Roger was tired. He’d answered many names and lived in many times. When at first he was spelled to live forever, he’d been joyful but he hadn’t thought forever could be so long.

From city to city he rode, his purpose clear as day but not even the deadliest of soldiers could give him what he desperately wanted.

On and on, he sojourned until he came by an old city where the legend of Lilith held sway. It was of this Lilith mothers said to their sons:  “For she hath cast down many wounded: yea, many strong men have been slain by her. Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death.”

At the forbidden end of the town where words were whispers and the light of the sun never reached, Roger found the gate to Lilith’s castle over which was written ‘There’s a way that seemeth right unto a man but the end therefore is destruction.’

Roger disregarded the hoots and wild stares of black owls perched atop the castle. His eyes were on the little boy who stood in front of the gate brandishing a sword. He moved quick and in one swift move disarmed the boy and plunged the sword beneath the boy’s right collarbone, pinning him to the gate. His heel connected with the gate and it swung open in obeisance.  He hurried up the spiral staircase and headed up to the highest room as the Legend had directed.

He knew the smell of death and the room stunk of it. Framed pictures of young men graced the walls from roof to floor. The bed was littered with dead roses as the Legend rightly said but there was nobody on the bed.

A loud clap from behind him and he jumped around in fright.

‘Shit Lilith, for the Lord’s sake that was scary’ he said.

‘Do not call the name of Lilith in vain’ she warned and her white flowing gown fell slowly down her shoulders revealing full, firm breasts, a tiny waist which flushed smoothly with the wide outward curve of her hips.

Roger stared a moment, letting his eyes slide down her body. He felt himself grow turgid and he gasped her name in sensual appreciation. “Lilith.”

‘I said, do not call the name of the Lilith in…” she was saying as she grabbed one of the picture frames from off the wall and smashed it on Rogers’ head. Before Roger could react, she picked a shard and shoved it in the soft flesh of his right shoulder. He winced in pain, and then smiled. He had missed the feeling.

Lilith drove the shard deeper into his shoulder, turned it around, pulled it down and then up, inflicting as much pain as possible.

He could feel himself erect fully. Nothing turned him on like pure unadulterated pain. He grabbed her wrist and pushed the shard of glass deeper in his shoulder. Another fresh spurt of blood escaped his shoulder and smeared her face.

‘What would you have for one round?’ He asked, his voice shaking with emotion.

‘One round, short time, one cum or whatever you earthlings call it these days, your soul is enough pay’. She left the shard in his shoulder and started to get on her knees, heading for his penis, letting her nipple press softly against his body all the way down.

Roger sent his knee forward, smashing into her face. She fell to the floor, blood pouring out of her nose. He dug his fingers into her lustrous long hair and raised her up. Holding firm, he rammed his knees into the bridge of her nose again and again. When he was satisfied, he bent her over and plunged into her, ramming without pity. Her moans went up the high heavens and all the picture frames on the wall shook, threatening to fall off.

They attained nirvana simultaneously and in that glorious moment he bent back her wrists and snapped the bones like twigs while she removed the shard from his shoulder and plunged them into the soft flesh beneath his right eye.

He woke to Lilith’s head on his shoulder and her voice singing love songs in his ears. It was a lovely picture, but one he couldn’t accept. He dressed, got his things and went down the spiral staircase, highly disappointed.  He would continue his sojourn until he found what he sought.

‘You realize you’re dead, right?’ It was the young boy, still pinned to the gate, dripping with blood and hanging two feet off the ground.

“Pardon?” Roger said, he didn’t hear clearly what the boy had said.

“You realize you left your sword behind, right?” The boy said again with an arid smile on his face.

Roger hurried up the spiral staircase and as he stepped into the room he saw his sword plunged into a body on the bed. Lilith was singing to this body and then he recognized it. The face, the arms, the body- they were his. His sword was plunged deep into his own heart. Over the bed was a new picture-frame on the wall and in the frame was his picture.

“Lilith, La belle dame sans merci, it was a pleasure to die by your hands” he said and with the look of a man who had found his heart’s desire, dissolved into in-existence.

*

Written By Joe Aito.

(Joe Aito writes short horror stories on thedarknotes.com. He lives in Port Harcourt, Nigeria, and is currently working on a collection of short stories and a novel.)

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P.S: All typos are intentional.