It was a dark and stormy night
It was a dark and stormy night. A car hurtled through the driving rain. Its headlights bored yellow holes in the downpour. BANG BANG BANG Three shots rang out. A white-hot bolt of lightening struck the pavement and blasted a five-foot hole in the path of the rushing sedan.......
"Aw crap!" Julie exclaimed. She tore the sheet from the typewriter and crumpled it into a ball. She pushed her chair back from the table and dropped the ball of crushed paper to the floor. It bounced once and came to rest in a small heap of its fellows. Another escapee from the mills of great literature. Perhaps it breathed a small sigh of relief to no longer be a part of Julie's turgid prose. But of course paper can't really speak. If it could then Julie wouldn't be trying to begin a novel.
"Be a Writer, Julie!" her friends said. "You've got such a great imagination that you could write a best-seller."
"Sure I can," she growled. "Best Smeller is more like it! What a bunch of dookie. How does Stephen King do it? 'Be a Writer, Julie. You got a great imagination.' Yeah sure. I can just imagine writing the Great American Bird Cage Liner. I gotta get a life!"
So saying she stomped out of the kitchen, grabbed her coat and purse from the hooks on her front door and barged out into the early evening. "Maybe a drink will clear my head. Or at least change my attitude or something."
Several hours and many Margaritas later, Julie wove a less than steady path along the street as she steered herself toward home and bed. "S'definitely a changa attitude awright." She splashed through a puddle, soaking her shoes. "Shit! I wish something really exciting would happen to write about."
In the darkness and the alcohol fog she soon got lost. The normal 20 minute stroll home became half and hour. Her aching legs told her that the winding street began to turn uphill. She started to really notice her surroundings for the first time since she left the bar. "I never seen this part'a town before."
The sidewalk was gone. The street under her feet was brick. Red clay lozenges lay side by side, worn with age and the passing of many feel and wheels. There were narrow grooves worn into the center of the street, like the marks that narrow, iron bound wagon wheels might make.
The bright street lamps were gone. Instead of the harsh glare of the sodium vapor lamps she saw short lamp posts with what appeared to be flickering gas lights contained in cracked glass globes.
The yellow gaslight faintly illuminated rows of ancient wood frame houses crowded together along the street. The upper stories leaned out over the street like curious old men staring at her through dirty glasses. She felt the back of her neck tingle with a small charge of fear. "This is a heck of a place to be lost in."
Julie turned a corner. A square of golden light spilled out onto the street. A tiny storefront was sandwiched between two dark houses. Its window glowed with light. "Thank God! Maybe I can use a phone here and get a cab outa this neighborhood." She turned toward the shop. The legend STUFFS was elaborately lettered across the store window. She could see an amazing assortment of things crowding the window. Old dolls of all descriptions, piles of dusty old clothes, stacks of books balancing precariously, small stuffed animals that almost seemed familiar, but of a color and species that left her doubting her eyes, bottles, jars, urns, vases, candlesticks, boxes wooden and metal, all crowding the one window so that it was a really amazing that any light could find its way through the heaps at all.
Turning at last away from the window, Julie discovered the shop door, thick planks rounded at the top with one round frosted pane like a porthole. As she grasped the handle she though that a shadow passed over the port swiftly, as though someone had been standing behind the door waiting and then hid quickly when she turned the knob.
The door opened with a puff of warm air. Odors or old papers, moldy clothing, decaying plastic and some strange mixture of incense wafted into her nose. She sneezed.
"Bless you, Pilgrim!" A soft pleasant voice from the depths of the crowded shop. Julie's eyes took in a scene of barely controlled chaos and arranged disorder that seemed about to expand and over whelm the single narrow aisle in the shop. Along one side display cases crowded each other like concertgoers in a ticket line. On the other side, stacks of boxes, baskets, chests and bales of cloth, unrecognizable garments and even odder furs rose almost to the ceiling. Any available wall space was either lined with shelves displaying tins, canisters, boxes bottles, cases and books, or hung with odd assortments of tools, pictures, lamps and other items too strange to classify.
