“Claire?”
“Where are you, Claire?”
“Claire!”
Through the vents threaded like veins throughout the length and breadth of Castle Kronenburg’s dungeon, the increasingly worried calls of her friends were carried to Claire’s ears clear and hard as the great bell that tolled at the stroke of noon over the castle grounds, such that she could convince herself they were right outside the false wall concealing her prison, mere feet from where she stood naked and shackled to the cold stone. Yet dread kept her silent as effectively as the strange black ooze that slithered and slimed over the lower half of her face. Likewise, the manacles at her wrists, ankles and throat, each connected to a stout length of chain, were mere overkill in the face of her terror, paralyzing and inescapable. The way the passageways of the dungeon had shifted around on her, her kidnapping, the leering, wicked smile of the long-dead Mad Count Simon Kronenburg seemingly alive and well; everything had a dreadful, nightmarish quality to it, but as much as she wished otherwise, this was no dream. No, it was all too real, and her living gag did little to stifle her sobs as her captor’s hands began fondling her naked breasts, cold and unwelcome as the steel about her limbs. “Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?”
“Mmmpggghh!” Claire cried out in answer, tears welling up in her pale green eyes. It seemed impossible that the Mad Count, centuries dead, should be standing before her, yet there he was. Worst still, all the stories she’d heard and repeated in her work as a tour guide had, if anything, underestimated her captor’s dread cruelty, his eagerness to inflict pain and suffering, and another helpless moan filled the dungeon as his long fingernails ran down the sides of her bare thighs. “Mmmpgghh, mmpgggh! MMMPPGGGHHHH!”
“Don’t tell me you’re breaking already, my sweet. After all, we still haven’t tried my favourite whip. Or the rack. Or the iron maiden.”
“MMMPGGGHHH! MMPPPGGGHHHH!”
Chuckling to himself, the Mad Count paused for a moment to hear the shouts of the search party echoing all around them, yellow teeth baring in delight at their growing panic. “Can you feel it? The fear beginning to take hold?” Claire squirmed in her bonds as his filthy fingers ran through her long brunette locks, provoking a fresh cackle from the madman. “Do not worry, my sweet, you will not be alone for long. When your friends are ripe with despair, and all prospect of hope has vanished from their minds, then I will come for them in turn. I owe a debt to my Dread Lord Calistarius for my resurrection, and the souls of the fearful are amongst the most delectable.”
“MMMPGGGHHH!” Claire thrashed against her bonds in blind panic, chains rattling like tree limbs in a gale. “MMMPGGGHHHH!”
“Yes, I have returned from death to rule over my lands once more, and spread terror as my dark god demands! And you, my sweet, will be the first of many sacrifices to ensure my continued immortality…”