Silence of the Butterflies Ch. 02

Author's Note: Big thank you to Secretsxywriter for editing and helping me to make this story better.

***

For the first time in weeks, I woke up rested. It was like rising from a grave. When I moved, the dried-up sperm on my skin cracked and broke my relaxed mood. The previous night came crashing in. If only it had been a wet dream, but the stuff was all over me. And on the sheets. And on the floor. No dream was that wet.

Shivers shook my shoulders. I'd received a thorough massage and a handjob from something not human. And I'd liked it. Freaky.

I tiptoed around my apartment but found no-one lurking under the bed or behind the couch. Opening the blinds revealed nothing unusual, either. If there had been rime on the window, it had thawed.

A quick shower washed away the stains and most of the nervousness. My dick was still slightly sore afterwards, and the creeping knowledge that whatever had transpired could easily happen again made me antsy. If locks didn't help, what could I do?

While drying myself, I went to fetch the knife but couldn't find it. I remembered leaving it next to the bed. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I looked around frantically. Finally, I found the knife on the kitchen counter, safely wrapped in one of my shirts. I didn't know what to make of all that, so I just put it back in the block.

Maybe I should've been relieved that the monster and I found sharp things equally unnerving.

I threw the sheets in the laundry, dressed, and rushed out. It was past noon. No big surprise as I'd slept long enough to feel rested.

I hadn't thought of ever returning to Divna's place, so it took me over an hour to find the right building. I didn't want to expose myself to more horrible tea, but there was nobody else I could talk to.

It turned out, Divna hadn't expected to see me, either. She peeked suspiciously from behind the door and only let me in after I'd proven who I was by showing the bundle of herbs she'd given yesterday.

"Still think me as a hoax, boy?" Divna asked after my account of nightly touching. She trampled around in her bright dress and fluffy slippers, her hair tangling on a loose bun. Her husband seemed to be absent. The cats followed her, giving me annoyed looks.

"I'll declare you the headmistress of Hogwarts if you want. Tell me how to get rid of that thing."

"Didn't sound you hated it."

"I fancy a handjob as much as the next man, but I don't want to be paralyzed again."

"All I did was to give you means to communicate with the spirit. Not my fault if you used it for hanky-panky."

"I did not..." I almost threw the bundle on the floor. The cats hissed at me, bolting between her and me. "I'm not accusing you of anything, but please help me."

She clacked her tongue and gave me a stink eye. "Yes, yes. You have problems. Well, I have problems, too. My back is killing me, so excuse my lack of interest. Have you no idea what it wanted to say?"

"The part about the sign was the only thing I got. Probably something about people and buildings, but that doesn't help much. Haven't you seen anything like this before? What about the moth?"

"There are shapeshifters, if that's what you're asking. And spirits can be fickle about how they show up. But no, I've never heard of something exactly like this."

"And there is nothing you can do to help?"

"The good news is, you're sharing energy. That should help you understand it the next time."

"What do you mean?"

"Your hanky-panky. Sexual release is a powerful conduit. If only you'd gotten them to whack you off before all the drawing. If you're so distraught, try to solve the damn puzzle. Spirits like that don't bother people for fun."

I tried to argue some more, but Divna would have none of it. Eventually, I thanked her and left, not wanting to anger a witch...or whatever she was. I hadn't believed her yesterday, so demanding answers now would make me appear ungrateful.

The comfort of a chocolate smoothie never failed, so I got one and sat in the diner doodling on napkins. I tried to recreate the pictures drawn on me. My memories were shoddy at best, and I wasn't much of a drawer. Stick figures on boxes—people and buildings—was the best I could come up with.

Soon, I was casting aside enough napkins to receive weird looks from the staff. I took my smoothie and retreated before the waiter started asking questions.

The only images I was sure of were the 'Open' one and an arrow leading out from it. The text alluded to the sign under my window, but what did the arrow mean? Was there something behind the sign? Was the spirit trapped? Imprisoned? Was my apartment above a second-grade ghost busting operation?

The afternoon was crashing towards the night, and I didn't know how to excuse a sleepover to any of my friends. At worst, the monster would hunt me down and do in my friends, too. The only way to proceed was to conduct some impromptu detective work.

