Trolley No. 1852

Being forced to watch this further exploitation insinuated a feeling of utter uselessness on my part. Whatever excess of intellect I may have been possessed of seemed just as useless, for my faculties delivered nothing in so much as a plan of action. Primordially, at least, I might try to give direct fight to Miss Aheb, but being apprised of her powers—for instance, of psychic thought-decryption—I could only imagine that far greater proclivities were at her disposal; while I also suspected that the motorman must be lurking about in some reasonable proximity. I tried to dim the tenor of my conscious thoughts, therefore (to keep them out of her telepathic grasp) and pray that some subconscious resolution might spring to mind.

Her hips writhed in response to Selina’s oral tendings; and not long thenceforth came the patented spasms that signaled orgasm, Miss Aheb’s monstrously skinned yet comely body flexing and clenching in the midst of the sought-after release. Once sated, she nudged Selina off with a flick of hand. “That was wonderful, my love.”

“You’ve changed her just as you yourself have changed,” I blurted loudly, “in the atrocious tainting of your skin. It allows you to share some aspect of the Pyramidiles.”

“It does far more than that!” she scolded. “It’s their blessing to us, Mr. Phillips. Just as your earthly babies are ‘christened’ with holy water to receive the anointment of your so-called God; so too are Selina and I anointed, as the Pyramidiles give us grace by bestowing the cosmic beauty of their skin to our paltry human bodies.” She held out her arms to give accentuation to her breasts’ “anointment,” the flawless orbs made revolting by the swirls of discolour. “But in their anointing us, we receive not only an aspect of their beauty but also the blessing of their immortality, along with other wondrous traits.”

“That obscene pendant,” I hastened. “Like the crystals of the chandelier, it generates a similarity to the Pyramidiles’ atmosphere, correct? This grotesque light that is not light but somehow illuminating nonetheless.”

“You’re correct, indeed. It’s not mere light, it’s the Abhorrescence, whose nether- rays halt aging to all those in the midst of them. Even you, Mr. Phillips. For the time you’ve spent in this room as well as your time on the terrascape, you have not aged a single minute.”

This, too, seemed to explain the cessation of time during the soul-searing journey to that wretched domain.

The witch-priestess was giving answer to my questions, yes, but a question even more paramount remained…

When?

“Exactly how many thoggs have been birthed thus far?” I asked.

Her grin couldn’t have broadened any more wickedly. “Of that… I’ll leave you to guess,” and then, as if summoned by a bell-toll, the motorman made its entrance, clothed but maskless, the most salient feature of its face—that grotesque, scarlet-tipped tentacle—writhing.

“I presume it is telepathy that enables you to communicate even to a monster with no ears,” I said.

“The thogg’s proboscis is the nerve cluster which allows it to see and hear. But it is to the beast’s brain that my thoughts are delivered,” Miss Aheb said. “However, if you must know, these mental commands are reflected in the actual language of the Pyramidiles. Not words, but numerals.”

“Gematria,” I uttered. “The substitution of letters with their corresponding numbers. The little written record there is indicates that theirs is a language of mathematics.”

“I’m impressed, Mr. Phillips,” she seemed to genuinely enthuse. “Your studies of my gods are quite extensive. I don’t think in words to the motorman, for instance. I think in numbers. Were you a little brighter yourself, you might have deduced the meaning of the trolley before you even got here.”

My expression clearly showed I did not understand.

“1, 8, 5, 2,” she said. “One, denoting the first letter of the alphabet, Mr. Phillips.”

“The letter A.”

“And 8?”

“The letter H.”

Her smile beamed, as the rest of the truth dropped to my gut.

“5 is E, and 2 is B,” I quailed. “1,8,5,2 equals AHEB.” How could I not have seen that before?

“Very good,” the woman mocked. “And were I to think the numbers, 11, 9, 12, and 12, and then make an indicative gesture toward your beloved sister?”

11, 9, 12, 12, I thought desperately, then calculated each number’s letter- equivalent: “K, I, L, L…”

“Yes, Mr. Phillips! Kill. The thogg would then, by my mental command, kill Selina. Or, how about, say, 6, 21, 3, 11?”

I quickly made the translation, and gulped, “Fuck.”

“Um-hmm. How would you like that?” she continued to mock. “How would you like to watch the motorman fuck your sister?”

The thought sickened me to unto death. “I beg you, Miss Aheb. Don’t do that. I just watched a dozen of his kind do the same.”

“Indeed, or perhaps I could order the motorman to fuck you, Mr. Phillips.” She chuckled shrilly, in a manner that actually caused the chandelier’s myriad crystals to clink musically together. “The sight might very well amuse me.”

“Let my sister have her freedom, and I’ll consent to that,” I directed.

“Ah, there you go with your chivalry again.” The bright eyes within the maligned face narrowed on me. “Tell me, is that what you want more than anything? Selina’s release?”

“Indisputably, yes!” Was the obscene woman toying with me, or did I stand some unfractionable chance of getting my sister out of here? I stepped boldly forward. “Let’s bargain. Quid pro quo.”

“So you’d like one thing exchanged for some other, hmm?” she tittered inhumanly. “You regard your sister with the utmost importance, Mr. Phillips, but surely you understand that I do as well.”

“Then what could be more challenging than a wager?” I argued. “It’s easy to be courageous when one has the powers of telepathy and immortality, not to mention”—I jabbed a finger toward the motorman—“the services of a thing like that at your beck and call. Hear me, Miss Aheb. To whatever degree this evil Abhorrescence has imbued you with a likeness to the Pyramidiles, you’re still human, are you not? Humans are known to be intuitive, subjective, and often even sporting. You can’t deny the appeal of a good wager, can you? So let’s do that, Miss Aheb. Accept my challenge.”

A finger dawdled over a well-sucked areola as she deliberated over my “challenge.” “Win or lose, I see nothing to be gained on my part. How fair is that?”

My mind clicked like an ancient abacus, desperate for a resolving quotient. “If I win the wager, then Selina goes free, yet I stay in her stead.”

Selina objected, “Oh, Morgan, I could never let you!”

“Silence!” I raised my voice to her, then returned my proposition to the grotesque madam. “I will replace her as the trolley’s conductor as well as the deliverer of your necessary seminal rations via the periodic ingressions.”

“Is that all?” she complained.

Never one given to crudity, I opened my trousers without hesitation, and displayed my genitalia which, I now had on unimpeachable authority, was larger and more enduring than that of most men. “Being a woman so carnally inclined, I would think you might find some gratifying utility… for this.”

Miss Aheb’s sinister eyes went wide at the vulgarian display, just as I suspected they might.

“My,” she uttered. “The rumours are no exaggeration! It was reported to me quite early, Mr. Phillips, that you are quite the sexual exemplar.”

Some attendant braggadocio on my part seemed in order. “My prowess in the act of fornication reduced five of your highly experienced prostitutes to putty earlier in the evening.”

“So I’ve heard, while I’ve also heard that the quantity of your dispenses of seed are most excessive.” She rested her chin on her fingertips. “That would prove useful around here as well.”

“And whenever you’re feeling a thirst for pleasures of the lesbian variety, this thirst can easily be quenched by any number of lascivious harlots residing here at the club.”