In the past I made it up to her with a bovine once every other month. Recently, however, the occasional stray feline or pooch had to suffice. But now, I have you, and as you’re of no use to me, you’ll make the perfect human sacrifice to the house.”

“Human sacrifice? Is that rather quaint?” Mickey asked snidely. “Lashing the damsel upon an inverted five-point star and sacrificing her to Satan is way over done, ya know. I trust you have a better trick up your sleeve.”

“Oh, I most certainly do,” the Baron assured her. “Observe.”

With that, there was a simple brush of von Mueller’s hand, causing the bullet to drift towards the right just clearing Mickie’s face. With a snap of his finger, the round was sent sprinting past her ear towards the black void behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, Mickie anticipated an immediate impact of the bullet upon something substantial, but heard none. As she turned her head to look back towards the Baron, there came a blinding flash of a million suns on a distant horizon some fifteen miles behind her.


KABOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!


The projectile finally hit something all right, detonating into the expanding fusion process of a thermal nuclear explosion.

“Damn, girl, where do you buy your ammo?” the Master laughed as he stood up and admired the massive fireball rising majestically towards space.

Charging towards them from ground zero was a blast wave of tsunamic proportions, obliterating everything in its path. Within seconds the leading edge of destruction shot past them, sending Mickie’s hair streaming fiercely by the roots in the phenomenal gust.

“Well, I best be going,” shouted the Master over the howling winds of the nuclear storm. “It was fun while it lasted, Clyde, but it’s time for you and Black Willow to meet for your late lunch date.”

And, with a snap of his fingers von Mueller was gone.

As rapidly rising temperatures caused combustibles within the basement to burst into flames, Mickie struggled desperately in the horrific violence, trying to free herself from the softening mire of honey, pinesap, and bees wax, but finding it still far too viscous to escape its tenacity and too liquified to support her great weight. The Baron had designed his concoction well.

“VON MUELLER!!!” she screamed after him, her mind far too preoccupied with the hell breaking loose all around her to realize that her shoulders then her head had slipped beneath the amber surface.

Suddenly, the winds halted then instantly reversed their direction to fill the air void left behind and flow back towards the hypocenter. Anything not bolted down in the cellar was sucked up and swept towards the fireball. Sloughs of concoction were also being peeled off the floor of the basement and drawn away to feed the nuclear inferno, including a large glob from which projected the limbs of Mickie McFadden!

Tumbling end over end, Mickie was helplessly being vacuumed out of the cellar when suddenly her left arm became ensnared upon something. As the near searing heat boiled away the confining layers of honey and pinesap from her face and body, she saw her savior in the form of a bicycle inner-tube through which her arm was hooked. Looking up, she found the other end of the rubber tube secured around the anvil she’d seen earlier. Groaning and starting to fray, the elastic lifeline was strained to the max as the relentless suction pulled Mickie vertical to the floor.

She chanced a glance towards the billowing mushroom of fire and dust rising high behind her. This certainly wasn’t Mickie’s idea of going out with a “BANG!” The thought of being vaporized at ground zero really wasn’t what she had in mind when she woke up this morning. Swirling deep within, a turmoil of rising panic and fear threatening to dominate her psyche. Mickie quickly squelched it, redirecting its influence meaningfully towards figuring a way out of this nightmare. And, as the last of the concoction sublimed from her body, there came a sudden reduction in temperature in the still ferocious winds as well as a noticeable shift in colors.

Mickie again gazed back the upon mammoth fireball behind her and watched as it underwent a rapid metamorphosis. Losing its fiery orange glow and taking on a rather putrid shade of gray, the enveloping mushroom cloud began wavering as a shape shifting process commenced, slowly churning and phasing into the gruesome, plasmic head of an old, wicked crone. Warts dotted the necrosis of leviathan’s ancient face, her energized hair arching across the blackening Cosmos as crackling blue electricity. Staring at Mickie with intense, evil eyes of brilliant gamma green, she unleashed a screeching laughter hitting decibels sufficient to drown out the persistent roar of her nuclear chaos.


“You’re all mine, my little pretty! There’s no escape for you now!”

“FEED MEEEEEE!!!”


Puckering up her lips, Black Willow inhaled, sucking harder at her long awaited meal to cease the eternal hunger gnawing deep within. The inner-tube was being stretched past the limits of its integrity, whining its warning of impending failure to Mickie.

Gasping at the frightening death awaiting her, Mickie drew upon her inner strength, fighting against the vacuum and making her way along the taut piece of rubber towards the anvil. Hand over hand, she labored to reach an anchoring point from which to plan her next move. After what seemed an eternity, she finally made it to the anvil and managed to wrap her left arm tightly around its concrete base just as the inner-tube “SNAPPED!”

With both arms now secured around the anvil’s base, Mickie hung on for dear life. Peering ahead, she searched for a means to reach the staircase, but instead found projectiles heading her way! A hammer jetted by just missing her right shoulder, while a spade glanced off the anvil with an eardrum bursting “CLANG!” Suddenly, there came a terrible commotion of smashing wood from the back of the cellar. She looked up just in time to see a wooden barrel pulled from the floor behind the staircase and shatter upon the balustrade of the landing, sending planks and splinters of wood, iron rings, and nails streaking towards her. Pressing her face against the concrete base, she closed her eyes and awaited the inevitable impact of these missiles against her forearms and hands. However, what she felt came as a complete surprise.

The potentially lethal debris had missed her, but slapping Mickie in the face was a length of thick rope flickering violently in the wind. Glancing towards the staircase, she saw that the rope had been pulled along with the barrel, entangling its opposite end amongst the balusters of the landing’s back handrail.

“God, please let this hold,” she prayed, reaching out with her right hand to get a firm grip around the rope before making a leap of faith to release the concrete base and latch onto the rope with both hands.

With her weight now added to the rope, Mickie felt herself being pulled towards Black Willow as the slack played out of the lengths of rope wrapped around the balustrade. Suddenly, the line went taut and Mickie grimaced as the skin of her palms and fingers were burnt raw, the rope sliding through her iron grip until she clamped down even harder, eventually braking to a halt. Ignoring the excruciating pain ripping through her hands and fingers, she began the arduous task of working her way along the rope towards the staircase.

