A Demons Heart

The night itself seemed to yawn as a small, dark girl murmured in her sleep. The breeze that blew in from her open window gently caressed her skin and produced a small smile on her face as it slid through her short hair and cooled her body. The body of the girl was not as tiny as it looked as she moved within her dream, but she was tangled in sheets and a floral blanket on a huge bed that dwarfed her.

She was so involved in her dream, about being thrust into the world of the medieval Knight and his pure Lady, that she barely woke when her movements tangled her so badly in the sheets that she could have been strangled. She also did not feel it when the sheets were untangled and pulled away to reveal her half-naked body. Or perhaps she did feel it and her mind translated it into yet another sensation of the dream.

After a few seconds, the air from the open window chilled her skin and stiffened her dark nipples beneath the T-shirt she always wore to bed. She opened her eyes, but saw nothing unusual in the darkness of her room as she absently touched her exited nipples and let one hand wonder between her legs as she pulled her blanket up to her neck.

When she closed her eyes, her index finger barely touching the entrance to her damp vagina, she fell instantly back into the dream she was having and forgot that she had ever been awakened. As her dream progressed, her virginity was taken by her own Knight and her finger moved on its own slowly into her slick tunnel.

She moved very slowly in a half dazed, half awake state as her index finger traced patterns around her swelling clitoris and brought stifled moans from her lips. As the man in the dream pushed himself further into her dream body, she allowed her finger to traverse deeply into her and she began to writhe with an orgasm that came in immediate shudders.

When she had released all that was inside her, her finger dropped out and she continued to drip her hot, sticky juice onto her starched white sheets. As she was laying in a puddle of it, the same gentle hand that had untangled her sheets reached for her again and removed her blanket so that she was exposed once more. The cool, crisp air of the night assaulted her pores and she let out a gasp as a singular sensation erupted from between her legs.

Her eyes abruptly popped open for when the wind licked her damp opening, she was brought to immediate arousal. Of course, her nipples stood firmly, demanding attention but she suppressed to feeling as she looked at the clock on the nightstand opposite the window.

It was 3am and she sighed for she was fully awake and very sure that it would be difficult to go back to sleep. She pulled her blanket back up, just a little past her breasts, as she wondered why she kept kicking it off when it was so cold in her room. She closed her eyes as she decided that she would pleasure herself a bit more so that she could fall asleep more easily.

One of her small hands massaged and gently tweaked the nipple on her right breast as the other found its way back to her warm mound and began to gently slide along its outsides. As she was slowly building up tension in herself, bringing her temperature back up, she barely noticed as something seemed to be moving beneath her blanket.

It slithered slowly towards her exposed mound and placed its hot stickiness into her as soon as she stuck two fingers into herself. She moaned loudly as the foreign object explored her and she removed her fingers to allow it to take up more space inside her. The thing lurched hungrily, pushing itself deeper as she opened her legs wider to let it in. She pushed her blanket aside to see what had invaded her dream, since she was sure that she had somehow never been awake at all, and she was not afraid to see what looked like a snake but was actually a huge, disembodied tongue.

She laid back down and allowed the tongue to crawl deeper within her as it darted around, feeling every pressure point that she had within the walls of her vagina. She whispered encouragement to the strange dream, thrusting her hips towards its advances, making it dark back and forth within her.

At one point, it was so deep inside her that I almost hurt her but the pleasure of it was so intense that she only begged for more. It continued to squirm and writhe within her as her own fingers began to aid her orgasm by rubbing on her stiff clitoris. As soon as she started rubbing, the frantic licking of the tongue within her increased its speed and her breaths grew more ragged as they were choked off by screams that approached agony.

When she reached a height that she felt she could not endure, her screams grew so strange and loud that she could no longer hear anything as her entire body ached and begged for that same release. It was only a few seconds after that that she was raised up in bed, her fingers pressing down on her clit, that she exploded with such force that her whole body shook violently. And then she fell back into the soft bed as it lapped at her sweet juices.

