Vanity
by Ryan Boughter

Written April 21, 2006

I

Once more, I have been visited by Vanity.

I had thought once to escape her, leaving her in the obscurity of
half-forgotten childhood.  Logic, reason, wisdom, experience,
these were my weapons against her, to keep her chained in the benighted
vault of my subconscious.

She would visit me in various forms, under different names:

Leviathan, the translucent, acidic worm from the deep caves of the sea,
who would pursue me through the midst of the water, always swimming
faster than I. She devoured all in her path with her caustic breath,
laying waste to the cities of the merfolk, and the pods of mighty
whales in an instant became bones to sink to the bottom or be sucked
into her amorphous maw or sodden flesh.

The Rohr-Bat, with its twisted, anthropoid face, would send out
invisible tentacles to trip or shove me as I fled, finally twisting me
around to fly into my face and fling me, shrieking, from the
dream-world.

The Phoenix-Juggernaut, a titanic, fiery bird which would sweep over
the dream-recreations of my home and town and immolate all that I knew
and loved while I was forced to watch, small, impotent and sobbing.

But always at the heart was nebulous Vanity, writhing mass of staring
eyes and gelatinous tentacles.  With her sweet, motherly voice and
soporofic net, she would retard my struggles and enervate my dream-body
while she bent over my head and, with many soft-lipped mouths, ingest
my emotions until all that remained was naked, shrieking, white-eyed
fear.

As I grew older and wiser in the ways of the dream-world, I was able
finally to summon dream-guardians to defend me against Vanity's
onslaught.  Towering, bronze-feathered angels with sparking swords
would drive back the slavering demon hounds and strike down their
satyric master Skarus.  Nymphs and oak-spirits would guide me
through the thorned forests of Goth, delivering me safely from the
Haggard Ones and their cruel sorceries.  Colorful minstrel birds
would drown the insane dissonance of harpy-sirens on the shores of the
Sea of Chaos.  A man named Serenity once pulled me from the
fungous grave where I had been buried by the skeleton army of the
Necromancer.  I myself learned to fly, to throw fireballs, to call
down the cleansing rains on mud-creatures and the hurrying winds to
sweep away jagged paper-beasts.

As I reached manhood, my nightmares were cleared of Vanity's hordes and
began to take on an instructive air.  All the rage, the envy, the
sadness, held in check to survive in a scoffing society which valued
emotionlessness above all else, poured through my subconscious where I
was forced to master them or be smothered by them.  I found parts
of my psyche I didn't want to face and was forced to confront
them.  I began to look forward to the nightmares, curious what new
corners of my mind would be thrown into the cleansing light.

II

So it was, as I approached middle age, that I had forgotten all the
skills of dream-combat, left behind my powers and guardians, and
disremembered the threats which lurked upon the dreamscapes. 
Instead, my thoughts were preoccupied with bank statements, energy
efficiency, productivity reports, and the skills I had learned to
vanquish these mature foes.

So it was, as I kissed my wife and lay my head on my pillow, that I
expected to see nothing more than fields of wildflowers, white-sanded
beaches, and fragrant fruit trees to soothe my troubled mind.

"Hello again, lover.  Long time no see."

I saw Vanity.  She, like me, had grown.  No longer the raw,
effete blob of my childhood, she now had a form which more befit the
seductive voice she had always posessed, but nothing of her
nauseousness was lost.  Her sultry curves dripped with sickening
sweetness, and in her slender fingers she grasped the diaphanous net
which had so often sapped my strength.

"You knew you could not evade me forever.  And now you won't even want to."

The world around us swirled with insane colors.  I tried to look
away from her abhorrence, but my eyes were locked on hers, as if they
were bound by iron.

"I'm disappointed that you have forgotten me.  I am doubly
disappointed that I find you no longer a worthy adversary.  I so
enjoyed our nightly romps."

Her scornful voice ripped to my very soul.  I tried to recall my
childhood techniques, but apparently the demonic net had depleted my
mind as well as my body.  I could feel that caustic mesh and
acerbic voice burning away my will, even as I struggled to struggle.

"I've brought a friend for you to see.  You remember Dr. Faust, don't you?"

A shadowy figure had appeared behind her, coalescing out of the
swirling mists.  He was tall, as tall as I, with a white lab coat,
but his face was cast in shadow.  Only the cruel glint of his
glasses provided any hint that he even had a face.  I remembered
him well.  He was the Necromancer, that Frankensteinian madman who
had called up so much corruption from the crypts to plague my dreams
with the fear of death.  His dungeons were filled with the
tortured, dismembered souls he had captured and would not allow to die, prolonging their agony for as long as his cruel fancy desired.

"I thought he might enjoy a little play time.  Oh, don't worry, he won't be staying here with us."

Faust turned, and walked toward a portal which had opened nearby. 
Through it, I could see my sleeping form, snug in my orthopedic bed, a
comforter drawn up to my chin against the chill of coming November.

"We need time to catch up, you and I.  A lot of time."

The clicking of her heels was as steel spikes driving through living
bones.  Her red lips parted in a smile which carried no mirth, no
warmth, only lurid hunger.  Still I could not look away, even as
her taloned fingers scraped my cheek.

"Dr. Faust will keep the world occupied.  Nobody will know you've gone.  Well, not physically, anyway.  See?"

My eyes turned toward Faust, who turned.  My blood turned to ice,
and my piercing scream echoing to the highest vaults of the unconscious
world.  Through my mind raced images of my wife, my brothers and
their children, and all my friends.  Those images flew from me
into Faust's outstretched hand, where he examined and sorted them
according to some priority.  Fear like I had never known raced up
my spine and turned my brain to frozen jelly.

"That's more like it, dearest.  You know what I like."

Vanity smiled sweetly at my discomfiture.  As she touched my
forehead, the last of my vastly-diminished will drained out through her
fingertips, and I was left in a white haze of terror and revulsion.

Faust smiled my smile, winked my eye, and strode on my legs toward the sleeping form in the other world.  I knew he would occupy himself with satisfaction.

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...