The sign stood there, bolted to the wall just like all the previous days I'd walked past it. Maybe the answer was inside. The corner store under my apartment was full of people on their way from work. I wandered around, gathering snacks in order to not to draw attention.

There were no alarming markings on the ceiling or the floor, and the walls were covered with shelves. It would've helped if I had any idea what I was looking for. I passed the counter and saw all kinds of bits and bobs hanging next to the burly man conducting the business, but nothing indiscriminating stood out. Unless he was using faded postcards, discolored promotional pens, and animal magnets in dark rituals.

I wondered about that for a minute but found no means to confirm it one way or another. Going back to Divna's wasn't on the table, either.

I wedged myself between a student-looking dude amassing frozen pizzas and a granny pondering what cake mix to buy. I held the door for the dude while he stuffed the ones he didn't want back to the freezer.

There was nothing weird happening in the store at all, as far as I could tell, so I took my snacks and poured them on the counter. While paying, I tried some cunning small talk. "Nice... um...sign you have outside."

The man let out a non-descriptive mumble.

"My friend collects them. He might be interested." I mean, people collect some weird shit, so this couldn't be that long of a shot.

"Not for sale."

"It looks unique. Where'd you get it?"

The man gave me a long, disinterested look. "You paying or causing a scene?"

I gave him the money. "I'm serious here."

He wrote something on the back of my receipt before giving it to me. "It was a clearance sale. Probably empty now."

I stuffed the snacks in my pockets and stepped out to make room for the granny with her pile of cake mixes. I looked behind the receipt and found an address. I'd half expected some chosen rude words. The address was some ways away. With the sun determined to set on a schedule, I hurried along.

It was a seedy neighborhood, so I wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible. Cheap, rundown bars and pool halls riddled the sides of the roads. Most of the businesses had their shutters down permanently. Some nightclubs had opened already, and the women going in were most likely in search of customers. I tried to vanish inside my hoodie.

After wandering past it a couple of times, I found the right place. It seemed to have been a strip club at one time. The name had been scraped off, but there were still silhouettes of showgirls plastered on the windows. It was a sizable space spanning two stories and maybe a basement. Now, it was just an empty carcass, waiting to be picked to the bone.

Six cracked holes in the brickwork marked the place where I assumed the sign had been. Red tears of rust had seeped into the wall.

The windows were dimmed, making it impossible to see inside. I thought I heard a noise on the other side, but maybe it was the traffic. A drooping, yellow poster denoted the clearance sale. It had been weeks ago and advised interested parties to go around the back.

I didn't expect to find anything worthwhile, so I was surprised when I saw two men yelling at each other. The one blocking the back door was in overalls and had a crowbar in hand. The other, I guessed, was homeless based on his mismatched clothes.

"Fuck off! We're working!" Overalls yelled.

The homeless man tried to get in but was pushed back. "I need my sleeping bag."

"Tough luck."

"What's the trouble?" I asked and got annoyed looks from both of them.

Overalls tapped the door with the crowbar. "We're tearing down the place, no entry."

I pulled out my wallet. I didn't have the money to spend—even the smoothie had been too expensive—but I needed answers. "Can't I take a quick look-see? It's getting late, in any case."

Overalls looked at his watch and then at the homeless man. "Whatever. He's not coming. Leaving cans all over the place."

"I always clean!" The homeless man exclaimed. "It's the others."

I handed a twenty to Overalls, and he disappeared into the building. I turned to the homeless man. "Where're your things? I'll get them."

He side-eyed me and spit on the ground. "In one of the old offices. Just left of here."

"Wait a bit."

Some light managed to get in through the dirty corridor windows, but I turned on my phone's flashlight just in case.

I pushed doors open as I passed them. Mostly old dressing rooms. All the furniture and lamps had been removed. Fast food papers and broken bottles littered the corners. Everything smelled of rats.

The first office-looking room was empty. The second one had the sleeping bag, a couple of magazines, and a banged-up metal case. I shoved the other stuff into the sleeping bag and threw it on my shoulder. I wandered through the corridor, passing by a couple more offices. I saw old footprints in the dust and a stinking mattress someone had tried to burn.

