WorthlessMud
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Well, I wrote a horror story. I didn't mean to write it as a horror story at first, but it kind of evolved that way. Don't worry, there's no blood or death. I'm new at this, so I'd appreciate it if you let me know what you think. Thank you!
Black Magic
Clayman stepped down the ramp and off the boat. The few cars in Sik did not move cargo. Even though the porters asked an exorbitant price to carry his bags to the hotel, he was not in a position to argue. The bunny wanted as little trouble as possible. The last American troops withdrew only a few months prior and the natives were still on edge. He trudged down the dirt road towards the center of town. The stares from the villagers convinced him that tempers on the island were just as bad as those on the mainland. It wasn’t just the glares. Something else bothered him. The moment he stepped of the boat, the air stuck to him. He’d never felt such heat and stillness before. The rabbit tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat off his brow as he followed the porters into the hotel.
“Uh, hello there! I was hoping to rent a room, you see,” he said.
The mole furrowed his brow and glanced at the rabbit. He looked over him and muttered something Creole. Clayman frowned. When he left the States, he was in such a rush that he didn’t have the time to learn a word of Creole. He smiled and tugged his tie, repeating the request to the clerk. The mole huffed. His chair groaned under his weight when he turned to face the hallway and yelled something out. Clayman’s eyes darted to the hallway and he took a step back towards the door. But the rabbit blinked when a woman emerged from the hall. A grey vixen with a smile on her lips.
“Looking for a room, sir?” she said. Her accent was thick, but Clayman was grateful to hear English.
“Yes, thank you. Maybe something that you can spare for a while? I’m not quite certain how long I will be here, you see,” he said.
“Of course, sir. Don’t worry about your bags, the attendants will get them. Just follow me,” she said.
The fox led him into the hallway. They climbed the flight of stairs up to the second floor. Clayman thumbed a button on his coat as he followed her. The place was as dead as the rest of the town. He looked from side to side at the doors he passed, wondering if the rooms were empty or if the natives just liked peace. Not that he planned on spending much time in the place. There was work to do. The vixen stopped at the end of the hall and removed a key-ring from her pocket. As she counted through the keys, she looked up to Clayman and smirked.
“Do you have a name I can call you by, sir?” she said.
Clayman smiled and said, “Oh, of course. Excuse my manners. Clayman. Err, I am Clayman, that is. Henry Clayman, rather.”
She laughed and looked down at him. “Right then, Mr. Clayman. I am Miss Wouj. Do you mind if I ask why you’re here, darling? We don’t get many visitors during the rains,” she said.
“Sure, uh, Miss Wouj. I’m looking for a friend of mine. A work associate, actually. Erm, I don’t suppose she may have come by this hotel? A Miss Eliza Crown? She was in Sik to conduct some business with a Mr. Hamerveld,” said Clayman.
Wouj perked her ears. Her brows arched and she placed a hand on her hip. “Hmm. Eliza Crown? Sorry, darling. I don’t recognize the name. But enjoy your stay. If you need anything, do tell,” she said. She handed him the room key and left.
Clayman glanced over his shoulder to watch her as she sauntered down the hall and into the stairwell. Eliza wrote in her letters that she did indeed stay in this hotel. Why would the hostess lie? Or did she just forget? Perhaps Eliza had stayed at Hamerveld’s estate. Clayman shook his head and shoved the key into the lock. He couldn’t let himself get paranoid. If he was going to make any progress at finding Eliza, he had to stay calm and think rationally. Wouj had no reason to lie about that. Besides, if anyone knew where Eliza was, it was Hamerveld.
It didn’t take long for his luggage to be brought up by the clerks. A pair of wolves. After they left, Clayman threw the windows open. The air itself seemed to weigh him down. He peeled his coat off and loosened his collar. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. The bunny dropped his suitcase onto the bed and popped it open. Ruffling through Eliza’s letters once more, he searched for anything that may point him to her location. But the only lead he had to go on was Hamerveld.
Clayman worked under Eliza as her research assistant until she disappeared in the year gone by. He was only a minor aid, fresh from university study. Eliza, however, was renowned for her studies of Caribbean cultures. The mixed ideas of native, slave, and French blood, so long neglected by academia and shunned as savagery, were finally given serious study by Eliza. Whereas Clayman always remained in the States to organize her writings and deal with publishing, Eliza herself spent months at a time living amongst the islanders. Her interest was never in the cities, with their conveniences and comforts. Traditions and coveted superstitions were what she sought, were what led her to the hills and abandoned plantations. When she received letters from a European living in Sik, Nicolaas Hamerveld, detailing some extraordinary discovery, she left for the port with almost no notice. She’d been scarce with Clayman regarding what Hamerveld told her. She only said that the letters were written in the most urgent language, and that Hamerveld needed her expertise. Eliza sent Clayman a single letter afterwards, letting him know that she arrived in Sik safely. After that, nothing. For months, Clayman received no more word from her. He sent letters, each increasing in desperation, to the return address. But she responded to none of them. His attempts at contacting the port’s police also met with silence. By the time summer began, the rabbit was convinced that something must have happened to Eliza. Failing to find anyone to contact on the island, he had decided to start the search himself.
He tossed the papers back into his suitcase and pinched the bridge of his nose. Clayman sighed and slipped a newspaper clipping from his pocket. The single image of Hamerveld he’d been able to find. His brow furrowed at the image of the weasel. Clayman was convinced that he had played a part in Eliza’s vanishing, that he had lied to her simply to lure her to the island. For what purpose, he did not know. His best chance at information was the police station. Installed and trained by the Americans during the occupation, he hoped they’d be English-speaking and friendlier than the townspeople. If they refused to cooperate, he didn’t know how he would approach Hamerveld. Clayman slipped his jacket back on and pushed the door open. The sun was already setting and he didn’t want to be alone in the village at night. He hurried down the stairs and caught sight of Wouj whispering with the wolves that’d brought his bags up. As he stepped into the rain, he cursed himself under his breath for not taking Eliza’s advice to learn the language while he had the chance.
Fortunately, the police station wasn’t far away. It was impossible to miss. Contrasted against the wood hovels and rag-covered storefronts of the villagers, the station didn’t belong. Clayman scurried through the mud and grabbed the door latch. The bilious light of the electric bulbs still made him feel more welcome than the quickly-darkening street. He shook the rain from his ears just as the beastly dog sitting behind the front desk eyed him. The hound lurched forward and smacked a palm to the counter.
“You need something, boy?” he said.
Clayman inched forward and said, “Yes, thank you. Well, you see, I believe that a woman has gone missing. She…”
The dog narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to get a good look at the rabbit. “Gone missing? You don’t look like the type to have any relatives here, boy. What are you poking around for?” he said.
Clayman cleared his throat and thumbed the button on his jacket, saying, “Oh, well, she isn’t a relative. She’s actually my employer. She arrived here several months ago, you see. Eliza Crown, she was supposed to be visiting Mr. Hamerveld and...”
The dog pushed himself out of his chair with a wheeze. He started to plod around the side of the desk and said, “Hamerveld? You’re poking your nose where it don’t belong, boy. So how about you get back on that boat and head on home?” He stepped in front of Clayman and scowled down at him.
“Um, you see, sir. I’m worried about her. She always responds to my letters when she is on these expeditions,” he said. The rabbit peeked up at the towering hound. Clayman took a step back and shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t just leave. You see, I’m afraid that this Hamerveld fellow may have something to do with it. I was hoping that you could help me? Even if you can just tell me anything about the man?”
“Did you hear me, boy? I said it’s not your concern,” the dog said. He eyed the other two officers waiting in the hall. Clayman’s eyes darted down when he saw the canine motion to them with his hand. “Or are we going to have trouble? In fact, maybe you should just stay here and I’ll give Hamerveld’s estate a call…”
Clayman’s ears perked. Those rabbit instincts alarmed him the moment something wasn’t right. The officers in the hall were inching closer. The dog in front of him stuck out a hand to try to grab the bunny, but Clayman was too quick. He jerked back and twisted around, flinging the door open and racing into the darkness outside. He heard the dog shouting after him, but he didn’t stop to look back. The rabbit kept his head down and ran until his breath ran short. By a stroke of luck, he had run in the direction of the hotel, ending just down the road from it. Clayman’s head spun. How foolish could he have been? Of course the police would be in Hamerveld’s pocket. He wondered how terrible his mistake was to spread around his reason for being in Sik. Had he traveled here only to get himself in the same position? He couldn’t risk it. He would lock himself into his hotel room for the night. As soon as dawn broke, he’d return to the boat and go back to the States. Nothing could be done here on his own, not if the police served Hamerveld. As much as he hated leaving without Eliza, he would have to enlist help. Perhaps contact the embassy, or find an investigator back in Louisiana who was willing to take up the task.
