The Ring

THE RING

     The Avenues Mall, in Jacksonville, Florida, was crowded, as was probably natural, especially now that school break had descended. Griffin Dante, strolling past the bustle of shoppers, his long, shining black hair past his shoulders, his clothes expensive and fashionable, his dark, piercing eyes hidden by expensive sunglasses, perused the thriving masses, looking for attractive female victims.

     He finally saw some, a cluster of buxom, teen-age girls, at the entrance to a video arcade.

     Dante whispered into a silver, black onyx ring on his upraised right hand: "There--over there! That one!"

     A voice responded from the ring: "Yes, master, but isn't she a little young?"

     "Mind your place!" Dante retorted. "You've no right to question my choices of consorts! You are only to obey!"

     "Yes, master," the ring whimpered.

     Gradually, in a manner so subtle as to be virtually unnoticeable, Griffin Dante transformed into the perfectly ideal person whom the nubile, lovely young girl would allow herself to be seduced by.

     Striding confidently toward her, her long, tawny hair hanging to her waist, her slim, but well proportioned body clad in tight, blue shorts and a pink tube top, he swept her off her feet, and away from her friends.

     Her friends were astonished, especially as they watched him lead her docilely out of the mall.

     Once outside, she accompanied him willingly inside an immense motor home, parked in a remote area of the parking lot, and she didn't come out for a long time.

*                             *                                    *

     Griffin Dante was a demonologist. His indomitable will, combined with his intense, devout studies of ancient and medieval books, gave him access to a world that most people no longer gave credence. The ancient wizards and magicians had been right, he discovered. There was a realm of demons, devils, and other supernatural beings whose access to our world was generally denied, even avoided.

     By sifting through the occult information, gleaned from a multitude of sources and languages, over a period of years, Dante was finally able to put together, by trial and error, the correct combination of incantations that would force the appropriate demon into his presence, and into his power.

     Then, his will was the key.

     No demon wanted to serve, and they especially distained serving a mere mortal. Each had to be forced to appear, then subdued and commanded. And each demon had its own special area of province. Some demons had dominion over various forms of wealth, others over various kinds of pleasure: particularly, in Dante's case, women, including, as in his latest adventure, teen-age girls.

     In a short amount of time, and in a relatively few encounters with the intractable demons, Dante's will always succeeding in persevering, and his position in life was assured. By using the arcane magick in which few others believed, Griffin Dante now merely roamed the world at his leisure, visiting his several, scattered, luxurious mansions, each staffed by servants, and furnished with beautiful women, each of whom with no other purpose than to give him pleasure.

     In between visits, he traveled, either by private yacht, jet airplane, or mobile home, seeking pleasure and luxury elsewhere.

     Griffin Dante had a wide range of taste, from young females to old. His only criterion was physical attractiveness; his only means necessary was "the ring."

*                                *                                   *

     After helping his latest conquest out of the motor home, dazed, befuddled, and deflowered, Dante sauntered to the front of the coach, and spoke to the slender, gray haired chauffeur:

     "Let's go south, Henry. Pick a highway, drive until you get tired, and then find an R.V. park. Don't wake me until noon."

     "Yes, sir," Henry responded.

     As Dante entered his cabin, and his bed, the huge engine shuddered into life, and the Griffin Dante traveling pleasure palace began to roll.

                         

*                                *                                   *

     Henry departed Jacksonville by I-95, and hurtled south on the interstate like a giant bullet. Henry's needs were few and simple, which, he knew, helped keep him secure in his employment by Mr. Dante. Therefore, he continued driving through the night, going as far south as the mobile monster could push its way.

     "This is as far south as we can go, sir," Henry explained, apologetically.

     Dante poured a couple of ounces of The Glenlivet scotch whisky into a half cup of coffee.

     "This is fine, Henry. You did well," Dante spoke. "Go ahead and get some sleep. I'm going to do some exploring."

     Henry was eager to oblige, but not only because he was genuinely tired. Henry had a fairly good idea of what Mr. Dante's explorations were likely to lead to, and the less he knew, the better. Withdrawing to his own, small cabin, the loyal chauffeur gratefully retired.

     After one or two more Gaelic coffees, Griffin Dante, demonologist, ventured out into the balmy, tropical spender of beautiful Key West. Henry's noble sacrifice of driving through the night had secured them a convenient parking space near the downtown area. As it was now early afternoon, the narrow, quaint streets were already bustling with people – tourists! – female victims!

     'Ah!' thought Dante, 'so many from which to choose! Where to start?'

     And as he strolled casually through the small town, his long, black hair ruffled playfully by the warm, gentle breeze, his dark, hungry eyes hidden by his expensive sunglasses, unbeknownst to him, Dante, himself, was being observed by another: a corpulent, piggish-looking man, with short gray bristly hair and horn-rimmed glasses.

     "There! There! See him?!" the obese man hissed into his ring, pointing at Dante. "That one, there!"

     "Yeth, mather," the ring lisped.

 THE END