Mother: A Gothic Tale

warning – this is very rough and a wee bit on the experimantal side – a work in progress for sure



                                                        –  1913 –


She is moving on her own now and it is a very queer sight indeed.

She can be seen about the caretakers quarters. Occasionally, she will even take the planking and explore the first floor of the lighthouse, her contraption of course limits her to the first floor, but nonetheless, she apparently finds the area fascinating. I keep the basement locked so that she will not disturb my experiments. Last evening I found her, in the moonlight, sitting midway between the sleeping quarters and the lighthouse. I had a feeling she was trying to watch the beacon, but this of course is an impossibility.

                                                  – 1907 –


I have done experiments with smaller creatures whom I have revived with the scarab spice. Some of the experiments planned and others by serendipity.

The scarab powder has revived mammal, bird and sea creature, it however does not work on crabs or insects, I have determined it is likely the exoskeleton that is prohibiting the tonic from working its wonders.

I once kept a headless rabbit alive for nine days, he was an amusing thing. He was emaciated to the point of skin and bones, his body had been squeezed so tightly that he was dragging his dry bowels behind him.

One evening, as I scribbled notes at my writers table, I saw the creature grotesquely hopping about and thought that he might be demonstrating the body language of a rabbit scavenging for food?

His interminable desire to feed, even without a head, caused me to wonder, ‘wherein lies the beast’s desire to live?’

I started by offering up a bowl of boiled carrot and dogs liver that I had ground to a soft meal. The liver was putrid and put off an awful scent. I placed the bowl on the floor, at least ten feet before the headless thing. I watched in wonder as my mindless friend hopped right to it. He then could do nothing but stand there, in front of his nourishment, unable to consume the life giving poultice, I thought to myself, what a hell he must be in.

I observed him for hours before there was a change. I had already gleaned that even without the main instruments of sense, a beast still holds a desire to feed, and not only feed but find nourishing things around him; even in a senseless realm, he is able to find those things that would give him life. I wanted to see if there were any other behaviors that would be exhibited, there were, and they would measure quite unusual.

On the seventh hour the rabbit started trembling. He then started dipping his headless neck into the mixture, to the point of violently pounding at it. The bowl tipped spraying my makeshift laboratory with foul. He then seemed to go mad, completely and violently. He threw himself about breaking all manner of supplies which I found upsetting, for they were rare and difficult to purchase on a caretakers sum. The rabbit continued to behave wildly until it landed atop the chemical cabinet, just below an open garden level window, whereupon he took his exit, breaking free and running loose. I stood on top of my wooden stool and looked from the open window, there I saw him bounce away in the moonless night, his escape illuminated only by the beacon above as it moved through the fog.

I think I may have went a little mad after that. The Cambrian wave of ideas that flooded my mind went from simple notions to ideas that would make the devil himself blush. The power I felt within was strange, I imagined it like a man’s power.

I needed more spice. I sent a letter to the Egyptian asking for an ample supply, my experiments could take years; with the miracle of the spice not yet known, I wanted to gather as much as I could, corner the market as they say.

The Egyptian sent me a note inquiring about its use. I thought that was odd, until the letter explained that he is a Muslim man and wishes that the powder, which is touted as an elixir for virility, be used for ‘wholesome purposes which would be fine in the eyes of God.’ I was not certain how to answer. I am a young woman, just twenty-three years of age, uneducated and an agnostic at best. I am now engaged in the practice of a science that questions the idea of the existence of a creator… telling that to a religious man and expecting to receive a quarter pound of a three-hundred year old virility cure, was utterly hopeless. I then had an idea.

My mother’s lover happens to be the largest sheep keeper on the island. I decided I would explain to the Egyptian that I wished to use his powder to increase coupling within the herd. Two months later I received the spice, it was inside a hand carved marble cistern, that was housed in a sturdy wooden crate, I opened it and tended to my experiments immediately.



                                                   – 1911 –


The Egyptian had made multiple attempts to reach the buyer of the spice. He had seen a great opportunity in the field of science based animal husbandry and wished to discuss her collected data. After no response he had given up on his pursuit and moved on to other ways to gain information.

He had subscriptions to several notable scientific journals, both academically accepted as well as some of the sensationalist papers that appealed to the scientific as well as the casual reader. It is in one of these sensational journals that he started reading submissions from an unaccredited scientist who was doing underground experiments with an unknown compound. He had a distant fascination and although he was torn between his religious beliefs and his scientific inclinations, he looked forward to these writings and saw no harm in following the research, even if it was an ungodly practice. The submitting scientist had claimed to have reanimated dead things, rodents, dogs and even a monkey. He had no suspicions that the experimenter was the buyer of the spice until he read a journal that noted failed experiments with creatures that owned an exoskeleton, the scientists reasoning was that the source of the compound being used, ‘had an exoskeleton of it’s own.’

The Egyptian immediately made plans to travel to the island, even without an invitation; he felt this his right since the scarab spice was acquired under false pretense. His plan was to visit the young woman and make his argument for her to stop and to turn over the remaining spice. The more he thought about the mission the more he started to believe that this may very well be a godly assignment, and by stopping the abomination, especially as it was being performed by a woman, he would gain favor in the eyes of God.

              – 1910 –


I have made great progress with my experiments since that first discovery with the rabbit years back. I have been conservative with the spice and use it only for well planned experiments designed for maximum return.

It was after my experiments with the monkey that I had decided to publish my findings. I was unable to publish in any of the academic papers due to my lack of credentials, which was fine because I wanted to remain anonymous either way. I knew that my experiments may one day lead me to an ethical crossroads, and if I had to do anything illegal to further my research, my anonymity would at least keep me away from prison, or worse yet, the asylums.

Asylum, I thought, may eventually be my fate as is. My mother had been touched and so had her grandfather. I grew suspicious of my own potential for madness when I started hearing the voices shortly after that first experiment.

I woke from a dream where I followed my rabbit around the island. The moon was bright in my dream and it illuminated the dead thing and I saw every detail of his rotting carcass. I was even able to smell the carrion he emitted. I followed him until he stopped at the edge of a cliff; for a moment, I thought he would jump. I felt him contemplating the action, then he turned and continued.

I was brought to an open field where I saw other headless rabbits, they began to have carnal relations and produced hundreds of scampering brood. I could not help but smile at the revelry.

