All characters are over the age of 18 and the readers should be likewise...
BloodlineSarah stepped from the limo and looked up at the mansion. It still had that air of genteel decay hanging over it despite her husband pumping a small fortune into renovating the former plantation house. My late husband, the thought painfully reminded her of reality. Sarah had been in Tokyo on business when the news reached her of the car accident and after hours of numb shock she had scrambled to get the first plane home; only to find the forces of nature ranged against her; a typhoon had battered Japan grounded all flights for six days, enough time that Sarah had missed even her husband's funeral.
That latter point added bitterness to Sarah's grief and she saw the cause of it emerge from the house to meet her, Rochelle Taylor; Sarah's mother in law. The woman looked at Sarah as if she was dressed like a twenty dollar streetwalker. Sarah was actually dressed in a knee length black dress with her long dark hair pulled up into a tight bun. That it didn't disguise her shapely legs or the tight curves of her body was hardly her fault, the woman wouldn't be content if I turned up in sackcloth and ashes. Sarah had put the visit off for as long as she could but in the end there was no way of avoiding it, she had to visit what was left of Alex's family.
Rochelle walked down the steps with a chilly smile on her face, "You made it home." The finally was unspoken but Sarah heard it clearly.
Sarahís words had an edge like a knife, ďWell since I wasnít able to be here for the funeral I decided it would be better to wrap our affairs, get rid of the house,Ē you know the one Alex bought to be as far from you as possible.
Rochelle ignored the unspoken slap in the face and shook her head; now her tone was more like she was lecturing a small child, "There were certain family traditions that had to be upheld, you never did understand about those things, if you hadnít been so far way,"
"I understood, I just never accepted them and neither did Alex." This time the pinched expression on Rochelle's face said the barb had struck home. Those traditions expected that when Alex married his wife would stay home and have babies. Neither herself nor Alex had wanted that, at least not straight away; after all they had a lifetime together to think about that didnít they? That thought made Sarah feel a little guilty and inclined to try and be civil, "There really isnít any point in discussing that anymore is there?"
Rochelle considered that, "Perhaps you're right, and there's really nothing more to say on the subject."
Sarah tried to see that as an olive branch but instead a shiver ran down her spine.
Dinner was an oppressive affair; the dining room that Rochelle insisted on using was intended to hold twenty people rather than two. The strange decorations on the walls didn't do anything to improve the atmosphere. Still they offered Sarah something to talk about, and anything was better than that awkward silence, "All the art on the walls, it is African right?"
Rochelle nodded, "Collected by my great, great, grandfather Robert, the same man who built the house."
"And created the plantation? Doesn't that mean he..."
"Kept slaves?" Rochelle finished for her without any hint of embarrassment, "He believed the best way to control his, workers, was to understand their beliefs and their superstitions, and he succeeded; the plantation was one of the most peaceful and productive in the south. That was part of the family history that was handed down from generation to generation, and now it's over."
Sarah could see the conversation was heading in a direction she didn't want to go, "You know I think I'm going to turn in early, it was a long flight."
Rochelle nodded, "We can visit the mausoleum first thing in the morning."
"Of course." Sarah was hardly looking forward to seeing the last resting place of her husband's family and the gothic monstrosity Rochelle had created for Alex but she could hardly avoid it.
As Sarah left Rochelle's expression turned hard. She had questioned her plan endlessly since she conceived it but now her doubts had been erased. Her daughter-in-law had no idea of the wrong she had done the family, no sense of guilt; ignorance is no defence, she will make amends.
Sarah tried to sleep but found herself tossing and turning, unable to settle in this strange place, turning events over and over in her mind. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that at first she didn't hear the odd rhythmic pounding coming from outside. When she did become aware of it Sarah tried to imagine it as a distant train or aircraft but in the end had to admit to herself it sounded more like drumming.
Since she couldn't ignore it Sarah climbed out of bed and went over to the French windows that led out into the garden. Peering through the panes didnít reveal anything so she opened up the windows to step outside. It was a warm night and Sarah didn't feel the need to add anything to the silk pyjamas she was wearing.
Outside Sarah still didn't see anything but the drumming noise became more insistent and she walked out on to the grass trying to pin down a direction for it. She had walked about twenty feet before it occurred to her how stupid she was being; wandering into the night in nothing but pyjamas, what exactly do you think will happen if you find something? It didnít occur to her to wonder what would happen if something found her, until she turned to go back in, and saw a figure obscured by shadows lurking next to the French windows.
