As You Make Your Bed
Content Warning: Sexual content, graphic imagery, references to physical violence
Be it to the north or west, east or south, whether in towns or villages, nomad or refugee camps—legends make home everywhere. Whether they haunt us as urban legends or superstitions, flashy superhero story arcs, the surly deities of winter or the fascinating tales of the East and beyond, Rosario DeMonneo chased them like a hound. She always found what she was after and devoured it with enormous appetite because she knew that fantasies often carried a grain of truth. If she kept an eye out, chances were, she would discover unimaginable treasures. Failing that, she would make them up.
Rosario gave the piece of bone in her hand an appraising glance, then carefully put it back in its chest labeled: “Mermaid’s skeleton from Apollonia Pontica.” She was convinced that among the pile of bones in the huge wooden chest there were some decidedly human ones, but the lithe tail among them owed much to the sculpting force of sea waves as well as her wild imagination. This would make the perfect mermaid sample. She smiled. Pure art—a thing of beauty! She had once found a vampire skeleton in a village by the Danube River. The find caused quite a stir. But this! What people would not give to see it! The Danes would be jealous—their mermaid was just a statue dedicated to a fairy tale.
Life is full of wonders! ‘You just wait until I get on top of it for the ride,’ thought Rosario dreamily. She could see herself smiling and glamorous from the cover of a top magazine. The phone rang in Taylor Swift’s voice to snap the daring explorer out of a blissful moment. She glanced at the screen and said briskly:
“I want to hear great news!”
“Hi, darling!” said a lively female voice. “Rosey, I am speechless! So excited for you Ro…”
“Did he come around? Is it a ‘yes’?”
“I don’t know where to start! It was a nightmare! But he liked your project so much, baby, he took my hands in his! This gave me butterflies!” she went on reliving the experience.
“Will he publish it? Out with it, girl!”
“Just write the book! He’ll publish it right away in whatever edition you say! You’ve done it again, Rosie, you always do!”
Just then she heard a delicate knock. Rosario dropped the coquettish aesthetic without missing a beat and said in her business-like voice:
“Come in!” and then switched back effortlessly: “Baby, I’m going to hang up, someone’s at the door. Catch you later!”
She tossed the phone aside and looked at the stranger who had stepped into the office.
“Miss DeMonneo?” inquired a young delivery guy. “You have a package. Just sign here.”
Rosario drew two squiggly lines with a long fingernail on the display and sent the young man away. Then she turned to look at the medium-sized package sitting on the cabinet. Pink! A shiny red greeting card tied with a curly ribbon adorned it. Her lover had signed the card, filled with lovey-dovey nonsense, cheeky innuendos, and the aroma of perfume on tap. Instead of opening the package, she dialed a number.
“What’s inside, sugar?” she purred, turning the package in her hand.
“So, you got it, babe?” said the man playfully on the other end. “Isn’t it awesome!”
“Haven’t opened it yet—it’s kind of a shame—the wrapping is so chic,” Rosario drawled and added coquettishly. “Boy, is it big!”
“Come on, open it, baby!” urged Tony.
“What’s got into you!? Ok, ok!” she giggled and teased him: “I thought you wouldn’t remember.”
She tore the wrapping and heard Tony blurt:
“Did you? Did you see it?”
“Baby,” Rosario’s voice got throaty. “What’s this!?”
She searched inside the torn package and pulled out a perfect phallus carved from marble. The precise cut behind the scrotum meant that someone had carefully separated it from a statue. The detail and sheer craftsmanship were astonishing.
“Well?” boomed Tony’s voice from the speaker. “Do you like it? Say something, honey!”
“How did you get your hands on this huge thing, dear?” Rosario finally found her voice again.
Tony could sense she was genuinely impressed and said proudly:
“I found it on a stall at the entrance of The Eyes of God. Do you remember the cave? We were shooting the first season of the series there. The moment I saw it, I knew it would be the perfect Valentine’s gift for you. Two birds with one stone! That’s archaeology and love!” he added contentedly.