The thoughts flowing through his mind halted as he approached the hotel façade. Clayman’s eyes darted around. Shivers ran down him when he realized that he hadn’t seen anyone amongst the hovels since sunset. Since he left the hotel. Not a soul or a sound was to be found in the streets. He bit his lip and shrugged his shoulders. He feared he was getting paranoid again. Perhaps such stillness was normal for this place. Maybe it only bothered him because he was used to the constant movement and noise of Chicago. But as much as he tried to explain it to himself, he couldn’t help but feel terror and choking pressure in the air. The bunny hurried up the hotel steps and darted in the door. He pressed it shut with a sigh.
Clayman frowned. He reached his arms out into the darkness of the lobby, trying to feel his way to the hall. He grumbled that Wouj could have had the decency to leave a lamp or candle out for him. The rabbit gasped and tumbled to the floor when his foot caught a loose board, hitting the ground with a bang. Picking himself up, he froze. His floppy ears twitched at the sound. Faint, but he was certain it was there. Someone else was in the room. Clutching his hands together, he stepped forward and called out, asking if anyone was there. There was no answer. Now quaking, sweat forming on his brow, he twisted back towards the entrance. No sooner had he reached the knob when a pair of powerful arms squeezed around his middle and lifted him off the floor. His wail pierced the stillness. Someone else rushed from behind the counter and snatched his legs into their grip, ending Clayman’s blind squirming. In his panic, he cried out to the darkness, hoping that someone would help him. But either no one heard him, or they did not care. The two figures carried him through the hall and up the stairs. They swiftly spirited him to his room and threw him onto the hardwood floor. The two bolted the door behind them.
Clayman pushed himself onto his knees and stopped slack-jawed at the sight. In the dim candlelight of the room, he saw Wouj and the two wolves that’d carried his bags earlier. Gone was the welcoming mask on her muzzle. In its place were a scowl and a fierce glare. Clayman stared up at her, darting his eyes between the fox and the wolves behind him. Trembling, he clutched his hands together and blinked.
“M-Miss Wouj? What is the meaning of this?” he said.
“Do you think I’m stupid, darling? You and your friends come to my home and think I don’t know what’s going on. You will give me an explanation, and you will give it to me now,” she said.
“An explanation of what? I was the one dragged here against my will,” he said. Clayman swallowed hard and craned his neck back to glimpse the wolves. They stared down at him, arms crossed over their chests, eyes flashing hot. He looked back to Wouj and suddenly realized how poor of a situation he was in. Did they intend to rob him? Kill him? Did Eliza befall the same fate? His heart smashed at his chest. “Look, if you do not want me here, I won’t cause any trouble. I will leave immediately…”
“Quiet, boy. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’re with Hamerveld. One of his fools come to make us his puppets. Tell us where they are,” said Wouj.
“Hamerveld? I told you before what I’m here for. I’m not with Hamerveld, I’m looking for him,” said Clayman. He stared at the fox, bewildered. His mind grew faint and his frame trembled at his confusion and the crushing heat of the room. The rabbit’s fear mingled with anger as the gravity of his circumstances hit him. He’d done nothing wrong. He was here to find Eliza, and that was all. He shook his head and gathered his wits, saying, “I don’t know what you’re looking for or who you think I am, but you don’t know what you’re mistaken. I’ve never even met Hamerveld.”
“So, that’s how you will be? You truly believe you can play dumb? You know full well what I’m talking about. And you will tell me, whether you want to or not,” said Wouj. She barked something in Creole to the wolves, who lunged forward and grabbed Clayman again. He yelled out and thrashed in their arms, but the rabbit was no match for them. One of the wolves looped his arms with Clayman’s, holding them fast. The other wrapped an arm around his ankles. The beasts growled out some Creole, snarling and taunting him.
“Let me go! Don’t touch me, you half-bred degenerates!” said Clayman. His fear gave way to fury. He tugged in vain against the wolves. They bellowed laughter and threw out more incomprehensible taunts. The rabbit clenched his teeth and shot Wouj a glare.
Wouj walked forward and delivered a stinging slap across his face. It ended his tirade with a whimper. The bunny clenched his eyes and lowered his face, expecting another hit. Wouj smirked. She loved that look. Seeing a defeated grimace on an American instead of one of her own people was a rare luxury. The fox woman reached out and began popping the buttons on his shirt. She started at the bottom, baring his stomach, and moved upwards, revealing his chest and shoulders. Clayman didn’t wear an undershirt. It was too hot for it, and his fur was already damp. Wouj ran her fingers through his matted fur to ruffle it up. The bunny gasped at her touch and his muscles tensed.
“Cute little thing. Fiery one minute and cowering the next. If you weren’t a lackey for that fool, you’d be entertaining. But I’ve lost all patience with foreigners. Tell me what Hamerveld did with them. Last chance,” said Wouj.
Clayman again proclaimed his innocence. Despite his protests, Wouj refused to listen. Instead, she traced her fingertips across his chest and dragged them down his stomach, a grin on her lips. In spite of his anger, this sent a blush over the rabbit’s cheeks. This had taken a turn he didn’t expect. He glanced up at the wolf holding his arms, who simply watched with a wicked, lusty smile. Wouj brushed the folds of his shirt to his sides. Her fingertips began to prod at the sides of his stomach, poking into his curves. His eyes widened and he twisted his hips as much as he could, jerking away from her touch. The fox’s claws scratched towards each other and dimpled into the soft flesh of his belly. She danced them in quick flicks, making Clayman bite his lip and shiver. He held his breath. Was Wouj teasing him? Simply playing with her prey? Or did she seriously intend to weaken him in such a way? Her fingers continued working at his stomach for a moment, teasing the hot flesh with delicate clawtips. She then pressed her palms against him and stroked her hands up to his chest. Wouj leaned in, her muzzle dangerously close to his own, and gnashed her teeth.
“Oh, what a soft little boy. Poor thing. Does that tickle?” she said. The fox laughed at his embarrassment, taunting him. She lifter her muzzle back away from his and reached her claws up in front of him. She threatened him with a jiggle of her fingers. Clayman gritted his teeth and took in a breath. He wouldn’t be insulted. He wouldn’t let these savages see his fear. The rabbit glared at Wouj without a word. The fox narrowed her eyes and said, “Have it your way, darling. You won’t leave here until you tell me what Hamerveld did with them.”
She lunged forward and clutched his ribs. Her thumbs squirmed between a pair while her middle fingers toyed at the bones. Clayman’s eyes grew wide. He gasped and tried to jerk aside, but the wolf behind him gripped his arms tighter. The rabbit shook his head, fighting the well of giggles bubbling up from his stomach. The wobbly grin on his muzzle continued to grow as Wouj refused to let up. She pressed a single fingertip on each of his sides and traced them down over the curves of his stomach. They then ran back up with cruel leisure, finally stopping just below the hollows of his underarms. The bunny trembled in the grip of his captors, panting, shaking his head.
“Oh, what’s that? Don’t tell me you’re scared, darling? Perhaps the poor boy is ticklish here, hmm?” she teased.
Before Clayman could answer, the fox poked her claws into the tender flesh under his arms and scrabbled her tips. The fox was not clumsy. Her prodding was not lazy enough to cause pain. Instead, the delicate dance of her fingertips only sent shocks of tickles over him. The rabbit couldn’t bear it, not there. The fluttering nerves in his chest and the knot of laughter pushing up from his stomach was too much. Clayman finally burst into a fit of giggles and squeaks. His back arched and he bucked his hips, his head pushing back against the wolf’s chest. He strained against the wolves holding him up, but had no chance of breaking their grip. They just watched his struggling with perverse glee. Wouj circled a fingertips around the outside of his hollows, claws barely scraping the flesh. After a few rounds, she assaulted them with all her claws, rapidly flicking them. Clayman could hardly breathe. Between the stifling heat and the torrents of laughter that flowed from him, he could barely get a breath in. His muscles were sore from fighting the wolves’ grip; his fur was drenched with sweat. By the time Wouj stopped tickling him, he was dizzy and gasping.
“Hmm. Still not up to talking? Annoying. I had you pegged as a weaker man, darling. Oh, well. We have all night,” said Wouj.
Clayman pleaded with her. He again insisted that he knew nothing of Hamerveld. But Wouj would have none of it. She snubbed her nose at him and huffed. The fox twisted around and walked away, her breezy dress flowing with each step. She stopped in front of the wolf who held Clayman’s legs up. The canine had his thick arm wrapped around Clayman’s ankles, holding them together. Wouj spoke a few words between the two beasts in Creole. The two thugs roared out laughs and jeered at the rabbit. Wouj then took hold of one of Clayman’s shoes, scuffed with mud from the filthy streets of the village, and pulled it from his foot. It fell to the floor with a clack. The bunny craned his neck up and groaned. He was already weak from the tickling. The glow of a blush remained on his muzzle. He hadn’t been tickled like this since he was a child. Despite his exhaustion, he again struggled against the grip of the wolves, his eyes widening in panic as Wouj stripped his feet. It was useless. The wolves laughed and snarled at him. Wouj grabbed his other shoe and gave it a tug and a toss.
