Eldritch Enactment
Copyright© 2025 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 24: Discovery
Horror Sex Story: Chapter 24: Discovery - After his father's passing in 1822, Silas Wolcott returns home to discover he has inherited a fortune beyond necessity. However, soon, he must uncover the secrets of his House and bloodline. From a seductive vampire to a university that wants knowledge, a tale of hubris, fear, and destruction unfolds.
Caution: This Horror Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Consensual Hypnosis Mind Control Gay Heterosexual Historical Horror School Science Fiction Alternate History Paranormal non-anthro Vampires Cream Pie Squirting Voyeurism Geeks Halloween Royalty Transformation Violence
“ ... pursue the echoes of blood...”
— The Plain Doll (voiced by Evetta Muradasilova), Bloodborne. Written and directed by Hidetaka Miyazaki. Developed by FromSoftware and published by Sony Computer Entertainment. Originally released March 24, 2015 (North America) for the PlayStation 4. Copyright © 2015 Sony Computer Entertainment. All rights reserved.
The private laboratory of Dean Theophilus could only be reached one of two ways. One was through a passage beneath Dreibruch University and the other was through a secret door accessed from behind his bookshelf.
This experimental workroom did not resemble the fanciful chambers imagined in penny dreadfuls or the fevered dreams of spiritualists. There were no crackling coils of lightning nor occult circles painted upon the floorboards in lamb’s blood. Dean Ashcombe would have considered such theatrics vulgar.
No. This was a place of higher learning for the betterment of mankind, and as such, this small contained space was far more dangerous because of its respectability.
Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, crowded with anatomical diagrams, chemical compounds, mineral samples, preserved organs (treated with no more interest than that of a jar of preserved peaches), and enough academic journals to shame lesser institutions.
Places like Oxford, Cambridge, Harvard, and Yale had respectability and name recognition. Further, they had funding from private families that would keep such academies alive for centuries to come, but their highest calling was not learning, but rather to exist as pillars of society. They had a social cache which they held above all else.
This was not so for Dreibruch. Under Dean Ashcombe, this university was a facility of learning before all else.
The brass instruments under the oil lamps were a sign of this truth. The scent of parchment, alcohol, and sterilizing agents lingered in the stale air like the breath of some invisible custodian, but they also promised cleanliness. After all, the Dean believed in the new science of nearly unseen concepts of bacteria.
At the center of the chamber sat the Dean.
Theophilus Ashcombe leaned over the microscope with the severe concentration of a clergyman studying sacred scripture.
In a way, he was. Though, at the moment, he was incredibly grateful to those Dutch spectacle makers Hans and Zacharias Janssen for even making a microscope in 1590.
His thin fingers adjusted the polished instrument with precise, exquisite care. Beside him rested a small glass vial filled with the blood Silas Wolcott had entrusted to the university.
The note had been vague about the usefulness of the liquid, but Silas had warned that the substance was important as it came at the cost of the life of Jonathan Pellham. The Dean might have mourned the loss of the lawyer if it were not for the fact that Jonathan was not especially gifted at his job.
Jon had been a compromise. He had been hired because his family had access to affluent families in New England and New York. The Dean had always loathed someone who was ineffectual but only important because they came from the right family. Nepotism would be the death of true progress.
Even at that moment, hours after opening the container and getting a small tincture of the sanguine solution, the substance unsettled him.
At a first glance, the elixir resembled ordinary human blood, possessing the proper crimson hue, the proper viscosity, even the metallic scent one associated with surgery and battlefield injury.
However ... for all of its similarities, the compound was wrong.
Not grotesquely incorrect, of course, for under normal observation, a layman would not be faulted for believing it to be human blood. The horror lay instead within subtle deviation.
Beneath the scrutiny of a copper and brass tool and the glasses that allowed for magnification, the blood could be seen moving too slowly.
Furthermore, when tilted beneath the lanternlight, the liquid did not cling to the glass naturally. Rather, it seemed to resent movement itself, as though reluctant to obey the pull of gravity. There was also an unnatural richness to its color. Human blood darkened as it cooled and settled. This substance did not; its redness persisted with almost arrogant vitality.
Theophilus peered through the microscope once more.
His expression tightened as he scribbled in his leatherbound journal, which doubled as a scientific notepad.
“Extraordinary...”
The cells appeared malformed compared to healthy human samples. They were elongated slightly, almost elegant in structure, with dark filamentary protrusions extending from their membranes like the roots of invasive plants. Worse still, they did not remain still upon the slide.