by David Kempf
“Are you getting tired, David?”
“Yes. I’m almost ready to sleep but you and I still have some unfinished business this evening.”
“That we do, sir.”
“I like your stories, Christopher.”
“Thank you.”
“I just wonder why the one was so optimistically romantic. It doesn’t seem like your sanguine nature to write about true love, a beautiful soul mate, etc. The whole ordeal of fighting for another life to spend with just one person seems….to trivialize your special gifts.”
“It’s only a short story, David.”
“Oh. Oh. Indeed.”
“Let’s not read too much into it,” added Christopher.
“Oh. I won’t, but it did give me some real hope like your vampire story with the beautiful and fierce woman.”
“Did it? Why?” Christopher asked, intrigued.
“Well, it showed that you really would like to live forever. That’s the only real reason one would write such fiction. It may even be on a subconscious level but it still holds true for you. I suspect as much anyway.”
“I see,” said Christopher. “What else do you see?”
“The other one was interesting, even if so short. It seemed to speak to the fear of the unknown that your kind is so plagued by. The fear of the grave is a serious thing to a human,” said David.
“It’s also a serious thing to cease to be human and become a serious thing,” Christopher said.
“Very good,” said David. He laughed hard and slapped his knee.
The protégé was staring into the fireplace again. Then once again…stared…at …the outside window…the snow. He was becoming quite tired himself.
“I’m not sure how afraid I am of the grave anymore, David. I think that you have made me a firm believer in living or at least surviving past my own time.”
“Excellent,” said David.
“The fear of nothingness is far worse than the fear of the blank page,” Christopher said. “It is a far, far worse thing.”
“You’re getting to be very insightful. I could almost quote you to someone else. Perhaps if I ever have another protégé after you, I will,” David smiled.
“If I am ever a mentor….”
“Now, Chris. You don’t want to quote yourself. Even hideous fiends that survive the grave should have some sense of shame.”
“Yes,” said Christopher. Now he was laughing. It really was peculiar just how much he liked David. After all, the man was literally a monster. The whole affair didn’t seem to bother him much. He was being seduced again. The masters were doing it….somehow. It was working. His fears were slipping and his great pride was growing…..growing.
“Have you ever tried drugs, Chris?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s too bad. Then you could compare what the masters do to one’s mind to what outside mind altering substances do. Drugs can’t even hold a candle to them. I know you can feel it again. Their presence, I mean. It could be that they are almost here already to meet you. I hope not. That would, after all, be a little premature. Still, they are changing you already. Altering you and you know it.”
“I do,” Christopher agreed.
“Good.”
Christopher smiled at David. Then he noticed there was something in his hand, which was closed in a tight fist. David smiled at him. He opened up his hand and Christopher saw he was holding a crystal.
“This is very special to me. Please be careful, Chris.”
“What will it do?”
“Why don’t we just think of it now as the ultimate muse? I think that’s a fine perspective on things since we’ve had such an eventful night.”
“Okay,” agreed Christopher.
“It is far more than a good luck charm. It will make you see things in a different light, I think,” said David.
“Oh, of that I’m sure,” Christopher said. “I think you should know that the mysteries are gradually being revealed to me now. It’s not so much that I know them intellectually….it’s that I feel them…..”
“Well, of course I know what’s happening to you. The same thing happened to me when I crossed over a long time ago.”
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Christopher asked.
“I must say, it’s a great feeling. The sense of power and the intense emotions inside your head are incredible, Chris,” David said. “I know how you feel. The barriers are starting to break. Aren’t they?”
“Yes, David.”
“How do you feel right now?”
“Lucid.”
“Well, of course you do, lad.” David looked at Christopher and laughed out loud, a big belly laugh.
“I don’t see what you find funny,” said Christopher.
“You’re not hallucinating or taking a toxic substance. All you feel is a natural change,” David explained.
“David, don’t you mean supernatural?”
“Well, I suppose. It would be supernatural from a human perspective.”
“I guess I’m just finding these things out,” Christopher said.
“What things?” David asked.
“What kind of world we really live in. I never thought there was any truth behind the tales of vampires, werewolves, witches or ghosts.”
“You were skeptical,” David said.
“I sure was.”
“Part of you still is, Chris.”
“I’m so glad that you’re here.”
“I know, lad. I’m here to watch the death of your skepticism. It is about to breathe its last mortal breath.”
“You and I both know it,” Christopher agreed.
“Yes, Christopher. Let us kill whatever doubt is left over in your mind.”
“We shall drive a stake through its heart!”
“That’s very droll,” David smiled.
Christopher grabbed the crystal tightly and stared into the flames of the fireplace. He was changing. Although, not a drop of his blood had been spilt or corrupted yet. Not a single drop, but he knew it was almost time now. The time for being human was almost over for Christopher Wisdom.