Beyond the field I saw a light emitted from a cave within a mound beyond the trees. I walked across the moonlit field observing the juvenile headless rabbits at play, they seemed joyous and I was glad for what I have done for them.

I made way to the lighted opening, as I grew closer, I felt like I was being lifted up toward the sun.

A voice called to me in that dream, when I woke the voice was still there and it has continued since.

Many weeks later I was brought to the same place in another dream, this time without my headless escort. I walked across cliff and field and made way to the lighted opening. However, as I entered, I definitely did not feel like I was being lifted toward the sun.

I immediately heard the sounds of crying and screaming from within the cave. It was a song of suffering and was almost unbearable.

I heard the sound of metal being worked. I followed the sound downward until I could go no further because of the heat and clouds of sulfur. I caught the strong dirty metallic smell of copper, I looked down and saw that I was standing in a river of blood. As the cloud of sulfur cleared, I saw a wall where headless men hung by chains, they had been vivisected and their organs had been splayed by great beasts who stood on cloven hoof. They were toying with the innards of the trembling men and poking them with instruments.

I woke from this dream screaming.



                                                  – 1913 –


The scarab spice, I have concluded, after nearly a year with the female subject, my experiments have no practical application beyond scientific and spiritual curiosity. I am choosing to stop the experiments and move on to discovering other, less esoteric uses for the spice, and make leave of this place.

I was in a quandary and was about to decide on taking away the mobility of the subject and confine her to a permanent seat within the laboratory, keeping her alive indefinitely; or humanely remove the external organ support, and ceasing the delivery of spice into the bloodstream; however, the need for this decision was unexpectedly interrupted.

Finding the subject, as she was, it was apparent that these experiments were torturing her; it was with her last act that she spoke to the madness of her state, in the clearest way possible.

Seeing her like this, and seeing what I have done, I understood the self-serving motivations in breaking this God made beast; I must now, clearly fear for my soul.

                                                     – 1910 –


My Mother, she is a spiteful woman, jealous of my youth, intelligence and independence. If she knew how her drunken man came to me in the night intent on having me, intent on taking my young and beautiful body, she would throw me out in the street, or worse yet, send me to asylum, a fate worse than death.

Her lover, besides being a dreck and a wretch, he is also a spiteful man, with a reputation on the island for destroying the lives of those who do not abide in him. I am certain that the rebuke I brought on him was emasculating to the point of upping his ire and inspiring him to do me harm.

“You have a letter,” she called out, “a letter.”

It was early afternoon and she was making an uncommon visit to me at the lighthouse. I had been keeping myself busy building contraptions that would sustain a human under the spell of the spice. I had disconnected the monkey weeks ago and have since been scaling up the tubes, pumps and electrical machines in order to work with a human subject. Because the anatomy of my small primate was so similar to any human subject, I have complete confidence that I will be able to sustain a human. I was deep into my work when she interrupted again with the letter.

“I will be right up mother”

“Well come’n now, I haven’t got all day.”

“Can you just leave it on the table mother, I am terribly busy.”

“No, I want to see who it’s from.”

She sounded terrible drunk, slurring and pausing between words, ‘go away you drunken bitch,’ I thought.

“Hold on, I’ll be right up.”

As I walked the stairs to the steel door I had a momentary thought that maybe I would take my mother and do a live vivisection on the beastly cunt after removing her ghastly head. That thought immediately departed when I imagined what the interior of the woman would be, all cancer, and putrid, dry and trembling, gasping for want of love and water.

I took the letter from her hand, it was from the Egyptian.



My days and nights were long and my experiments were messy and complex. My mother and her lover had assumed I had gone mad and saw no harm in my solitary lifestyle. I think my mother gave up on me long ago when, as a young woman I had shown no interest in men, who unlike her, thought of nothing else.

I was comforted when my mother shared with me that the state had contracted her to the lighthouse for another ten years which would help assure me income as caretaker and time to do my experiments.

I continued to work with beasts both found and captured. Eventually I was given a monkey by an islander. I told her I boiled animals I found and cleaned their bones to wire and display. I showed her a glass dome under which was a mouse skeleton that I had purchased from a junker to make my case. The monkey was old and ill and when he died, she gave him to me in a flour sack. She asked to see the model when I was complete and I told her the process was lengthy but when I was finished she would be the first to see the wired bones.

I took the monkey and immediately removed his head.

I learned prior, after several failed experiments, that the spice conflicts with the brain and I either had to remove the head or scoop out the brain matter to avoid that conflict. I then learned that I could maintain the living thing indefinitely with minimal spice once revived. I did however have to feed the things as well as pick up after their urination and defecate, which grew quite messy at times.

I fed the things through a series of tubes, as well, I kept the lungs moving through a pump and the heart beating with a small electrical charge. One fully charged nickel-iron battery could keep a small monkey alive for a month before changing.

I was onto something and I knew it was important. I did worry that my mental health would eventually get in the way, so I increased the intensity and frequency of my experiments. I understood where they were leading and I started to toy with ideas on how to gather a fresh human to see if the spice would not only work with minor sentient things, but the ultimate sentient as well, man.

I started drinking whiskey that I stole from my mother and her lover to calm my nerves. I think that my mother’s man may have seen me in the pantry with the whiskey and saw an opportunity.

He entered the room above the lighthouse basement wearing a dandy smoking jacket and holding a bottle of brown liquor and two snifters, I think this fool had intention of seducing me.

He yelled down toward the metal basement door, “hello, anybody down there.”

I was deep in working with the monkey, I had done a vivisection and was busy clamping off his arteries.

“Hello, who is that,” I said startled.

“It is I,” he slurred drunkenly, “I have come to you bearing gifts.”

I heard him laugh, almost giggle, “I am the good fairy of whiskey and I…” he stopped for a moment trying to gather his words.

“No, please give me a moment, it is hot and I am not dressed properly.”

“Oh, I see,” he said with the devil in his voice.

‘Oh Christ’ I thought, ‘this will be interesting.’

I finished clamping the shivering beast and made my way up the stairs. I was in fact dressed in nothing but a cotton coverlet and hoped that he would not try anything. I have noticed over the years, that no matter the man, any degree of undress caused the common man to be riled. I stopped to look in the small mirror that hung on the wall before the stairwell. I saw lips swollen and pupils wide, and my face, she was dusted pink with the blood of the beast. Looking upon me you could guess that I had just left the bed of a lover. I wiped my face with a towel, then walked up to greet him.

