by David Kempf
“What are you talking about?” she asked. As if there weren’t enough things that were unnatural about Lydia, now she was talking about being able to read people’s minds. This was a terrible child. She was a child of the darkness.
Mama felt like she should have done something to stop this. Her daughter had been transformed from an ordinary little girl into something awful and sinister. Lydia’s demeanor was dark and changing. Mama’s beloved daughter, Lucinda, was now dead. Her spiritual advisor, the good pastor was also gone. Was it the fiend that must have convinced him to kill himself or was it murder? She wasn’t sure. The one thing she was sure about now was that something terrible was going to happen soon. It occurred to Mama that Lydia may have been possessed by something from time to time, although often she was still Lydia. Granted, she was a sad little girl who was in mourning, but she was still Lydia.
“Those who grant wishes have come for us. They already tricked Daddy,” said Lydia.
“What are you talking about?” Mama asked.
“I’ve already made my wish. You erased the pentagram that was protecting us. Now they gave me my wish.”
“What was your wish?” asked Mama. Her fear was mounting.
“I wished Lucinda could be with us again.”
Mama opened the barn and gasped in horror. Her husband had hanged himself in the barn.
“Oh God!” she screamed.
Lydia’s mother watched as her daughter’s eyes began to glow like a candle in the dark. She levitated at least five feet off the ground. Those who granted wishes were channeling themselves through Lydia.
“We grant every wish!”
“What are you?” asked Mama.
“We grant every wish!”
“Who are you?”
“We are those who grant wishes.”
A hole appeared in the floor of the barn, producing a radiant, bright light. Suddenly, everything in the barn, starting with Lydia’s father, was being pulled toward the glowing hole in the floor.
“No!” screamed Mama.
Everything was sucked into the door Lydia had opened with her wishes. Mama was the last thing to go into it. She watched in utter disbelief as her daughter followed her into the pit. Thoughts raced through her head. Was this the work of the devil? Were they going to their deaths? Was this the afterlife or some other dimension? Would she see her daughter, Lucinda, again?
“We grant every wish.”
“We grant every wish.”
“We are those who grant wishes.”
Chapter 24
“What did you think of my story, David?”
“Congratulations.”
“I’ve written so many stories. Why would you congratulate me on a story I typed out in a mere few minutes?” Christopher asked.
“There is a significant reason,” replied David.
“Which is?”
“That was the first story you’ve ever written that was true!”
Christopher stopped looking at the crystal and looked down briefly at the typewriter. He knew his time had finally come.
“It was the truth. There was a young girl by that name and she called upon the masters,” said Christopher.
“Christopher, the masters often work in a way that makes men think they are just having thoughts. Although the masters cannot read minds, once a wish is made, it comes true. Men are too stupid to believe it but there is a whole different reality that exists in this petty, random world.”
“Yes,” agreed Christopher.
“What am I, Christopher? I need you to say it out loud,” demanded David.
“You’re a ghoul.”
“Yes. Whom do we serve, Christopher?”
“We serve the Jinn!”
“Yes.”
“When, David?”
“Now and forever, so we serve!” David exclaimed.
Christopher watched in amazement as David opened a cabinet that appeared to be full of medical supplies. He pulled out a long needle-like instrument that was full of a dark, red substance.
“Good. Now this is mostly my dark blood but it contains a tiny portion of the crystals. The power of the masters is inside of this. The crystals are the closest thing to blood they have. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Now, I must simply be traditional, Christopher. Is it your will to become one with the will of the masters?”
“Yes.”
“Do you dedicate all you have to the service of the Jinn?”
“I do.”
Christopher felt the tiny prick in his wrist. Then there was no pain and he felt like he had the strength of twenty ordinary men.
“That’s it?” Christopher asked, surprised.
“Sorry, there is no dramatic trauma from receiving the sacred blood of the servants of those who grant wishes.”
“Am I?”
“Still human, Christopher?”
“Yes.”
“No. Not anymore.”
Christopher walked towards the guest bedroom down the hall. He passed out on the bed and went into a deep sleep.
“It’s dawn now, Chris. You should sleep for a few hours. Don’t worry about the open window. We are ghouls so we have no problem walking around during the daytime.”
Christopher would never wonder again whether he had made a foolish decision. He would never view life, especially human life, in the same manner as before. He walked around and smiled a lot. David’s home was quite beautiful in the daytime. Christopher wandered in the backyard and found that David had horses. He had never even thought to ask about farm animals last night. Christopher had an insane amount of questions for his mentor. This made him sad, but he was happy to know that there would be plenty of time to learn how to be a ghoul.
“So I may eat and drink what I like?” Christopher asked.
“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t you?” David answered.