“How are you feeling?” David asked.
“Different.”
“Its power is great!”
“Yes, David.”
“You will come to love it. One wouldn’t think that something so small would contain such unbelievable power!”
“It’s very deceptive, isn’t it?” Christopher agreed.
“Indeed, lad.”
“I know now. I know now. People want so much, don’t they?” Christopher asked.
“Yes,” David replied.
“You’re so aware when you learn….”
“Yes.”
“The secret truth of us…we’re so…”
“Inferior,” David said.
“Foolish,” Christopher said.
“Humans are both. Now you are beginning to realize that humanity cannot win. The masters are too strong an opposing force. Arrogant humans, especially the so called intelligent ones think the masters are a work of dark fiction. They are real. Others think they can defeat them,” David said.
“Absurd,” Christopher said. David nodded.
Christopher continued. “I can feel their power, David. It’s really changing me now.”
“What does it feel like now?” David asked.
“It feels like the death of poetry,” Christopher said, closing his eyes as he felt it.
David nodded. “The masters are the guardian angels of the netherworld.”
“They surround us and keep us in check. Don’t they David?”
“Exactly, but humans have proved themselves too stupid and foolish now. If we don’t feast on their ignorance, they will blow up the planet. Why? Over their pathetic differences they are willing to die,” said David.
“The real illusion….” Christopher was staring so deeply into the crystal that he was no longer looking at David. “I think the real illusion is that humans have any significa
nt differences.”
“Your soul has now been made alive. It’s delightful to realize that one does not have to be a stupid sheep ready for the slaughter any longer. We can be spared. Our salvation is finally at hand. When you realize how splendid the masters are, it’s amazing,” David grinned.
“They are amazing, David. I love them now.”
“How could you ever have doubted them, Christopher?”
“I don’t know….”
David walked slowly into another room. When he returned he put an old fashioned typewriter down on a small table.
“What is this?” asked Christopher.
“Please. Sit and type. Write.”
“What?”
“I want you to put the crystal down next to the typewriter and write a short story. Write something. Come on.”
“Okay.”
“Excellent.”
Christopher smiled at David. Then he put a piece of paper in the old typewriter. He smiled again.
“Now this is an old school writing machine. Indeed, I would think that some of your idols such as Matheson, Heinlein, Bloch, Dick and Ms. Jackson used a similar typewriter.”
“That would make it an honor, David.”
“Yes. Write what you will and let the crystal lead you to know the truth. That’s what you need to know.”
“I do know, David.”
“Write away, lad.”
Chapter 23
Lydia
By Christopher Wisdom
“You need to be more careful now. It’s October, Lydia.” Mama looked sternly at her daughter. Lydia knew she was being scolded.
“Once we get past this unholy month, things should get better for the rest of the season,” Mama said.
“I’m sorry,” said Lydia. The little girl felt lost all the time. She was a strange girl especially by the standards of her hometown. Lydia wished she had a sister or brother her own age. The adults here were not very good at providing answers to life’s questions. They also didn’t do particularly well with making her feel safe or secure. The worst thing about the adults was that they constantly made her feel odd. It could be said that they made her feel even stranger than she probably was. “She’s too weird for words,” said one of her teachers behind her back. The teacher later denied saying this. Even her mother and father thought there was something very wrong with her.
“If you were really sorry you wouldn’t have painted that thing on the barn,” said Mama. Lydia was strange and the talk of the town but she was still her daughter. It deeply pained her to think about how her daughter was treated and how the people of the town talked about her. Still…she seemed to take the side of the townspeople over Lydia. Everyone was aware of this. Lydia and Lydia’s father were well aware that Mama wanted an ordinary little girl. It wasn’t as if her daughter was a witch or worshipped the devil. Mama always gave her the benefit of the doubt when it came to outright worship of evil. Then again, sometimes a mother is blinded by the love of her children. There were times when she thought the unthinkable. Mama was open to the possibility that she had an evil child.
“What thing?” Lydia asked.
“The hex sign you painted.”
“I did no such thing, Mama.”
“You did.” Mama took Lydia by the hand and walked over to the barn. They were simple people. Good country people from the Midwest. Mama did not like what Lydia was dabbling into. Lydia’s father was also not pleased. They’d had another daughter named Lucinda, but she had died in a drowning accident the year before. For secluded folk from the Midwest, there was not much chance of perishing at sea. However, a simple slip in the tub did the trick. Lucinda was knocked unconscious and fell in the tub. She died there after a few minutes with no one to rescue her. What made matters worse was that poor Lydia found her body.
“There you go, little girl.” Her mother was angry. “What do you call that thing?” Mother and daughter stared at the symbol above the entrance to their barn.
“That’s no hex sign,” Lydia said.
“No?”
“No, Mama, it isn’t a hex sign. It’s a pentagram.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Yes.”
