by David Kempf
“He knows we mean to kill him,” said David.
“Die, you son of a bitch. I want your death to be by the hand of a Mooney!” The one mortal among the immortals knew the job had to be finished. If Alexander or any of the others survived this assassination attempt, there would be no one named Mooney left on the planet. Ironically, he didn’t seem at all interested in Mooney or his protégé, David. He set his hideous eyes on Christopher.
“Keep looking at me, bastard. It will be the last thing you see.”
The terrible truth was that these creatures were worse than the Nosfearatu look-alike monster that Christopher had first seen in the graveyard eating the dead. The pale skin and long black nails were bone chilling. Alexander’s hand crushed through the ice and grabbed Christopher by the throat with an unmerciful strength.
“He’s choking Christopher to death,” said David.
“Careful, we don’t want to burn him by mistake,” said Mooney.
“What do we do?” David asked.
“Don’t help me,” said Christopher, choking. “Stay there where you are. I know what to do now.”
Alexander’s powerful grip on Christopher tightened. He knew that this was the new ghoul. Alexander was much wiser and deadlier than David ever gave him credit for. The ancient one was angry and jealous of Christopher. Perhaps he knew Christopher was the one chosen to end life on earth to please the masters.
“I have a surprise for you!” said Christopher, losing consciousness.
“We need to help him,” said Mooney.
“No!” said David. “I trust him. He can find the right ending to this story.”
Every story, even the most terrifying horror stories, had an ending. Sometimes the ending is happy or triumphant. Other times the ending is dismal and leaves the reader with a sense of doom and gloom. One thing that all endings to stories have in common is that they make people feel alive. Alive and connected and human was how young Wisdom was feeling. Christopher thought of his family. How much he loved his parents. How much he would have loved his son if he had ever had one. The human race was deeply flawed and stupid. That didn’t give the masters the right to destroy all life that was simply different than their own. The human part of Christopher made his one wish. He wished that there was no such thing as ghouls or their masters, that the Jinn were no more real than vampires or werewolves. That was his wish as he slowly felt Alexander’s grip on his throat loosen.
Dear Dr. Wells,
I would like to thank you for reading my book. I had been looking forward to your class for some time. I’m looking forward to graduating. As you know, I saved your lecture for the final part of my education here at Donnis University. The best thing about your class was that I attempted to write my first novel. I know I was untraditional and used several stories inside the book itself, but I hope that you enjoyed it nonetheless. I am sorry if you took offense to my making you into a ghoul, but I took some artistic license. My parents are no longer living so I thought I would immortalize them in my book. Sarah Nolan was simply a fictional character who had the attributes of several young women I met and fell in love with at this school. I’m going to have to change the name of the film professor character, Professor Lynch, to something else. Sorry, I think he’s the worst excuse for a teacher I’ve ever met. Your novel ‘One Wish’ is a classic in dark fiction. I know you wanted me to attempt to write longer pieces and my book is my first attempt at this. I look forward to being challenged under your direction and perhaps someday learning from you privately. Ever since I was young, I dreamed of being a protégé to a great literary mentor.
Yours truly,
Christopher Wisdom
Christopher’s favorite professor read his e-mail with a genuine sense of glee. He finally found one student who was worthy to learn from him. His name was Christopher Wisdom and he was a good writer. Christopher knocked on the door and was given permission from his mentor to enter into Wells’s office. Christopher sat down and began his conversation with his mentor.
“Hello, Chris.”
“Hi, Dr. Wells.”
“I am very impressed with your book.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t think I would be sending it to Professor Lynch anytime soon.”
“No,” said Christopher, smiling. .
The mentor and protégé laughed together for a moment. They both knew that Lynch wasn’t even worthy to clean the classrooms of Donnis, let alone teach in them. The professor had a good sense of humor and took the criticism of his colleague well. It would not be long until Christopher was a colleague rather than a young mind to be trained in the art of writing.
“So I’m a ghoul.”
“Not literally, Dr. Wells.”
“Only in your story,” he said.
“Yes.”
Christopher saw Wells smile at him. He knew that he had a professor and a friend who could laugh at himself. Now, that was a damn good thing to know. How fortunate he was indeed to know and learn from the rare artist who was not at all temperamental.
“I was flattered. That was good symbolism. We in the horror field are, in fact, ghouls in a way.”
“Yes,” agreed Christopher.
“Once you become a writer, you cease to care what society thinks of you anymore. You are a new creature. That is what you are becoming now. That’s what I have been for some time.”
“Yes, but not as long as in the book.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t around for the revolutionary years.”
“What do you think your second book will be about?” Christopher asked.
“I’m not sure,” Professor Wells answered.
“Well, give it some thought, please.”
“I will.”
Wells smiled at Christopher again. He watched him looking around the office at the various books on the shelf. Some were the greats, the giants of literature; others were academic works. Then his own book about the wish gone wrong was right in front of his eyes.
“Admiring my book again are you?” Wells asked.
“I was just thinking…” started Christopher.
“Yes.”
“What if we all did really get one wish?”
“Yes.”
“What would I wish for?” Christopher asked.
“I don’t know, Chris. That would be up to you.”
“How would I know if I hadn’t made it already?”
“Again, I don’t know,” the professor answered.
“Okay, but you wrote it.”
“Yes, and you wrote this. I have one issue with you before we seek to refine the book and find a publisher,” Wells said.
“Oh, I know. Don’t worry! I’ll change the names of the characters.”
“Damn right, you will!”
Wells fell backwards on his chair, laughing. He could laugh at himself; there was little doubt about that. Christopher was beginning to realize that he had some serious concerns about publishing this book.
“Is that what you wanted to discuss, Dr. Wells?”
“No.”
“What is it then?”
“I know that we professors sometimes use our position to get into various situations with our lovely female students.”
“So?”
“So that doesn’t mean I want the general public reading about me and my sex life. A thinly disguised character who reveals my personal life is something that doesn’t make me too happy.”
“I see,” said Christopher with a smile.
“Change the character a bit as well. Please.”
“Sure. Is that it?” Christopher asked.
“Yes.”
“I guess it’s silly to think that you’ve slept with as many women in real life as the centuries-old professor did.”
“No, I’ve slept with more,” smiled the professor.
“Oh?” Christopher said, his eyebrows were now raised.
Now Christopher was intrigued again, but on a much different level than learning how to
write. Perhaps these professors did manage to land a lot of beautiful young girls just like rock stars did. The two men started to laugh again.
“Okay, let’s change the subject,” said Wells.
“No. I want numbers. I want to hear how many.”
“Sorry, won’t go there because I’ve lost count. Let’s just say that I make Henry David Wells look like he spent two hundred years in a monastery being celibate,” the professor grinned.
“Okay, hard to believe but okay,” laughed Christopher.
“Truth is stranger than fiction, Christopher, even dark fiction.”