The distant entity of malevolence watched Mickie’s meager struggles. She noticed the mortal wincing with each grasp of her hands upon the rope and laughed at the futility of it all.


“Give it up, mortal! You’ll never make it! Even from here I feel you weakening.”


Mickie knew the old biddy’s words to be true, her stamina starting to fade, but surrender was out of the question! Stepping up the effort another notch, she fought against the gale and inched ever so closer to her objective. The lactic burn deep within her biceps was warning of imminent failure, her rubbery arms becoming sluggish in coordination. Just when she felt she could go no further, her right hand reached out and wrapped around the first baluster of the handrail.

“Thank God,” she whispered, releasing her left hand from the rope and slapping it along side her right hand.

Pulling up on the wooden support like a chinning bar, Mickie began climbing the balusters like rungs on a ladder. With her feet now firmly placed upon the balustrade and her legs engaged, she made far better progress along the staircase.

Shock and surprise now dominated the scarred and blemished face of Black Willow, her disbelief of the sudden turn of events quite evident as she watched her meal slowly slipping out of her grasp.


“NO! This can’t be! No mortal can withstand the power of Black Willow!”


The witch increased her suction rate with hopes of stripping Mickie off the handrail, but it was too late. Having already reached the landing and making a ninety degree turn to the left, Mickie was now braced against a solid foundation to keep her from being drawn towards the creature. However, there was no time for rest as she strained to maintain her momentum to keep her body from being pinned against the balustrade by Black Willow’s heightened inhalation. Barely rounding the last corner of the handrail, she felt considerably less resistance in movement, her body now sheltered by the next flight of stairs.

Black Willow was besides herself! Her desperately needed source of energy and sustenance was surely getting away.


“Come back here you tramp! I’m not through with you, yet!”


“FUCK YOU, BITCH!” was Mickie’s reply as she scampered up the stairs against a downdraft towards an open doorway.

Glancing up and about, the basement dweller went into a rage, searching for her caretaker and demanding appropriate action be taken!


“von Mueller, you idiot! She’s getting away! Stop her! STOP HER!!!”

(Continued)

[water_bug_62208]

Part 3: The Baron of Black Willow Mansion

Pushing through the entrance to the cellar, Mickie turned to grab the door behind her and strained against the wind pulled it shut. Panting heavily and near exhaustion, she leaned against the doorframe, finally earning the right to rest after her ordeal.

“Made... made it!” she said between pants. “Finally... free of his prison. Can’t... Can’t rest long, though. Must... Must find... the front door before he’s... aware of my escape.”

Adrenaline was still coursing through her veins as Mickie stood there trembling from her near death experience. She had to gather herself and focus upon the next task at hand. In no way was she out of this yet... not by any stretch of the imagination!

Pushing aside her blonde mane from her sweaty face, Mickie took a moment to survey the scenery about her, trying to determine her location within the house. The quaint room appeared to sport an interesting collection of both the old and the new. Cracked marble counter tops and rustic oak cabinets of the nineteenth century era clashed with the more modern electric oven, double door refrigerator, and stainless steel sink. Then it dawned on her.

“The kitchen!”

Glancing to her right, the openness of the hallway just beyond the kitchen door made for such a wondrous sight for sore eyes.

“Oh, thank God!”

Mickie stumbled out of the kitchen and slid to a halt across the dusty hallway floor, staring into the welcoming warmth of autumn sunlight streaming through the still opened front door.

“The Portal!”

Bolting down the hallway at full gallop, Mickie charged towards freedom with a cloud of dust rising around her feet and trailing behind her. She could see the UAV still where she left it, awaiting her return. Also noticed in her peripheral vision was that dreaded mirror situated to her left and drawing nearer.

“Gotta give that thing a wide berth,” she determined, running even harder and drifting to the right, brushing along the staircase to ensure she stayed clear of the mirror. “That’s where this whole fucking nightmare began!”

Past the mirror and putting distance between her and it, Mickie sprinted for the door, getting closer by the second, but now seeming to approach it slower with each step taken. Her pace suddenly slackened, her feet feeling heavy as if encased in lead. Running was reduced to a jog then a walk, her legs now pulling to lift her feet from the floor.

“This is his doing!” Mickie thought in frustration, as a strained look came across her face as she tried maintaining her dwindling forward momentum. “Why can’t he leave me alone?! Talk about a sore loser!”

A dreadful feeling began to take hold of Mickie as her feet barely came off the floor. There was no doubt in her mind that if she didn’t reach the door and fast, she might not make it outside. Like a runner heading for the finish line, she lunged forward to grab the doorknob, but missed it by mere fractions of an inch as she came to a complete stop.

Attempting to step forward, she found her feet would not lift from the floor no matter how hard she tried. Glancing down only compounded the mystery.

“What the hell…?”

The cloud of disturbed dust that had been billowing around her feet and lower legs seemed to thicken and settle as a swirling opaqueness around her sneakers, its particles condensing like clouds before congealing into a grayish goo conforming to her feet and spreading out across the floor.

“He’s sprung one of his concoction booby traps on me!” Mickie reasoned as she tried lifting her feet from the floor. “You fucking son of a bitch!”

As Mickie lifted up on her right foot then her left, unusual tendrils of ghoulish gray stretched taut as a rubber band, clinging securely along the soles and sides of her sneakers to hold her fast. These elastic strands appeared fused to the foyer floor, linking up with other nearby sticky gray patches to boaster their adhesion around her feet. She tried leaping towards the door, almost reaching the door knob before being efficiently retrieved back to her launch site with haste. Mickie’s feet replanted themselves upon the floor with an ominous “SPLAT!”