A soft shuffling sound drew Julie's attention to the rear of the shop. A figure moved out of the shadows of the piled merchandise and slowly revealed itself as a rather ordinary looking man of indeterminate age. He was balding and a fringe of graying hair surrounded his gleaming scalp. A pair of wire rimmed glassed perched precariously atop the bridge of his short narrow nose and his pale blue eyes peered at her through lenses so thick they could have been glass wall tiles. His full lips curved into a faint smile. The shopkeeper was nattily attired in tan slacks with a white collared shirt and a vest that seemed to be made of patches from every bolt of cloth and color in the shop.
"My my," he remarked conversationally. "It's a nasty night. Not fit for anything out there, young lady. I was about to close for the night. But of course you never do know when someone will need something. And I really don't have anything else to do this evening. My! You do seem wet and cold! Come in here and let me make you tea." He gestured in invitation toward a corner of the shop that Julie hadn't noticed. A small round table was set beneath a hanging lamp. The light fell in a soft warm glow in the darkness of the shop, drawing her toward it. The table was set with a teapot and cups for two. She gratefully settled into a chair and the shopkeeper poured her a cup of fragrant steaming tea. Steam from the cup rose into the cool air of the shop in a cloud that seemed to form fantastic shapes as it drifted out of the lamplight. The shopkeeper poured himself a cup and sat in the other chair with a sight of satisfaction.
"Now," he remarked after a sip of tea. "Tell me what you are looking for tonight."
"Ah, I wasn't REALLY looking for anything. I just got lost on the way home and..."
"I understand. Most people who arrive here didn't really know that they were coming. But there IS something you've been seeking. Is there not?" He smiled over the edge of his cup. Julie's mind raced. Something, perhaps the tea, made her bold.
"I don't know. Really. I mean, I write. Or I try to. I was home tonight trying to write something really good and all that keeps coming out is crap. The only thing I really need is inspiration. Or an idea." She laughed. "I don't suppose you have anything like that, do you?"
He rocked back in his chair for a moment. A thoughtful look came into his eyes. "Hmmmm. Let me think. Ideas. Inspiration. Perhaps I can be of help. Just you wait right here, young lady."
He rose and shuffled off into the shop. Julie lost sight of him but she could hear him moving boxes and rummaging in cases somewhere in the shadows. She was about to ask him not to bother when he reappeared, carrying a small wooden packing case and a screwdriver.
"I think this may be what you need." He set the case on the table and began carefully prying the lid off. When he set it aside, she saw that the case was packed with sawdust. He probed into the packing and removed a bottle. It was the deepest blue she had ever seen. A large cork stopper sealed it. Through the dark blue glass Julie could see something that moved and swirled like smoke or some heave liquid. "What is it?"
"Well, you might think of it as a genie, I suppose. The place that sent it claimed that this essence excites the imagination and inspires images that cannot be found in the everyday world. You are to simply open the bottle and smell the perfume. It will transport you."
"Now that IS a great story. Creativity in a bottle. It's a joke, right?"
"It could be. But really, what have you got to lose? Oh, and one thing. The source instructs the user to never leave the bottle open for more than a moment. The contents are very volatile and evaporate quickly."
"Fine. A novel in a bottle. So what will it cost me?"
"No more than you can afford. Have you a dollar bill?"
"What?"
"Just think of it as a deposit. Give me a dollar and I will loan you the bottle. Should you decide that you wish to keep it, come back and we will discuss a price. And should you decide to return it, I will give you back your dollar. Simple, is it not?"
"Oh fine." She dug into her purse and found a dollar bill. "Here."
"Just leave it on the table, my dear. And here is your bottle." He handed the bottle over. It felt warn in her hands. It almost seemed to breathe and she thought that she could feel something like a little pulse beating inside. Good trick.
"OK. I gotta go now."
"That's quite alright. Do have a pleasant evening. And I'll be seeing you again soon."
Clutching the blue bottle to her breast, Julie exited the shop. The door swung shut behind her. At the last moment she thought of asking the owner for a phone number. When she turned to the door the light within had gone out and the shop stood dark. For whatever reason, she seemed to have no difficulty finding her way back to her apartment. Her confusion of earlier had vanished along with, she noted to herself, the effects of the drinks. "Musta been some kinda good tea!" she thought to herself.