After she had recovered from that orgasm, she was soon asleep and the tongue disappeared, leaving behind no trace of its presence. It was when she woke, turned her face away from the window and opened her eyes that she beheld something in her room that chilled her to her bones and made her wonder if what she had experienced had been a dream at all.

She saw, in the corner of her room, a statue of a man holding a woman in a position that implied that they were dancing. The man was dressed in clothing appropriate to the medieval era that she had been dreaming about and the woman's hair was lose as it hung freely from her head as her body swayed in an exaggerated dip. She was smiling brightly, her eyes half closed in a delighted laugh most likely, but his face showed a displeasure so intense that it seemed he would rather drop her from the statue's pedestal and watch her shatter rather than hold her a moment longer.

The effect of the piece was rather disturbing by itself, but then the girl had to reach out and touch the thing and immediately recoiled. It was deathly cold to her, most likely made of something akin to iron, and the whole thing was black.

She resolved to find out how the statue had gotten in her room as she backed away from it in its corner and went out her doorway, noisily rattling the gypsy-like beads as she passed beneath them. When she had gone halfway down the steps, she suddenly stopped and turned around to go back to her room.

She had forgotten that she was barely wearing anything, but hurriedly slipped on a pair of panties and covered her large breasts in a gray bra. After that, she slipped her T-shirt back on along with a pair of shorts as she stepped into the Bugs Bunny slippers that her mother had gotten her for Christmas. By the time she got back down the stairs, her phone was ringing loudly and she ran to answer it, beating the machine by one ring.

"Hello?" she said as she ran a hand through her short brown hair and looked around her spotless kitchen.

"Good morning, sunshine," the voice of her mother greeted her.

"Morning, mama," she answered unenthusiastically.

She heard her mother sigh. "Did you lose another boyfriend, dear?" she asked.

"No," she answered. "I had a strange dream last night and this statue..."

"Aren't you a little old for nightmares, Shenia?"

"...is in my room and I don't know where it came from," she finished.

"Silly girl, your father brought that statue over last night, he thought that it might help you with all that daft research you're doing," her mother told her.

"Well, its tres bizarre," she murmured.

"I told the old fool not to bring it in the middle of the night while you were sleeping, but what he listen to me?"

"Mama, I've got to go."

"Of course not," she continued as if she did not even hear her daughter. "That man will be the death of me, I swear it."

"Mamma!"

"Yes, dear?"

"I said I have to go," she repeated softly.

"Ah, you have to get ready for class now," she answered. "Well, you have a good day and consider giving up a few nights of your research to go out and find a man worth having," she advised.

"Yes, I'll think about it."

"Goodbye, darling."

"Talk to you later," she said as she put the phone down.

With that mystery solved, Shenia returned to her room and looked at the statue again. It certainly was an odd looking thing, but she had no real reason to believe that it had anything to do with her dream. She shook her head as she stripped her clothes off and wondered why her habit of sleeping almost naked and rushing to put on something when she woke up had transferred from her parent's house to her own.

She knew that there was no one there to see her in the mornings, and that she could have easily walked around nude, but the habit had not gone away and she had been living by herself for three years. She shrugged it off as simply another of her many eccentricities and pulled a sun dress from her closet as she headed into the bathroom. When she passed the statue that time, she saw a white square leaning against the base.

'To my darling daughter,' it said in her father's spidery handwriting. She smiled at the thought her father put into all his presents to her, even if the presents were strange, and she wondered how she had missed the note when she inspected the statue before.

She shrugged that off too as she put the note on her desk, beside the picture of her parents holding her up and beaming at the camera, and went into the bathroom to begin another of her busy days.

The day was Monday and she washed away the weekend with a quick shower, a brush of her teeth and a song in the mirror along with the radio. Her parents swore she was weird for blasting rock music at eight in the morning, but it was the only thing that could wake her up and keep her awake without complaining too much about how horrid Mondays were.

