A Haunting of Horrors: A Twenty-Novel eBook Bundle of Horror and the Occult

by Chet Williamson

  Carol was still leery of André because he was so unpredictable. Yet it wasn’t all bad. Sometimes she even found herself enjoying the time she spent with him.

  One night he brought her six Bird of Paradise. They showered together, laughing under the spray. But when Carol stepped out of the shower, while he was toweling her off, the sickness she felt daily hit hard.

  She noticed her ashen face in the mirror. “You’d better leave me alone in here,” she warned him.

  The words were hardly out of her mouth when she began violently throwing up. She grabbed the towel rack for support but it broke away from the wall and she fell, heaving so hard she was crying too. André caught her and held her while she vomited dinner into the toilet.

  He was so gentle Carol could hardly believe it. He wiped her face and gave her water to rinse out her mouth.

  And then he carried her to bed. Once he’d tucked her in carefully and turned out the lights, he got in beside her.

  The sickness always frightened Carol. André seemed to sense it and stayed until dawn, holding her in his arms, kissing her, stroking her hair as she cried. He told her funny stories about the characters he knew at the promenade, ‘vampire groupies’, he called them, breaking up her tears with laughter, distracting her from the nausea. Carol was grateful and told him so.

  The following night he walked in as she was changing.

  “Feeling better?”

  “Yes.” She was wearing one of the new skirts he’d bought but no top. She no longer felt self-conscious about being naked in front of him.

  “Leave that on,” he told her. He sat in an armchair and took off his shirt. “Come over here.” He pulled her down onto his lap. “I brought you some books. Pick one. I’ll read you a bedtime story. Inspirational. Some of our best French authors.”

  He handed her three paperbacks. She glanced at the titles —Justine, The Story of O, The Darker Passions: Dracula and The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty—then looked at him with what must have been a startled expression on her face.

  He threw back his head and laughed, his long teeth exposed. “I love shocking you.”

  “A.N. Roquelaure is Anne Rice’s penname, and she isn’t French, she’s American.”

  “She’s French in spirit, counselor, and that’s good enough under the Napoleonic Code.”

  He pulled her close, sucking her earlobe, running a hand up the inside of her thigh. “You’re so fuckable.”

  “Is that an insult or a compliment?”

  “What do you think?”

  Overall he was treating her all right, considering she had no choice but to be here. He still tried to embarrass her when they went out and constantly ordered her around. But at least he wasn’t physically brutal and had stopped threatening her. Sometimes he seemed almost human.

  “Here, lean over the footstool and I’ll massage your back,” he said one night.

  Carol knelt in front of the chair where André sat, resting her arms on top of the footstool and her head on her arms. His thumbs worked the muscles along her spine.

  “That feels really good,” she murmured.

  They were silent for five minutes or so. He changed his movements to an enfleurage, broad strokes from her waist up to her shoulders. “Where’s your family?” It was the first time he had shown any interest in her life.

  “My real dad died when I was three. He was from Québec. That’s where I was born. But my mother is an American. She was up there for a holiday and they met and fell in love, I guess. She never talked about him much. Anyway, I know he was from a little town in the Gatineau Hills. I’ve never been there. His name was Desjardins. I guess that makes me half French.”

  “It makes you half Canadian,” André said.

  “Anyway, my mother remarried right away and my step-father adopted me. That’s why my name’s Robins. He wasn’t around much. He was a salesman, always away on business, and I don’t think I saw him more than six weeks a year, if that, so I never really knew him. I didn’t feel close. My mother was always unhappy. I don’t know. It was a funny family, I guess.”

  She felt the tension in her body ebbing. Now that she was revealing it, her past seemed less intimate, more unrelated to the person she now perceived herself to be. “My mom fell apart when my dad died—he was killed in a car accident—and she never really recovered. She kind of went downhill and when I was at law school she had a stroke. She’s been in a nursing home since. Paralyzed. She doesn’t even recognize me—the doctors say her brain is damaged and she’ll never come back. Fortunately she had enough money that the interest pays for it.”

  “Brothers and sisters?” He kneaded the muscles in her neck and she sighed.

  “I was an only.”

  “You must have some relatives.”

  “Oh, there are aunts and uncles floating around on my mother’s side but we’re not close. I exchange Christmas cards with one cousin, but that’s about it. I don’t like my adoptive father’s family. And I’ve never met my real father’s relatives. All my grandparents are gone. Maybe it’s different in France, but in the States families are pretty scattered.”

  He was now massaging her scalp, rubbing the thin muscle across it in small circles, then wider and then the whole head.

  Carol felt completely relaxed. Peaceful.

  “I was married,” she mumbled.

  “And?”

  “He liked women and men, and a lot of them. That’s how I was exposed to HIV.”

  André ran his fingers through her hair, from the scalp to the ends. It was so soothing.

  “I thought I loved him, and maybe I did, I don’t know anymore. We’ve been divorced for over a year.”

  “That’s why you hadn’t slept with anyone else?” He had stopped touching her with his hands but his calves rested against her hips, continuing the contact. She turned her head to the other side and sighed deeply.

