The Coiled Mask: Night One

Before I begin my tale, I want to make one thing clear. I do not set down these words as an attempt to absolve myself of the heinous crimes I committed. I know that I am beyond forgiveness, that I have stained the fine community of Waitwich, Maine and destroyed the legacy of my family, the Inkwells. No words I could conjure up would ever heal the wounds I have inflicted.

The tale I'm about to tell you is a warning. If there is some good that can come out of this it must be that no other poor soul falls prey to the same wicked powers that undid me. So I will tell my story in detail, so those of more delicate sensibilities beware. Before I go to my final judgement, I would have the world warned of the terror of the Coiled Mask.

For those that come to the story from across the gulf of time, my name is Zacariah Inkwell. I hope my shame has faded with the years and you dear reader have no clue who I am. Perhaps this is selfish of me, but for this document to work I must be completely honest.

While readers in the future may have no clue who I am, in my time my family and I were famous. Inkwells wintered with George Washington at Valley Forge, and stood behind Ulysses Grant when he accepted Robert E. Lee's surrender at Appomattox. Despite finding our way into the path of history time and again, we always called little Waitwich home.

My forebears built a great mansion on the cliffs of Waitwich, and we saw ourselves as defenders against whatever threat came from the sea. We guided our community through many a terrible storm, and sent many a smuggler and pirate to a watery grave.

But time and the sea are implacable enemies. Over the years the Inkwells of Waitwich faded and shrunk, beset constantly by misfortune and tragedy. I will not recount the dark history of my family, because my own tale is woe enough, but by the time of my birth it was clear that I would be the last of the Inkwells.

My childhood was solitary and my adulthood even more so. I putter about our decaying family home, Inkwell Manor, like an old man, despite being only 35 years old. I confine myself to the eastern wing of the house, devoting myself to academic studies despite having no great mind or having once come up with an original thought worth pursuing.

But still I was content enough. Despite the much reduced state of my family, I was still able to live comfortably. I had my books for company and that was all I had ever needed.

That all came to an end on an otherwise normal day in early October of 1925. It was late in the afternoon as I was at the time working on an unreadable treatise comparing Hugo to Dumas when I heard a knock at the door.

At first I thought I had imagined it, but then it came again, insistent but measured. There had not been any staff in Inkwell Manor since I was 5, so with a sigh I got up and made my way through my crumbling mansion to the door. I was trying to remember various social graces when I opened the door to find no one and nothing waiting for me.

I looked around, annoyed. I thought maybe it was children from the town having a bit of fun, but I knew that their parents would never allow them anywhere near Inkwell Manor. The townsfolk were a superstitious lot, and according to many old wives tales ghosts packed Inkwell Manor to the rafters. I shrugged and was about to close the door when I noticed a wooden box setting on the doorstep.

Curious, I picked it up and studied it. The box was ancient, with ornate swirling patterns covering the box all carved in gold. There seemed to be no seam or lock to open it. Before I knew what I was doing I had closed the door and was making my way back to my study. The golden patterns seemed to move as I studied them. I was mesmerized as I sat in my favorite armchair and began feeling around the box for some hidden mechanism that would open the box and deliver its secrets to me.

As I was studying what I assumed was the back of the box I heard a faint pop, and noticed that a seam that had not been there before had appeared. The box was open and I wasted no time in flinging up the top and answering the mystery of what was inside. I remember a small part of me wondering how the box opened in the first place, but by that moment I was already lost to the power of the box. Or rather, to the power of what resided in the box.

Inside the box on a silk cushion of lavender was a mask made of rope. The rope was oily and glistened in the last rays of the day's sun as I beheld it. The rope itself seemed to be regular hemp rope, fashioned into a mask. It was so bizarre I let out a little chuckle as I took the thing out of the box.

"Why on earth would anyone give me such a thing?" I asked myself as I handled the mask reverently.

It was moist and warm and felt heavier than it should have. I wanted nothing more than to keep touching while at the same time I wanted to go into the den and toss it into the fireplace. Even in the sunlight, the eyeholes remained dark pits that drew me in.

As I sat there stroking and fondling the mask, I grew strangely weary. I felt like I had not slept in many days. Sleep clawed at my consciousness, and eventually pulled me under as I sat there tracing my fingers over the edges of the mask for what felt like the 100th time.

Once asleep I fell through impenetrable blackness, landing on a beach with white sand. A rolling black sea stretched to the horizon under a sky with no stars. Terror filled me until I felt a hand on my shoulder. With a scream I spun around, ready to fight or flee in equal measure.

