The Bestiarum Vocabulum (TRES LIBRORUM PROHIBITUM)

by Dean M. Drinkel

  The scent of the blood, and the taste of the meat overwhelmed Red Coyote, and he ripped mouthfuls of meat from the doe and ate greedily. Until he remembered the other deer. He stopped. The woods were beginning to lighten. In the distance somewhere, a robin started to sing. He sneezed to blow the blood scent out of his nose. He walked around the carcass to where the other doe had stood. He cast about for a moment until he found her scent. Without a sound, he started after the doe with the black leg.

  Red Coyote ran. The scent was still fresh. The doe was laboring hard now. She had been running most of the night. He could tell they were getting close to the border of Tsul ‘Kalu’s land. Woods began to thin. Far in the distance, he could see a tobacco field. He knew if the doe made it there, she was free.

  Movement caught his eye as he ran. The doe was in front of him. She ran ahead, tongue lolling from her mouth. White vapor rose in the fall air as she labored to feed enough oxygen to her lungs. Red Coyote pushed himself. The two ran straight for the tobacco field. Freedom waited for one, defeat for the other.

  Together they crashed through the brush which bordered the field. Red Coyote lunged for the doe. He slammed into her hard enough to driver to her knees. She pitched sideways, and threw him off as she leaped to her feet. They faced one another; Red Coyote snarled, hackles raised, the black legged doe head down, ears pinned back. Red Coyote stepped to the side as he looked for an opening, the doe mirrored him.

  They walked a slow circle, never taking eyes off one another. Red Coyote charged in, the doe struck him with her front feet. He yelped and jumped back. Furious, he ran at her snarling and yipping. She met him with slashing hooves. Blood flowed as strikes and bites tore skin. Neither noticed the sunrise.

  As the day lightened around them and the birds sang their greeting to the new day, changes swept across the two combatants. Fur disappeared. Hooves and paws became hands and feet. Tails shrunk and disappeared. Until two, sweating, bleeding men faced one another in the empty field. Red Coyote noticed the man in front of him. With a start he looked at himself, then at the sun rising over Tanasee Bald. Without rattling so much as a dry leaf, Tsul ‘Kalu stepped into the field.

  “Grandfather, no!” Tim shouted as he staggered to his feet. “You said we could hunt them.”

  Two wolves joined Tsul ‘Kalu in the clearing. They licked the blood from their jaws as they sat watching him.

  “And so you have, Red Coyote, and he has made it past the border of my land by sunrise. He has won his side of the deal.”

  The man with the snake tattoo laughed as he gasped for air. It was a ragged sound with more arrogance to it than humor. “I’m leaving, you psycho. And when I find civilization, I’m callin’ the cops.”

  Tim stepped forward. “Grandfather! You can’t let it end this way. He hurt my wife. He killed my child. Something should be done!”

  Tsul ‘Kalu looked first at Tim, then the man. For a moment, he did nothing, then nodded. “Yes, something should be done.”

  He raised his spear. Green light shot from the staff to envelope both men. This time, the changes weren’t as swift. They weren’t as painless.

  “Neither of you are innocent. One took the other’s wife, and killed his child. The other kidnapped the guilty and brought him here to kill him. This is my solution.”

  All along their bodies, fine human hair was pushed out by the thick tan hair of a deer. Bones ground and popped as they reshaped. Both men fell to the ground with curses. Tim screamed and reached for the top of his head as antlers burst through his skin.

  “Grandfather, please, stop this.”

  “You will have more children. It is the rut. Your doe will bear you many offspring over the years.”

  “I won’t do it. I wo…” Tim tried to say more, but his neck thickened as the hormones of a buck raced through his system.

  “You will. You will cover your doe all through the rut, and when you are done, you will come back to yourself, and go back to your life the rest of the year. You will know when to return.” Tsul ‘Kalu turned to the other man. His changes were almost finished.

  “I won’t let him.” He said through clenched teeth. “I won’t.”

  “You will. And you will welcome him. And I believe that black leg will be passed on to all the male offspring you produce.”

