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.Butalthough I sensed Roma's presence, she remained invisible.I did,however, see Orgen, clearly.His hunched figure, abased before the altar,was shrouded in a loose flowing robe of dark material.He resembled agigantic bird, and no sooner did the similarity occur to me than I saw,in fact, a large lammergeier silhouetted against a proudly blue skysuch as hangs above tropical lands.The image then vanished 106 Dance, Doll, Dance!and reformed itself: first as a large raven; then as a glittering hawk; andfinally, again as a vulture which, stirring restlessly, suddenly fixed mewith eyes like knives.I quailed before its gaze, which pierced to theinnermost depths of me; then I heard a shrill baying, as of a she-jackal atsunset.Slowly, the sights and sounds faded and I remained alone in apullulant ocean of criss-cross shadows, an umbrageous trellis throughwhich streamed pale thin fumes of vaporous mist.They poured throughthe lattice-window and formed a cloud that hovered over me.Thewrithing mass coiled and twined sinuously upon itself, assuming any formmy mind chanced to remember.I was thinking of Sigrid, and of Greta, andof their bodies pregnant with spume, frothing and bubbling unctuouslyabove me; thought of their hair, flecked with blood and honey; and of thecry of the she-jackal which terminated in a muffled choking sob that wasmyself entering the cloud.Owing to the heat of the evening I had undressed, and I now lookeddown from the cloud-mist on my naked body lying at ease upon Orgen'sbed.A thin pencilling of vapour flowed upwards from me, and I gazedwith astonishment as the shade of Roma coagulated above me in the spateof my own emanation.A hand reached down, groping blindly for me.I layupon the bed, paralysed by the thought that out of my own substance shewas fabricating for herself a vehicle for her vampire cravings.That she hadcome in hatred, as an act of revenge against Orgen, I suspected.Butonly at that moment did I realise that she was the entire and incarnatecontent of Orgen's suppressed desire, a succubus, as I had once known;and also a demon of possession, as I had known her through Sigrid andGreta. Dance, Doll, Dance! 107t was Henderson who set afoot the rumour that I was harbouring aIwoman in my room at Carfax.Although Marchester and Reylucboth admitted to not having actually seen anyone resemblingHenderson's description of her, they were distinctly suspicious; and Ifelt under constant surveillance, the more irritating in that it was soobviously and clumsily engineered.I surprised Marchester onemorning, listening outside the door to my room."Considering we've all had traffic of some sort, at some time orother, with the girls at the hostel, why make such a secret of thisone?", he asked.The attack was a direct one and I parried it with a frankinvitation to come inside and look around.He followed me sheepishlyround the room and sniffed distastefully at the clouds of incense."You know", I said, determined to get his views on Roma: "I'veoften wondered where Roma and Orgen first met.I mean, by the timeshe came to me there had been so much trouble and upheaval that Inever thought of asking her."Marchester looked stupefied:"She came from the hostel, as far as I know, but why do you ask?This whole business is appalling; inquiries are still proceeding inKermstow.Some connection is, not surprisingly, suspected betweenthese deaths and the atrocities in the wood.""I think even Henderson has been known to have visitors from thehostel", I said, side-stepping his obnoxious insinuations.Marchester shrugged: "You know he's a crank.We don't believe therumour he's set afoot". 108 Dance, Doll, Dance!"Then why snoop around my door?"He looked pained and anxious: "I'm worried about that business at thehostel and.""And?""The description Henderson gives of the woman you're suspected ofharbouring, tallies almost exactly with the new occupier of Orgen's room.She is due tomorrow!"I was speechless.After Marchester had gone I brooded for a considerable time, butsaw no cause for immediate anxiety.I would wait.Providing the weatherheld, I had it in mind to camp out in the bay for a few days; I felt a surgingimpulse of poetic inspiration, and wanted to work unhindered.But thatnight a more urgent matter awaited attention.I divested the idol of its stiff blood-encrusted veil and proceeded withthe nightly ritual worship.I handled it lovingly, tenderly, and the openingwords of Reyluc's poem struck me as a veritable hymn to its glory:In blood soaked silenceBlack, repleteShe stands.An awful calm pervading her.Unlike Orgen, I could feast my eyes on the dark rapture of herglittering body with no consciousness of guilt or shame.She wantedfire, I gave it nightly; she wanted blood, she had had her fill; she wantedthat which the male alone can give -creative energy - this she took everynight through the instrumentality of her human reflex - Roma.I sayhuman, for compared with the mystery of the idol, which I am unable tofathom, Roma appeared and disappeared - at times, I swear, as an entity ofactual flesh and blood.Now, as the blue banks of incense coiled lazily about the dark shape, theglittering doll seemed really to move and to dance her unworldlymeasure.But I had to avert my gaze from that which squirmed in a mistof ectoplasmic hyle beneath her feet. Dance, Doll, Dance! 109Roma's words came to mind: "a fluid chaos ever moving, ever flowing,ever breathing - like a sleeping breather.".It was indeed as if someonebreathed; a pullulant quaking-sound, suggestive of infinite power of a blindand primal kind.An Arab alchemist once observed "all animals increasethemselves by a slime".1At the stage of the rite when the idol appeared to dance, I would gazeintently into a mirror fixed above it on the wall.In the wan light ofmoonbeams slanting through the grating over the bed, my reflectionappeared as a gaunt green mask, the eyes over-bright with a feverishexcitement induced by the saltant form.As I glared unwinkingly into myown eyes, they acquired a vivid luminosity, became larger, seemed todetach themselves from the face and glow above the hollow cheeks.I knew from Orgen's papers that by staring fixedly at the reflection ofthe space between the eyes, the interior senses are stirred into occult life
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