With a smirk on her lips, she poked her fingertips against the sheer fabric of his socks and slowly dragged them down. Her claws glided across the black fabric without trouble. Clayman would have leapt to the ceiling had it not been for the wolves restraining him. He cried out a squeak and curled his toes. He had expected it to tickle, but not with such piercing intensity. Wouj smiled, pleased with his reaction. She pinched the tip of his sock and peeled it off. She was slow about it, taking her time pulling off the damp fabric. She did the same to the other sock. Clayman’s nerves quivered in anticipation; his legs trembled and he hung as dead weight in the arms of the wolf behind him. Wouj leaned in and pursed her lips, blowing on his bared sole. The rabbit gasped and shivered. He clenched his eyes and shook his head, sobbing, begging the fox to let him go. Wouj returned his pleads with a haughty laugh. She pressed a fingertip in the middle of his sole, right where his arch gave way to the ball of his foot. Her claw dimpled into the tender flesh as she traced it in a circle. Clayman melted into a fit of giggles. His laughter grew louder as she did the same to his other hopper, working both at once.
“Oh, look at the poor boy. Does it tickle, darling? Does it make you laugh? That’s the pitiful response I expect from you pampered Americans,” said Wouj.
Clayman didn’t know anymore whether she still believed he had information or if she just continued to torment him for sick entertainment. Likewise, the wolves licked their teeth and watched with demented glee. Wouj turned her attention to Clayman’s left foot alone. With one hand she clutched his toes and bent them back, stretching his flesh taught. With her other claw, she raked her nails down the length of his sole, again and again. They dimpled at the base of his toes, glided over the broad ball of his foot, traced across his arch, and stopped to scrabble at his heel before repeating the process. Clayman’s shrieks and laughs rung through the village, the only noises to be heard in the stillness. He no longer had the strength to fight against the wolves. Instead, he collapsed into a fit of hysteria. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. His ears flopped against the back of his head. His maw gasped for precious breathe between his cackling. Wouj sneered at him, throwing Creole curses, squirming her fingertips into the supple skin between his toes.
She tortured him for what seemed like hours. With his head spinning and his nerves on fire, he had little sense of how much time had passed. By the time he heard boots thundering up the stairs, he was spent. The wolves snarled and threw him to the floor. Wouj backed away from the door. It splintered to pieces against the shoulder of the massive beast who tore through it. Clayman gasped for air and gathered his wits, awareness of his surroundings slowly returning to him. He blinked when he saw them. It was the police he had seen earlier. The dog, accompanied by six other officers. They crammed into the little room. The dog cornered Wouj and the wolves, the three of them shouting at each other in their native tongue. Clayman, in his embarrassment at the situation, could only think to grab his shoes and socks. He put them back on and buttoned his shirt while the dog roared at Wouj. Clayman could only watch and hope that the police were there to rescue him. Finally, Wouj and the wolves seemed cowed. They lowered their heads as Clayman glimpsed actual fear in their eyes. The dog then turned to the other officers and barked orders to them in Creole, Thrusting his finger at Clayman. Two of the policemen lifted him off the ground and dragged him out of the room. He had no strength to resist. They pulled him out into the rain and tossed him into the back of one of their police cars. The first car Clayman had seen since he arrived in Sik.
His eyes grew heavy as he waited in the back of the car. He’d already tried the doors. Locked. In his depleted state, he would have quickly fallen asleep if he’d allowed himself to. But the rabbit realized the danger he was still in. He shook his head and straightened up in the seat. Each passing minute brought him greater anxiety. Finally, police dog and another officer stepped out from the hotel and towards the car. The dog sat in the passenger side and mumbled something to the other officer, who spun the car out. They sped down the muddy road leading out of the village, raindrops spattering against the hood. Clayman didn’t dare speak for some time. He merely watched as they drove him further away from the town center, speeding past thick forest. Where were they going? The rabbit finally managed to find his voice, trembling as it was.
“S-sir? Where are we going? I haven’t done anything wrong. It was Miss Wouj and her thugs…” he said.
“Shut up, boy. You should never have come here, poking your nose around where it don’t belong. You’re going to Hamerveld’s estate. You wanted to see him? Oh, you’ll get to see him,” the dog said.
Clayman grew pale and his ears curled. So Hamerveld was behind this, as well. Clayman knew that any pleas would fall on deaf ears. He slumped back in his seat and stared out the window, despairing, convinced that he would meet his doom that night. He watched as the car exited the forest, coming to a chasm spanned by a dilapidated bridge. Two policemen guarded the bridge entrance. After seeing it was their chief in the car, they let it pass over. The car raced across, engine groaning as it pulled the auto through the muck on the other side. The wild vegetation gave way to towering walls of sugarcane. Clayman sighed. A plantation? It must’ve been why Hamerveld purchased the estate. To lord over the populace like the Spanish slavers of old. The rabbit squinted and pressed his face nearer the window. He was sure that he saw figures out in the fields, pulling and tending the stalks of cane. Why did they tend the crops even in the dead of night? Did these people never rest? Clayman blinked and his jaw went slack as he watched. The silhouettes weaved in and out of the crops, never stopping. But what bothered him was their number. They seemed to flow out of the fields, marching in step, carrying enormous bundles of fallen stalks. Clayman could only guess at how far the fields spanned, as he could not see over the first row of canes. But his pondering halted when the car came to a sudden stop. In the distance, Hamerveld’s decadent mansion could be seen. Looking like a manor pulled from the days of French colony, it was a jarring contrast to the crumbling structures in the village.
“End of the line, boy,” said the dog.
He pushed open the door and roared out to the field workers in Creole. Clayman shrunk back in his seat and quivered. He yelled as the dog pulled him out of the car by his collar. The rabbit first thought to twist out of the dog’s grip. But he knew that even if the field hands didn’t catch him, the police would easily chase him down by car. Besides, his legs could barely support him and he had nowhere to run. He just slumped down and watched as two of the field workers slowly plodded towards him and the dog. Under the light of the moon, Clayman was able to make out their figure as they edged closer. A pair of foxes. They wore nothing but sandals and skirts of cloth around their hips. Natives, to be sure. But it was as they came near that Clayman’s heart sunk. His eyes widened, the throbbing of his heart pounded in his ears, his blood seemed to stop flowing. The sight of them was too much for the bunny. Their eyes were dead, a monstrous emptiness watching the world without feeling. Their fur was ashen and thin. Their jaws hung open as if to speak or scream, but no sound escaped them. There was something terribly wrong with them. Clayman shrunk back from their sight. He panicked, twisting in the dog’s hand, trying to flee. But a smack against his head from the beast sent him tumbling into the mud. The dog spoke some orders to the two creatures in Creole, leaving Clayman clueless and guessing at what terrible fate awaited him. The foxes nodded to the dog, and without a word, lifted Clayman up. Each held on of his arms. He shivered at the touch of such abominations, squeaking and crying out. But the foxes just dragged him along, heading for Hamerveld’s mansion.
They thrust the double doors open and pulled him in. Clayman’s eyes darted left and right. The squalor of Sik was not found in this place. It was replaced with something worse. The entrance hall, for all its beauty and European fashion, was marred by the presence of more creatures, mindless sentinels standing vigil at every corner, every turn. Illuminated by the starlight filtering through the baroque windows, they waited to serve their master. Clayman remained deathly silent. He did not know whether the things slumbered, and feared that any struggling on his part would arouse their ire. The foxes carried him up two flights of stairs and led him down a hallway; there was not a window or candle along the walls to provide light. They took him to the middle of the hall and threw him into a room. The door slammed behind him and he heard it lock.
A window in the room allowed him to at least see the shadows and outlines of the room. He raced back to the door and fondled it, looking for a lock, but it was only on the outside. His side of the door didn’t even have a knob. It was thick and solid, and several pounds from his fist and shoulder did nothing to weaken it. The bunny collapsed to the floor, utterly spent, both physically and mentally. The tickle torture from earlier, the fearful drive to the estate, and his horror at the sight of the monsters had all drained him. He lay there for some time, staring out the window, pondering his circumstances. Is this what Wouj had meant? Had Hamerveld been kidnapping villagers and turning them into those vacant shells? Would he become one, as well? Had Eliza befallen the same fate? Clayman sobbed at the thought. The image in his mind of Eliza being wronged in such a way filled him with fury. Though his bones fought against him and his muscled demanded rest, the rabbit managed to pick himself up off the floor. He shuffled over to the window and pulled on it. It wouldn’t budge. He gritted his teeth and muttered a curse. He stumbled around in the darkness of the room, searching for anything heavy. He found a clay vase sitting on the table. He chucked it through the window, spraying the glass out on the courtyard below. He stepped out onto the ledge. It was thin, barely jutting out from the building. The rabbit clung to the edge of the wall the best he could and shuffled to the side. He glanced down. There was no immediate way to reach the ground. The fall was too high and there were no trees close enough to hop into. He had to look for another way. By a stroke of good luck, after shuffling around the corner, he came to a window that led into a hallway instead of a room. He smashed it open with a kick and climbed back into the building, letting out a relieved sigh.
