by Al K. Line
"Hold him," ordered Oskari.
Randal panicked and tried to fight them off, even did a good job for a minute or two, but they got him eventually, held him fast as he pleaded and cried, shaming himself. Oskari was handed a nail and with vampire swiftness he slammed the nail into Randal's forehead then drove it home with a gentle tap of the hammer.
Randal dropped down dead. Oskari looked back at me and said, "I apologize for the insult," then handed the hammer to the next in line as Randal's body was dragged away.
The crucifixion continued, each nail hurting more no matter how hard I tried to remain a thing apart. Magic surged and did its best to repair me, some of the nails even pushing out from the wood and flesh so wounds could heal, but each nail drained me further. My body couldn't fix itself with these things stuck through me, and my injuries became life-threatening.
It was my sanity I was more concerned about.
I think I began to cackle and then laugh, maybe even sob a little, but every time I found myself doing it I came back to the lullaby, and I never once gave Oskari the satisfaction of looking away or begging. I stared at him throughout the whole ordeal, which must have taken most of the night.
The final vampire stepped forward, drove a nail through my forearm as there was nowhere else left to do it, such a pin-cushion had I become, and then all the vampires, with Oskari at the fore, stood and stared at me.
Oskari's white robes were drenched in blood from repeatedly handling the hammer and from the spurts that hit him as the nails hit arteries that thankfully healed by taking a slightly circuitous route around the foreign body. The floor was slick with my blood which had caused several of them to slip and fall over, giving me at least something to laugh at amid the horror.
"Soon you will die. We shall leave you in peace while the life ebbs from your broken body. Rest assured, I shall look after your son. He will be a credit to us all." Oskari bowed to me formally, and I spat at him. I spat at them all.
"You're all going to die. Every last one of you," I warned, and I saw it in his eyes. He was scared. They all were.
And for good reason. Nobody survived this, nobody. Nobody ever had, and I think we were all amazed I'd lasted as long as I had. I know I was. But I wasn't just vampire, and they were worried.
"The ritual is done. Leave," ordered Oskari.
I can't for the life of me think why he didn't end me then. Maybe it was a grudging respect for what I'd endured. Maybe he felt compelled to stick to the ritual.
Maybe he was too scared.
It Gets Worse
It must have been early morning because I could hear birds singing. It brought a smile to my face, flesh thankfully not pierced by a nail. In fact, my whole head was undamaged, along with all vital organs. This was a slow death, bringing me from the heights of magic and vampire power down to the level of a Regular so I'd bleed out during the day.
I wasn't strong enough to battle this any longer. My magic had done what it could but it wasn't enough to repair the damage that got worse as my system devoured itself searching for energy to heal the myriad wounds. Each nail felt red raw, blistered and terribly hot as magic attempted to defend against the foreign bodies. To heal muscle and knit bone back together. It was a losing battle, but my system worked away in the background nonetheless to do what could be done.
It was failing.
I was still vampire but had little of the strength and vitality that made us so superhuman. My defenses were down; I was little more than a normal person now. Even my ink had receded, hardly fattened at all, the magic swimming through the patterns lethargic and backing up as it encountered the damage it found impossible to bypass.
The birds sang louder, which made me happy. I wondered how I could hear them in such a room, protected as it was from the outside world, the heavy wooden shutters normally blocking out most sound. I glanced up and saw a young vampire open up the last shutter then leave without even looking my way. Ah, so that was it. The blinds had been pulled, so early morning light could stream into the room as the sun rose.
That would be nice, to die as the sun bathed me in its warmth, its goodness, its pure brilliance and beauty.
I spent some time listening to the birds and my own raspy breathing, watched, mesmerized as motes danced in rays of sunlight angling through the window as the sun peeked above the hills beyond. Strong shafts of wholesome light lit the floor like white fire, as if to sear away my pain and everything bad in the world. I watched as one slowly moved, then more appeared as the sun rose properly, until the room was awash with brush strokes of palest purity.
The room emerged from the shadows, ninja-style, and with it came a tingling all over. Nothing noteworthy at first, just a strange sensation I'd never experienced before. Then it grew more intense, then it hurt, even through the torture I was already experiencing, and then a single ray of light hit my thigh.
Flesh split instantly, actually burst into flame, and oh boy the agony of such a thing. It made everything else pale into insignificance, truly it did. The sun hitting my skin was suffering of the purest, most base kind, and it seared my soul until I could stand it no longer.
But stand it I did, for I had no choice.
More light bathed the room, until suddenly the whole interior was bright and stark, darkness banished, replaced with light like the scene had been washed over with watercolors, everything transparent and faint. But that may have just been my tears.
I began to burn in earnest. Flesh steamed, then hissed, bubbled and popped. Blisters grew massive then oozed. Streaks of red destroyed my skin, sections burst into flame, and the intensity heightened until I knew the end had come.
When I regained consciousness it was to discover that first, I was still alive, and second, I wasn't burning. It was more like a gentle simmer, just beneath the boiling point, but enough to roast me alive like I was slow cooked meat.
