Cara Comes

Mild sexual content. Viewer discretion is advised.

Part 1 – Cara


Excuse the ugly art again

Like every other day I searched for her. The more I took away from my task, the more she came to mind. I saw her oft and hoped she wouldn’t leave soon. She gave me quick glances during our short meets whilst dining or walking curtly with her lady companions down at the bay, snuggled and giggling. She turned one day with a flower in her hair, the next with a pale shade of lipstick. I never spoke to her other than small courtesies, but we spoke with our eyes. It was an innocent game one she could take home and tell to her friends. Today she came to me when I was quietly smoking in the salon.

Her light aroma made me lift weary eyes off of the yellowed papers of my ancient reading and I saw her standing at the edge of my table. Beautiful seventeen year old Cara.

“I wondered where you’d gone today,” I told her, speaking before thinking. But it was the truth.

“Staring at an empty beach all day is a bore and this hotel offers nothing more than that – a naked beach and a silent sea. I seek amusement.”

“I hope I do not bore you today sweet Cara.”

She did a little laugh like the thought of me suddenly offended and sad made her excited. Perhaps it did – she was being noticed in a different way, other than occasional chats and glances.

“What drives a man to read old books in secrecy in the night?”

I blinked taking in my surrounding. Had I been so late that the gas in the lamps flickered less and the dark had descended upon the world bringing the sea closer in the darkness? I saw Cara lean in to study my book and I took it close to my chest.

“Other secrets,” I finally answered.

Then she added, quick and steady, “Will this be a secret too?”

I couldn’t see myself, I didn’t know how I was looking at her and I prayed I had enough control.

Before I answered she undid the buttons of her dress and pulled the fabric aside letting it slide down her frame to pool at her thin legs. Marble she was, a voluptuous shape standing before me naked with heavier breasts than I had noticed. I stood and walked around the table torn between touching her and picking up her clothes from the floor. Her hand decided for me as it guided my larger hand between her legs.

I wanted to tear myself away from her but the lowest of moans made me stay put. The sweet juices of her grazed my fingertips. I shuddered in response. I kissed her like a gentleman should.

“Your eyes are awfully strange darling Mister,” she whispered when our lips parted. My head was swimming from the taste of her and I could see myself in the green of her pale eyes. The red swirled in there rich as blood but I did not care. I wanted her.

“His eyes were the same”, she went on. I barely listened. “They bulged so widely when I rode him into oblivion. But he loved it, every second of it. I gave him such a sweet gift no man has ever been given. Douglas was his name…and the other one, Amory. I let him kiss me and touch me too. He cried. I could hear him deep inside of me.”

Her words struck me with the horrible realization they bore. In panic I tried to yank my hand free but her sudden grasp on my wrist was iron and I winced as she squeezed.

“He was also loud. Would you be quiet, Mister?”

I saw her truly. She was much older than her seventeen of face. A queer smirk played on her lips which stretched and thinned and her eyes were wet with joy. A quick tongue darted out and licked. The wetness between her legs seemed different to me, almost like saliva would be. I grazed something sharp that pinched at my finger.

“Would you make love to me, Mister?”

 I shook my head in dismay cursing myself for my ignorance.

“I would sooner take your head off sweet Cara for succubus I dislike.”

She cackled and her teeth bit into my arm. I fell to my knees reeling from the bone crushing pain. My arm, she chewed between her hungry folds, ripping at it to the elbow. She messed with my head – a notion within me whispered to give myself fully to her obsessive passion, her needs and hunger. I could see the suction drawing me in, the teeth munching at my numbing limb and it was twisted and intoxicating borrowing from my needs to have her. After all she was so beautiful, so pure it was almost a sin to deny her.

Cara was elated. She voiced the salon with the sweetest cries of pleasure tugging me inwards faster and faster. For such a young succubus she was experienced and I understood how easily she had tricked Douglas and Amory.

My strength was mightier than hers but her seduction was far beyond me. The hand I had raised at her producing the hidden Khanjar dagger trembled and the swing I took at her belly only left a small scorching slice and which she hissed and squeezed tighter. The world tipped over and I fell back in a swift motion taking Cara with me, on top of me devouring the entirety of me with no further protestation. I could still see her smiling, laughing, the glint in those glass green eyes as she entered me fully into her dominion and I saw nothing but everlasting darkness drenched in the saccharine taste of my sweet seventeen year old Cara.



Excuse the ugly art

Someone had won at cards it seemed; a boisterous laughter erupted from the next hall, brightly lighted and dimmed by cigarette smoke and alcohol fumes. I wasn’t any good at poker, the cards always mere pieces of paper in my unpolished/unskilled hand. My friend Amory however was a passionate player. He lingered his stare awhile longer at the closed door unamused by the win; he had taken the gentlemen’s money one too many times now. His voice broke me of my reverie.

‘Good God, that girl is practically staring at you.”

I followed his amused gaze. He was right, my companion. She was and her stare was not a casual one; it was curious, more even – lusting. I knew such things as I was partially their creator. But she, sweet, sweet Cara was seventeen and I, 46. This was not entirely Venice and we weren’t in the midst of death, though the comparison that came to mind of that Mann novelette was not far-fetched – she was something new, seemingly orchestrated by either Gods or demons as her skin was marble, her hair was silk, and her eyes were made of the brightest green glass, and I myself was death incarnate, an occult symbol coated in a suave skin.

“Your eyes are taking up a different shade my friend, one that would not suit the evening.”