Rosario was turning the marble piece in her hand, stroking its exquisite lines. Her instincts screamed that this was probably an exceptionally rare find.
“Did you ask where they found it?”
“I did but the man was not sure,” said Tony lively. “They found it outside the village Trabo…Tarapok.. or something like that along the hillside road to the Black Sea.”
“Trapoklovo?”
“Yeah! That’s it!” confirmed Tony.
Then he went on about his plans for Valentine’s Day but Rosario was not listening anymore. She could not take her eyes off of the gift.
“…so, what time should I pick you up, baby?”
DeMonneo realized he was waiting for her to say something.
“Sorry dear, you’re breaking up—say that again,” she said.
“When will you be ready for dinner?” articulated Tony patiently.
“Sure, come pick me up,” she replied offhandedly and hung up.
She could now give the piece of marble her full attention. She placed it on the desk and began to examine it with a magnifying glass. Miss DeMonneo was very much into history and archaeology, spending most of her time studying old legends and hunting for artifacts. When she made an important discovery, the media immediately picked up the story and the news made the rounds in every major publication. She was in demand and being pretty was a big advantage. She was a hot commodity and she knew it.
There was no way she was going to miss an event like Valentine’s reception in Tony’s company. Even so, early next morning she got into her car and headed for the Rhodope mountains where she hoped to pick the brains of professor Jonas Shepherd—one of the big names in local archaeology. He had earned his fame discovering the spring of the Rubicon river, or Rubiconos as he used to call it and the ancient Thracian holy site beside it. Shepherd said the river flowed into a sinkhole disappearing deep into the karst massif of the Rhodope. He also claimed that the river resurfaced somewhere in the mountain ranges around Podgorica in Montenegro only to disappear once again among the hills south of the city of Dubrovnik. It reappeared close to Ljubljana next, winding its way to the slopes of Kranska Gora mountain where it ran underground all the way to the Meloni pass, south of Cesena and then flowed into the Adriatic Sea.
The Thracian holy site at the spring was a large project and Shepherd remained on site until the rainy autumn.
Rosario was certain she would find him in a pretentious hotel close-by as the professor had announced a major conference covered by international media. He was currently busy getting ready for the event. Many scientists had been invited and Rosario would use the occasion to make new contacts and garner all the attention and publicity she could. She knew the professor had a weak spot for her mainly because she had secured the funds for the dig.
She loved this beautiful mountain—an undulating sea of hills as far as the eye could see and cozy glens tucked away in its folds affording stunning views. The calm rhythm of the heart of the mountain soothed the mind all year round. Staring dreamily ahead, Rosario almost missed the hotel. She noticed in passing that the parking lot in front was eerily empty for this time of year. Before long, she was sitting at a table at a local inn with the professor who studied the phallus with a trained eye.
“It’s Roman! No doubt!” The professor looked at her over his glasses. “Did you dig it up near the site by any chance?”
In some way he felt responsible for everything concerning Rubiconos and jealously guarded what he felt was his territory.
“Of course not!” Rosario hurriedly denied. “I got it from a friend who bought it off a man at the market. The man said it was found near Trapoklovo. Can it be from an earlier age? A Roman replica of something older perhaps?”
“Nonsense! It’s a Roman original!” the professor said and plonked the marble phallus on the table. “Some Roman finds were made near Trapoklovo—second century AD I believe. The make, detailing, material—I know my stuff, though… something is off about this.”
Shepherd looked up suddenly and exclaimed:
“This thing is huge! The Greeks and Romans liked them smaller…,” the professor brooded over it and eventually said: “They found something in Pompeii, I recall. To find something like that here… Are you sure it is not a fake?”
“They wouldn’t con me for something like this!” Rosario said confidently, “My friend said the phallus came with a set of coins bearing a certificate of authenticity…”
“Hmph!” Shepherd snorted contemptuously. “I can get you a thousand of those for nothing!”
