The Year's Best Dark Fantasy & Horror 2012

by Guran, Paula

  I stared. “Only from the car . . . ”

  “There’s one of our human families there. I had to go and—” he broke off. He said, “The people in this house have switched right off, like computers without any electric current. I grew up here. It was hell. Yeah, that place you wanted me to go to. Only not bright or fiery, just—dead. They’re dead here. Living dead. Undead, just what they say in the legends, in that bloody book Dracula. But I am not dead. And nor are you. Did it ever occur to you,” he said, “you name, Daisha—the way it sounds. Day—sha. Beautiful. Just as you are.”

  He had already invited me to speak, so perhaps I could offer another comment. I said, “But you can’t stand the light.”

  “No, I can’t. Which doesn’t mean I don’t crave the light. When I was two years old they took me out, my dad led me by the hand. He was fine with an hour or so of sunlight. I was so excited—looking forward to it. I remember the first colors—” He shut his eyes, opened them. “Then the sun came up. I never saw it after all. The first true light—I went blind. My skin . . . I don’t remember properly. Just darkness and agony and terror. Just one minute. My body couldn’t take even that. I was ill for ten months. Then I started to see again. After ten months. But I’ve seen daylight since, of course I have, on film, in photographs. I’ve read about it. And music—Ravel’s Sunrise from that ballet. Can you guess what it’s like to long for daylight, to be—in love with daylight—and you can never see it for real, never feel the warmth, smell the scents of it or properly hear the sounds, except on a screen, off a CD—never? When I saw you, you’re like that, like a real daylight. Do you know what I said to my father when I started to recover, after those ten months, those thirty seconds of dawn? Why, I said to him, why is light my enemy, why does it want to kill me? Why light?”

  Zeev turned away. He said to the sunny bright hearth, “And you’re the daylight too, Daisha. And you’ve become my enemy. Daisha,” he said, “I release you. We won’t marry. I’ll make it clear to all of them, Severin first, that any fault is all with me. There’ll be no bad thing they can level at you. So, you’re free. I regret so much the torment I’ve unwillingly, selfishly put you through. I’m sorry, Daisha. And now, God knows, it’s late and I have to go out. It’s not rudeness, I hope you’ll accept that now. Please trust me. Go upstairs and sleep well. Tomorrow you can go home.”

  I sat like a block of concrete. Inside I felt shattered by what he had said. He pulled on his jacket and started towards the door, and only then I stood up. “Wait.”

  “I can’t.” He didn’t look at me. “I’m sorry. Someone—needs me. Please believe me. It’s true.”

  And I heard myself say, “Some human girl?”

  That checked him. He looked at me, face a blank. “What?”

  “The human family you seem to have to be with—by the fall? Is that it? You want a human woman, not me.”

  Then he laughed. It was raw, and real, that laughter. He came back and caught my hands. “Daisha—my Day—you’re insane. All right. Come with me and see. We’ll have to race.”

  But my hands tingled, my heart was in a race already.

  I looked up into his face, he down into mine. The night hesitated, shifted. He let go my hands and I flew out and up the stairs. Dragging off that dress I tore the sleeve at the shoulder, but I left it lying with the shoes. Inside fifteen more minutes we were sprinting, side by side, along the track. There was no excuse for this, no rational reason. But I had seen him, seen, as if sunlight had streamed through the black lid of the night and shown him to me for the first, light that was his enemy, and my mother’s, never mine.

  The moon was low by then, and stroked the edges of the waterfall. It was like liquid aluminum, and its roar packed the air full as a sort of deafness. The human house was about a mile off, tucked in among the dense black columns of the pines.

  A youngish, fair-haired woman opened the door. Her face lit up the instant she saw him, no one could miss that. “Oh, Zeev,” she said, “he’s so much better. Our doctor says he’s mending fantastically well. But come in.”

  It was a pleasing room, low-ceilinged, with a dancing fire. A smart black cat with a white vest and mittens, sat upright in an armchair, giving the visitors a thoughtful frowning scrutiny.