When she was done singing her song, she put moisturizer on her face and sprayed her hair with a product that promised to make her hair smooth, shiny and soft. She then combed her hair into the same style that she wore pretty much every day, dressed herself, put her glasses on, grabbed a few things and threw them into her bag and hurried out the door without another thought about the strange stature or the dream.

Later that day, she returned to the house exhausted. She did not even stop to make dinner as she came in the house, dropped her bag on her living room couch and dragged herself up the stairs to her own room. Once there, she kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed without even thinking about undressing herself.

She was so exhausted at that point that as soon as her head hit her fluffy pillow, she was snoring softly and off into another dream. In that dream, her Knight was dancing with her as he whispered poetry in her ear and teased her body by rubbing his fingers lightly across her thighs.

He kissed her deeply, but it seemed that his tongue was in two places at once as it explored her mouth and tickled the hair on her mound. She moaned even as her mouth seemed to be being consumed by his and his fingers stopped teasing her as he roughly tore her dress away and thrust his fingers into her. She was aware that they were not alone as their dance turned to that, but she did not care as she pulled him closer to her and she moaned into his open mouth. As his fingers explored her, and her vagina began to coat itself with a generous amount of lubrication, a strange sound began to bother her in her ecstasy. It was the sound of a woman weeping softly, holding her sobs close to her chest so that no one could really tell, but it was a sound so sad that Shenia had to listen. The sound was coming from behind her in the dream and she tore herself away from her Knight, eliciting a cry of anguish from him, and turned towards it.

When she looked, she found that the woman huddled in the corner by herself was a person that she had never spoken to but was sure that she had seen somewhere. She began walking towards the woman even as her lover reached out for her, but the woman only continued to cry with downcast eyes as if she did not feel the shift of attention. When she knelt down and touched the woman's shoulder, she finally looked up and allowed Shenia to see the same face that she had seen laughing so delightedly in the arms of the wrought iron Knight who looked as if he abhorred her.

Shenia was sitting up in the bed before her eyes popped open and she began looking frantically around her room. The problem was that the sound of the woman weeping was not only in her dream for she still heard it and she was certain that she was awake. As she glanced around the room, with the light still on in the middle of the night, her eyes fell on the statue of the two dancers and it suddenly occurred to her that woman's smile was not a real one.

As soon as that thought occurred to her, the sound of the weeping died away and was replaced by an eerie silence that was somehow worse than the sound that had followed her out of her dream. She was sure that the man that the statue depicted would soon drop the maiden he was holding and come to her, crushing her unintentionally with his might. 'This is ridiculous' she said to herself as she got up, undressed herself properly, turned out the light and lay back down in her soft bed and tried to get back to sleep.

She could not return to sleep, however, for even in the dark her eyes rested on the figure of the man who held onto a lady that he hated. She rose again from her comfortable bed, mumbling to herself as she grabbed a sheet, and covered the statue so that it looked like any other exaggerated shadow in the dark.

Oddly, her mind accepted that as a distraction and she fell asleep without wondering if the expressions on the people's faces had changed or if the woman that the Knight held had become her. She simply drifted back into sleep and had happy, sexless dreams for the rest of the night.

When she awoke, a shrill noise was sounding in her ear and it took her a while to realize that it was the phone that she heard. She stumbled down the stairs, without bothering to grab anything to cover her completely naked body, and answered the phone with a sleepy yawn that gave up her whole situation.

"Shenia, wake up!" her mother shrieked at her.

"I don't have nay classes today," she murmured as she allowed herself to slide down the wall of the refrigerator and sit on the cold floor.

"No, but you have a lunch date with your father and its almost noon!" she said.

Shenia rubbed her eyes and remembered that she was supposed to meet her father that day. "Tell Daddy I'll be there in five minutes," she said.

"And just how are you going to do that when..." her mother began before she slammed the phone down.