Finally back indoors she set the bottle on her desk and fell into bed. If she dreamed she did not remember it. Only when a ray of sun stabbed through her window and into her face did she finally wake and begin to recall the events of the previous night.
"What an odd duck! Inspiration in a bottle! Sure. Well, we'll just see about that. At least I'll be absolutely sure to get my dollar back."
So saying she dressed, put on the coffeepot, fed a fresh sheet of paper into her typewriter and reached for the blue bottle. The rubber stopper seemed to resist her efforts for a moment, then pulled out of the bottle top with a loud "POP". Julie inhaled deeply. A fragrance filled her nostrils and she felt a rush of energy drive straight to her brain. Later, she could not exactly remember what the scent had been. Something on the order of wildflowers and honey, mixed with exotic incense, dust, tequila, oranges, cinnamon, saffron and something that she had no words to describe. Almost of their own accord her fingers began to move on the keys.
THE PILGRIM'S TALE
The days of almost constant rain turned the road into a rutted, muddy trail. Heavy carts pulled by peasants slid about or became mired in soft sucking clay pits that seemed to grow deeper by the hour. Rocky fields on either side seemed more like swamps than any place where crops might grow.
At the intersection of two of these roads a cluster of buildings leaned together as if sheltering each other from the rain and the coming night. A stable, four outbuildings and a large sprawling barn like structure huddled together as the semblance of an inn. Three travelers splashed down the road, cloaks drawn tight against the rain. Their trousers were spattered with mud to the knee; their boots caked with clay. A single lantern hung over the wide wooden door welcomed them and announced shelter.
The three pushed their way into a dim smoky common room. A peat fire burned fitfully on the large open hearth along one wall. A few patrons already sat at benches near the fire, seeming only half-conscious of the newcomers. One or two had already fallen into a doze, lulled by the heat of the fire or the strength of the local ale. Along one side of the room a rough plank table straddled two barrels, the local equivalent of the bar. Behind this makeshift counter the keeper of the establishment held forth. His piggy eyes regarded the new arrivals, weighing their worth. A frown crossed his fat lips. Small tender from these. They could almost read his thoughts. But then each of them had seen such beings many times during their travels. All might as well be cut from a single piece of earth, so basic was their style.
Although the three traveled together this night, in truth they had only formed their company two days previously. They had met at another inn not too unlike this one and discovered that their destinations were such that they might share the road and each other's company for a time. Thus they each gained some protection and some companionship while on the road. Sharing their travel expenses also helped to maintain the small store of coins each carried. Sharing a single room was indeed much less expensive than three singles, and not at all uncommon. As to tonight......
"Wat'l ye have, gennlemen," the innkeeper asked as they stepped to the bar.
"We'll need drink and food and a room for the night." The largest of the three, who appeared to be a friar of some sort, spoke for the group.
"Ye can have drink if ye've a coin. And mayhap I kin find a place fer ye ta sleep, but I hanna got much room, bein as how it's a little place I has here."
"Whatever you can manager for us will be fine, I suppose," the friar agreed.
"An perhaps ye can ennertain us a bit as well, gennlemen. We gets starved fer news o' the world we does."
"That we could, I suppose. But tale telling is thirsty work. Would you trade us ale and a meal for a story?"
"Ah now," smiled the innkeeper. "That depens on the tales ye be spinnen. If they be good, then ye increases my trade. And ye does that I'll gladly fill a tankard fer ye. But see that ye tells 'em good. Elsewise I must has me coin as ye'll not be entertainin' us."
"So be it," replied the friar. "We shall give you a tale each. And you shall judge if they be worthy of your brew." With that the three crossed the room and found seats at a bench near the hearth, The friar rose first and addressed the patrons.
THE TALE OF JASON AND CIRCE
Now it happened that once upon a time in the dim and distant past that is now handed down to us by word of mouth and in ancient scrolls and manuscripts, there was a man who was betrayed by a friend and sent on a quest that lasted twenty years. And at the end of that quest only one man returned to tell the tales of his travels. His name was Jason. Perhaps you have heard of his legend and of his journeys in the ship Argos when he sailed to the very ends of the world and back again so that when he did return to the land of his birth and the home of his wife, none knew him, so changed was he by his travels and the things that he had seen.
