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From: Nick <nick@cassandra.demon.co.uk>
Subject: A Horror Story: The Violinist (M/F)
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A Christmas Horror: The Violinist

by Nick (Copyright Nick@cassandra.demon.co.uk)

Note that this story is provided free for entertainment. You may copy it and
distribute to friends but you may not make money from it or any part of it
without my agreement, nor 
must you claim it as your own. This story is copyrighted to me (Nick) and I
ask you to observe that. 

This story is of an adult nature, containing some sexually explicit scenes.
I do not intend either for me or 
the reader to break the law in any country where it may be read, and so if
for any reason the law of your 
country forbids you from reading adult literature, do not read
any further.


A kind of ghoulish fascination drew his eye to her as she walked in. The
room was full of beautiful girls 
being wooed by admiring young men with varying degrees of success, and her
awkward limp together 
with the livid scar across her cheek, told him she simply didn’t belong in
this place.

“Hi, Tina!” someone yelled enthusiastically.

She smiled, though, as a number of people recognised and greeted her, and
he was pleased for that at 
least. It seemed cruel, but knowing that there was a little crowd she could
join, meant that there was no 
danger of her trying to join his. He was generally uncomfortable in the
presence of anything out of the 
ordinary, as she clearly was.

“…car accident when she was young left her like that…” he overheard. Of
course he felt sorry for girls 
like her - didn’t everyone - but to put it bluntly he simply preferred the
company of beautiful women; 
women like Brenda, to whom he now returned his full attention.

He had been working on her all evening and his efforts were now paying off.
She sat on his lap now, and 
he luxuriated in the feel of her voluptuousness against him. Her eyelids,
slightly hooded with alcoholic 
lust, told him all he needed to know, and he pulled her towards him to kiss
lips that were only too 
willing. His hands stroked the hair at the nape of her neck and roved over
her back and body, feeling the 
delicious contrasts of hardness and softness that gave the female body its
power over men. The time was 
right and he broke free of the kiss to stare adoringly into her eyes.

“Quiet everyone…” a voice across the room distracted him from his mission,
but the thumping disco and 
loud chatter continued unabated.

“Quiet… QUIET!”

Only then there was silence as someone obligingly turned off the music.

“Tina’s going to give us a little live entertainment.”

Tina sat in a chair surrounded by admirers looking faintly embarrassed as
someone handed her the violin. 
She didn’t refuse though and climbing a little unsteadily to her feet,
quietly checked its tuning.

He sneered to himself. What kind of party did they think this was? Everyone
was here to get stoned on 
alcohol and heavy rock, not listen to some disabled amateur violinist go
through her paces. Of course 
everyone would take pity on her and applaud, but…

…her first notes soared across the room…

…in the end there was no substitute for sex drugs and rock ‘n’ roll…

…with a power he had not anticipated…

It was an Irish folk tune with an infectious beat. He found himself
unexpectedly tapping his feet and 
watching her fingers dance across the strings as she swayed with the music.
At first there was kind of 
respectful silence as she played. Then people started clapping with the
music and a couple got up and 
started to dance, bodies swinging, skirts flying.

He heard and saw none of this. He was hypnotised by those dancing fingers,
and sat watching open-
mouthed, wondering at the magic in those fingers. It seemed strange, but he
became fascinated by the 
thought that those fingers could also make music with his body the way they
did with the violin. They 
moved from string to string, quivering slightly for the vibrato, then
moving on to the next note. He felt 
himself harden slightly as he imagined those fingers manipulating him the
same way.

Something irritated his ear, and he shook his head reflexively. Right now
Brenda’s teeth nibbling at his 
earlobe was an unwelcome distraction, though in the past such stimulation
had been known to drive him 
wild. Almost unconsciously he resisted her pull as she tried to draw his
lips to hers, keeping his eyes 
fixed on Tina as she played.

Beyond those fingers, the bow cut wildly across the strings with the easy
authority of a professional 
musician… though the image of a dominatrix with a whip sprang to his mind.
Beyond the bow… her 
eyes, bored directly into his.

Brenda stopped pulling him about, and thankfully sat still on his lap,
while he lost himself in Tina’s 
playing. He was vaguely aware of a sudden movement and the fact that Brenda
was no longer there, but 
it no longer seemed to matter. When Tina finished, he applauded wildly and
shouted for more, oblivious 
of the fact that Brenda had retrieved her coat, and oblivious of her angry
backward glance as she 
disappeared from the room.

He got up and walked towards Tina, half expecting to have to fight his way
through a bevy of admirers, 
and more than a little surprised to find none.

“I just wanted to say, that was absolutely bloody fantastic!” he said with
a boozy slur.

“Thanks,” she said, and then paused as she looked at him expectantly, “but
is that *all* you wanted to 
say?”