  “When…when can I go back?” The man asked.

  Tsul ‘Kalu smiled, his long canine teeth flashed in the morning sun. “I’m afraid motherhood is forever. You will have much to teach your children. Your human minds will remember and be aware of what you’re doing, but your deer bodies will do what comes natural.”

  Both tried to protest, but their faces changes as they pushed out into that of a deer. Tsul ‘Kalu turned with his wolves and the rest of the hunt and vanished into the woods. The deer they left behind looked at one another. The doe spun, and bounded away with a large buck in close pursuit.

  U Is For Ubume

  The Birthing Lady

  Jason D. Brawn

  There she was, gazing straight into the eyes of Lucie Morgan, demanding her full attention. Lucie was scared of this old hag, clad in a filthy white robe with her long, unbound and dishevelled grey hair. She was of Asian descent, Japanese to be precise.

  The air was warm, but Lucie shivered at the vision, knowing that the other figure was a ghost. In the village of Brays Beach, never had she seen a person of colour wandering around its outskirts.

  It was just the two of them, alone in the marshes, overlooking the grim countryside. The overhead clouds were black, and this strange spectre continued to transfix her with her freezing cold stare.

  Lucie wanted to run, but could no longer feel her legs. Movement was impossible. It was as if her muscles had been crippled by this forbidding being, paralysing her with her glare.

  Black smudges covered the Crone’s wrinkled cheeks and forehead, deepening the shadows and making the ghostly apparition look as if she was centuries old.

  Then, Lucie noticed the bulging object buried inside the woman’s robe. Almost as if she’d read Lucie’s mind, she parted it to reveal a baby soaked in blood.

  Lucie screamed, hoping to ward off this evil spirit. Instead, the spirit hovered closer to the frightened teenager, now holding the dead baby in outstretched hands. Lucie’s mind was telling her to flee, but her body remained frozen.

  She kept on screaming: this thing was now face to face with Lucie, holding the child out to her. Reluctant but not daring to refuse, she took the baby. As soon as she cradled it in her arms, both the Crone and the baby vanished.

  Lucie managed to regain control of herself and ran like she’d never run before, climbing over gates and turnstiles, splashing her fine shoes in the muddy tracks.

  ***

  Her world jerked crazily as she fled from the ghostly lady. Everywhere looked the same, causing her to take longer to get home. The only thing she could smell was her own fear.

  She headed towards The Green Man pub, which stood some distance from her, tucked away in the middle of the village. Lucie stopped, crouching down so she could catch her breath. Her complexion was as red as the devil’s from all the exertion. The pavement’s stone slabs were blurred, her eyes having trouble focusing.

  A passing car greeted her by beeping its horn. Lucie stood up, her vision having returned, she now saw the whole village and her surroundings.

  She took her time walking awkwardly towards The Green Man – her home – while clinging onto a wall, and eventually the post-box, to keep her balance. The ghostly apparition she’d fled from had caused her feeble movements, making her steps uncertain.

  As soon as she got inside and closed the door, her face met the polished flooring.

  ***

  “Lucie,” a gentle voice called to her, pulling her up from her subconscious mind. When she opened her eyes, she found herself in her bed.

  Dr. Millar’s face leaned close, examining her expression. Still in shock, Lucie lifted her head up and saw her parents standing far
back, looking worried. They were quiet, their faces betraying their relief now that they knew she was fine.

  Lucie returned her gaze to her GP, sensing that he had questions to ask her.

  “Now, Lucie, how do you feel?” he asked, sitting back in the chair.

  Her head wasn’t killing her, but she did feel restless. “What happened?”

  She thought that what she’d experienced was nothing more than a bad dream, but when told that she’d been found passed out on the floor just inside the pub she realised it had been real. Although now she knew that, she didn’t think she could convince a man of science that what she’d seen earlier had been a ghost?

  They all waited for an answer, as vague images of that spectral woman holding out the baby to her overwhelmed her thoughts.

  “Take your time,” whispered the ever-patient Dr. Millar. Her mother Flora bit her knuckles, feeling even more worries about her baby girl.