  “Will you go up?” the woman asked.

  “Yes,” Zeev said. He smiled at her, and added, “This is Daisha Severin.”

  “Oh, are you Daisha? It’s good of you to come out too,” she told me. Zeev had already gone upstairs. The human woman returned to folding towels at a long table.

  “Isn’t it very late for you?” I questioned.

  “We keep late hours. We like the nighttime.”

  I had been aware that this was often the case at Severin. But I’d hardly ever spoken much to humans, I wasn’t sure now what I should say. But she continued to talk to me, and overhead I heard a floorboard creak; Zeev would not have caused that. The man was there, evidently, the one who was “mending.”

  “It happened just after sunset,” the woman said, folding a blue towel over a green one. “Crazy accident—the chain broke. Oh God, when they brought him home, my poor Emil—” Her voice faltered and grew hushed. Above also a hushed voice was speaking, barely audible even to me. But she raised her face and it had stayed still rosy and glad, and her voice was fine again. “We telephoned up to the house and Zeev came out at once. He did the wonderful thing. It worked. It always works when he does it.”

  I stared at her. I was breathing quickly, frightened. “What,” I said, “what did he do?”

  “Oh, but he’ll have told you,” she strangely reminded me. “The same as he did for Joel—and poor Arresh when he was sick with meningitis—”

  “You tell me,” I said. She blinked. “Please.”

  “The blood,” she said, gazing at me a little apologetically, regretful to have confused me in some way she couldn’t fathom, “he gave them his blood to drink. It’s the blood that heals, of course. I remember when Zeev said to Joel, it’s all right, forget the stories—this won’t change you, only make you well. Zeev was only sixteen then himself. He’s saved five lives here. But no doubt he was too modest to tell you that. And with Emil, the same. It was shocking,” now she didn’t falter, “Zeev had to be here so quick—and he cut straight through his own sleeve to the vein, so it would be fast enough.” Blood on his sleeve, I thought. Vampires heal so rapidly . . . all done, only that little rusty mark . . . “And my Emil, my lovely man, he’s safe and alive, Daisha. Thanks to your husband.”

  His voice called to me out of the dim-roar of the water-falling firelight, “Daisha, come up a minute.”

  The woman folded an orange towel over a white one, and I numbly, speechlessly, climbed the stair, and Zeev said, “I have asked Emil, and he says, very kindly, he doesn’t object if you see how this is done.” So I stood in the doorway and watched as Zeev, with the help of a thin clean knife, decanted and poured out a measure of his life-blood into a mug, which had a picture on it of a cat, just like the smart black cat in the room below. And the smiling man, sitting on the bed in his dressing gown, raised the mug, and toasted Zeev, and drank the wild medicine down.

  “We’re young,” he said to me, “we are both of us genuinely young. You’re seventeen, aren’t you. I’m twenty-seven. We are the only actual young here. And the rest of them, as I said, switched off. But we can do something, not only for ourselves, Day, but for our people. Or my people, if you prefer. Or any people. Humans. Don’t you think that’s fair, given what they do, knowingly or not, for us?”

  We had walked back, slowly, along the upper terraces by the black abyss of the ravine, sure-footed, omnipotent. Then we sat together on the forest’s edge, and watched the silver tumble of the fall. It had no choice. It had to fall, and go on falling forever, in love with the unknown darkness below, unable and not wanting to stop.

  I kept thinking of the little blood-mark on his sleeve that night, what I’d guessed, and what instead was true. And I thou
ght of Juno, with her obsessive wasted tiny blood-drop offerings in the “shrine,” to a man she had no longer loved. As she no longer loved me.

  She hates me because I have successful sun-born genes and can live in daylight. But Zeev, who can’t take even thirty seconds of the sun, doesn’t hate me for that. He . . . he doesn’t hate me at all.

  “So, will you go back to Severin tomorrow?” he said to me, as we sat at the brink of the night.

  “No.”

  “Daisha, even when they’ve married us, please believe this: if you still want to go away, I won’t put obstacles in your path. I will back you up.”

  “You care so little.”

