With the sound of her voice, the moaning and growling stopped dead.
“Yes. The demons are here. They remain secure. That is all I need to know. Do not stand close to the cell, and you shall remain unharmed.”
Frank disappeared up the stairs.
Mary took a step. Then another. The cell was within an arm’s length now, but she could see nothing unusual.
“Hello?”
No answer. Silence.
Mary moved closer than Frank had suggested. She held the torch against the bars, and felt a chill. The cell seemed full of ice.
Then a boy appeared. He moved without speaking, without breathing. His fingers were long and thin, his stomach was bloated. Recessed eye sockets were drawn and dark. Ten years old and soulless, with skin that had turned from light and fair to black and purple. The eyes were red, shocking red, like glistening orbs of blood.
Looking into those eyes, Mary could see that the boy was not human, not now. He had the pupils of a demon, a serpent. Nothing from this earth could lurk behind those chilling red orbs, those deep haunting spheres.
Looking closer, Mary realized that she was not looking into the eyes of a single demon. She was looking at hundreds of demons––perhaps thousands, millions––all living inside the corpse-child together.
And he was the cold one. The chill was coming from inside of him.
Mary stepped away.
A man and a woman crept forward. Both were stinking, rotting. It was obvious that the man had been killed in some type of accident: his head was split open; the gray matter from his brain had leaked down his neck. The woman was tall with long dark hair, her dress was torn open; her wilting breasts were exposed. Rope marks circled her neck.
The corpse woman grinned. Pointed. She began to laugh with a multitude of voices. Her voice was a carnival of living death––an eerie rattling grind, a handful of sticks pressed against the slow moving spokes of a coach wheel.
Mary’s eyes widened. Her legs felt weak.
“No,” she said, her tone overflowing with pain. “Dear God, no! This cannot be!”
A forth corpse approached, limping on a broken leg. It lifted a gnarled hand as murky dribble flowed from its tattered mouth.
A moment later, Mary ran for the staircase screaming.
* * *
Frank waited by the front door for his guest to return. It didn’t take long. Within two minutes she came to him. Her face was shocked; her skin looked bleached.
Frank said, “So, Mary the brave, the fool, did you find what you were looking for? Did you find inspiration, deep inside the tomb of the living dead?”
“That I did,” Mary replied, with a trembling voice. A shaky hand wiped tears from her cheeks.
“Will you write the first great novel of horror, or was this blackening of your soul for nothing?”
“I do not know, nor do I care. I found more than I had bargained for, inside that cursed cellar of yours. I care not if I write another word. This event has shaken me to my very core, my foundation.”
“I warned you.”
“No, Mr. Stein, you don’t understand. The woman in the basement, the one that had been hanged; her name is Fanny Imlay. She is my sister.”
* * *
In time Mary thanked Frank, left the mausoleum and walked home alone. She was already wet, so the rain didn’t bother her. However, the dark roads and alleyways did. She kept thinking that something was watching her.
Something dead.
It was a little after one in the morning when Mary arrived home. She entered through the castle’s back door, the servant’s entrance. She had left it unlocked.
A fresh change of clothing and a dry pair of shoes later, she was in her room, safe and sound. No one realized she had left. The entire event took less than three hours.
After tidying her desk and lifting the scattered paper from the floor, Mary placed a fresh sheet of paper in front of her and surrounded herself with candles. She dipped her pen into her inkbottle, smiled nervously, and began to write:
It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open.
She wrote those few words, no longer caring about Keats, Byron and Percy––what they were thinking, what they were saying. Her inspiration had been found. The first paragraph had been written. And a year later, in May of 1817, Frankenstein was completed. It was published January 1, 1818, and although she didn’t know it then, her words would outlive them all.
Author’s note:
Much of this story is true: the volcano eruption in Indonesia that killed 184,000 people, the weather surrounding the summer of 1816, Mary’s writing circle (which included John Keats, Lord Byron, Percy Shelley), Lord Byron suggesting a horror story, Mary’s sister’s suicide (Fanny Imlay), Percy’s ex-wife’s suicide, Mary’s age at the time, and the quote at the end of the story, which comes from the novel Frankenstein, Chapter IV (the first words Mary had written) is all true. However, some liberties were taken while establishing motivation, characters, relationships, and more obviously––the conclusion of the story.
* * *
FALLEN
Alex Greenly stumbled across the rooftop, dragging his tired and weary feet. The winds were strong but tasted sweet. The roads and alleyways in the city below had become a true a nightmare. Rotting flesh and unrestrained disease had progressed far beyond the point of intellectual capacity; being at ground level was like being trapped in a noxious abattoir while off fighting off a pack of rabid wolves.
He eyed the structure’s edge cautiously; then circled the perimeter. Aching muscles screamed in protest. He needed rest.
Peeking over the building’s edge, he could see birds flying. Cars looked like toys. The living dead swarmed around the building like locust.