“This came off a statue. You need to get a dating on the sculpture it was separated from,” said a voice competently.
The woman who had approached their table unseen was wearing an elegant jacket on top of a turtleneck sweater, straight-leg trousers and an oversized brooch around her neck.
“Hi, Miss DeMonneo, Mr. Shepherd,” she nodded her greeting to each of them, her tone losing its warmth at the mention of the latter’s name.
“Professor! It’s Professor Shepherd!” he corrected icily.
“You most certainly are not!” the newcomer retorted and turned to Rosario pointing to the phallus on the table. “I happened to notice this specimen and, your company notwithstanding, I couldn’t help it…”
“You… vile old…” hissed Shepherd, his sturdy body visibly tensing. “My title is all over the news! Bugger off before I… You are not on the conference attendee list anyway!”
“Bah, C-o-n-f-e-r-e-n-c-e!” she laughed.
Rosario was used to scientists’ banter but these two went a long way back and she decided to stop it while she still could.
“Good afternoon, Professor Cordelia Delpho. We didn’t see you come in,” she said hastily. “Are you staying here?”
“Yes dear, I am here on vacation,” said Professor Delpho amiably and added: “Skiing vacation. However, the scientist in me could not help but notice this incredible phallus you have so conspicuously put on the table. Speaking of which…I don’t think Shepherd can offer much in the way of advice—he can’t tell a Turkish from a Latin inscription on a tombstone,” she added with a laugh. “Have you by any chance found another of Orpheus’ graves, Jonas?”
“It seems you haven’t learned your lesson,” the Professor jumped to his feet, sending his chair backward.
Rosario noticed that a silent crowd had gathered to watch the argument. She recognized a few renowned members of the international scientific community among them. When Shepherd rolled up his sleeves and fell on Professor Delpho, a scientist from Turkey blocked his path despite the obvious size disadvantage.
The argument turned international and cameras appeared out of nowhere which did not bode well for Rosario’s image. Clearly, she was not going to get answers here anymore, so she slipped out of the restaurant. There was one other expert she could turn to—Professor Mithranny who had earned a solid reputation as the director of the Museum of History. A tall imposing man with a booming voice at that.
DeMonneo contacted him by phone on her way back to the city and the professor agreed to meet her that same evening at his place. When she pulled up in front, she saw him sitting on a bench outside his flat smoking, his poodle squatting with a guilty look beside him.
Apparently, Mithranny had fallen out with his wife and had gone out for a walk. Rosario joined him and while they strolled down the lamplit park lane she showed him the marble phallus.
“So, Shepherd dated it from the second century AD?” he asked looking at the piece in his hand. “What did Professor Delpho have to say about it?”
“I didn’t get the chance to ask her because Shepherd got violent,” she replied feeling uncomfortable.
“Ah! The farce they showed on the news is beginning to make sense now,” Mithranny laughed and added respectfully: “You took your leave on time. You are… subtle!”
Professor Mithranny was an expert at maintaining a public image and Rosario looked up to him as a mentor.
“This Shepherd guy is a really weird,” he added conversationally. “Did you know he really keeps cattle? He is growing five suckler cows in a barn behind the sacred ground of Rubiconos. He milks them and puts them out to pasture himself!”
He looked up to see her reaction and was not disappointed.
“You are telling me a professor is herding cows?” the moment she said it, she remembered something and asked:
“By the way, Delpho…”
“…said he was no professor?” Mithranny finished her question.
“Well, yes!” Rosario looked baffled.
“He never earned the title. I am not a professor myself. The difference is I never said I was one. I am a museum director and that’s it. It is just… the media and journalists seem to think I am a professor.”
Rosario was gawping now.