Yet, when he had vanquished his rivals and restored order in his home and in his land, Jason found the time to relate his tales to a scribe and historian who captured his words and wrote them down so that his account might not be lost.
And it so happened that one evening, as the summer was ending and the herds were being gathered, Jason took himself away to the scribe and bade him transcribe a tale that he had not told before. "For," as he told the scribe. "It was the flocks running that brought the tale to my mind. I had thought to have forgotten it, but the sheep and swine recalled to my memory that part of the journey which I had hoped to forget, because it was that part which almost made me give up my quest and forget all I had planned of home and family.
"So this is the tale of my encounter with the Sorceress Circe. And of how I overcame her magic and gained my freedom and that of my crew so that were able to journey on to other lands."
THE SWINE AND THE SERPENT
Day 2899
We have been nearly eight years in our journey on uncharted seas. I sometimes despair of ever seeing my home again. I know that many of my crew feel that they are on a fool's mission and that they will die here on the sea without ever seeing a loved one's face again. I only hope that I have the strength to guide them through all this to home. It is not fair that they should share my curse. But at the moment they have no choice except to keep sailing.
Day 2904
All this day the Argos has driven before a strong westering wind. I have ordered that the sails remain hoisted. The oarsmen may rest in this way. I also believe that these winds are messengers from the Gods and will lead us to someplace we must be, if not our homes at last.
Day 2906
Land! We have been blown to the lee side of a wooded island. I can see from my lookout on the mast that the island teems with life. Birds of every type and color imaginable flock through the trees. I have had glimpses of larger animals in the shrubs and bushes that dot the forest floor. There also appear to be springs of fresh water that run through the forest and drain into the ocean at the beach. We can hunt for fresh meat and refill our water casks. I have ordered the anchor cast and I am organizing a hunting party to go ashore at first light tomorrow.
Day 2907
This island holds far more surprises than I had imagined. At sunrise we heard singing. A procession bearing torches came to the beach through the forest. I am amazed. The party is all women. And they are beautiful! I put a boat ashore and invited their leader aboard. She welcomed us in the name of her mistress, the Lady Circe, and invited us all to be guests in her home within the forest. She sends us words of greeting and assures us that we may provision our ship from her stores and rest ourselves while her vizier consults the stars to find our location and give us new directions. I am overjoyed!
Day 2908
The Lady Circe exceeds our expectations. Her residence is a virtual palace in the heart of the island. Only maidens serve her. All the animals on the island appear tame before her. My crew is delighted by the attention and by the chance to see other people. Circe promises a great feast and entertainment in our honor tonight.
Day 2935
My hand hesitates to record the events of the past week. Although we are again safely at sea and away from the cursed island of Circe my dreams are haunted still with those few days. I doubt that I shall ever look upon my fellow men in the same way again. Thanks be to the Gods that it is ended forever. The evil sorceress will prey upon unsuspecting sailors no more.
The evening of which I wrote earlier with such anticipation began well enough. Circe's handmaidens escorted us into a great banquet hall. Its floors were of rich polished marble, strewn with carpets of exotic furs. The high open atrium was upheld by graceful columns carved in the semblance of vine wrapped trees. Their stony branches spread over us in a canopy. Lanterns and lamps hung from their boughs in many places. These lights were cunningly designed with sheets of colored stone, jade and sapphire and ruby and emerald and many others inserted into their sides so that they shone forth with rays of colored light and cast weird and fantastic shadow al about the room.
Low benches in Roman style were placed about the room upon which we might recline while we were served. Two maidens served each of us. They filled silver goblets with fragrant white wine and offered us trays piled high with exotic fruits. Hidden somewhere in the hall a group of musicians played flutes and lyres and sang sweet songs of being and becoming and of other eyes and other lands.
Circe herself joined us soon after we were comfortable, reclining on her own couch while being served. She clapped her hands and her handmaidens began serving course after course of succulent delicacies. There were roasted meats of all kinds. Whole cooked fowl reclad in their own skins and stuffed with dates and oranges. Smoked fish of all kinds. Eels sautéed in wine sauce. And even more exotic foods than I have the space to record. There were hot and cold soups, alternating between sweet and spicy, fresh loaves still warm and crusty, whole ripe cheeses, both mild and sharp, and even more.