This was my true punishment.
I was so debilitated, so weak, with so little left of my vampire nature that I had nothing in me to fight the one thing all vampires avoided eventually.
The sun.
It was cooking me. The defenses all young vampires have for many years had been stripped from me along with everything else. Thankfully, the sun was high now, so there wasn't as much direct light, and the room was gloomy again, but it still burned, still roasted me alive.
Come dusk, when the dying rays of the sun brightened the room through the west windows, it would kill me, of that I had no doubt.
I laughed, as you had to see the funny side of it. Here I was, a vampire who had fought her nature every step of the way, and I would die in the one way I'd never even considered.
I had the rest of the day, then I was toast. Crispy, burned toast.
A Long Wait
I couldn't focus, couldn't escape to dreams and lullabies, was consumed by the daylight until all else faded to nothing. I hardly even thought of my family, couldn't get my brain to function, as though the sun took even that away from me. I knew it was my wounds getting worse, that I was adrift on a sea of broken bones and frayed veins, helpless and stranded on a raft of pure pain. My body had almost given up, was fighting to survive, the magic having done its best but not up to the task.
My body burned from the daylight and from infection that tore at my system, flaying my flesh and exposing my shivering, then burning, then sweating, then spasming body to degrees of torture unimaginable.
But, and you should be proud, I did not call for help. None would come, just Oskari to gloat. I knew he was awake, sensed his presence along with all the other vampires. They were waiting for me to ask for forgiveness, expecting it. To plead for mercy, beg to be released from this hell. I would not. I knew they'd never release me, would just smile their smug smiles. It was what Oskari wanted, to see me brought down to something base, and the longer I held out the more agitated he became. I felt his unease and that gave me strength enough to see this through to the end.
It was coming soon, I
knew, and as the afternoon drew on and I became hardly alive at all, I felt Oskari finally retire, his mind quieten. There was no smug satisfaction from him, just the knowledge of duty performed, of him continuing the work of his kind. The others retreated too, the few left that hadn't already succumbed to the sleep of the damned.
I was already dismissed, a brief part of Oskari's long history. A mere blip, of no import now I had been punished. His focus had already shifted; he was looking to the future. He would be after Kane when he arose this night, may already have put plans into action to retrieve him. There was no turning back for him now.
What he'd done meant the wrath of Grandma and thus all witches, and that was a serious declaration of war. If anyone ever found out of course. Then it hit me, even in my befuddled state. Nobody knew I was here, nobody would ever know what had happened. Everyone would think my fate had been the same as Faz's. That's what Grandma would think. That the doppels had done this, leaving Oskari in the clear for his murderous machinations.
What about Kane? Would he figure it out? Yes, at some point he would. Being vampire meant he would have access to the communal mind, and one day, when he was mature, maybe a slip of the tongue, maybe sensing something in the minds of the others, he would know. But by then it might be too late for him to act, or maybe he'd be so warped by Oskari that he wouldn't seek revenge. Did I want him to?
I let such concerns drift away. I was helpless, could do nothing to change the future. I just had to have faith in my son that he would remain a good boy and would lead a righteous life. One without parents.
More than anything else that had happened, that made me the angriest. To grow up without parents, for that I could never forgive Oskari.
Thoughts became muddled, I was lost to fever and delirium, my world one of pain and suffering. I couldn't focus on anything, couldn't keep my thoughts straight, and I began to see things.
The room wobbled, the walls, floor, and ceiling bowing in then expanding out to fill the universe. The air took on magical colors of the rainbow, reality whirling and dancing until it made me dizzy. Everything was shutting down. At one point I even thought I saw a head pop up through the floor before I shook violently and when I looked again it was gone.
Hours drifted by, the day lasting an eternity but time still going by too fast as this was to be my last few hours of life. When the sun dropped low in the clear blue sky on a perfect day I would burn and I would turn to dust.
I had but one regret.
I wouldn't see my son mature into a man.
The Evening Comes
I woke with a start, my body convulsing. Incredible pain engulfed me and I gasped and cried out but stifled the scream because I refused to let anyone hear me suffer, to get any more enjoyment from my misery.
The room was brighter, my skin was blistering and smoking, and I knew time was almost up. There was a thick, shiny pool of blood spread out at my feet now, more blood than I'd imagined could be contained within a human body. It was dark, almost black, drying up, not enough left for me to bleed much more now. I guess the faint traces of magic remaining were enough to stop me dying. It was kind of annoying. It would have been better to have lost consciousness and never woken up, rather than have to be a witness to my own nasty death.
I mean, come on, like I hadn't been through enough already.
The curse of the Hidden. Sometimes magic's great, other times it can be the last thing you want. The shafts of yellow afternoon sunlight traced across the floor, and would hit my flesh soon enough. Already I was beginning to fry in weak spots on my body, of which there were many, and the wounds around the nails began to crisp up then smolder. Soon they would burst into flames and I would be consumed.
