Page 20 of The Flesh Remembers

The acolytes moved quickly, clearing the centre of the room and drawing a complex sigil with darkened ink. Blackwood’s voice boomed as he called for the final steps to commence.

“Eleanor,”

Blackwood commanded, his eyes glinting with unholy purpose, “remove all doubt from your heart. The power you unleash tonight will resonate beyond eternity.”

She froze, paralyzed by the magnitude of the moment. The sigil beneath her glowed ominously, pulsating in time with the chants of the encircling acolytes. The pregnant woman knelt at the centre, her face streaked with tears. Onto her rounded belly, the acolytes painted strange symbols in a dark, viscous liquid that appeared to be blood. The pregnant woman continued to sob until James stepped close to her and laid a hand upon her bare shoulder.

“Calm yourself, my dear,”

James spoke softly, his hand sliding up her neck to caress her cheek.

“You are helping to usher in a new world. You offer the greatest sacrifice, and your true devotion is rewarded.”

James bent his head then to kiss the woman on the lips, and Eleanor watched with a twinge of jealousy but also utter amazement as all the fight and despair left the woman completely. It was as if a curtain fell over the young woman’s eyes, and she was blind to all but James and his power over her.

“Yes,”

the young woman replied, a beatific smile lighting up her pale, tear-stained face.

“Yes, my lord, take everything from me. My body is yours!”

The young woman bowed down before James and touched his feet, her hair falling around her nude body like some sort of deviant Madonna.

“Yes, my dear, yes, give yourself to me freely.”

James motioned for Eleanor to stand next to him.

“Now it is your turn,”

he murmured, his voice soft but steel-laced.

“Prove your devotion.”

A chalice brimming with a thick, dark liquid was passed into her hands. Its surface shimmered with eerie light, like molten obsidian. Blackwood’s voice rose, urging her forward.

“Drink deeply, Eleanor. Let his essence merge with yours, and bind your soul to his forever.”

Her fingers tightened around the chalice as she brought it to her lips. The liquid burned as it slid down her throat, igniting a fire that coursed through her veins. She gasped, her knees buckling under the intensity. James caught her, his grip firm but not comforting. His eyes burned with expectation, with hunger.

Blackwood extended his hands toward James and Eleanor, his voice a thunderous declaration.

“Strip away the barriers of flesh and doubt. All must witness the union of body and soul. Only then will his rebirth be complete.”

The acolytes surged forward, chanting louder, their movements synchronized as they surrounded the sigil. Eleanor swallowed the threatening nausea as James turned to her, his expression predatory yet tender. He reached for the ties of her robe, undoing them with deliberate slowness. The fabric fell away, leaving her bare beneath the glow of the sigil.

“Eleanor,”

he whispered, his voice low and commanding.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes met his, and the weight of his gaze held her captive. The room seemed to fade away as they both knelt onto the glowing sigil with the pregnant young woman between them. The heat of the energy beneath her skin mingled with the coldness of his touch. The dual sensations were overwhelming, blurring the lines between pain and ecstasy.

James leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that felt like a vow. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though savouring each moment of their union. Around them, the acolytes chanted louder, their voices reaching a fever pitch as the sigil’s glow intensified.

Blackwood’s voice rose above the chaos.

“With this act, the boundary between life and death shatters. Let his resurrection be absolute!”

James clasped Eleanor’s hands, guiding them to rest on the swollen belly of the young woman before them. The child within thrashed violently, its movements chaotic and desperate, as though it sensed the horror about to unfold. The sigil ignited in a blinding eruption of light, swallowing them whole.

Eleanor’s world fractured. Her soul unravelled, twisting and merging with James’s in a divine and grotesque union. Every nerve screamed with sensation, devotion, agony, ecstasy, as the ritual surged to its crescendo.

When the light receded, James emerged transformed. He stood tall, his presence radiating an unnatural authority, his flesh restored, his eyes ablaze with a power that made Eleanor gaze at him in awe. She collapsed to her knees, shaking, her body and spirit irrevocably altered.

