Shadow‘s Reach (Halloween Noir) - 1. Arrival in NOLA

“Breathe! Just… breathe!” Alex steeled himself as he stepped out of Union Passenger Terminal. He clenched his fists and tried to steady his breathing. His heart pounded wildly while memories of countless doctor visits washed over him — sterile hospital rooms reeking of despair, endless nights staring into the abyss of sleepless darkness, his parent’s helpless eyes red from crying. Each memory was a dagger twisting in his gut, a vivid reminder of the mysterious illness that had plagued him since childhood, draining his strength and his parent’s bank account. The despair only lifted when, like dark angels, the Noir Foundation swept in out of nowhere, inexplicably erased all their debts, and provided for his education. They were serious about it. Extensive and probably expensive private tutoring made sure that he not only caught up with his peers, but that he excelled in each subject. And now, they had decided that he needed a change of scenery. “Have fun!” they said. “Come to New Orleans, have an adventure.” At twenty-one, maybe he really needed some fun. “Oh well,” he muttered, “here we go.”

The train station was a flat, somewhat dated, two-story concrete building. It seemed surprisingly small for a city that once had been the richest in North America. In front of it, a driveway lopped around a patch of grass. To the left lay a car park, and to the right, the elevated lanes of a highway loomed, its long afternoon shadows stretching across the grass. The uninviting entrance to the city only heightened Alex’s sense of unease.

Despite his condition, Alex was determined to walk the mile to the guest house. He wanted to stretch his aching muscles after the long train ride. As he made his way away from the station and through the Business District, he pulled a small suitcase behind him and glanced at the towering buildings around him.

A bit lost, he approached a local who was leaning against a nearby wall.

“Excuse me,” Alex said, his voice wavering slightly, “do you know the best way to get to the French Quarter from here?”

The local man, aged and with a weathered face, nodded. “Just keep heading down this street and you’ll be there in no time.”

“Thank you,” Alex replied and offered a weak smile. The brief interaction steadied him and he continued toward the French Quarter, which was alive with color and sound.

Halloween was just a day away. Laughs and the sounds of a far-off jazz band made the air feel lively. Spooky decorations hung from many balconies, and a few people in costumes mixed with tourists and locals. The warm air, unusual for the season, smelled of tasty jambalaya and exotic fruits.

Alex dragged his feet, each step heavy with tiredness. He felt weak, always weak, thanks to his never-ending illness. Every movement brought a dull, aching pain—a reminder of his lost strength. He clutched a crumpled paper with an address, thinking about what was ahead. The idea of an adventure in this strange city, maybe finding answers about his illness, gave him a small spark of excitement. But it wasn’t enough to shake off the weariness that clung to him like a shadow.

The French Quarter surrounded him with noise and sights. Jazz music flowed from open doors, mixing with laughs and tourist chatter. Halloween decorations hung everywhere, their creepy shadows reaching for people below in the late afternoon light. As Alex walked the lively streets, a powerful wave of dizziness hit him harder than ever.

His vision blurred, and the edges of his sight darkened. He stumbled, reaching out to steady himself against a nearby wall. His heart raced, pounding in his chest. Breaths came in shallow gasps. The world tilted, and he felt like sinking into the ground. Panic surged through him, raw and overwhelming.

The city’s joyful sounds twisted into a confusing noise. Faces blurred, and scary masks seemed to merge with the people passing by. An unseen weight pressed down on Alex, making each step a struggle. His legs shook with the effort. A heavy darkness drained his energy, as if something evil was making him weaker.

With great effort, Alex pushed himself upright. He clung to the piece of paper in his hand, its crumpled surface grounding him in reality. The address of the guest house was his only anchor amid the storm of anxiety. He forced his feet to move. One step at a time. His vision narrowed to a tunnel focused on reaching his destination.

Finally, the sign for Maison Noir appeared through the haze, its gothic lettering glinting in the fading light. The sight gave him a burst of determination. He staggered forward, each step a battle against the unseen forces clawing at him. The steps to the entrance loomed before him like a mountain, but he climbed them, his hand trembling as he reached for the door.

Alex gasped for breath, his heart pounding. He felt a strange mix of fear and hope. The old house loomed above, its dark windows watching him like eyes. Yet, despite the scary feel, something about Maison Noir pulled him in. Maybe the house held secrets and revelations that could change his life forever.