Clayman glanced to both sides. His gaze froze on the end of the hall. In the dim light, he spotted the frame of one of the things. It stood there, watching him. Clayman’s breathing died to a stutter. His hands quaked as he stared at the creature. Had it noticed him? Was it aware? His questions were soon answered. The monster open its maw with a dry, creaking groan and began to plod towards him. Clayman gasped and stumbled backwards, tripping over his feet. He bolted back up and raced away from the beast. He shot down the stairs, past another pair of the things. He glanced around, frantic, as the single groan became an unholy chorus. The things seemed to appear from every corner, every twist and turn, running after him. His only salvation was that they seemed delayed in reaction, as if they moved in a haze. He escaped down another flight of stairs, to the ground floor. Freedom was close! If he could get back to the front door, he could escape into the forests. His head felt light and his chest ached with each gasp. The door was in sight. But a throng of the creatures waited there. The hoard behind him was quickly descending the stairs. Panicked, he jerked backward and ran for the nearest door. Turning down a hallway, he bolted to the end and flung open the heavy door at the end, slamming it shut behind him. He sighed in relief at his good luck; the door had a bar. He threw it down and locked the bolt over it.
The bunny collapsed down against it. The tendons in his legs felt like they would snap. He caught his breath; the air in the room was refreshingly cool. When he finally gathered his wits, he noticed why. He sat at the top of a stairwell which led down. It led to a basement or store room, he presumed. His rest didn’t last long. He soon heard the creatures on the other side of the door. They pounded and rammed against it. Clayman was grateful for its thick frame. He had no choice but to descend the stairs and look for a hiding place. He was surprised that the stairwell was lined with lit candles. The rabbit wondered why they were lit here, but the ones in the rest of the building were dark. At first, he thought he only imagined the noises. But he was soon sure that sound was echoing up from the darkness at the bottom of the staircase. He swallowed hard. He could not return the way he came, but if there were creatures at the bottom as well, he would have nowhere to run. There was no choice but to press on and risk it. Clayman didn’t know if he imagined the length in his tired and frightened state, but the staircase seemed abnormally long. The further he down he went, the louder the noise grew. The faint echoes were difficult to make out at first. Even as they increased in volume, Clayman didn’t want to believe what he thought they were. But as the floor at the bottom of the staircase finally came into view, he couldn’t deny it any longer. It was mad, shrieking laughter.
Trembling, hardly daring to take a breath, Clayman pressed himself against the wall and slid around to peek at the source. His heart fluttered at the image. Laying strapped to a slab was an unfortunate captive, entirely naked, surrounded by six of the creatures. Clayman’s eyes widened when he recognized the victim. It was the weasel, Hamerveld! The creatures squirmed their fingers against his flesh without reprieve, petting and tormenting every inch of his body. He writhed on the table, a cacophony of wails and laughter pouring from his muzzle, the expression in his eyes betraying a state of fevered insanity. Clayman’s throat went dry. He took two steps back. Why? What was this? Had Hamerveld’s own creations turned on him? If it was not Hamerveld behind all this, then who? Clayman’s head spun. Nothing made sense. He was trapped. He sat there on the bottom step, too afraid to move forward, listening to Hamerveld’s mewling.
It was only when he heard a crash that Clayman again gathered his senses. The creatures must have finally crushed the door leading to the staircase. He didn’t see them yet, but the sounds of their footsteps could be heard echoing down to him, coming nearer. But they wouldn’t have to bother. The noise had attracted the attention of the ones tickling Hamerveld. The six of them rushed towards the staircase, leaving the broken weasel to pass out. Clayman yelled as they fell on him, lifting him off his feet with unnatural strength. The ones thundering down the staircase joined them. The crowd of horrors dragged Clayman through the torture room and into a hallway, the rabbit kicking and biting and screaming. All of it raised not a trace of emotion or even acknowledgement from the beasts. As they pulled him down the hall and through the rooms, Clayman’s fighting gave way to defeated sobbing. Finally too worn down to do anything but give in, he was convinced the things intended to tear him apart. They stopped tugging him along only when they entered an enormous, luxuriously furnished chamber. The creatures threw him to the floor without a word.
Clayman didn’t understand the sight. He wondered if his mind had finally snapped under the strain. He blinked and shook his head, jaw slack in amazement. In front of him, a calico cat lay sprawled out on a plush couch. She stared down at him and smirked. Clayman sat there on his knees, trying to speak.
“I d-don’t, uh. Eliza? How are you, b-but what…” he said.
“Henry? Mmm, poor Henry. You look like you’ve been through a lot. When the police chief told me someone was poking around in town about me, I had a feeling it was you. Always so loyal,” she said. Eliza tittered and sat up.
“I just, I can’t believe it’s you. I don’t understand, Eliza. Wh-what’s going on? These monsters, and I thought, I thought Hamerveld…” said Clayman.
“Shh, calm down, Henry. I’m fine. I suppose I owe you an explanation, after disappearing on you and making you go through so much trouble,” said Eliza.
“I thought you had been kidnapped! I thought Hamerveld had killed you! W-why didn’t you return my letters? And what are these, these things!?” said Clayman.
The cat laughed and stood up from her couch. She slowly walked to the side of the room, speaking as she did.
“I did go to meet Hamerveld, as I told you. He had no intention of kidnapping me. Just as he said in his letters, he had made an amazing discovery. One that I’ve long searched for, myself.” Eliza reached a set of dressers at the side wall. She opened one and removed a small hide bag, tied with a leather strip. She returned to her couch and sat down, smiling to Clayman, “Come here, Henry. I’ll show you.”
Clayman blinked, fidgeting with the button on his shirt. His eyes dropped on the baggy she held. What great discovery could be held in a ragged sack? He stood up on shaky legs and inched over to her. She motioned for him to sit on the rug in front of her, and he obliged, his curiosity and bewilderment having erased his fear for the moment. She pulled the leather cord loose, revealing a loose, fine white powder in the bag. Clayman furrowed his brow in confusion.
“What is it, Eliza?” said Clayman.
“A special medicine. The extinct Indians of the island were the first to discover its properties. It’s been passed down among the slaves and natives for generations since. Many, even the natives on the mainland, dismiss it as fantasy,” said Eliza. She carefully synched the bag back up and continued, “Hamerveld, for all his bookish prejudices, actually managed to find something worthwhile. With his chemical expertise, he even improved its potency. Now I can manufacture as much of it as I need.”
“B-but, what is it? What does it have to do with all this, Eliza? Please…” said Clayman.
“Shh, calm down, Henry. The medicine has a truly wonderful effect. When administered, it cows the recipient into utter submission. Their will, their memories, their desires, all are cast aside to serve their master. Or mistress, I should say,” said Eliza. She tipped back her head and laughed. Her gaze cast down to Clayman. He’d never seen that look on her before. A superior, victorious sparkle. “I chased tales of it for years, Henry. Hamerveld didn’t know what to do with it. That’s why he wanted my help. The thought of such a thing even existing frightened him, reduced him to a nervous wreck. He was right to respect its power.”
“Eliza. Y-you can’t be telling the truth? Why? Why did you do this?,” said Clayman. Had he not seen the empty husks, had he not been chased and assaulted by them himself, he would never have believed such a tale. But what bothered him most was Eliza. Her violet eyes shone with power. She had been looking for the medicine powder all along. Now that she possessed it, had it driven her mad? Was the dark knowledge and the terrible power too much? He looked between the floor and her face, cowering beneath her. For the first time, he feared that woman.
“Because I deserve it, Henry. I’ve spent my life studying these people, making them matter to the world. I know more about them than Hamerveld or anyone else could ever hope to. They will return the favor. These are my people now, and they will do as I say,” said Eliza. Clayman’s ears fell flat. It was as he feared. She’d lost her mind. It was her all along. She had kidnapped the natives. She had turned them into those mindless things. She had kept Hamerveld as a plaything. He tipped his head down, staring at the carpet below him.
“Well then. E-Eliza. What about me?” said Clayman.
“Oh, Henry. Dear little Henry. You were such a good assistant. Always dutifully following behind me. I don’t need more slaves. And Hamerveld will suffice for a toy. For you, I’ve saved a special spot,” said Eliza. She smirked down at him and slipped her foot from her slipper. She pressed her leg forward, dangling her foot in front of Clayman’s muzzle. He swallowed. The rabbit glanced back at the crowd of thoughtless monsters behind him, then back up to Eliza. Finally, he stared at the dangling foot in front of him. With a silent nod, he cupped her ankle into his hands and kissed her toes. Eliza smiled. She didn’t even need the powder to control Henry. He was a willing pet.
