Mark Wadle often took a shortcut home, walking along the narrow, deserted street along the wall of the old cemetery. He had heard of people who had mysteriously disappeared in the past few months, of course. He knew that their mutilated bodies were always found at the eighteenth-century Three Roses Cemetery. Apparently, the corpses were terrifying—with faces frozen in grimaces of unimaginable pain and fear, numerous sharp, powerful teeth, and large chunks of flesh torn out—or eaten away, as some claimed. Often, the bodies were missing one or more limbs. It was said that this was the work of some enormous, hellish beast, but where would such a monster find itself in the middle of a city of two hundred thousand?
Mark knew all this, but he had no intention of making a detour. He had never been a timid man. Besides, he trusted in the strength of his hard fists. In his opinion, some maniacal serial killer was prowling Portsmonth or the surrounding area, dumping bodies at the cemetery to draw a trail, when in reality, he was killing somewhere else entirely.
Wadle was a handsome twenty-five-year-old bachelor. He stood six feet two, with curly black hair and a genuine smile that disarmed women. Slim, yet broad-shouldered and muscular, he moved with the lightness and agility of a black panther. He worked as a sportswriter for a local weekly and lived in a studio apartment on Black Marry Street. However, for the past few weeks, he had been spending most nights at a certain house near Three Roses Cemetery.
It
all began one dark, windy, moonless night, when Mark was returning home from a heavily intoxicated housewarming party. It was just after midnight when he turned onto the cemetery street called Eternal Memory Street. To his left lay the dense bushes and undergrowth of a wild park, the faint, yellowish light of the few streetlamps giving the impression of a black wall, moving in the gusts of the cold November wind. On the other side stood a high, dilapidated red brick wall, separating the sidewalk from the cemetery. The cobblestone street climbed upwards, curving to the right along its entire length.
He passed a large, wide, wrought-iron gate, over twelve feet high, topped with the three roses that gave the cemetery its name. He peered through the gate bars—large, dilapidated tombs emerged from the darkness, illuminated only by the streetlamp. He didn't see a candle or a candle burning anywhere.
"This is a very old cemetery," he thought. "Neglected and forgotten. The families of the people buried here must have died out too."
An owl flew overhead and hooted loudly. He quickened his pace, eager to get home as quickly as possible. The gusts of wind were getting stronger and colder. Rain began to fall, lashing Marek in the face. Suddenly, he felt strangely uneasy. He turned up the collar of his coat and lowered his head.
Suddenly, besides his own footsteps, he heard others, loud and fast. He spun on his heel. A young woman was running towards him. Despite the dim light, he immediately noticed that she was captivatingly beautiful. She had long, black hair and a slim face with prominent cheekbones. Between the open flaps of her black, knee-length coat, he could see a cherry-red dress with a plunging neckline.
"What happened?!" he shouted to her. "Is someone chasing you?
" "Yes!" she replied in a slightly breathless, sensually low voice. "Some thug! Help me!"
The young man wouldn't let himself be asked twice. Without hesitation, he jumped to the other side of the alley and snatched a sturdy branch from a young tree. He quickly stripped off the smaller branches, broke off the top, and, thus armed, set off down Eternal Memory Street. The woman stopped and watched his progress. Mark had only covered a dozen or so meters when a man with a large knife in his hand emerged from behind the bend in the cemetery wall. He was old, gray-haired, and hideously ugly. His face was contorted with rage, and his eyes held murderous intent.
"Stop!" Mark growled, blocking the old man's path.
The man stopped, surprised. The boy looked determined to fight. The gray-haired man hesitated, then turned and fled. He ran down the alley. Without a second thought, Mark ran after him. The old man reached the cemetery gate, turned, and disappeared into the darkness. The young man at first wanted to continue the chase, but then came to his senses. In the darkness, as black as a murderer's conscience, he could easily have been impaled on the old man's knife.
He walked up the street and was surprised to see the woman waiting for him. He was still panting from his quick run.
"I chased him away! He ran off to the cemetery and disappeared," he informed the girl, who was looking at him with interest and a strange glint in her eyes. She was preoccupied with the chase, as evidenced by the nervous movement she made to smooth her hair.
