The Witch Couple

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
An unforgettable encounter with the Witch Couple.

Submitted: August 10, 2014

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Submitted: August 10, 2014

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I can’t remember the exact whereabouts of the house that I painfully visited, but I know it was somewhere in the state of Massachusetts, pretty close to a lake. It was there that I saw that accursed couple, the same “humans” that destroyed all my nights ever since. My money was unpleasantly scarce at that time and I used to buy more cigarettes than I used to buy food or any random daily supplies in order to keep my sanity living on with some portion of something closer to what could be referred to as “strength”.
Ignoring my own personal problems and considering the fact that I feel that I’m close to death, I must proceed with the undesired process of telling you the abominations that I beheld with ultimate fear. I wish I could express to you their fiendish names, but I’m afraid that this is utterly impossible, for no hypnosis or any other procedure of mind-tricking would banish the otherworldly trauma inflicted to my subconscious self at the point of letting my lips whisper their ghastly names.
Even now that I’m considerably far away from that lake place their names are as evil as their doings, which are completely hellish, mostly unspeakable. The very first time that I gave those quasi-human bodies a true human gaze, was in the first of July, when I was visiting my new chosen house in order to introduce to my mind the pictures of the place that I was going to sleep from a time close to that time to a time further in the future.
When this gaze reached them, I was filled with a morbid curiosity greater than any curiosity that I had ever felt since the very moment that I came to this chaotic world. They were dressed black as the night sky, and I had the horrid impression that their eyes held the same abyssal hue; the very same hue that I had saw only in the deepest chasms of my most atrocious dreams.
It was as if those wicked eyes were staring directly at my mind, but through other eyes buried in endless vistas beyond time and space, where the concept of existence is irrelevant. Their hair had the very same color, and the total atmosphere surrounding their presence was entirely extraterrestrial compared to a couple that is alleged to belong to any normal non-mainstream social subculture.
After a few seconds that seemed to have the total length of millennia of unfathomable dark slumber, I returned to my vehicle and drove back to the temporary place that I was having my normal nightmares into, and at the same time wishing hardly that I could drink some whiskey to pretend that it would bring my mind some relief to the total chaos that I had felt.
When I arrived at my temporary home, I drank until I could fake that I had forgotten those wraiths, but I failed miserably in my innocent attempt to rescue the level of lack-of-sanity that I used to have before all of that. I failed because when I entered weary in the realm of dreams under the severe effects of alcohol, my mind was observed by those same demonic and disguised eyes again.
They were there staring at my mind pitilessly, speaking through their instruments of alien exploratory gaze, speaking in a cryptic way that was too well understood by my subconscious mind for my mind itself to bear. Mostly unbearable, those pseudo-eyes were dark at the point of blindness or madness leading; it has no difference.
Still trapped in the oneiric reality, their eyes conducted me to a chamber displaced between taciturn locations in what could be called a “dimension” of no Euclidian-space. In that chamber I contemplated the witch couple having sex fiendishly under the watch of something of no known appearance or characteristic. It was a ritualistic performance of the nether realm in the most obscure and cryptic sense of the adjective “ritualistic”, for I had absolute no clue of what that cosmic show of madness had the desire to mean.
There were mysterious symbols all over that mortuary somber room, and the eyes gave me the perception that they were all linked to that perverse ritual of dark lust. The eyes were all-consuming, all-eating, all-devouring, inducing me to trances or swoons or hallucinations more depravedly ungodly that no demon of the human world could ever think of in its darkest ways of low-vibration existence.
I was a human, and I was from Earth, but no earthly thought could save me from the inevitable insanity. They killed themselves and reappeared under the watch of that Thing after each death, smiling more devilishly at each loop whilst amplifying the otherworldly pleasure of their starry voluptuousness with unspeakable non-carnal delight. 
Thoughts of hope of safety or comfort were both irrelevant, for there was no relevancy in the whole concept of “thought” at all. The sounds that were reproduced by them provoked me a fear more fierce than any fear that a human could ever imagine in its daily foolish life, for the acoustics of the chamber had no equivalent in terrestrial standards. The whole concept of sound in its most simplistic possibility of description became entirely evil, even when considering the relativity of all existence and the fact that “evil” would have no “evil meaning” in a place where “evil” would be “good”.
When I say that their eyes were all-consuming, I say it considering the fact that their infernal copulation was put to action whilst they managed to stare in their unholy way into all my soul and memories and mind and every concept of “self” concerning myself that I could possibly imagine. They stared and scared and scarred all of me at the point to cast my senses to oblivion and abruptly take them back whilst moaning in that ghastly and macabre pitch heard in that grisly reverberation probably mastered in the farthest spheres downwards.
Time became irrelevant, but at some point of that tortured existence, when they forced an orgasm out of my soul through my own death in some unknown and forbidden dimension, I woke up at my bed knowing their names and realizing that my nose was bleeding and ignoring that fact when I noticed to my own dread that I had being cursed with the unholy gift of having total memory of that indescribable experience. That’s why I can’t recollect the whereabouts of that house; I’ve never returned.


© Copyright 2017 Ericson Willians. All rights reserved.

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