Page 14 of The Flesh Remembers

The storm outside lashed against the windows, its rhythm a distant echo of the feverish heartbeat that pounded in Eleanor’s ears.

She had been utterly exhausted after the process of reigniting James’s lifeforce.

Her body was bruised and aching all over from the experience, and she had collapsed entirely after the orgasmic shock had flooded both of them.

Dr. Fairfax had assisted her back to her chamber to rest for a few hours while Blackwood prepared his followers for the next step in his dark rites.

Though Eleanor was mentally and physically drained, she was as resolute as ever.

She had not come this far to fail now.

Eleanor slept perhaps three hours, but it was a fitful sleep full of disturbing dreams.

She dreamt of James, of course, but in the dream, instead of bringing her to intense pleasure, he seemed intent on taking her life from her.

He choked her violently and with unnatural strength until she could barely see, and then James dragged her prone body behind him as he shambled along into the night.

This horrific nightmare version of James dragged her behind him until they reached an old cemetery.

It was then that Eleanor saw where he was taking her.

James stopped in front of his own open grave, the large hole where James had once slept now a yawning chasm into muddy darkness.

Eleanor began to struggle against James's grip, trying in vain to pry his cold, ashen fingers from her throat.

James let out a low rasping laugh at her pitiful attempts to free herself.

“This is where you belong, my darling,”

James gurgled, his voice sounding as though his lungs were full of something thick and viscous.

“No! James, I love you! Please don’t do this!”

The words were but a whisper from Eleanor’s blue-tinged lips, for James still had an iron grip upon her throat.

But James merely laughed again and then tossed his lover into the deep grave with a jerk of his hand.

Eleanor screamed but fell at an unnaturally slow pace as if falling through water, drifting rather than falling.

It felt as though time had stopped, and the depth of the grave seemed endless, and she fell and fell and fell.

She clawed at the sides of the grave, her fingers sinking into the thick mud, and she noticed in horror that large, wet worms slithered out of the rivulets her fingers made in the dirt.

Those disgusting things slithered down her hands and arms, slipping beneath the sleeves of her dress and burrowing ever deeper beneath the layers of her clothing.

Eleanor cried out in unbearable disgust as she felt the slimy creatures writhing against her bare flesh.

She could feel them beneath her undergarments now moving with a demented frenzy.

At last, Eleanor came to rest at the bottom of the impossible grave.

The opening was so far above her head now that it was but the tiniest pinprick of light.

Eleanor lay in the muddy ruins of the grave that had once housed the body of the only man she had ever loved.

She sobbed, her tears streaking through the dirt that encrusted her cheeks.

As she cried, Eleanor began to hear a strange sound.

It sounded like someone was digging. She could hear dirt being displaced again and again. At last, someone was going to save her!

“Eleanor,”

came a faint whisper.

The whispering increased until it was on all sides of her now.

Many voices converged together, all whispering her name.

Eleanor tried to move and somehow get away, but there was nowhere to go, and her limbs felt so heavy like massive tree trunks that she could not even lift them.

Then a hand clasped around her right ankle.

Eleanor looked down at her feet and saw that something had dug into the grave.

A hole had formed in the side of the grave, and she could see a shadowy, pale figure emerging from the filthy hole.

The corpse was a mottled grey and green, with some sections of flesh a shiny, bloated white.

Eleanor could not tell if the corpse had once been a male or female, for it was far too decayed, but somehow it seemed to have a sense of purpose.

And that seemed to be holding Eleanor down within this grave.

It’s bony, rotted fingers gripped her ankle like an iron shackle.

Eleanor screamed, trying to kick it away, but she had no strength.

She could only lie there and watch the events unfold with horrified eyes.

Another corpse soon followed the first, and then another and another until there were four of them, each one taking a wrist or an ankle and holding her fast to the ground.

The unholy monsters then began to rip her filthy, torn clothes from her body, their long claws scraping her skin.

The corpses worked in silence, seemingly not aware of anything around them other than the horrific task they were set to do.

Once she was completely naked, Eleanor felt the wormlike creatures that had crawled into her clothes now descend unfettered by those restraints.

They covered her, as more and more of them seemed to rise from the ground, slithering in a giant mass together, thousands of them.

They covered her body, moving on top of her almost as one sentient creature, each slimy worm reaching out its pink, wet body and moving along Eleanor’s white flesh.

Eleanor wanted to scream, the horror and torment greater than anything she had ever known, but no sound came from her mouth when she opened it.

Instead, those horrible pink worms wiggled along her face and poured into her open mouth, sliding down her throat.

