by Lucas Thorn
“I never doubted it.” He looked to the ropes lashing the coffins in place. “Here, George. Get these ropes loose, will you? My fingers aren’t up to the trick.”
“Sure, John. Won’t take a minute.”
John nodded. Pushed his hat up a little, then back down again as rain wet his cheeks.
Sighed.
Dimiti grunted. “Gonna be fucking cold this Winter, John. Getting back through the pass might be tough if it’s been as wet as here.”
“I know.”
“Aye. I figured you might. But sometimes it needs to be said.”
“We’ll see how it is when we get to Vienna. Ain’t usually this wet.”
“True, that is.”
“You done, George?”
“Almost!”
Thunder cracked directly overhead, making John flinch and the oxen shiver.
One let out a huff and stamped back feet.
Flicked its tail.
Dimiti couldn’t help but grin. “That were a big one.”
“Made me jump out of my fucking skin.”
George tossed the ropes into the wagon and scampered up. Rolled over the coffin and started looking it up and down. Sour twist of his lip. “This was the heavy one, weren’t it?”
“No, lad,” Dimiti called. “The black were the heaviest. This little red one weren’t much at all.”
“I’m sure this was heavier.”
“That’s only because you got out of having to carry the others. Right, John?”
John shrugged. “They’re all fucking heavy to me.” Sighed. “Right, well. It won’t move itself. George, grab the handle there. I’ll slide it up my way. Dimiti? You be ready. We ain’t got time to do this proper with the ropes, so it’ll be hands only. And it’s slippery as shit.”
“Should be right. Ground’s wet mush here. Even if we drop it, it shouldn’t cause no damage. Just need a bit of a polish.”
“Not a scratch, the Lady said.”
“And there won’t be if you keep your grip.”
“Holler out if you can’t keep hold.”
“Maybe I should get Peter back out?”
“No, let him rest. He’s already moved the rest.” Wiped his face. “George?”
The younger man grabbed the handles at the back with both hands. “Ready when you are.”
“Then give it a push.”
The two men began to haul on the coffin, corded muscle pulling hard. Grunted and groaned as the coffin refused to move.
“Let go, let go,” John roared over another blast of thunder. “George! It’s alright, lad. It ain’t moving. Fuck. Must be caught on something.”
“Reckon some of the planking’s buckled,” Dimiti said, ducking down to get a look. “Can’t see it, but I’m sure that’s what it is. Can you get the rope under? Maybe lift it over the top.”
John shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“I felt it shift,” George said. “At the end. It nearly gave. I’m sure of it.”
“You reckon one more go, lad?”
Nod. “I can do it, George. I’ll get up here behind it right and proper. And give it a shove.”
“Be careful. We don’t want to send it off the edge. Not one scratch, remember?”
“Dimiti’s big and strong,” George said. Grinned. “Like an ox, he says. All the time, don’t you Dimiti? I’m sure he’ll catch it with one hand.”
“And throw it back in your face, young George.” Dimiti grimaced. “But let’s not try it today, yeah?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
“Right then. Give us a shout when you’re ready.”
George climbed up behind the coffin. Anchored himself against the front of the wagon. Placed both hands on the lid. Looked up at Dimiti. Then to John.
Nodded. “Aye.”
“On three?” He took the handle in both hands. “One. Two. Three!”
Dimiti screwed his face into a snarl of effort and pushed with everything he had. Face turning red.
George tugged, trying to lift at the same time.
Felt the coffin scrape.
Then jar to a halt.
“Almost,” George said through teeth. Spittle drooled down his chin as he clenched jaw and gave it another push.
“It’s okay, George,” John said.
“Nearly got it!”
“It’s-”
Wood cracked.
And, with a shocked splinter, the coffin ploughed toward the end of the wagon.
John pulled on the handle, now trying to stop it as it flew toward Dimiti’s startled face.
The old man danced to one side, making a futile grab at one of the handles. Knowing he couldn’t stop it from flying of the edge.
It landed in the mud with a crash, angling off the wagon.
“Oh, hoy,” George lifted himself up from where he’d landed on his stomach. “I’m sorry, John. It got right out of my grip. I couldn’t hold it in the rain.”
Though anger studded his belly, rain cooled his mind and John simply sighed. “Don’t worry about it now, George. Ain’t your fault. Can’t help what can’t be helped.”
Dimiti bent to look at where the coffin’s foot had rammed into the mud. “Oh, shit. John, this ain’t good.”
“What is it?” He jumped off the edge with a splash.
“I think the lid’s come loose.”
“Come loose? How?”
“Not sure. It’s like the hinge has been broke.”
“Broke?” John chewed his bottom lip. “How bad?”
“I’d have to get a look at it in the morning to be sure. Maybe I can fix it…”
“I bloody hope so!” John stamped a foot. “Fucking shit. That’s all we need, isn’t it? She’ll never pay our bonus if we’ve busted up her fucking coffins, will she? She sees that, she’ll lose her fucking mind.”
“I’m sorry, John,” George said again. Looked to Dimiti. “I didn’t expect it to go like that.”
Dimiti picked at the coffin lid.
