Page 49 of Pierced

The ‘to the dungeon’ part was almost a whisper. This is gonna be wild, I have a feeling. I’m doing my best not to betray my enthusiasm. “OK,” I say, looking around just to make sure a lion or some shit isn’t going to jump out and, I dunno, lion-fuck me or something.

I make my way through the candlelit space until I rediscover the door to the basement. Or, I guess, dungeon. It’s ajar and smoke is billowing up the stairs in thin strands. Pushing it open further, I see that the candle theme continues and extends down to where Myrtle is, I presume, waiting for me. And there’s a smell. Something familiar from my youth.

Incense. It smells like the same kind the priests used to burn in the thuribles they’d swing back and forth when walking down the aisle before Mass. Holy shit… If I go down these stairs and find Myrtle dressed like a nun, I’m gonna lose my shit.

I’ve always had a thing for nuns.

I confessed that once and the priest just sat there for a long time, trying to decide what my penance should be. After a fair amount of silence, he finally just said, “Nuns? Really?”

I haven’t been back to church in a long while.

But I have a feeling that I’m gonna be kneeling at a very different altar in a few minutes.

The music is louder here. It’s dull and throbbing. It actually sounds like sex. Which is, y’know, a good mood-setter, I suppose.

“Myrtle?” I ask, as I put a foot on the first step and hear it creak under my weight. I place the other foot ahead of me as well and begin my descent.

It’s dark. Just one candle at the bottom of the stairs. A very tall pillar with a high-climbing flame. I try to duck my head to see the room, but it’s been blocked. Covered with—I reach out to touch the barrier—satin. Black satin.

I continue until I reach the bottom step and notice there’s a hanger on a hook. On the hanger is clipped a note in red lettering. I pull it off and hold it up to the candle. It says, Take off your clothes and hang them here. ALL of your clothes.

“Take off my clothes? Now?” I announce to… well, to the black satin curtain.

Silence.

“Myrtle?” I pull the curtain aside and see nothing. I mean, nothing. Blackness. No candles, no nothing. Just blackness. “Myrtle?”

A whip cracks in the dark. “Did you not read my note?” Myrtle’s voice. Or, rather, a variation on Myrtle’s voice. Harsh. Throaty.

“Uh, yeah,” I say. “You want me—”

“Was the note not clear?”

“I mean, it’s dark, so I had to kinda squint to see it, but—”

“Stop. Talking.” The whip cracks again. “You have three seconds to decide and then this is over. Either follow my commands or get out of my dungeon.”

I take a deep breath and hold it. Open my mouth to say something like, Are you sure? Because this sounds like a lot of fun and I’m pretty sure we’d both be sorry tomorrow if—

“One.”

Shit.

“Two.”

“OK, OK. Just give me a minute.”

“One minute. Starting now. When you’re done, wait on the other side of the curtain for my next command.”

I loosen my tie and take it off, draping it over the hanger.

The sound of tapping shoes on the floor takes my attention away from the fact that I’m pulling off my suit coat and kicking off my own shoes. Slow, methodical steps. The sound of a lighter being flicked. There’s a small crack in the curtain, so I get a glimpse of shadows dancing on the other side.

I want to pull the curtain aside and see her. See what she’s doing. See what she has in store. But something seems different tonight. Her mood, maybe. And I think if I pull that curtain aside she might actually send me home.

A part of me wants that. Wants to go home. And a part of me definitely does not.

I have a stroke of anxiety that what’s about to go down is going to get very, very real, and I have a premonition. A premonition that I didn’t previously take into account. That this could change us. Again. I changed us in a huge way this past summer and this will change us again.