  “I guess so. That and the virus. I just felt, I don’t know, kind of raw inside. Betrayed. And I couldn’t stand the idea of being hurt like that again.”

  They were silent, Carol drifting off to sleep. She heard the clock downstairs strike eleven times. “What about you?” she asked softly. “Ever been married?”

  André stood. It was so abrupt a movement that she opened her eyes. He went to the closet, opened it and pulled out a vermilion dress he’d bought for her recently. “Put this on. I’ll take you to dinner. And then, if you like, we’ll go to a club.”

  One evening Carol was sitting in the living room alone when Chloe came in.

  “Hello, Carol. You’re looking well. Are the teas helping with your nausea?”

  Carol put down her book and sighed. “I guess they’re helping a little. I haven’t thrown up in two whole days. But I still feel queasy sometimes, like now.”

  “I have something for you.”

  “Not more liver, I hope.”

  Chloe laughed. “No.” She handed Carol a small rectangular box. “From Jeanette. You remember her, don’t you?”

  “Sure. She read my Tarot cards, except for the last one.”

  “Well, she was confused. And so was I. That card usually has to do with fecundity. The Empress is the earth mother who connects heaven and earth, spirit and flesh, through love. Both she and those around her are unconscious of her powers. Neither of us could see the connection. Of course, now it’s obvious. Open it.”

  Carol looked at the exquisite box. It was lacquered gold and silver leaf patterns over polished ebony. The patterns formed mask-like faces. The box was tied with wire-thin silver and gold ribbons. Inside she found a two inch piece of clear rock shaped like a wand. She held it up to the light. “What is it? A crystal?”

  “Smoky quartz. Many believe it’s as old as the earth itself. It’s been used for healing purposes and for personal protection for centuries. Of course, recently there’s a big interest in rocks and minerals and other geological materials, much of it, to my mind, a bit on the superficial side. But Jeanette is seriously interested in
the occult, mysticism and related subjects. The color within is called a phantom and signifies that this crystal is especially powerful.”

  Carol peered through the quartz. Inside a swirl of darker grey resembled a little figure.

  “She sent a note,” Chloe said, handing over a small envelope. Carol opened it and read aloud:

  “Dear Carol,

  You’re a special girl. I knew that when I first met you. Chloe sees it too. André is very, very lucky to have found you and you’ve got to realize how honored you’ve been to be able to increase our line in this way. All of us can only be grateful. I’ve sent this piece of quartz because I’ve found it comforting. I kept it with me all through a difficult dark period in my existence, when I was so bent on revenge at any cost that I didn’t believe I’d ever be happy again. I know the crystal’s energy. That’s why I’m giving it to you, so that it will help you bring this new life into the world. Julien and I hope to be there for the birth.

  Much love, Jeanette”

  Carol was touched by this woman she didn’t know, a woman who was a blood drinker. When she looked up she felt tears in her eyes.

  “Jeanette’s special herself,” Chloe said. “She travelled a long hard road. Some never even begin the journey, let alone find the right path.”

  Carol sighed. She didn’t feel so distant from Chloe now. It suddenly didn’t make much difference what she was. Maybe they had more in common than she thought.

  “Chloe, what are you, and Karl and Gerlinde and André? If vampire isn’t the right word, what is?”

  “Not everything can be described in a word.”

  “You’re not dead, are you?”

  Chloe laughed. “That’s a very convenient way for mortals to understand us. Death is just a change of form. What happens to us is more along the lines of a transformation.”

  “Would you explain that?”

  “Well, if you had read the old alchemical texts, which, of course, very few even know of let alone have seen—naturally they’re all in Latin and Greek—you might understand the nature of transformation. In a real sense it’s a magical process. Just think of your pregnancy. A sperm and ova come together, two separate things, and create a third thing, distinct, neither one nor the other but encompassing both, changing both. That’s transformation, when one thing changes into another because it is penetrated by an influence beyond understanding. Call it magic, God, life. I believe they’re all the same.”

  “You can say the word ‘God’?”

  Chloe laughed again. “And why not? Do you really believe we’re spawns of Satan? We’re just beings of this earth, with our powers and our limitations. We’re like mortals but greater than mortals. We too have our strengths and weaknesses.”

  “André doesn’t seem to have any weaknesses.”

  Chloe shook her head. She took one of Carol’s hands in hers. “Oh he has. It’s just that you can’t understand them. Our way is so different from yours, although we look like your kind and, to a large extent, act like your kind. But there is no mistaking us. From your end you can’t clearly see the differences. But from ours, well, sometimes we can hardly remember the similarities.”

  Carol thought about what Chloe had said. “Is it painful?”

  “Is what painful?”

  “This change. The transformation.”

  “I suppose change is always painful, in some way. In order to move to another house you must leave the one you’re familiar with. You may be leaving something behind you can’t bear to part with.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you, drinking blood?”

  “No more than it bothers most mortals to eat a cow or a pig or even a dog in some instances. And mortals have been known to eat each other. Perhaps it bothers us less because we’re more aware of what we do. And too, for most of us killing is a choice. Restraint is difficult to learn but in the long run it’s a good safeguard. And it humanizes us.”