Alex had no answers, only questions spinning in his mind like ghosts from his past. As he stood at the door, his depression and anxiety lifted a bit, replaced by a small sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this mysterious place held the key to understanding his illness and the strange benefactors who had sent him here.

***

The grand guest house before him exuded an air of silent mystery. Alex’s heart still pounded in his chest, the anxiety attack leaving him shaky and on edge. His breath came in uneven bursts as he willed himself to calm down. The building stood out even in the eclectic mix of the Spanish-influenced French Quarter, its architecture a striking blend of French Creole and Gothic elements. A weathered facade and intricate ironwork hinted at its age, while the tall, narrow windows, shuttered and dark, gave it an ominous presence. The house bore the marks of a storied past, whispering secrets of long-lost eras and the enigmatic figures who had called it home.

The ornate door knocker, shaped like a grimacing gargoyle, added to the sense of otherworldly charm. It looked ancient, worn smooth by countless hands over the centuries, and strange symbols, easy to miss, were visible on the woodwork. These subtle traces of the arcane hinted at the house’s mystical past, setting it apart from the other historic buildings in the Quarter. Alex took a deep breath, his anxiety attack subsiding but leaving him unsteady. With what little strength he had left, he reached for the door knocker. It fell with a resonant thud. The sound echoed through the air, blending with the distant strains of jazz and the murmur of the bustling streets.

Moments later, the door creaked open and revealed Solomon Soigneur, a figure that seemed to have stepped out of time itself. His eyes were sharp and knowing, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. He wore a well kept, old-fashioned suit that hinted at a bygone era. Something about him was both welcoming and unnerving, like he had been expecting Alex for years.

“Welcome to Maison Noir, Mr. Ashwood,” Solomon said, his voice smooth and rich like aged bourbon.

Alex blinked, taken aback. “You... you know me?”

Solomon’s smile widened. “Of course. Please come in. We’ve been waiting for you.”

With a nod, Alex stepped over the threshold. The soft, dim glow of vintage lamps illuminated the halls of Maison Noir. A faint scent of aged wood and a hint of lavender filled the air. The decor was a blend of elegant antiques and dark, brooding artwork, each piece contributing to the house’s enigmatic charm.

As Alex followed Solomon deeper into the house, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the walls were closing in on him. His heart still beat a little too fast, and his steps were heavy. Yet, despite the unease, there was a strange sense of familiarity, like he had walked these halls in a dream. He pulled out his phone to check it, searching for a connection to the outside world. Seeing this, Solomon smiled.

“Making sure you haven’t time-traveled and still have a connection, are you? Don’t worry, we have all the modern amenities,” Solomon remarked with a knowing smile.

“Still,” Solomon began, “Maison Noir indeed has a long history,” his voice drawing Alex’s attention away from his racing thoughts. “It has seen many faces and many stories. Some old things are worth keeping.”

They passed through a grand hallway adorned with portraits of stern-faced individuals whose eyes seemed to follow their every move. Solomon continued, undisturbed. “The son of the original owners, Lucien Noir, was a man of great power and mystery. Some say his spirit still lingers here, watching over the house and its guests.”

Solomon glanced at him, his eyes twinkling with secret knowledge. “His legacy intertwines with this place, just as yours might be.”

Alex shivered, unsure if it was the chill in the air or the eerie tales. Noticing the slight traces of sweat on Alex’s pale face and the haunted look in his eyes, Solomon stopped his history lesson. “You must be weary from your journey. Follow me.”

They reached a large, intricately carved door at the end of the hallway. Solomon opened it to reveal a cozy sitting room, where a fire crackled warmly in the hearth. Plush furniture and shelves of old, leather-bound books filled the room. It felt like a sanctuary, a stark contrast to the ominous atmosphere of the rest of the house.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Solomon said, gesturing to a chair near the fire. “I’ll bring you some tea.”

Alex sat in the chair, the fire’s warmth soaking into his bones. He looked around, noticing small signs of the house’s long history. There were old trinkets on the mantelpiece. An oil painting of a New Orleans street hung on the wall, and a big, fancy mirror that seemed to show more than just his own reflection.

Solomon returned with a tray, setting it on the table beside Alex. The tea was fragrant and soothing, a blend of herbs that seemed to calm his frayed nerves.

“Thank you,” Alex said, taking a sip while some of his tension melted away.

Solomon nodded, settling into a chair opposite him. “Rest here as long as you need.”