“No, it isn’t so! Pentagram is a fancy name for hex sign. These signs do not come from the one above but rather the one below!”
“That’s not true, Mama,” Lydia insisted.
Mama painted over the symbol, looked back at her daughter, and smiled with satisfaction. All was right again.
Mama had used bad judgment in the past with her daughters. She had found Lydia and Lucinda lighting strange candles at night and staring into the flickering flames. The girls would say strange phrases in languages that Mama didn’t understand. Languages her simple, country daughters should certainly not have understood either.
The Ouija board was her biggest regret. She punished them with a switch but not near severely enough. Mama felt that playing with this instrument of evil somehow opened up doors. Her daughters were playing around with the unknown and it was dangerous, taking a chance on eternal damnation of the soul. All of these things happened in October, which Mama felt was a cursed month. The opening of evil doors, the strange prayers, the damned Ouija board, and even her daughter’s death had all happened in October. This was the month when the world celebrated Halloween. It was the holiday of the prince of the power of the air. It was a time when all wickedness and pride were glorified. Mama didn’t just hate Halloween; she hated the whole fall season.
“Why did you do that?” Lydia asked.
“I did it to protect you and your father.”
“No.”
“Oh, yes. Why did you paint that?” Mama asked.
“Mama, I already told you I didn’t do it.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know who they are, but they know my name.”
Mama was familiar with the various warnings in the Bible about making selfish wishes, even with good intentions. Original sin made it so that even trying to be good was a waste of time. Mama read very few stories outside of scripture but she did remember reading W.W. Jacobs’s “The Monkey’s Paw.” That story made her think of human nature and its many pitfalls. Men were fools and made foolish choices and wishes. She was sick and tired of this child rambling on and on about wishes and dreams coming true. Mama knew that nothing came easy in this life. This was a time not to be trusted and a time to doubt the goodness of those around you everyday.
“Are you sure they know your name, Lydia?”
“Yes.”
“Have you seen them?”
“I don’t see as much as hear. They know my wishes.”
“What are you talking about?’
“They know what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“I want Lucinda back.”
“The Lord has taken her, child. She’s with him in heaven and you can’t have her back in this life.”
“I know. That’s why I wished for protection against them. They painted the pentagram and left me alone.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“You have to word your wishes carefully. They have to make wishes come true but they are tricky.”
“Tricky?’
“Yes.”
Sometimes Mama thought that Lydia needed to see a therapist, even though Mama frowned upon psychology. There were other times when she and her husband discussed getting their daughter to an exorcist. This child of hers was not natural. There was something otherworldly about her. Lydia knew strange things that she was not supposed to know. She knew all about Mama’s and Daddy’s dreams. She even knew the kinds of dreams that good Christians consider to be unspeakable. The little girl knew who her daddy slept with in his dreams, even the most explicit details of all the women her father secretly longed for.
It was very disturbing for Lydia’s parents. The local pastor had spoken with Lydia on several occasions. He was not convinced that their daughter had a fondness for telling the truth. A
lthough he never came right out and accused Lydia, he suspected she was a killer. He would often ask questions about her relationship with Lucinda. He would attempt to pry into the little girl’s psyche. This was most often unsuccessful.
“Trust in the Lord and tell me the truth,” the pastor used to say. Lydia was not having any of it. She refused to listen to this man. She would stand her ground and stand up for her own innocence. The pastor would explain that her eternal soul was on the line and that she could always repent. Like her parents, he would accuse her of aligning herself with dark forces. He never held back. Unlike her parents, he came right out and accused her of being “unnatural.” This displeased Lydia. She had lost her sister and did not need to be insulted and falsely accused. It was during this time that something awful happened. Several weeks after Lucinda died, the pastor was also found dead. He had apparently drowned in his bathtub as well. He had a rope around his neck. It appeared that he had attempted suicide by hanging and the rope broke. The coroner’s report showed that he fell into his bathtub and broke his neck. Lying there paralyzed, he drowned in the bath water. This made the whole town think of Lydia and what had happened to Lucinda. The pastor’s body was found on the last day of October.
Lydia’s father was never the same after his daughter’s death. He didn’t blame her but he did lose a part of himself. He would break out into uncontrollable tears or into fits of terrible rage. Mama found his behavior to be both frightening and unpredictable. One thing was for certain regarding her husband. He could never be fully trusted or relied on again. He would forget things and did not support her like he had in the past. Although he was still the sole family provider, he frequently forgot about chores. He also stopped going to church. Mama was very upset when he told her that the pastor would be useless in helping their one living daughter. The depression set in every day. He would do anything to get his daughter back but he knew she was lost to him forever.
“Mama, I didn’t do it.”
“Do what?’
“I didn’t kill Lucinda.”
“I know.”
“No, I can read your thoughts.”
