Vengeance is Mine
CHAPTER ONE
The priest walked into the small office, and bowed towards
the man sitting behind the desk. Then,
in a quiet but clear voice, he started to speak. “Your Eminence, the poor soul is now in the
cell awaiting your instructions. He has
been fed with just the bare essentials, one crust of bread and a small cup of
water.”
The year was 1963 and it was winter, the snow was on the
ground and the fires in the big house were burning bright. The workers had been fetching the logs in all
morning, and there was real warmth all over the house. In a room at the top of the stairs a woman
was sitting looking at a child in a bed, he was just a few years old, but he
was ready to be shown the way of the Mistress, sentinel to the doorway to hell. She had already taught him how to unlock the
doors, look for the secret passages and pull back the curtains. He was only four year old, but the Mistress
knew that his life was to be one of pain, although it would not be coming from
her hands. There were no secrets of life
and death that the Mistress did not know, because she had read the pages of
time. The boy’s fate was sealed, as was
the fate of every Mistress and sentinel. She knew that once those pages have been
written they can never be changed.
A middle-aged man walked in the door and placed more chopped
wood by the fire, and as he was about to leave, the Mistress stopped him. “Benjamin; there will be another charge in
the basement tomorrow morning. See to it
that he is stripped and ready for the ritual.”
“Yes Mistress Chrystal.
Will that be all?”
“No. You are to come
to my chambers tonight and sleep with me.
I am in need of comfort.” As the
Mistress spoke, she gazed at him. Her
smile was genuine, in her eyes as well as on her lips.
“Yes, Mistress Chrystal.”
He left to go about his daily chores.
It was some hours later when the Mistress headed towards the
basement, stopping just inside the door from the hallway to listen to the
tumblers of the door lock clicking into place, ensuring that there was no risk
of being disturbed or of anyone passing through that door in either direction
without her permission. Satisfied, she
headed downwards, her heels clicking on the stone slabs of the stairs.
She had no idea who he was.
Now, just before midnight, was her favourite time of day for this. Some had described it as a battle, but if it
were, then it was a very one-sided battle.
He had been brought to her Domain for cleansing, and therefore he would
be cleansed. There was no doubt in her
mind about what would take place. There
never was.
She could sense that he was on his way and close. She
pointed to the far wall and watched the dark hole appear. She could hear footsteps from inside the hole
where the tunnel opened out into her battleground. The boundary lines were
drawn with her new charge almost in her care.
She shivered, as she always did, in anticipation of another battle royal
with one of the devils disciples.
The priest was the first to show as he stepped out of the
darkness, closely followed by two others. Between the following priests was the
object of her attention. He was so
young! He could not have been more than
twenty-five at the most, she thought, as she watched the priest cuffing his
wrists to the St Andrew’s cross.
He was looking at her, his eyes half closed, but his face
was expressionless. The priest faced
him, made the sign of The Cross, and then turned to walk back the way he had
arrived. He paused only once before disappearing, only to drop two coins into a
brass bowl on a small table by the wall.
The clink of the coins was all that broke the silence before the two
other priests, followed him into the darkness of the tunnel.
The Mistress watched them go. Her eyes straining to follow
them into the darkness until with a satisfied toss of her head she closed the
apparition. She turned her full
attention to the young man on the cross.
She walked closer to him, but not so close that there was
any risk he might be able to lash out at her.
His legs were not yet bound and only the bonds on his wrists held him
securely. His eyes were bright now, wide
open and shining, alert, and ready for whatever she would do to him, but the
Mistress was looking much deeper. She
wanted… no, she needed to find the person beneath the skin, the one with
whom she would do battle. Her own face
was still expressionless, without hate or anger. Nor did she have any emotions
of like or dislike for this person. It
was not his fault that he was now her charge.
He was a victim just as others before him had been. The Mistress looked deep into his eyes past
what the normal person could see, and it never took very long to find what she
was looking for. Almost as soon as she saw the beast deep inside him, he closed
his eyes as if he knew she had found what she sought.
She spoke with a knowing certainty in her voice, “You cannot
hide from me by closing your eyes. Your
fate has been sealed and your end is now in sight. I have had far stronger than you, and they
screamed as they were sent away. You
will be no different.”