As Alex sipped his tea, the soothing aroma filling his senses, a sudden noise broke the silence. It was a quick, skittering sound, like many tiny feet shuffling across a hardwood floor. Alex’s eyes darted around the room, but found no source of the noise. His heart raced and the newfound calm slipped away again.

“Did you hear that?” Alex asked, his voice trembling.

Solomon paused, his enigmatic smile never faltering. “The old house has its quirks, Mr. Ashwood. It’s nothing to be concerned about. Houses like Maison Noir often have a life of their own.”

Alex nodded, trying to brush off the unsettling sound. But the skittering noise lingered in his mind, making the house seem even creepier. He couldn’t shake the thought that he was about to uncover something monumental. The caretaker’s vague words and the house’s odd charm created a tense mood. As the fire crackled and shadows danced, Alex sensed destiny tugging at him.

Despite the house’s ominous mood, there was a warmth here that Alex hadn’t known in years. It was like Maison Noir, with all its mysteries and shadows, offered a safe place. A place where he might finally understand the strange events that brought him here. He took another sip of tea, enjoying its calming scent. Slowly and carefully, Alex breathed in.

***

Solomon led Alex through a labyrinth of hallways, each turn revealing more of the house’s dark elegance. The dim lighting alternated with dark shadows, making the grand interior feel both expansive and claustrophobic. Alex’s heart still raced from his earlier anxiety attack, but the warmth and strange familiarity of the house provided a small measure of comfort. Yet an undercurrent of unease lingered, fueled by the cryptic aura of Solomon and the house itself.

Finally, they reached a door at the end of a corridor. Solomon pushed it open to reveal a bedroom that seemed frozen in time. Rich decorations adorned the room, featuring a canopied bed, heavy drapes, and antique furniture. However, what caught Alex’s eye immediately were the Halloween decorations: garlands of orange and black, fake cobwebs, a carved pumpkin on the nightstand with a burning candle, and most strikingly as the centerpiece: a realistic looking severed hand.

As they entered, Solomon’s gaze flicked immediately to the hand, bringing a delighted smile to his face, if only for the shortest moment. It was a brief but telling look that Alex almost missed. The caretaker’s eyes lingered on it for just a moment, a subtle acknowledgment that sent a shiver down Alex’s spine. The gesture was so quick, so practiced, that Alex wondered if he had imagined it. He shook off the feeling, attributing it to his frayed nerves and overactive imagination.

“This will be your room, Mr. Ashwood,” Solomon said, his voice breaking the silence. “I trust you will find it to your liking.”

Alex nodded, stepping further into the room. The bed looked inviting, a promise of rest after his arduous journey. On the opposite side, an open door revealed an en suite bathroom. But the decorations, especially the severed hand, seemed oddly out of place. They created a dissonance that unsettled him.

Solomon noticed Alex’s gaze. “Ah, the Halloween decorations. We like to embrace the spirit of the season here at Maison Noir.” He chuckled softly. “They say that hand is the preserved hand of Lucien Noir himself. A macabre little relic, but it fits the mood of Halloween, don’t you think?”

Alex swallowed, a shiver running down his spine. “Yeah, it’s... fitting.”

Solomon’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “If it bothers you, I can have it removed.”

Alex shook his head, managing a weak smile. “No, it’s fine. Adds to the atmosphere.”

Solomon inclined his head. “Very well. But please inform me if you have a change of heart.”

“Thank you,” Alex nodded, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears. He placed his suitcase at the foot of the bed and sat down, the mattress sighing under his weight.

Solomon paused for a moment, as if compelled to add something more. A slight tension crossed his face before he spoke again. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call for me,” he continued, his tone professional yet laden with an undercurrent of something deeper, something Alex couldn’t quite place. “Guests often reach a crossroads during their stay here. When the time comes, I trust you will make the right decision.”

Alex’s brow furrowed slightly, a hint of unease returning. “Crossroads? What do you mean by that?”

Solomon’s smile widened just a touch, enigmatic and knowing. “During your stay, you may face choices that will shape your path forward. For now, rest well, Mr. Ashwood. You are perfectly safe here.”

With that, Solomon left the room. The door closed behind him with a soft click and Alex was alone. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart and wandering thoughts. Despite its opulence, the room felt stifling, the air smelling of old wood and something else, something faintly metallic and unsettling.