Blackwood’s laughter sliced through the silence, sharp and triumphant.

“It is done,”

he declared, his voice dripping with malice.

“The world will never be the same.”

Letter from Marian Collins to her mother

Mama,

Please forgive me! I have done such terrible things. I cannot explain, so please do not ask me, but just know that I have done things I would never have imagined were possible. I only ever wanted to help people and make a difference in the world. I swear it to be true, Mama. But now, my sins have become so great, I fear that even if I do manage to leave this place, I would never be able to look you or Papa in the eye again.

I know you want to come here once you get this letter, but I beg you not to. Please let me deal with the mess that I have made for myself. I will do what I can to finish this project and then come back home to you and explain everything.

I must try to help my friend, Eleanor. They are using her to further their pride and ambitions. I cannot leave her here alone with no allies. Her fiancé is, well, he is not himself, and I don’t know if he can be trusted. I promised Eleanor that I would be here for her and do all in my power to help her through this time. I must try to see that through, if I can.

I will do all I can to appeal to Dr. Fairfax's goodness. I know he is a good man, but I fear that the wealth and debauchery of his benefactor, Lord Blackwood, have tarnished some of the goodness in his soul. I can find it again, though. I must try, at least.

I will write to you when I can, but it may be difficult for the next few weeks as I try to get things back on track. Please tell Papa not to worry; I will return to you soon.

With all my love,

Marian

Don’t Resist

By now, the nearby city wasn’t just drawn to the clinic, it had become a reflection of its corruption. The townsfolk no longer feared the rituals on the hill; they yearned for them. Whispers had turned into public discussions, and public discussions had turned into an underground cult of their own. Vendors at the marketplace sold trinkets and symbols, claiming they could replicate the clinic’s dark power.

Many citizens seemingly abandoned their former lives to seek enlightenment from the house on the hill. A schoolteacher, a policeman, and even the mayor had all disappeared mysteriously, only to show up days later covered in strange symbols, their eyes wide and staring, strange unknown words whispered from slackened lips.

Meanwhile, children began to sing eerie nursery rhymes about the clinic.

“The doctor on the hill will take your pain away,”

one rhyme began, sung in a sing-song tone as they skipped in circles.

“But you’ll never be the same, and you’ll beg for him to stay.”

Inside the clinic, the descent was absolute. The halls were alive with the sounds of pleasure, pain, and despair, a symphony of humanity unravelling. The walls themselves seemed to pulse with the energy of the rituals, the runes carved into them glowing faintly with each scream that echoed through the stone corridors.

The staff had long since ceased to function as medical professionals. They moved like puppets, their bodies marked with bruises, runes, and scars from rituals that broke their spirits and reshaped their souls. The rituals were no longer confined to the chambers; they spilled into the hallways, the dining areas, even the clinic’s gardens. Novices found writhing in the dirt, their bodies entwined, their cries of ecstasy mingling with the soft hum of necromantic energy.

Eleanor wandered the halls, her eyes wide as she took in the sights. A nurse was pinned against a wall, her uniform torn, her lips parted in a silent moan as hands roamed her body. An aide knelt in the corner, his trembling hands clutching his chest as he whispered broken prayers to whatever gods still listened.

James had become the centre of this world. He no longer needed to command; his presence alone was enough to make those around him collapse in submission. His once decayed body now radiated power, his eyes once again the colour of that perfect summer sky, gleaming with a hunger that seemed to pull at the very fabric of the clinic. Novices flocked to him, their trembling hands reaching out to touch his flesh, their lips murmuring pleas for his attention.

Eleanor had once thought herself above this madness. But now, she wasn’t so sure. Her latest dream about him was proof to herself that madness was seeking her out and perhaps making a home within her.

It began like all her other dreams of James, as of late, in her father’s townhouse on the other side of the city. James and Eleanor sat in the back garden enjoying the warm spring breeze. James sat on a bench looking up at Eleanor, perched on her childhood swing, which still hung from the large oak tree that dominated the garden. She swung lazily, barely moving, unlike when she was a child, when she tried to swing as high and fast as she could manage.