Eleanor gagged as she tried to stop the onslaught.

The worms were now writhing on her breasts, creating a strange suction around each of her nipples.

Though Eleanor was disgusted and horrified, the movement across her breasts was gentle and pleasant, which somehow made it worse.

And then further down the creatures went between her legs, they began to pulsate and move in a strange rhythmic way, opening her most private places.

Eleanor moaned as she felt the worms fill her.

They seemed to know just the right spot to touch on her body to bring her pleasure, and she felt their wet pulsating bodies rub and thrust around and within her.

As Eleanor arched her back in horrified ecstasy, she jerked upright in her bed, sweat glistening on her brow. There would be no more sleep coming to her tonight.

Sitting up in bed, Eleanor expelled a ragged groan as she tried to get the sensation of those lurid worms out of her head.

She stepped out of bed and stripped off her sweat-soaked nightgown.

As she did, she caught sight of herself in the mirror and felt her stomach drop in horror.

Around each delicate pale wrist and ankle were vivid red marks where her skin had been chaffed by…something.

“Oh God…”

she whispered before sinking to the ground and letting her tears come.

She stood at the threshold of the great hall, her breath shallow as the heavy wooden doors swung open. The air within hit her like a wave, thick with incense and the primal musk of bodies entwined in shadowy rituals.

Her gaze swept the room, and the swirling chaos seemed to shift under her scrutiny, as though the space responded to her attention.

The once-clinical walls now pulsed with a dark vitality, transformed into an altar of indulgence, a temple of carnal abandon that seemed to breathe with its rhythm.

The floor, a mosaic of glowing runes, throbbed in time, her heart pounding as if syncing to her essence.

Candles flickered in every corner, their flames casting shadows that writhed and twisted like living entities.

The masked figures moved in hypnotic, serpentine rhythms, their forms illuminated by the flickering light, but the room seemed to orchestrate the dance, watching, waiting, and alive.

And at the centre of it all was James.

He stood on a raised dais, his body half-restrained by the galvanic apparatus that pulsed with an eerie blue light. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, his muscles straining against the bonds as arcs of energy danced across his skin. His eyes locked on hers the moment Eleanor entered, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath catch.

“Eleanor,”

he rasped, his voice low and guttural. How he said her name sent a cascade of emotions surging through her: icy dread, fierce determination, and something darker, unspoken. It was a plea, a demand, and a promise simultaneously.

Before she could step forward, the glow of the runes beneath her feet surged, their light spilling over her like liquid fire. The room seemed to react, its shadows converging and coiling toward her, as if beckoning her into its depths.

James’s eyes blazed with a raw intensity, and though his voice was barely audible over the pulse of the chamber, his following words sliced through her like a blade.

“Don’t let them take you.”

The shadows closed in, the air crackling with unseen power, and then, all at once, the candles extinguished.

Excerpt from the diary of Dr. Eleanor Ashcroft

My nightmares have returned. I had terrible nightmares right after James was killed and for weeks afterward. But they had slowly been lessening as time passed, or so I thought. The nightmare I had the other night was abhorrent. But that was not the worst of it.

I did not want to lie back down after that and risk another horrifying erotic dream, so I took a turn around the corridors, coming to a stop outside of Marian Collins’s room. I didn’t consciously realize where I was going, but I wasn’t disappointed with my destination either. I knocked upon her door, and just when I thought she was fast asleep and had not heard me, she opened the door and allowed me inside.

I stayed with Marian that night. We did not speak at all. She took my hand, led me to the bed, and pulled me into her arms. We lay in an embrace for a long time, only the sound of our beating hearts filling the room. But then, after some time, Marian and I looked at one another and gently kissed one another’s lips. It was soft and gentle; unlike the hungry passion I had felt from and with James. This was comfort. This was care.

We spent the whole rest of the night exploring one another. We shed our nightgowns and, with our breasts pressed against one another, we touched and tasted, exploring every secret place the other offered. For the first time since I came here, I felt safe.

But now I am wracked with guilt for knowing I have betrayed James. Do these tender feelings that I had for Marian mean that I love James less? I don’t understand what is happening to me. I feel so out of control and unsure of what will happen in the future.

I must try harder to focus solely on the end goal of this process, which is to bring James’s back to me as he was before. I will see this through to the end.

Let the Flesh Become a Vessel

Eleanor looked at him there, unnaturally pale and gaunt, eyes hollowed by death, the smell of decay upon him. She stood amazed at how far she had come from the happiness that had been theirs for that briefest of moments.