After we feasted for what seemed to be hours, Circe arose and called for entertainers. The musicians played wildly and seven veiled maidens entered the hall and began to dance. They whirled and spun and moved their bodies as though they were without bones. My crew sat entranced as they moved from one phase of the dance to another. I could tell that the sight of the dancers was arousing them. I must confess that after months at sea the sight of these dancers excited me as well. The dancers began to cast aside their veils, revealing more and more ripe flesh. My crewmates began to dance themselves, making clumsy steps as best their wine-fogged grins would let them. The music peaked; the dancers cast aside the last veil and collapsed into sweating heaps on the floor. My crew cheered and called out to them for more.
Circe again rose from her couch and signaled to her handmaidens. She told us that the best was yet to come. Her servants brought into the hall a large bronze brazier, filled with coals already hot. Circe stepped before the brazier and threw into it a double handful of powder. A great smoke went up and filled the hall. We could see nothing. I heard her begin to chant in some language that I did not know. The voices of my crewmates began to sound strange. Their calls and cheers seemed to be becoming grunts and squeals, hoarse barks and cries. I felt overwhelmed. My whole body seemed to be changing and though I had become hot wax being molded by unseen hands. I could not move my arms or legs. I felt drawn and stretched. I fell to the floor. The air seemed clearer. The cloud of smoke began to lift and I could see again.
To my horror, all of my crew were changed. They stood still covered with the clothing that they had been wearing. But all were transformed into beasts. Some were great grunting swine that rooted in the scraps left from the feast. Others had become squat hairy apes with long arms that hopped about the hall flinging bits of fruit about and hooting at each other. Some became large birds, stalking about the hall on long legs. These seemed incapable if flight, having tiny wings or being covered with a sort of fur instead of feathers. And some were now great lizards, flicking long tongues into the air and snapping. Circe's laughter filled the room.
I looked down and regarded myself. I was changed also. My body had grown long and thick and my arms and legs had disappeared altogether under a skin of shining mottles scales. I was a serpent! Circe laughed again and said that we had all become creatures according to our types, ad fared all men who came thus to her island. We would be turned out into the forest to live or die as we might, to hunt or be hunted, never to be human again.
I grew angry at the presumption of the evil Circe. Without thinking I flung myself on her where she stood near to me. My great weight and shining coils bore down on her and knocked her struggling to the floor. I pinned her arms to her sides with loops of my body, pressed her breast and loins, seized her shoulder in my fanged jaws and began to squeeze.
Then she did not laugh, but cried out in terror. I shut my ears to her screams, tasting her vile blood in my mouth. I drew all my body about her, lapping her from head to foot in my coils. I began to squeeze her again, determined that she should suffer as I did. Because she could not escape me, I decided to prolong her death. Some part of me must have been of the serpent, to make her want to experience the agony of slow suffocation and prolonged constriction. I tightened my coils about her hips and thighs until I felt the bones bend. Then I squeezed her belly until all the blood began to rush to her torso and head. I know that her legs and arms must be numb and senseless. Then I began to slowly crush her chest, tightening each time she exhaled or cried out. Soon she could only gasp. Still more pressure I applied. When she began to choke and gag I suddenly released my pressure and allowed her one or two full breaths before I started to squeeze again. I repeated this over and over, never quite allowing her to lose consciousness. Finally I tired of the game. I heaved all my body in one great strangling knot and bore down. I heard ribs pop. I twisted her and felt her spine snap. A great gout of blood gushed from her mouth and the evil light in her eyes went out. Circe was dead.
I released her body. As I did so, I felt another change come over me. My body was shrinking and changing again. I felt the scales drop away. My fingers, hands and arms were restored, as were my legs and feet. I was whole again. I rose to my feet and looked about the hall. Everywhere I looked I saw that my crew were transforming back into men again. And in the woods I heard joyous cries of other men who were freed of Circe's curse after years.
I gathered my crew and took from Circe's treasury sufficient to load three chests with gold and jewels. The rest I left with the survivors of Circe's curse, entreating them to make for themselves a new home on the island and to prosper and forget forever the evil into which they had fallen.
