by David Kempf
“Even our fiction, Chris?” David asked.
“Yes, believe it or not, it is. It’s even stranger than ours!”
Christopher felt odd that he was once again accepting his situation. There was a small part of him that was terrified. The part of him that wanted to walk around during the day was growing smaller. It was still there, but it was slowly becoming insignificant. He would not have children or get married. There would be an eternity to serve the masters, but he was no fool. He would not die, and he knew what the masters would do to the rest of humanity who did not serve them.
“I sense your mind drifting away from humor,” said David.
“Yes,” Christopher said.
“Try to focus on humor today. It will serve you well during the times of loneliness and isolation,” suggested David.
“You are lonely? I’ll bet you’ve slept with a thousand young ladies from your beloved classroom.”
“A hell of a lot more than that,” David said.
“Oh, please, do tell.....”
“Oh…you wouldn’t believe the number if I told you. That’s if I knew it myself. The truth is, I don’t know how many. I’ve honestly lost count.”
“Wow,” said Christopher.
“It’s nothing to be proud of. Sometimes I wish I had a single, great love in my life. A wife who loved me and then perhaps I could have even been a father.”
“I take it your kind can’t reproduce,” said Christopher.
“Not in the traditional sense. It’s why I don’t have any paternity suits against me after almost two hundred years of being a professor under many a different alias.”
“I fail to see the humor in that,” Christopher said.
“No, there is humor even in the most dire of circumstances, Chris. ‘If life must not be taken too seriously, then neither must death,’” said David.
“Samuel Butler?” asked Christopher.
“Correct,” David nodded.
“These are words to live by, David.”
“Yes,” David agreed.
“They are also words to die by,” offered Christopher.
“No, my boy, there is more. There is much, much more than simple life or death.”
“What else could there be?” Christopher asked.
“Immortality, Chris. If life and death must not be taken too seriously, then neither should being a fiendish immortal.”
“Even one who works for the masters,” said Christopher.
“I’ve laughed a great deal over the years with mortal friends I’ve had, regarding employers. They would often say ‘you wouldn’t believe what bastards I work for.’ Even better, they would refer to those above them as ‘cruel taskmasters.’ That, especially, would make me break into uncontrollable laughter. Very amusing, these people, and they didn’t even know it,” said David.
“There is something secretly terrifying about that story,” said Christopher.
“Yes, but it’s our little secret, Chris.”
“Indeed.”
Christopher was beginning to feel comfortable with the impending beginning of his supernatural existence. The next thing he witnessed, though, was making him quite uncomfortable. David was setting a table, filled with food. It was very appetizing in appearance and Christopher had been getting hungry for some time. Steak, lobster, caviar and fine wine graced the table. David smiled at him as if this was no ordinary meal. It wasn’t, Christopher thought. This could be something far more important and sinister. This could be a test. David was no fool. He knew that what Christopher saw in the graveyard was the most disturbing thing he had ever seen. Nothing even came close to what was witnessed that night. Now, David was smiling and looking right into Christopher’s eyes. If this was his way of trying to be a good mentor, he was failing. Nothing about eating human flesh and blood tickled Christopher’s funny bone. The gruesomeness of David’s smile was almost as bad as what his intentions might be.
“I thought you might be hungry,” David said.
“I’m okay.”
“No. You’re famished.”
“Well, I guess I could eat,” said Christopher.
“We’ve got everything you could possibly want here. I know what your favorites are. Filet mignon, lobster, fine wine and great French desserts. Please don’t tell me this cuisine is not to your liking. I know you fancy everything on this bloody table. I know you do. Now what would you like to eat first?”
“I’m not sure,” Christopher said.
“Please. Eat.”
“No. I don’t think I’m all that hungry, David.”
“Dig in. I insist.”
“No,” said Christopher.
“Why?”
“I think you know.”
“What are you afraid of, Chris?”
He was afraid that this spectacular meal was an evil illusion or trick. He could be eating the rotting remains of his deceased relatives for all he knew. David, who apparently had quite the sick sense of humor, would find this most amusing. It would also be a way of bringing Christopher down to David’s level. He could just tell him that everyone who wants to be immortal must devour corpses now and then. Not a problem if you don’t make too big a deal out of it. Didn’t people drink nasty medicine now and then? What about treatments for cancer such as chemotherapy? That was an ordeal. Perhaps David saw this not as a meal between protégé and mentor, but as something else entirely. It was time to pay the piper. Christopher Wisdom was now learning from his dark immortal how to live forever. Eat this flesh and drink this blood. It’s time to pay your dues, my boy!
“I’m not afraid, just not hungry right now,” Christopher said.
“Sure,” said David.
“Why wouldn’t you believe me, David?”
“Amuse me. I want you to eat right now,” David said.
“No.”
“Now don’t make me pull rank on you, Chris. If I want you to eat then I think you know you’re going to have to do that,” warned David.
“Pull rank on me?” Christopher asked.
“Yes.”
“My God, you’re as sadistic as the masters,” Christopher said.