If I jump, he thought, it’ll be over.
His stomach turned and churned at the notion.
He didn’t want to jump, not even a little. But he couldn’t go on living like this. Who could? Maybe if he had a gun he could blast his way free of the metropolis, but he didn’t have a gun. He didn’t have anything.
This was the end and he knew it.
The rooftop door swung open and five of them came shuffling out, one after another. They were the living dead––starving, violent, infected and insane. The first three moved in: a fat man with entrails hanging from his belly, a child with his jaw torn free, and a woman with three bullet holes in her forehead.
He wondered why the bullets hadn’t stopped her, but the answer was simple: this wasn’t a movie.
As Fat-man lunged forward, bugs fell from his mouth and his exposed intestines slapped against his knees. The woman howled at this, scratching a mound of shattered fingers against the worms in her chest.
Turning away from the zombies, Alex’s knees buckled. His eyes closed. “The count of three,” he whispered, extending both arms and hands. “One. Two…”
Eyes creeping open, he looked at his wedding ring and remembered his wife Samantha. Oh man, he loved her so much. If only––
Fat-man clamped Alex’s shoulders and bit deep into his neck. Blood and maggots squirted across both faces.
The pain was colossal.
The corpse bit him again, and again.
Screaming, Alex pushed forward. With his feet slipping over the edge, he fell awkwardly. His ribcage slammed against the building’s ledge and he tumbled forward. He was plummeting now, falling seventy-two stories. Blood gushed from the severed artery in his neck like a high-powered fountain, speckling the building’s wall.
He was dying; this was the end.
The absolute––
The i
nfection, swimming inside his bloodstream, caused him to unleash a growl.
A powerful gust of wind slammed his body against the building. Bricks shredded his face; his nose exploded. A window ledge clipped his elbow and tore off an arm. Clipping his chin on another protrusion, his neck broke, and his head slammed into his back. Teeth flew of his mouth.
He died. And a moment later his eyes re-opened.
He wanted to kill, wanted to eat.
Then he hit the ground.
* * *
SCI-FI / FANTASY:
THE RELATION SHIP
Inside a dream a boy played with his friends on the infinite shoreline of an undefined sea. He was happy, as were his friends. The games they played were always fun and exciting. They never seemed to end and they never grew tiresome or old.
Then one day, between games, the boy left his friends and ran towards the shore that had intrigued him so often. He ran with a smile on his face and the speed of youth. He stopped just shy of the water’s edge. He placed a finger knuckle deep in the water and then quickly pulled it away. The sea was cold and not at all pleasant.
The boy watched the waves crash against the shore relentlessly. His smile faded until his joyful expression was drained from his face. Each wave the boy investigated had come at a cost; the fee was his frame of mind. The waves made him feel lonely and despondent, which was a strange and surprising contrast to the games he commonly enjoyed; they always felt fun and cheerful. But there’s something fascinating about the waves, he thought. Something dangerous and exciting too.
After a long while, the child returned to his friends and took his place among the activities. But his feelings had been altered now; he kept thinking about his finger stirring about in the cold water, for the sea had a strength and depth that the motionless beach had failed to provide. Each wave was mysterious and unique, having obtained its origin in an unknown place.
The boy turned away from the other children and looked at the sea once again.
Standing before him was a serpent named Lilith. She had dark hair, dark eyes and soft features. She had long legs and tight breasts. Her lips were full and her waist was thin. She seemed to be filled with joy––and looked nothing like a serpent.
“Perhaps you and I could travel the ocean together, child.” Lilith said, with a subtle melody gliding within the magic of her voice.
The boy blushed, for her beauty was extraordinary and unsurpassed. “I don’t understand,” he said, feeling intrigued and embarrassed by his own imperfections.
“Do you not grow tired of the games? Are you not curious to see what adventures are awaiting you there, across the horizon?”
She pointed towards the sea.
“Yes,” said the boy, still astonished by Lilith’s splendor. “But I do not wish to travel out there, for the ocean––if that’s what it is––seems to be a terrible and lonely place. I can’t imagine happiness in a world with so much turmoil, so much death and destruction.”
“Death and destruction?” Lilith asked, amused. “But whatever can you mean?”
“Do you not see it? Do you not see that each wave comes towards us vibrant and filled with power, only to be destroyed as it reaches the sands? What kind of place is the ocean, if it is not a place filled with sadness and pain?”
“My child,” the serpent said, with a grin that seemed larger than her face. “Come with me. Let me enlighten you.”
She led the boy away from the other children and the games they played. He didn’t seem to mind.
“Where are we going?” the boy asked.
“I saw you standing on the shoreline with your finger in the ocean. Thoughts of adventure and excitement have set camp inside your mind. I know this, but hear my words: I judge you not. I understand your dreams, needs and desires, for I have them too. You and I are not so different.”