Thus we boarded the Argos and sailed on.
Julie came suddenly fully awake in her chair. Her hands were cramped and a pile of typed bond lay by her typewriter. She looked at her clock. "Omigod! It's ten in the morning! Have I been sitting here all night?"
She took up the manuscript and began reading. "Wow! This is really hot stuff. What's in that bottle anyway? Is this a fluke? I gotta try it again!"
She showered, made coffee and with a fresh steaming cup returned to the typewriter. "Well, here goes nothing......" She pulled the stopper from the bottle and inhaled deeply. This time the fragrance was wildflowers and hay, spring rain and new pinecones crushed under foot. It was horses and wet dogs. And there was something else too. The room began to fade and she heard her fingers begin typing.
JOHN THE JOINER'S TALE
The friar sat down amid the applause of his listeners.
"Aye," said the innkeeper. "That were rightly told, good friar! Ye've earned a place fer yeself this night. Naow haw aboot yer friends? If'n they can spin as good'n ye then they be in as well."
The second of the three travelers rose from his seat. He laid aside his cloak and dusted his hands.
"I cannot tell a tale so well as the friar," he began. "But perhaps ye might like a bit of song that I made up. I think my tune will speak to ye as well as the friar's dark history and may make us forget the cold and rain."
So saying, he struck a pose with knees out and thumbs hooked into his vest and began to chant in a clear voice.
"Oh I went down to Cambridge Town
For the sights to see
And Every sight that I saw there
Was lookin' back at me.
Twas Cambridge Fair in summer's eve
Twas there my steps did go
That day I rose so very high
That never had known low.
My steps were bold my eye was keen
My heart filled with delight
At all the pretty maidens
At Cambridge town that night.
I wanted one I wanted all
I wanted one or two
As much as that I wanted them
At least a time or two.
So then passed I the circus faire
And stopped to see a show
Cause all the people I did see
Decided there to go.
I saw the bear who danced and played
When a gypsy played a tune
He wore a hat and vest and such
And looked the perfect loon.
A juggler came with balls aspin
That whirled and tossed around
If my balls tossed half so well
I'd never hunt around.
Some man who swallowed swords came next
Such a throat had he
But not so deep or wide was it
As the ladies at Loch Lee.
Then up on stage there came a lass
I thought my heart would break
She danced a lovely 'gyptian dance
Accompnied by a snake.
She swayed her hips she tossed her hair
Her bosom it did shake
And all around her round and round
Did wind and crawl that snake.
It pressed her thigh it squeezed her waist
Until it made her gasp
And still she danced and whirled around
Within its closing grasp.
It made her wheeze it made her moan
It made her cry aloud
It almost pleased he half as much
As applause from out the crowd.
All around her it did twine
I really was impressed
But not so much as when it twined
Its tail beneath her dress.
Then she did flush and she did sweat
And she did cry with joy
This sultry serpent dancer
And her silky snaky toy.
Then up on stage the barker walked
And he began to shout
'Who amongst ye likes this dance
And wants to try it out?'
O sir says I as bold as brass
I would for heavens sake
Undertake the measure bold
Just put away that snake!
As though from deep water, Julie awoke with a start. More paper had added to the pile next to the typewriter.
"My God! It works!" She quickly reread the manuscript, growing more excited by the minute.
"I gotta finish." She pulled the cork a third time and inhaled deeply.
Moss and dry leaves. Dust and mildew. Damp air in rooms long closed. Stale bedding and old socks. The aromas billowed up around her head in an almost visible cloud. She was shaken by the wave of images that swept over her. Turning to the typewriter, all her attention already on the typewriter and the story growing in her mind. So it was entirely understandable that she completely missed the edge of the desk as she set the bottle down. Her fingers opened and the blue bottle dropped to the floor. The impact popped the cork out of the bottle and it rolled across the floor and came to rest under her chair. A roiling dark liquid began to ooze from the bottle's mouth and pool on the floor beneath her feet. As more and more poured from the bottle, the ooze began to swell and grow. It appeared as though something was trying to push its way through from inside a deep pool and enter the room. Julie was oblivious to it all...