Upon her feet impacting the floor, Mickie suddenly noticed and felt motion all about her, watching in astonishment as the foyer slowly devolved from a room of dusty elegance into the hot, nasty ecotone of humid dankness. Jerking her head left then right, Mickie surveyed the ensuing topography as it transformed into a dark, dismal marshland nestled amongst those once beautiful trees of fall she’d admired earlier in the day. The evolving swamp quickly spread along all points of the compass for as far as she could see. And, as cattails and reeds rapidly arose around her, a desolate atmosphere soon took shape. The miasma softly rising from the rank ground and drifting across this unholy land truly made the new environment a scene most fitting for Halloween flick or a classic B movie of horror.

Mystified by the change in her surroundings, Mickie almost didn’t notice a strange sensation in her stomach... a feeling she often noted when riding down in an elevator. Looking towards the ground, she caught the last glimpse of her sneakers descending with slow deliberateness into a thick, stinking morass materializing beneath her.

“Now what’s he up to?” she muttered in frustration, puzzled and still rather dazed by the metamorphosis of the static foyer into a developing slough. “Better not wait to find out.”

Stepping forward to clear the mud, Mickie again reached for the door, her fingertips just barely able to tickle the knob before she felt herself bog down. As she sank, a harsh, sickening...


GOUSSSSSHHHH!!!


...filled the air while the nose-cringing stench of organic decay ensued from around her feet through the breaches they created in the thick silt.

Off balanced, Mickie’s arms windmilled about, her shins now vanishing ever so slowly into gooey mud now sparsely decorated by the brownish remains of shed leaves. The grayish ooze blurped and hissed as the thickness of Mickie’s calves began settling upon it, depressing the rubbery surface as she sank deeper into its depths.

“Ewww! Gotta get out of this place now!”

With her left hand and arm outstretched as far as she could extend them, Mickie made yet another attempt to reach the door of the Portal, pumping her legs as her trembling fingertips fanned in the thick air just inches away from the door knob. To her dismay, the distance between her and freedom gradually increased with agonizing delay as she sank deeper into the sucking mud.


GLURRRRP!!! SHISSSHHHH!!!


Mickie’s flaring calves settled even further into the gluey clay, now imprisoned half way up their impressive curves. Looking up, she saw the UAV and freedom awaiting her arrival. Her life was out there... family, friends, nights out on the town... and Bill. She just had to reach them!

“Damn it! I’m not letting some mere mixture of water and dirt keep me here!”

Pulling up on her right leg, she strained as the gooey mire stretched up, gripping tightly to her calf and holding it fast. Unable to break free, Mickie allowed her right calf to slip back into the muck and tried lifting her left leg, groaning a bit as her calf rose slightly, impeded by the grasp of the mounding mire. Unable to maintain the effort, she relaxed her leg and found herself sunk to the upper portions of her calves.

“I don’t believe this!” she exclaimed in anger and frustration. “I’m stuck in the mud!”

Mickie again looked towards her world yearning for her exit from von Mueller’s realm. Just four more feet... that was all she needed to be home again.

Home. She suddenly realized she’d failed to call her mother before departing for this assignment, always taking her love for granted. And, speaking of love, what about Bill? The only special guy to come along in ages and she’d yet to say a word about how she felt towards him. If she couldn’t escape, he’d never know her true feelings for him... she’d never get a chance to say, “I love you.” Desperation to be back amongst those who really cared for her began gnawing at her internal discipline of patience and practicality.

Tugging on one leg then the other, her powerful thighs strained to lift her legs from the mire’s grip, yet all she succeeded in doing was working herself even further into von Mueller’s trap. Mickie’s already taxed thigh muscles began burning within, warning her that the strain was starting to take its toll.

Although not unexpected, the fact that the Master had gone back on his word regarding her freedom to leave when she wanted was eating at her most intensely. Mickie struggled harder as a result, determined that her shear brute strength would overcome his newest obstacle. Gripping her left leg around her knee with rope-burned hands, Mickie lunged back and pulled with all her might.

“...Unngghhh! ...Mmmphhh!” she grunted out loud, pulling in ernest, but making no progress except down.

She grabbed her right knee and jerked up with everything she had. No good! The tenacity of the thickening mud was incredible, and within a few minutes it consumed what remained of her calves and rolled up around her knees. Lunging forward she yanked up hard on her right leg, throwing her weight into it then repeat the effort with her left leg. Mickie’s torso and hips twisted and strained, lifting up on her muscular legs only to sink even more.

Feeling the gluey clay rising up and taking a hard, sucking grasp upon the bare skin of her lower thighs only drove her to struggle more fiercely. With teeth gritted, eyes shut tight, and fists clenched, Mickie’s hips rocked and writhed as she pumped her thighs.

“Gotta... get ...Uuhhhh! outta this ...Uummghh! shit! ...Nnnnghhh!”

Every twist and jerk mired Mickie deeper into her muddy captor, but that fact seemed immaterial at the moment. God, how badly she wanted to be out of von Mueller’s influence and back in her own environment. She was oh so close... she just had to escape NOW!

“...GRRRRRRRRRRR! ...UHN!” she growled then collapsed in near exhaustion as the mud sucked her thighs back into itself.

Panting heavily and drenched with sweat, Mickie rested from her over exertion, watching with near hopeless disbelief as her legs sank mid-thigh deep into the mud. Grunting and groaning, she thrashed her mired thighs against the silty clay, hoping to loosen its grip, but to no avail. The huge cross section and silky smooth skin of her thighs gave plenty of surface for the goo to form a tight suction around. Every effort for freedom merely forced more air out from around her legs, sealing them fast in an inescapable vacuum. Mickie was trapped, and the only place she was going was deeper into the bog.

With trembling lips and tearing eyes, Mickie angrily gazed at the darkening skies above her, searching for HIM, knowing full-well he was somewhere watching.

“von Mueller, you lying bastard! Enough already! You promised I could leave!”

But, the only response to Mickie’s inquiry was the squelching gurgle of the quagmire as it continued to slowly take in her legs. And, as a distant rumble of thunder slowly rolled overhead, she finally heard...


“Oh my, what do we have here?”


Mickey glanced over her right shoulder with a start. Amazed to see the staircase still intact, she saw the Baron standing on the second floor landing, his arms crossed and leaning upon the balustrade as he mused over the intriguing sight below him.

