EXTENSIONS INTO A WRITER'S MIND

Frustration had taken hold, and she tugged harder than needed on the last drawer spilling it’s contents onto the floor. Sitting down beside the mess, she picking up the drawer to slide it back into place. Then quickly she set it aside to retrieve a small book that must have been hidden beneath the dresser long ago. Taking her hand, Jill wiped the dust from the cover, and her heart quickened it’s rhythm, as she read the words aloud.

“Marie Caldor’s Journal.”

Slowly she stood, and with the journal clutched tightly in her grasp, she left behind the scattered mess on the floor. Without hesitation she laid the journal on the dresser, and went into the adjoining bath. Hurriedly she undressed, stopping only for a moment to stare at her naked form in the full length mirror, and for a brief moment she imagined a warm breath touched her neck. But casting the feeling aside she slipped on the gown, and left the room.

Stopping briefly by the dresser she removed her necklace and placed it next to the matching stone she had put there earlier. Then picking up the journal, she crossed the room and slipped into bed.

Anxious to read every word her mother had written, Jill started her journey at the beginning. At first it read like a story of a long lost love. But soon she understood that her mother had, had a lover. A secret lover that sent her to the point of madness with desire for him. But then the passion shifted to feelings of fear. However, the fear of being discovered with another, was not enough to deny herself the pleasure of his whispers, nor the obsession she felt during the darkest hours of the night.

“Oh God, this is trash. I can’t believe it. My mother was a tramp!” Jill exclaimed snapping the journal shut and tossing it on the bedside table. Then she turned out the light and fell into a deep exhausted sleep.

As the soft sounds of her shallow breathing filled the room, an eerie mist seeped from the stones, and hovered above the dresser. Then slowly a vague shape stepped from within the mist, and moved closer to the bed. Closer to Jill’s sleeping form.

He looked upon her as if she were a goddess, instead of a victim. But that was the way of an incubus demon, and he was the king of his kind. However, she was his victim nonetheless. One he would savor, for the woman was indeed as beautiful as any goddess. But she also wore a familiar scent. The scent of one who ached for the fires of passion to burn to the point of madness. Just one touch, one whisper of breath upon her breast, and she would beg for more, and more still, until his talons pierced the height of her desire, and she would call his name…