by DA Chaney
A cold, rainy draft whistled in from the shuttered window across the room sending chills racing across her skin. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the thick shawl more firmly around herself patting herself warmer. Esther glanced over her shoulder to the corner of the room. It was dark there and the light from the candle could not reach, but she knew what was there, watching her with cold, calculating eyes. “You should stop staring at me like that,” she commanded bitterly. “It’s unnerving.” She did not get a reply, nor had she truly expected one. There wasn’t much communication between them tonight.
Earlier in the evening before the sun was about to settle in for the night, he’d come home with a bite on his forearm insisting loudly for all the blooming country-side to hear, that while he’d been roaming the grounds around the family crypt something man-sized had attacked and bitten him. Richard had managed to fend the ‘man’ off and return to the manor to attend to the wound. He’d already planned a hunting party to track it down as soon as dawn broke by the time Esther had met up with him in the hall.
The idea was preposterous, of course. It made no sense for a man to bite another man in the dark. Kill Richard because he was off guard, sure, that was possible. But to actually bite? Why not just use a sword or a musket instead? Much more effective. Biting just didn’t make a lick of sense. When she put these questions to her husband, he’d grown impatient with her skepticism and struck her twice for doubting him at his word. Cheek stinging and swallowing her displeasure, she watched his large frame stalk away murmuring threats under his breath. Chalking the whole scenario to his reputably bad temper and bad eyesight in the dimming light, she stayed far from his side to let himself cool his head with a brandy and to bandage his arm.
Esther took her time before adjourning to their bedroom, relaxing in the study with some delicate needlework by the firelight, deep in thought. She had been married to the handsome man when she was a ripe fourteen and had mistakenly believed that his kind words portrayed some kind of fond affection for her. The marriage had been arranged with her family, but Esther had thought that she was getting a good man out of the deal. It turned out that he was quick to temper and drank more heavily than he’d let on in their courtship. She soon realized that she’d been trapped with a rough man and a cold home to call her own. By then it was too late to establish to her husband or the household that she was anything more than a young new wife.
When her eyes began to tire, she put the needlework away and climbed the long stairs to their quarters. Searching the room for him, she found it vacant. When she discovered him in the adjoining writing nook, she wasn’t very surprised. The private writing quarters held a long lounge chair that doubled as a bed, a sturdy oak table, writing utensils, a long thin door to the hallway, and a lit candle. Richard liked to be able to attend to private business away from the rest of the staff when his library, where he normally attended affairs, wasn’t discreet enough. Esther spotted a fresh quill and open-faced letter on the tabletop. Crossing to the desk intent on extinguishing the candle, she was startled to see Richard standing in the dark corner of the room ungentlemanly passing gas as if she would not notice.
She frowned at his behavior and he seemed to ignore her silent reprimand as he faced the wall grunting softly. The truth was, Richard was more inclined lately to do exactly as he pleased since they were husband and wife. During their courtship he wouldn’t have dared squeak so much as a chair in her company, lest she thought he’d passed gas in her presence. Short lived bliss, to be sure.
Esther wrinkled her nose and tried to ignore the sounds he made as she peeked at the surface of the desk. She wasn’t in the habit of sneaking a peek of his letters within his presence, although she did look into his affairs as often as possible outside of it, to keep abreast of situations that he would otherwise not discuss with her. She hoped that she could make out a few words while his back was turned.
At first she took the words as a joke at her expense. The letter was addressed to her.
My Dear Wife, I feel frightfully ill. I think that I might hurt you like I hurt that poor kitchen servant before I came to our chambers tonight. My headaches, my stomach churns, and I sweat like a pig. Please call for the Physician right away. Something is not right.
She made an incredulous laugh in her throat and looked up from the shakily written letter. “Are you poking fun at me? I don’t find this funny in the slightest.” She looked up from the letter and turned to see that he was no longer occupied with the wall. He was staring directly at her with a strange pallor around his face. His eyes were red rimmed with deep bags beneath them. His glassy eyes wasn’t reflecting the heat of sexual interest, they were emulating the void look of putting a stranger to labor. What she saw in his gaze was unsettling. He looked at her as if he didn’t know her. No warmth, no recognition, just a blank, empty stare following her every movement with rapt attention.
Attempts to get him to speak to her went in vain and she began to take his letter more seriously. Something was indeed wrong with him. She had never seen something like it before. A Physician would surely know. It was within the moments of those realizations when she took a hard seat behind his writing desk and began to draft three letters.