David picked Christopher up by his neck, about four feet off the ground, and slammed him hard against the wall.
“You have no idea how cruel they can be!” David screamed.
“I’m beginning to have some idea,” Christopher choked out.
“Sorry,” said David.
Christopher gasped for air.
David released Christopher and watched him rub his neck. He didn’t strangle him all that hard, but one thing was for sure. A part of David hated Christopher for being so damn strong willed. This was, ironically, one of the reasons he was chosen for immortality. He was, after all, someone who could be admired. Now, a good part of Christopher Wisdom hated David as well. He was turning into a vicious bully instead of being a great artist who happened to be immortal. Were they destined to fight and play nasty games for all eternity? This seemed like a living hell to Christopher now.
“I’m sorry as well, David,” Christopher said.
“Fine,” David said, releasing his grip.
“How do we diffuse situations such as this one?” asked Christopher.
“I think I know,” said David.
“How, David?”
“Let’s sit down to eat. You’re just going to have to trust me, Christopher.”
“Yes,” Christopher conceded.
Christopher looked at his food again. Ironically, even after his horror writer’s imagination went wild, the food still looked delicious. Even if this was a terrible trick, it was still a damn good illusion. Christopher almost forgot that David was such a great magician. Even when he wasn’t using his supernatural powers, he was still a master of illusion. He used magic and storytelling to entertain his dying comrades who were either freezing to death or being shot by the Americans. This was a great man in life and an even more fascinating man in dark immortality. If ever there was a man who rightl
y commanded him to eat flesh, human flesh, rotting flesh, it was David. He decided to bite the bullet and do the deed. Illusion or gourmet meal, it was going to happen. He pulled a full plate of seafood towards him.
“Excellent,” said David.
“Okay,” Christopher said, taking a small bite of food.
“Good, Chris,” said David. He pulled a juicy steak towards him and began eating it. He gave Christopher a big smile as he took another bite.
“This is great, David. Really delicious,” he said.
“I know. One of the benefits we receive is that we can feast on fine food and drink fine wine. It’s quite a benefit.”
“Sounds expensive, David.”
“It would be expensive if the masters paid for one lifetime of fine dining. One life of the love of the taste of wine would be costly. We can have that for lifetime after lifetime. Even terrible taskmasters can provide good things,” said David.
“I see,” said Christopher.
“Excellent, Chris, you must be perceptive and alert.”
“Now I guess I should once again thank you for being my mentor. I want you to know that it’s an honor…,” Christopher started.
“Yes. I know,” interrupted David. “It’s an honor. You loved the book and the old short stories.”
“No, I mean it. I really did.”
“Please, let’s talk about something else. I think there is something more important right now to both of us, Chris.”
“Just what would that be, David?”
“What the hell do you think?”
“What?”
“Your stories, my boy,” David said.
“Oh.”
“Please read me the two with humor. Make me laugh at things that most people would not find funny.”
Chapter 10
For Sale Too Cheaply
By Christopher Wisdom
“I know it sounds too good to be true, but this is the price for the home,” said the real estate agent.
“Did you ever consider how much this house is worth?” asked Mary Helen Hammet.
“I know. I would be skeptical too. However, you’ve had every expert in town look this house over and over. You know it’s in good condition.”
Tom Roberts was a real estate agent with a reputation. He had a bad reputation, to say the very least. If Tom could sell snow to Eskimos, he would.
“Don’t buy this home, Mary Helen,” said Father Luther Warsaw.
“Father, you came out of nowhere; why won’t leave me alone to conduct my business?” asked Tom.
“I think you know why, Mr. Roberts.”
“What are you talking about, Father?” asked Mary Helen.
“He’s not conducting his business, madam; he’s conducting the devil’s business. He’s Satan’s real estate agent.”
“Father, that’s ridiculous,” Mary Helen said.
“Don’t you know the history of this home?” asked Father Warsaw.
“Look, this isn’t some bad 1970’s movie, padre. I disclosed the events of 1979 to Ms. Hammet and her daughter. She’s a single mom, a widow raising a 12-year-old child, alone. This is her dream house and you’re not about to scare her off with some ancient history,” said Tom.
“I know all about the family that was murdered in 1979 here, Father,” Mary Helen said.
“Mary Helen, did Mr. Roberts tell you what happened to the four families who have moved into the home since then?”
“Yes, Father Warsaw, the four families moved away.”
“No, they did not move away. They were never found again,” said the priest.
Tom was getting visibly angry with the priest. He was standing in front of this beautiful, river view home in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. Tom was seconds away from taking down the For Sale sign when this meddling priest came to ruin his chances of selling again.
“I believe that evil spirits got hold of them. Who knows, God in Heaven, maybe even the prince of darkness himself took the families!” exclaimed Father Warsaw.
“Are you convinced now, Ms. Hammet? Are you convinced that Father Warsaw is a complete lunatic?” Tom asked.
“Well….this does sound strange and hard to believe,” she said.
The priest looked at Mary Helen in a most disapproving manner. He gave her words of warning that were meant to be taken seriously.
