Buttoning my greatcoat, I stepped out onto the damp, London street about a
quarter to midnight just as the fog started settling in a thick, swirling mass for
the night. Then, turning my collar up against the chill, I started walking
westward toward the river and home to a warm fire with, perhaps, another
pint waiting on the sideboard. For a moment though, I wavered in my
purpose, because due to the poor visibility, I could see only a few meters
ahead and for some reason felt a vague foreboding afoot in the night. Now,
wouldn't you know that I had almost packed it in and returned to the pub to
wait for morning? However, my desire for the comfort of my own bed won
out. It was then that I decided that the night wasn't going to grow any more
friendly, and that I'd better be on my way while travel was still possible.
Odd that there wasn't a horse and cart at the ready this hour, but except for
me, the thoroughfare appeared totally deserted. The only audible sound was
the irregular tapping of my sharp, metal-tipped cane on the cold cobbles, and
at times the only available light was that which filtered weak and silvery from
the full moon which hung smirking over my left shoulder. I shivered a bit as I
passed the old graveyard off to my right and quickened my step ever so
slightly as I passed under the old, naked oak that had been standing there
since the time of the Druids.
Hurrying along, I had just stepped out into the open once more when a pool
of pearlescent moonlight caught the edge of something bright, half buried in
the earth at the side of the road. Well, you know how it is, I couldn't resist
the allure, so looking about, I gathered it up in mid step, shook off the loose
soil and was amazed at the beauty of the craftsman's art there in my hand. I
wasn't just sure of the crest's meaning, but it looked as though it was formed
from a maze of angles. The object that I had found was what appeared to be
a large, man's finger ring of incredible weight and intricacy, but due to the
worsening weather conditions, I simply dropped it into my jacket pocket
without thinking too much more about it as I hurried on my way.
I was making good time, and in no more than a quarter hour, I found myself
approaching the waterfront area and the warmth of home. However, on one
of the darker streets, a shortcut to my abode, I met this delightful, young
woman and her elderly driver who were stranded, out of luck. Their carriage
had thrown a wheel in a chuck hole, and the driver was struggling, trying to
lift the carriage while the young woman vainly attempted to slide the errant
wheel back into its socket upon the grease-coated axle.
So, being a compassionate and chivalrous man, I recognized my duty and
offered at once to help. Another moment found me lending my strong, right
arm to the chore, and together, the driver and I easily managed to lift the cart
high enough to where our winsome charge could refit the wheel. Driving the
cotter peg home with a good blow of a heavy rawhide mallet from the tool
box finished the job, and we all laughed at how easy it had been to set things
right as we stood there talking about the ill luck of the night. It was a shame
that the breakdown had happened to them and all that. The girl remarked that
it could have been a whole lot worse.
Of course, I found it pleasing to be a hero of sorts, and as we chatted, I
absentmindedly slipped my hand into my jacket pocket and felt the bulk of
that large, angular ring that I had found near the graveyard. Remembering
what a fascinating piece it was, I took it from my pocket to admire and show
it off to my new friends. But at that exact moment, I felt was as though I was
struck by lightning. I felt a compulsion to slip that singular circlet upon my
right ring finger over my glove and did so without another thought. At the
time, I assumed that I had donned the great ring just to admire its strange
beauty, flashing in the light of the lone street lamp. It was then that the ring's
odd angles caught and then held my attention.
There were nine of those strange angles, fashioned somewhat after a
trapezoid, and as I ran my eyes over their geometric loveliness, I felt a sort of
fugue stealing over me, as those angles shimmered and glowed. I stared
raptly into the living vortex of the ring, and those angles began to writhe as if
they were possessed a life of their own. Their hold on me increased further
with each passing second, and they exerted an irresistible pull on my quaking
soul. My consciousness wavered. At one point, it seemed that my vision
clouded, and for a moment, I blanked out. Then suddenly awakened, It was
as though the spirits of the dammed were attempting to rend my immortal soul
from my body, and as the infernal pressure mounted, I felt the last vestiges of
goodness, kindness gentleness and self control slip through my fingers as if I
were waking from a dream.
That said, I experienced a feeling of immense power as I felt my strong right
hand grasp the mallet. Then swinging it hard and fast, I crushed the skull of
the unsuspecting, old driver before he could react to save himself. Then as
his brains splattered upon the side of the carriage, his limp body slid down the
boards onto the slick cobbles and lay there in a warm pool of his own gushing
blood. Instinctively, my backhand caught that young, perky bitch off guard, and
dropping the mallet, I ripped the bodice from those tender breasts with both
hands. I plunged my face into those sweet and succulent tits, but much to my
surprise, instead of licking and sucking upon them as might be my normal
practice, I found myself clamping down hard with my sharp teeth and biting
through the creamy flesh of her exposed throat, thus releasing rivers of hot,
pumping, scarlet wine from her torn carotid artery. Never, have I experienced
such overpowering emotions as I drained her fair body of its life force. Yes, I
was as a wild beast who could not be stopped or sated as I had my way with her.
What was up was down, pain was pleasure, and in slavery, she found freedom...
Later that night, more or less coming to my senses and realizing that I
must be away, I glanced about, surveying the rubble of my destruction and headed
for the river, jumping in without hesitation. I did that as much to escape
detection as to wash the ichor from my person so as to leave no evidence.
Then after swimming along for a reasonable distance to cover my departure
and throw off any dogs, I finally emerged at a low spot in the bank and jogged,
unobserved, the rest of the way home in silence from a different direction.
That big ring of the nine angles, I had earlier removed and replaced to my pocket,
and as the rising sun had begun to illuminate the landscape with lingering hues of
blue, purple, red and gold, my mind started to clear. At the time, I decided that
the best thing to do was to head right on home and quietly slip into my chambers
before any of the household awakened and discovered my nefarious activities or
even noticed anything out of the ordinary.
Now, looking back upon the event with a more sober mind, I know that I
should have helped those people and then went my way, but I did not. I
really intended to be kind to them, but I could not. The torment and fury that
rose within me that night is impossibly hard to explain, and as yet, I still can't
do it justice. It was fearsome, but in a way eternally sweet. I, at one time
both loved and hated the experience. The feeling of raw and unbridled power
had filled my expanding soul, and I became as a god embued with the power
to create or destroy. I held sway over life and death, and even the spirits of
the dammed withdrew in submission as I vented my unholy desires upon that
luckless woman and her driver.
Well, it's over now. I know that I'll never be the same again, and in a way, I
suppose that I should feel some modicum of remorse because I destroyed
those hapless people, but I don't. I really had intended to help them, but an
event both sinister and frightfully powerful occurred that brought about such
weird feelings and unexplainable emotions within me that I couldn't help
myself. I even intended to give myself up to the authorities, but I did not.
Too, I intended to throw that awful ring into the river, but somehow, I
couldn't bring myself to do that either. Consoling myself that I'd never put
that ring on again, I locked it away in my safe where it would trouble me no
more. Yes, I vowed that I'd never wear it again-- at least not when there was
a full moon. I suppose that night I should have done many things differently,
but hindsight is always most clear. Yes, my intentions were good, as they are
right now, and I intend never to wear that great, angular ring again, but after
all, "The Road to Hell is Paved With Good Intentions!"