"Shit," she said to herself as she went back up the stairs.

In the bathroom, she turned her radio on and tried to sing a little as she splashed water on her face and got through all her usual morning rituals in record time. She then pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater, ignoring the statue under its white sheet, and ran out of the house as she pulled on a pair of earphones and plugged them into her portable CD player.

She turned it on while strapping herself onto her motorbike and wondered when she had loaded Incubus into the holder. She shrugged as she wondered what her father would talk about when she got to her parent's house and if he would tell her where he had acquired the odd statue that seemed to be giving her odd dreams. For a moment, she considered asking her father to take it back to that dealer, but then she decided that it might be interesting to keep it around if only to see which path her dreams took.

Her parents only lived a few minutes away from her, so the CD was only halfway through a second song when she pulled into their driveway and parked her bike. Her mother was standing on the porch shaking her head as she poured a glass of lemonade.

"Afternoon, Mama," she said sweetly as she took the glass her mother held out to her as soon as she joined her on the porch.

"Don't 'afternoon mama' me, young lady. Where is the helmet I bought you for that hell machine?" she demanded.

"Daddy still has it from the last time he rode on my bike," she answered.

Her mother shook her head again. "Well, go on in the kitchen because he's in there waiting for you," she said.

As Shenia walked towards the kitchen, she saw a number of odd little statuettes and miniature versions of the things that she had in her room. They were all just as disturbing as the one she had had covered with a sheet the night before and she wondered if the creatures within it had thrown it off yet. She smiled to herself at the ridiculous thought and managed to walk into the kitchen without tripping over any of the little figures whose faces were all twisted with various emotions.

When she entered the kitchen, she found her father sitting at the table with a mound of clay in front of him and a try full of sandwiches behind him. He did not look up as she came into the room, and she did not speak to him as she took the tray off the counter and sat it on the table as she sat down.

She absently picked up one of the sandwiches as began to munch on it as she watched her father's hands shape the white clay into something that she thought could not be reproduced in such a medium. He was shaping a human face, her face, out of the fluffy stuff and she was sure that he would paint it bronze when it dried.

"You are a beautiful girl, Shenia," her father said without looking up at her.

Shenia said nothing.

Her father sighed as his hands expertly shaped the clay even as he looked up at her. "Your mother is right about you needing to find someone to fall in love with, but I don't want you to go into any bar with your makeup on like some common prostitute."

"Prostitutes are anything but common," she answered without thinking.

"You must know a couple personally," he commented as his eyes lowered themselves to watch his hands' progress with the clay.

She finished the salami sandwich and she reached for another one. "I do actually, but I want you to tell me where you acquired that odd statue you left in my room instead of talking about them."

"One of my friends had it in his basement, it was a work he said he inherited from his grandfather. Why? Don't you like it?" he inquired.

"I like it fine," she lied, "its just that it seems so odd."

He nodded. "I was under the impression that you liked odd things."

"Sometimes," she answered as she finished her second sandwich and began sipping the tart lemonade that her mother had handed her. "Now, tell me why you really called me here," she said once she put her glass down.

"I wanted to ask you if you had noticed anything odd about the statue."

"The only thing I noticed was that the woman looks like she's having a grand time while the man must be contemplating dropping her," she answered.

Her father smiled. He then took his fingers out of the clay he was kneading hair into to reach under the table and pull out a large black book that had an odd seal on it. He pushed the book towards her as he returned his hands to their damp work. "You'll see what the stature was originally meant to look like in that book," he said as she opened the book and began to flip through its black and white drawings.

She stopped flipping when she saw a drawing of a woman with the face of the statue in her room. The woman was posed in the same way, her hair blew and she looked just as rapturous as Shenia remembered her. The odd thing about the picture was that there was no one holding her in her dramatic dip, as if her Knight had been erased and she was doomed to complete the dance night after night alone. "Is this the picture?" she demanded.