When I exited the stairwell, I excused myself and asked him what it is he needed.

“I brought whiskey,” he said holding the glasses out clumsily.

“Thank you I said, I think I may have to join you in a glass.”

There was a small wooden table that we sat at, he poured two glasses and proceeded to stare at my breasts. This was uncomfortable for me, but I was also amused. He was drunken to the point of amnesia and I expected a glass or two would put him to sleep, which it did.

I went back to the basement and continued my work. I eventually heard him wake and sounding like he had the balance of a newborn foal, he exited the lighthouse.

That evening the whiskey did not work as well as expected. I started to have visions. I think my imagination was starting to project itself on my visual cortex and my auditory nerves. I would look at something and then imagine it differently and then I would see or hear its alteration right before my eyes. This was unnerving at first, then I grew used to it an started using this torment as a gift for creating virtual experiments. The voices eventually, along with the visions, became my companion, constantly assisting me with my experiments and observations; this relationship of disembodied imagination served me well until I started receiving instructions to kill my mother and worse yet, to bring harm to myself.

The visions of murder and self destruction were horrifying and had started to impact the quality of my experiments. It was around the same time that I started receiving letters from the Egyptian which stirred within me a great paranoia. I found that tobacco and whiskey helped me keep the visions at bay.

Eventually not even whiskey could prevent me from relenting to the voices.



The entirety of the time I took to read the letter from the Egyptian, she stood there nagging me about it’s contents. I quickly gained it’s meaning and then in order to avoid questions and misunderstanding from her feeble and wet brain, I told her that the letter was in fact from a lover, a navy man who was now stationed in Middle Asia. She listened to my phantom love letter as I dished her just enough to take her mind away from inquiring further. My mother, then in her drunken state confided in me.

“You know, he no longer touches me.”

I looked up from the letter.

“I see him less now, and I hear he has taken a lover or two,” she looked at me with her black eyes, exposing a bit of tooth rot under her slowly growing sneer.

I could see the hate in the woman, and at the same time the fear.

“I also know he is seeing the whore, the one at the pub.”

I watched as her face twisted while she spoke of the whore, then I saw her eyes on me.

“Look at you,” she paused looking at my body under my thin linen dress, “he told me about you.”

Looking up at me, she drawled, “He said that you tried to fuck em’.”

I just stared at her now. I watched her continue to spew. I no longer heard what she said, instead I imagined what her face would look like underneath the skin. I had seen images in journals of the sub-dermal construction of a human face, and I can say the images looked much different than what I had seen under the faces of the dogs, the rabbits and the monkeys I had run experiments on. I always kept the head after removing, respecting the animal and gaining knowledge from its workings.

I wanted to see what was under her skin; I wanted to grab her by the neck and push her up against the wall, holding her there. I would remove my grease pencil, dashing lines in strategic locations as to not destroy the muscle and tendon as I cut. While squeezing the sound from her hateful vocal chords, I would then use my scalpel to cut the skin across the lines I had drawn on her face. I then imagined pulling the skin, no, I no longer imagined, I actually saw the skin pulling away from her face as she spoke to me, detaching itself, flaying and exposing all of the glistening meat underneath.

I stared at her while she spoke, smiling and lost in this vision.

“Are you fucking mad,” she said, looking at my eyes that where obviously boring right through her.

I continued to smile as I saw her skin reattach itself to her face.

“Oh you stupid, stupid child,” she pointed at me with an upturned finger, “If he leaves because of you, I will send you away, that is a promise.”

After she left, I felt fevered to protect my things. I had recently built into the wall of the lighthouse a secret compartment, there I hid away my journals and my irreplaceable implements. The decision to conceal my work was well founded, for Immediately after this most recent incident with the letter, my mother had started coming to me, making threats and asking questions.

Whenever she spoke to me, she to would stare at my breasts, just like her lover, yet she held a mask of repulsion while her lover had the face of a child about to eat cake. I was starting to feel the weight of their oppression. I thought of the time I heard the voices and how they had wanted me to kill my mother or kill myself, they must know something I don’t, for both options would take care of the issue at hand.

I would often see the man staring at me. This had made me uncomfortable and I have now started to take on a debilitating melancholia. I had taken to sleeping in the lighthouse, even on the coldest of nights, just to avoid being around him. I would often forgo bathing and nutrition, venturing into town only occasionally for smoked fish, tobacco and whiskey. I was not getting much done, but the seclusion and the simplicity was comforting in a strange way.

During this time I spent in the lighthouse, I would often dream of the rabbits; same as before, walking the cliffs and meadows in the moonlight. I started to find my sleeping hours more comforting than my waking hours. I understood the world of my dreams, and oftentimes, I could even control them; this was in stark contrast to my waking self, who had no control of my environment, and especially the people in it. Yes, I have been able to start manipulating the things I see, but not at all like in my sleeping hours where everything was happening in a place that was familiar and welcoming. I would sometimes make my way to the cave in the hill, going deeper every time, it was there that I was sometimes revealed secrets.



The hate and treachery from my Mother and lover continued, I wished to get back to my experiments. It had been months since my trouble with them. I decided that I could at least prepare for my next phase of working with a human subject. I had no idea how I would acquire a human test subject, I just knew that this is the next logical step in my work and it had to be done. I purchased a flat of Spanish ceramic tile, it was kilned with a beautiful soft powder blue glaze, more like the sky than the ocean.

I spent weeks building up with plaster and then tiling a rinsing bay where I could clean and dress something as large as a man. I installed a sea water pump and a drain to wash away the blood and bile.

After I completed the work area in the lighthouse, I was still being approached and bothered by the man and my mother on a regular basis. I wanted this to stop, I wanted my privacy back. I even made consideration to bed the man on occasion to keep him and my mother from impeding my progress. My mother was in a wretched moral state and I thought she might even approve of such a thing, so long as I let her watch as I pleasured her man. I imagined she would like to kiss him while I milk him, I would not mind so long as they left me to my business. These were vile thoughts and before I moved forward with my desperate proposition, I decided to take some time to contemplate the situation.

I moved to still my intake of whiskey and tobacco, just long enough for the voices to come in. They have helped me in the past with difficult decisions, and I thought they could help me now.

After two days of no drink, the visions and voices came back strong. I started to have seizures and delirium-tremens. Lost in this state, I was startled when the voices started manifesting themselves as beings. This was not at all comforting and rather frightening, this did not deter me though, and I decided to go through with my plan. I met them on the cliff and behind them were hundreds of the rabbits; on one of their shoulders sat a headless seagull that I had performed magnetic experiments on, his head was still covered with the glass orb I installed on his neck to keep out infection.

