The Gothic Study

In the 'fiction" genre by default. It skirts near Horror though. Maybe.

                                           The Gothic Study

 

She lay upon a couch of deeply tufted leather; leather dyed a color darker than spilled burgundy, lighter than clotted blood.  Although the air in the study was almost chilling, a thin film of perspiration formed on her back, buttocks and thighs.  This effect, more of adhesion than lubrication, held her transfixed to the smooth leather, somewhere behind her the mechanical punctuation of a pendulum clock monotonously accented the silence.

 Through slats of eyelash she saw a muraled ceiling arrayed high above her in curving panorama.  The scene, an innocent harvest festival, where frescoed nudes of fat, jolly Rubenesque proportions once reveled, was now overlaid by grime.  Decades of ill trimmed wicks and poorly laid hearth fires transfigured maidens and nymphs into hags and crones, and corrupted a naïve Saturnalia into an obscene witch’s Sabbath - a Faustian Walpurgisnacht.  The cheerful pinks and blues the artist once tinted into summer were hoar-frosted over by beady, gray-green hues she associated with lichens, or the backs of toads.

A shadow imposed across the ceiling and her eyes followed intemperately, opening perhaps a millimeter.

 “You are awake at last.” The cello voice of the shadow caster resonated in the room.

“Am I alive?”  Her voice hung in the air. “Why am I so cold?” 

“What a poor host I must seem. I am standing between you and the fire.”

            He moved to her feet, draping one arm languidly over the marble shoulders of a Greek statue, his pose a study in conviviality.

“You fell faint in the ballroom. The air is cooler here, revivifying.   I took the liberty of loosening your clothes, they are here…somewhere.”

This was the same man who had whirled her around the brilliantly lit ballroom as the phonograph hissed the waltzes of Strauss. Yet somehow he was not the same man at all.  The ballroom youthful giddiness matured in the gloom of the library. The untamed wheat straw hair was darkened by water and swept back into a semblance of order.  The ruddy athletic complexion had blanched to a scholarly pallor almost matching the bust of Athena he now adorned. 

“Why am I so weak?  I feel helpless to move, as though oppressed by some great weight.”

“Rest a bit more, your strength will certainly return soon.”  He wandered at her feet not taking his eyes from hers as though remaining in her field of vision was reassuring.

“You have done this to me.  Some drug or potion…”

“You affront me,” he said.  “How could that be true?  You touched nothing on my table; your champagne flat and untasted remains in your glass.  A good year too -shame.”  He continued to pace as might a polymath who weighs solutions but finds each wanting.  “Ah,” he said, pausing his stride.  “Perhaps I placed this drug upon my own lips.  No, that answer will not serve!  You have sampled none of my offerings.”  He smiled at own joke.

Her head moved slightly to follow him.  “Yet here I am, despite your words.  You have poisoned the very air, some mist or vapor that when breathed…”

“Rest from these speculations. What miasma could I compose that would captivate you while it invigorates me? This is no alchemy that so affects you.  Mark my word.”

“If it is not science then you work through some darker art - some necromancy that gives you this power over me.”

He looked pointedly away from her.  His splayed fingers caressed the books that lined the study walls as if all answers were hidden there.  “I too sense such a power.”  He ran a fingernail slowly down the spine of a volume of Mary Shelley.  “It is an animating force - one that cannot be resisted.”

Fluidly as water he poured his body over hers until only a shadow’s thickness separated them.  His mouth sought out the unresisting alabaster flesh of her neck.  The warmth of a long blue vein flushed under his cheek.   She felt herself levitating to meet him, levitating until only her shoulders and heels seemed to press upon the couch.

He raised himself on locked arms and looked into her, past his own reflection in her eyes.  “I am not such a fool as to believe any force of mine has brought us here.  It is you. Your power has brought us to this place.”

Her hand flew, swift as thought, and slapped him with a red sound that reverberated like gunfire though the room.  “DAMN YOU!” She screamed.

The single tear which fell from his face coursed between her breasts and finally came to rest like a diamond in the navel of a slave girl.