Black Magic
Clayman stepped down the ramp and off the boat. The few cars in Sik did not move cargo. Even though the porters asked an exorbitant price to carry his bags to the hotel, he was not in a position to argue. The bunny wanted as little trouble as possible. The last American troops withdrew only a few months prior and the natives were still on edge. He trudged down the dirt road towards the center of town. The stares from the villagers convinced him that tempers on the island were just as bad as those on the mainland. It wasn’t just the glares. Something else bothered him. The moment he stepped of the boat, the air stuck to him. He’d never felt such heat and stillness before. The rabbit tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat off his brow as he followed the porters into the hotel.
They tossed his bags against the front desk and left without a word. Clayman’s eyes darted around the lobby. It was empty, save for the mole sitting behind the counter. Clayman stepped forward and cleared his throat.“Uh, hello there! I was hoping to rent a room, you see,” he said.
The mole furrowed his brow and glanced at the rabbit. He looked over him and muttered something Creole. Clayman frowned. When he left the States, he was in such a rush that he didn’t have the time to learn a word of Creole. He smiled and tugged his tie, repeating the request to the clerk. The mole huffed. His chair groaned under his weight when he turned to face the hallway and yelled something out. Clayman’s eyes darted to the hallway and he took a step back towards the door. But the rabbit blinked when a woman emerged from the hall. A grey vixen with a smile on her lips.
“Looking for a room, sir?” she said. Her accent was thick, but Clayman was grateful to hear English.
“Yes, thank you. Maybe something that you can spare for a while? I’m not quite certain how long I will be here, you see,” he said.
“Of course, sir. Don’t worry about your bags, the attendants will get them. Just follow me,” she said.
The fox led him into the hallway. They climbed the flight of stairs up to the second floor. Clayman thumbed a button on his coat as he followed her. The place was as dead as the rest of the town. He looked from side to side at the doors he passed, wondering if the rooms were empty or if the natives just liked peace. Not that he planned on spending much time in the place. There was work to do. The vixen stopped at the end of the hall and removed a key-ring from her pocket. As she counted through the keys, she looked up to Clayman and smirked.
“Do you have a name I can call you by, sir?” she said.
Clayman smiled and said, “Oh, of course. Excuse my manners. Clayman. Err, I am Clayman, that is. Henry Clayman, rather.”
She laughed and looked down at him. “Right then, Mr. Clayman. I am Miss Wouj. Do you mind if I ask why you’re here, darling? We don’t get many visitors during the rains,” she said.
“Sure, uh, Miss Wouj. I’m looking for a friend of mine. A work associate, actually. Erm, I don’t suppose she may have come by this hotel? A Miss Eliza Crown? She was in Sik to conduct some business with a Mr. Hamerveld,” said Clayman.
Wouj perked her ears. Her brows arched and she placed a hand on her hip. “Hmm. Eliza Crown? Sorry, darling. I don’t recognize the name. But enjoy your stay. If you need anything, do tell,” she said. She handed him the room key and left.
Clayman glanced over his shoulder to watch her as she sauntered down the hall and into the stairwell. Eliza wrote in her letters that she did indeed stay in this hotel. Why would the hostess lie? Or did she just forget? Perhaps Eliza had stayed at Hamerveld’s estate. Clayman shook his head and shoved the key into the lock. He couldn’t let himself get paranoid. If he was going to make any progress at finding Eliza, he had to stay calm and think rationally. Wouj had no reason to lie about that. Besides, if anyone knew where Eliza was, it was Hamerveld.
It didn’t take long for his luggage to be brought up by the clerks. A pair of wolves. After they left, Clayman threw the windows open. The air itself seemed to weigh him down. He peeled his coat off and loosened his collar. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. The bunny dropped his suitcase onto the bed and popped it open. Ruffling through Eliza’s letters once more, he searched for anything that may point him to her location. But the only lead he had to go on was Hamerveld.
Clayman worked under Eliza as her research assistant until she disappeared in the year gone by. He was only a minor aid, fresh from university study. Eliza, however, was renowned for her studies of Caribbean cultures. The mixed ideas of native, slave, and French blood, so long neglected by academia and shunned as savagery, were finally given serious study by Eliza. Whereas Clayman always remained in the States to organize her writings and deal with publishing, Eliza herself spent months at a time living amongst the islanders. Her interest was never in the cities, with their conveniences and comforts. Traditions and coveted superstitions were what she sought, were what led her to the hills and abandoned plantations. When she received letters from a European living in Sik, Nicolaas Hamerveld, detailing some extraordinary discovery, she left for the port with almost no notice. She’d been scarce with Clayman regarding what Hamerveld told her. She only said that the letters were written in the most urgent language, and that Hamerveld needed her expertise. Eliza sent Clayman a single letter afterwards, letting him know that she arrived in Sik safely. After that, nothing. For months, Clayman received no more word from her. He sent letters, each increasing in desperation, to the return address. But she responded to none of them. His attempts at contacting the port’s police also met with silence. By the time summer began, the rabbit was convinced that something must have happened to Eliza. Failing to find anyone to contact on the island, he had decided to start the search himself.
He tossed the papers back into his suitcase and pinched the bridge of his nose. Clayman sighed and slipped a newspaper clipping from his pocket. The single image of Hamerveld he’d been able to find. His brow furrowed at the image of the weasel. Clayman was convinced that he had played a part in Eliza’s vanishing, that he had lied to her simply to lure her to the island. For what purpose, he did not know. His best chance at information was the police station. Installed and trained by the Americans during the occupation, he hoped they’d be English-speaking and friendlier than the townspeople. If they refused to cooperate, he didn’t know how he would approach Hamerveld. Clayman slipped his jacket back on and pushed the door open. The sun was already setting and he didn’t want to be alone in the village at night. He hurried down the stairs and caught sight of Wouj whispering with the wolves that’d brought his bags up. As he stepped into the rain, he cursed himself under his breath for not taking Eliza’s advice to learn the language while he had the chance.
Fortunately, the police station wasn’t far away. It was impossible to miss. Contrasted against the wood hovels and rag-covered storefronts of the villagers, the station didn’t belong. Clayman scurried through the mud and grabbed the door latch. The bilious light of the electric bulbs still made him feel more welcome than the quickly-darkening street. He shook the rain from his ears just as the beastly dog sitting behind the front desk eyed him. The hound lurched forward and smacked a palm to the counter.
“You need something, boy?” he said.
Clayman inched forward and said, “Yes, thank you. Well, you see, I believe that a woman has gone missing. She…”
The dog narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to get a good look at the rabbit. “Gone missing? You don’t look like the type to have any relatives here, boy. What are you poking around for?” he said.
Clayman cleared his throat and thumbed the button on his jacket, saying, “Oh, well, she isn’t a relative. She’s actually my employer. She arrived here several months ago, you see. Eliza Crown, she was supposed to be visiting Mr. Hamerveld and...”
The dog pushed himself out of his chair with a wheeze. He started to plod around the side of the desk and said, “Hamerveld? You’re poking your nose where it don’t belong, boy. So how about you get back on that boat and head on home?” He stepped in front of Clayman and scowled down at him.
“Um, you see, sir. I’m worried about her. She always responds to my letters when she is on these expeditions,” he said. The rabbit peeked up at the towering hound. Clayman took a step back and shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t just leave. You see, I’m afraid that this Hamerveld fellow may have something to do with it. I was hoping that you could help me? Even if you can just tell me anything about the man?”
“Did you hear me, boy? I said it’s not your concern,” the dog said. He eyed the other two officers waiting in the hall. Clayman’s eyes darted down when he saw the canine motion to them with his hand. “Or are we going to have trouble? In fact, maybe you should just stay here and I’ll give Hamerveld’s estate a call…”
Clayman’s ears perked. Those rabbit instincts alarmed him the moment something wasn’t right. The officers in the hall were inching closer. The dog in front of him stuck out a hand to try to grab the bunny, but Clayman was too quick. He jerked back and twisted around, flinging the door open and racing into the darkness outside. He heard the dog shouting after him, but he didn’t stop to look back. The rabbit kept his head down and ran until his breath ran short. By a stroke of luck, he had run in the direction of the hotel, ending just down the road from it. Clayman’s head spun. How foolish could he have been? Of course the police would be in Hamerveld’s pocket. He wondered how terrible his mistake was to spread around his reason for being in Sik. Had he traveled here only to get himself in the same position? He couldn’t risk it. He would lock himself into his hotel room for the night. As soon as dawn broke, he’d return to the boat and go back to the States. Nothing could be done here on his own, not if the police served Hamerveld. As much as he hated leaving without Eliza, he would have to enlist help. Perhaps contact the embassy, or find an investigator back in Louisiana who was willing to take up the task.