“Miss DeMonneo, if only you could see the look on your face!” Bojiro boomed cheerfully in his soft baritone. “Titles have lost value in these parts—you can buy one of those cheaply or cheat your way to it. The same way you can become a writer,” he added and gave her a meaningful glance. “Not you in particular but I have seen recently what your colleagues are up to.”
“What are you talking about, Professor?” Rosario countered.
“I meant the latest literary masterpiece in short fiction—“Fox sweat!” said Mithranny and bobbed his head. “Don’t you read the news, girl? This so-called literary work of your colleague’s is a con. You target a great piece by a well-known writer, say, the story about the white swallow. It is so loaded with meaning—a father is clinging to the desperate hope of saving his child from an incurable disease. Everything is worth a try if it gives even the faintest glimmer of hope, including urban legends,” the Professor noticed Rosario’s puzzled look and explained: “The white swallow is a cure, or the fox’s sweat, magic tears of a unicorn, you get the picture! Put people’s tragedies in focus, add hope for a miraculous recovery in the mix, get the reader to empathize and you become one of the greats!”
“…or a creative writing genius if you give scientific research the fictional narrative slant,” Rosario said out loud without meaning to.
“What do you mean?” Mithranny was looking at her now.
“Nothing, really!” said Rosario quickly and added with concern: “What happens if readers notice the similarities?”
The poodle lifted a leg rather comically and relieved itself on a garbage bin.
“Nobody reads the classics anymore!” exclaimed Mithranny and changed the subject: “But we got off the point! About this marble dick of yours—Jonas may be right for once.”
“An early second-century find?” asked Rosario.
“Seems likely,” said the Professor vaguely. “There were forts near Trapoklovo in antiquity to guard the mountain passes but a phallus has no business being there! This piece,” and the Professor tossed it to feel its weight, “…comes from a statue and though I am no art history expert, I can say its size does not match the period. We cannot second guess without knowing the statue. Second and third century coins, pottery and armor fragments are the usual finds in the area but nothing like this! It might be worth doing a little research on site. With your talents, I am sure you will come up with a good story even if you fail to find the missing body.”
Still on the leash, the poodle circled a spot a few times, bent over in the shape of a bow and pooed right in the middle of the muddy park lane. The two humans patiently waited while the dog finished this most important task for the day and headed back. Rosario parted warmly with the Professor and hurried home to begin preparations for the relic hunt.
The following morning, she hit the road again but this time in a caravan fully kitted out for archaeological digs and living in the wild. The marble phallus of the mysterious sculpture had become a top priority for DeMonneo. She had a nose for sensations which she trusted completely. The mermaid discovery and the book would have to wait.
The journey was uneventful and she arrived in Trapoklovo in the early afternoon. It appeared the village was hosting a mummer’s festival and a crowd of men in frightful masks were dancing in the streets, wearing animal skin and cowbells to drive out evil spirits. As tradition goes, people had gathered at the village square to sing songs and join in the round dances. Rosario was a seasoned reveler and jumped right in. After she downed several glasses of heavy wine and paid homage to the local cuisine, Rosario inquired about the sites around the village. She learned that little remained from the old village fortifications and there was not much to see. The Thracian mounds were of some interest but had been ravaged by treasure hunters. The locals returned blank stares when she asked about statues and relics from antiquity.
DeMonneo figured there was nothing else to learn so she decided to visit the ruins the next day and was soon lost among the crowd. She was casually drinking her wine in the square when she heard the lines of a folk song sung by an old woman:
She fell asleep and in her dream
Helen fair maid met Trapokles
The Trojans heard her moans and there
Ended their love affair
They took Helen against her will
To Trojan upon the hill
Although the wine had fogged her mind, her hunting instinct woke her up and she searched the crowd. She soon had a lock on the old woman but some young lads swept Rosario along in the line dance. The rest of the evening was a haze due to the heavy Thracian wine.
She woke up the next morning naked in the caravan. A strapping young man was snoring on the floor. He was naked too. Her head throbbed and her hair was sticky and smelly—always a telltale sign.