“Clyde, stuck again? Tis, tis, tis. And, look... you’re sinking into my foyer of all things. My, how deep your legs are mired!” That mischievous grin again appeared upon the specter’s face. “I really must fix the foyer floor one of these days. This seems to happen a lot when I have guests.”

“Why are you playing games with me?” demanded Mickie. “You said I was free to leave anytime I pleased provided I escaped from the cellar!”

“That I did, and I meant it, too. However...” von Mueller snapped his fingers to conjure a sheet of paper floating before him, the contents of which he reviewed for the record. “...Ah, right here! I also said, ‘...AND, that you leave via the Portal through which you came into my realm.’”

“Where the fuck do you think I was going?!” Mickie shouted, pointing towards the opened front door of the mansion.

“Oh, you poor, inattentive thing, you. That’s not the Portal,” the Master noted before looking over to his left and pointing towards the mirror still boldly present in the sweltering humidity of this alien wetland. “THAT’S the Portal, my dear, the one through which you entered into my realm. Remember our wrestling match in the hallway? Beyond the looking glass lies the real world and the true front door through which you entered my house. There’s a big difference between the two, Clyde, and you royally blew your chance for freedom when you ran past the mirror and chose what was beyond Door Number Two.”

“Are you saying that... oh, God, no, it can’t be... I couldn’t have been...” Mickie suddenly felt sick to her stomach with grief and depression, her mind racing back to her exact thoughts the very moment she flashed by the mirror...


“Gotta give that thing a wide berth.”

“That’s where this whole fucking nightmare began!”


“Argh! How could I’ve been so stupid?!” she pondered. “I even acknowledged it all started there, but it didn’t sink in. I was so hellbent on getting the fuck out of here that I didn’t stop to think!”

“No kidding, Sherlock!” von Mueller rubbed it in. “Heck, you did all you could to avoid the mirror as if it were the plague! All just to reach THAT door!”

von Mueller gestured to the front door before her, its false offer of freedom now proving to be the biggest mistake of her life... and perhaps her last.

“And, THAT door, I hate to tell ya, is nothing more than a Fig Newton of your imagination, Clyde! You chose unwisely. And now, you’ve come to the end of your rope. Whether you like it or not, you are now forever stuck in my world!”

With a wave his hand, the staircase upon which he stood took the form of a cliff overlooking the bog while the front door before Mickie slammed shut and tight, slowly quivering then morphing to match the surrounding scenery.

“Like hell I am!” Mickie shouted as she pointed towards the mirror. “The opportunity for freedom still exists!”

“Very true, Clyde, AND if you should make it over there we’ll hopefully be parting as friend. Thing is, though, there’s no way in Hell you’re reaching the Portal, and since you’re actually in Hell, it goes without saying!”

Determined to recover from her earlier blunder, Mickie once again resumed her futile struggle to free her mired legs and get to the real Portal. A really great game plan if it would work; however, with each twist of her hips, she simply dug herself in deeper. Stuck fast to her upper thighs in mud, Mickie tried forcing her legs upwards, but she couldn’t budge them even the slightest of an inch.

“You know, you’re SO beautiful all hot and sweaty,” complimented the Baron as he sniffed the air. “Ah, yes, and all that body heat your generating is SO intensifying your womanly scent and perfume most magnificently! What a wonderful bouquet!”

Mickie’s womanhood was soon gouging into the mud as her muscular form became further engulfed within the Baron’s world. It became harder to thrash and struggle as the heavy mud increasingly restricted her movements the deeper she sank.

“Oh, Clyde, you struggle so divinely!” complimented the Master as he watched the helpless woman gradually sink hip-deep into trouble. “You make such a wonderful Quicksand Damsel.”

“Qu... Qu... Quicksand?” Mickie asked between pants, staring back towards von Mueller with a startled expression etched in her eyes and face.

“Why of course quicksand,” he responded nonchalantly. “What else would you expect in a haunted house on Halloween?”

Mickie returned her gaze upon the thick clay ever so slowly consuming the curves of her lower body, her mind comparing and contrasting the inconvenience of mud versus the permanence of quicksand. With mud you merely lingered in one spot until someone hopefully found you. With quicksand, quite simply... you drowned.

That was twice in one day that the thought of drowning had come back to haunt her. Although very little ever scared Mickie, the idea of drowning sent shivers of fright up her spine. She couldn’t swim worth a lick and pretty much sank like a rock in water. Back in college, she almost drowned when she fell off a party boat her classmates had rented... a near-tragic and most traumatic past event that was always fast forwarded to the present when she saw an open body of water. And now, the thought of slowly enduring a suffocating death in liquified dirt truly wasn’t sitting right with her. Drowning in quicksand would be far worse than water, and she had to make sure that didn’t happen. Fear began to arise and overcome self control as her hips and butt violently writhed and strained, desperate to work loose of the muddy bondage sucking Mickie down to her doom.

“Silly girl,” noted the Baron. “Always thinking you can muscle your way out of any predicament, particularly this one. Well, it doesn’t work that way with quicksand in the real world and it certainly won’t work here! Ya see, there’s still that unfinished business about you feeding the house, and she’s quite annoyed that you got away the first time.”

Mickie ceased her struggling when she notice a most peculiar feeling around her legs and derriere as the heavy mud seemed to “lick” at her lower extremities. Soon, a pair of wicked green eyes erupted through the quagmire’s surface before her and stared... the very same eyes she’d seen in the possession of Black Willow. The old witch was actually the quicksand itself, and as this evilness closed her eyes and withdrew them beneath the gunk, her muddy “lips” conformed perfectly along the curves of Mickie’s hips and began slurping in her strong frame like a noodle.

Slightly off balanced from the initial downward draw, Mickie watched in horror as the surface of the quicksand grew nearer and much faster than before. She instinctively twisted and bucked at the hips, desperate to break free of the sucking witchcraft pulling her in... but it was no good. The gruesome hag now had her by the waist, inhaling her further. There was no hope for escape! It was dinner time!