She smiled at James, who now held a glass of lemonade in his hand. He saluted her with the glass and then sipped the tangy liquid. Eleanor’s smile faltered a bit. Something seemed wrong, but she could not place what it was. She felt sure that something was wrong, that something terrible was going to happen, but she had no idea why she felt that way or what might happen.

Just then, a voice from inside the house called out to them, jerking Eleanor out of her fearful thoughts for a moment.

“Eleanor! James! Dinner is ready! Come on in now before everything gets cold.”

It was a woman’s voice that called to them. A voice that sounded very familiar, but she could not quite place it.

“Shall we go in?”

James asked her, rising from his seat and holding his hand to her. Eleanor could only stare at him and the hand reaching for her momentarily. What was wrong with her? Why was she acting this way?

“El? Are you alright?”

James’s face darkened with concern as he stepped closer to her, gently taking her hand.

Eleanor gasped at the touch of James’s hand. It was as cold as ice. No person could have a hand that cold and live. It made no sense.

“James, why are you so cold?”

She asked him, pulling her hand away.

“I’m not cold, El. Now come on, let’s go get some dinner.”

James did not reach out to her again but turned and walked to the house.

Eleanor followed behind James and entered the house a few moments later. She walked through the kitchen and into the dining room, where dinner was set out on the large mahogany dining table: roast chicken and baby potatoes in a sage butter sauce. It smelled heavenly.

“Finally, Eleanor! I thought you were going to stay out there all night.”

The same female voice from before laughed at these words and looked up at her expectantly. It was her mother.

“Mummy?”

Eleanor asked, her voice trembling. She was nine years old when she last saw her mother, but here she was, alive and well at the table.

“Mummy? You haven’t called me that since you were a little girl. Sweetheart, are you feeling alright?”

“What are you doing here?”

Eleanor whispered, her throat gone dry and hoarse.

“Darling, I think we should have your father take a look at you. You don’t seem well.”

“Papa?”

A deep voice came from behind her then. A voice she knew but hadn’t heard in so long.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Eleanor’s father strode into the room, the evening paper tucked under his arm.

“Something is wrong with Eleanor,”

James spoke now, settling down at the table and beginning to heap potatoes onto his plate.

“Yes, something is very wrong with her.”

Her mother smiled, sat down, and began cutting into the chicken still steaming on the table.

“Well, James, what do you think? You’re a doctor now. What do you think is wrong with her?”

Eleanor’s father sat down next to his wife and began to serve himself as well.

“I should think it is fairly obvious,”

James said with a laugh.

“James, what are you saying? There is nothing wrong with me. But there is something wrong here. Something is wrong with all of you!”

“No, Eleanor, nothing is wrong. We are all fine. Fine and dead, just as we should be. But you, my dearest, you have gone mad, I’m afraid.”

As Eleanor watched in horror, her parents and James began stuffing the food from their plates into their wide, grinning mouths. They used no utensils but greedy handfuls into their now unnaturally large mouths.

“Come sit down!”

Eleanor’s mother cried out to her, food flying out of her mouth as she spoke. All three stared at her with blank, unblinking eyes as they seemed to swallow the food whole, not even bothering to chew.

“NO!”

Eleanor cried out, backing away from the table in horror. All three of them rose from their places at the table now and began to walk towards her, food still dripping down their chins, their mouths still bent in an unnaturally wide grin.

“Come, sweetheart, you’re mad now. It’s time we put you where you belong.”

Eleanor screamed and then ran. She turned and fled the room, but her legs felt as though they were stuck in molasses, and she could move them only inches. The ghoulish trio were right behind her; she could almost feel the brush of their fingertips across her back. But then she was at the back door, nearly outside, nearly free! Eleanor laughed, believing she would escape this madness, but suddenly, a sharp pain pierced the back of her head.

Her father had somehow darted ahead of the others and now had a handful of her dark hair in his hands, wrenching her backward.

“You can’t get away, my darling little girl!”

Her father cried in a terrifying singsong voice.