She slowly lifted herself up, swung a leg off the bed and gave the stranger a firm and meaningful prod. He did not cooperate and released gas from the south end before turning his back on her. When he continued snoring, Rosario got worked up, stuck her heel in his exposed back and hissed:
“Get up already!”
The young man sighed and slowly freed himself from the clutches of sleep muttering a protest.
“What are you on about!?” retorted DeMonneo, “Who are you and why are you naked on my floor?”
The stranger sat up on the mat at her feet looking utterly clueless. His mind cleared up quickly when his eyes wandered over her bold curves and peaks which the cold had sculpted.
“Knock it off!” said Rosario, annoyed and wrapped herself with the crumpled blanket.
By then, the young man was fully awake and returned a cheeky smile.
“Last night you were as hot as an oven and now you are playing chaste, you naughty lady!” He got up and Rosario couldn’t help but approve her choice of partner for intimate gymnastics.
“Just shut up and get dressed!” she instructed and tossed him his trousers which were hanging on the cabinet handle above her.
He slowly started getting dressed and tried to buy some time:
“While I was telling you about the fortress and the mounds you were very nice but it was just a ruse to get me in your bed, no? The moment we came here and you thrust the marble piece in my face I should have known where this was going,” and he pointed at the folding table where the phallus was strutting.
“I don’t remember even meeting you! Besides, what could someone like you tell me about the digs!?” exclaimed Rosario while putting her clothes on.
“I told you I worked at the dig! You really don’t remember much,” sighed the young man.
“Well, digger, you probably also gave me your name but I don’t remember if you ever did,” Rosario prompted.
“My name’s Danny. And in case you have forgotten—you promised to pay me to take you there and assist you.”
DeMonneo figured that Danny would indeed be useful as a guide and an extra pair of hands so she hired him. She got ready for field work, detached the car from the caravan and set off for the ruins. The road was winding alongside a filthy creek silted up with garbage and soon they had to abandon the vehicle and continue on foot. The terrain around the fortifications was rough but Danny acquitted himself well as a guide and Rosario felt safe around him. Little remained of the original stonework that could give Rosario any clues.
Traces of a sacred ground on top of a hill were still visible but treasure hunters had left no stone unturned. Rosario and Danny made a full sweep for hidden passages and unexplored areas and returned later to the village disappointed and weary. The festivities were over and the place looked desolate. A lone sweeper was busy collecting rubbish under the pale light of the only lamppost in the village square. The old respectable man in blue overalls wore a white moustache and his glasses perched elegantly on his crooked nose. Rosario got three bottles of beer from the local store and sat on a bench by the lamppost with Danny. She could feel the late February cold but the evening was quiet and peaceful. Rosario drank and offered Danny and the old man a beer. The latter accepted willingly and joined them. DeMonneo asked him about the village and the surroundings, curious to know if there were any local legends, beliefs or songs worth investigating. The old man had a sweet tongue and told them that the village owed its name to a certain Trapokles, who had fallen in love with Helen the maiden and even went to war for her. Legend has it Helen died during the war and ascended the heavens.
Some time later, Trapokles came back to the village looking for Helen and built a stairway to Heaven. The village grew around it little by little. Unfortunately, there was no trace of the stairway anymore and nobody knew exactly where it had been. Over the years, treasure seekers had pillaged and destroyed everything—the stairway, the fortress and the tombs. Archaeologists from the nearby town salvaged some of the Thracian tombs, which Rosario was welcome to explore at leisure. When they drank their beers, the old man thanked them and got up to do finish his job.
“He used to be a teacher but the school closed down years ago so he found a job as a cleaner,” said Danny mockingly and added in vernacular: “Them eggheads know how to get out of a fix! Just you don’t listen to him—he sweeps streets, ya know whatta mean!”
“Good people deserve respect whatever they do for a living. Hard work is hard work!” Rosario’s voice was cold now. “Integrity is undervalued, yet you cannot buy it. I know this for a fact.”