“God, NO!” She writhed and struggled, the rubbery surface of the bog sealing around her midriff and reaching for her lower ribs

Mickie needed something now that she would’ve never asked for... HELP! Always proud of her independence and self-reliance, this was one time where her pride had to be swallowed before she was.

“Help!” Mickie called out meekly, rather embarrassed and feeling quite stupid for doing something so futile; however, helplessness and fear soon took charge as she screamed at the top of her lungs. “HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!!!”

Sunk to her chest, she was out of options! Her torso twisted side to side to get away, but it only quickened her destiny. No good Samaritan would hear her cries for salvation, she knew that, but it didn’t extinguish her hope for a miracle.

“HEELLLLLP!!! PLEASE, SOMEBODY HELP MEEEE!!!”

There was nothing else she could do but pray that someone... maybe SOMEONE... in this unfriendly, God forsaken world would hear her plea and come to her rescue.

“Scream all you want, Clyde,” encouraged the Master. “No one will hear you. All it does is add to the drama.”

Suddenly, the wry smile of confidence vanished from the face of the demon as he glanced towards the mirror, sensing something undesirable and unwelcomed.


“Mickie? MICKIE! Where are you?!”


“Damn it to hell!” exclaimed von Mueller through clenched teeth of anger. “I knew I should’ve closed the front door!”

“Joe?” Mickie initially thought she was hearing things, but she wasn’t... the calvary had come... Phantom Finders, Incorporated, was FINALLY HERE IN THE HOUSE! “JOE! JOE, I’M INSIDE THE MIRROR! HELP MEEEEE!”


“What?!”

“She said she’s inside the mirror!”

“What mirror?!”


“AVERY!” she shouted in relief. “I’m in the hallway mirror! THE HALLWAY MIRROR! HEEELLLLP!”


“Over there against the wall!”

“She’s in there? This is crazy!”

“Crazy?! It’s a fucking haunted house, for God’s sake! Come on!”


“HAROLD! Thank God you’re here!” For the first time today, relief filled Mickie’s mind and heart. “Hurry! I’m sinking in quicksand!”


“Did she say, ‘quicksand’?”

“YES, you moron! Mickie, we’re coming!”


A slender man with long, dusty brown hair, a white shirt, black slacks, and tie stuck his head into the mirror. As the team leader, Joe figured he should be the first to venture into the unknown.

“What the fuck?” he queried in awe, as he looked about.

“YOU CAN SIGHTSEE LATER!!!” yelled Mickie in anger and fear. “GET ME OUT OF THIS SHIT!”

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Joe, seeing Mickie sunk deep with the quicksand just inches below her breasts. “Be there in a sec, babe!”

Mickie heard a whirling sounds picking up speed and intensity from above. Her eyes darted towards the cliff in time to see the evil land baron tracking Joe’s every move as he swirled his elongating bullwhip faster and faster, the action generating an electric field of cobalt blue about him.

“JOE, WATCH OUT!!!” Mickie warned as she pointed towards von Mueller.

Too late. A roll of thunder magnified through the air as Joe stepped through the Portal. Then came an earth shattering crack of thunder and burst of lightening as the tip of the specter’s whip sliced into Joe’s chest. Plasmic bolts ripped through his body setting his bones ablaze and casting his electrocuted form against the heavy frame of the Portal. And, as the coursing energies finally subsided, Joe’s lifeless body slumped upon the ground like a smoldering ragged doll.

“JOE! OH MY GOD, NOOO!” Mickie screeched.

“BACK, YE TRESPASSERS!” commanded the Master, as he rolled up his all-powerful bullwhip for another strike. “BACK, I SAY! This is none of your concern! Be gone or you’ll meet the same fate as your companion!”

Ignoring the monster’s threats, there now appeared at the Portal a curly, redheaded porker of a man in a striped shirt and cargo pants. Avery had seen Joe fall and rushed over to him to see if he was all right. He trembled as he searched for Joe’s pulse, but found none.

It became apparent to Mickie that she was nothing more than bait for luring her friends to slaughter. von Mueller would stop at nothing to possess her, even if he had to kill every living thing on the planet. She feared for friends’ lives over hers and wanted them to stand clear! She simply wasn’t worth the bloodshed!

“AVERY! GET OUT OF HERE! HE’LL KILL YOU!”

Avery glanced toward Mickie as he tried dragging Joe’s body back through the mirror then looked up at the motion above him. Frozen in fear, Avery had to be jerked back into the hallway by someone as the sizzling tip of von Mueller’s bullwhip snaked its way down towards the mirror and detonated in another gigantic explosion of mystic energies and thunder.


“We gotta get in there and save her!”


“BILL!” He was here, the one she’d been longing for throughout this whole miserable trip, but now wishing he was elsewhere! “BILL! GET EVERYONE OUTTA HERE! SAVE YOURSELVES! DON’T RISK YOUR LIVES OVER ME!”


“Come on, she needs our help!”

“Look, I like Mickie, too, but I’m not going in there after her!”

“I’ll get her! Which way?”

“She’s to the left!”

“Distract the spook!”


Flying through the mirror and dashing to the left came a geeky young man sporting a crew cut of black hair and metal frame glasses of gold. A khaki shirt with jeans along with a photographer’s vest and Red Wing boots completed his attire. Rolls of film came flying from his pockets and a single-lens reflex camera trailed behind him by its strap as he ran full-tilt towards Mickie.

“BILL!” yelled Mickie, desperately pressing her hands down upon the mud to halt her slow, persistent descent. “GO AWAY! PLEASE, GOD, GO AWAY! YOU’LL DIE IF YOU TRY TO SAVE ME!”

“STAY STILL!” Bill shouted. “I’M COMING!”

“LIKE HELL YOU ARE!” declared the Baron, his whip again unfurling as his right arm began to swing back. “I’LL TEACH YOU TO TREAD UNWELCOMED UPON THE MASTER’S DOMAIN!”

Suddenly, a rock struck the side of von Mueller’s face, throwing off his coordination. The phantom’s eyes quickly locked onto Avery standing well past the mirror.

“THERE’S MORE WHERE THAT CAME FROM!” Avery heaved another rock towards the Master, watching in shock as it simply passed through him. “Oh, shit.”