The eyes came to life, the lids opening as fast as if they
were on a tight spring. “You dare mess
with me, bitch,” the man shouted. “It
will be me that has you screaming in defeat.
You’re just a whore. I won’t bow
to your will. You think I’m here to test
you? I’m here to break your hold on
reality.”
The Mistress gazed at the young man and could see that the
fire was still in his eyes. This one was
a screamer; he would scream with every stroke of the whip, trying to gain
sympathy, but there would be none forthcoming from this Mistress. Without another word, she turned and walked
to the stairs. The clicking of her heels on the stone floor would be the last
sound he heard before she left him to the deafening silence of the empty
basement.
In the lounge upstairs, the Mistress touched a panel in the
wall by the old oak dresser. She stood back as the wall opened in front of
her. Briefly, she glanced behind her as
if wanting to be certain that she was alone before climbing the few steps to
the door above. The room was small, with
a dim light shining onto a desk near a wall.
She sat down at it and opened the journal that lay in front of her.
The writing in the journal was elaborate and ornate, much as
ancient manuscripts might have been centuries before. It was like the
painstaking work of monks or scribes who had a love of the writing for its own
sake. The first page bore the words: Testimony
to the work of Chrystal Marie Donna, for the St David’s Charter House.
She opened it to the page where she had left the marker
ribbon, a blank page ready for a new chapter to be written. She picked up the pen, as ancient as the
style of the writing, and dipped it into the well of ink set into the corner of
the desk.
The agents of the Charter House brought Peter to me
tonight. He is a screamer, and I will
make him scream like he has never screamed.
When I looked into his eyes, I could see the eyes in the eyes looking
back at me, but I know that this one will not take long. The screamers never do. It is late, as it is always whenever my new
charges arrive. I have told my assistant
to strip him ready for the whip in the morning. I shall not start the battle
with the being while I am in need of sleep.
His ritual will begin after breakfast in the morning, but before then, I
must see to the running of the house.
She put down the pen, dried the ink, and read what she had
written. Satisfied, she closed the
book. It was then that she saw the
envelope near the top of the journal and reached over to pick it up. There was a red wax seal on the back, and she
recognised it as the seal of His Eminence.
She already knew what would be inside.
She had been expecting it since Timothy’s fourth birthday. Breaking the seal, she removed the single
sheet of parchment and started to read:
Chrystal Marie Donna,
The time has come for Timothy to learn the way of the
Mistress of Chrystal House. The powers
in Rome have decreed that, although the child is young, you must teach him the
ways of the Key Master. At all times he
has permission to watch you while you carry out your task. He must also be
shown that there is nothing to fear from your charges. He has all the knowledge and magic, and it
can only be enhanced by his presence in your place of work. You and he have the blessings of Rome to
carry out your task and for you to pass on further knowledge to your siblings
while you head towards your ultimate destiny.
Your God be with you.
The Mistress put the letter back in the envelope and left it
at the side of the journal, and then she went down to the lounge once
more. Timothy was wide awake, gazing up
at her, and the Mistress’ assistant waited expectantly for her
instructions. She knew that what she
would say next would shock him.
“Tomorrow, Timothy, while I am at work in the lower room you
must come and visit me.”
The boy gave her a knowing smile, as though it were no
surprise to him.
The Mistress turned to her startled assistant. “We must go to bed. I must be fresh for the battle ahead.”
* * *
It was nine-thirty in the morning when the Mistress walked
into the lounge dressed in riding boots and breeches with a white blouse. She looked out of the window at her assistant
who was near the shed sawing logs for the many fires in the house. Sitting on the pile of sawn logs was Timothy,
and as she looked at him, he looked up as if sensing her gaze. He smiled.
There was a bond between them that could never be broken. He was part of her destiny, and it was he who
would ensure the survival of the Mistress of Chrystal House. Her assistant looked up also, and he too
smiled at her. He turned and stepped to the pile of wood before he carried on
with his task, his muscles rippling as he worked. It was good to see the effort he made for
her, although no less than she expected.
Even at this time of the year, he was working hard enough for the
teardrops of sweat to be visible from this distance. She could see it running
down his naked back while covering his chest and arms. A knock at the door broke her thoughts.