The man who had touched my shoulder raised his hands in a placating gesture. He was a short, pudgy Arab with a wild salt and pepper beard and an eyepatch over his left eye. He gave me a large grin with broken, yellow teeth.

"Greetings," he said. "I am glad you got my present."

"Who are you?" I said. "Where are we? What present?"

The Arab laughed. "Who am I? I am vengeance, that is all you need to know. Long ago your family brought about the ruin of mine, so now that we have a chance to reclaim our rightful place, you will help us. The fact that your actions will damn you in the process is an added boon."

I shook my head. "I don't know what you are talking about, but I'll never help you. If any of this is even real."

"You will help me," the Arab said. "You have no choice. You belong to the mask now. You will help me gain the favor of Hazhad Bey and that ancient society of kidnappers The Black Rope. And you will destroy your own family in doing so."

I wanted to yell and fight this sinister man who had by some form of sorcery invaded my mind. But my heightened anger seemed to have set off something as in a flash I lost control of my body, and ended up floating in the back of my mind while some vast alien presence took control.

"How shall we begin?" I said, in a voice not my own. I screamed madly in the back of my mind as I helplessly watched myself submit to whatever plans the one eyed Arab had in store.

"I require 4 women of talent and beauty," the Arab said. "The first is to be exotic. I want a woman who looks like no other woman in this area. She must be a truly unique experience that will hold the attention of mighty men like Hazhad Bey.

My head nodded. "I know where to look."

The Arab's smile grew even wider. "Then it begins tonight."

With those words the dream world faded away. I awoke to find it dark outside and the mask still clutched in my hands. I placed it back in its box and left the box at my desk. I felt awful, like I hadn't rested in days. I staggered to the kitchen and ate some food I could barely keep down then took myself to bed. The whole time I worked to convince myself that I had just had a bad dream.

Once in bed I felt a momentary sense of peace before I drifted off. I would have a good night's sleep and in the morning I'll toss that wretched mask into the sea and everything would go back to normal. That is what I told myself, and being the fool that I was, I believed that. So I drifted off again, feeling for the last time a sense of comfort and safety.

It was the cold night air that made me aware of the fact that I was no longer in my bed but in fact standing outside Inkwell Manor waiting for a carriage. I was dressed in a black suit with a black overcoat. The coiled mask was hot and moist on my face. I tried to force my body to go back inside but then the alien presence reached out and shoved my own consciousness into oblivion.

When I became aware again I was in the back of a carriage, racing through the quiet streets of Waitwich. The only other thing in the carriage was a great black medical bag at my feet. The horses drawing the carriage moved at an unnatural speed and created a racket that sounded like the very hounds of hell on the hunt. But no house stirred and not one person could be seen.

I looked out the carriage window and noticed the modest houses of the black section of Waitwich. As a gentleman of distinction, I had never been anywhere near the place, but I knew its look.

I thought, why are we here? As if to answer my question, the alien intelligence in my head fed me information along with a series of images.

Merilyn Deeds. A beautiful woman of 24 years, tall and buxom with curly black hair and wonderful light brown skin. Her green eyes sparkled and her smile had never met a man it could not disarm. Lust surged through me as I was bombarded with images of her going about her day to day life, the fabric of her dresses hugging her wonderful curves. But I got more than just images. I got a story as well.

Her childhood sweetheart went off to fight in the Great War and never returned. Heartbroken, she threw herself into working for the community, fighting to secure rights and resources for the blacks living in Waitwich. Every day her fierce spirit was tested by men who hungered for her body. But she never gave up, having known true love once she resolved never to settle for anything else.

She will be perfect, a voice that might have been my own whispered inside my head. The carriage came to an abrupt stop in front of a small, well kept house at the end of a narrow street.

I was out of the carriage and climbing up the wall before I knew what was happening. With the heavy black medical bag clutched in my hand, I moved like a shadow, gliding up the wall with ease. I hovered before a locked window for a few moments, staring at it intensely. Suddenly I heard the click of a lock and then the window opened by some unseen hand.

In the blink of an eye I was in. I closed the window behind me and stood in the spartan bedroom, feeling powerful for having invaded her space without her knowing about it. I glided over to the bed and watched her sleep.