HUNTER MICHAEL'S TALE
Amid the laughter of the patrons in the inn, John the Joiner regained his seat next to the friar. The innkeeper saluted him and refilled his flagon with ale.
"Ah me," he laughed. "T'were a foine song it were. Ye has earned yeer keep this noight lad. And naow, lad," he turned to the third member of the party. "If ye cud be so gud as ta tell us yer tale we'll have a night o' it."
The last traveler rose to take a place before the hearth. He smiled at the innkeeper and at his companions, drank a draught of ale and began....
THE PERFECT BAIT
I am by profession a hunter. I have traveled many parts of the world and pursued all sorts of game. There is, I think, no animal of the real world that I have not sought after and captured. I have hunted for kings who desired exotic animals for their menageries and I have hunted for sport. I have hunted for meat to feed others and myself and I have hunted out of necessity the savage animals that have become feral and made man their chosen prey. I have hunted with spears and with stone axes, with bows and arrows and with blowguns, with traps and deadfalls and with only my bare hands. But never in my travels have I seen a place where so strange a hunt is led as the one I am about to tell you.
There is, off the coast of India, gentlemen, an island that is the home of a people who specialize in hunting and trapping alive the largest serpents the world knows. These are a species of giant python that in the jungles of this island, with a plentiful food source and no other natural enemy, often grows to a length of more than thirty-five feet. They can weigh several hundred pounds and be as large around as a small tree. The beasts are wily and cunning. Were in not for a particular weakness the beasts have, they would probably never be caught at all.
These monstrous serpents, gentlemen, crave human women. Many are the times that the native women will be caught alone on the jungle by these beasts and killed and eaten, or worse. For it seems that the snakes desire our women for things other than food. Some of the women who survived capture by the animals told of being toyed with in the treetops for hours, of being squeezed and suffocated, of being tortured and titillated by the snakes. The beasts, it seems, take some perverse satisfaction in overwhelming a woman and bringing her to the bring of sanity by forcing her to climax over and over again until they are nearly dead of ecstasy. The islanders report that there are actually some women among them who seek out the serpents who become their lovers until such time as the enthusiasm of the python takes their lives.
Now on the particular expedition I made that year to the island I have described, I was determined to see the unique manner in which the natives capture these animals alive for the zoos and menageries of the princes and kings who seek the truly unusual. My companion that summer was a pert Scottish lass named Vanessa. I had made her acquaintance while hunting in the Scottish Highlands. Vanessa desired to learn more of the world. And although she proved herself to me to be worldly in all the ways I could desire a woman to be, still it pleased me to show her the cultures that existed outside her homeland.
Vanessa was extremely curious about the hunting of these forest giants. The first night that we arrived in the island, the local headman received us and entertained us with a feast. During the feast, he explained how the natives capture the pythons by using their attraction to the women of the island.
The hunters go out into the woods and take with them a young woman. She should be above average in physique and appearance. They fasten a stout rope about her waist and then tie the other end to a tree. After this the hunters hide nearby and wait. The tied woman will remove most of her clothing and sing while strolling about at the end of her tether. Soon enough a serpent, detecting the scent of the woman and feeling the vibrations of her song, will come slithering through the brush or sliding along the treetops. It will seize her in its coils and try to carry her off. Because of the rope, it will be unable to leave. And because the snakes are very unwilling to release the woman once they have captured her, they are easily netted and so captured.
When Vanessa heard this nothing would do but that she must volunteer to become bait for a snake hunt the next day. I was against it, but the headman pointed out that the experience is rarely fatal for the woman and that a fair-skinned light haired woman of great beauty would attract the largest of snakes. So it was that I agreed to allow Vanessa to be the bait for our snake hunt the next day.
The following day dawned bright and clear and the headman gathered up a hunting party and we set off into the jungle. He led us into the rainforest for almost half the day, explaining that with such an offering as Vanessa for the serpents we should attempt to capture an exceptional specimen, one that seldom came near to the villages. Finally he settled on a likely spot, a clearing in the jungle surrounded by great overhanging trees and having a good stand of tall grasses that allowed the hunters to conceal themselves and still have a good view of the site. We tied Vanessa out in the clearing with a stout rope about her middle and secured the other end to a tree. I should explain that the headman had foreseen that we might attract a very large reptile and so had brought a rope of double the usual thickness and strength. He told me that he thought it best that we do this because the larger snakes had been known to break ropes and steal the women.