“Yes? What is it?”
she asked.
“Mistress Chrystal, your charge is stripped and waiting for
you downstairs.” It was her other
assistant speaking, but he made no move to enter. This room was forbidden to him, and he knew
his limits.
“Thank you, Benjamin.
Have your breakfast, and then go to the village and collect the
groceries. My charge will not be moved
until tomorrow morning, and then you will need help.”
“Yes, Mistress Chrystal.”
She waited at the window until she saw the car being driven
down the drive to the big gates. It was
time. The ritual was to start, and her
charge was waiting. She did not bother
to lock the door as she descended to the basement.
He was naked, as she had instructed. It should have made him feel more vulnerable,
but it seemed not to have made the impression on him… yet. She stood a few feet from him and stared at
his body appraisingly. He had a good
body, and yet there was nothing sexual in her evaluation of him. Her gaze was no more than she would have
given a piece of meat at the market.
“Come on, whore,” he shouted. “Show me what you can do. Don’t just stand there lusting after my
body. You think you will defeat me, but
I will show you that I am made of stronger stuff than you think. You will be begging me to let you live after
your pathetic efforts are wasted.”
“Silence.” She raised
her voice, just a little. She had no
need to shout, and his defiance had not even roused her anger. She walked to the wall and took down a coiled
whip.
She returned. On the
floor was a mark, almost invisible, no more than a slight indentation in the
stone slabs, and this was the mark she would now use. Without taking her eyes off him, she threw
the coils of the whip out onto the floor in front of her, and the young man
laughed aloud at her.
She pulled the whip back, fast, and in a split second it was
travelling on its way back towards the young man. Snap!
The noise in the silence of the basement was horrendous, and the sound of
his scream was even worse. His face was
contorted in pain, but the Mistress had seen all this before. Yet, he was still defiant. Before she had time to pull the whip back
once more, the young man was laughing hysterically. “Fuck, you’re pathetic, you fucking
whore. A child could wield a whip better
than you. I told you that there was no
way that you could defeat me.”
Snap! The second
stroke touched just above the first on his the belly, and the two tell tale red
marks were side by side like rail tracks but the skin was not broken. The young man’s head was thrown back as he
gasped for air, but still, as his head came down and his eyes focused on her
once more, he still had that defiant smile on his face. Snap!
Snap! Two strokes in quick
succession, one on each of his nipples, and this time the shrill scream would
chill the warmest of hearts. She smiled,
but not at his pain, as it was the skill and precision of the strokes which
pleased her.
Snap! The next stroke
sliced his shoulder blade, but still the skin was not broken. He still had
that smile on his face which was now curling into a sly grin. He was trying to goad her into putting more
power into the lashes, but that was not the way of the Mistress. He had to be whipped in exactly the right way
for the magic to take its course.
Snap! The whip struck
his other shoulder blade, and again there was a wicked scream. Once again, the Mistress took no notice. His screams were all part of the devils game,
and he was as determined to play it his way. The Mistress was playing his game
her way to bring it to an end and at her speed.
It was at that moment she heard the basement door open and
close, before slow footsteps could be heard coming down towards where she
stood. She rapidly turned in her own
space ready to chastise whoever had disturbed her in her inner Domain. The sight that greeted her was of a small boy
with a small toy bear in his hand, and he was smiling happily. Once he was at the bottom of the stairs, the
Mistress put her hand out and Timothy ran towards her. The young man on the cross seeing this take
place, looked at the boy and made out to be trying to escape, and then he
screamed a blood curdling shrill. The
Mistress looked at Timothy, but far from being frightened, he was looking at
the Mistress and smiling.
“You cannot frighten the boy,” she said. “He is made of stronger fibre than you, and
he has this minute shown me that it is you who is weak.” The Mistress took a firm hold of the boy’s
hand before she walked him over to the wall to seat him on one of the chairs. For a moment, she held his face in her hands
before kissing him tenderly on the forehead.
The Mistress took hold of the whip and walked in front of
the young man, and once more she threw forward the whip. The smile was still on his face as he spat at
her, but she easily moved to one side to avoid it.
Snap! The whip struck
again, curling around the man’s arms at the biceps. Again he screamed, and again he laughed
loudly as soon as he had control of his voice.
