The Darkest Lullaby

by Jonathan Janz

  “Stop it,” she whispered. “Go away.”

  But the licking became more determined, her nostrils filling with the stink of Petey’s hot, fetid breath. Her fingers felt dipped in cooking oil.

  “Chris,” she said, her voice louder. “Get your dog out of here.”

  The Band-Aid slid off her thumb, the stupid animal actually pushing his tongue into the aching slit of her wound. Hissing with pain and revulsion, Ellie shoved away and pushed to her knees. She patted the bed for Chris, but, dammit, he was gone again.

  Leaving her with Petey.

  “Out,” she yelled at the dog and pointed at the door. “Now!”

  She listened for the clattering of toenails on wood, the steam engine chug of Petey’s breathing.

  But the room was silent.

  Was the dog watching her in the dark?

  “Petey,” she said, a whisper of fear tingling the nape of her neck, “I want you to leave this room at once.”

  Great, she thought. You sound like a nineteenth-century schoolmarm.

  She breathed deeply, hoping it would give her courage.

  Be firm. Let him know who’s boss.

  “I’m going to turn on the lamp now, and when I do—”

  “What’s going on?”

  She cried out at the voice and perceived a large figure standing in the doorway; then light flooded the room and Chris was crossing to the bed.

  “Ellie, what—”

  “Where were you?”

  He spread his palms. “I was downstairs having a snack.”

  “You told me you put the dog out.”

  He stared at her. “I did.”

  “The hell you did,” she said and drew up her legs. “I woke up and found Petey dining on my thumb.”

  He shook his head and grinned incredulously. “Honey, that’s impossible. I put him out right after dinner. You saw me do it.”

  An icy mist of dread engulfed her. “Stop scaring the shit out of me. It isn’t the least bit cute—”

  “Ellie—”

  “—and it isn’t funny either. Do you have any idea how repulsive it felt to have his tongue burrowing into my thumb? Like he was getting a taste for it?”

  Chris scratched the back of his neck, let his arm drop. “Come with me.”

  “Where’re you going?” she asked and hated the break in her voice.

  “To call Petey in,” he said, walking to the door. “You don’t believe he’s outside, I’ll prove it.”

  Ellie’s heart pounded. “You swear you didn’t let him in?”

  “Of course I didn’t. Jeez, you think I’m that stupid, playing a practical joke when you already hate the place?”

  She gathered the sheets to her chest. “Then what was it?”

  “You must’ve been dreaming.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “They can be really vivid.”

  “Dammit, I wasn’t dreaming. Don’t you think I know the difference?”

  “What else could it be?”

  “I don’t know,” she shouted.

  “Okay,” he said, coming to her. “Okay, let’s both calm down. I’m sure there’s an explanation…” He searched the bedroom a moment before seizing on something. “The vent.” He pointed to the wall opposite the bed. “The furnace kicked on and started blowing hot air and you thought—”

  “It wasn’t the furnace.”

  “How do you know?”

  “A furnace doesn’t have a tongue.”

  He threw up his hands, the rational man beleaguered by the hysterical woman.

  “Or saliva,” she went on, “or stinking dog breath, or—”

  “It’s an old house, it’s bound to smell.”

  “Where’s my Band-Aid then?” She held up her thumb. “Did the vent take that too?”

  He shrugged. “It fell off in your sleep. It’s probably in the bed somewhere.”

  She flung the sheet away and swung her feet to the floor. Kneeling, she jerked up the blankets and stared under the bed.

  Nothing.

  She crossed to the hallway.

  “I’m telling you,” Chris said, following, “he’s not in here.”

  She jogged down the stairs and began switching on lights. The living room bloomed in a dim amber glow. Empty. The family room. The screened-in porch. No sign of the dog.

  Chris passed her on the way to the door.

  “Where’re you going?” she asked.

  “To get Petey.”

  “Wait,” she said, but he’d already opened the door, was bellowing the dog’s name into the still April night.