The stairs took me up, and soon I found myself standing on the stage. Down on the floor, the teardown crew was talking amongst themselves and eyed me but went back to dismantling the bar.

Mirrors at the back of the stage were shattered, the shards covering the floor. The dance poles had been removed leaving only big holes marking their places.

The walls were covered in bright graffiti. I could almost hear the bygone music and see eager customers crowding the edges of the stage, reaching to tip the girls. When the men moved their lights, the mirror shards reflected stars on the ceiling.

In the ceiling, a vast mural spanned from wall to wall. It had half-naked women lying in a jungle and colorful butterflies dotting the scenery like jewelry. Even with the cracked plaster, the whole scene had a weird, fantastical feel to it. Like Alice in Wonderland, it danced between familiar and surreal. I was so mesmerized by the sight, I tripped on a piece of brass railing still attached to the edge of the stage.

Some of the crew laughed as I staggered down, barely keeping my balance.

As I continued my exploration, I noticed more butterflies carved on doorknobs, pictured in floor mosaic, and painted on shattered lamp shades swept into a corner.

Upstairs, I found more of the same. I checked the doors at the back and found what was left of the rooms for private shows.

Only the last one took me somewhere different: into a posh office with gilded—yet now withered—wallpaper. The floor was hardwood, and the window had broken stained glass. You could see the dust imprints of things that had been hanging on the walls. The weirdest one seemed to have been a ship's wheel.

Then I noticed the damaged wall. At first, I thought it was just more vandalism. But I started to think it resembled claw marks after closer inspection. Ones that fit what I remembered of the hands from last night. If the creature could rend walls, it could've gutted me instantly.

Before I could get any more scared, I heard someone coming up the stairs. Overalls appeared at the door, tapping his watch. I muttered a thank you and rushed out.

The alley was empty when I exited the building, but the homeless man appeared behind a corner as soon as I took the sleeping bag off my shoulder.

"Thank ya, sir. So very much." A relieved smile appeared on his face as he checked the stuff I'd brought. Tenderly, he rolled up the sleeping bag and fitted it in his rucksack. "Didn't think nobody would come back here anymore. The name's Tobias, by the by."

"I'm Rico. You know anything about that place?" We strolled further away as the crew started to come outside as well.

"Ya reporter or some such?"

"Look, I'll give you all this." I pulled the snacks from my pockets. "And enough for a pack of cigarettes, if you can tell me something."

"I ain't-a smokin' man, but I'll always have a use for dough." He put out his hand. "Was classy place once, had women from far away. Ones who had legs going all the way up and who'd slap ya around if ya told them that. Danced like butterflies and stung like bees, as they say."

I gave him a twenty, all the chocolate bars, nuts, and other stuff my shopping adventure had garnered. "Anything special?"

"Like how?" He stuffed the bill in his belt and the food in his pockets. "Was run by a woman. Not seen likes of her here or anywhere. Ma'am Seri was what we all called her. Gave food and work for those in need."

I looked back at the building, finding nothing of interest. "Did she have a real name?"

"She had a proper name, sure, but I forgot it. I've not been in the city for years. Only came back to pay respects." He looked over his shoulder. "Used to do work there time to time. Only now heard it went under."

"What happened to her?"

"Dunno. Ask Hetty. If she still roamin' around. Knows everyone and would remember Ma'am's name, that's for sure."

"Where can I find her?"

"Who knows? The tricky part about roamin' people."

"Great." I guess my sigh was louder than I'd thought as he gave me a weird look.

"There's other places for girls if ya in need."

"The opposite." I took another twenty and gave it to him. "I'll be back tomorrow. If you see Hetty, tell her I'm looking for her."

"Sure thing, junior."

"Keep safe."

"Ya, too."

I didn't want to stay around after the dark but didn't feel like going home. I ended up riding a bus while Googling for anything helpful.

There were some mentions of the club—exotic dance club, to be precise—that confirmed, what Tobias had told me. It had been called Rama-Rama, which Google told me meant "butterfly" in Malay. Made sense, considering the decor, but I couldn't get the lonely moth out of my mind.

The club had been the place to be back in the day if you liked to inhabit the establishments with scantily clothed women. Madam Seri had talked actively against people lumping strippers together with prostitutes.

