NOCTIPHOBIA

by Carol Grayson

  Ford had managed to hear him anyways and raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me? This is 1930. And in the bible, there is no mention about vampires as far as I know,” he grinned.

  Tucker gazed at him with his watery-blue eyes, giving away the fact that he was a social drinker. “And you would know exactly what tools God has at his disposal, then?” he replied in a trembling voice.

  Stanley Ford peered at him as though he was insane. He then turned silently around and continued taking notes.

  * * *

  The Beast's Logic

  "It must have been happening very gradually. I can't find any other explanation for it. But, please let me first introduce myself: My name is Andreas Lehmann. More precisely, Chief Inspector Lehmann. I've been working at the Criminal Investigative Department in Cologne, Germany for more than 30 years now, but these unusual incidents have been accumulating during the past couple of years. It's as if a wheel has begun to spin faster and faster. It began at the turn of the century. Now-a-days, it's happening all over Europe– even all over the world! Mind you, only in the so-called "civilized" countries such as the USA and Europe. New horror stories reach our ears almost every day. Oh no, I'm not speaking about natural disasters or threatening nuclear meltdown. According to my calculations, human beings are the catastrophe. But let me start from the beginning:

  We didn't give any credibility whatsoever to the increasing killing sprees or family tragedies. We only ever received information from other commissariats when either one or the other perpetrator was on the run in our region, or had accomplices here or the facts of a specific crime bore similarities to our cases. Being situated in Cologne, we were not always directly involved. The connections between the individual cases were not immediately apparent. And the tabloids ultimately distorted every murder in order to make the front page. I would never have caught onto the truth if I hadn’t re-sorted out the facts while cleaning out my desk at the office one evening. The case involving a killing spree in Cologne-Ehrenfeld area was more-or-less closed, the result of a hopeless student/computer freak flipping out. At least, that's what we'd believed. Those violent video games should really be prohibited!

  I initially noticed in three different cases – all murder cases mind you – the similar licence plate numbers. It could have been a coincidence. Ultimately, we were dealing with three unrelated crimes within the Cologne area: A family father who had shot his children while they were sleeping. A second case involving a jealous lover who had broken into his girlfriend’s home and then raped and stabbed her to death. The third case involving a homeless person, who suddenly appeared at his favourite kiosk at the main train station and attacked and killed the owner with a broken bottle. What could cause people to do such things? Believe me; public officers have long ago given up asking that question! For us cops there is no doubt that these types of breakdowns build up during a long period of time. Maybe we were deceiving ourselves here?

  At first I didn’t give any real consideration to my new findings. My instincts, however, told me something else. In order to support my budding suspicions, I half-heartedly searched the archives regarding the cases within the last couple of months. Suddenly, I discovered one puzzle piece after another, the entire picture revealing an atrocious concept. But whose plan? I’m not exactly what you would call a religious man but I still remembered bits and pieces from my religious studies class. The problem was though: Nobody would believe me! Would you, if I told you that in each one of these cases, a car with a licence plate containing the number 666 was involved? Would you? You see, you’re laughing too! Not just any car, mind you. All different models. The kiosk owner, for example, owned a small, ancient Fiat with the licence plate number: K… 666. The girlfriend who was murdered by her lover owned a black Corsa and the homicidal family’s father, a silver-coloured Mercedes A Class with the same number combination at the end. Well, are you still laughing now? I don’t even blame you. However, my investigations continued. I seized other cases, searching systematically in the criminal investigation department’s databank. I always stumbled upon the same pattern. Sometimes it belonged to the perpetrator, at other times, the victim. But, always a combination of numbers which included the triple 6. That couldn’t possibly be just a coincidence. There were just a few exceptions which my suspicions didn’t apply to. Too few! I decided to expand my investigations.