The thoughts flowing through his mind halted as he approached the hotel façade. Clayman’s eyes darted around. Shivers ran down him when he realized that he hadn’t seen anyone amongst the hovels since sunset. Since he left the hotel. Not a soul or a sound was to be found in the streets. He bit his lip and shrugged his shoulders. He feared he was getting paranoid again. Perhaps such stillness was normal for this place. Maybe it only bothered him because he was used to the constant movement and noise of Chicago. But as much as he tried to explain it to himself, he couldn’t help but feel terror and choking pressure in the air. The bunny hurried up the hotel steps and darted in the door. He pressed it shut with a sigh.
Clayman frowned. He reached his arms out into the darkness of the lobby, trying to feel his way to the hall. He grumbled that Wouj could have had the decency to leave a lamp or candle out for him. The rabbit gasped and tumbled to the floor when his foot caught a loose board, hitting the ground with a bang. Picking himself up, he froze. His floppy ears twitched at the sound. Faint, but he was certain it was there. Someone else was in the room. Clutching his hands together, he stepped forward and called out, asking if anyone was there. There was no answer. Now quaking, sweat forming on his brow, he twisted back towards the entrance. No sooner had he reached the knob when a pair of powerful arms squeezed around his middle and lifted him off the floor. His wail pierced the stillness. Someone else rushed from behind the counter and snatched his legs into their grip, ending Clayman’s blind squirming. In his panic, he cried out to the darkness, hoping that someone would help him. But either no one heard him, or they did not care. The two figures carried him through the hall and up the stairs. They swiftly spirited him to his room and threw him onto the hardwood floor. The two bolted the door behind them.
Clayman pushed himself onto his knees and stopped slack-jawed at the sight. In the dim candlelight of the room, he saw Wouj and the two wolves that’d carried his bags earlier. Gone was the welcoming mask on her muzzle. In its place were a scowl and a fierce glare. Clayman stared up at her, darting his eyes between the fox and the wolves behind him. Trembling, he clutched his hands together and blinked.
“M-Miss Wouj? What is the meaning of this?” he said.
“Do you think I’m stupid, darling? You and your friends come to my home and think I don’t know what’s going on. You will give me an explanation, and you will give it to me now,” she said.
“An explanation of what? I was the one dragged here against my will,” he said. Clayman swallowed hard and craned his neck back to glimpse the wolves. They stared down at him, arms crossed over their chests, eyes flashing hot. He looked back to Wouj and suddenly realized how poor of a situation he was in. Did they intend to rob him? Kill him? Did Eliza befall the same fate? His heart smashed at his chest. “Look, if you do not want me here, I won’t cause any trouble. I will leave immediately…”
“Quiet, boy. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’re with Hamerveld. One of his fools come to make us his puppets. Tell us where they are,” said Wouj.
“Hamerveld? I told you before what I’m here for. I’m not with Hamerveld, I’m looking for him,” said Clayman. He stared at the fox, bewildered. His mind grew faint and his frame trembled at his confusion and the crushing heat of the room. The rabbit’s fear mingled with anger as the gravity of his circumstances hit him. He’d done nothing wrong. He was here to find Eliza, and that was all. He shook his head and gathered his wits, saying, “I don’t know what you’re looking for or who you think I am, but you don’t know what you’re mistaken. I’ve never even met Hamerveld.”
“So, that’s how you will be? You truly believe you can play dumb? You know full well what I’m talking about. And you will tell me, whether you want to or not,” said Wouj. She barked something in Creole to the wolves, who lunged forward and grabbed Clayman again. He yelled out and thrashed in their arms, but the rabbit was no match for them. One of the wolves looped his arms with Clayman’s, holding them fast. The other wrapped an arm around his ankles. The beasts growled out some Creole, snarling and taunting him.
“Let me go! Don’t touch me, you half-bred degenerates!” said Clayman. His fear gave way to fury. He tugged in vain against the wolves. They bellowed laughter and threw out more incomprehensible taunts. The rabbit clenched his teeth and shot Wouj a glare.
Wouj walked forward and delivered a stinging slap across his face. It ended his tirade with a whimper. The bunny clenched his eyes and lowered his face, expecting another hit. Wouj smirked. She loved that look. Seeing a defeated grimace on an American instead of one of her own people was a rare luxury. The fox woman reached out and began popping the buttons on his shirt. She started at the bottom, baring his stomach, and moved upwards, revealing his chest and shoulders. Clayman didn’t wear an undershirt. It was too hot for it, and his fur was already damp. Wouj ran her fingers through his matted fur to ruffle it up. The bunny gasped at her touch and his muscles tensed.
“Cute little thing. Fiery one minute and cowering the next. If you weren’t a lackey for that fool, you’d be entertaining. But I’ve lost all patience with foreigners. Tell me what Hamerveld did with them. Last chance,” said Wouj.
Clayman again proclaimed his innocence. Despite his protests, Wouj refused to listen. Instead, she traced her fingertips across his chest and dragged them down his stomach, a grin on her lips. In spite of his anger, this sent a blush over the rabbit’s cheeks. This had taken a turn he didn’t expect. He glanced up at the wolf holding his arms, who simply watched with a wicked, lusty smile. Wouj brushed the folds of his shirt to his sides. Her fingertips began to prod at the sides of his stomach, poking into his curves. His eyes widened and he twisted his hips as much as he could, jerking away from her touch. The fox’s claws scratched towards each other and dimpled into the soft flesh of his belly. She danced them in quick flicks, making Clayman bite his lip and shiver. He held his breath. Was Wouj teasing him? Simply playing with her prey? Or did she seriously intend to weaken him in such a way? Her fingers continued working at his stomach for a moment, teasing the hot flesh with delicate clawtips. She then pressed her palms against him and stroked her hands up to his chest. Wouj leaned in, her muzzle dangerously close to his own, and gnashed her teeth.
“Oh, what a soft little boy. Poor thing. Does that tickle?” she said. The fox laughed at his embarrassment, taunting him. She lifter her muzzle back away from his and reached her claws up in front of him. She threatened him with a jiggle of her fingers. Clayman gritted his teeth and took in a breath. He wouldn’t be insulted. He wouldn’t let these savages see his fear. The rabbit glared at Wouj without a word. The fox narrowed her eyes and said, “Have it your way, darling. You won’t leave here until you tell me what Hamerveld did with them.”
She lunged forward and clutched his ribs. Her thumbs squirmed between a pair while her middle fingers toyed at the bones. Clayman’s eyes grew wide. He gasped and tried to jerk aside, but the wolf behind him gripped his arms tighter. The rabbit shook his head, fighting the well of giggles bubbling up from his stomach. The wobbly grin on his muzzle continued to grow as Wouj refused to let up. She pressed a single fingertip on each of his sides and traced them down over the curves of his stomach. They then ran back up with cruel leisure, finally stopping just below the hollows of his underarms. The bunny trembled in the grip of his captors, panting, shaking his head.
“Oh, what’s that? Don’t tell me you’re scared, darling? Perhaps the poor boy is ticklish here, hmm?” she teased.
Before Clayman could answer, the fox poked her claws into the tender flesh under his arms and scrabbled her tips. The fox was not clumsy. Her prodding was not lazy enough to cause pain. Instead, the delicate dance of her fingertips only sent shocks of tickles over him. The rabbit couldn’t bear it, not there. The fluttering nerves in his chest and the knot of laughter pushing up from his stomach was too much. Clayman finally burst into a fit of giggles and squeaks. His back arched and he bucked his hips, his head pushing back against the wolf’s chest. He strained against the wolves holding him up, but had no chance of breaking their grip. They just watched his struggling with perverse glee. Wouj circled a fingertips around the outside of his hollows, claws barely scraping the flesh. After a few rounds, she assaulted them with all her claws, rapidly flicking them. Clayman could hardly breathe. Between the stifling heat and the torrents of laughter that flowed from him, he could barely get a breath in. His muscles were sore from fighting the wolves’ grip; his fur was drenched with sweat. By the time Wouj stopped tickling him, he was dizzy and gasping.
“Hmm. Still not up to talking? Annoying. I had you pegged as a weaker man, darling. Oh, well. We have all night,” said Wouj.
Clayman pleaded with her. He again insisted that he knew nothing of Hamerveld. But Wouj would have none of it. She snubbed her nose at him and huffed. The fox twisted around and walked away, her breezy dress flowing with each step. She stopped in front of the wolf who held Clayman’s legs up. The canine had his thick arm wrapped around Clayman’s ankles, holding them together. Wouj spoke a few words between the two beasts in Creole. The two thugs roared out laughs and jeered at the rabbit. Wouj then took hold of one of Clayman’s shoes, scuffed with mud from the filthy streets of the village, and pulled it from his foot. It fell to the floor with a clack. The bunny craned his neck up and groaned. He was already weak from the tickling. The glow of a blush remained on his muzzle. He hadn’t been tickled like this since he was a child. Despite his exhaustion, he again struggled against the grip of the wolves, his eyes widening in panic as Wouj stripped his feet. It was useless. The wolves laughed and snarled at him. Wouj grabbed his other shoe and gave it a tug and a toss.