"Whose there? Sarah tried to sound calm and authoritative as she called out, that crumbled into a frightened scream as the figure stepped into the moonlight. It was a man clad in what had once been a smart suit, now it was rotted and threadbare; as was the figure wearing it. He was a gaunt leathery form, dead skin stretched over the bones, milky orbs filling the eye sockets.
In all the movies zombies were shuffling creatures that groaned and gurgled as they advanced slowly towards a victim. A small part of Sarah's mind couldn't help feeling cheated as the undead creature loped silently and swiftly towards her; the rest of her was too busy running into the darkness in terror.
The primal instinct to flee carried Sarah into the stand of trees and bushes that delineated the more formal part of the garden. Something tangled around her left arm and Sarah thought it was a branch until she saw the shriveled, leathery fingers wrapped around her, "Let me go!" She shrieked as she pulled away. Her arm slipped from the undead's grasp but the fingers clamped tightly on the sleeve and the top tore open.
Sarah shrugged the jacket off and turned away, only to run topless into the arms of yet a third undead. The sensation of her warm smooth skin against the cold leathery flesh made Sarah freeze for a moment; long enough for the zombie to lock its arms around her. That brought her back to her senses and Sarah began to struggle but her chance had passed. The second zombie had abandoned the pyjama top and now grabbed Sarah around the waist, yanking her feet off the ground.
As she writhed in the dual grasp her pyjama bottoms began to slide off her waist and down over her hips, the second zombie clawed at them and pulled them off to improve its grip on her hips. The pair shifted their grasp and joisted Sarah up; carrying her like a roll of carpet. She continued to writhe in their grasp as she felt their rough flesh and the cold night air against her pale skin. Sarah only abandoned the effort when more of the undead appeared and fell in step beside her; making it clear there would be no easy escape.
As they exited the garden through an unlocked gate Sarah had gone limp in their grasp in the hope that at some point the pack of zombies would slacken their attention and she might get the chance to break free, it was slender hop but she had to have something to hold onto. In the meantime she tried to see exactly where they were going, and soon saw the iron gates of the cemetery looming before them, of course, Sarah realized in a sort of hysterical lucidity, where else would a bunch of zombies be going?
As the creatures approached the gates swung open without any hand touching them and they all marched inside, heading into the centre of the plot. There were a number of elaborate tombs, one dominated all the others however, a great mausoleum with the name 'Taylor' inscribed above the baroque entrance, and the zombies were headed straight for it.
As the carried her inside Sarah was dazzled as she discovered the tomb was brightly lit and it took a few moments for her to be able to make out the details. There was a gleaming new tomb to one side of the crypt that had been draped with a red cloth and standing beyond it was a familiar figure, "Rochelle! Run for it! Get help!"
Rochelle laughed out loud, "Idiot girl, who do you think commands these undead?"
Sarah looked at her in shock, which rapidly shaded into anger as the words sank in, "Then tell them to let me go you bitch!"
Rochelle didn't respond; she just watched as the zombies carried Sarah to the covered crypt, the identity of the occupant of which she was now sickly certain of, and dumped her on it face down. Before Sarah could try to move four of the creatures grabbed her wrists and ankles, stretching her out and leaving her helpless once more in their inhumanly powerful grip. Sarah shook her tousled hair out of her face and stared at Rochelle, "What do you want from me?"
Rochelle's answer was as dreadful as Sarah had been imagining, "You owe me a life Sarah Taylor." As she spoke Rochelle picked up a large goblet and a very sharp looking dagger.
Fear made it hard for Sarah to speak but she swallowed hard and managed it, "If you want me dead why didn't just poison me or stab me in my sleep?"
Rochelle walked over to Sarah and dipped the dagger in the goblet, coating the blade with a mixture in which human blood was a major component. She had a cold smile on her face, "I don't want you dead Sarah, if I did I assure you would be by now, murder is a trivial thing next to raising the dead," she saw Sarah shiver as the blade began to paint a pattern on her back, "Alex was the last of the Taylorís, the end of our line. When he married you I didn't precisely approve but you were young and healthy so I assumed the Taylor lineage was secure; except of course for your precious career."
Even in the insane and vulnerable situation she was in Sarah reflexively tried to defend herself, "Alex understood, he wanted to focus on his career the same way I wanted to focus on mine."
"He indulged you." Rochelle snapped as she wetted the dagger once more and continued drawing an intricate pattern on Sarah's skin, "Your selfishness jeopardized my family but you will give a life in atonement Sarah, a Taylor child to continue the line."