I asked them about the reasoning behind the idea of bringing the man, and even my mother to bed in order to continue my work. They agreed that my work was important, however, they asked me to focus on the experiments and to avoid giving power to carnality of this nature. I was glad of this advice, but all the talk of carnal acts, had raised my ire, and as I spoke to them, I felt a heat between my legs. I asked the beings if I may go into town and take a lover for the evening, they obliged and thought that this was a splendid idea.



I felt a power between my legs, and she was strong. I have had nary a sexual thought and was surprised to find my desire for intercourse to be close to unbearable. It is said that the spice is used to manage the virility of a man, I can only assume that my handling of the spice has been affecting my female libido as well.

The scarab powder is a curious creature that is revealing her mysteries to me day by day.

Since my work with the monkey, I now have the confidence to work with living subjects. I had several snares set on the island which had captured me four bunnies, a fox and two rats. The plan is to keep them alive so I could proceed with a series of live vivisection’s. I wanted to see if I could keep the head functioning simultaneously with the body of the subject. I then want to open up the small beasts while they are still alive, so I could watch their organs at play under the influence of spice.

I haven’t bathed for two weeks. Not that it would matter much with the men on this island, but I wanted to clean up before my visit to the pub. If I were to take a lover for the evening, I, in the very least wanted to present to him something more than a giant talking rat, which is what I was at the moment.

I went to the living quarters to grab some things to wear this evening. I walked in, the lights were on and there on the carpet, there before an unlit fireplace, was my mother lying in what appeared to be a small pool of blood. I looked closely for the source of the blood and I could see that she had chopped at her wrists with a kitchen knife.

She had failed miserably at drawing an adequate amount of blood. If the circumstances were different and she would have injured herself more admirably, I would have spared the time to give my poor mother medical attention.

I did spot something next to her that could possibly have made up for her lack of surgical skills, there I saw two small bottles, emptied, of opiate syrup. Mother had administered opiate syrup to me as a child, its effects were immediate and strong. I remembered that it not only tempered my cough symptoms, but it also calmed my often wild mind. I had a frightening imagination as a child and would occasionally go into hysterics for fear of harm from the most trivial of things. My hysterics would often cause a coughing fit whereupon my mother would draw a tablespoon of ‘Heroin’ branded syrup. I would then walk about in a half daze in the most blissful of states.

The syrup was branded as a non addictive product, but soon my mother and I were both addicted. We would use it daily, I was thirteen and she was thirty-four at the time.

My mother had always been a beautiful woman, but the whiskey and the syrup were starting to take a toll. I would often see her nude, she had many suitors and from time to time and would emerge from her room mid morning or early afternoon to gather additional cigarettes and whiskey from the pantry. She has always had the most beautiful breasts, breasts that I desired to have on my own growing body. Yet I was struck at the lack of flesh they were starting to have.

Seeing her naked, her body was as if it had been left out in the sun to dry, like a years old rabbit, one of these dead ones I would sometimes find on my walks as a child.

I would often take the same trails in order to witness the progressive decomposition and mummification of dead animals. Occasionally the animal would go putrid, which was a process that I also found fascinating. Once I poked at a rabbits head with my finger and was surprised to find the the interior of the thing had been overcome by bacteria which had liquefied it’s bones. I was able to pushed through my finger, with little effort through its soft skull and into the brain matter underneath. I remember pulling my finger from the inside of its head and looking at it, it was covered with a multitude of muck and greasy liquids. I immediately ran to the study and wiped the liquid on several glass slides which I observed under microscope. She was a microscope that I had requested for the years previous Christmas. It was a beautiful thing, all gleaming brass and gears, she had interchangeable lenses, German they were, I still have her to this day.

That afternoon however, what was pulled from the brain of my trail rabbit, under microscope, opened up an entirely new world to me. I have seen many things magnified, not much different then what I saw that day. Previously what I would  simply see through the scope were the usual swimming alien beasts all covered with hair, containing within them small clock works that moved nutrients and elements within their small casings; yet what I saw that day was different, what I saw was resurrection.

I saw the rabbit as a self contained and living beast, a complex organism designed to maintain one life form had died. Then within the skin of the beast over a period of weeks had grown an entire world, thousands, if not millions of creatures that rose up to feast on the blood and meat. This understanding has left me with a lifetime of questions to ponder, most predominantly, ‘are we more to this world as meat, than we are to it as spirit?’ and furthermore ‘are we selfish creatures for not giving our meat to the world, sustaining ourselves just to contain one spirit’ and finally, ‘is the spirit malevolent to the flesh selfishly taking host of the flesh.’

Ultimately, I thought, the flesh always wins out expunging the spirit, or at the very least cutting of its resources leaving it to wither and dry, not unlike the body of my mother.

I remember, as a young girl, seeing her with her dry skin and sagging breast. At the young age of thirty-four, she looked like an old woman naked in front of me, smiling with newly blackened teeth, as she walked past with her whiskey bottle and cigarettes in hand. I remember seeing her body as a desert, with no reflection from anywhere on her body but for a glisten of wetness reflected from the patch of hair between her legs.

Now looking at her lying on the floor, I think that she may finally have done it. My assumption was that she only had a half dozen years at the most left, she had started to taken on a slightly ocher color, a sure sign of the disease of the liver. I am now twenty six and I see that the yellow woman on floor, might be myself soon.



I licked the back of my hand and knelt down, placing the wet side in front of her nose, the coolness I feel is slow and steady, she is alive. From the coagulation of the blood on the carpet, I could see that she has been there for at least four hours. That and the steadiness of her breath, at a healthy depth, tells me that she will live. She will be out for several more hours now.

I will take the time her unconsciousness is affording me to gather some clothes and take a warm bath to help transform me from the rat to the beauty that I still am. I would like to at least enjoy the walk to the pub, clean and refreshed. I will also take advantage of the situation to collect whiskey and cigarettes and opium syrup for my own use.

I have been off of the whiskey for several days now and I am past the delirium tremons and hallucinations. I have gained the knowledge that I wanted from my visions and aural hallucinations to feel comfortable with consuming spirits and tobacco. I desired my companions of smoke a drink strongly; so much so, the mere thought of drink made a feeling in me, a strong feeling, as though children were skipping on my solar plexus.