Frowned.
“Hang on.” He gave the lid a shake, showing it was loose. “Doesn’t look like the hinge is damaged at all. Might supposed to be like this. Here, look.”
He felt the lid click as a mechanism inside unsnapped.
And the lid opened.
A mad flash of lightning speared into a hill half-hidden by trees. Tore a small smoking crater.
But no man looked in that direction.
“I ain’t a very religious man, John,” Dimiti said. Dry mouth. “But if that ain’t the perfect vision of the Virgin Mary herself, then I’m a blind man and don’t you dare cure me.”
John found himself staring.
His uncle had been a rich man. Had loaned him the money to buy the wagons he’d needed to start this business. On the day he’d settled the loan, his uncle had served him tea.
In porcelain cups. He’d been almost too afraid to touch them in case his fingers left a mark.
Pure as snow, he’d thought them.
The most perfect shade of white he’d ever seen.
Until now.
Her skin didn’t look anything like he imagined a dead body would. It looked soft.
Alive.
Like he could reach out and touch it.
Had to squeeze fingers into fists just to stop himself from doing so.
Red lush lips.
Raven hair.
George slid down the wagon.
“What’re you two staring at?” Then stopped himself as her saw her. “Fuck me. She’s beautiful. Ain’t she Dimiti? She’s beautiful.”
Dimiti stood there, tears edging his eyes.
Shook his head. “More than anyone I ever saw.”
“Why’re you crying, Dimiti?”
The old man wiped at his eyes with the cuff of his hand. “My Lenda was beautiful, too. When she was taken. I just can’t help it, lad. It’s like I’m seeing her all over again. It ain’t right for young girls to die like this. Ain’t right at all.”
&
nbsp; “You were married? I didn’t know that.”
“I was young, once, lad.” The tears didn’t stop. “She died in our first year. Couldn’t bring myself to look at another.”
“Close it up,” John said, voice strangled. “Close it up now.”
George couldn’t pull his gaze away from her. “But-”
“Shut it, damn you! Show some respect for the dead. And if not respect, then do it before you catch sickness. It ain’t healthy to be around the dead, you fool.”
“He’s right, lad,” Dimiti said. Closed the lid as quickly as he could, trying not to get mud inside. Scrubbed his eyes and motioned for John to grab the other side of the coffin. “Let’s get it over there as quick as we can.”
“And seal it,” John said. He wasn’t sure why he felt so afraid, but fear bubbled in his belly. Made worse by the shocking roll of thunder which caused every hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. “Seal it up again.”
“It weren’t sealed.”
“What do you mean it weren’t sealed?”
“No wax. You saw.”
“Well, do something. I don’t want it to open again. Make it stay shut.”
“Aye.”
The three men lifted the coffin over to the trees, lying it down near the stacked crates of earth. They moved it without words, each lost in thoughts of their own. Each handling the weight with as much gentleness as they could manage.
When it was done, they stood nearby in pouring rain.
“She was beautiful,” George said. Flushed. “I’m sorry. I can’t stop thinking about her now. It’s like she’s alive. Even her mouth. She was smiling. Did you see that?”
“She weren’t smiling, you fool,” John snapped. “She’s dead. Just a body. Sorry, Dimiti.”
“It’s alright. Let’s get the wagon loose.” He looked back at the coffin, small frown playing across his old face. “Poor lass.”
“She’s in a better place,” George offered. “Peter can pray for her tonight.”
“Sure he can,” John said. “Now run off and get him out here. Let him pray over the wheel before anything else. I don’t want to be stuck out here any longer than we have to.”
CHAPTER FIVE
They sat around the pitiful campfire and ate in silence.
On previous nights, even when the weather had been this bad, they’d entertained themselves with story and song. Had even allowed Peter to teach them a few hymns.
But this night, hardly a word was uttered.
John nodded as Peter took his plate and set to wiping it clean. Stowing their gear.
Behind them, the wagon remained where it was. They’d been unable to move it more than a few turns before it had sunk again. The beasts were unhitched and rested now beneath a few trees. One, bolder than the others, shifted closer to the fire and slumped with its head near George’s hip.
Usually George would reach out and pat the shaggy head.
Not this night.
The three who’d seen her glanced often to the coffin. Soft pitter of rain bouncing off the lacquered lid. A constant reminder of its presence even when they weren’t looking at it.
Not that they needed one.
When they finally moved to their bedrolls inside one of the wagons, they still didn’t speak. Slid beneath their blankets and waited for sleep.
After a long day, it should have come easy.
Exhaustion should have triggered their bodies into slumber.
Instead, it was a wrestle against thoughts which frightened them. Frightened because they didn’t know where they came from. Never before had they entertained private fantasies of corpses and moonlight.
Revulsion gnawed at their guts, but thoughts continued to rot and fester in their minds. Ashamed, they pleaded to their inner voice to quiet.
To bring sleep.
And a new day which would hopefully allow haunted minds a chance to purge such evil urges.
John’s dreams were nightmare when they came.
A chain of forbidden desire and rabid violence. He had to run. Had to fight. Was pursued by something which heaved and struggled against him. Claws flashing from the shadows.