Sarah was going to point out the obvious difficulty with that until her gaze fell on the creatures holding her and she understood exactly what Rochelle meant. Sarah began to struggle once more, and only the tip of the blade pressed against her spine stilled her, "This is insane," she was speaking as much to herself as Rochelle.
Her mother-in-law answered anyway, "It's not madness it's power, power that my great, great, grandfather understood and harnessed. It's power that didn't leave him even in death."
Two of the zombies moved to the ornate sarcophagus that lay in the centre of the mausoleum and lifted the lid away. Rochelle walked over to it and dipped the knife in the goblet again. She splashed the mixture of blood, oil, and herbs into the open crypt muttering something in a language unlike any Sarah had heard. Whatever the words were they had an effect; hands reached out from the tomb and rested on the sides to raise the occupant up.
Rochelle stepped aside as the figure came to its feet, "its only fitting Sarah," she announced, "that the founder of our line is the one to renew it."
The figure that emerged from the tomb was far less ancient looking than the wizened leathery creatures even though he had to be far older. His skin was grey and mottled but his hair was dark and sleek. What stood out though were the eyes, they weren't the glazed vacant orbs of the others, they were jet-black pools, a shimmering darkness that irrationally scared Sarah more than anything else that had happened so far.
The founder was undead but no one's slave. Even beyond the grave he retained an aura of power. He had heard Rochelle's summons and answered it; a wife had certain duties and this woman had failed in them. It was right that she should atone for her failures, and having his undiluted bloodline walking the world again was also a prospect too intoxicating to let pass.
As the founder advanced on Sarah she saw that he was wrapped in what looked like an African tribal cloth held by an elaborate pin. She didn't get much time to take in the details as the undead released the clasp and let the robe fall to the ground, revealing that dead or not he was more than capable of fulfilling Rochelle's plan.
The mother-in-law in question hadn't finished her preparation of Sarah just yet. She had walked around her daughter-in-law and now tipped the goblet up, letting the remainder of the thick oily liquid trickle down between the cheeks of Sarah's butt and over the lips of her pussy. The sensation of the warm fluid oozing over the sensitive flesh made Sarah shiver.
The shivers turned to full blown writhing and wriggling as she felt cold, dead, hands sliding up over her thighs, her hips, up her flanks until they settled on her shoulders. Sarah felt a cold weight settling against her buttocks and a hard phallus sliding between her hips. This can't happen, it can't it can't, Sarah repeated it like a mantra, it can't, it... "Aaahhhh!" she cried out more in shock more than anything else as the iron hard cock slid into her.
With Sarah pinned in place by the founder the zombies released Sarah's limbs and stepped back to stand behind Rochelle. She was watching the shocked look on Sarah's face as the undead began to fuck her. Rochelle couldn't resist a smile. The founder had a reputation for potency in life and she would be interested to see how long it would be before Sarah succumbed, a little humiliation would be make Sarah's atonement perfect.
Sarah's body bucked with each powerful stroke of the cock inside her. The founder was drawing back slowly and thrusting forward hard. At first Sarah just sobbed and pleaded but soon each thrust was punctuated by a little gasp. She clenched her hands trying to keep control but the founder sensed the change in her and without warning his rhythm sped up, forcing a low moan from Sarah, "Oh! Oh! Ohhh!"
Looking up Sarah saw Rochelle staring at her and yet even that couldn't cool the rising passion in Sarah, she could do nothing to hold back the orgasm that was building in her, she bit her lip trying to at least keep Rochelle from seeing how far gone she was but even that was denied her as the founder thrust deep inside her and Sarah felt it spasm and cold seed splashing into her warm tunnel, "Oh god, yes, yes! YESSSS!!!" she shrieked as she came for what seemed an eternity.
By the time Sarah recovered her senses the undead, including the founder, had returned to where they had come from, leaving her alone with Rochelle. Sarah tried to summon the strength to leap up, attack the woman, or escape, or anything but just lie here naked. What she found was that the coldness in her belly seemed to drain the will from her.
Observing her helplessness Rochelle crouched down in front of her and grasped Sarah's left hand. Rochelle pulled at the wedding and engagement rings on the middle finger and slid them off. She tipped Sarah's head up to look her in the eye, "You are not Alex's wife, not his widow. You are simply the founder's mistress and you will remain here in his 'house' until we are sure you are with child. Perhaps when you have renewed our line I will set you free, or perhaps he will want to keep you, either way you will repay your debt to this family."
As the door slammed shut and the lights went out Sarah could do nothing more than lie on the cloth sobbing helplessly as she felt the dead seed seep into her womb.