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The Dark Mansion

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Terrified screams of women at the hands of a demon dwarf went unheard at the Garnier home. After all, it was the Garniers who used the dwarf to keep their captives in line! Dolly had her vacation to Florida all planned. But she did not allow for her car stalling, for the appearance of suave Victor Garnier, nor for her imprisonment within a modern-day mansion of evil revolving about the hungers and thirsts of insatiable flesh... a dark mansion from which there was no escape!


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The Dark Mansion

H.R. Kaye

This page copyright © 2007 Olympia Press.


* * *

Dolly Sennon was lost.

She gripped the steering wheel and drove her car along the dark winding country road, watching for a road sign and glancing apprehensively at the dash instruments... particularly the gas gauge, which indicated that by now she was probably running on fumes alone.

The entire vacation, although planned, had been cursed with misfortune from the very beginning. First, her girl friend, with whom she had intended to make this trip to Florida, had backed out at the last minute. She had met a fellow from upstate New York who swept her off her feet and invited her to spend the summer at his parents' ranch. So, Dolly was forced to go alone. Actually Dolly didn't mind that too much, but she had been plagued with flat tires and inaccurate tourist information from service station attendants. All day long she had driven in circles around small Pennsylvania villages, making wrong turns and reading her maps inaccurately. On top of all this, she was extremely anxious about her girl friend, Linda. They had had an argument the day before, and Dolly was afraid it might mean the end of their relationship. Of course everyone had told her, right from the very beginning, that Linda was bisexual, an AC-DC girl. But Dolly didn't care. She considered herself liberal and open-minded about that sort of thing, and thought it perfectly all right for two consenting adults to do anything they wanted to do. She blushed when she remembered the last incident with Linda. She had gone to Linda's house to say good-bye, and found the girl in a very strange mood. Linda had made overtures before, always patting Dolly's bottom playfully, and once she had even propositioned her but made it sound like a joke so there would be no embarrassment when Dolly refused. But this last time Linda was quite serious. They had been standing in the living room of Linda's apartment, talking, when Linda again gave Dolly a playful pat on her bottom, and she didn't stop there. Her hand lingered on the full, taut buttocks, and her fingers kneaded softly the round, sensitive cheek. Dolly didn't know what to do. She blushed and laughed.

“I want to make love to you, Dolly,” Linda said. “I'm sick of being around you and not able to do what I want with you. You know there's nothing wrong with it. If you're really my friend, you'll give me what I want.”

Although Dolly was still a virgin, she had experienced the usual childhood experimentation with members of her own sex, and she knew that she had a propensity for bisexuality. It wasn't a knowledge that shocked her in any way, but, on the other hand, she never did anything to develop these tendencies. She would never know exactly why she had given in to Linda. Perhaps she really was more latently homosexual than she had imagined, but she preferred to think it was because of her friendship alone. At any rate, she said yes.

“Oh, that's wonderful,” Linda had sighed, and, embracing Dolly, hurriedly removed her blouse and unsnapped her skirt. Dolly trembled as she stepped out of her clothes and allowed Linda to lead her to the bedroom. When they were both undressed, Linda gently eased Dolly down onto her back and kissed the tight nipples of her little breasts. From that stage on, Dolly was limp and yielding. Linda's mouth was a fiery massage descending down until finally her head sank into the softness between Dolly's legs. It was over in a moment. And then the trouble started.

“Please, please make love to me!” Linda pleaded.

Dolly placed her hands on Linda's pale shoulders and stared deeply into the girl's imploring eyes, trying to make her understand that reciprocation was simply out of the question. It was one thing to allow Linda to make love to her, but returning the favor called for another kind of attitude altogether.

“I just can't, Linda!” Dolly whispered. “I'm sorry, I don't want to hurt you, but I really can't bring myself to do it. It isn't because you aren't beautiful, you are... but I'm afraid I'm just not equipped for that sort of thing.”

In the heat of passion, Linda had become adamant.

“Oh, please, please!” she begged. You don't know what you're doing to me, Dolly. Now that we've gone this far, we have to go all the way! I want to be your lover! Just try it, please! I must feel your mouth on me!”

But Dolly, in spite of the fact that she felt almost guilty, was unable to reciprocate. She almost wished she had been able to. And now Linda was upset, and Dolly would probably never see her again.

Dolly sighed and maneuvered the car around a sharp bend in the road. If she only knew where she was! It wasn't that she couldn't afford to waste time, but not knowing exactly where she was caused her a great deal of consternation.

And now it was growing dark!