A shuffling noise jerked her to the present as she awkwardly signed his name. So far he had been content to shuffle and bump against the wall passing his gas and keeping a disturbing eye on her. Concentrate. She expelled a deep breath making the flame flicker. Bundled nerves in her stomach convulsed as she silently prayed that it did not go out. She did not want to be in the pitch dark. Not with him. Her fingers tightened around the quill and she held her breath, grateful when the flame did not extinguish.
Completing the last letter, she stared at the words for a moment allowing them to dry and having a moment to think. She sent a scathing glance at the corner of the room, daring him to speak up now. He didn’t. Hearing his ragged breath made her shiver and she signed this new letter with her own name. Then one by one she rolled them, slipped a band around them, and bound them with a wax seal. Adding the family insignia before the wax cooled, she rose to her feet feeling the confines of her dress push against her ribs.
Despite her nervousness she crossed the expanse of the small room elegantly. Firmly, Esther pulled the thin door open and met eye contact with a waiting servant. She gave him a look full of ice and intended threats. “Lord Lockette wants these to be dispatched immediately. No delay, is that understood?” With a nod, he took them and fled, boots slapping loud against stone. Shutting and bolting the door, Esther barely glanced in her husband’s direction and left the nook quickly. There was no physical door between it and the bedroom, and she couldn’t have wished for anything more in the present moment. If Richard became worse or began to display true violence in his sickness she would need to alert the estate staff. It was something she hoped wasn’t going to be necessary. If the staff found out how sick he was, then they would realize whatever commands she gave in her husband’s name were not as powerful. Richard was three times her age and the servants, while polite as to be expected when he was around, were not so polite when she was left alone. Esther did not know if her age ostracized her, or if it was the love they seemed to bear for Richard’s past three wives who’d passed on before her. Either way, these walls did not hold much in the way of affection. If she had known what she was walking into from the start, by now she might have commanded their respect, but it was all that she could do to build herself up from their low expectations, with the tentative threat of her husband backing her words. They seemed to know that they didn’t have to abide by her will. Or just didn’t care enough to take her seriously on her own.
Esther leaned against the ornate bedpost in the middle of the bedroom. She brushed her fingertips against the red and gold draperies that hung around it while keeping a steady eye on the candle in the den until it extinguished with a plume of smoke. If he turned on her now, pulling all affection from her, she might as well forget having any kind of li
fe within these walls. Standing there, even in the darkness that surrounded him, she could swear she could still feel his penetrating gaze on her.
Molly stepped inside with a swift tap on the door to announce her arrival. A squat older woman, she was almost wider than the doorway that she stepped through. Wearing grey linens and a white cap to keep her grey hair in check, she peeked around the room to locate Esther. Her round head nodded upon finding her quarry.
In normal circumstances a Lady’s maid would not be able to get by being an ill-suited match to her Lady. It was required of one to attend, care for, and to respond to every whim the Lady required as she was tasked to do. A true Lady’s maid would know her Lady’s mind before the Lady herself knew the thoughts were crossing it. It was supposed to be a smooth flowing relationship; one to do with respect as much as duty.
In the Lockette estate however, Molly’s under-qualified and numb personality was bought and paid for under Richard’s ignorant nose. He simply did not seem to care one way or the other, as long as the staff did not disrespect Esther in a public way. Esther’s decision, for lack of choice otherwise, was that it was better to have an aloof maid than a cruel one and learned to keep her complaints—that did nothing but irritate Richard—to herself. Esther speculated that his warm feelings toward his past wives had been utterly spent on them and there had been little left over for her turn. Or maybe he was just prepared for her to die like the others and thought it was unnecessary to become attached to her. He never talked about them, so she did not know. The thought made her cold most nights.
If Molly had been a bit warmer with Esther, she would have picked up on the vibes being thrown out and then gone about finding why things were not right. Molly may have found the issue of particular interest to her personally, though she didn’t have a sense about such things. Instead, she hustled in with her big hands fluttering around as she walked and began to help Esther remove her clothes.
“Has there been any issues between Lord Lockette and the kitchen staff today?” Esther had to know. Had Richard truly harmed someone earlier? The idea was less settling that he might have than the reasons for why he had. He took to being sick within a matter of hours and she couldn’t shake her nervousness over his condition. It was the look in his eyes that had done it. Perhaps there weren’t emotions of love flying around their marriage the way that she’d hoped, but he’d never looked at her that way before. Not even when they’d met for the first time.
