An eternity in the void

Wherever Simon was - whatever Simon now was - was hard to define. He still existed, this much he knew but not in any way his mortal mind could possibly comprehend. The only concepts that his human mind might have grapsed about this new plane was the overwhelming pain, inescapable anguish and unending suffering that he felt. Experiences he knew he did not face alone.

Everyone, or perhaps, everything in this place shared his plight - he knew without knowing - and it was not long before it was demonstrated to him just how this shared turmoil manifested itself. After an unknowable stretch of time spent wondering uncertainly, the thing that had been Simon sensed a presence. An ominous, malicious presence. Without warning it was upon him, attacking him, feeding from him... something akin to fucking him. There was nothing the spirit of Simon could do but endure it, his mundane suffering now spiked with a wild sense of urgency, of vitality and tinged with a memory of lust.

Eventually the thing was done with the spirit of Simon, for now at least, and panicked he did his best to flee, as futile as that was in a plane lacking substance. For a fleeting moment his surrounds shifted and brightened and for the briefest of seconds he caught a glimpse of a familiar scene. The witch's hut, cluttered and foul seemed to materialise around him and somewhere deep inside there was recognition and with it a profound sense of loss. The spirit glimpsed what it knew to be its body, lying on the floor eyeless, naked and defiled. Then he was falling again, back down into the darkness of the void.

This was existence for the spirit of Simon now. The only hope of respite from the monotony of his suffering coming in the form of the rapacious fellow inhabitants of the cursed globe, where to feel anything, even the agony of being consumed was better than to go on simply existing forever in solitary torment.

The witch had sensed the young man rising upward in her precious globe long before he would appear so the haggard old crone set herself upon a stool to await his arrival. The thought of him, so young, fresh and innocent, at the mercy of her extensive collection of spirits, many ancient and evil, thrilled her intensely. Soon she was stroking at her dripping folds, the wet sounds of her self pleasure filling her hut as she waited. Then, suddenly there he was... a ghostly apparition of the boy's face floating to the surface, shimmering as it floated across. He appeared lost, scared and hopeless and upon witnessing the rude young man in his permanent hell, the witch let out a triumphant howl as she reached a powerful climax. Just as the spirit of Simon began to slip away and disappear she reached out, brushing her slippery wet fingers over his face before he vanished completely. She was his now, and would be forever.