The pantry was rather full. It appears my mothers lover has left her, which explains her dramatic bafoonary. He must have left In haste, evidence by the dozens of whiskey bottles available. I feel free to take several, knowing that the recovering from the overdose will take long enough for her not to notice.

I had an idea, I cut a small piece of waxed paper and fold it into a small envelope. I then pulled up a stool to reach atop the pantry. I keep a small box of things up there, my thinking is, if there were ever a fire in the lighthouse, either due to a malfunction of its workings, or a mishap in my laboratory, I will have enough spice to continue my experiments. I unwrap the burlap from the tin. I use the small tin spoon I left inside to scoop out just enough spice for one snuff.

My thought was to take the spice, as snuff (the preferred way to administer for virility) to heighten my libido even further before I head to the pub. My hope was to find a man, any man, so long as he has a working prick. I would then take him to the old stone church, where I have known since childhood how to secretly enter the place, I would then take him to the lofted area and fuck him dry in the house of the lord.

One thing about my mother, the poor yellow thing, she did know how to make for a nice powder room. The room was dimly lit with mirrors around and a sitting area for applying make ups and powders.  There is a heater in the wall behind the water closet separated by a heavy oak door. The heater warms the room and also heats the water for the tub. I take off my dress and undergarment. I grabbed a wooden stick and lit it from one of the lamps, I opened the door where the heating machine was located, I opened the oil valve and lit the furnace. In a matter of fifteen minutes, the room will be comfortable and warm, I should by then be able to draw a bath as well.

I walked to the kitchen and lit the fire for the kettle. I gathered some tea and poured enough water in for half a glass, I then added some cold cream and whiskey. I grabbed a kitchen towel and with the remaining water in the kettle, I poured the boiling water on the cloth. I let the cloth cool for a moment, and not wanting to soak in my own filth I wiped the hair under my arms who’s musk was almost overpowering.  After I was freshened up,  I walked to the powder room with my whiskey and tea in hand.



While my bath was being drawn, I turned on my mothers phonograph which had one of my favorite songs cued up, ‘In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree’, and added a few drops of Lilly oil to the water.

As I soaked and drank my tea, I imagined myself being able to enjoy a bath like this every day. I saw my self living a life free of obsession over headless rabbits and vivisected monkeys. I saw myself falling in love with a man, or even a bohemian woman, someone that could bring romance and beauty into my life. I saw myself walking around the island with my lover and taking a meal on the cliff on a warm summer day. As I thought of these things, listening to the music, I drifted away and found myself, once again in what felt like a dream.

Lost in my dream, I thought I heard my mother outside the door of the powder room, she was scratching at it.

“Marianna,” she whispered.

She continued to scratch at the door. In my dream I could hear the flame from the candles flicker and crack, I could even here faintly in the background, the words to the song on the phonograph.

“Marianna,” I heard her scratching at the door again.

“Open the door Marianna.”

I tried to tell her that I was busy and not to bother me, but when I tried to open my mouth, nothing came out. I was sending the signal to my mouth as usual, I was saying, ‘no mother, not now,’ but nothing was coming out, it felt like I was malfunctioning, the sensation was terrifying.

I could hear the brass door handle jiggling now, and her voice was getting louder.

“Come now whore, open up or I will cut your damned throat open.”

As she continued to speak her curses at me, I struggled to wake. I was peddling my legs ever so slightly in the warm water, but I still was frozen in a sleep state.

“Arrrrrgh!” I heard her growl and pound on the door, using all of her strength.

“I will fucking kill you!” She screamed, “I will cut your bloody throat from ear to ear, bleed you like an blind piglet.”

She was now running at the door and hitting it with the full force of her body.

“You fucking Cunt!”

That last outburst landed her solidly enough to send her flying through the door.

I felt my self release, and no longer struggling to wake, I opened my eyes. I saw my mother slide pass me and go crashing to the floor. She looked no more than a pile of naked flesh, her wet black hair draped over her body.

She started to groan and she stood up. In the dim light she looked more yellow than she had outside on the floor. She stood there naked in front of me. I could see her hanging tits and mangled abused womanhood as they all hung from her body.

“Look at you,” she said breathing hard, standing there, head lowered slightly, her legs spread in a sturdy stance.

She inched closer.

“I told you I would send you away if you made him leave.”

She was holding her arms to her side, and at the end of her right arm, was an opened razor.

“I think I will just take care of you now.”

I could see her mouth open exposing her black teeth.

I sat up in the tub, pushing on the edge of the tub, I wanted to get up, get away from her.

“Look at those tits of yours,” she scowled, “you think your better than me, don’t you.”

I looked down and saw that my breast were exposed, out of the soapy water.

“You think you can use those to get whatever you want!” She made a weird chittering noise, “not anymore you won’t.”

In what seemed like less then a blink, my mother was at the side of my tub, inches from my face. So close I could smell the smoke and fish and whiskey, I thought it, not unlike my breath; except hers was also full of gut rot and cancer, it was a vile sent.

I saw her eyes looking at me, they were all yellowed and jaundice, her nose was full of blooms, she had the nose of a barrister, not the fine young woman that she used to be.

She dropped her eyes to my breasts and then laid the edge of the blade at my nipple. She pinched and tugged on it as I watched her move the edge of the razor cutting underneath the nipple and removing it. I looking down I could see black blood pumping from the hole. The blood ran down and mixed with the milky white water.

“Why mother,” I said, “why are you doing this to me,” I was still looking down, entranced by the blood swirling in with the white.

“I will consume you,” she said.

I heard a chewing sound. I looked up and I saw my mothers jaw grinding down on on the part of me she just removed, smiling with blood dripping down as she chewed. I was just looking at her, confused by all of this, “what?” I said.

She then grabbed me by the hair, jerking my head back, bowing out my neck. She had her face now, so close her lips were touching my cheek.

“I said, I will consume you.”

With that, my mother bit into my cheek with her black jagged teeth. She tore away and tugged on my face like a rabid dog while she drew the blade from ear to ear, across my neck as promised.

As I woke, I could still see the river of blood pouring from my neck. The vision of blood soon disappeared as I heard the gentle flicker of flame and the soothing sounds of ‘In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree’ once more.