They parted, each of them thinking their own thoughts.
Early next morning, Danny was waiting outside the caravan. It was cold but sunny and Rosario was wearing sunglasses. Her eyes were swollen and sore from a night spent browsing online through old records for information about Trapokles.
She found nothing!
Which was good news in and of itself because she could pioneer research on an unexplored topic. If she was lucky and indeed found something she would turn it into such a story that all tales of vampires, mermaids, holy relics and artifacts would pale in comparison.
Rosario couldn’t wait to go on this adventure. They pulled up at the Popova burial mound where a bronze needle with a phallus handle had been discovered among other interesting artefacts. Not exactly a lead but a curious coincidence, nonetheless. Rosario got out of the car and looked around. The wind was racing across the frozen fields dotted with patches of snow while leaden clouds covered the sun like a blanket. Danny stood beside her and pointed to a spot nearby:
“They dug here, and here. Archaeologists said there must have been at least twenty mounds around—this is the Valley of the Thracian kings after all,” said Danny proudly.
“I thought the valley was around Kazanluk?” prompted Rosario.
“One of the leading scholars said the valley reached all the way to here,” explained Danny and went on to share more details: “There are in total over 1500 of them, is what the man said. Rumor has it the ones holding the remains of the dead kings are haunted!”
The young man was wide-eyed with superstition which made Rosario laugh. When he saw she was mocking him, Danny crossed his arms and turned his back on both woman and the wind.
It began to snow.
“Since you find this funny perhaps you can explain what this is?” he teased, pointing east.
The clouds had thickened over the horizon and it was already snowing heavily. Rosario put a hand above her eyes and followed Danny’s gaze. There was not much to see—a barren landscape broken by the dark outlines of dry bracken leaning with the wind and ploughed land blanketed by frost waiting for spring to come. It felt lonely and sad.
“Well, a graveyard would certainly offer more excitement!” exclaimed Rosario.
“Over there by those shrubs, a little to the right,” Danny hadn’t lowered his hand. “Can you see it now?”
“All I can see is some shrubbery blown by the wind,” replied Rosario peering ahead.
She was not sure. Maybe there was indeed something in the distance. Anyway, this was as good a place to start as any so DeMonneo said:
“Grab the gear and let’s go!”
“No way! I’m not messing with ghosts. Why don’t we try this mound over here. I have been inside and it looks promising.”
“Scared of old wives’ tales?” Rosario laughed but when she saw he wouldn’t budge, added: “I’ll pay double.”
This worked and soon they were off for the distant bushes and the ghost swaying in the wind. When they drew near it, Rosario had to admit the wraith really looked like a human. She stopped and peered through the fog. She suddenly stiffened and her breath caught. She could swear that among the dry bracken she saw the huddled figure of a woman whose white glowing eyes were fixed on her. A gust of wind rustled the undergrowth and the shadow disappeared in a flurry of snowflakes.
Rosario shook her head and took a breath. Danny was walking beside her, head down to protect his eyes from the wind and did not seem to have noticed anything. Her head was still pounding but DeMonneo kept following the man and soon they reached the undergrowth. The grass around it lay on one side and it was overgrown with weeds and thorny bushes. Danny kept his distance but Rosario drew his attention to a plastic bag that had snagged in a bush and his courage returned. He came closer, removed the bag and let the wind pick it up. He opened his mouth to apologize for acting like a child when he slipped, lurched backward and disappeared in the bush.
Rosario rushed to help but couldn’t see him in the thicket. She pushed the tangled vines aside and found herself looking at a hole. She could hear Danny cussing.
“Are you OK?” asked Rosario.
When she realized he was safe and sound, she cleared the vines with a spade and stepped inside the hole, holding a flashlight. Danny had one in his hand too and seemed to have found his feet after a lot of cursing. He had landed on some sharp rocks but wasn’t hurt.