“MY TURN!” announced the Baron with his hideous grin, as he again cocked his right arm back and sent the length of his whip towards Avery.

Another seismic “CRACK!” shook to landscape as a brilliant flash of cobalt blue bleached the immediate vicinity with its radiation. Yet, in spite of the magnitude of the sonic boom, it could not drown out Avery’s blood curdling scream as his body was horrifically ripped in half.

The bullwhip obediently coiled back to his owner as the remains of Avery’s blood and tissues boiled away from its length. Returning his gaze upon his prize, the Master went into a conniption as he saw Bill arriving upon the sinking Mickie.

Bill came within ten feet of Mickie before his foot sank into the entrapping ooze. After several failed attempts, he was finally able to free his foot. His fear-struck eyes studied his trapped friend now sunk halfway up her breasts in the terrible mire. Glancing around, he finally discovered a downed tree branch and retrieved it.

“Mickie, grab hold!” Bill directed.

Mickie tried to comply, straining and struggling, only to find her arms trapped by her sides from her failed attempt at preventing her submergence in the quicksand.

“...Unghh! Bill, I ...Ummph! I can’t! My arms are stuck!”

“Um... Um... That’s cool. No worries. I... I... I can still get you out,” Bill searched around for a quick solution to this dilemma. “I think.”

“THAT’S AS FAR AS YOU’RE GOING, FOUR-EYES!” von Mueller insisted. “SAY YOUR PRAYS!”

“BILL, LOOK OUT!” cried Mickie.

Bill instinctively took an evasive maneuver and ducked behind a tree to his left. He no sooner sought shelter behinds its trunk when the radiant tip of the Baron’s whip came slashing by igniting the base of the tree. Fire and brimstone erupted into the air as the tree truck was blasted in two. The tree swayed momentarily before toppling towards Mickie, slamming upon the ground barely five feet away from her. Now exposed, Bill stared up at the Master. The ghoul’s right arm was swirling the bullwhip about him.

“NOW I HAVE YOU!” exclaimed the poultergist.

Without warning, the whip flew from von Mueller’s hand, dislodged by a hard, swift strike of a baseball bat against his wrist. A blonde man with the stature of a linebacker decked out in a gray tee shirt, baggy shorts, and Reeboks slammed the bat against the back of the Master’s knees, sending him to the ground.

“GO, BILL, GO!” ordered Harold, as he brought the bat back and stuck the Master with full force against his head.

Having snuck around and climbed the cliff while von Mueller concentrated on Bill, Harold was able to catch the ghost by surprise when he was still in his solid phase. As the Baron stood up and faced him, Harold again and again made hard contact with his club, repeatedly whacking the Master’s head left and right. When the aluminum bat finally passed through the specter’s face with no resistance at all, Harold realized the gig was up.

Thrusting his hand through the ghost buster’s chest, the Baron raised a shocked Harold from the ground and stared into his dying eyes. He then threw the athlete off the cliff, the mortal’s still beating heart remaining within the grasp of the spirit’s hand.

Meanwhile, Bill had made his way across the downed tree towards Mickie. The mud trickled into her cleavage as she slowly settled to her upper biceps within Black Willow’s gooey grip. Driving his hands into the quicksand and hooking them under Mickie’s armpits, Bill put his back and legs into a mighty heave. Yet, in spite of his heroic effort, he couldn’t budge her an inch.

“God, girl, you’re really stuck bad! ...UNNHHHH!”

Again he tried, pulling up to the point of straining his back, but it was to no avail as his friend continue to sink in spite of his efforts to save her.

“...UNNNGGGGHHHH! Fear not, Mickie, I won’t let you...”


CRRRRRRRACKKKKK!!!


“ARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!”

Bill reeled back as if struck from behind, an excruciating sneer of pain gripping his face as his eyes and mouth glowed violet blue.

“BILLLLLL!!!” Mickie squirmed at the shoulders, trying to come to the aid of her friend, but was powerless to do so.

And, as his echoing death scream began to fade away into the distance, so, too, did Bill’s body, the slow, agonizing process of disintegration phasing him away into ultraviolet embers. Assuming Bill’s place was the towering form of the Master, rolling up his bullwhip and strapping it to his belt.

“YOU KILLED HIM!” Mickie screamed in anger and anguish. “YOU KILLED THEM ALL!”

“Don’t go blaming me for your fallacies, Clyde! Their deaths are on your hands, not mine! Had you not entered my house, you wouldn’t be in this predicament and they’d still be alive! This is YOUR doing!”

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO DID ALL THIS!” accused Mickie, the mud now reaching her shoulders.

“Oh, come now, Clyde, you’re taking this way too seriously.”

“YOU’RE FUCKING RIGHT I’M TAKING THIS SERIOUSLY! YOU JUST KILLED MY FRIENDS! MY... My...” The look of excruciating agony in Bill’s face as he vaporized into the damp air wouldn’t leave her mind. “My best friend. Oh, Bill... please, noooo... no, not you... My life wasn’t worth the giving yours. This would’ve never had happened if...”

Unable to take any more, Mickie finally broke down and cried as uncontrolled tears trickled down her face. Perhaps the von Mueller was right... Bill WOULD still be alive right now if it hadn’t been for her. She was the one who led him to his death. It WAS her fault!

“Come now, Clyde, stop your crying. All is not lost. You got me now... well, and Black Willow, too.” von Mueller watched as Mickie’s shoulders slipped beneath the quicksand, the goo slowly rising up her neck. “Look, give this some thought, girl. No matter what, you shall be stuck in my realm forever and a day. Now, you’ve been a lot of fun to be around. I’ve really enjoyed our conversations and debates. You’re such great company! So, here’s the deal... you can either give yourself unconditionally unto me and spend the rest of your life being alive, young, and happy, or you can meet your death via slow digestion by the house. So, what will it be, huh... me or the dreadful mire that is Black Willow?”