  Sin ce that day, I’ve always kept my eyes and ears open whilst underway. A notebook was always beside me on the passenger seat. Guess what I took notes about? Right! The number of people driving around with similar licence plates in Cologne and the greater area was stupefying! So I drove further. To Duesseldorf, Krefeld and alongside the entire Lower Rhine. On the weekends, I drove an endless number of miles on different autobahns. In no time whatsoever, my notebook was bursting with information. They were everywhere. At night, when I came home to my empty apartment, I often stared at that book for hours. The TV program had long ago lost its appeal.

  I decided to obtain all the lists of the registered licence plates within Germany for the last five years from the licensing authorities. I soon had a mountain of CDs on my desk, which I meticulously went through, one after the other. Obviously, I couldn’t say a thing to my colleagues. That would have cost me my job and my career. That was the only thing that I still had after my wife, Petra, had left me two years earlier! This job is my life, got it? Even if it does sometimes turn my stomach when I’m at the scene of a crime.

  So I continued my studies in my living room, organized a large bulletin board and pinned a map of Germany onto it. Then I began to compare the solved killing sprees with the registered cars involved and marked those places with small pins. Red for familiar victims, green for spontaneous episodes and yellow for school assassinations, which were– thank God

  – very seldom. Please don’t ask me what I though to achieve. I didn’t know. At any rate, I’d sacrificed my sparse spare time for this unreasonable research.

  At one point, I’d gazed at the bizarre pattern made of pins and began to recognise tiny pentagrams. Now you really think I’m nuts, don’t you? The longer this crazy idea developed in me, the worse it got. And I didn’t even know what to do with my findings.

  Then that thing with Petra happened: I coincidentally met up with her one day in the city centre while on duty. She hadn’t noticed me as she strolled hand-in-hand with her sophisticated new boyfriend – a blond gigolo – through the pedestrian area. Petra carried a couple of bags embossed with expensive boutique lettering. And all that from my money! I followed them this time not out of professional, but personal curiosity. They disappeared into an underground garage of a well-known department store. I hesitated at first but then entered; neon lights flooded the cement floor and somehow reminding me of a jail. The divorce from my wife was such a dirty affair, that I would have gladly treated her to that type of domicile. I hid behind the columns and in the shadows, so that the two of them wouldn’t find me. For a short moment, memories assailed me when I saw the two of them in front of a fancy black Alpha Romeo – a brand-spanking new convertible Sportster, just the kind that I would never be able to afford after the alimony payment was deducted from my paycheque. Petra was loading the shopping bags onto the backseat of the car. Her lover didn’t budge an inch from her side. When she turned to him, embracing and kissing him passionately, I clenched my fists. A raw rage encompassed me at that moment, over which I had almost no control. Not until the motor bellowed and the echo of the bare walls resounded did I awake from the trance and noticed my right hand clutching the butt of my gun! Appalled, I stared as the Speedster roared away. The licence plate boasted a number from the Duesseldorf area and ended with 666! You just can’t imagine how terrible I felt.

  I went to the very next bar in the old town and indulged myself in a brewski. I know, it’s not allowed while on duty, but I was desperate. Once I’d finally gotten a shot down the hatch, things suddenly became crystal clear to me. I ran home, sat down with my laptop and b
egan to add everything that I could find about the said number to my own research. A passage out of the Revelations Chapter 13 especially captivated me:

  I saw another beast coming up out of the earth … He causes all, the small and the great, the rich and the poor, and the free and the slave, to be given marks on their right hands, or on their foreheads; and that no one would be able to buy or to sell, unless he has that mark, the name of the beast or the number of his name. Here is wisdom. He who has understanding, let him calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man. His number is six hundred sixty-six.