  Lucie struggled to find the courage to tell them what she’d seen, but instead nodded and lied: “It was a blackout,” she told them, her voice breathless. Her head crashed back on the pillow; she needed to sleep.

  ***

  “Be born! Be born!” cried the ghostly figure, drifting towards her with a dead baby cradled in her arms. She felt hemmed in by the looming trees surrounding her on all sides. The wind blew aggressively around her body, making the cold even uglier than it already was.

  The Oriental lady crept closer, her eyes glowing red. The baby she held was soaked through with blood, sending a chill down Lucie’s spine.

  Lucie awoke, startled out of her sleep. It was still dark outside. She turned her head to look at the digits of her clock radio: 00:27.

  A pressure in her bladder told her that she needed to use the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet urinating, she felt a sharp pain in her stomach and her throat constricted, like she was about to throw up. And when she did, it wasn’t last night’s dinner or that morning’s breakfast – it was blood.

  As soon as she flushed the offending waste, she studied herself in the mirror, while scrubbing her hands with anti-bacterial wash. I look like shit.

  Lucie went back to bed, ready to fall asleep again, however yesterday’s events continued to torment her thoughts until finally her eyelids shut.

  ***

  A delivery of beer barrels thudded onto the pavement, and hearing them roll and drop inside the cellar disturbed Lucie from her sleep. The sun shone strongly through the bedroom curtains.

  She lay on the bed, like a corpse, but smiling. Delighted that she couldn’t remember what she’d been dreaming. If it had been a nightmare, she would have known.

  “Morning,” greeted an unexpected voice, coming from across the room.

  It was her mother, sitting on the chair, happy to see her.

  In surprise, Lucie’s head jumped up. “Mum,” she hissed under her breath, not having heard her come in. “How long have you been here?”

  “Quite a while,” answered her mother. “Want some hot chocolate?” she offered.

  “Yes, please,” Lucie replied. It was her favourite treat.

  “And can I get you the same toast with chocolate spread on it?” added her mother.

  “Could I also have some Coco Pops, please?” It was clear that Lucie hadn’t eaten for a good while, and chocolate was the thing she loved most.

  “I’ll get it right away,” said her mother, getting up and leaving the room.

  Once she’d gone, Lucie got out of bed and opened the curtains, letting in the light. She heard a faint noise and quickly turned to see what had made it. There was no-one there. Looking at the window, she saw that her reflection looked haggard and pale.

  Later, she opened up her dressing gown, to reveal her flat stomach. She stared at it for a long while – something didn’t feel right.

  ***

  “Mum!” Lucie called out, waltzing through the pub.

  “Yes?” answered her mother from somewhere in the back.

  “I need to pop out for some fresh air,” Lucie said, ready to unbolt and unlock the door.

  “Don’t go for too long!”

  “I won’t!” She opened the door, feeling warm air on her face. “Bye!”

  The village appeared to be as quiet as the dead under the ocean blue sky. The time was half-ten, almost an hour and a half before the pub opened. Lucie walked through the thin collection of houses at a leisurely pace, trying to forget about her ordeal.

  The uneven cobblestones made walking difficult. As she crossed over the bridge a movement caught her gaze.

  The Crone stood floating mist-like on the river, staring up at her. Like before, she was cradling a baby.

  Lucie rubbed her eyes, then widened them as she saw a man rowing his boat. He waved at her, noticing her. Lucie stepped back, confused and scared. This has got to be in my head.

  Her back collided with somebody. It was Kevin Vincent, a teen like her but a year older. He gripped her shoulders and turned her to look at him. Concern etched his face.

  “Lucie, I heard what happened. I’ve been worried sick about you!” he spoke loudly. He tried to move his lips towards hers but Lucie shifted her head away.

  “What?” was his reaction.

  “Not now,” she blurted out, walking away quickly. She felt his eyes on her.

  Too scared to venture off into the forest, staying in this sleepy village was her only option. She didn’t want to return home, but needed to talk to someone about her experience, somebody who could help her find a logical explanation.