“Someone dug here but got away in a hurry. Something must have scared them away!” said Danny frowning.
DeMonneo got closer to Danny and looked around. The narrow entrance widened to a rugged chamber cut into earth and rock which came alive with shadows as they moved.
“What did you find?” she asked.
“Some tools tossed aside,” replied Danny. “There’s a passage through that rock there. I can feel a breeze.”
He pointed at the far end of the chamber where two big beams held up a boulder above a dark entrance.
“This place is haunted!” said Danny. “It smells like a graveyard and these folks were in a real hurry to get out. I think we should get out too while we still can.”
“Stop sniveling!” Rosario said with annoyance. “These folks were treasure hunters. Look at their tools! They cracked open the stone covering the entrance to what is most likely a Thracian tomb. They did a sloppy job with the trusses and the roof might come down any moment. It looks like they found something heavy inside and dragged it out. Look at the scuff marks on the ground. We need to go in. Some of the spoils might still be there.”
“It’s not worth the risk! Come on, we should leave! Please!” Danny begged.
Before he could finish, several rough looking men jumped from the shadows and surrounded them.
“Boy, I told you not to bring her here!” said a bearded man who seemed to be their leader. “You are dumber than a bag of hammers! Now, I have to clean up your mess again!”
“Please, uncle!” begged Danny. “I tried… I tried to tell her. We were on our way out and… then you jumped on us…”
“This one’s your uncle!?” said Rosario in shock. “And who are these? Your cousins and brothers-in-law? Are you a treasure hunter too, you little piece of…”
“Shut your mouth, woman!” roared the uncle and hissed: “The boys will be having their fun first and then, well, this is a tomb! You saw too much, missy!”
The guys started closing in and Rosario retreated to the far end of the chamber holding the spade in front of her as a weapon and lighting up the men’s faces with her flashlight. Meanwhile, Danny stood frozen still like the dunce at school staring at a math problem he can’t solve. Suddenly, he jumped at her, stunning his relatives, took her by the shoulders and pushed her through. He grabbed a pickaxe lying close by and swung at the base of the buttress. The wooden structure groaned and buckled under the weight of the boulder above. It tumbled on the ground filling the chamber with a cloud of dust.
Danny took Rosario by surprise when he pushed her. She stumbled in the dark and landed on solid stone, still clutching the lantern and the spade. She was so shocked she didn’t feel any pain from the rough fall and quickly jumped to her feet. Apparently, Danny had changed his mind and wanted no part in her suffering and abuse. Buried alive but at least her dignity was intact! She looked back at the rubble blocking the entrance and roared like an animal trapped in a cage. The sound echoed around the tomb returning as the scream of an angel sentenced to eternity in Hell. Then she collapsed on the ground and leaned against the cold wall. She looked around: a long narrow passage led to another door hewn from stone, which the treasure hunters had crushed too. She could feel a draught coming from there. Shards of pottery and some from the gate lay everywhere. She crawled to the opening and her torch revealed a small anteroom leading to a vast round chamber with a dome ceiling.
The walls were decorated with exquisite murals of hunting scenes, rituals and love art, the likes of which Rosario had never seen. Human bones and skulls were strewn around a stone altar—treasure hunters had stripped the place bare. She entered the burial chamber and was overwhelmed by the beauty of the frescoes. Setting her eyes on the vivid colours, she all but forgot her troubles for a moment.
The beauty of it!