She couldn't even be certain she was still in Pennsylvania. Once more she looked down at the fuel indicator, noting with apprehension that the needle lay dead and still on the empty mark. She hadn't seen a road sign or a house for over an hour, and she had forgotten to take along a can of fuel for this kind of emergency. Although Dolly was an intelligent, sensitive and beautiful girl, at times she was not exactly practical.

The road was narrow, bumpy, and full of deep ruts. Her rented auto bounced uncomfortably along, winding through the absurd hairpin turns, climbing laboriously up the grades, only to plunge down again into more turns, winding away endlessly.

Along both sides of the road were huge groves and clumps of tangled, gnarled, wild olive trees, thick and ominous with their misshapen arms reaching out into the night. There was a tiny silvery crescent of moon in the sky that afforded no light whatsoever, and the stars were dim and distant.

Dolly nervously managed to light a cigarette while maneuvering the car with one hand. Still watching the gas gauge, she knew it was only a matter of a few minutes before the car stopped, and she would be left stranded beside the road. She didn't relish being alone and helpless in this strange country, at night, without company, and with absolutely no means of protecting herself against hoodlums or whatever brand of nut might happen along and decide to force himself on her.

Dolly wasn't a large girl. She stood barely over five feet in her nylons, and she had never weighed over a hundred pounds. Although she was somewhat thin and light, she had a marvelous figure. All her curves and angles were in the right places, and, unlike most small girls, her breasts were full and heavy, like two swollen oranges straining against the soft fabric of her blouse. Her short miniskirt revealed a pair of shapely, silken legs, shaven clean, and as pale as marble. Her hands were tiny and delicate as hummingbirds. She had a thin, pouting little mouth, obsidian black eyes and short but thick curly hair trimmed neatly around her neck.

Dolly drove through a series of right angle turns, cursing silently under her breath, feeling the tension and fear mount as she began to fully realize that she might just have to spend the night in her car. What an awful thought! If only Linda hadn't met the man from upstate, and if they hadn't had that embarrassing problem, she would be with her now, and this situation wouldn't seem nearly as frightening and depressing. But, of course, Linda wasn't there, and Dolly was becoming increasingly anxious.

As she came out of the last turn, the car began to jerk and cough. Dolly clutched the wheel and pulled the car back and forth across the road in an attempt to slosh any remaining fuel into the system. But it was an act of desperation. The car sputtered its last and forlornly crept to a standstill at the roadside. Both tires slipped into tangles of dense undergrowth. Thick knouts of leafy limbs hung darkly over the auto in thickening shadows.

“Oh damn, damn, damn!” Dolly cursed, pounding the wheel in frustration. Everything was going wrong! She was even running out of cigarettes. She sighed and collapsed back into the seat, a misty veil of tears hazing over her beautiful eyes. To make matters even worse, the sky was rapidly filling up with large, incredibly black clouds, and far away the sky was suddenly illuminated by jagged blue bolts of lightning.

“What a time for a storm!” Dolly said.

True to their promise, the clouds released the first light patter of rain. It streaked the windshield and rustled through the heavy canopy of leaves over the car. The road was turning dark with dampness.

Dolly reached into the back seat and took her coat off the top of her suitcase. She put the light garment on and folded her arms across her breast, determined to wait the storm out, and wait the night out too, if that was necessary. Surely by morning there would be traffic on this country road and someone, perhaps a local farmer, would give her a lift into the next town or supply her with enough gasoline to drive there. Farmers were purported to be a kind, hospitable bunch of people, and it was on this that Dolly depended.

As the sky unbuckled its heavy load of driving water and drenched the trees, the car, falling loudly all around, Dolly was able to convince herself that absolutely no one would be out on foot in this weather. Especially at night. The possibility of a fiend stalking around in the dark storm became less likely and she was able to soothe her nerves by repeating—as a reassuring thought:

“No one would be caught dead in this storm. No one!”

However, above all, and before anything else, Dolly was a woman—an oversensitive woman.

The rainfall on the trees and road created uncommon noises, as it sluiced in small streams along the roadside and dripped from the trees. She listened to each little sound and tried to tell herself it was rainfall and nothing more. Now the moon was obscured by clouds and there wasn't a star in the black sky. So dark. It was so dark!

She had looked forward to a month in Florida the way a small child joyfully anticipates Christmas. As each day ticked off, she had become more exuberant. She had saved her checks diligently, having been released from sharing household expenses by her mother with whom she lived.

Dolly's father had died when she was very young, and she barely remembered him.