“You are no fucking good, bitch. I am feeling no pain. There are no cuts to my flesh. All you are doing is showing me that I am
stronger than you.”
Snap! The other arm
was wrapped in leather for a fleeting moment, and this time there was no
scream, just a hysterical laugh.
“You are tickling me so much with your childish play that I
cannot help but laugh. When are you
going to stop playing and try to hurt me?
I realise you are weakening, and it won’t be long before you bow to my
power.”
Snap! Snap! Another two fast strokes, and this time the
man was caught off guard. The screams
came from deep within him, screams of real pain.
Snap! Snap! Two more fast ones to the belly, and a deep
groan came from a now contorted face, as if drawn from the bowels of the earth.
The Mistress walked away from his front and over to the
wall. She coiled the whip before she hung it in its proper place. Nothing was spoken, and all that could be
heard was the click of her heels as she walked over towards Timothy. The
Mistress went past the man on the cross as if he never existed. Her hand went down, and Timothy jumped off
the chair to take hold of it. The Mistress led them both out of the basement
leaving her charge to the silence of his own thoughts.
In the hall, the Mistress told Timothy to go and play. She had other work to do, and as he ran off
she headed for her desk in the tiny, hidden room with its entrance behind the
wall of the lounge. She opened the
journal, and once more picked up the pen.
This morning I started the ritual of cleansing Peter, and
I have found the being inside to be weak and ill prepared. Twice during this first session I have caught
him out, and he has been unable to help its host victim. There is no mistake: this young man is as
much a victim as I am. Timothy walked
into the basement during the ritual and, as ordered by the agents in Rome, I
allowed him to stay.
The beast was immediate in its challenge, by aiming a
threat accompanied by a scream at him.
However, to a boy born with all the knowledge, he showed no fear. He smiled.
His secret is safe for the moment, but I have read the pages of time and
I know my span on earth is drawing to an end.
I believe this evil one will give up the body during the night, because
after the next session there will be very little strength left to carry on with
the fight.
The Mistress closed the journal, put down the pen, and
returned to the lounge. As she walked
through the secret door, she saw Timothy on the couch waiting for her, playing
with a toy. At the fireplace, she moved
the lion’s head and a side of the fire opened, and Timothy watched as the
Mistress put her hand in a bag and took out a coin. She once more closed the fireplace before
putting the coin into Timothy’s hand.
She kissed him on the forehead, and said, “Go and place this with your
other treasures, Timothy. It is for
keeping my secret just as I keep yours.”
She walked with him to the door and watched him walk outside
before going back to her upstairs rooms where she looked out of the
window. Timothy was in the centre of the
brick maze, kneeling by one of the walls.
He stood up and walked back to the entrance and looked up smiling. The Mistress smiled back.
It was later in the afternoon when the Mistress was in her
rooms that she called Timothy. He looked
up at her, “Yes, Mistress?”
“Dear sweet boy, there is no need for that because we have a
bond holding us together. Come and sit
on my lap and I will tell you things that you must never forget. I must tell you things you must never
forget.”
Timothy stepped closer to her and she lifted him on her lap
and hugged him tight. “Your place in
life has been set. You are the Key
Master and without you, the Mistress of Chrystal House will not be able to
function. In years to come, you will be
reunited with your close relations, but it will be a painful experience getting
there. I will always be with you even in
the times that we are apart. Over the
next few months, I will be teaching you all that you need to know. It will be implanted in your brain and stored
until you need it. I expect you to
forget some things I tell you, but at a later date I will talk to you in your
mind.” She looked at Timothy, and saw
that he was looking back at her with questioning eyes. “Do you understand what I am saying, Timothy?
“Yes, Mistress.”
She pulled him close once more, and after kissing him on the
forehead they both fell asleep.
It was a little after eight in the evening when the Mistress
returned to the basement. It was warm
down there, as heat from radiators driven by the fires of a boiler kept it from
the chill around it. The heaters were working during the summer months, because
even during the hottest days the warmth of the day rarely penetrated so deeply
below the ground. Peter watched as she
walked over to where he was hanging from the cross. She stepped a little closer
to him than previously while she looked even deeper into his eyes. The being inside was now in retreat. Peter’s eyes were smaller, and the Mistress
knew that his strength was being drained by trying to keep the pain of the whip
away from Peter. She stepped back to
appraise her charge once more, and could see that his once strong face was now
haggard and tired. Despite the power the beast had wielded to protect him from
the pain, he had suffered the mental battle alone. The eyes were pleading for rest, but the
Mistress knew that to win the battle there would be no time for rest. If all went well, this would be the last
session, but if the beast started to fight back then there would have to be
more of the same.