  “Humanizes? I thought you’re superior to human beings. I get the idea you, well, André anyway, despises us.”

  “We are superior, as humans are because consciousness makes you superior to other animals. But we need to remember that we share the same earth with you. It’s enough that your kind sleep-walks through life, refusing to acknowledge the existence of, the essential equality of, other creatures. Such mindlessness may well destroy us all. Those among us with any awareness are driven to responsibility. We refuse to share the guilt of unconsciousness.”

  Carol thought for a moment. “Chloe, there’s one thing I just don’t understand. You’re pretty stable. So is Gerlinde. And Karl. But André, he’s all over the map.”

  “It seems that way to you because you’re so close. The nature of your relationship is symbiotic.”

  “I don’t feel close to him. And how’s it symbiotic? Okay, he wants my blood, but what do I get?”

  “A good question to ask yourself. What are you getting?”

  “Nothing that I can see. I feel like André and I are from different planets.”

  “That may be how you feel but there’s something else working. He was only able to impregnate you because of a psychic connection. You may not see or understand what it is. Maybe no one can. But it’s there, between the two of you, I’m sure of it.”

  “But he’s back and forth. Kind one minute, an infantile despot the next. A benevolent dictator at the best of times, a callous bastard at the worst. Why?”

  “André is young. I’ve told you that.”

  “But Gerlinde said she’s the most recent convert in the house and was made or transformed or whatever you call it in the fifties. I don’t know exactly how old André is but he’s been around at least as long yet he acts like a kid.”

  “André is a child, in many ways. I’ve known him from birth. His father and I were very close. I loved his mother too.”

  Carol stared at Chloe. “Who made André a blood drinker?”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “I think you will need to ask André that.”

  “Who turned you into one?”

  “I couldn’t tell you.”

  Carol was a little startled that she was actually talking as though they were vampires. Certainly Chloe believed everything she said. The idea that it could all be true suddenly struck Carol for the first time. What if they were another species? Like vampires. She was silent for a while, but finally asked, “You told me none of you can interfere with André...”

  “We cannot interfere with one another.”

  “Why not? If you’re all so conscious, how could you sit back and let André hurt me?”

  “That was some time ago, Carol.”

  “I’m not just talking about the physical, and you know it.

  You’re avoiding my question.”

  Chloe stared at her for a long moment. “You see us as a group and in fact we call ourselves a community, but that community is fragile, made up of strong individuals, fiercely independent. Our code of non-interference is imbedded in our genetic makeup—we cannot go against our basic nature. Many animals are the same way. It’s not uncommon.”

  “It’s because you see us as food, isn’t it? Like two dogs fighting over a bone. The weaker one backs off, the strongest one gets to eat.”

  “That’s a stark perception, Carol, but I cannot tell you its entirely unfounded. If you were one of us, things would be different and you would see things differently. But you’re not one of us. I’m not certain I can explain this to you. But what are you really concerned about?”

  Carol thought for a moment. “What’s André’s problem?”

  “I’m not sure he has a problem, just growing pains.”

  Carol shook her head. “If there’s any pain in his growing, it’s what he inflicts on me.”

  Chloe patted Carol’s hand before releasing it. She stood.

  “I hear the car. I’ll make some fennel tea and send it up later. That should help your stomach before you sleep. And Carol, try not to worry so much. It
won’t do you any good.”

  “You mean me or the baby?”

  “I mean you and André and your miraculous creation.”

  A minute later Carol heard the car’s tires on the gravel driveway. There was silence then a door opened and closed. She marveled at Chloe’s acute hearing.

  “What’s that?” André asked as soon as he came in.

  “It’s a piece of crystal Jeanette sent me. To help with the delivery. And other things. That’s a phantom inside.”

  He held the quartz in front of the lamp. “Looks like a fetus.” He handed her back the wand.

  Carol returned it to the gilt, silver and ebony box and closed the lid. Carefully she retied the ribbons. When she looked up, André was watching her, his smoke-grey eyes intense and incomprehensible. He reached out a hand and said softly,

  “Come upstairs.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the fifth month Carol’s belly was big, her breasts large and her nipples constantly sore. The larger she got the more pressure there was on her kidneys and she had to urinate frequently, which was sometimes inconvenient. The sickness had stopped but she still felt tired a lot of the time and irritable and generally emotionally unstable. But despite all this she had blossomed. Often her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright and she looked filled out. She knew she was now more of a woman and less of a girl.

  One evening in September, when the humidity had dropped, which Carol felt to be a gift from the gods, she and Gerlinde headed into Bordeaux for a late movie. They went in the green

  Mercedes, the top down. Gerlinde drove, her short red hair blown all over by the wind. She was wearing a bright chartreuse sleeveless dress with a mini skirt and was what Gerlinde herself would have termed a ‘knockout’. Carol leaned her head back against the headrest. She felt good. Really good.

  “You know, kiddo, I envy you,” Gerlinde said suddenly.

  “Me? Because of the baby?”

  “Yeah. I mean, I’ll never have that experience—giving birth.”