Further into the thick clay Mickie sank, the ooze now climbing her cheeks and flowing over her chin. Her grief for Bill and the team was strong and dominated her psyche, but the offer of von Muller, for some reason, seemed to set off an awareness struggling to surface. Something told her she had to atone for the death of her friends. She had to avenge Bill! And, the means to do so somehow rested within the Master’s words. With considerable difficulty, she tapped into her ever reliable inner strength and pushed aside the fear and emotional pain that weakened her. All she needed was a clear mind for just a few seconds to analyze what von Mueller had said while also taking into account the peculiarities of her recent experiences. Then came a rather strange gleam in her eyes that even caught the Baron by surprise as he watched Mickie sink further into a developing hole in the thick morass, her blonde hair following in after her.

With her face slipping within the collapsing hole, Mickie focused her soft, blue eyes intensely into his. And, as the mire slowly crept across her face, she overcame the difficulty in breathing as the quicksand applied pressure against her chest and shouted out with unquestionable clarity…

“It’s far better that I perish and become a free spirit such as yourself. I’d rather die and come back to reign across your damned realm as your EQUAL, versus sit at the end of your leash as some mere mortal subservient to your every whim. I shall haunt you through all eternity and a day... there will be no place for you to hide from my wrath! I will be your worst nightmare come true... so think about that, asshole, while you wait for Black Willow to release me from my physical form. Therefore, I pick death over you... and that’s my final answer! Now fuck off!”

And, with those last words of defiance, Mickie closed her eyes as the thick gray ooze flowed over her face sealing her fate, her diligent and heroic fight for life in vain as she finally succumbed to the deadly mire. The Master could only look on, his black, shallow eyes sadden at the scene before him. Shaking his head in disappointment, he reached out as if to offer a final helping hand if only she would take it, watching as the last of her golden locks were pulled down into the quicksand by her descending form.

“Well said, Clyde. Well said indeed. And, most profound,” von Mueller admitted as the bubbles of Mickie’s last breath erupted upon the surface. “The ‘fuck off’ part was rather unnecessary, but it was so YOU! (Sigh) Well, all good things must come to an end.”

Clapping his mighty hands together, the Master unleashed a thunder struck of galactic proportion; lightening bleeding from between his hands and arching in jagged formation in all directions until it coalesce the entire environment into an evolving light of blinding brilliance.

(Continued)

[water_bug_62208]

Part 4: The Baron of Black Willow Mansion


“Mickie! Mickie wake up!”


She awoke with a start, her tired blue eyes opened, but their vision clouded and not easily cleared through a blink or two. Looking about and studying her surroundings brought on an expression of perplexity.

“What the…?”

The environment in which she sat was so familiar. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swore she was in the UAV. Mickie was again startled by a sound resembling the knocking of bare knuckles against glass.


“Hey, sleepy head, rise and shine!”


Mickie wearily glanced to her left, her fuzzy eyesight sharpening and bringing into focus a familiar face... one now lost forever from her life... or was he?

“Bill?” She slowly rolled down the window with a bit of uncertainty as slumber still dominated her thought process.

“Trick or treat, Mickie! Got any sweets for me?”

Mickie’s eyes opened wide as things became more coherent in her head.

“My, God... BILL!!!”

Mickie shoved open the van door almost knocking Bill to the ground. Leaping from the UAV, she grasped the photographer in a tight bear hug, knocking the wind out of him and lifting him off the ground.

“Oh, God, you’re alive, YOU’RE ALIVE!!!” Mickie began sobbing into Bill’s khaki shirt, swinging him left and right with his single-lens reflect camera trailing along, bouncing off his back.

“Well, of course I am,” assured Bill. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Mickie put him down, looking into his eyes with disbelief. She began feeling around his body, ensuring there were no injuries to her friend.

“You okay? Are you injured?”

“Injured? Injured where? Mickie, I’m fine!” Concern then filled Bill’s eyes as he straightened his glasses. “Question is, are you okay?”

Satisfied that there were no burns from mystical plasma upon his body, Mickie stood back. As if Bill’s question finally sunk in, she began frantically checking herself. Gone were the deep, lactic pain in her once exhausted muscles. Gone were the rope burns along her palms and fingers. And, gone was the ravenous pit of...

“Quicksand. I’m... I’m free of the quicksand.”

“Quicksand?!” Bill was very confused by his friend’s behavior. “What quicksand?”

Glancing to her right, Mickie was taken aback as before her lay the pitch darkness of Black Willow Mansion. She glanced back over to Bill and pointed towards the house.

“Um... over there... I... I... Oh, God, please, tell me I’m not dreaming!” She looked towards Bill. “Tell me you’re really here, that we’re both alive and outside away from that dreadful place.”

“You’re not dreaming, Mickie,” assured Bill. “And, we’re both very much alive, we’re outside in this beautiful fall weather, and you’re certainly not in quicksand.”

“It just seemed so real. I mean, I... I went through so much in there.”

“You were in the house?” Bill asked in surprise as he retrieved a skeleton key from his pocket showed it to her. “How the hell did ya get in without this?”

“The door opened by itself and...” Mickie threw her hands up into the air in total confusion and stared back at the house. “Did all that really happen in the house and I’m dreaming now, or... um... look, pinch me or something, will ya, cause I’m not totally convinced this isn’t a dream I’m having right now.”

A mischievous grin came to Bill’s face as he reached over and gave her left butt cheek a hard pinch.

“BILL!” Mickie yelped with surprise and shock, spinning around wild-eyed with her hand upon her butt.

“You didn’t say where,” he explained innocently. “I’d say you’re pretty much awake, wouldn’t you?”

Mickie’s anger quickly subsided as relief filled her face and eyes. She again embraced Bill before looking lovingly into his eyes.

“Thanks for being here, Bill.”

Then puzzlement returned to Mickie’s face as she stood back a bit to look upon her friend for an answer.

“W... What are you doing here? I thought you had a big shoot going on in Canada.”

“It got postponed until December,” explained Bill. “So, I called up Joe three days ago and told him I was available. Sounds like I missed a ride with you by a few minutes. Gathered my stuff, hopped on a plane, and arrived an hour ago.”