  Within seconds she heard a sound that made her stomach clench, Petey’s eager breathing, the muted thump of his paws on the frosted earth. The dog appeared, moving slower than usual, as though the exertion of his approach had expended all his energy. Petey moved sluggishly up the steps and rather than jumping on Chris, slumped down next to his feet.

  “Hey, fella,” her husband said a bit too triumphantly. Chris knelt, scratching the dog’s ears, and glanced up at her. “Well?”

  “Well what?” she said. “I was wrong.” She turned and went to the kitchen.

  She filled a glass of water, her hands trembling, and downed half of it in a swallow. Rather than calming her, the frigid liquid drove a hatchet into the center of her forehead. She leaned against the counter, blanching at the pain.

  “Relax, honey,” he said. “I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

  “Explain it then.”

  But he didn’t say anything, only eyed her wound. Ellie glanced at it too, and as she did she had a vision of a fanged creature spreading wide the flaps of skin and swallowing her blood in a gush.

  Later, she’d remember that vision and marvel at how apt it had been.

  Chapter Eight

  Doris’s car reminded Chris of the woman herself: big, white, imposing. Through the living room window he watched the big sedan crunch to a stop as though to draw any closer might taint Doris or her gleaming white car.

  “She’s here,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Goody,” Ellie called back.

  He put on a smile he didn’t feel and opened the front door. Doris climbed out of her car, shouldering a large beige purse. She wore a red business suit, the skirt stopping just north of her manlike calves.

  “Hope you brought your appetite,” he said from the porch.

  “I’ve eaten,” she answered as she climbed the steps.

  “I thought you said—”

  “I said lunch time, Mr. Crane. Not that I’d eat lunch here.”

  Ellie held open the door, an expression of welcome on her pretty face that Chris would have believed had he not known her so well.

  “You must be Doris,” she said.

  The Realtor nodded. “Ellie.”

  He stepped inside after them, Ellie going left into the dining room, Doris making no move to follow.

  Ellie said, “There’s iced tea, Diet Coke—”

  “I’m not staying.”

  Ellie looked at him and he explained, “She’s already eaten.”

  The skin around Ellie’s mouth drew tight.

  Chris asked, “Would you be comfortable in the living room?”

  The realtor sighed. “It’s as good a place as any, I suppose.”

  When the woman moved past him he saw Ellie’s mask of cordiality slip, and it took all he had not to burst into laughter. She raised her middle fingers at the woman’s back. Doris sat primly in the green velvet chair and smoothed her skirt.

  “What can we do for you?” he asked, sitting across from her on the futon. Ellie sat beside him.

  The Realtor folded her hands on her knees, which were pressed tightly together as though she feared Chris might try to peek up her skirt. The notion reminded him she did indeed have a gender, wasn’t some asexual creature grown in a laboratory. In fact, now that he observed her in the softer light of the living room, he could catch the merest glimmer of her girlhood self. Not a beautiful face—n
ot at any age—but one that had perhaps long ago contained a species of crude eroticism.

  Doris glanced out the window. “Too bad we couldn’t find a buyer.”

  “I don’t get it,” Chris said. “It’s gorgeous out—”

  “The property’s desirability has nothing to do with aesthetics.”

  He grunted. “Then what is it? There a landfill nearby?”

  She regarded him levelly. “You don’t know anything about this place, do you?”

  From the corner of his eye he could see Ellie staring at him, sensed the worry in her face, and thought, Don’t screw this up for me, Doris. I already have enough to contend with. Don’t tell us this house is full of ghosts or something.

  “I came to tell you about the previous owner of this land,” Doris said. “A man named Gerald Destragis.”

  For reasons he couldn’t explain, a trickle of acid began to scale his esophagus.

  Doris said, “He came to America in 1932 and bought this land from a local farmer. Soon after, he met your aunt. She was the closest thing he had to a long-term relationship.”