“Sorry, David, I was confused.”
“That’s quite all right, Chris,” soothed David.
“Now, I know you have hundreds of questions. You simply must. Please begin to ask them. We can discuss them over breakfast. Do you like omelets?”
“Yes, of course. I love them.”
“Good.”
“David, why don’t I look like you?”
“Well, I suppose because we’re not identical twins.”
“I think you know what I mean.”
“Oh, you would like to know why you don’t have the appearance of a grave robbing monster from Transylvania.”
“Yes,” Christopher answered.
“That takes years and it’s different for everyone. You actually must experience something like physical death first…I think. My experience was different. Next question, please.”
“Can I hypnotize people into thinking I’m someone else yet?”
“No. Sorry, old boy. You will develop these skills in time. It took me damn near a century to develop these powers.”
“We can eat and drink whatever we like but you must eat human flesh.” said Christopher.
“What?”
“A ghoul must feast on dead tissue to survive.”
“Nonsense,” said David.
“My mentor, please, I want the truth,” said Christopher.
“Really, lad, are you sure?”
“Yes. Why did I see you feasting on the dead at this conveniently placed funeral home behind your residence?”
“My God, you haven’t figured it out yet, Chris?” David asked.
“No.”
“I was being punished by the masters.”
“Why?”
“I let Sarah go with the crystal. In time, she could have discovered its secrets. The masters told me to kill her and then find you. They already had chosen you as my apprentice. Sarah got in the way.”
“You murdered her then, David?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“I was supposed to kill her but she had the crystal. It’s like a damn open line of communicatio
n. I mean, it’s a cell phone for calling up the masters for the last chit chat one will every have.”
“The masters killed her?” asked Christopher.
“No, Chris. They don’t ever kill anyone. Did she look dead to you?”
“Well….”
“No. She made her wish. Everyone is entitled to one wish and she made hers. She’s a living, breathing character in a dark book of erotica. That’s what she always wanted.”
“I doubt that.”
“Really, do you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re gradually turning into a character in a horror book, just like the ones you write about. Christopher Wisdom is going to be a hideous fiend like the kind you would find in a damn midnight movie.”
“You’re right, David,” Christopher agreed.
“Well, hell, of course I am!” “The Jinn should just invade us and kill all of us at once. Why don’t they?”
“You’re missing the point,” David said. “I can’t believe you’re a ghoul and you still miss the point. They are in every dimension and parallel universe there is and was and will be. This is all happening all at once. They need people to watch humanity, observe it. That’s the reason for the love stories. Only stories can reveal what kind of wishes humanity has deep in its secret heart of hearts!”
“When will the world end, David?”
“Stop asking me questions with answers I don’t know. It could end any moment, but more than likely, we’re hundreds of thousands of years away from the last wish being granted.”
“Why wouldn’t people believe that their wishes are being granted?” Christopher asked.
“Christopher, we’ve been though this over and over. It’s a subtle process, very subtle. People don’t believe in the masters and they don’t typically know when their wishes are being granted. Sarah was close enough to feel their presence and power. She wished big. Most people, if they have their full will, make their one wish on something stupid. Human beings have an inferiority complex and then waste their one wish.”
“I can’t believe that your best selling horror book is a true story.”
“Believe it.”
“So I’m still essentially human for years to come.”
“Not exactly, lad.”
“Oh?’
David walked out of the dining room and into a spare room that Christopher couldn’t see from where he was sitting. David returned with a razor sharp sword in his hand. He smiled at Christopher and pointed it at his neck.
“You know I love magic,” said David with a smile.
“Yes,” Christopher answered.
“Have you ever heard of a trick called ‘the sword through the neck’?”
“Yes,” Christopher said nervously.
“Good.”
David pulled the sword back. Then he thrust it deep into Christopher’s neck before he had time to draw his next breath.
“Oh, God,” said Christopher.
“How do you feel?”
“Well…I’m still breathing.”
“Okay, fine. Still human, I would imagine?”
“No.”
“What was your first clue?” David asked.
“That I’m not dead, obviously.” Christopher pulled the sword out of his neck and watched in astonishment as his wound instantly healed and he realized he was no longer a human.
“I think you’re finally starting to catch on now. You are an immortal. If you wanted to, you could throw yourself in front of a bus and find yourself alive an hour later. Your mangled body would heal itself in the morgue. Like I said, it’s a very slow, tedious transformation. You will be able to read people’s intentions soon. Not their minds, but something else really. It’s one of the many, many special dark blessings that are bestowed on our kind.”
“David, I still don’t understand why they even need us to begin with.”
“The masters, you mean?”
“Yes, of course.”