  Don’t you understand? Implemented into our modern lifetime, this means exactly the same! How can we be as easily programmed from evil, if not in real life? Through something that we automatically and unconsciously register, while apparently doing normal everyday things such as driving to work or travelling on holidays? desperately need in order to be mobile and independent now-a-days? Something that we Something that we

  don’t immediately replace, that we even – dare say– nurture and cherish? Isn’t such a licence plate much easier and less obvious than, for example, a tattoo? Stop laughing and wake up and smell the coffee! I beg you; we’re talking about human lives here! How many times do I have to repeat myself? Listen to me! You can easily check it yourself! Get the numbers from observing the traffic! And would you finally let me out of the god-damned cell!!! WOULD YOU JUST LISTEN TO ME FOR A MOMENT?!”

  * * *

  Sarcophagus

  The void of my Being is unbearable; I haven’t been able to sleep in eons. My guardians have forbidden this until my awakening has come to pass and my making been completed. Sometimes my thoughts seem to dissolve and I am dominated by instinct alone. My nights exist solely of teeth and claws. I feel the impatience of those who will follow me, lusting for revenge. The vague peace is tainted red. There are visions which leave me in agony. Visions of a relentless future for a haughty race! I want to escape from myself. But I am who I am; as incomprehensible as life itself. I am fear and death.

  During the last hundred years, I could sense how the strength of the faith, that once had condemned me to my prison, has diminished. They no longer believe but instead want to research, prove, explore and above all– own, without having to share. They transgress in never before known dimensions, all warnings ignored! Soon the last grain of sand in their hourglass will fall into the endless abyss.

  My waiting was abruptly interrupted one day, when one of them from the new generation tracked me down. They disturbed my rest, ignoring the sacred signs. Removed me with my prison, in which I was safe for many hundreds of years. I, from them and them from me. Now I’m here, in their midst, one of many apparently valuable exhibitions. They are just so proud of their exhibit on display to the world that I would like nothing more than to scream in disgust and hurl my contempt at them. Miserable bastards! Still, I remain calm.

  During the day I hear their steps, their voices, feel their breath. Various alien languages, always disappearing at a specific time. The painful sound of their laughter still ringing in my ears. Their self-importance is an insult to my consciousness. I want to escape my bonds and put them in their place but remain confined in this sealed prison. I know that they are staring at me from the outside. They see a golden polished, resplendent casing, created to hold the dead. But they don’t see the corruption inside themselves. In the hours in which I am surrounded by silence, I’d like to do the same as they do and sleep, sleep, sleep… Alone, but this I am also denied. As long as the seals are intact, I am held back and must tolerate the creatures outside without being able to be either creator or reaper myself.

  Vested with so much power and yet I am still helpless and bound. I feel that my time is near. Sometimes they caress the exterior shell of my sheath with inquisitive hands. They are greedy; starving for knowledge, wealth and power, drooling after possession even enslaving their peers, fellow creatures and their environment. Thereby forgetting ancient values, disowning traditions, disobeying the laws of the universe. They trample on honor and morals like annoying insects. Oh, you humans! Less knowledge and more faith. That could save a few of you. Even from me.

  If the darkness of my absence had a face, it would now be smirking. I know very well that they won’t do it. They simply cannot control themselves; wanting to encroach in dimensions which they are not intended for. Dimensions which will devour them. Wait. More waiting. And be alert. When they finally break the seal, I will be free. Will remove the bonds which hold me and awake to a new life! Then I will lead those who have been waiting for me to raise my voice. We will teach the humans what it means to go against the ancient scripts. We will bend them, mow down their pride. From the distance, I hear my pale steed approaching; its whinnying gets louder with each passing hour. I am the fourth rider.

  And behold, a pale horse, and he who sat on him, his name was Death. Hades followed with him. Authority over one fourth of the earth, to kill with the sword, with famine, with death, and by the wild animals of the earth was given to him. (The Revelation of John).

  The Dracula Syndrome

  Since our birth we are conditioned and controlled, from our parents, from society, from laws and regulations – but when this control gets out of hand: What happens to those in whom a spark of freewill still flickers? What are such people capable of?