In the article and every other source, she was simply known as Madam Seri. The only good picture showed a short, middle-aged woman with dark hair and eyes. She seemed Caucasian as far as I could tell. My guesstimate was, she would be in her eighties now.

There was no mention of the club shutting down.

Then, I went digging through all various forums and subreddits dedicated to supernatural encounters, cryptozoology, and other paranormal phenomena. It turned out, depictions of weird ghost sex weren't as rare as I'd thought. Not that I believed any of them, and none were anything close to what I had experienced. The closest thing I found was Mothman, and that didn't fit.

No matter how steamy and weird, fanfic people were writing about it.

Several threads covered ways of catching ghosts, demons, or other supernatural beings to be used as sex slaves. My encounter hadn't been entirely enjoyable, but enslavement wasn't what I'd call a reasonable response. Divna had been right. Things going bump in the night had a reason to be afraid of us.

Posting in any of the threads seemed a waste of time, so I put my phone away and stared out the window. Time passed as a series of lampposts bludgeoning me with their orange light. I had to go home eventually. I just didn't know how to deal if the creature came back.

I really needed a name so my brain didn't have to bend over backward as much when thinking about them. After some thought, I went with Toucher. Naming things was not my strong suit. As a kid, I'd had a spotted dog called Spot.

The paralysis was what I dreaded, not the touching. If only I could communicate with Toucher somehow. As disturbing as the claw marks had been, at least they told me Toucher had probably been at the club, so I was on the right track.

I still had the pen and the receipt. I tried to draw a comic explaining what I'd done today. I hoped that exploring the sign's origin was what Toucher had wanted me to do. Who knows? They might just want me to bolt the sign better into the wall.

Though, I didn't even get the sign part. Was the creature somehow connected to the sign? Why? If Toucher had anything to do with moths, maybe the light source was like their home. Insects probably didn't invest much in housing.

The club had something to do with butterflies, but that wasn't much to go with, either. Maybe Toucher was due some royalties?

It was already past midnight when I dragged myself back to my apartment. I tested the metal of the lock before turning my key. It wasn't unnaturally cold. Neither was anything else I touched, and I tried every surface. The window was still locked, as well, and devoid of rime.

I bolted the door and barred it with a chair. I contemplated on hauling a cabinet against it, but I had the feeling the effort would be in vain.

A shower didn't relax me as much as I'd hoped for. I hit my elbow against the wall several times because I stood half turned to the bathroom door. I feared the water would suddenly freeze, sending me sprawling on the floor.

Nothing unexpected happened.

I took a bunch of paper from my printer and drew a more thought-out version of my misadventures, trying to emphasize my effort to track down anything worthwhile about the sign and the strip club. It all looked like it was drawn by a five-year-old, but I hoped Toucher wouldn't grade me on style.

I ended up pacing back and forth, trying to decide whether to take the knife with me to bed. My palms were sweaty, and even the familiar sounds of midnight traffic from the outside made me jumpy. At least I still heard them.

There was no way for me to get any sleep tonight, but that was nothing new.

In the end, I chose to leave the knife in the block. I'd never taken a self-defense class. Chances were, I'd be more of a threat to myself than vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness.

I placed the bundle of herbs back over the window then left a slit between the curtains. For better or for worse, I wanted to see Toucher better.

Once in bed, I pulled the blanket over me and placed the papers on my stomach. I would feel so stupid if I woke up in the morning covered in paper cuts.

I lay there for a long time, expecting the worst but hoping for the best. It was disturbing to notice the latter made me think about last night's handjob. Luckily, my sudden orgasm hadn't made Toucher feral. If women didn't always appreciate getting sperm all over them, supernatural night visitors probably didn't either.

Toucher was intelligent but didn't seem to know much about humans. Or maybe they knew enough. Paralyzing me appeared more about self-defense than malice. They hadn't hurt me beyond tickling.

I got the pen and drew a couple more pictures to tell I'd enjoyed the handjob. Give credit, where credit is due.

After that, I must have nodded off, because when I next looked up, I saw a shadow on the wall. The curtains were now almost closed. What little light hit the opposing wall revealed Toucher as a black silhouette.