The boy looked into the eyes of the serpent, amazed.
As she led him to the water, she said, “Adventure always comes with the risk of danger, but the risk need not be great. You and I possess something that you have not yet realized, and whether you realize it or not, this thing that I speak of is something we share together.”
“What is it?” the boy asked, wide-eyed and confused.
Lilith smiled and considered her words carefully. “We shall build a ship together, and sail above the water. We shall remain dry always. And with each day that passes the ship will grow stronger and larger until you have forgotten all about this beach and the games in which you’ve played. The boat will become your home, the world shall be your backyard, and this place will be but a grain of sand within it.”
As her words spilled from her lips she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small wooden cone that was shimmering with light as if energized. Its base was no larger than a fair sized coin; its point was sharp and radiant.
“Do you know what this is?” she asked.
The boy shook his head; he did not know.
“This is Love Zero, the physical manifestation of what some scientist call ‘negative energy’. In simpler terms, this little entity is the first indication of a ship––a very special ship––one that grows if you and I allow it. Believe it or not my child, this undersized unit is something that you and I created together, just now. Without your involvement it shall remain like this––an object so small that I can conceal it in the palm of my hand.” She crouched and put the tiny gleaming timber into the water with the flat side up and the pointed side down. Then she looked at the boy and smiled.
“Give me your hand child,” she said.
The boy dropped to his knees; the sand felt very soft and warm beneath them. He placed his hand inside of hers. Without hesitation, Lilith put the boy’s finger upon the cone, next to a finger of her own. The cone, glowing brighter now, began to expand. Soon it grew into a raft large enough for both to stand on.
The boy shook his head in amazement.
Lilith grinned like a shark. “Won’t you join me on this adventure built for two?”
They stood up, hand in hand. The boy squinted his eyes and allowed his mouth to fall open with an expression that suggested he was deep in thought. Finally he said, “This is amazing. It truly is, I have never seen anything like it; but what if I don’t want to join you on an adventure built for two? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I want to stay here; it’s just that… this is all happening so fast. My life is here; my friends are here. This is my birthplace, my home. This is the place that I know best.”
“If the two of us do not step onboard, the cone will remain this way forever––a Love One. That is what you and I have created here: a Love One. It is much larger than it was when our eyes first met. It was a Love Zero then, and before that it didn’t exist at all.”
“Where did it come from?”
“Each time a person lays eyes on another they are given a choice. They can communicate and create a cone, a Love Zero. Or they can choose not to communicate and create nothing. You and I exchanged thoughts and words and we created a Love Zero. Then we put our hands together with a common purpose, creating a Love One. And now we’re given a comparable choice once again. We can step onboard and generate a Love Two, or we can leave it be. But understand this: once a cone is created it can never be un-created. Once it is developed it can never be un-developed. It can be destroyed but not undone.
The boy was terribly confused by the serpent’s words, but he loved the way that she spoke. She had the voice of an angel, or perhaps a goddess. He said, “How can the cone be destroyed? Will the ocean destroy it? And what about my friends, can they come with us?”
“The goal is not to destroy, but to create,” Lilith said. “And the ocean can do no harm. If we join together the cone will grow into a great ship and each day it will grow larger and stronger until it becomes a huge vessel. The craft will be sturdy enough for as many friends as your heart desires. It will be sufficient accommodation for every person you have ever met, but for now, the craft is too smal
l. It is only large enough for you and I.”
She stepped onto the raft, which seemed sturdy and strong.
The boy hesitated, and then he followed her onboard. He sat down and pulled his knees to his chest, away from the waves around him. He looked across the sand, eying his friends nervously as they played their carefree games.
The serpent put her hands in the water and began to paddle. The beach fell away in the distance. And although it seemed strange to the boy that his beautiful new friend should be able to place her hands into the ocean without showing any signs of discomfort, he never thought to wonder why.
* * *
The years came and went, and the raft grew into a great yacht––greater than the boy could ever have imagined. It had tables, chairs, and places to relax. It had a kitchen filled with all the comforts a boy could wish for: a sink, a stove, a refrigerator and all his favorite food; it had a toy room, a workbench, a bathroom, and a pool. It had everything he wanted and more.
The boat was sturdy and strong; it was large enough to hold all of his friends and have them play every game they had ever played. But his childhood games were forgotten now, and all his friends were gone. The boat was his new home, just as the serpent said it would be. The beach had become a grain of sand inside his memory.
These things did not bother the boy––who was nearly a man now––for he had a new home and new memories to look back upon. And all of these memories––in one way or another––included his one-and-only friend, Lilith.
But Lilith was a different type of friend. She was very close to him physically, mentally and emotionally. And Lilith liked to play games that were unusual; games that made him feel like a jar of butterflies had been released inside his belly, games that kept him thinking about his new friend long after she had fallen asleep beside him.
13 Drops of Blood Page 13