Horrific screams.
And, beneath it all, the soft laughter of a woman. Laughter which curdled his belly and left him shaking inside with terror and a burning need to please the woman in white who pursued him.
Pale hand.
Porcelain pale.
Reached for his face and brushed against cheek. So cold. Frozen like Winter’s hardest ice.
Purring voice, coiling around his brain like a snake.
Whispering promises.
Promises he knew God would never forgive him for listening to.
But he couldn’t help it.
Couldn’t stop his hand from reaching for hers.
He woke with a rush, bolt upright. Cold forehead and hot sweat.
Wiped face with blanket and waited for the shudders to cease before looking around to see if he’d disturbed the others. Expected them to be watching with big grins on their faces.
Instead, George muttered in his sleep and Peter tossed and turned in silence.
“Dimiti,” John said softly. The man’s bedroll was empty. “Shit.”
He eased himself from the wagon, moving as quietly as he could.
Was distantly pleased to notice the rain had stopped at last.
Wind still shook the trees, bristling wet leaves and keeping the forest hush.
The campfire was a sodden mound of ash drowning in mud.
The oxen had shifted back to the road, away from the trees. They weren’t sleeping. Were instead peering through the dark, bovine eyes fixed on where the crates and coffin had been stacked.
Where Dimiti stood, arms rigid at his sides. Fingers loose. Dangling. Almost lifeless.
Staring.
Staring like a heartsick boy at the coffin’s open lid.
Where the woman in white lay with pale white arms across her breasts. White dress gleaming so bright in captured moonlight it appeared to glow.
“Dimiti?” John shivered as he came up beside the old man. Put his hand on Dimiti’s shoulder. Smell of crisp night air. “Are you alright, mate?”
Slow nod. “I’m fine, John.”
“Why’d you open it up again? It’s not her, you know. Not your wife. You ought to close it.”
Shake of head. “I didn’t, John.”
“Didn’t, what?”
“Didn’t open it.”
Dread crawled through John’s heart as he asked what he didn’t want to ask; “Well, who did?”
“I’m sorry, John. I’m so sorry.”
The scream died in John’s throat even before it began as the pale white face in front of him moved. Red lips curved into a predatory grin and eyes snapped open to pin him with ghastly stare.
Beautiful, was all he could think. She was so terrifyingly beautiful.
She climbed from the coffin on limbs which moved like a hunting spider.
“John.” She purred his name, and a warm thrill riddled down his spine. “Would you really do those things to me? Your dreams were quite sinful, weren’t they? What would your God think of them? I know mine would be very pleased.”
Managed to squeak a strangled plea; “Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, silly. But if you really mean it, you could do something for me. Just a little thing. And if you do, it would make me so very happy. Would you like to make me happy, John?”
The nod came quicker than he could think. “Yes, Lady. I’d do anything for you. Anything you want.”
“Of course you would. I want you to go to the other wagons and untie my sisters. Hurry, John. Hurry.”
He shuffled away, brain humming within its seat.
Eyes misted and wet.
He fell against the wagon. Practically lurched against the ropes and tugged with the frenzy of a man desperate to fulfil a desire which went beyond the mere carnal and entered a realm of the mystic.
/> Fingers, brittle with cold, worked hard to break the knots. He whimpered with frustration as they resisted.
“John?” Peter called from the wagon, leaning off the edge. Blinking away the remnants of his own cursed dreams. “What’re you doing, John?”
John didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
His throat was constricted and dry.
Couldn’t even work enough moisture to spit.
Didn’t look to Peter.
Eyes focussed on the knots. Pulling them free. Grinned as one came loose. Looked over his shoulder to where the woman in white stood beside Dimiti. Felt a flash of jealousy.
Maybe if he hurried with the knots, she’d stand near him instead.
Stand so close his breath might break.
Renewed vigour sent him rushing to the next rope. But Peter blocked his way. Reached for John’s hand. “John?”
The punch sent Peter wheeling into the mud.
Landed with a splash and groan, but John didn’t wait.
Peter had tried slowing him down!
Couldn’t the fool understand? He had to please the Lady. Had to get the ropes free.
He wrenched hard. Fingers darting into the knot and pulling.
Moan escaped lips.
He was going too slow.
Cursed old hands. Gnarled hands. Already strained and sore.
Peter looked up, rubbing his chin. And, finally saw her.
Opened his mouth.
Screamed; “Demon!”
His hand dove into his shirt, hunting crucifix.
It was George who hit him again.
From behind. With a lump of wood.
Then dropped his makeshift weapon in the mud beside the bleeding head.
And shambled toward her, face alight with awe.
“My Lady,” he murmured. “My Lady, I’ll do anything for you.”
John wept.
The knots were too tight!
They wouldn’t give.
He looked over his shoulder. George was getting close to her.
She was reaching for him.
Her pale fingers touched his.
“No,” he growled. “Touch me, Lady. Touch me instead.”
And he found strength from somewhere inhumanly deep. The knot pulled loose and rope uncoiled to slither off the wagon. A dead adder at his feet.