  Gossip really did spread fast through this village, because residents she met kept asking if she was alright, treating her like a celebrity. Lucie needed to find solace somewhere.

  ***

  “Long time, no see…” were the words that greeted Lucie at the front door of her godmother’s cottage.

  Valerie Holder opened the door wide, welcoming her godchild.

  Her cottage was in the secluded part of the countryside, some way away from the village itself. The enticing aroma of a freshly-baked cake wasn’t her only reason for eagerly stepping inside, however: Valerie was what many would call a white witch, a Wiccan.

  Just like Dr. Who’s TARDIS, Valerie’s home was small on the outside but appeared much larger inside, the walls lined with shelves packed tightly with reference books on the occult, world mythology, great mysteries, folklore, fairy tales and criminology. Lucie’s godmother was a wealth of knowledge in all these subjects. Even as a practising Wiccan, Valerie never kept her paraphernalia in sight, instead safely locking the items away.

  “Had a feeling that you’d be coming over, so I baked your favourite cake,” Valerie said, ushering Lucie into the living room. It was filled with even more books as if it was possible, as well as photographs of her grandchildren and late husband. Valerie looked at her god-daughter’s face, seeing how nervous she was. “Please sit yourself down, while I make a cup of hot chocolate. Make yourself at home.”

  Lucie watched Valerie exit, listening to her footsteps going into the kitchen. The carpet was soft under Lucie’s feet and so was the sofa. Sculptures of the green man and paintings of dragons and other mythical creatures drew her attention. A watercolour plate of The Mother Goddess was fixed above a shelf. Lucie stared, admiring the otherworldly beauty but knowing very little about her. Lucie decided to get up and have a close look at the image of Earth Mother.

  Presently, she heard Valerie returning. Lucie was now feeling relaxed, so she let her eyes wander the spines of the antiquarian books. She hoped that somewhere on those shelves would be the answer as to why the image of the Crone and blood-soaked baby was haunting her.

  “Here you go, sweetie,” announced Valerie, holding a wooden tray with two cups of tea and a plate with slices of cake on it.

  “Ta,” returned Lucie, smiling in gratitude. She returned to her seat, facing her godmother. Lucie tried a sip of the peppermint herbal tea, before soaking a piece of cherry cake in it. “Up to your usual standard, I see.�
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  “I knew you’d like it,” Valerie beamed in return.

  The pair ate in silence, the only other sound a clock measuring out time.

  “You didn’t just come here for tea and to look at my book collection,” Valerie guessed, breaking the quiet interlude.

  Lucie paused. Her facial muscles stiffened, unsure of what to say. Valerie waited patiently. Lucie had been afraid to tell her own doctor: sitting here, she realised she was terrified about enlightening her godmother.

  “Something’s not right. I heard about you collapsing. Was going to visit you, but you know how people think of me, and the last time my presence was in your home, there was too much aggro for your parents,” she told Lucie. “Now, please tell me what’s happened?” Her tone was caring, making Lucie feel a little more comfortable.

  She needed to unburden herself, and so she did, describing everything that had happened to her.

  Valerie listened carefully, letting Lucie tell her story in her own way, taking in every word of every sentence.

  “What do you think?” asked Lucie as soon as she’d finished, now feeling better and wanting a straight answer.

  Valerie was deep in thought, her eyes shut and frowning in concentration. Her thumb and index finger pinched the bridge of her nose. When she opened her eyes, she said, “You say the lady is Chinese or Japanese?”

  “Yes,” Lucie’s response was quick.

  Valerie lapsed into a pensive mood again. “There are Japanese folktales about yokai. One tale concerns Ubume, the spirit of a woman mourning the loss of her child, which she carries in her hands. She would implore any passerby, preferable a girl, to hold her baby. As the legend has it, when the person holds the baby she would disappear, along with the baby,” Valerie explained.

  “But how is she a ghost? And if she’s Japanese, why show up haunting me in this country?” asked Lucie. “And what is a yokay?”