  Chris felt faintly nauseated. He’d never seen Aunt Lillith with a man, had never considered the possibility she had any interest in them. On more than one occasion, Ellie had raised the possibility that Aunt Lillith preferred women.

  Doris crossed her legs, her voice taking on a pedantic air. “The two of them formed a cult.”

  Chris smiled. “What?”

  “You heard me, Mr. Crane.”

  “Aunt Lillith was the leader of a cult.”

  “Destragis’s scripture revolved around pagan legend, the gods of the Celts and the Romans. He contended Satan was a minor figure in the religious landscape, that the real power lay with spirits far, far older. He also wanted to dispel commonly held beliefs regarding demons.”

  Ellie frowned. “Commonly held beliefs?”

  “Most believe that demons are separate entities from ghosts…that demons are, well, demonic, and that ghosts were once human in nature. Most who study that sort of thing associate demons with the devil, and ghosts with human beings who haven’t yet…crossed over, I suppose.”

  Doris pursed her lips, studied the hands folded on her knees. “Destragis believed man could willingly enter the demonic realm, that nature itself could serve as a passageway between life as we know it and a different kind of existence.”

  Chris chuckled. “What a crock of shit.”

  Ellie fluttered a hand, as if shooing a persistent insect. “You said ‘nature itself could serve as a passageway’.”

  “Gerald believed demons were people who had, over time, become one with nature, one with the ancient world and its energy.”

  Ellie’s voice was wondering. “That’s why he came here.”

  Doris stared at her a moment before tilting her head and asking, “Do either of you believe in reincarnation?”

  “No,” Ellie answered.

  Doris hardly reacted, merely raised her chin a fraction of an inch and favored Ellie with an appraising look. “Then I don’t suppose you believe in vampires either.”

  Chris uttered a laugh that came out half an octave too high.

  “Gerald Destragis believed in them,” Doris said with the merest hint of a sneer. “He believed he’d died and returned as a vampire.” The sneer grew. “Twice, actually.”

  Doris let it sink in a moment before continuing. “In the first reincarnation, he was reborn as a feral, bloodthirsty creature. The sort of beast one sees in horror films.”

  Ellie started to say something, but Doris was already going on. “The second rebirth—the life with which we here in Ravana were familiar—that was a more refined existence. He appeared to be a regular man. Eating, breathing, interacting the way men do. Preying upon human beings, but only infrequently. As a ritual, a preparation. Not for sustenance.”

  The feeling was growing upon Chris that the women had forgotten his presence. He heard himself saying, “The romantic vampire.”

  Doris turned to him.

  Chris said, “I feel like I’m on one of those hidden camera shows.”

  “You sound frightened, Mr. Crane.”

  He flailed a hand in the air. “Lillith didn’t believe in vampires, demons, whatever you want to call it.”

  “Demonic evolution.”

  There was a silence.

  “Demonic evolution,” Ellie repeated.

  “It’s all in his book,” Doris explained. “I’m sure Lillith had a copy.”

  “My aunt wouldn’t have gone in for this stuff. She’d have known Destragis was a fake.” He shook his head. “Some freak masquerading as a twice-resurrected monster.”

  “You misunderstand, Mr. Crane. Lillith Martin believed she’d also lived two previous lives.”

  Chris could only stare.

  “You don’t believe me,” Doris said, “because you didn’t know your aunt. That was clear to me the first time we spoke.”

  “I knew her a hell of a lot better than you did.”

  “Lillith Martin was a bloodthirsty harlot.”

  Chris felt his body go rigid, the muscles of his forearms bunching like steel cables. “We’re done here, Doris.”

  “What’s the book called?” Ellie asked.

  “The Lust,” Doris answered and turned to Chris. “Lillith drank the blood of infants.”

  He stood. “Listen, I don’t know why you’re making this crap up, but—”

  “I want to buy the land from you.”

  For a long moment no one said anything, but Chris could sense a change in Ellie. When she spoke, her tone was full of a restrained eagerness.

  Goddammit, Doris, he thought. Get the hell out of here before you spoil everything.