Five minutes ago it would have been far more than he wanted to say but at
that moment, he could not 
imagine for the life of him why. Now he had so much to say to her. It was
just that he had no idea where 
to start. Where did she learn to play like that? Did she play
professionally? Who did she know here? 
Where did she come from? What was her telephone number?

Would she have sex with him?

“Would you like to go somewhere quieter?” she apparently read his mind, as
he failed to get any words 
out at all.

And then they were upstairs in a darkened bedroom, on a bed covered in
coats. He was kissing her 
hands, her fingers, and then guiding them onto his penis in the hope that
she would realise his earlier 
fantasy. He heard her gasp as she felt his hardness and began to work at
him. Oh yes! She really could 
work the magic on him as well as with her instrument. He groaned in
delight, and kissed her.

She was different to Brenda, as all women are different to each other, but
there was a strangeness to her 
difference that he could not put a finger on. Her hair was dark and heavy,
while Brenda’s was light and 
wispy and there was a sweet smell about her that reminded him of something
he could not place. It was 
curious and curiosity always intrigued him. He tried to compare their
bodies, but somehow, its feel 
seemed elusive. There was something he tried to remember about her,
relating to her body, that seemed 
to have slipped his mind. The hungry twitching of her vagina, as he
penetrated her, banished all other 
thoughts as she seemed to draw him in and envelope him, and her sighs
flowed through his being as her 
music had done earlier.

He dozed for what could only have been a few moments, but she was gone when
he awoke. It was 
almost as if he had dreamt the whole thing and indeed he was even about to
shrug it off as some drug-
induced fantasy, he was pretty stoned after all. As he sat up, though, a
card slid from his chest. He 
picked it up and studied it, turning it over, at first not understanding.
He had expected a message of 
some sort, but it was just a ticket to a concert of chamber music.

At any other time he would have smiled cynically and left the ticket where
it lay, or possibly tried to sell 
it - not that anyone he knew would have bought it. He knew nothing of
chamber music, believing it to be 
the province of nerds in stuffed shirts. It was *definitely* not his scene.
However, he knew she had left it 
for him and he would move heaven and earth to be there.

A brief break in the story to make an authors note:
S to r y c o p y right belongs to N i c k at c a s s a n d r a dot d e m on
dot c o dot u k as should be 
stated at the top. Sorry for the interruption. Please carry on reading.

Indeed it seemed that he could think of nothing else as he counted off the
days to the date on the ticket. 
He could not get Tina from his mind and even when Brenda tried to reconcile
things with him, he found 
his attention wandering. Brenda herself should have seen things for what
they were and moved on, but 
she persisted. He may have felt that it was his pursuit of her on the night
of the party that had captured 
her heart, but in truth she had been his long before he had known it. He
did not know, nor did he care, 
that she would do anything for him.

He took his seat in the second row in the concert hall, as the ticket
indicated, his heart beating in 
anticipation. On the stage were four empty chairs and four music stands. He
had a program, and had 
read it understanding nothing. None of the composers were familiar to him
and the names of the pieces 
meant nothing. He looked up as the audience applauded. The musicians were
taking their places. For a 
moment he didn’t recognise Tina. There were three men and one rather odd
looking girl with a limp. It 
was only when he caught sight of her violin that his mind seemed to slip
into gear and he realised it was 
her.

They tuned their instruments and then waited in silence for a few
interminable moments before the 
unseen signal to begin. Then once more he found himself seduced by her
playing. Despite the fact that he 
almost universally loathed this kind of music, he found incredible images
of lust and passion drifted into 
his consciousness as he watched her. There was something about the tiny
movements of her body and 
the slight shake of her head as she jabbed out the notes in the fast
sections, that aroused him. Equally, 
her gentle swaying during the slower sections seemed to him so sensuous
that he could not conceive that 
there weren’t others who desired her as much as he did. He watched her in
rapt awe as she played and 
tried desperately to catch her eye but her attention was consumed by her
performance and in co-
ordinating her timing with the other players. It was only at the end of the
last piece that she suddenly 
turned to the audience as she played, her eye seeking him out like a
huntress, and indeed he almost felt 
like running. When she caught him, she kept her gaze fixed on him seeming
to direct her music at him 
and him alone.

The quartet took their bow as the audience applauded, Tina keeping her eyes
on him all the time, a smile 
playing on her red lips. The next thing he knew, the stage was empty and
people had stopped clapping 
and were getting up to leave. The spell was broken. He knew what he had to
do, though, and made for 
the Artists Entrance. She was not long and it was clear she was expecting
him. Without a word they 
made slowly for his car and then he drove her to his little bachelor
apartment.

“Will you play just for me?” he asked a little apprehensively as he showed
her in. She had after all just 
captured the hearts of a room full of the great and the good who had paid
good money for her art.

“If that’s what you want,” she responded gently, “but first I need to relax
a little.”

She walked over to his window and threw back the curtains, staring at the
street life outside, while he 
poured her a drink.

“I love the night, don’t you?” she said, “its so full of unseen activity
and the bustle of unexpected life.”