“Father, if you would please excuse us. We have some business to conduct,” said Mary Helen.
“Suit yourself. Please don’t come back to me and say I didn’t warn you,” Father Warsaw said, reluctantly.
“Take care, Father.”
There was a look of great joy in Tom’s eyes. He had been having a very hard time selling homes, period. It was tough enough to sell homes with good reputations, let alone a house where a father had decided to kill his wife and two daughters, and then himself.
“We can sign the papers now, Mary Helen.”
“Yes, Tom. Let’s do that.”
It was a beautiful Saturday morning in October when Mary Helen woke up her daughter, Lucy. She was very happy now. Her daughter had always dreamed of living in the country. They were from New York. This was a different lifestyle then the fast paced environment of Manhattan life.
“Can you make pancakes, Mom?”
“Sure, honey. I’ll make you anything you want for breakfast.
Lucy was starting to look like her old self again. Mary Helen had sent her to numerous child psychologists over the past two years. The death of Lucy’s father had devastated both of them. He didn’t leave behind much life insurance. They had to survive on Mary Helen’s teacher’s salary. She taught fifth grade.
“Mom, I want to go to the park later. Can we do that?”
“Sure.”
It was hard to believe that they had been in this new country home for over a month now. This was the home of their dreams. It was nothing like the horror story that Father Warsaw described. It was hard to believe what took place here almost thirty years ago. Still, the fate of the owners who moved in afterwards was starting to intrigue Mary Helen. Could they really have just vanished? Mary Helen blocked those thoughts out of her mind. She was happy. She was teaching in a beautiful country school. Most important of all, her daughter was happy.
The parks in Bucks County were quite beautiful. Lucy and Mary Helen had a favorite park which was walking distance from their home. Riverside provided lots of trees and trails and a great view of the river. Lucy was still full of energy, but Mary Helen had become exhausted after a few hours of walking. They went home.
“Mom, I’m going to swing for a while.”
There was a tire swing in their backyard that overlooked the river.
“Okay, honey, just be careful.”
Mary Helen went inside. She could still see Lucy from the window and kept an eye on her. She made herself a cup of tea and sat down. Mary Helen was starting to feel sleepy. She closed her eyes for a minute. Just a minute or two would be okay. She slowly drifted off to sleep.
Then she heard a scream.
There was blood on her hands.
There was, literally, blood on her hands.
It wasn’t her blood.
It was Lucy’s.
“Oh my God, what happened?”
Lucy had a cut on her forehead. It wasn’t very big but it was bleeding profusely.
“She pushed me, Mom!” Lucy yelled.
“Who pushed you?”
“She pushed me off the swing!”
“Who pushed you?” Mary Helen was now also yelling.
“Billy Badman’s daughter, Rebecca, pushed me!”
This was crazy talk and who told Lucy about the daughter of the man who killed his family?
“Sweetheart, come on in and I’ll clean you up,” Mary Helen said.
Lucy’s head looked good as new in a short time.
“Thanks, Mom, but I’m still worried about Rebecca.”
“We’ll talk about that later. If you aren’t better by tomorrow then we’ll see
a doctor.”
Lucy tried to explain to her mother that she actually saw Rebecca Badman. The girl appeared in front of her and pushed her down onto the ground.
It was time to see the good Rev. Father Warsaw. A visit was in order.
“Who could that be?” Father Warsaw said, as he opened the door to the rectory. “How can I help you, Mary Helen?”
“How can you help me?” she repeated.
“Yes,” he answered calmly.
“You can start by not telling my daughter about the murders that went on here. That’s a good place to start. It’s damaging to a young mind, not to mention your ghost stories about the murdered daughters.”
“Yes. Billy’s daughters were Rebecca and Belinda. Sometimes they can take human forms again when they haunt your house,” Father Warsaw explained.
“Father, that’s ridiculous.”
“Is it now? I’m telling you every owner of that house since the night of the murders has disappeared. You can thank the unkind spirit of Mr. Badman. Billy, Becky, Belinda and his lovely wife, Brenda, are always there.”
“That’s nonsense!”
“Do some research into the families that lived in that damned house before you. None of them can be accounted for. Not one single family! They are all missing and you will never, ever find out where they are now!” said Father Warsaw.
“I know, but this is my house and my daughter doesn’t need to be scared off by the likes of you, Father!”
“I wanted to do the right thing and warn your daughter, Mary Helen.”
“That’s not your job. That’s my responsibility!”
“I know what you want to ask me. You want me to leave your daughter alone for good and I’m willing to do that. I must tell you that I am glad that I warned her of the evil that will come after the two of you. I had to do that in all good conscience. In order to help your daughter and avoid committing a mortal sin, I had to tell her the dark history of your home. The fact that it’s a haunted house with evil spirits had to be disclosed to Lucy.”
“I see,” said Mary Helen.
“Mary Helen, I promise you that I will leave you and your daughter alone from now on. You have my word.”
“Father Warsaw, I will hold you to that. I’ll see you in court for harassment if you ever talk to us again.”