  * * *

  The boy flipped the cigarette in a true James Dean manner out of the open convertible, the car's fading paint beginning to bud rust spots. He'd parked directly in front of the main entrance of the old graveyard and waited. Even though it had cooled down, he still didn't close the roof of his car. "And what if this turns out to be another false alarm…"

  One of the observers had reported this abandoned graveyard close to the Holland border as positive. No one had been buried here in ages. The corresponding chapel at the edge of the woods could only be considered an ancient ruin. Religion had been put on the backburner decades ago. Actually, burials were very rare, the government promoted cremations. Building sites were a scarce commodity, especially in the vicinity of large cities. And, who still needed graveyards?

  The twilight grasped with its wispy blue-grey fingers, interfering with the beauteous evening cast by the setting sun on the park-like premises. The shadows of the trees and untended gravestones had slowly grown, eventually intertwining with one another.

  Markus Baumanns had belonged to the German underground for as long as he could remember. To those who refused to assimilate, one of the few "free born" people. But the government continued to reign in the few resistance fighters who thwarted surveillance and a ‘regulated’ life.

  The cameras were not yet providing complete wide-area coverage, but it seemed as if they were being installed faster than the speed of light. The governments had implemented them after the last massive attack in Paris. Despite the initial wave of outrage, the compilation of even strictly private data as well as the implanting of microchips into newly born children– which had been originally foreseen for animals to serve as a location device via satellite – had continued.

  Little by little the initial protests diminished. People grew accustomed to anything and everything. The ‘free ones’ knew why: The media, such as radio and television, broadcasted subliminal messages during their trivial entertainment in order to hold the population in a type of comatose state and also keep them adjusted, especially because the law-enforcement authorities possessed a nearly unlimited supremacy.

  The large cities already resembled bastions, which is why the few freemen remained in rural European regions where they could continue to be self-sustaining. Communication between them was very old fashioned consisting of messengers, carrier pigeons and Morse code. The internet was the ultimate traitor. Nevertheless, they remained the unwanted underdogs. Their limited habitat resembled reservations and their desperation continued to grow. Something just had to give!

  The anthropologist, Dr. Hermanns, one of the leaders of the underground act
ivists, finally approved the search for allies who were somewhat similar to the human race but in fact far more advanced. His research was partly based on that of the American, Dr. Stephan Kaplan, who had led observers across Europe from Romania to Hungary and further onto Scotlandin the 80’s. They had been hunting for a mythical being whose existence had never been scientifically documented. Some people squandered their ludicrously short lifespan on this search. But it distracted them from their own fears, the constant hide-and-seek game with the authorities and the threat of somehow still being forcefully ‘integrated’.

  * * *

  Markus got out slowly. He wasn't afraid. Anything was better than being caught in the nation's jaws. Markus was only scared of the despair which had already taken hold of so many of them!

  He walked calmly over the unkempt paths, passing an overgrown gravestone and sat down on a decaying bank to wait anew. The darkness surrounded him like a heavy schroud. Something rustled and moved in the brush, but it only appeared to be a small animal; perhaps a hedgehog, rabbit or marten? "They've got it good, they're free." However, Markus kept up his guard; the crippling stillness almost hypnotic. He occasionally glanced at the luminescent figures on his watch. Time seemed to stand still. Shortly before midnight, while suppressing a yawn, he heard a sonorous voice resounded behind him: "You really did take a very long time to find one of us".

  The young man spun around, his fatigue suddenly vanishing. Out of the corner of his eye he had just managed to see a large shadow dissolve. He arose from the bench but was startled anew because the shadow was now directly in front of him. His eyes strained to penetrate the blackness that slowly took on the shape of a man, forcing him to reseat himself.

  "Well, my young friend? Your search seems to have finally paid off. What is your request?" the sinister form long, black cloak asked, almost amused. The fathomless, dark pupils of the deep-set eyes within the thin, aristocratic pale face sized up the helpless visitor on the park bench with an appraising glance.