“Damn you.” She said.  “Damn us both.” 

Then, with fingernails raking his scalp, she pulled him down to her.

Author's Note

Comments welcome

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Although I prefer writing that's less wordy and more to the point, I do recognize the skill and knowledge you've employed in writing this. As others have suggested, the style is reminiscent of Poe and perhaps other classic writers of the genre. With all the damning going on between them, I do hope intimacy can still have its way. If Burton and Taylor could cease eye scratching and get it on, there must be hope for these two. Excellent writing, for sure.

[Delmar Cooper]

Thanks for reading and your comments. It was a departure for sure.

[Dave]

Okay, Delmar - you have me hooked! I'm now compelled to read more of your stories. I enjoyed this very much.
Take care - Dave

[Delmar Cooper]

Thanks Dave hard to get a confirmed poet to come over to the dark side and read stories. Thanks much

[barleygirl]

You do a great job of developing an eerie sensation by writing in this cold & calculated way, as if the narrator is inherently evil & devious & unemotional. His creepiness drips from the page. Excellent storytelling, compelling, easy to follow (((HUGS)))

[Delmar Cooper]

So glad you read this story. To me it is the most nearly erotic thing I have written if only by implication. Yes, that narrator is a nasty persona.

[wordman]

this is a great story,enjoyed it

[Laz K.]

I like stories that make use of allusions. To me, they are like intellectual spice to a verbal dish. The way you create mood is quite masterful, I think. There's enough suspense, and it can be inferred early on that he is a vampire. By the time I got to the end, I thought this was the ultimate male fantasy. :)

[Delmar Cooper]

In a previous give and take about some of your work we concluded that a work becomes the reader's property once it is published. I believe that is so and criticism is a needed function to a writer if only to assist in revision. It is my opinion that the whole canon of vampire literature is mild eroticism directed from a female perspective. I conceived, in this story, a moment when that eroticism is spoiled by the "vampirish" protagonist recognizing the power of submission and the "victim" protagonist being angered by the dissolution of the "spell." Strange how the mind works N'est-ce Pas?

[wtp]

I haven’t read Edgar Allen Poe for some years, but always loved his treatment of gothic and horror. This story brought him to mind immediately. I am less sure of why, but the Picture of Dorian Gray also came to mind. Anything I read that makes me think of Poe and Wilde is appreciated!
From the first paragraph, where the woman adheres to the couch, the writing paints clear and compelling images. I was especially intrigued by the description of the muraled ceiling, where maidens and nymphs had been transformed into hags and crones by the ravages of time. I also liked the closing image of the slave girl with a diamond in her navel.*
I liked the evolution of the two characters, where clarity dissolves into ambiguity. From the beginning, she clearly appears to be the victim. This seems certain when we learn the host has disrobed her. His familiar pose with the marble Athena seems to confirm his debauchery, as do the ominous changes in appearance between the ballroom and parlor(?).
The following passages made me wonder if my assumptions about the protagonists can be trusted, keeping me engaged. While she accuses him of drugging her, in line with my assumptions, the revelation that she has not eaten or drunk anything before fainting complicates the picture. Since she can not dispute that fact, she retreats to accusations of magic.
Magic seems to be the right answer, as her body levitates – or does it? Her heels and shoulders remain on the couch, so it is unclear which of them is lifting her body, and how. When the host reflects the charge of magic upon the incapacitated woman, she suddenly regains the ability to move (at least one limb). Evoking the image of the slave girl with the diamond in her navel calls into question who is the master and who the slave. As she strikes him, then pulls him to her, we wonder who is really in charge?
The ambiguity of your ending suits me as a reader, but I wondered if there was a deeper meaning that I am missing. There were a number of references to art: the decayed harvest festival; his familiar pose with Athena; the hiss of Strauss; and fingering the spine of Shelley. I wanted to compose these images into some deeper thought, but failed.
All in all, The Gothic Study was a fun and thought provoking read. Thanks for sharing it.