Yet again my companion was right. I dabbed at my swollen, red irises with a handkerchief and glimpsed at my face in the provided small mirror seeking the light blue gaze of the man in me, the 46-year old whose throat was dry at the sight of her.

“My apologies,” I splashed tipping the remains of my glass in my burning throat.

“None needed. She is an example for higher praise.”

“I shall take her not. We are both here to conduct an investigation.”

My companion laughed.

“Is that said for my or your reassurance?”

I bowed my head to him and left him to drown his laughter in the wine. He was thinking our trip amusing; I would have too if it weren’t for our missing friend.

The luxurious complex we were residing at along with a dozen wealthy families, politicians and famed artists stood guardian to all land as ahead was the sea, dark in the moonlight, as dark as blood. It was a cold December, colder than any previous I remembered lacking the gracious fall of minuscule snowflakes and orchestrating brutal winds to howl between the waves and at our doorstep. But inside it was a little paradise.

A simple vacation it would have been– tea and games, newspaper articles and tobacco, walks on the beach and shopping, theatre and sleep, but for me and my friend it was to be different. For the two of us it was a case, a crime, a ponder. Aside for maintaining our charm and friendliness we were to discover what had happened to a dear friend of ours in this very hotel just a week ago.

Me and Amory took separate rooms and bid the front desk to dismiss maids from entering. The solid bills rolling between thumb and forefinger had made the boy at the desk shy with red but only for a shallow second before he took it and hid in the pocket of his well-ironed vest.

Whilst Amory indulged – he liked the harsher gambling that went on in the darker hours and the imported hashish (he called that divine) that some of the gentlemen smoked in between sips of scotch – I sat most often in my room studying the panel of scarce clues we had pieced together.  I flattened the newspaper clippings we had collected in desperate search of some hint but the past week’s events from a stolen bicycle to a beached whale bore no signs of the occult. Home had not called upon Douglas itself.

At this point I had begun hoping he had drowned or fallen drunk off a cliff, but he remained an unknown man, not simply missing but non-existent. Over a week now he was neither to be summoned nor visualized at any plain. Had he been transcended? Was that possible? Such silly thoughts amused Amory who gave up on our task soon enough.

We sat on the terrace neither of us shivering like the rest of the early birds went out to enjoy the breeze and pale sun.

 “Why do we even continue? I’ve never much liked Douglas anyways.”

 I sighed and took a long swallow feeling the burn of the tea seep through my teeth. It was much too sweet.

“He is our brother before all else.”

“A poor pup always wailing for this and that. Nay, a mutt. We’re not like him, why should we care?”

Amory leaned towards me, his eyes the awful shade we tried to hide.

“Calm down, Amory. He may be a runt and yet again he is one of us. I simply want to know what happened to him. Aren’t you curious? This disappearance seems queer to me. No signs, no claims and yet…”

“Douglas is gone without a trace.” Amory finished for me. “Be it so. If he wishes to be gone let him be so. I say we enjoy this trip while it lasts. We’ve earned it.”

What if it hadn’t been his decision, I wanted to say but stood down. And soon apathy stood up and took over me. Staring at newspapers and photographs, searching for signs tired me. It was tedious and inane and after two weeks I took to Amory’s advice – I became native to the hotel and its inhabitants. I blended in to the point where I forgot why I was there, the task a peripheral activity that soon died away with the pull of the waves. And since Amory had gone too, I assumed adventuring far and wide before going home, I had no one to pull me away from my melancholy and assumed identity. No one except sweet Cara.

Part 2

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Article 94


Andy puffed on a cigarette. It was burning between his thin fingers, ash gathering at the tip threatening to tip over. He crushed it inside the ashtray.

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Joaquin looked up. The screen displayed six videos, and when Andy played the first, Joaquin quickly found Jensen among the crowd of people and saw how he slipped away into a dark alley pulling at his clothes and falling to his knees, his hands buried in his hair. Then there was a flash of something bright distorting the camera and when it regained focus a large spot on the ground and on the walls of the opposing buildings were covered in glistening pristine ice. The camera flipped sideways and after a few shaky seconds and…

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A month and a week to go until January 3rd, 2017. The worldwide release of War of the Worlds: Retaliation is almost upon us. I can’t tell you all how excited I am. This is the sequel we’ve been waiting 119 years for. Our audiobook narrator, Mark Isham, sent me the prologue, so I listened to it, then immediately uploaded it to Soundcloud.

Let the world know that John and I are trying to raise $300.00 for the hardcover. We started a kickstarter campaign, and due to the accelerated timeline, there are only 16 days left in the timeline. Please share the following URL with your social medias and bloggersphere:

The project page is where it has always been:

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*Hacking intensifies* Supers beware of the spyware!The city of heroes and villains to be gets a digital look and secrets begin to unravel.

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Joaquin jogged through the stalled traffic, the overcast evening getting cold. He appreciated the comfortable numbness. Light shone brilliantly from behind the clouds. The phantom moon pulled at his inner tide. He allowed the celestial influence guide him toward Andy’s apartment in Chinatown. No one called it that anymore – now it was the International District. Joaquin had expected Andy to be living in a house with a white picket fence, but instead he and Massey found the hacker in a small apartment above an Asian Travel agency, and Moe’s Exotic Herbs.

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Article 94


[1000 words – Prompts: Inspiration Monday, #3WW, Sunday Scribblings 2, #SoCS, Write Anything]

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Article 94


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