Staring at the dome paintings high above, she was slowly pacing anti-clockwise when she fell. She hadn’t seen the hole near the altar. It was so narrow she got hurt as she hit the edge. Her landing was soft this time as her legs took the weight of her body gracefully. By now she was used to unexpected developments so she quickly assessed the situation and found she was in another, much wider tunnel with smooth walls. She had lost the spade and was armed only with the torch. Sensing a light breeze on her face she started down the tunnel and soon reached a rectangular room lined by columns. Water dripped from the ceiling into a small stone pond in the center. A huge figure at the far end caught her eye. He was turned halfway to the wall and was gazing at a spot somewhere above. Rosario walked toward him cautiously and realized the figure was the marble statue of a naked and very impressive man climbing some steep stairs which disappeared in darkness. Rosario aimed the torch up but it was not strong enough to pierce the darkness. She took a closer look at the statue—it was pure craftsmanship. Then she looked down at his crotch and shivered. The phallus was missing. It had been carefully removed from the body without any further damage. She reached for the bag around her waist and took out her Valentine’s gift. She put it back in place and it fit like a glove. She tugged but couldn’t remove it anymore. She looked at the statue once more—for a statue of this size, the phallus was proportionate and well within the norms for antique art. Could this be the statue of Trapokles the hero? Perhaps she was currently in his temple. She sat at his feet and gazed at his body in admiration.
Then she felt the breeze again. It was coming from the darkness above so she started climbing. The walls got narrower and eventually she had to stop. Suddenly, she heard the sound of stone sliding above her and eventually a crescent of light appeared, growing to a full circle.
“Hey, Rosario? Are you there?” came a familiar voice.
“Danny?” wailed the explorer hopefully.
“I’m glad you are fine!” said Danny. “All went as planned!”
“What?” asked Rosario weakly.
“Getting you this far was not easy,” said Danny. “But the statue’s marble phallus worked like a charm—I knew you’d fall for it.”
“What are you on about, Goddamnit!?” croaked Rosario.
“You are the only worthy priestess!” continued Danny exaltedly. “Only you could perform the sacred Moon rites in the temple.”
“Who do you think you are, you crazy bastards!” squealed Rosario hysterically. “Get me out right now!”
“We are your loyal followers and this is your destiny,” explained Danny patiently. “We did just as you described it in your masterpiece ‘The Holy Virgin’s daughter-in-law.’ We discovered the temple quite by chance and knew it was a sign! We studied everything you wrote and tailored the sanctuary to your design. We left you the priestess’ hood, the ceremonial objects and herbs here too. The winter solstice is upon us and you will perform the cleansing ritual and my wife will be with child finally!” finished Danny exaltedly.
“You are married!? You, sick perverts…” yelled Rosario but when she saw them sliding back the stone lid she screamed: “No! No-o-o!”
***
A single ray of light pierced the darkness and hit right in the middle where the water from the ceiling met the pond’s clear surface. There was no other light in the chamber. The priestess took off her white shirt and climbed into the pond. She knew she would never again leave this place. “As you make your bed, so you must lie upon it,” the saying goes.
At the far end of the sanctuary, the huge marble statue of an ancient hero kept climbing the stairway to heaven.
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About the Authors
Co-authors Radoslav Radushev-Radus and George Petkov-Mareto believe in equal rights, so their stories often take unexpected turns and never arrive at their destination unchanged. Their writings first go through a process of cross-examination by a lawyer (Radus) before ending up on the desk of a long-time dedicated teacher and mentor (Mareto). All this is accompanied by much drinking of coffee, raising of eyebrows, and a general lack of sympathy for broken pencils and software updates. Radus believes in the power of free speech to teach responsibility and Mareto hastens to add that it must be properly punctuated, grammatically consistent, and socially aware. Some of their stories actually survive. They have been writing since 1994 in Sofia, Bulgaria.
Recent publications include “The Grey Witch of Yga” published in The Ana Literary Magazine, Issue 13; “Samodiva” published in The Bookends Review, Issue 27; “Black Water” published in the Aphelion webzine, Issue 295; “A Way with Ghosts” published in Impspired Literary & Arts Magazine; and “Boyana” published in the Wicked Shadow Press anthology DEAD GIRLS WALKING: The Green Volume. Forthcoming stories include “They Vanish” in the HauntedMTL LLC, Anthology, Dancer; “Nell” and “Pale Hours” in the D’LitReview; and “Nell” in The Bookends Review.