Now that she was so far from home, and only nineteen years old, stranded on a dark country road, she thought of her apartment and the people she had worked with, longingly, wanting nothing more than to be home in her own bed, thinking about going to work the next day. Her proposed vacation seemed nothing more than a dream. A dream which had all the earmarks of becoming a nightmare. Dolly had no idea how completely appropriate this analogy was, for the future held for Dolly Sennon the most bizarre, incredible experience imaginable. Had she been able to see into this immediate future even a tiny glimpse, she would have been instantly paralyzed.

Although aware of the absurdity of her act, she turned the key on and tried to start the car. The starter cranked over, grinding and complaining, and of course the engine didn't catch. Well, she had known better anyway, and the attempt was purely a manifestation of frustration.

“If I have to stay here all night,” she said, “I may as well try to sleep. It won't seem so long then.”

Dolly had always loved sleeping in the rain, with the heavy droplets beating down on the roof of her house and streaking her bedroom windows. The pleasantly persistent patter of falling rain worked like a drug on her rattled nerves. She drew her legs up under her bottom and snuggled into the warm coat, leaning her delicate head against the car window.

The rain spoke to her, soothing, reassuring....

... And she began to drift, her eyes closed, her breath approaching the drowsy rhythms of sleep.

She thought about Florida... how pleasant it would be when this was over and she finally arrived. To be able to lie in the sun all day getting a tan and wearing her new brief bikini —what pleasure! Chances were great that she would meet a boy there. She began to conjure images of the kind of boy she would like to meet... imagining him coming up out of the water, blond and broad-shouldered, grinning, and shaking the water from his long hair, walking toward her in the sand, admiration for her perfect little body glimmering in his steely blue eyes, and the waves coming in... heavy with water, more water, and....

... Water, in streams and rivulets, crashing down through the trees, coursing in floodlike streams along hastily formed gutterways, spilling over into pools as the rain came down, fierce and unabating.

And Dolly's daydreams of a boy changed, and she dreamed of Linda!

Was this truly what she wanted? She recalled how Linda had softly licked her inner thighs, using her tongue to moisten the black garden of Dolly's pubis, probing.... Oh, how sweet it had been! What a perfectly delicious feeling Linda had created with her tender lips, her soft fingertips kneading the nipples of Dolly's breasts. And in her dream, Dolly saw herself wrap her legs around Linda's head, arch her back and cry out as Linda's tongue shot hot bolts of flame into her loins, remembered the warm dampness of Linda's mouth sucking hungrily at her breasts. Dolly was confused. Was she truly unable to reciprocate? Why did she allow herself to be concerned? She had never had a man... and the question that rattled around in her unconscious mind was... did Dolly Sennon really want a man?

 

Dolly slept.

Less than ten yards away a shadowy, dripping figure crouched in the undergrowth, blending into the background of wet bark and leaves. The figure was that of a man... but a man like no man Dolly had ever seen. “This crouching shape was stumpy, misshapen, completely bald, twisted like a dwarf. His greedy little eyes blinked yellow as the eyes of a cat, and as he stared through the pouring rain at the sleeping girl, his fingers twitched spasmodically and a low, guttural rumble escaped his thick rubbery lips.

He moved impulsively away from the trees, toward the parked car, remaining in his crouched position and, therefore, walking in a kind of obscene duck's waddle... his mouth unhinged and streaming a thin white ribbon of drool. When he reached a place approximately ten feet from the auto, he went down in the mud on all-fours, shaking his round, water-wet pate like a dog, grunting unintelligibly again and crawling stealthily up to the car door. He placed his hands against the door and raised himself up slightly, edging his head toward the closed window, emitting a low-keyed, excited whimper and rubbing his long, snaky tongue animatedly over his lips.

He pressed his face against the glass.

Dolly was sound asleep... lulled into unconsciousness by dreams and rainfall. She had gone limp in the seat, sliding her hips forward slightly so the hem of her miniskirt now lay above the elegant whiteness of her upper thighs. Her round breasts rose and fell regularly, with each inhalation jutting them forward so that, where her coat fell away, her small nipples were visible as dark blotches under the blouse.

The man at the window groaned longingly, his yellow eyes riveted to the expanse of flesh above Dolly's knees. One knobby, gnarled hand closed slowly, purposefully, over the door handle and with great caution he attempted to open the door.

But all the doors were locked.

Again, less cautious now in his excitement, he pulled at the handle, but nothing happened. His beady eyes grew bright and intense as a raspy, unintelligible oath escaped from his mouth. He stared at Dolly's creamy thighs, then he slumped into the puddles of muddy water and slunk cagily away, crawling off into the rain-dark forest, groaning and whining in frustration. He had so wanted to return with a little present for his master. Something new, something young and pretty... something he could play with when the master felt benevolent. But all was not lost. He knew this was only the beginning for that lovely little morsel in the car. The master would take care of everything once he had been informed that such a delightful little piece awaited only the plucking.