“Where’s the guys?” she asked, looking around, but not seeing the rest of Phantom Finders, Incorporated, anywhere in the immediate vicinity.

“They’re not coming. This assignment’s been cancelled.”

“What?! When did this happen?”

“Yesterday. Seems some distant relatives are laying claim to the place and want it to be left untouched, ghost and all.”

“Why the fuck didn’t they call me?!”

“They forgot. Hell, I just found out we were to cease and desist when I called in after stepping off the plane.”

Mickie stared at the ground, shaking her head in disappointment and frustration.

“So typical of Joe,” She then glanced up at Bill. “Bet he forgot my suitcase, too.”

“He did,” concurred Bill with a smile. “But, I didn’t. Got it out in the cab with my gear. Figured I’d ride back with you, if that’s cool.”

Mickie looked over to her left to see a yellow taxi cab waiting on them, the driver pointing at the meter to remind Bill it was still running.

“Well, I certainly can’t think of anyone I’d rather drive home with than you,” she assured her friend.

“Great! By the way, Joe said you can take a week off for your troubles,” added Bill. “He says the van’s yours to travel to your heart’s content. He’ll even pick up the gas.”

“And you?” she asked in a somewhat seductive way.

“Well, I took a couple of weeks off to work with you guys, so I’m all yours! Tell ya what, you fire up that rust bucket and I’ll fetch our stuff. I got reservations at the Holiday Inn Select down the road. You can tell me about your dream and being stuck in quicksand over dinner.”

“Only after a couple of shots of Jack, my friend.” Then Mickie thought about it. “In fact, better make those reservations for two nights. I plan on getting drunk tonight.”

“Already arranged, girl. Be back in a sec.”

As Bill trotted over to the taxi, Mickie climbed back into the UAV, happy to be alive and looking forward to a nice, long, carefree week with the best friend a girl could ask for. Closing the door, she checked the ignition for the keys, but found none there. Looking up at the sun visor, she flipped it down catching the keys in her right hand and watching a sheet of paper flutter down upon her lap. Perplexed by its presence, Mickie picked up the paper, dropping the van keys between her legs.

It was a folded piece of stationery dyed in golden rod, bearing an embossed and brilliantly colored image of a Minotaur in the upper right hand corner. Lacking any significance to her, Mickie’s eyes drifted away from the hideous creature and gazed upon the contents handwritten in stylish calligraphy. Goose bumps erupted upon her skin when a chill filled the van as the stenciled Minotaur turned and looked back at her, speaking the written words with the voice of von Mueller.


Greetings my lovely maiden
Who’s strong will I must say
Made for quite the challenge
On this, my most desperate day

Not as intrepid as you thought you were
One who felt she knew no fear
My experience with you was most nutritious
Thanks for the wonderful meal, my dear!

Though I wanted badly for you to stay
To keep me rejuvenated forever and a year
Your sacrifice in the quicksand proved
There could only be one Master here!

So, with heavy heart and gratitude
I bid you adieu as you leave this gloomy scene
And, oh, where are my manners?
I wish you a Very Happy Halloween!!!

XOXOXO

Baron Boris von Mueller
The Master


Mickie lifted her eyes from the Master’s letter and stared back at the house of black sitting ominously upon a landscape slowly darkened by the coming evening.

“It wasn’t a dream after all,” she finally realized, totally oblivious the commotion behind her as Bill tossed the luggage into the back of the van.

A few seconds later, Bill stepped into the van and slid the side door shut, working his way towards the front to join Mickie.

“A bit cold in here,” he noted as he sat down in the passenger seat and glanced over to Mickie. “What are ya reading?”

“Ummm... guess you could call it fan mail,” she replied, her eyes still fixed in a singular stare upon Black Willow.

“You okay?”

“I... I’m not sure,” she replied, running the fingers of her right hand through her hair and discovering an unexpected resistance.

Pulling her fingers from her golden locks, Mickie found them sullied with a thick, tenacious goo of gray consisting of fine silt and the stench of concoction.

“What’s that?” inquired Bill, reaching over to sample some of the odd material between his fingers and immediately noticing its strong, adhesive properties.

“That’s part of the quicksand I sank in,” she pointed out and bringing forth a puzzled look in Bill’s eyes. “He missed a spot.”

“Who’s ‘He’?” Bill asked, as he wiped his fingers upon his jeans in an attempt to remove the foul substance sticking to them.

“Here, read.” Mickie passed the Master’s letter over to Bill.

As he read the letter, Mickie wiped her fingers upon her shorts to cleanse them of von Mueller’s offensive gray slime and reached between her legs for the van keys.

“Did you reserve two rooms for tonight?” she asked with a tone of indifference while inserting the key into the ignition.

“Well, I’d contemplated getting only one and coming up with a cover story that there were no more vacancies,” admitted Bill with a sly and slightly embarrassed smile as he finished reading the letter. “But, I was the gentleman about it and got two.”

“We’ll fix that when we get there,” announced Mickie.

She turned the key, bringing the UAV roaring to life and belching smoke from its exhaust pipe.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight, Bill.” Mickie took in a deep breath then looked over to her companion, the seldom seen presence of fear evident in her eyes. “And, I don’t want to be alone tomorrow night, either. In fact, I don’t want to ever be alone again for the rest of my life. Think you’re up to the challenge?”

“Uh, of course. Absolutely!” Bill assured her with a beaming smile. “Being with you would be a dream come true!”

“Good, you’re hired,” Mickie said with a sparkle in her eyes as she stabbed the transmission into first gear. “Got something to tell ya tonight, Bill, that I’ve been meaning to say for some time. Afterwards, I ya got one hell of a ghost story for your listening pleasure.”


THE END

[stevensenechal]

Whoa! More for the Fans!

[Viridian]

That was HOT.

[quagmire_uk]

Most impressive!

[PM2K]

Awesome!

[water_bug_62208]

I'm posting to this in order to keep all of the Halloween Quicksand Story Contest entries together so they don't get scattered throughout the Stories Forum.

[water_bug_62208]

Grouping the Halloween Quicksand Story Contest entries together so they're not scattered.