"Oh, thank you for your help," she smiled broadly, but without opening her mouth. "That psychopath scared me! If it weren't for you, I don't know what would have happened to me!" She sighed deeply with obvious relief. "I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself. My name is Violetta."
"Nice to meet you! I'm Mark." He reached out to take her cold, gentle hand.
Only now could he get a good look at her. Her outfit, hair, and large, dark eyes contrasted with her very pale complexion. Her full, full lips were painted with lipstick the same shade as her blood-red dress. Violetta's breasts, pushed forward by the tight corset, swayed with each deep breath, and with them, her original black obsidian amulet, suspended from a gold chain and trying unsuccessfully to hide between the large, firm globes of her breasts. It was clear she was still reeling from her escape and Mark's pursuit. Despite the chill, the constant rain, and her open coat, he didn't notice she was cold.
"Why are you staring at my cleavage?" she asked, a sweet, innocent smile on her full lips. "Do you like my breasts?" She ran her fingers along her cleavage and touched her ample breasts.
"You have a very interesting pendant," he replied diplomatically.
"Oh, so that's where you were looking." She flirtatiously smoothed her hair, and Mark felt his desire grow. "This figurine is a 16th-century amulet depicting the Lord of Darkness. It protects against night monsters and dark beasts.
" "Like vampires?" the woman intrigued him more and more.
"Vampires, nocturnals, ghouls, werewolves, mamuns, and other bogeymen.
" "Where did you get it? It looks very valuable and unique.
" "I brought it back from Romania. I recently went on a wonderful trip there," she smiled faintly.
"The Carpathians, castles on towering rocks, Dracula, and all that?
" "Exactly," she laughed.
He had the impression she was trying not to smile too broadly. She gave him the impression of a young, distinguished aristocrat who had been taught not to show her feelings in front of strangers. He thought she was a very attractive woman, and he wanted to get to know her better. To make her laugh out loud in his company and not have to hold back her emotions.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked sensually, looking into his eyes. "Do you like me? Would you like to go on a date?" Her gaze practically hypnotized him.
"Yes. I would. Very much.
" *****
A few days later, after a long walk with Violetta along the Jangren River, he visited her large house for the first time. She lived near the Three Roses Cemetery in an old, single-story villa. It was located a few hundred meters from where they had met – at the end of Eternal Memory Street, at the highest point of the street.
The building's exterior was quite dilapidated, but it had a very ornate facade. In front of the main entrance, which consisted of carved oak doors, stood a portico, supporting a triangular pediment with four slender columns. At its corners stood black stone gargoyles, which, when it rained, spectacularly spit out streams of water. Inside, the house was well-kept: paneled all over with wood, full of old paintings, sculptures, and antique furniture.
He was surprised that a single woman could afford such a property. She explained that she had inherited the house and furnished it with money she earned from selling art. She frequently traveled to Rome, Venice, Florence, London, Paris, Bucharest, Prague, Budapest, and Moscow to buy obscure but valuable paintings, furniture, and sculptures, then sold them for a hefty profit. She mentioned that she was an art historian and immodestly added that she knew as much about antiques as anyone.
What Marek and Violetta shared most was sex. She was incredible in bed. A true volcano of invention and passion. There was probably no place in the three-hundred-square-meter house where they didn't make love. It would probably be hard to find positions they hadn't tried. Only two things puzzled him: Violetta refused to kiss "with tongue." And she never took off her blood-red corset.
They most often made love in a bedroom with mirrored walls and ceiling, on a massive antique bed. The room was shrouded in semi-darkness, with only a single small window overlooking the cemetery. Besides the bed with its ornate wooden sides and a large bookcase filled with valuable, antique, leather-bound books, often centuries old, there were also several marble sculptures carved by a long-forgotten medieval master. All depicted life-size human figures. Two of them were naked nymphs, standing in licentious poses and caressing their exceptionally ample breasts. The remaining four likely resembled Violetta's ideal man, because whenever she dusted them, she did so with great delicacy and sensuality, tenderly kissing the muscular torsos of the sculpted youths, dressed as Adams, and their unnaturally large, fully erect penises. She would glance mischievously and teasingly at her lover, curious about his reaction, while Mark feigned indifference. She once confided in him that in her erotic fantasies, these stony, generously endowed men often played the leading role, being flesh and blood. That was probably why she loved lying on her back with her legs and arms spread wide, holding the stone penises of the heroes positioned on either side of the bed, while Mark, lying between her thighs, performed his male duty.