 

Dolly mumbled in her sleep, turned her head sideways and opened her eyes.

“What was that?”

She had been awakened by a strange noise. A noise that was obviously not part of the storm. She held her breath and listened raptly, but heard only the steady fall of rain and a distant rumble of hollow thunder.

A bolt of blue-white lightning zigzagged across the sky.

“This isn't a night fit for animals to be out in,” she muttered, “much less a human being.”

She decided that the noise was nothing to worry about, so she lit her last cigarette and smoked quietly, then drew her coat around her shoulders, pulled the hem of her skirt down and drifted back into the easy world of deep sleep. Suddenly she was awakened once more, this time by a distinct, loud rapping of knuckles against the window on which rested her head.

Her first impulse was to throw herself onto the floorboards of the car and wrap the coat tightly about her head, but when she forced herself to look out the window she was relieved by what she saw.

The rain had slackened, and now only a faint drizzle, half-mist, fell around the auto.

A man stood beside the car, one hand knocking gently on the glass.

Behind him, parked in the middle of the road, sat a pickup truck with lights on and engine running.

She couldn't see the man's face, but she saw that he was wearing a new mackinaw, and under that article of clothing he seemed to be wearing a suit. At least, a sport jacket or, perhaps, a dark sweater with a stripe that only looked like a necktie in the dark. She couldn't tell.

“Miss? Are you injured? May I be of some service?”

The masculine voice was deep and refined... hardly the kind of voice one would expect of a farmer from the local area. The rich, civilized tones of the man's voice assured Dolly that she had been rescued from the rain and her stranded automobile. And indeed she had.

She rolled down the glass and stuck her head out the window, looking up at the man.

He was tall and slim. Under his floppy brimmed, black rainhat his hair was long, full and completely white. His eyes were dark and set deeply into a pale, quite civilized face. He had a fine, long nose and a thin sensitive mouth. He appeared to be in his early forties.

“Are you in trouble, Miss?” he asked. He was smiling warmly.

“Oh, I'll say I am,” Dolly bubbled. She was overjoyed that this old gentleman had stopped for her. Her lonely wait was over, and now the whole episode was already fading from her mind, drained of its terror potential. It had only been an unfortunate incident, and, before long, she would surely be back on the road again... heading toward Florida.

“I ran out of gas. It was stupid of me not to stop when I had a chance, but I've been kind of lost I guess and....”

“Yes, most certainly,” the man interrupted her. “I understand, my dear. It happens most frequently to tourists passing through this particular area. Why, often twice a week I help stranded people out of their predicaments. You certainly aren't the first young lady, and you won't be the last either. No, no, it happens all the time. Nothing to be alarmed about. Not at all.”

“Oh, wonderful, I'm so grateful to you for stopping. Most people wouldn't bother to stop for anyone on a night like this. I am grateful, really. You know, I was really scared when I thought I was going to spend the night in this car.”

“I understand,” the man laughed softly, “this particular spot can seem quite forbidding when the weather is bad. Exactly like something from an old Karloff movie, don't you think? But I can assure you that this is a beautiful forest in the spring.

“Now, if you will sit quietly for a moment, I have some fuel in a spare can, and I will pour it into your tank for you. Then you can be on your way.”

Dolly watched him go to his pickup and remove a five-gallon can from the back. He paused to turn the large collar of his mackinaw up against the drizzle, then disappeared behind Dolly's car.

In a moment, he returned and stood at the window again.

“I believe you can be on your way now, if you try to start your auto. I'll wait, just in case there is something more wrong. You can never be positive about these clumsy machines. Always something malfunctioning on them.”

Dolly slipped her key into the ignition and turned it on.

The starter ground listlessly. The engine wasn't even close to igniting.

“I don't understand this at all,” she said.

“What does your instrument read?” the man asked.

The gas gauge registered empty.

“Well, perhaps the instrument is broken. If you will snap the hood release, I'll check the engine. It may be something simple. I'm no mechanic, but I'll see what I can do for you.”

“Oh thank you,” Dolly said. “I really hope nothing's wrong. Nothing serious I mean.”

She released the hood latch and saw the white-haired old gentleman bend over and peer inside at the stubborn engine. He did something quickly with his hands and then motioned for her to try and start it again.

This time the starter was slower and more sluggish than ever.

“Well, young...

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