       – 1912 –  


It is hot in this place. It is a terrible, miserable heat, wet, and unkind. It is a heat that grabs hold of you with an unrelenting embrace. My bag which I have carried from the road, is heavy and wet with the spoils of a summer rain. Oh, what I would give to be unburdened, please let there be somebody on the premises.

I announce myself at the doorstep. I did not know what to expect, but the condition of this place, is less than I imagined. I rap with the knocker and strike the brass bell with a small hammer provided. I wait and try again. Short of shouting, or firing a pistol, I can think of nothing else to do. Wet and tired and desperate, and I fear I have no other option but to seek shelter in town, which is at least an hours walk from here. I make one final effort then leave my bull of a bag at the doorstep and make my way round back in hopes that the caretaker is in the light tower.

I calm for a moment to take in my surroundings. This is a beautiful place. The black of the Atlantic was breathtaking, stirring as if she carried a storm. It is dusk and with every turn of the great lamp, the light becomes more and more visible as it cuts into the mist. I stare at the lamp and tower, impressed by her simple beauty. For a moment, I am reminded gently of my childhood in Alexandria.

I make way across a wooden bridge, a simple effect that traverses several ill placed rocky crevasse. The bridge makes for easy passage, but it is slippery with the heavy mist shrouding the area.

With darkness moving in, I see no light coming from the lower quarters of the tower, and I fear that I will once again find disappointment.

As I walk up to the tower, I happen to see a warm light coming from a small window at the base of the building. The window, it is open and I could hear the sounds of a phonograph playing. The tune is one that I am not familiar with. However, it was pleasing to my ears, for it meant there was someone inside. Alas, there may be shelter after all for this humble brown man.

Three months I have traveled to get to this place. My hope is they will be gentle with me. I wish to make friends and inquire about gaining some of the spice back. After my shop was destroyed, And my source was depleted, I had no other option but to seek out this female scientist who claims to be using the spice for animal husbandry. I am highly suspicious of this, especially after the evidence I saw in the scientific papers I subscribe to.

I arrive at the base of the tower, where I find a small, and heavy looking door. The door was painted white and reinforced with Iron. There was no knocker or bell, so I rap at the door with my bare knuckles, which sent pain through my arm. I looked at my hands, they were are rough and scabbed over as a result of a fight I had on the freighter. A horrid trip. She was an ugly vessel, swollen with damned and angry  men.  For a moment, looking at my hands I wonder if my appearance will frighten? I hope not.

I made my way to the open window. The music was still playing, but the song was quiet now, it was and adagio.  I found the tempo and somber tone of the piece to be a lovely and swell accompaniment to the pounding of the surf.

I kneel down and peer in the window, whereupon I find myself witness to something so surprising, it places me in a state of flux, making my mind incapable of understanding what I am seeing.

The young woman was naked. Her arms were gloved and covered with blood to the elbows. I could see her buttocks and breasts were also bloodied. I also saw that she had a shaved head, a look for a woman that I had only seen on my mother, who was made bald, when I was a boy,  from a nervous condition.

I watch in disbelief for a moment, assaulted by things I cannot understand.

I saw a beautiful young woman standing in a cluttered laboratory. She was standing in front of, what could only be described as, a biological and mechanical hybrid creature that appeared as a strange Medusa, mythical and unearthly.

‘Dear God, what is this hellish thing I see?’

The young woman turned around and moved to a table. Seeing her naked in front of me, she was unaware of my watching. I was shamed by my arousal and my continued stares, let alone my invasion of her privacy. I must say that I had been confounded by her vision. She seemed to be free of all hair and I could see fine cuts on her arms and legs. The marks crossed her body like fine crackling on porcelain glaze.

This is the first time I have laid eyes on this woman and already I feel as though she is haunting my heart.

Seeing movement from the Medusa, I look upon the thing while the young woman has stepped away. It was an ungodly display. What I saw was the torso of a woman, splayed open, her skin expertly stretched and pinned, exposing  her organs which were moving and pulsing. There were hundreds of tubes and wires attached to the organs, as well there was a cord of at least fifty tubes exiting the torso’s neck – these tubes were attached to all manner of hissing and coughing machines.

I felt oddly crestfallen by what I saw. It was as if this sight was a sign that the ‘human experiment’, from the garden till now, has failed.

I was horrified, yet I continued to watch the young woman work, afraid to speak or move. I watch her remove her gloves and walk to a tiled area that looked as if it were made for washing specimens. I watched her clean herself of blood, and after she applied soap to her bald head and face, I saw this as an opportunity to escape and head back to the caretaker’s quarters before she returns.




I found my mother still lying on the floor, she was nothing compared to the phantom that murdered me in the powder room, in fact she was even worse off. She had shit and pissed herself. Uncertain of her animated state, once again, I licked my hand and placed it before her wretched face, I again, felt life breath. Standing there, the smell of her was almost unbearable.

I went to her bedroom, seeking to find dress that was clean and comely. My mother, being the beastly thing she was, had many provocative articles for me to try on and wear. There I found  the perfect combination of revealing clothing to help me accomplish my goal for the evening.

As I put on my mothers clothing, I felt transformed. I was made a whore by these clothes. The way I felt, I was unlike myself, my skin was no longer mine. This caused me to speculate that the whore lies outside the woman, by way of dress and manner; and inside, there was the heart of a young woman, no different than any other.

Dressed, I made way to the kitchen to drink some whiskey for the walk. It was about an hour into town and it was beginning to chill. Whiskey made me quite warm, and the cigarettes will keep me company.

I grabbed a small bag with a cinch tie, to carry coin and the browning. I wished not to pay for drinks, or run into trouble, but it would be better to be safe than sorry. I also notice, on the dresser, my mother’s lover had left his horn handled razor and silver flask.  They were both fine things, and I could not resist putting them in my bag as well.

Lastly, I take the spice and tapped a bit of the fine black powder onto the tip of a teaspoon where I lifted it to my nose and take it in with a deep inhalation. I did not find the experience entirely un-pleasurable. In fact, the spice left the unexpected flavor of elder-flower and black cardamom in my throat.



I did not expect to feel the effects of the spice so quickly. I have never taken the spice and there is no record of effects it might have on a female subject. The only written information is what the Egyptian sent me; writings that were old, esoteric and wholly un-scientific.

What I have just done, taking the spice may be a danger to me.

After the elder-flower and the cardamom smells and tastes, my face grew warm, as though I were flush with fever. I then felt a numbness in my hands and feet. Lastly, I heard the voices. They were calling my name ‘Marianna, Marianna.’