She was truly beautiful, I thought to myself as I watched her slow, even breathing. I wish I could say that I railed against the evil compelling me to this poor woman's bedroom, but that would be a lie. Her beauty had me, so I watched with interest as the evil controlling me set down and opened the medical bag and went to work.

I pulled out a clear bottle and a red silk rag. I doused the rag with the contents of the bottle and hovered over the sleeping Merilyn for a moment, enjoying the warmth radiating from her body and the fragrance of her hair. She was truly wonderful.

But it was time to strike. I pressed the rag firmly against her face. It took her a moment to figure out she was in danger, but once she did she began to struggle with impressive strength. The entity controlling me, however, had imbued me with unnatural strength, so I quickly pinned her arms while never losing the firm grip on the rag pressed over her nose and mouth.

Her struggles weakened and in moments she was out. I waited a few extra seconds to make sure she was not attempting to trick me but once I was sure I stood up and ripped the bedsheets from the bed, revealing my conquest in all her glory.

She wore a simple white cotton sleeping gown, which hugged her large breasts admirably. I stood there for at least 5 minutes drinking in her heavenly form, before reaching down and with one tug powered by my unnatural strength, tore her sleeping gown off.

She lay there naked and defenseless as I moved to the next stage. From the medical bag I pulled coils of black rope, which I tossed on the bed. I flipped Merilyn on her back and began binding her.

I had never tied up anyone or anything before, but now the ropes seemed to come alive in my hand. I bound her hands palm to palm, then tied her elbows so tight that they touched. I ran rope above and below her impressive breasts to secure her arms tightly to her body. I then bound her ankles, used yet more rope above and below her knees. I then ran a rope from her bound ankles to her elbows, capturing her in a tight hogtie.

I took out a black silk cloth with a great ball knotted in the center. I placed the ball in her full, luscious mouth and tied it tight behind her head. To finish off, I gathered up all her curly black hair and tied it to her big toes, leaving Merilyn in a tight bow.

I closed up my medical bag and gathered up my prize. I should have been struggling carrying a full grown woman, but I handled her with ease. I sat down my bag to open the window, then crawled out.

On the ledge, I leapt onto the roof of the carriage and landed lightly. I slithered off the roof and into the carriage like a shadow.

As the carriage tore off into the night, I placed my prize opposite me and studied her as we raced home. She had come to around the time I climbed out the window, no doubt due to the cold air hitting her bare skin. She had attempted to struggle, but the bondage was more than a match for her strength.

Fear and anger warred in her green eyes as she struggled against the bonds while trying to make herself heard through the massive cloth ball filling her mouth. Despite the chill in the air, she was sweating profusely by the time we reached Inkwell Manor.

Watching her, the feeling of power and control consumed me. I wanted nothing more than to watch her struggle helplessly for all eternity. Once the carriage came to a stop I just sat there, studying her. She eventually gave up struggling and just watched me. I wondered what I must look like, all in black with this terrible, glistening mask on my face.

I knew to take her to the west wing of Inkwell Manor. Abandoned shortly after I was born, it was a dead limb of the house that couldn't be removed. It would be the perfect place to store my beauty before she was collected.

I scooped her up, enjoying the feel of her warm, slick skin as I stole into the house. I made my way to the west wing and to my Great Aunt Agatha's room. My father had always adored Agatha, so he left her room untouched after her death. I had never been in the room.

I entered expecting a dusty mess, but instead I found a clean room with fresh sheets on the bed. I was momentarily puzzled, but then I somehow knew that earlier in the day I had prepared the room for its new occupant.

I placed Merilyn on the bed on her side. I took a moment to enjoy the way bondage stretched her taunt before heading back to the east wing bathroom to draw a bath.

Once the bath was prepared I returned to Great Aunt Agatha's room and got the clear bottle out of my medical bag. I doused the red rag again and placed it over Merilyn's nose. She tried to struggle, but the events of the night had sapped her strength.

Once she was out, I untied her, leaving the gag in, and carried her to the bath. I took my time bathing her, enjoying the feeling of her soft skin and the sight of the rope marks all over her body.

After the bath was done I dried her off and took her back to her new room. I pulled back the covers and laid her down. I tied her spread eagle as tightly as I could. I added a blindfold and plugs for her ears. She stirred, testing the new bondage, but all her struggles amounted to was the flexing of muscles in her arms and legs. Satisfied, I pulled the covers over her, then went downstairs to make sure the door was open before heading to bed.

Once in my bedroom I was like a puppet with its strings cut. I fell into my bed and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.