  “How much would you offer?” Ellie asked.

  Chris put a hand on Ellie’s arm. “Hold on a second.”

  “Enough to help you buy a new house.”

  “Ellie, she’s—”

  “One that doesn’t need tens of thousands in repairs,” Doris went on. “One that isn’t stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  “How much?” Ellie repeated.

  “Ellie—”

  “Two hundred thousand,” Doris answered.

  Ellie’s eyebrows rose.

  “Ellie,” he said, “she’s trying to rip us off.”

  “Imagine it,” Doris said. “Two hundred thousand to spend on whatever house you want, wherever you want.”

  “That’s less than a hundred an acre,” Chris almost shouted. “What the hell?”

  Doris finally glanced at him, and as she did he understood how deftly she’d managed it, how she’d driven a wedge between him and Ellie. Her look of cold triumph did it, put him over the edge.

  “I’m not going to tell you again,” Chris said. “Get out of my house.”

  The cold smile never leaving her lips, Doris gathered her purse. “You two can discuss it in private.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” Chris said, but when he glanced again at Ellie he could see the offer had grabbed hold of her. She sat as if in a trance, her gaze turned inward.

  Something about the woman’s expensive-looking purse sent a galvanic jolt of energy through him. It started as a vague thought but within moments crystallized into an unshakeable certainty.

  “Who owned this land?” he asked.

  Doris paused a fraction of a second before answering, “Why your aunt, of course.”

  “Before that.”

  “Gerald Destragis owned it for many years,” Doris said, but her smile had thinned.

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  A subtle but unmistakable patchwork of blotches had appeared on the woman’s neck. “It’s all public record, Mr. Crane. You’re free to investigate it on your own.”

  “Why don’t you save me the trouble, Doris?”

  Her smile vanished. “I’ll be going.”

  But Chris followed her to the foyer. “How do you know so much about Destragis?” he asked.


  Doris reached for the door. “Though he cheated on her for decades, he was legally married to my mom.”

  Chris’s mouth fell open.

  Doris smiled without humor. “Which made him my biological father.”

  Chris could only stare.

  Doris’s eyes were cold. “Any more questions, Mr. Crane?”

  “Your mom…”

  “Yes?” she asked, the bitterness twisting her face into an ugly mask.

  “She was the one who got the land, wasn’t she. When Destragis died?”

  Doris opened the door and went out.

  Chris followed her. “How much did she charge Lillith for the land?”

  “Look it up.”

  Doris was down the steps in an instant. He said to her back, “How much?”

  “Four million,” she said.

  He felt as though he’d taken a sledgehammer to the gut. “Four million…Jesus Christ, that could have been mine.”

  Nearing her car, Doris said, “But it wasn’t.”

  “You stole from me—”

  “It’s a fair offer,” Doris said.

  “—now you’re trying to steal again. You’re playing Ellie against me.”

  “I’ve done my duty,” she said. “Now you know what horrible things your aunt and her lover believed in. Their intention was to return again, only in perfect form this time.” Doris’s eyes shifted toward the woods, and with incipient misgiving Chris saw Petey padding toward the big white car. “Human, vampire… Destragis believed both were stages in demonic evolution. He and Lillith believed the demonic realm was the ideal fusion of both.”

  Chris hooked a thumb at Ellie, who’d appeared on the front porch. “You’re poisoning her against this place.”

  Doris was halfway in the car when she held up an index finger. “I forgot to tell you one thing—” she began, but her eyes suddenly shifted to Chris’s right. He turned that way, and as he did a large, black object shot past him toward the Realtor. Chris stumbled back in shock as Petey seized the woman by the arm and dragged her out of the car.

  For a moment he was frozen, the sight of the flailing woman and the growling dog like a surrealist painting of damnation. Then he lunged forward and got Petey around the neck. But the Labrador was immoveable, its sleek head shaking Doris’s arm like a long, red chew toy. The woman was slapping at Petey’s snarling face and moaning in terror.