I heard some sounds in the living room, and there I saw them. They were two shadowy figures, and  they were standing over my mother.

I felt, yet could not be certain, but one of the beings was a woman and the other a man. They kept looking at my mother as she writhed on the ground. She appeared to me as more of a demon than a biological being. She made horrible sounds and gave off a scent like sulfur.

“She is a ghastly thing, isn’t she,” said the man.

“Disgusting,” said the woman.

“How are you feeling Marianna?” said the woman looking up.

“We saw you take the spice, is it strange for you?”

I was seeing these two as plain as day. They were imaginary things, this I understood, yet they were also real. I suspect they have always been with me but had not been able to communicate with me until lately, due to my mental state. Most of those in my family afflicted with the trouble of mind, were struck in their early twenties. I initially thought these beings were just a temporary effect of the last episode I had while I went through alcohol withdrawals. However, here I stand, full of whiskey, and I am holding court with them, how strange this is.

“When you get back from your whoring,” said the man.

“We will be gone,” finished the woman.

“In the meantime we would like you to consider the idea, once again, of killing yourself.”

“We want you to run experiments on your mother first, said the man.

“Cut off her fucking head,” said the woman.

“Yes, cut off my head,” screamed the demon mother from the floor where she lie.

The demon continued, “I want to die anyhow, you know that,” she held up her badly gashed arms, “See.”

“Why her?” I asked.

“Because she is here, she is alive,” said the man.

“And she is suffering, can’t you tell?”

“I have no love for her. I could care less about her suffering,” I said.

“Well in that case, just use her flesh.”

I looked at them both and agreed that this was a good idea. I have already been planning to take a human subject at some point, being the next logical step in my experiments. Yet I had not expected to get started so soon, and with my own mother, no less.

“Ok, I will do it… when I get back from the pub, I will take her to the lighthouse, dragging her by the hair.”

I thought a little bit about this. I will need to shackle her while I prep for the experiment, that could take as long as a month. This I thought could be a good thing though. My mother in her current state may not survive the head removal and vivisection. If I am to keep her for a month, I could fatten her up, get her to a point where surgical is likely.

I left after my brief conversation and was admittedly excited about the prospect of experimenting on my mother. I seem to have opened up somewhat intellectually by taking in the spice and I am seeing, in great detail, the experiments I will be performing. As I walked, I saw several creatures, a stray dog, a cat or two, and even an owl at one point. The spice had triggered something within my perception that was causing me to see all living things as demons or spirit manifestations. I was seeing the world in a whole new way and I found it fascinating.



I suspect that the spice may contain a malevolent spirit. Being a person of scientific mind, I find even the notion of this unacceptable. However, under the influence of the scarab powder, I see that the material world may extend well past our scientific understanding.

I say that the powder may contain a malevolent spirit simply because I am aware of another inside of me. It is not an unpleasant sensation to have this thing inside of me. I am less sexually aroused, as I thought I would be. Instead, I am finding myself in the most mischievous of moods. I wish to play, a feeling that I have not experienced since childhood.

Stepping into town, I see that all shops are closed with the exception of the pub.  A few of the shops provide lodging. Several rooms are occupied, made evident by the windows illuminated with the shadows of strangers cast upon curtains and outlined by firelight. I see them reading and smoking. For no reason at all, this delights me. ‘Such ordinary things’, I think.

Before the tavern were several men in varying extremes of drunkenness, I suspect they are in from a freighter, because they appear foreign to me. As I get closer, I hear them speaking Greek. I understand nothing of what they say, but I can tell, even with their outward display of gentle-manliness, that they all could be taken as lovers. I could feel the heat of their lust as I walk past. There was one man in the group that was smoking a cigarette instead of a pipe. He was more interested in what I was wearing as opposed to my sex. As I walk past the men, I smile at him, as to let him know, his secret is safe with me. I was thoroughly amused by the confounded look on his face as we understood each other.

Oh how I was enjoying my new found companion. The spice seems to be a trickster with a worldly sensibility. I find the comedic observances of my spirit friend refreshing and delightful.




As I enter the pub I see that she is full tonight. I see a few whores and widows for the men to pick from. Yet it is obvious that I be the prized maiden. This thought makes me smile, ‘oh what fun we will have tonight.’

I saddle up to the bar next to the whore that has been fucking my mother’s lover. She had a kind face, which I am sure was the beacon of her success on the island. There were years on the woman. She had a face scarred by rough men and thoughts of death. She was painted in a way that would show her face was that of a woman, even in the darkest of alleys.

I turn to ask the tending man for some spirits. I laughed aloud as I understood immediately why they call them spirits. Each liquor, be it rum, whiskey, bourbon, grappa or Spanish wine, the all appeared to have faces, all twisted different from the other, as to exert the demon that they imbue. I like the look of the grappa, for she was a woman, with her eyes rolled up in ecstasy. She lewdly wagged her long tongue in such a way that made me fear for my anus. This again, made my laugh aloud. ‘Control yourself woman,’ I thought, ‘if you want a choice man to take you, you must not appear completely insane?’

I order my grappa and turn to the whore.

“You are fucking the herdsman, the one who manages twenty-thousand head, are you not.”

She turned to me as if she was lost in thought, “what was that you said?”

I said, ‘You’re fucking him, are you not,’ I pointed across the room at my mother’s lover who was sitting alone with a Ledger and a pot of ale.

“Watch yourself now,” she said, lowering my arm. At that point she looked upon me suspiciously. I almost forgot that I was dressed like a whore. This made me laugh, and I shook my head.

“No, no, I am not here for that,” I smiled. “Yes, I am here to get me a man, but this has nothing to do with business than it does with carnality,” I smiled.

“Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean,” she glared.

“I want a fuck, but I do not want them to pay.”

“you want a fuck now?” she said looking at me as a smile opened up on her face, “grab your drink now and come over here.”



I got up from my stool and walked with her to a private booth. As we walked, I could not help but notice how crude this place was; all piss and shit and cum; you couldn’t see it, but it was there; I could feel it.

When she sat me down at the booth , she pulled me around the table. She did not say anything, she just grabbed a candle. She held the candle just below her eyes and looked at me as she licked her lips. The next thing she did, I found to be even more lewd than the anus cleaning tongue of the grappa bottle. I watched as the kind faced whore lifted her leg and placing her soiled boot on the wooden seat between us. She lowered the candle then lifted her skirt. As she made this gesture I could hear her speak in a low and seductive voice.

