Eldritch Enactment
Copyright© 2025 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 36: The Cost of Expansion
Horror Sex Story: Chapter 36: The Cost of Expansion - 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 Ma/Ma Coercion Consensual Hypnosis Mind Control Gay Heterosexual Fiction Historical Horror School Science Fiction Alternate History Paranormal non-anthro Vampires Anal Sex Cream Pie Squirting Voyeurism Geeks Halloween Royalty Transformation Violence
“And nature is smarter than people think. Little by little ... we lose everything and we keep losin’ and losin’...”
— Mickey Goldmill (as portrayed by Burgess Meredith), Rocky V (1990), written by Sylvester Stallone and directed by John G. Avildsen. Produced by Chartoff-Winkler Productions and distributed by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer/United Artists. Copyright © 1990 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc. All rights reserved.
The journey back to Dreibruch was not immediately undertaken. Silas slept in his own bed, brought extra changes of clothes, and he took a much needed shower. Those few days had been good to him, and so when he was underneath a mildly cloudy day, Silas Wolcott was hopeful.
The book occupied much of his thoughts.
He had not read it at home. It felt disrespectful somehow to read it at his home after he asked Thomas to guard the building for him.
Wrapped in oilcloth and secured within a leather case beside him, the Necronomicon possessed a certain gravity that pulled him in. There was no explanation of this phenomenon. This was simply part of reality.
More than once during the return journey he found his gaze drifting toward the tome without conscious intent. Part of him, he was sure, wanted to make sure it was still there. Another part prayed that in those pages,
When at last the towers of Dreibruch emerged through the light of the afternoon, Silas felt a combination of triumph and unease. Such a strange feeling, but for the moment, Silas could have sworn that he was getting closer to success.
Everything else up until this moment was a precursor. They could use the tools of their enemy to defeat them.
The university grounds appeared unchanged, and normality persisted, which was exactly what Silas wanted to see.
A servant admitted him through the main entrance and relieved him of his coat after Silas disembarked from his carriage. Somebody would bring his light luggage with two days worth of clothes up to the rooms.
“Dean Ashcombe has been asking after you, sir,” the man said.
“I expected as much.”
Silas kept the case that held the book firmly in hand.
At length, he reached the upper levels where Ashcombe had his study and beyond those, the private laboratory.
Silas entered with his right hand never letting loose on the Necronomicon.
The knowledge within was arcane and outworldly in nature, so he knew he must guard it well.
Silas drew a slow breath, tightened his grip upon the case, and knocked.
From within came Ashcombe’s familiar voice.
“Enter.”
And with that simple invitation, Silas crossed the threshold carrying a book that had already ruined greater men than either of them, not knowing what Theophilus Ashcombe had been through.
The recovery ward had grown far busier than Dr. Wilhelm Kaufman had ever intended, but in a strange way, that was good. A busy recovery ward meant everything was working.
People were not dying from their surgeries. Health was improving, and they were finding solutions to problems they had not even imagined only a year ago.
When the first patients arrived, Ashcombe wanted to test the blood. The ward could fit maybe twelve people comfortably. With a little construction and putting beds closer than Kaufman would have liked, they had found a way to put in about twenty six people.
A small staff of nurses provided by a nearby church as was the tradition of the time. The women worked diligently and with admirable compassion, tending to the sick with a patience that Kaufman found difficult to criticize, but the problem was they were women of faith, not science.
A nurse needed to know things to be of use to Kaufman. Could they apply a splint, tourniquet, give him a pulse, or even properly fill out a chart like he wanted. Data was everything, and while these women were kind in manner and nice enough in courtesy, they did not advance the medical practices that could make things like disease or epidemic a nightmare lost to memory.
The physician stood near a window reviewing notes while Sister Margaretta moved between patients carrying a basin of fresh water. She would empty it and replace it with just under-boiling water and a clean rag between her bandage cleaning.
Another nun was checking the bandages, which was nice, but at this
A third one was sleeping somewhere. They were only so useful. More than that fact, he was sure that they were exhausted.
Kaufman lowered his papers.
“Sister.”
Margaretta turned.
She was a light-skinned woman of Italian descent. When she looked at him, it was a pair of piercing hazel eyes that stared at him. There were a few wrinkles as she was just starting middle age, but that was time and how it worked.
“Doctor?”
“How many hours have you slept this week?”
The elderly nun offered a tired smile.
“Enough.”
Kaufman frowned.
“That is not a number,” Kaufman said, trying to sound more American than European.
“It is the answer I have.”
The physician looked around the ward.
Everywhere he saw evidence of strain. The success of Dreibruch’s medical program had created a problem no one had anticipated. People were surviving, which meant meant they required care afterward.
Sister Margaretta followed his gaze.
“We do what we can, regardless.”
Kaufman shook his head as that was no answer.
“You cannot continue like this indefinitely.”
Margaretta folded her hands.
“I believe the college needs more service people.”
Kaufman nodded.
“I agree.”
The words were true but might be viewed as revolutionary, for it was a change that others did not agree with. While medical doctors were trained at school, the Church traditionally supplied much of the charitable labor.
It was how things had always been done, but Kaufman was recognizing that this was a time of great, altering transformation. The old ways had not been designed for what Dreibruch was becoming, and that was all for the better in Kaufman’s book.
“Yes, I believe you are correct,” he reasserted.
Sister Margaretta appeared relieved.
Kaufman looked back toward the crowded ward.
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