* One minor nitpick: As I picture her, arching from the couch on her shoulders and heels, I don’t see the tear rolling from between her breasts to her navel. That seems like it would be rolling uphill. If she is levitating, rather than arching under her own power, then the picture could be different and the physics could work. I am probably overthinking this one, but it was the one minor criticism I could offer…

[Delmar Cooper]

I really appreciate your comments about this story. Thee are a great many references to classic horror stories or situations and I intended these references to create an atmosphere and merge into the tale. There are too many to list here.
My point of beginning here was that the horror genre is a sexual, erotic writing form, but also a form where the reader wants to be seduced and therefore some character in the story must be seduced.
Let me ask you this. Do you believe the woman when she creates all those reasons for her dilemma? Could she not be allowing herself to be seduced and supplying a plausible rationale for her behavior? In short, is she a reliable narrator and if not why?

My intent in the "levitation" was to show a sexually charged arching of the back, an upthrusting of the hips more that a magic trick which is why her shoulders and heels remained anchored. Yes, I do think the tear possible and perhaps the reader will licence me to tinker with gravity a mite to indulge romantic fantasy.
So pleased you read this and shared this excellent comment.

[wtp]

The situation itself implicates the host, so the starting point makes her the more trustworthy. When the woman accuses her host of drugging her, then abandons the accusations so easily, doubts are introduced. The levitation, slap, and then pulling him to her undermine that story line and make her that unreliable narrator...

Thanks again for an excellent read.

[MariaSimina]

I liked the beginning so much! The way you describe the setting gives it a mystical atmosphere and builds a bit of suspense. It gives the whole scene a sense of macabre beauty.
Throughout the story certain questions rise, such as where is she or who is the other person? Not getting a clear answer, I think, was a bold move but it surprisingly works well with the story.
The ending was a bit disappointing. A certain sense of danger builds up and when she gives in at the end it feels rather unsatisfactory. She seemed to have a stronger fighting spirit throughout.

[Delmar Cooper]

Thanks for reading and taking a moment to let me know. I failed to illustrate who was dangerous in the story.

[CD Campbell]

I used to read a lot of 30s pulp horror short stories as a kid. I used to love Robert E Howard, Lovecraft, and the like. This reminds of those. Is it faulkner? F**k no, but it sure was entertaining. I value my short collections of Conan and Solomon Kane as much as I do my first editions of Rockwell Kent. I can't dig down too deep on the the mechanics of a short story because I feel I do not have the right to do so, but I can tell you I like this one a lot, even if it was meant to be campy. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

[Taylor]

Delmar -- what fun! You've left me with lots of questions, making me re-read the story for more hints, but the answers are well hidden. The suspense is taut throughout. For a moment -- when you talked about her blue vein, I thought he was a vampire, but the vein was passed up! Sensual in detail, unsettling but not in a negative way. Your deft hand has done it again!

[Delmar Cooper]

I am please that this was fun to read. It was fun to write also. I have for a long time believed most horror and all vampire stories are about sex.

[Einstein Noodle]

"it was a dark and stormy night" ... right!?! :)
who is the vamp says i ..
must confess your story caught me ... tho i will not deliver my neck .. it is much too scrawny anyway ;)
as far as cliche's go ... i think they are well hidden for a virgin :))) its a blood trail from head to foot .. i think you had a great bit of fun writing this one .. i had fun reading!
E.

[Delmar Cooper]

Noodle, I had a critic here who raked me over the coals for "banal" dialogue. I couldn't disagree with him since it was my idea to write the dialogue as if I lived in the Edwardian era. I was disappointed he had not read the disclaimer. I borrowed extensively in the concepts of Stoker, Poe, Marlowe, and Mrs. Shelley. What I wanted to accomplish was a statement that Horror is a genre that panders to the victim much more than the monster. Victims want seduction, but would never admit it in their honestest moments.

[Einstein Noodle]

i like it ... we all know we can never please everyone .. but thats the great thing about life after all .. differences with respect ;)
E.