With a smirk on her lips, she poked her fingertips against the sheer fabric of his socks and slowly dragged them down. Her claws glided across the black fabric without trouble. Clayman would have leapt to the ceiling had it not been for the wolves restraining him. He cried out a squeak and curled his toes. He had expected it to tickle, but not with such piercing intensity. Wouj smiled, pleased with his reaction. She pinched the tip of his sock and peeled it off. She was slow about it, taking her time pulling off the damp fabric. She did the same to the other sock. Clayman’s nerves quivered in anticipation; his legs trembled and he hung as dead weight in the arms of the wolf behind him. Wouj leaned in and pursed her lips, blowing on his bared sole. The rabbit gasped and shivered. He clenched his eyes and shook his head, sobbing, begging the fox to let him go. Wouj returned his pleads with a haughty laugh. She pressed a fingertip in the middle of his sole, right where his arch gave way to the ball of his foot. Her claw dimpled into the tender flesh as she traced it in a circle. Clayman melted into a fit of giggles. His laughter grew louder as she did the same to his other hopper, working both at once.
“Oh, look at the poor boy. Does it tickle, darling? Does it make you laugh? That’s the pitiful response I expect from you pampered Americans,” said Wouj.
Clayman didn’t know anymore whether she still believed he had information or if she just continued to torment him for sick entertainment. Likewise, the wolves licked their teeth and watched with demented glee. Wouj turned her attention to Clayman’s left foot alone. With one hand she clutched his toes and bent them back, stretching his flesh taught. With her other claw, she raked her nails down the length of his sole, again and again. They dimpled at the base of his toes, glided over the broad ball of his foot, traced across his arch, and stopped to scrabble at his heel before repeating the process. Clayman’s shrieks and laughs rung through the village, the only noises to be heard in the stillness. He no longer had the strength to fight against the wolves. Instead, he collapsed into a fit of hysteria. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes. His ears flopped against the back of his head. His maw gasped for precious breathe between his cackling. Wouj sneered at him, throwing Creole curses, squirming her fingertips into the supple skin between his toes.
She tortured him for what seemed like hours. With his head spinning and his nerves on fire, he had little sense of how much time had passed. By the time he heard boots thundering up the stairs, he was spent. The wolves snarled and threw him to the floor. Wouj backed away from the door. It splintered to pieces against the shoulder of the massive beast who tore through it. Clayman gasped for air and gathered his wits, awareness of his surroundings slowly returning to him. He blinked when he saw them. It was the police he had seen earlier. The dog, accompanied by six other officers. They crammed into the little room. The dog cornered Wouj and the wolves, the three of them shouting at each other in their native tongue. Clayman, in his embarrassment at the situation, could only think to grab his shoes and socks. He put them back on and buttoned his shirt while the dog roared at Wouj. Clayman could only watch and hope that the police were there to rescue him. Finally, Wouj and the wolves seemed cowed. They lowered their heads as Clayman glimpsed actual fear in their eyes. The dog then turned to the other officers and barked orders to them in Creole, Thrusting his finger at Clayman. Two of the policemen lifted him off the ground and dragged him out of the room. He had no strength to resist. They pulled him out into the rain and tossed him into the back of one of their police cars. The first car Clayman had seen since he arrived in Sik.
His eyes grew heavy as he waited in the back of the car. He’d already tried the doors. Locked. In his depleted state, he would have quickly fallen asleep if he’d allowed himself to. But the rabbit realized the danger he was still in. He shook his head and straightened up in the seat. Each passing minute brought him greater anxiety. Finally, police dog and another officer stepped out from the hotel and towards the car. The dog sat in the passenger side and mumbled something to the other officer, who spun the car out. They sped down the muddy road leading out of the village, raindrops spattering against the hood. Clayman didn’t dare speak for some time. He merely watched as they drove him further away from the town center, speeding past thick forest. Where were they going? The rabbit finally managed to find his voice, trembling as it was.
“S-sir? Where are we going? I haven’t done anything wrong. It was Miss Wouj and her thugs…” he said.
“Shut up, boy. You should never have come here, poking your nose around where it don’t belong. You’re going to Hamerveld’s estate. You wanted to see him? Oh, you’ll get to see him,” the dog said.
Clayman grew pale and his ears curled. So Hamerveld was behind this, as well. Clayman knew that any pleas would fall on deaf ears. He slumped back in his seat and stared out the window, despairing, convinced that he would meet his doom that night. He watched as the car exited the forest, coming to a chasm spanned by a dilapidated bridge. Two policemen guarded the bridge entrance. After seeing it was their chief in the car, they let it pass over. The car raced across, engine groaning as it pulled the auto through the muck on the other side. The wild vegetation gave way to towering walls of sugarcane. Clayman sighed. A plantation? It must’ve been why Hamerveld purchased the estate. To lord over the populace like the Spanish slavers of old. The rabbit squinted and pressed his face nearer the window. He was sure that he saw figures out in the fields, pulling and tending the stalks of cane. Why did they tend the crops even in the dead of night? Did these people never rest? Clayman blinked and his jaw went slack as he watched. The silhouettes weaved in and out of the crops, never stopping. But what bothered him was their number. They seemed to flow out of the fields, marching in step, carrying enormous bundles of fallen stalks. Clayman could only guess at how far the fields spanned, as he could not see over the first row of canes. But his pondering halted when the car came to a sudden stop. In the distance, Hamerveld’s decadent mansion could be seen. Looking like a manor pulled from the days of French colony, it was a jarring contrast to the crumbling structures in the village.
“End of the line, boy,” said the dog.
He pushed open the door and roared out to the field workers in Creole. Clayman shrunk back in his seat and quivered. He yelled as the dog pulled him out of the car by his collar. The rabbit first thought to twist out of the dog’s grip. But he knew that even if the field hands didn’t catch him, the police would easily chase him down by car. Besides, his legs could barely support him and he had nowhere to run. He just slumped down and watched as two of the field workers slowly plodded towards him and the dog. Under the light of the moon, Clayman was able to make out their figure as they edged closer. A pair of foxes. They wore nothing but sandals and skirts of cloth around their hips. Natives, to be sure. But it was as they came near that Clayman’s heart sunk. His eyes widened, the throbbing of his heart pounded in his ears, his blood seemed to stop flowing. The sight of them was too much for the bunny. Their eyes were dead, a monstrous emptiness watching the world without feeling. Their fur was ashen and thin. Their jaws hung open as if to speak or scream, but no sound escaped them. There was something terribly wrong with them. Clayman shrunk back from their sight. He panicked, twisting in the dog’s hand, trying to flee. But a smack against his head from the beast sent him tumbling into the mud. The dog spoke some orders to the two creatures in Creole, leaving Clayman clueless and guessing at what terrible fate awaited him. The foxes nodded to the dog, and without a word, lifted Clayman up. Each held on of his arms. He shivered at the touch of such abominations, squeaking and crying out. But the foxes just dragged him along, heading for Hamerveld’s mansion.
They thrust the double doors open and pulled him in. Clayman’s eyes darted left and right. The squalor of Sik was not found in this place. It was replaced with something worse. The entrance hall, for all its beauty and European fashion, was marred by the presence of more creatures, mindless sentinels standing vigil at every corner, every turn. Illuminated by the starlight filtering through the baroque windows, they waited to serve their master. Clayman remained deathly silent. He did not know whether the things slumbered, and feared that any struggling on his part would arouse their ire. The foxes carried him up two flights of stairs and led him down a hallway; there was not a window or candle along the walls to provide light. They took him to the middle of the hall and threw him into a room. The door slammed behind him and he heard it lock.
A window in the room allowed him to at least see the shadows and outlines of the room. He raced back to the door and fondled it, looking for a lock, but it was only on the outside. His side of the door didn’t even have a knob. It was thick and solid, and several pounds from his fist and shoulder did nothing to weaken it. The bunny collapsed to the floor, utterly spent, both physically and mentally. The tickle torture from earlier, the fearful drive to the estate, and his horror at the sight of the monsters had all drained him. He lay there for some time, staring out the window, pondering his circumstances. Is this what Wouj had meant? Had Hamerveld been kidnapping villagers and turning them into those vacant shells? Would he become one, as well? Had Eliza befallen the same fate? Clayman sobbed at the thought. The image in his mind of Eliza being wronged in such a way filled him with fury. Though his bones fought against him and his muscled demanded rest, the rabbit managed to pick himself up off the floor. He shuffled over to the window and pulled on it. It wouldn’t budge. He gritted his teeth and muttered a curse. He stumbled around in the darkness of the room, searching for anything heavy. He found a clay vase sitting on the table. He chucked it through the window, spraying the glass out on the courtyard below. He stepped out onto the ledge. It was thin, barely jutting out from the building. The rabbit clung to the edge of the wall the best he could and shuffled to the side. He glanced down. There was no immediate way to reach the ground. The fall was too high and there were no trees close enough to hop into. He had to look for another way. By a stroke of good luck, after shuffling around the corner, he came to a window that led into a hallway instead of a room. He smashed it open with a kick and climbed back into the building, letting out a relieved sigh.
