“You see? It feels good to finally get the attention you deserve, doesn’t it?” said the Red Death. “Good to finally be adored, admired, pampered, loved…”
Miranda opened her eyes and saw the pale face of a beautiful woman smiling at her, the woman’s hair floating around her body, composed of shimmering, gauzy nothingness. The woman kissed Miranda and Miranda kissed back. The touch of the phantom lips made her even more lightheaded. Meanwhile, other figures attended to her, some trailing light kisses across her naked body, some massaging her neck, shoulders, or calves, and some running their fingers through her hair as it spilled across the pillows.
Miranda reached out to embrace the other woman but her arms went right through. She kissed the side of Miranda’s neck. Miranda moaned and her eyes rolled back as the woman’s mouth trailed down the front of her body, kissing the spot between her bare breasts, trailing along the flat plane of her stomach, teasing her belly button with the tip of a tongue before going lower, and lower, cold kisses gliding over her hip bones and then to the tops of her thighs.
Miranda licked her lips and said:
“Lower, please.”
She spread her legs and cried out as a hand slid between them and then a mouth pressed against her. She began to moan. Another figure was holding her from behind, cradling her and massaging her breasts while the woman kissed her pussy, making it wet and hot. Every now and then her eyes fluttered open and she saw a dozen faces looking at her, each one smiling and adoring. It felt so good, just lying there, naked on the sheets, letting herself be touched. She bit her lip to keep from screaming as a tongue penetrated her, and then she screamed anyway as it began to flicker around and around in a circle. The sea of touches and caresses became more insistent, as though they couldn’t get enough of her. When she reached out for them they vanished but were always there again a second later.
She grew wetter and wetter, the constant, lapping attention pushing her on. She ached and trembled.
“Isn’t this what you really want?” said the Red Death. “Not your husband, not your job, not your life out there, but this: to be the most important person; to indulge your every want; to act instead of think?”
His voice hurt her. She tried to scream but couldn’t. The ghosts huddled around her, as if to protect her, kissing and fondling her with even greater attention.
“Isn’t this the real you, Miranda?” said the Red Death. “Isn’t the mask the real you after all?”
Miranda opened her eyes. She felt cold all over. She said:
“No.”
The music stopped. The ghosts vanished. The light in the room dimmed.
“What did you say?” said the Red Death. He backed up a step.
“I said no.” Miranda gathered up her costume and put it back on, covering herself before stepping out of the sedan chair. There was no one in the room now but her and the Red Death.
“I don’t want to be waited on,” she said. “I don’t want to be worshipped. I don’t want everything.”
She threw her mask away. She threw the tiara down too. The Red Death’s eyes widened.
“My, my,” he said. “Miranda: You really are a thing to wonder at.”
“I’m leaving,” she said.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” said the Red Death.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s late in the evening. And because you can’t trust the tameness of a wolf.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” said Miranda. “I don’t have time for this.”
“As you will,” said the Red Death. The door opened again. The lights went out in the White Room and her heels clicked on the marble floor as she left.
She was back in the narrow hall. Carmilla was nowhere in sight. But she heard a door creak open and saw a leering, red-eyed wolf’s head looking at her.
“Miranda?”
“Richard!” she said. “Oh my God, honey, I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“I’ve been looking for you,” said Richard. His arms circled her. The fur covering his costume scratched her, but she didn’t care.
“We have to leave,” she said, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I think we might really be in danger.”
“Yes,” said Richard, “there is danger.” His embrace grew tighter.
“Richard, I’m serious,” she said. “Something horrible is going to happen.”
“You’re right,” he said.
“Richard, are you listening to me?”
“Yes,” he said. “And I’m tired of it. I’m so tired of listening to you.”
Before she could react he had his hands around her throat. The pressure cut off her windpipe. She grabbed his wrists but couldn’t push him away. She floundered.
“Is this what you meant?” said Richard, pushing her to the ground and climbing on top, his grip tightening. “Is this horrible? Is this what you were afraid of? Well, is it?”
Miranda opened her mouth but no sound came out. Richard bared his teeth under the wolf mask. Her vision began to blur.
“I bet you were never afraid of me before, were you? Well you should have been. If you knew what I was thinking every day you’d have been damn well terrified. Do you feel it yet? Do you?”
The world went red and then black, and Miranda’s limbs became limp, and her body was heavy and sluggish. Her chest burned.
“I’m tired of just living next to you,” said Richard. “I’m sick of people only seeing your success and only talking about how wonderful you are. Tonight it’s about me. Tonight it’s what I want.” Tears ran down Richard’s mask. His knuckles went white.
Miranda tried to sit up or push him off, but he was too strong, stronger than anyone possibly could be. She felt her face swelling red and she wanted to scream, but it was impossible.
“I’m sorry,” Richard said, sobbing now. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to do this, but I have to. I have to.”
Miranda’s eyes rolled back and she went limp. The weight of Richard’s body pressed down on her. And then…
She heard a voice calling her name. The world swam back into focus for a moment and she saw Richard’s eyes, wide and bloodshot and streaming with tears behind his mask. Her arms flopped back to life, and she reached up…
Richard screamed as se gripped the side of his head and dug her thumbs into his eyes. He released her and backed away, falling against a wall. She pulled herself to her feet and when Richard stood up again she kicked him between the legs for good measure. He doubled over, howling.
Someone was still calling Miranda’s name and she ran toward the voice. Carmilla was at the bend of the hall, gaping, and Miranda grabbed her hand as she passed.
“Run!” she said.
She pulled Carmilla behind her and ducked into the first door she came to. It was a dining hall with a long oak table and expensive china and silver. Every surface was covered in dust and cobwebs. Miranda slammed the door and propped a heavy chair under the knob. Carmilla, breathless, leaned against it. “Are you okay?” she said.
Miranda tried to answer but the only sound that came out was a gargle.
“Shhh; be careful,” said Carmilla. “Your throat is bruised pretty bad.”
Miranda sagged against the wall next to her.
“Was that your husband?”
“I…I don’t know,” said Miranda.
“I don’t think he’s a keeper,” said Carmilla.
Miranda felt tears at the corners of her eyes, but stopped them.