The severed hand caught Alex’s attention again. It looked almost real in the dim light, the fingers slightly curled as if frozen mid-motion. He shuddered and looked away. The room’s eerie decorations seemed to mock his attempts at calm, their festive nature clashing with the undercurrent of dread that permeated the house.

He pulled out his phone, hoping for a distraction, but found no messages, no missed calls. The silence was oppressive, pressing down on him. He considered calling someone—anyone—for a moment of connection and reassurance. His finger hovered over the call button, but then he stopped. Who would he call? What would he say? The thought of explaining his situation felt overwhelming.

Alex put the phone away and stood up, moving to the window. Pulling back the heavy drapes, he looked out onto the courtyard below. Next to a swimming pool, the twilight bathed large potted plants in a soft glow, and a comfortable-looking lounge area with water trickling down a small fountain did little to soothe his nerves.

Alex closed the curtains and examined the room, taking note of its details once more. The antique furnishings, the dark wood paneling, and the intricate patterns on the rug — all of it seemed to whisper secrets of the past. He felt a strange pull, an almost magnetic attraction to the house and its mysteries.

The anxiety from earlier still lingered, but a growing sense of curiosity now tempered it. Solomon’s words echoed in his mind: crossroads. Was he already at a crossroads? The notion felt both absurd and oddly fitting. His life was full of unanswered questions, and maybe this place held the key to understanding them.

After unpacking, undressing, and refreshing in the bathroom, he sat back down on the bed. The journey’s weight and the day’s emotional whirlwind washed over him. His body ached, his mind was weary, but within him, a small flame of hope burned brighter. The house was unsettling, yes, but he also felt the start of something new, something important.

He lay back, staring at the ornate ceiling, and allowed himself to relax, if only for a moment. The shadows danced on the walls, and the strange, ancient house seemed to breathe around him. Despite the unease, despite the unanswered questions, Alex felt a cautious optimism. For the first time in a long while, he felt that maybe, just maybe, he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Content, Alex blew out the candle, switched off the lights, and drifted off to sleep.

***

Something had awakened Alex. He lay in bed, engulfed in perfect silence. Despite his exhaustion, he was restless. The room was pitch dark, and he couldn’t see even the slightest glimmer of light from outside. Alarmingly, he couldn’t even tell if he was still in his room. His sense of unease from earlier lingered, like a faint whisper, in the back of his mind. He turned over, trying to find a comfortable position, but the bed felt too large and empty. He just lay there on his back, arms wide and legs stretched out, taking up the space.

Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine. He tried to move, but it felt like an invisible force was holding his body in place, paralyzing him. His breath quickened, panic rising within him. He attempted to cry out, but no sound escaped his lips.

The surrounding darkness deepened even more, swallowing the room. A presence filled the space, palpable and intense. It was as if the air itself hummed with unseen energy. Alex’s heart pounded in his chest, the only sound in the oppressive silence.

Then, he felt it: a touch, gentle yet firm, on his bare skin. Fingers traced along his arm, sending shivers through his body. The touch was both familiar and alien, stirring something deep within him. His panic ebbed, replaced by a strange, disorienting desire. As he lay there, he sorted through his conflicting feelings. The touch felt non-threatening, more comforting, and sensual. He remembered Solomon’s cryptic words about crossroads. Gradually, he fully relaxed and, after a life of pain and anguish, accepted whatever was about to happen to him. He still felt fear, but when he felt the restrictions that held him in place fall away, he stayed still. Was this already the choice he had to make?

The unseen hand moved across his chest, up his neck, and brushed over his lips. For a moment, it settled gently on his forehead, as if to ease his worries, then moved down again to his chest, lingering over his thumping heart before continuing its exploration of his body. Alex’s skin tingled under the touch, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

Whispers brushed Alex’s mind, just beyond hearing. Fingers began to draw patterns on his skin, tracing ancient symbols. Each new symbol sent a wave of energy through Alex. Like intricate tattoos, the symbols gave off faint lights—a dark, electric blue that seemed to buzz with energy just outside the visible range. Slowly, from his head, hands, wrists, and arms to his torso, legs, ankles, and feet, the symbols covered his whole body. He could even feel the touches and the energy from symbols traced on his back. With each symbol, he felt a strange warmth spreading through him, soothing his aches and pains. His illness, the constant and unwelcome companion, seemed to fade, his body healing with each touch.