The Mistress walked over to the wall and once more she
lifted the whip off the hanger. A moment
later, she was standing in front of Peter.
She knew that she had to catch the beast off guard if that were
possible. Weakening the man would give
the beast less to hold onto.
She threw the whip out to the front, and then sent four
strokes off in quick succession.
Snap! Snap! Snap!
Snap! Peter screamed with the
pain, and the Mistress knew that the scream was real. It was not the voice of the beast; it was
Peter’s own voice. The strokes had landed
on his tender inner thighs and it had only taken a few seconds for the telltale
stripes to appear.
Snap! Snap! The tail of the whip struck his belly once
more, and again the beast was too slow to protect him. Peter, the man, screamed. She watched as is head lowered in pain and
exhaustion, and his eyes closed. She
thought about the salts, but there was little point in torturing for torture’s
sake. The Mistress coiled the whip and
walked over to the wall, and once the whip was back where it belonged, she
headed for the steps. She had nearly
reached them, without making any visible deviation from her course, when the
wall opposite Peter twisted and rotated.
Before him now was a mirror, and slowly his head rose and his eyes
opened. Just before the Mistress closed
and locked the door to the hall, she heard his horrendous scream.
* * *
It was morning, and the Mistress was sitting in her room
above the lounge. She was having her breakfast with Timothy sitting opposite
her at the table. She looked up as the
assistant came into the room, “I will go down and turn your charge, Mistress
Chrystal.”
“That will not be necessary, Benjamin. I think after the first session this morning
he will be taken back to the Charter House this evening.”
In an hour, the Mistress was once more in the basement,
gazing closely at Peter’s face. He was
exhausted still; both from lack of sleep and reaction to the pain she had given
him. He had a haggard look, and yet it
was the look of a man. Evil had left
him, for a moment at least, and the beast was in retreat, but the battle was
not yet won.
Deliberately, she walked towards the wall and lifted the
whip. At once it was back, and as she
came back to stand in front of him, Peter shouted, “You cannot hurt me you
bitch,” and then urinated on the floor.
“Get down a lick my piss, you filthy whore.”
She knew it was the beast talking, and threw the end of the
whip towards him. There was that look:
the sly eyes narrowed, but now there was also hurt in them.
Snap! Snap! The Mistress sent two quick strokes to the
groin area, and the scream told her that it was where the beast had least
expected the lash to fall.
Snap! Snap! The second two struck him on his nipples, and
this time he threw his head back with real pain etched on his face. The beast inside was tired and weak, and was
now failing to protect him from the pain, and she knew that the end was really
in sight.
Snap! Snap! One to each of his thighs, and then without a
word, the Mistress walked over and replaced the whip on the hanger.
It was done. That
same evening when the Mistress went down the stairs into the basement, it was
for the agents of the Charter House to come and collect him. As usual, there was a priest with them, and
before he left, he blessed the Mistress and crossed her forehead with holy
water.
Several months went by, and in that time two more men were
brought to her for cleansing. Finally,
there was a third who needed her expertise, but this was no man. When the door of the basement opened and the
Mistress saw the agents of the Charter House, she immediately recognised their
charge standing between them. This was
Sister Clair, a nun, and the Mistress knew that this battle would be a
particular challenge for her. The agents
cuffed the nun’s hands to the St Andrew’s cross and walked out, and as the door
closed behind them, the Mistress stepped closer to her new charge.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Vengeance-Mine-Ian-Johnstone-ebook/dp/B017WJCJ1E/ref=sr_1_7?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1449178118&sr=1-7&keywords=ian+johnstone
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Vengeance-Mine-Ian-Johnstone-ebook/dp/B017WJCJ1E/ref=sr_1_7?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1449178118&sr=1-7&keywords=ian+johnstone
No comments:
Post a Comment