Eleanor slowly stretched her naked limbs, the warmth and softness of her bed feeling like heaven on the cool morning. A soft mumble to her left brought a smile as she turned to look at James. He lay next to her, his naked form sprawled out in the complete oblivion of sleep. His blonde hair was completely dishevelled, and Eleanor gently used her fingers to comb down some of the wilder sections.

At the touch, James smiled and then slowly opened his eyes. They were still heavy with sleep but seemed to brighten instantly when he saw Eleanor lying beside him.

“Good morning,”

he said softly, his left arm snaking around her waist.

“Hello there,”

Eleanor replied with a soft laugh, allowing James to pull her closer to him.

“I thought you were going to sleep the day away.”

“Well, can you blame me? We tired ourselves out quite a bit last night.”

James laughed, then pulled her even tighter until her naked breasts were flattened against his chest. James stared into Eleanor’s eyes, their foreheads pressed against one another, their lips a hair’s breadth from touching.

“James,”

Eleanor breathed softly, her heart so full that she felt it might burst with her love for him.

“Can you believe that in all the world, you and I found each other? It seems impossible, doesn’t it? But yet, we did. It’s you and me, El, you and me forever.”

James leaned into her then and seized her lips with his own, kissing her gently at first, but as the kiss continued and their passion ignited, the kiss deepened until they were both panting with the fire of it.

When they finally parted, Eleanor looked into James’s sky-blue eyes and felt a cold trickle of fear slither down her spine. She and James loved each other so much, but love is fragile—something easily lost or broken. How could she be sure to keep her love safe?

Her dark thoughts swept away an instant later when James flipped her up onto his chest and kissed her again.

“Perhaps we should work up an appetite before breakfast,”

he said with a grin before kissing her again.

Lord Blackwood appeared at her side, his dark robes trailing behind him like shadows come alive. His hand rested lightly on her shoulder, a gesture both guiding and possessive.

“You feel it, don’t you?”

he murmured, his voice a silken caress.

“The pull between life and death. The hunger within him, and you.”

Eleanor swallowed hard, her eyes never leaving James. She could feel his need like a physical force, a heat that radiated from him despite his skin's cold, necrotic pallor. Her pulse quickened, her body responding to the unspoken promise in his gaze.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,”

she said, her voice resolute.

Blackwood’s smile was sharp, almost voracious.

“Then step forward, Dr. Ashcroft. Tonight, you become the bridge between worlds.”

As she moved toward the dais, the circle of cultists around her began to chant, their voices low and rhythmic. The sound vibrated through the floor, climbing her legs and settling in her chest. The robes she wore felt suddenly heavy, constricting, and when Blackwood gestured for them to be removed, she didn’t hesitate.

The fabric slid from her shoulders, falling to her feet, leaving her bare beneath the flickering candlelight. A collective sigh rippled through the gathered cultists, their gazes drinking in her form with reverence and hunger. Eleanor had long abandoned any sense of modesty or decorum, as those traits would not serve her here. She had to become someone new and fearless to complete this impossible task.

The air grew thicker as the ritual began. The first touch came from behind: a warm, firm pair of hands sliding along Eleanor’s arms and down her sides. She gasped, her body tensing at the unexpected intimacy. Another set of hands joined, brushing against her collarbone and trailing lower.

The touches were slow, deliberate, and varied. Some were tender, almost worshipful, while others were insistent, testing the boundaries of her surrender. The silver disk at her throat began to hum, vibrations resonating with the room's energy.

Eleanor closed her eyes, letting herself be carried by the rhythm of the ritual. Each caress sent a ripple of sensation through her, her body responding in ways that felt both thrilling and shameful. She could feel the collective energy building around her, an almost electric charge that prickled her skin and ignited a fire in her core.

From his dais, James growled low in his throat, the sound reverberating through the hall. His hands gripped the edges of the apparatus, his knuckles whitening as he strained against his restraints.

“Eleanor,”

he said, his voice rough with need.

“I can feel you. I can feel… everything.”

His eyes burned with an intensity that bordered on feral, his gaze roaming over her body with undisguised desire. The hunger in his expression was no longer just for life; it was for her, entirely and utterly.

The cultists around her moved with greater urgency, their hands and mouths exploring her body as the chanting grew louder. Each touch seemed to pull her closer to the edge, her body trembling with the weight of the sensations coursing through her.

James’s breathing grew heavier, his arousal impossible to ignore. The galvanic rods around him sparked violently, mirroring the tension in the air.

Blackwood stepped into the circle's center, his voice rising above the chanting.

“Let the flesh become a vessel! Let the spirit transcend!”