We settled into the tall grass and waited. Vanessa soon entered the spirit of the hunt and removed her boots, blouse and walking skirt. She bared her delightful bosom to the tropical sun and began singing some songs of her native Scottish Highlands. Our vigil soon brought success.
What appeared to be at first a tree limb silently descended from above. It quietly dropped behind Vanessa so that she was at first not aware of it. We soon saw that it was the tail of one of the enormous pythons. It looked to be nearly a foot thick and covered with green and brown spots. Its scales shone in the sun. The great tail waved back and forth a couple of times and then swung forward, up through and between Vanessa's legs. Like some great living hook it pushed up her thighs and wrapped itself around her middle. She was so surprised that she had not even time to cry out before it hoisted her off her feet. Looking up we beheld a true jungle giant wrapped many times around the tree branched. The beast appeared to be far in excess of the thirty feet that we had hoped for. It attempted to pull Vanessa up into the jungle canopy. When the rope went taught it tugged and pulled but was unable to free her. It then began to flow down the tree, dropping in sinuous layers of coils. Without losing its hold on her belly and crotch, the snake continued to envelop Vanessa until it covered her completely except for her head. She cried out and thrashed her head.
The serpent began to constrict Venessa, moving its massed coils in a rippling motion, up and down her body. Her cries soon became gasps, then squeaks. I started to rise to go to her aid, but the headman restrained me, telling me that it was too soon and we must wait until the python was completely preoccupied with its prey.
Vanessa's face began to flush and she stopped breathing. The coils immediately relaxed and she drew a huge breath. At once it began to squeeze again, now focusing its attention on her loins and breasts. Her cries changed their tone, becoming more moans than groans. I was fascinated by the way the python seemed to rub its coils back and forth over her sensitive areas, stimulating her even as it constricted her. Her head fell back and her eyes rolled up. She would have screamed but the snake allowed her no room for the breath. The coils heaved and her breath stopped again. Her body heaved and writhed for lack of breath. Just when I thought she would faint away the snake relaxed its coils again and she drew a shuddering breath. Her whole body was wet and slick with sweat. I leaped up from hiding. Vanessa cried out to me to wait. She was not yet ready to be freed. To my astonishment she encouraged the snake to begin again. And it did. Slowly it methodically constricted her, manipulating her body like clay. Over and over again it surged over her from head to foot. Again and again she cried out, ceased to cry, and was released at the very edge of lifelessness. Finally she called out for us to come and take the snake. The hunters ran out with their net, cast it over both and cut Vanessa loose from the tree. Thus netted the snake lost interest in Vanessa and released her to fight the net. We rescued her from it and she stood panting and watching as the hunters subdued the snake.
I left the island two days later. Vanessa did not go with me. Her experience so changed her that she decided to remain on the island and continue to be a part of the hunt. As far as I know she is there still, unless one of the great serpents has finally stolen her away and used her for the final time.
Julie regained he senses with a sense of weight and oppression. Her breath was short and she felt restricted. With complete awareness she found to her horror that she was bound to her chair by a great weight of thick blue coils, lapping her from the floor to her shoulders. A soft hissing made her turn her head only to look directly into the glowing eyes of a huge snake. It was the blue of the bottle. Its body looked like solidified smoke, roiling and turning beneath its skin. It's hissing sounded like laughter. The coils drew tighter and tighter about her body. She felt as if a great hand were pressing her body in a grasp of steel. The snake opened its great jaws and enveloped her head and everything went dark.
In another part of the city, a deep blue bottle materialized on the cluttered counter of a crowded shop. A pudgy hand reached out and took it up. Pale watery eyes peers into the glass.
"There now," said the shop keeper. "Isn't that better? You wrote the best you will ever be remembered for. And you have found the price for the best story is no more than you could afford to pay."
Within the bottle, two figures twined and twisted, one vaguely snakelike and the other suggesting the naked body of a bound woman.
The shopkeeper returned the bottle to a shelf and turned out the light.
By Summer