  “So much.”

  His eyes glowed in the dark. They put the waterfall to shame.

  When he touched me, touches me, I know him. From long ago, I remember this incredible joy, this heat and burning, this refinding rightness—and I fall down into the abyss forever, willing as the shining water. I never loved before. Except Juno, but she cured me of that.

  He is a healer. His blood can heal, its vampiric vitality transmissible—but non-invasive. From his gift come no sub-standard replicants of our kind. They only—live.

  Much, much later, when we parted just before the dawn inside the house—parted till the next night—our wedding day—it came to me that if he can heal by letting humans drink his blood, perhaps I might offer him some of my own. Because my blood might help him to survive the daylight, even if only for one unscathed and precious minute.

  I’ll wear green to be married. And a necklace of sea-green glass.

  As the endless day trails by, unable to sleep, I’ve written this.

  When he touched me, when he kissed me, Zeev, whose name actually means Wolf, became known to me. I don’t believe he’ll have to live all his long, long life without ever seeing the sun. For that was what he reminded me of. His warmth, his kiss, his arms about me—my first memory of that golden light which blew upwards through the dark. No longer any fear, which anyway was never mine, only that glorious familiar excitement and happiness, that welcomed danger. Perhaps I am wrong in this. Perhaps I shall pay heavily and cruelly for having been deceived. And for deceiving myself, too, because I realized what he was to me the moment I saw him—why else put up such barricades? Zeev is my sunrise out of the dark of the night of my so-far useless life. Yes, then. I love him.

  We know only what our young narrator writes in his journal, so there’s a great deal we don’t know, and some of what Josh tells us may not be completely reliable . . .

  Josh

  Gene Wolfe

  10/2

  Moving day for us. The movers came and took all our stuff. It is goodbye to the old hometown. Dad was at work, mostly cleaning out his desk, he said. Mom went nuts watching them pack her china and the glasses. I went up to my room but they had cleaned it out. There was no place to sit down so I walked down here. Nobody I know has come, only I keep thinking I do not really know any of those guys any more. I never even started school last month, like I said then.

  Bill Bocanegra or however you spell that just came in. He said hi Josh and wanted to know what I was doing, so I said I was making a list, what to do in the new place. He is gone now, so maybe I should.

  1. Remember not to e-mail any of them unless they e-mail me first. I will let them forget me if that is what they want to do.

  2. Get a dog. They say it is out in the country so why not? If Mom wants it to stay outside I will build a dog house, only I am going to take it up to my room at night sometimes.

  3. Learn all the country stuff. Find out where the kids hang. What I think is I cannot be an insider there so I will have to find out who the other outsiders are and hang with them. Maybe there is a girl.

  10/4

  I did not write yesterday at all because what could I say? Besides I had to split a room with Mom. I did not like it, but she said we could not waste the money for me to have my own. So how could I write then with her looking over my shoulder? Besides, she home-schooled, mostly geography. You do not even bother with that stuff in a real school.

  10/5

  Here we are. Dad flew. Mom and I drove, mostly her but sometimes me. We had the camping stuff in back. Dad was waiting for us because today is Saturday. He had this rental car, but he is going to buy one here to replace the Dodge, only not yet. For now he will drive Mom’s SUV to the station or she will drive him if she needs it. Only I said I would when she did not want to drive.

  We got out the camping stuff, meaning I did it mostly. I set up all three cots, too. The electric is off, so no stove here. No freezer, either. No lights. No TV. None of that stuff. There is a gas pump at the well, so we can flush. There used to be an outhouse, I think. I can still see the path. I said, “When are they going to bring the furniture?” Mom said Dad will call from his office Monday, but it will probably be a week. We don’t have a lot of stuff to eat. She will get more tomorrow.

  10/6

  They went into town. I was invited, but I could tell they did not want me, so I said I would stay here and figure out something to do. So I did, checking out the attic and basement. The attic is easier to get into than our old one and full of junk nobody wants, including me. The basement is practically empty except for dirt. There are some empty jars and tools, mostly for gardening. The tools are pretty rusty. One was an ax, so I thought I would go back into the woods and cut some wood and have a fire in the big fireplace. I went, but there was so much deadwood that I did not have to chop down anything. I carried in a bunch of sticks and wet them down with lamp fuel. That did it.