I began to hallucinate again, saw that damn head appear out of the floor, rising like Death had come to take me. Maybe he had. Maybe this was what happened when you died and Death really did make an appearance. A smile spread, and I spoke as loud as I could, the words coming out as nothing but a faint whisper. "Hello, Death, you took your time."
The head emerged, nothing but a shadow with the sun as a backdrop, and then there were a pair of shoulders, then arms, then torso, and then the Grim Reaper himself stood before me. Time to say goodbye.
"Where's your scythe?" I asked.
Death put a hand to his face and scratched, then said, "Huh?"
Which was odd. Surely he'd say something more menacing, some epic final words or something? And where was his billowing cloak, and why were his arms so long? If anything, he looked more like the Chemist than the bloke that took you to meet your maker.
"Chemist?" I asked, confused and wondering if any of this was real.
"Yes, it's me," whispered the Chemist, glancing around then hurrying over.
"You're not Death are you?" I asked, watching a shaft of light reach the pool of blood. It smoked, burst into flame, then died. Talk about symbolism you could do without.
"What? Eh? No, I've come to rescue you."
"Oh, that's nice," I said, thinking it would have been even nicer if he'd come before the bit with the crucifixion. Still, it was a kind gesture, but he'd never get me down, never save me.
"Hold still," he said, as he pulled a vial from his checkered shirt pocket and removed the cork with his rotten teeth.
"Haha. Oh, that's a good one," I cackled.
He looked confused for a moment, then grinned, his green, jagged teeth the most welcome sight I'd ever seen. His melted face, his patchy hair, his deformed body so beautiful as it was the body of a friend. "Open wide."
I opened my mouth, the skin ripping on my lips, and he poured a black liquid onto my tongue. I swallowed.
The pain of this potion made the crucifixion seem like a nice way to go out. It burned, itched, seared, and consumed me from the inside out. It did not, in any way, make me feel better. I was being tortured to the last, would die in more pain than I'd believed possible, and I'd already thought I'd reached the pinnacle of what the human body could endure.
The sun traced across the bloody pool the Chemist was standing in, and he looked at it nervously. "Come on, come on," he said, tapping his foot, splashing my own life force.
Something pinged and he smiled, then again, and again, and again. Nails dropped into the blood, splashing or thudding against the floor, and then more, and more, and more, popping from the wood, reversing the direction they had taken and exiting my body.
The nail in my kneecap came loose with a nasty crunch, then in unison the final two burst from my palms. The wire unwound, and I fell forward into the Chemist's arms. He wrapped me up in them tight, and hurried away from the light, then lay me on the floor.
"You won't like this next bit," he said with a frown of concern I found hilarious.
As I laughed, he poured something else into my mouth and I coughed and spluttered then swallowed.
The world became different, as if I was lying on a delicate membrane that was a barrier between one world and another. The Chemist took my hand in his and we fell through the floor into madness.
Mistaken Identity
Maybe I was hallucinating and this was Death, and he'd taken on the form of a familiar face to ease the transition from one plane to the next. It certainly felt like I'd died. And not in a good way.
Pain was compounded by the potions the Chemist had given me, which I understood may have merely been symbolic, a way for me to cope with what was happening. Every wound on my body felt like it was tightening up and scabbing over simultaneously, the sheer deep itch enough to drive me insane. The liquid hitting my stomach burned like acid, and I felt it spread through my ink like it could activate it.
Was this the magic gathering itself before it returned to the Empty at my death? A precursor to my soul's release?
Darkness enveloped me, the chattering sounds of the creatures of the earth insinuated their way into my mind until I wanted to scream, but thought maybe that would mean a mouth full of dirt or nasty beasties.
I was descending i
nto hell, traveling through the bowels of the earth into the dark, nasty places reserved for the truly wicked. I hadn't been that bad, had I? Hadn't I tried to do the right thing? Maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe I was evil and this was my due.
On and on it went, traversing limbo where all was black, occupied by a cacophony of creatures feeding on the rotten epicenter of my soul, scratching and clawing and feasting on my putrid innards.
Light broke, somehow familiar and comforting, and I realized I was being dragged by the Chemist. My other arm came free and I clawed at a swirling pattern, unable to register its significance. Then another hand reached out and grabbed mine and I was yanked from purgatory.
With a thud, I landed sideways and stared at a pair of pink fluffy slippers leading up to wrinkled tights. The patterns coalesced and I understood this was a familiar carpet in a room that hadn't changed in decades.
I rolled onto my back and stared into concerned eyes.
"Grandma?"
"Hush, love. It's okay, you're safe now."
I smiled. I screamed so loud and violently that Grandma's tears soaked my face as they fell. But I didn't die.
Let's Try Again
Two more faces peered down at me. The Chemist and Kane.
"Th… thank you," I stuttered, meaning it with all my heart.
"You're welcome," beamed the Chemist. "I got to make potions with Grandma. I knew we could save you."
"How? How did you know?" I asked, even though my tongue was twice its normal size and my lips were oozing something they definitely ought not to, wanting an answer to at least something.