As he pulled her back, Eleanor felt a chunk of her hair rip clean out of her head, and she screamed in pain. But then, as the rest of them descended upon her, she cried again, but by then it was not merely in pain.

James was no longer merely a man, he was a force, an embodiment of everything the clinic represented. His body, once a grotesque sight, had become a symbol of erotic corruption. His touch no longer feared; it was sought.

Eleanor watched as he approached a group of novices huddled in the ritual chamber. They knelt as he entered, their heads bowed, their bodies trembling with fear and desire.

“You think you can resist,”

he said, his voice low and rasping.

“But you’ve already given yourselves to me.”

One novice, a girl barely out of adolescence, whimpered as James reached for her. His hand traced the curve of her jaw, leaving faint bruises in its wake. “Please,”

she whispered, her voice soft and uncertain.

“Please, what?”

he asked, his voice cruel.

“Please… take me,”

she said, tears filling her eyes.

James’s smile was a grotesque parody of warmth. “Good,”

he said, his fingers digging into her flesh. Her scream echoed through the room, but it wasn’t a scream of pain. Something darker sent a cold stab of fear straight through Eleanor’s heart.

Eleanor no longer tried to resist. She had fought for so long, telling herself she was different and could rise above the corruption. But the clinic had changed her. James had changed her.

One night, she found herself outside his chambers, her heart pounding against her ribs like a prisoner rattling its cage, her fingers quivering as if they bore the weight of her hesitation. The door loomed before her, an unyielding barrier that seemed to hold her fate in its grip. She didn’t know why she was there. She only knew that she couldn’t stay away.

Inside, James was waiting for her. His now perfect form was illuminated by the faint glow of the runes carved into the walls, and his blue eyes were fixed on hers.

“You came,”

he said, his voice a rasping whisper.

“I… couldn’t stop myself,”

she said, her voice trembling.

He smiled softly, and for a moment, Eleanor could pretend that this was her James and nothing else. They were again back in that carriage house with the storm raging outside, their love for one another all-consuming. “Good,”

he said. Then you’re ready.”

He reached for her, his hands tracing the runes on her arms. She shuddered at his touch, wincing as his fingers dug into her flesh.

“You’ve always wanted this,”

he said, his voice low and commanding.

“Haven’t you?”

“Yes,”

she whispered, her voice breaking, her eyes glazing over, “I have.”

The grand hall was a nightmare brought to life.

Novices knelt in a circle; their bodies marked with glowing runes that pulsed with unholy energy.

Around them, reanimated corpses moved with unnatural grace, their hands exploring trembling flesh as the air cracked with dark power.

It seemed that James was creating an army of monstrous half-living corpses that pulsated with necrotic passion, and they were now seeking out the willing and unwilling alike within the clinic to use in any way they saw fit.

Eleanor stood at the centre, her body bound by cords that writhed like living things.

James stood beside her, his form radiating power.

Blackwood raised his arms, his voice echoing through the hall as he chanted in a language no one understood.

“Tonight, we tear down the veil!”

he cried.

“Tonight, we destroy the line between life and death, pleasure and pain!”

The room erupted into chaos as the ritual began. Novices screamed as the energy consumed their bodies, their flesh dissolving into light. The reanimated moved with animalistic hunger, their decayed mouths and hands claiming every trembling body in their path.

Eleanor felt the cords tighten around her painfully, as blackness clouded her vision and everything went dark.

Excerpt from the journal of Lord Alastair Blackwood

Power.

The subject has an unnatural power over the group.

Men and women throw themselves at his feet, supplicate before him, and beg for the pain of his love.

Witnessing the power I have wrought is a glorious sight.

I must be careful not to alienate him, as I need him to trust me to keep him close enough to harness his power when the time comes.

Eleanor will be a problem.

Honestly, I didn’t think she would still be a consideration this far along in the process.

I knew we needed her for the initial sessions and the partial reanimations.

But he is whole now, and his power is unmatched. I counted on the fact that the subject would have no further use for her once he was at full power. But it seems that I have underestimated the affection between them.

Their bond seems to have only twisted into something deeper, even as it becomes darker.