The cultists responded with a collective cry, their hands and bodies pressing closer to Eleanor as the room's energy reached a fever pitch. She felt lifted, carried by the waves of sensation that consumed her.

The cult members surrounded her now. Hands holding her up, arms pinned behind her back, while two others each took one of her ankles and lifted her legs, opening her like a flower to them all. A collective moan passed through the group as they saw how wet she was, how desperate to come.

One of the male cultists slipped between her legs and pressed his eager tongue to her wet sex.

“What a wet cunt you have,”

he whispered reverently, his tongue darting out to lap up the juices that flowed from her arousal. He savoured it, chanting something unintelligible, a glowing smile lighting up his face as if he had just tasted the holiest sacraments.

Another member took their turn between Eleanor’s legs, taking their taste of this communion of lust. Then another and another until each member had fully tasted her, relishing it like sweet nectar. Eleanor moaned, her eyes clenched shut as the sensations flowed through her body like electricity. Again and again, they licked, sucked and bit until she could take no more and began to scream out for release.

“Do you need to come?”

Lord Blackwood asked her with a smile.

“Yes, yes, please!”

Eleanor was desperate now, so close to feeling that avalanche of pleasure.

“Ah, but you must beg for it, my dear. That desperation, that feral desire, is needed for us to succeed in this endeavour. So, Eleanor, my dear, beg me. Beg me to let you come.”

Eleanor hated Blackwood in that moment. She hated how he made her beg, hated how desperate and needy she felt. But she knew, too, that she could not refuse to give in to these feelings. She thought she might surely die if she did not release.

“Yes, yes, please! Please let me come! Please, please let me come!”

Tears-streaked Eleanor’s cheeks as her pride left her and she was begging like a common slut but also wanting it more than anything she had ever felt.

“Very good.”

Lord Blackwood said with a chuckle.

“You are a vision of desire, Eleanor. Very well, you may come for me. Come hard, Eleanor, the harder you come, the more energy it will generate for James.”

Eleanor cried out in relief as she was granted permission. She did not think she could have survived if he had denied her.

“Thank you, thank you,”

Eleanor whispered as her body began to seize, and her orgasm took over. Her body shook violently as the orgasm raged, tears continuing to fall not in shame nor strictly in pleasure but in the absolute high of utterly losing control.

James roared, his body arching as the energy surged through him. The galvanic apparatus crackled and hissed, the arcs of light growing brighter and more chaotic.

Eleanor’s cries mingled with the sounds of the ritual, her body writhing as she surrendered completely to the overwhelming intensity.

Her vision blurred, her mind fracturing under the weight of the pleasure and pain that merged into a single, devastating force.

At the height of the ritual, she felt James’s presence envelop her, his need and desperation flooding her senses.

She felt something else too, buried deep down beneath that burning intensity.

It was soft and delicate, as fragile as a baby bird.

She felt the love James had for her.

She felt him.

Eleanor felt it for the briefest of moments before the feral desire and inhuman desperation overshadowed everything else.

But it had been there.

Eleanor smiled, satisfied with that small bit of him for now and then screamed his name as the final surge of energy tore through her, the silver disk at her throat glowing with a blinding light.

Letter from Marian Collins to her mother

Dearest Mama,

The situation here has changed.

I am not sure that I agree with the direction that the project is going, but I do not know what I can do about it.

Dr.Fairfax is a very kind and sensible man, but he has his ambitions just as any man, and though he has his misgivings, which he has confessed to me privately, he wants to see the project through to the end. I would like to tell you more details, but I am forbidden from discussing the project with anyone outside the clinic. I am not certain you would believe me even if I could share everything with you.

Recall that I mentioned my new friend, Eleanor, in my last letter.

She and I have grown close and feel quite protective of her.

The men, Dr. Fairfax and Lord Blackwood, are using her as a means to an end. They are dangling the thing she wants most in all the world in front of her, knowing she won’t be able to resist, knowing she will have to do as they bid her if she wants what they can give her. I feel the need to stand with her, even though there is little I can do against them. But perhaps it is enough just for her to know she has someone on her side.

I wish I could tell you certain things, Mama, but I am not sure you would view me the same way if I did.

I have changed here and don’t think all the changes have been good.

But I am trying to be a good person.

I am trying to do what I believe to be the right thing. I only hope that once this is all over, I can return home to see you and Papa, and we can once again spend summer evenings in the garden listening to the nightingales.

I know I have not asked you this in a long time, Mama, but please pray for me and my friend Eleanor.

I do not know if prayers can penetrate this place, but I must ask you to try.

Please don't worry about me. I'll write to you as soon as I can with an update.

Yours with love,

Marian