One morning, when Violetta woke her lover by French-style caressing him, then thrusting the sexy hemispheres of her firm buttocks toward him to invite him to their lovemaking, Mark noticed something intriguing. As usual, in one powerful movement, he entered his woman from behind, leaning forward and resting on her knees and elbows. Making powerful, rhythmic movements, he shifted his gaze from the woman's ass to the statue of a lascivious, shameless nymph, illuminated by the rays of the rising sun. Then, following the golden rays, he looked out the window. The view outside caused him to freeze. Only the girl's reproachful gaze made him resume caressing the woman's vagina with powerful thrusts of his manhood.
Outside the window stretched the neglected Three Roses Cemetery. A hunched, ugly, and repulsive old man walked between the ancient graves. Dressed in a brown, muddy coat, he wore an old-fashioned hat and a madman's smile. He passed several crumbling graves, pushed open a rusty tin door leading into the center of a large tomb, and disappeared inside.
Once Mark had satisfied both his own and his lover's desires, he rose and wordlessly walked to the window. He stood naked, resting his hand on the breast of a stone nymph, her back arched sharply, exposing her womb. He stared at the cemetery, full of devastated, abandoned graves. His mistress approached him from behind. She wore only her cherry-red corset, unlaced at the top, revealing the protruding nipples of her large, firm breasts.
"What or who are you looking for there, my stallion?" she asked, one hand playing with his penis and the other caressing his testicles.
"I saw a man there a moment ago." And I could swear it's the same old man who was chasing you at night that night.
" "Fred. A grave robber. I often see him prowling among the graves.
" "A grave robber?
" "Yes, he robs graves, pulls gold teeth from corpses, and pulls rings and necklaces from their fingers and necks.
" "People like that should be locked up!" Mark was clearly disgusted by Fred's behavior, a fact belied by his erect penis.
"You're right, he's a lunatic." Violetta gently bit his neck. "He used to be a professor at a London university and a fairly well-known poet, but after the tragic deaths of his wife and daughter, he became very strange.
" "Why don't you call the police and have them lock him up? He tried to kill you back then!" Mark turned to his lover and, feeling ready again, entered her in one move.
"It's pointless. They won't prove anything against him..." she replied quietly.
She embraced him and surrendered to his loving thrusts. Mark gently pushed her back, and Violetta, resting her head on the nymph's womb and supporting herself with her hands, arched her back into a tempting arch and spread her legs. The boy, supporting the woman's buttocks with his hands, moved faster and faster inside her, until Violetta began to moan with pleasure. Sweat began to appear on the boy's forehead, but he increased the pace, sensing the peak of ecstasy was near. The girl closed her eyes, and a blush appeared on her face and cleavage. A moment later, she cried out loudly in ecstasy, and a few seconds later, Mark reached orgasm as well.
He pulled out of Violetta and, exhausted, lay on the floor. The girl snuggled against him. Mark embraced her and kissed her lips. Stroking Violetta's breasts, he whispered in his lover's ear,
"You feel so good, you know?
" "I know," she purred like a cat and puffed out her breasts, submitting to his caresses.
"I have to tell you something," she added after a moment, placing her hand on the boy's testicles. "I'm afraid of that degenerate, Fred. He's very dangerous to those around him, and he feels completely unpunished. I didn't tell you this, but he's tried to kill me several times!
" "Several times?!" Mark's hand lingered on the girl's chest. "I only knew about that situation at the cemetery. Why is he stalking you? What did you do to him that he'd want you dead?"
"I once went into the cemetery to see the historic tombs of 19th-century patricians and caught him robbing the dead. Ever since then, that psychopath has wanted to kill me. He almost succeeded once, but ended up stabbing me badly. I know that when he gets the chance, he'll kill me.
" "I won't let that happen!" Mark became so angry that he let go of the girl and sat down, clenching his fists.
"Will you protect me, my hero?" Violetta gently squeezed his penis.
"Of course you will!" I won't let him hurt you!
"Do you love me, Mark?" the girl looked him in the eye.
"Yes, honey
." "Then do something for me. Kill that lunatic! If you don't, he'll kill me!"
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