Clayman glanced to both sides. His gaze froze on the end of the hall. In the dim light, he spotted the frame of one of the things. It stood there, watching him. Clayman’s breathing died to a stutter. His hands quaked as he stared at the creature. Had it noticed him? Was it aware? His questions were soon answered. The monster open its maw with a dry, creaking groan and began to plod towards him. Clayman gasped and stumbled backwards, tripping over his feet. He bolted back up and raced away from the beast. He shot down the stairs, past another pair of the things. He glanced around, frantic, as the single groan became an unholy chorus. The things seemed to appear from every corner, every twist and turn, running after him. His only salvation was that they seemed delayed in reaction, as if they moved in a haze. He escaped down another flight of stairs, to the ground floor. Freedom was close! If he could get back to the front door, he could escape into the forests. His head felt light and his chest ached with each gasp. The door was in sight. But a throng of the creatures waited there. The hoard behind him was quickly descending the stairs. Panicked, he jerked backward and ran for the nearest door. Turning down a hallway, he bolted to the end and flung open the heavy door at the end, slamming it shut behind him. He sighed in relief at his good luck; the door had a bar. He threw it down and locked the bolt over it.
The bunny collapsed down against it. The tendons in his legs felt like they would snap. He caught his breath; the air in the room was refreshingly cool. When he finally gathered his wits, he noticed why. He sat at the top of a stairwell which led down. It led to a basement or store room, he presumed. His rest didn’t last long. He soon heard the creatures on the other side of the door. They pounded and rammed against it. Clayman was grateful for its thick frame. He had no choice but to descend the stairs and look for a hiding place. He was surprised that the stairwell was lined with lit candles. The rabbit wondered why they were lit here, but the ones in the rest of the building were dark. At first, he thought he only imagined the noises. But he was soon sure that sound was echoing up from the darkness at the bottom of the staircase. He swallowed hard. He could not return the way he came, but if there were creatures at the bottom as well, he would have nowhere to run. There was no choice but to press on and risk it. Clayman didn’t know if he imagined the length in his tired and frightened state, but the staircase seemed abnormally long. The further he down he went, the louder the noise grew. The faint echoes were difficult to make out at first. Even as they increased in volume, Clayman didn’t want to believe what he thought they were. But as the floor at the bottom of the staircase finally came into view, he couldn’t deny it any longer. It was mad, shrieking laughter.
Trembling, hardly daring to take a breath, Clayman pressed himself against the wall and slid around to peek at the source. His heart fluttered at the image. Laying strapped to a slab was an unfortunate captive, entirely naked, surrounded by six of the creatures. Clayman’s eyes widened when he recognized the victim. It was the weasel, Hamerveld! The creatures squirmed their fingers against his flesh without reprieve, petting and tormenting every inch of his body. He writhed on the table, a cacophony of wails and laughter pouring from his muzzle, the expression in his eyes betraying a state of fevered insanity. Clayman’s throat went dry. He took two steps back. Why? What was this? Had Hamerveld’s own creations turned on him? If it was not Hamerveld behind all this, then who? Clayman’s head spun. Nothing made sense. He was trapped. He sat there on the bottom step, too afraid to move forward, listening to Hamerveld’s mewling.
It was only when he heard a crash that Clayman again gathered his senses. The creatures must have finally crushed the door leading to the staircase. He didn’t see them yet, but the sounds of their footsteps could be heard echoing down to him, coming nearer. But they wouldn’t have to bother. The noise had attracted the attention of the ones tickling Hamerveld. The six of them rushed towards the staircase, leaving the broken weasel to pass out. Clayman yelled as they fell on him, lifting him off his feet with unnatural strength. The ones thundering down the staircase joined them. The crowd of horrors dragged Clayman through the torture room and into a hallway, the rabbit kicking and biting and screaming. All of it raised not a trace of emotion or even acknowledgement from the beasts. As they pulled him down the hall and through the rooms, Clayman’s fighting gave way to defeated sobbing. Finally too worn down to do anything but give in, he was convinced the things intended to tear him apart. They stopped tugging him along only when they entered an enormous, luxuriously furnished chamber. The creatures threw him to the floor without a word.
Clayman didn’t understand the sight. He wondered if his mind had finally snapped under the strain. He blinked and shook his head, jaw slack in amazement. In front of him, a calico cat lay sprawled out on a plush couch. She stared down at him and smirked. Clayman sat there on his knees, trying to speak.
“I d-don’t, uh. Eliza? How are you, b-but what…” he said.
“Henry? Mmm, poor Henry. You look like you’ve been through a lot. When the police chief told me someone was poking around in town about me, I had a feeling it was you. Always so loyal,” she said. Eliza tittered and sat up.
“I just, I can’t believe it’s you. I don’t understand, Eliza. Wh-what’s going on? These monsters, and I thought, I thought Hamerveld…” said Clayman.
“Shh, calm down, Henry. I’m fine. I suppose I owe you an explanation, after disappearing on you and making you go through so much trouble,” said Eliza.
“I thought you had been kidnapped! I thought Hamerveld had killed you! W-why didn’t you return my letters? And what are these, these things!?” said Clayman.
The cat laughed and stood up from her couch. She slowly walked to the side of the room, speaking as she did.
“I did go to meet Hamerveld, as I told you. He had no intention of kidnapping me. Just as he said in his letters, he had made an amazing discovery. One that I’ve long searched for, myself.” Eliza reached a set of dressers at the side wall. She opened one and removed a small hide bag, tied with a leather strip. She returned to her couch and sat down, smiling to Clayman, “Come here, Henry. I’ll show you.”
Clayman blinked, fidgeting with the button on his shirt. His eyes dropped on the baggy she held. What great discovery could be held in a ragged sack? He stood up on shaky legs and inched over to her. She motioned for him to sit on the rug in front of her, and he obliged, his curiosity and bewilderment having erased his fear for the moment. She pulled the leather cord loose, revealing a loose, fine white powder in the bag. Clayman furrowed his brow in confusion.
“What is it, Eliza?” said Clayman.
“A special medicine. The extinct Indians of the island were the first to discover its properties. It’s been passed down among the slaves and natives for generations since. Many, even the natives on the mainland, dismiss it as fantasy,” said Eliza. She carefully synched the bag back up and continued, “Hamerveld, for all his bookish prejudices, actually managed to find something worthwhile. With his chemical expertise, he even improved its potency. Now I can manufacture as much of it as I need.”
“B-but, what is it? What does it have to do with all this, Eliza? Please…” said Clayman.
“Shh, calm down, Henry. The medicine has a truly wonderful effect. When administered, it cows the recipient into utter submission. Their will, their memories, their desires, all are cast aside to serve their master. Or mistress, I should say,” said Eliza. She tipped back her head and laughed. Her gaze cast down to Clayman. He’d never seen that look on her before. A superior, victorious sparkle. “I chased tales of it for years, Henry. Hamerveld didn’t know what to do with it. That’s why he wanted my help. The thought of such a thing even existing frightened him, reduced him to a nervous wreck. He was right to respect its power.”
“Eliza. Y-you can’t be telling the truth? Why? Why did you do this?,” said Clayman. Had he not seen the empty husks, had he not been chased and assaulted by them himself, he would never have believed such a tale. But what bothered him most was Eliza. Her violet eyes shone with power. She had been looking for the medicine powder all along. Now that she possessed it, had it driven her mad? Was the dark knowledge and the terrible power too much? He looked between the floor and her face, cowering beneath her. For the first time, he feared that woman.
“Because I deserve it, Henry. I’ve spent my life studying these people, making them matter to the world. I know more about them than Hamerveld or anyone else could ever hope to. They will return the favor. These are my people now, and they will do as I say,” said Eliza. Clayman’s ears fell flat. It was as he feared. She’d lost her mind. It was her all along. She had kidnapped the natives. She had turned them into those mindless things. She had kept Hamerveld as a plaything. He tipped his head down, staring at the carpet below him.
“Well then. E-Eliza. What about me?” said Clayman.
“Oh, Henry. Dear little Henry. You were such a good assistant. Always dutifully following behind me. I don’t need more slaves. And Hamerveld will suffice for a toy. For you, I’ve saved a special spot,” said Eliza. She smirked down at him and slipped her foot from her slipper. She pressed her leg forward, dangling her foot in front of Clayman’s muzzle. He swallowed. The rabbit glanced back at the crowd of thoughtless monsters behind him, then back up to Eliza. Finally, he stared at the dangling foot in front of him. With a silent nod, he cupped her ankle into his hands and kissed her toes. Eliza smiled. She didn’t even need the powder to control Henry. He was a willing pet.