Her face was close to the window peering through the reflections on the
glass. “Turn out the light,” she 
said, “lets bring some of it in here.”

He obliged, and the room was lit only by the streetlights and flickering
signs from outside. She turned to 
him as he stood beside her and rested her arms on his shoulders.

“So, you want me to play for you,” she murmured.

“Yes,” he said simply.

“Of course,” she said, “one can only truly feel at one with the instrument
when you feel it against your 
bare flesh.”

She stood back from him a little while he worked to understand what she had
just said.

“Sit down,” she said, “and give me a moment.”

She disappeared into his bathroom as he sat on the old sofa bed and waited.
Then she was there before 
him her naked form silhouetted against the window holding her violin at her
side. Saying nothing she 
slowly brought it up to her shoulder and placed the bow on the string.

Then she played.

The music was like nothing he had ever heard before. It’s swirling sound
reverberated about the room 
and penetrated deep into his soul. The street sounds outside and the
imperfect acoustics would normally 
have detracted from the quality of the playing, but somehow she used all of
those things to enhance and 
strengthen the effect. Somewhere in the distance a phone rang. Its sound
was sucked into her tune and 
absorbed until it stopped ringing. The music roved through his
consciousness, seeming to harmonise at 
all his most intimate thoughts. The phone rang again and was once more
absorbed into the music. 
Outside came the sounds of police sirens and they too served only to
provided a backdrop to the tune 
which seemed to be taking him…

Suddenly he was gripped with a nameless fear.

“Have you made some pact with the devil?” He blurted out suddenly, cutting
across the music.

She stopped playing, the flashing blue lights illuminating her body
intermittently. Outside, there was the 
sound of slamming car doors and shouting.

“What?”

He suddenly felt foolish. It all seemed so real only a moment ago, and the
fear really had gripped him 
like a cold claw around the throat.

“It’s just…” he hesitated, “you play so beautifully I felt that…”

She laughed. Laughter that should have banished his apprehension for the
stupidity it was, but somehow 
didn’t. The terror he had felt had still not completely vanished.

“Silly boy!” she walked over to him, and for the first time, as the
flashing lights outside reflected off her 
curves, he could see her body in more detail than before.

“I’ve always been able to play the violin well. It’s a gift, I suppose,
from childhood…” she paused, 
looking into his troubled face, and then took his hand. She pressed it
against the scar on her face.

“But it’s not enough.” Her voice had changed, become deeper, more bitter.

“Like every woman, I have my wants and desires.” She moved his hand down to
her breast. “But who 
would want me like this?”

He became aware for the first time of the scars and unnatural indentations
that marked her body. He 
shuddered as he felt the jagged unevenness of old wounds, but a certain
morbid compulsion kept him 
there, caressing them. With a quick urgency she seized his hand once more
and pressed it between her 
legs. His fingers squirmed against the warm moistness of her sex, and
entwined themselves in her wiry 
hair, and she gasped, closing her eyes, as he insinuated herself in her
folds. Despite his fear he could feel 
his erection growing.

“I have always been able to make people laugh or weep with my music,” she
whispered, her eyes still 
shut, “but never to make them lust after me, never to want me. Not as I am.”

The long gash on her thigh that all but crippled her showed up as black
under the blue lights.

Down below them the sound of crashing doors and heavy footfalls on the
stairs could be heard.

“So, yes,” she hissed at him suddenly, “I made a pact with the devil…” and
the confession thundered 
into his mind like a hammer, “…but unlike Paganini I already had the gift.
I needed to adapt its use, 
that’s all.”

His heart hammered against his ribcage as she smiled at him, her red lips
revealing white teeth and her 
eye sockets shrouded in darkness as the blue light continued to flash
outside. He recognised the sweet 
smell of her now, that smell he had thought so delightfully curious that
first night. It was the smell of the 
new grave. Even then he would have followed his instincts and run, but she
picked up her violin and 
drew the bow back over the strings.

Fear is often the last defence mechanism we have as living creatures. It
enables us to recognise danger 
and do whatever we must to protect ourselves. Without it we are
defenceless. As he listened to that 
sweet unearthly note, his fear melted and vanished…


“No answer sergeant!”

“Break down the door then.”

The small ram was aimed effectively at the lock and the door burst open on
the first attempt. The two 
police officers burst into the darkened room.

“Fuck me, serge, what a stench!” the young officer held his handkerchief up
to his face. “I’ll just switch 
on the… Oh Christ…”

They surveyed the awful scene in front of them for a few moments as light
flooded the room.

“He must have been here for at least a fortnight.”  said the young PC
struggling to retain his sense of 
equilibrium.

The sergeant took a few deep breaths and shook his head sadly. “Poor
bugger,” he muttered, “we might 
have got to him in time if we’d listened to his girlfriend when she first
came to us.”

END

Copyright Nick@cassandra.demon.co.uk  December 1998


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