  Now it is late and my fire is about out, but Mom and Dad have not come back. Maybe I should be worried, but if you ask me they got a motel room someplace. Probably they buzzed my phone while I was out getting wood. Now they are in the sack, because cots and sleeping bags are only good for sleeping. So I understand and it is fine with me, but if I had good-looking girl here I would spread a blanket on the floor and that would be plenty good enough. I have locked up (but no chain on the front door) and I am going to bed. It is still not really late and I could read this from last summer, what I did and what I thought, only I am pretty down already.

  10/7

  It is only about an hour after lunch, but there is nothing going on. So I might as well write this.

  Either Mom and Dad came home and left again, or they have not come back at all. I am not sure which it is, and here is why. Last night I woke up. It was really dark in my bedroom, no moon and no stars. Overcast over the whole sky, or that is what it seemed like.

  And there was somebody else in my room. I have had that before, mostly when I was a little kid. Mom or Dad would come in to make sure I was OK. They would stand there as quiet as they could, then tiptoe back out when they saw I was in bed and not crying or anything.

  So I thought that was what this was. I sat up and said, boy, you sure were out late. Or something like that.

  Nobody answered. Whoever it was just stood there looking at me and not saying a word. Naturally I started to get out of my bag and felt around for my flashlight, only it was not there. I said, “What’s the matter, why don’t you talk?”

  I knew just about where this person was standing, maybe four feet in from the door. I got out of the bag and stood up, and I went there, holding my arms out the way you do. Only whoever it was slipped out the door before I got there. I found the door and shut it, and felt around for my flashlight again, and finally I went back to bed. Only I did not sleep very much. I kept listening for the SUV to start or a door to close somewhere or something. Mostly I was listening for my door to open.

  There was not anything for a long, long time. Then a little wind came up and I could hear the leaves outside whispering and whispering. By-and-by the overcast broke up just a little, and once I saw the moon, very thin, running fast through the clouds. Or that was what it looked like.

  10/8

  Today I went up to the attic and found a couple of old chairs. I will use them to block
my door tonight.

  After that I looked around for my flashlight. It was under my cot. I guess I kicked it when I got up, and it rolled under there. Tonight it is going in my bag with me. I fixed breakfast, which was not much, and went out here to write and think about things.

  I dialed Mom’s cell phone, and Dad’s, over and over. Mine does not have many minutes left. There is an old-time phone in the house, but it is not hooked up.

  Another thing I thought about was the tent, which is small but classy and nearly new. I unloaded it with the other camping stuff, so I had it if I needed it. OK, what about setting it up on the front lawn, and not sleeping in the house at all? That would be going pretty far, but if there is more trouble tonight I just might do it.

  Now I am going to walk back into the woods and see what I can find.

  The sun will be really low in about an hour, so I am going to write this now. It will not take long. I took a big hike in the woods, which are really beautiful, and got a little bit lost. Then I went over the top of a little hill and saw the house. I was really glad to see it and kept looking at it as I hiked along.

  Only there was somebody looking at me from a second-floor window. At first I tried to tell myself it was Mom, but I knew it wasn’t. She was very thin, with straight black hair and a white face. The funny thing is that I could see her really clearly when the house was almost out of sight. The closer I got, the harder she was to see, and pretty soon she was gone.

  10/9

  Last night I fixed my own supper, which was baked beans and bread. I ate it and drank a glass of water and went to bed.

  Now I wish I knew what time it was so that I would know when I woke up, but my watch was on the windowsill and I did not look at it. The thing was that somebody was in the house playing the piano. I lay in bed and listened to it for quite a while. He was good, but I felt like there was something wrong with him just the same, something that I cannot explain. It seemed like he was playing to forget how bad things were, but sometimes he could not forget. That does not make sense but it is as close as I can come.