His breathing grew ragged, each touch sending waves of pleasure through him. He arched his back, his body responding instinctively to the invisible caresses. The sensation was overwhelming, blurring the lines between fear and ecstasy. His mind reeled, unable to comprehend what was happening. Memories of his hard life flashed through his mind—the loneliness, the pain, the constant struggle. This was different, this was something new, something he never thought he could feel.

Alex, who hadn’t moved until now, arched his back, his erection straining. A solid hand settled around him, gripping him tight. A presence pressed him into the mattress, as if the darkness itself had come alive, wrapping around him in a sensual embrace.

The hand moved further, adding more detail to the patterns on his stomach before stopping. Alex gasped, his body quivering with anticipation. The darkness pulsed around him, synchronizing with his racing heart. He felt a deep connection to the presence, as if it were an extension of himself, drawing him into an intimate dance. It was as if the presence understood his pain, his desires, and was offering him something beyond his wildest dreams.

His senses heightened, magnifying every touch a thousandfold. He felt the presence exploring him, learning his secrets, triggers, and desires. The sensation was intoxicating, leaving him breathless and yearning for more. He surrendered to the experience, allowing the darkness to envelop him completely.

The patterns on his skin continued to glow faintly, their light growing stronger with each new symbol. The hand released him, moving further down, teasing his balls, weighing them, while Alex felt an immense buildup of energy in them, almost trying to burst. With the lightest of touches, like the gentle caress of a tongue, fingers traced spirals out around his manhood, leaving trails of pulsing blue light, sending vibrations from the tip of his tool to the bottom of his balls and back. The room seemed to hum with unseen energy, the air thick with a sense of impending revelation. Alex’s thoughts blurred. Each touch and symbol drew him deeper into the experience, his body and mind united in a whirlwind of sensation.

The presence felt both protective and possessive, like it had been waiting for this moment, for Alex. With each pulse, the symbols traced onto his skin pulsed with life, their glow intensifying. The energy coursing through him reached a crescendo, every nerve ending alive with sensation. He felt himself being drawn towards a climax, the tension building, the presence guiding him through a storm of emotions. His arms still couldn’t move, yet the relentless pulsing of energy throughout his body drove Alex crazy with desire and begging for release. His mind was too far gone to really notice how someone lifted his legs and pressed them down on his chest.

But over time, new sensations trickled through. First one finger, gently teasing around his hole, circling, pushing inward, increasing the pressure, pushing some more. With little resistance, the finger glided past his sphincter, sending shivers down Alex’s spine. Alex wanted to cry out in ecstasy, but no sound could leave his mouth. The finger kept still for a moment, giving Alex time to adjust. Then it completely withdrew before slowly pushing in again… and again… and again.

Before long, a second finger joined the first, then a third. In and out they went, again and again, methodically, in the same steady rhythm as the energy pulsing through Alex’s body and emanating from his tattoos. The fingers always wiggled slightly, always loosening up Alex’s hole further. The fourth finger almost came as a surprise, as Alex felt it wasn’t possible to stretch him even more. But the fourth finger came, and the onslaught on his ass and the relentless stimulus of fingers rubbing over his nerve endings never seemed to cease. An endless time later, Alex barely recognized when the thumb joined, and still the fingers pushed in and out, stretching him further and further, beyond Alex’s comprehension. The pulsing and the rhythm were almost hypnotic, just leaving unfiltered sensory input in his head.

Then the movement stopped. An immense pressure built up on his hole, but the hand pushed no further. The blue light pulsed frantically, Alex’s dick was rock hard, his balls about to burst, his whole body screaming from overload, begging for release. Alex curled his fingers and toes, uttering unintelligible sounds, his whole body shook from intense energy shocks.

He kept still for a moment, catching his breath, desperately trying to come up with a coherent thought. What was this? What was the hand doing? Was the presence waiting for something? Then it hit him: the presence had brought him to this point and now it was waiting for him to decide. Intoxicated by the power coursing through his veins, writhing in the energies and sensations, feeling more alive than ever, he thought about his past struggles and the promise of something new. This was his chance to embrace a different future. He pulled his legs to his chest and pushed out his butt hard against the pressure of the hand.

All resistance faltered. The hand slipped in completely and pressed against Alex’s overstimulated prostate, setting off a chain reaction. All dams broke, and the energy swelled to an all-consuming tsunami in Alex’s body. His balls contracted and like a supernova going off in his mind, Alex came with inhuman ferocity. Succumbing to the overwhelming intensity of sensations, Alex lost consciousness.