Page 19 of Of Monsters and Mazes

He didn’t make eye contact again as he dragged his hand down his face, his neck, and down to his scarf. He gripped the material like he was holding on for dear life.

Without another word, he shook his head like a dog trying to expel water, and he grabbed his hammer. My eyes widened again, having let myself believe the horror was finally passed.

He lifted the mallet high above his head, directly in line with my own skull. I couldn’t watch. I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my head away, preparing for the impact to come.

Like it was all happening in near suspended motion, I heard the sound of the displacing wind as he swung, then I felt the impact of the hammer head connecting with the nail in my right hand. He started pounding his way up the nails once more, like he needed to better secure me.

Tink, tink, tink, tink, tink.

Still no pain.

No, I felt a warm spread of bliss that could only come from death, as that blunt weapon pounded into every piece of metal that had been speared through my skin. He took one last nail and positioned it over my heart. I waited for the swing.

The nail broke clear through my sternum, and punctured my heart with a horrifying pop. There was neither pain nor pleasure nor anything in between. I mentally prepared myself for that moment the world would go black: when I would watch my life play out before my eyes, and then run towards a tunnel of white. I waited and I accepted that this was the end, dead before I’d even started living.

And I hoped Jericho would take the best care of Pumpkin.

And then I opened my eyes, and I sat up on a table under the bright, warm sun. It was a perfect summer sunset, the sky still swirling with warm colors, and the clock still ticking with only six hours lost. Behind me, intricately carved violet stone walls, decorated in a cloak of ivy, created an imposing backdrop. In front of me, I was but a few hundred yards from the cursed forest. It seemed I was back outside the Labyrinth, as though I’d died and returned to my living hell.

My gaze followed along every point of impact on my skin, where a small black dot now rested on the surface like a tattoo. The markings were a story that could describe my death to anyone who should ask about it in this afterlife. No blood. No pain. No injury. Just a subtle reminder of my mistakes.

The only question was… was this life or was this death?

“Did you like that?”

My whole body jumped when his voice sounded in my right ear. I turned slowly and wide eyed, towards the demonic man sitting next to me on the table.

I was too stunned to speak, so he answered my questions for me.

“You’re not dead, if that’s what you were wondering.” He placed an arm around my shoulder like he was in any way my friend, then he leaned in and whispered. “But it was a fascinating illusion, wasn’t it?” The light chuckle that followed instantly took me back to the horror I’d just experienced. “Who knew one of your greatest fears was to be bled out on a table. Most people imagine drowning or falling, but no. Your imagination is something to aspire to, Butterfly.” Though he spoke clearly, I struggled to fully register what he was saying. “I’ll admit that even I was a bit uncomfortable with the level of violence and pain you were looking for though. I hope you don’t mind that I switched sensations midway. It would have been a shame if you had blacked out in your own nightmare."

“That was an… illusion?” My voice sounded hollow in my ears, while my body was still shaking, and my brain was struggling to keep up. “What do you mean you switched sensations?”

“I mean exactly what I said.” He rolled his eyes like the question was absurd. “You can call me Theron, or you can call me the Dream Weaver. Before you ask, if that’s also somehow confusing, I control dreams. Your mind provides the building blocks, and I use those tools to craft the story that you see, experience, and feel. So when I say I switched sensations, I mean I switched sensations.” His tone was laced with just enough snark that it felt a bit like he was mocking me. Theron placed his open palm atop my forearm and pressed a line of steady, massaging pressure down my dotted skin using the heel of his hand.

When he reached my spread, upright palm, he interlaced our fingers and closed his hand around mine, wrapping his rough fingertips around my knuckles. I was still too stunned to return the gesture.

Theron softly drummed his fingers on the back of my hand, then added, “Ordinarily I let the subconscious play out on its own, but occasionally I have to intervene. You’re welcome for that mercy.”

“That was a dream.” I parroted for further confirmation, my tone still numb and void. I wasn’t comprehending the rest of his explanation.

“Yes. Just a dream. How many times are you going to make me repeat myself?” His tone lost some of its teasing, settling on something neutral and almost bored. He sighed with an exaggerated disinterest. “It wasn’t real. You’re okay now, Butterfly.”

“Then why do I still have marks on my skin from where you pounded in the nails?” And why can I still feel those phantom sensations of having you inside me?

“That is odd, isn’t it?” He squeezed my hand with his, and it felt disturbingly intimate and comforting all over again, while I continued to slowly process the shock and trauma of the visions. “The images were all your own deepest fears, played out in a lucid dream. The damage to your body never happened, but it seems your mind was so deeply entranced that it manifested your words and your wishes into reality. Those marks will tie you to me so long as you’re in this realm. If you’re lucky, that claim might be enough to chase away some lesser demons.” He shrugged as if that was somehow acceptable. “You’ll thank me later.”

“The pain was just in my head? What about the way you…” touched me. I couldn’t vocalize those words, nor admit how good it had felt in spite of everything else. Everything about the dream had been a violation, and him being gorgeous, the sex being the best I’d ever had, and the vision not being real did not excuse the brutality.

“You want to know if I’ve been inside you?” Theron’s snort was mocking, yet confirmed nor denied nothing. He tapped his finger to his chin before he answered. “Hard to know, really. It all depends on if that desire was part of your imagination or mine…” The way he ruffled my hair without finishing that sentence sent a chill down my spine instead of providing comfort. He let it sink in to the point of anguish before he finally whispered, “You’re a human toy. I have higher standards than that, I promise.” He rolled his eyes as he dropped his hand to my back and gave it a pat. “It seems you don’t though.”

My expression flattened. My annoyance apparently rapidly sped up the mental healing process, because now all I cared about was putting him in his place. Were all devils this arrogant?

“Then how about you explain what happened to my bra?” I squeezed my breasts through my shirt, to emphasize the fact that they were noticeably no longer secured by underwire. This V-neck was way too thin to be going bra-less.

Theron shrugged. “When something is destroyed in a dream, it doesn’t come back in the real world. That’s probably why your marks are where they are, but also why you still have 90% of your clothes.”

He hopped off the table without another word, and now in the light, I could see him clearly. The small black horns that hooked straight back with his wind swept platinum hair, the innumerable, barely visible scars on lightly tanned skin that formed a vague pattern on his otherwise flawlessly muscular back, and the noticeably larger and sharper incisors that placed danger in his smile. His eyes were still that devilish blue, but in the sunlight, small lightning bolts swirled in their depths, while his scar stretched smile was truly something wicked.