“They couldn’t understand human nature and history without us reporting to them. They need us. In the time before time was recorded, they used humans to do this work. People died as mortals do, and the masters were left with half-told tales and incomplete insights into man’s psyche. Once they created ghouls, they had immortal servants who aided them in understanding the human condition. This brought them even closer to what they were seeking. There are ghouls in other dimensions and parallel universes who are retired from their duties. The last wish has been made and now the ghouls serve no more. They are no longer observers; they are like the masters; they rule.”
“We serve as second class citizens, then?”
“Would you really like to be in the human condition when the last wish is made here on our world?” David asked.
“No.”
“I thought as much, young ghoul.”
“That’s why you wrote your book, isn’t it?”
“What do you mean?”
“People would take it as fiction but they would still be thinking about making their one wish. The book would stimulate their imaginations to stop making lame wishes and make spectacular ones!” Christopher said.
“You’re catching on!”
“So I suppose we have some of the same power the masters do. We manipulate people into making their wishes even though we don’t literally have the power to grant their secret desires.”
“Indeed,” nodded David.
“That’s why stories are so valued by the masters.”
“Yes,” David smiled.
“We were once human and we know how they think. Lust, revenge, fame, fear of death, fear of the unknown and quests for the supernatural are all in books of dark fiction.”
“That’s true. Only our genre seeks to answer life’s more disturbing questions. That’s what we’re all about. You know, there are many wonderful books that contain philosophical insights and wonderful fictional characters that are imbedded in the human psyche. I’m talking about the classics and even some mainstream, best selling novels that aren’t horror.”
“It’s good to read outside of one’s chosen field,” said Christopher. “Even if they don’t possess the power to end the world, they are still useful to us.”
“Useful, yes, they are. We are the ones who are going to literally have the last word.”
“What an honor. I can’t wait, David.”
“Patience is a virtue, even for us.”
“Oh,” said Christopher.
“You’ll learn to appreciate the changes in human history and time. You really will. Humans are amazing and ironic creatures. There is so much for you to learn. You need to know how to communicate with the masters so you can follow their directives. That takes time and special attention. You can’t fail in any way at all or you will be punished severely.”
“You mean I will have to eat corpses?”
“That’s where the idea comes from, lad.”
“You mean?”
“Yes. All through our history, people have seen us feast on the dead. They assumed that what they saw was either a ghoul or a vampire. The assumption was that the creatures they saw needed to eat the dead or drink blood to survive. Human assumptions are not always correct, you know this. They assumed but did not understand. Our kind is punished in many terrible, unspeakable ways. That doesn’t mean we need to have flesh or blood to live forever. The blood of the ghoul receives its power from the crystals. This is also how we communicate with the masters. The humans, who did not have the power of the crystals in their blood, still used the crystals to serve the masters. They were far from being immortal; their life spans were actually cut short by their service to the Jinn.”
“The crystals took years off their lives, right,” asked Christopher.
“Correct, lad.”
“Yes.”
“Now you’re starting to understand, Chris. Once again, you’re starting to understand.”
“I need you to help me understand more.”
“Surely I will.�
��
“Do you know what I want to know right now?”
“No.”
“I want to know your story.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Tell me about your service during the war against the colonies. I want to know that and more. I need to know how you wrote those spectacular stories when you were facing death every day.”
“Let me tell you something, lad. When an ordinary human writer is conscious of his own mortality, the creative juices flow. They flow like a damn river. Men who know they can die at any time and want to live on through their words.”
“You carried your stories with you when you were fighting?” Christopher asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“Fascinating, I think.”
“How so, friend, please explain,” said David.
“Weren’t you afraid that if you were killed in battle that the enemy would burn your writings?”
“Not at all, it was a different age.”
“Why?”
“The culture was quite different back then. I hate to sound like an old man but, like I told you and the lovely Sarah, I am much older than I look.”
“I hope someday that I can make the same joke.”
“You will, lad. Your wit will grow stronger along with your other powers.”
“I thought you were witty simply because you are English.”
“That doesn’t hurt,” said David, laughing.
“Tell me why you weren’t afraid of your writings being destroyed.”
“It’s simple. We were gentlemen back then. A gentleman would honor the memory of a fallen soldier. Even if that soldier was the enemy, he would want to read his writings. That was something we all shared. The culture demanded an appreciation of the letter and the word. That’s why you read letters from the 1700’s and 1800’s that are more sophisticated than the writings of a college professor today. That was our time and our culture. I knew my writings would live on.”
“There is more to this story. Isn’t there?”
“Yes.”
“The writings of the enemies were valued from a military point of view as well,” said Christopher.
“Yes. They could analyze the writings to see if there was something like a secret code. Perhaps a hidden location or the names of spies could be contained, even in a work of fiction.”