“Come here sweet thing, take a look at this beauty,” she continued as she pulled the light slower toward that place between her legs.

“I not only fuck men, I also fuck the ladies,” I looked up and I saw her smiling ear to ear. ‘Matter of fact, I prefer the ladies.”

I watched as she moved her free hand down between her legs. I found myself staring in rapt attention. Not only was the circumstance unusual, but what I saw between the woman’s legs was that the stranger. For what she had there was nothing that she would want to be showing anyone. Before my eyes, was an unearthly vision; it was a gaping maw crawling with insects. Seeing this vision in front of me, I understood what I was witness to; as with the spirits in the bottles, I was looking at the spirit of her cunt. I never imagined such a thing. As I sat there and watched, I saw beetles and snakes move in and out of the blackness. I also witnessed the thing vomit and then lick up with a black tongue. Next I saw a full set of teeth, turn sideways. It lurched and snapped at me. The mouth, in it’s spasm, snapped off it’s black tongue then proceeded to eat the thrashing thing. That last maneuver made me laugh aloud, for it was about the most bizarre thing I hand ever seen.

“Oh fuck you.” I heard her say as she struck me upside the head with her free hand. She quickly closed her legs and turned to the table.

“You can’t blame a girl,” she said, “just look at this wretched lot,” she said with a rebuking wave of her hand toward the patronage.

She turned to me.

“You are a refreshing thing,” she looked at me coyishly, “please beg my pardon.”

“No, my apologies ma’am,” I said, “I should have been more clear with my intentions.” I smiled. “it is tempting, and I dare say, you put on quite a show. I paused and gently brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“Can I at least buy your drinks for the evening, I owe you at least that for the show?”

“Well alright then,” she said, “can I keep you company?”

“Yes of course.”

I had the most enjoyable time, with my mother’s lover’s whore that evening, so much so that my malevolent spirit and I almost forgot what we had come for.

Her name was Gianna.

I was aghast with amusement when I asked her to pick my fuck for me. She then proceeded to go around the room, discussing the most private wishes and peculiarities of almost everybody in the place. She told me about the herdsman, the tender, the butcher and the priest, the widows and even the dirty faced boys clearing the tables and filling empty mugs. She told me of the kind men and the violent man and how many fingers the priest likes up his ass while she milked him.

I stayed there talking to Gianna till I grew tired and wished to go home. She offered to walk me halfway home, which I accepted.



I saw, at the very edge of my sight, a man drinking alone in the darkest shadow of the tavern. He had one hand on his balls which he squeezed so tightly, it was as though he was on the verge of rupture. His other hand played with a razor that he kept opening and closing with the help of his britches. It was not until later, after I encountered the man, that I realized he had his eye on us. The pub is full of strange and desperate men, some so hard up, they will stare at a lady while giving themselves pleasure. The pub was a public place, yet it was primarily for those who preferred to do things in the shadows. It was as if by walking through her doors, you were in agreement that you could do whatever you want, so long as you keep to yourself.

After we left, he came out of the shadows. He left the pub just in time to see what direction sweet Gianna and I were headed. I did not see him leave, but I had a strong feeling of his presence. It was a strange feeling, not a fearful feeling, but an oddly connected sense; it was as though I could see through his eyes.

Gianna had no idea he was there at the pub. I did not mention anything because I was not certain of his presence at all. I did not want to frighten my newfound friend, so I said nothing. I felt as though, if the man’s intentions were to hurt Gianna, I could do nothing about it. It was as though I would be interrupting the natural course of things. So I chose not to warn her.

I felt as though God had plans for the kind faced whore; and it was not my turn to decide Gianna’s fate; it was not my turn to play God.



As I walked with Gianna, we smoked cigarettes and walked quietly. We walked for quite some time with little disruption. It was a beautiful quiet evening.

I could see the beacon off in the distance, steady and true as always. I saw, ahead, two demon rabbits cross our path; they were leaping and bounding, most certainly trying to escape a night time predator.

Seeing these things moved my thoughts to those early experiments with the rabbits and the scarab powder.

I also thought about the visions the spice had brought me, the clarity of thought and an understanding of great things outside of myself. I felt graced and privileged to share in this experience. The spice is a miraculous thing, more powerful than anything I have ever encountered. Yet, it is I, an amateur scientist, a mere hobbyist, a woman, that lay claim to her knowledge. Why me.

Being of a scientific analytical mindset, I do not often fall victim to delusions of grandeur. Yet, I can only stop and wonder, is there a divine plan at play here? A plan that lies outside the greater sciences?

As a young girl, I was raised without church. My mother was shunned as a teenager which left me free to explore open ideas about God and creation. I had opportunity to go to service a few times with the families of my young playmates on the island. While there, I would listen to the words of sad priests and motley pastors.

I was often struck by the simplicity of the folktales within the Christian writings. I liked the symbols of doves and burning bushes, and the childlike stories of sin and sacrifice. What I remember most however, were the women in these stories, especially the two Mary’s in the Jesus story.

‘Holy Mary, mother of god.’ they would often say.

They spoke as if she was greater than God. If this was true, then a woman brought God into this world, not a man. Yet it is undeniable, that as a young woman I may be on the verge of the scientific discovery of a lifetime.

Then there was the story of Magdalene, the whore. Her’s is a story that has been ignored for the simple one of divine birth. Magdalene on the other hand is a more complicated story, for it involves the embrace of the least divine, by the most divine, Christ.

While walking the road with Gianna, the whore, a strange thought came to me, causing me to smile and gently laugh.

God, in Christ-child form grew eventually to be a man, yet, one of the most notable things he did as a young man, was to take up with a whore.

I start to wonder sometimes, ‘what is God really after?’ and what am I about to give birth to?

“You doing well there Gianna?”

“Ya, I’m doing well except where did the warm air go?” she embraced herself rubbing her upper arms vigorously, “I can’t help but shiver.”

“I have something in my bag that will warm us up nicely,’ I said while digging through my bag. I was surprised by the amount of coin I had left, and comforted by the Baby Browning. However, what I was looking for were the things I grabbed as I left for the pub, the herd keeper’s things.

Finding what I was looking for, I look up and I take a moment to ask my new friend a question.

“Do you believe in God Gianna?”




more chapters to come… if you like this story, please let me know and I will give you a heads uip as more chapters are posted – bjk