Incubus Eblis by Eveline Hood

I hoped it was a dream. It started that way.
A handsome courier delivered an elegantly designed invitation to an exclusive event, requiring my answer before he would depart. Of course I agreed, and began my search for a date, and after umpteen calls, found that I was going alone. Champagne, beautiful people everywhere. I certainly felt like a fish out of water. Then I saw him.
There is a car, one of those low slung European sports things, sits steaming, half buried in that huge redwood that stood at the entrance to The Park. It’s red, blood-red, but that doesn’t seem right somehow. It feels like a disguise.
I feel nothing past a low-grade ache in my neck and a burning in my right thigh. It’s difficult to breathe, but I suppose that could be from the smoke. The car is burning. I see shadows, and they waver as my vision throbs as the air does. A high-pitched squealing hurts my ears but I can’t raise my arms to block it.
There is no one here, my vision trebles as i stumble around, the squealing becomes words. There is someone still in the car. I creep closer, my skin sizzling in the hot air sparks flying drift off into the sky to burn out just as quickly as they were born. He’s thrashing wildly, hammering on the steering wheel in something less than pain. He’s engaged, slow roasting in his personal pan.
I remember now, bits and pieces. Too much champagne, boring conversation and sparking pretty people and not a real person among them. Him. Flirting, quiet conversation. A risky fumbling tryst in an unlocked conference room. Pleasure. Then pain and disoriented pictures of things my mind refuses to acknowledge but can’t unsee.
Our eyes lock, as they did hours, days ago, my dress no longer clean and snug, and his eyes are a frozen wasteland. The tires pop in a rushing sigh and the flames roar higher in a cracking hurrah. His lips form words, slowly and deliberately as his dark hair turns reddish orange, and then I scream.
It echoes in the emptiness, above the fire’s ravenous song as he steps from the door of the shattered vehicle. His skin hangs from his face like boiled plastic, teeth showing through a hole in his cheek. His arms wrap around my torso, the smell of cooked meat making my gorge rise viciously into my throat. I am on fire, the remains of my dress devoured in his embrace. As my long hair begins to burn he whispers the same words into my ear and I know I am lost.
The clock on the wall flashes 3:23 am. Outside the trees creak alarmingly in the forceful wind. On the lounge near the window, the dress I wore to the party in my dream lays crumpled in a heap, next to a nearly empty bottle of champagne. The room smells like a campfire. I lie back down, confused, and worried for my sanity. I can smell the cologne he wore on my skin, in my hair, on my pillow too. Under that other smell. I think I’ve run mad.
“I told you. It’s not a dream.”
The Orphan Killer 2 Bound x Blood Created by Matt Farnsworth ©™ Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC
The Orphan Killer 2
Bound x Blood
Created by Matt Farnsworth
©™ Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC
“The characters Marcus Miller, and Babysister are owned by  Matt Farnsworth”
©™ Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC
Full Fathom 5 Productions LLC All Rights Reserved

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