Molly paused and looked confused as she replaced the dress in the hanging closet. Closing the doors of the beautiful painted cabinet, she stopped to think about it. Molly had seen the red mark on Lady Esther’s cheek but had made no comment. As it was only a red mark, and not a bruise to be covered with the necessary salve, it was none of her business. The girl was too uppity as it was. Served her right. Besides, by morning the redness would be gone and nothing need be done about it tonight. Now, the odd question about the kitchen staff. “No, Lady Lockette, I was not made aware of anything particular.” Her tone was flat and uninterested. It was true. She’d been busy with other things most of the day and had not yet stopped into the kitchen. Molly didn’t feel even a twinge of regret over the purposeful vagueness.
Esther turned, looking Molly over, and inclined her head as she watched the portly woman withdraw a nightdress and drape it over her thick arm. Esther supposed that if there had been an incident, she probably would have been made aware of it by now. Nodding, Esther turned back around toward the nook to give Molly the advantage of unlacing her corset when her gaze met Richard’s blank unblinking stare. He was standing just beyond the borders of bedroom candlelight. Watching. Her heart began to pick up its pace as time stood still.
Esther walked slowly backwards, watching him as he watched her, and when her legs met the bed, she sat down heavily upon it. Molly hadn’t seen her employer, Lord Lockette, in the darkness and she clucked her tongue in impatience at the Esther’s delay. She gestured for Esther to stand up and turn so that she could complete swapping her from her day clothes into her nightclothes. But Esther wasn’t listening to Molly and felt as if she was made of stone as her pulse ticked away in her neck.
Richard staggered forward into the light, and she felt all warmth leave her face. He had been sweating profusely which was evident by the way his pale skin looked waxy and wet. His thick, salt-and-pepper colored hair was matted against his neck and forehead. His shirt was plastered against his skin as if he might have bathed fully clothed. Yellow stains with chunks of food had solidified in the area of his stomach down to his groin where it looked like he’d leaned forward and vomited into his own lap at some point. His eyes were bloodshot and full of a red color like she’d never seen before. Like the whites of his eyes had burst. The looks he had given her earlier had made her nervous. This new look terrified her on a whole new level.
Esther opened her mouth to say something, but the words turned into a gasp when he leapt across the room and flew at an unsuspecting Molly. Molly didn’t stand a chance against the assault. Richard grabbed her head and tipped it back hard, knocking the cap onto the floor. Mouth open wide, he leaned forward—moaning an unsettling keening sound—and sunk his teeth into the soft, doughy skin of her neck like it was a piece of ripened fruit. In a moment, Molly’s face had gone from rigid with shock to incomprehension to terrible pain as his teeth dug into her. She tried to scream, but between the angle of her neck and the fact that his teeth gouged at her, all she could manage was a gargle. Dropping the nightdress, her hands flailed as she attempted to reach back behind her to push Richard away. Flailing and wheezing, she realized that her arms were too small and she couldn’t reach no matter how hard she tried to dislodge him. Her large body shook like a sack of flour as arterial blood spurted forward and sprayed Esther in the chest, splattering the corset.
Esther had never needed to scream for help once she’d reached adulthood and out of habit, she let loose a caterwaul that sounded like a cross between a duck being stepped on and a wild monkey. Mortified by her miserable attempt to call for help, Esther used her booted feet to push herself as far from the carnage as she could, but what she failed to recall in her terror was that the bed did not go on forever. She crashed onto the floor on the other side of the bed, striking headfirst on the throw rug. Dizzy, she scrambled along the floor and pushed herself into a kneeling position to peer back up and over the bed. She prayed that the scene she’d just witnessed was not real. It didn’t make sense, and her mind was having trouble believing it.
Everything was the same…but worse. Blood flowed from the wound coating Molly’s gown and Richard’s face. Where the blood had sprayed and splattered against Esther now dotted and stained the bed linens. There was a scent in the air. A fresh, thick metal smell that made Esther gag.
Molly’s neck was a flowing red gash. How Richard managed to keep her upright was anyone’s guess. The woman was sagging in his arms as he tore more meat from her body. Most of her neck was already missing—a gaping hole of blood and muscle—down to the shoulder where it disappeared into her gown. He was...feeding on her. It hadn’t just been a feral bite. He seemed to be swallowing as well which rolled Esther’s stomach.
Molly was gurgling, blood spitting as she still tried to scream, reaching out a hand to Esther across the bed. In a moment of clarity, she knew she had to escape the bedroom or risk the same fate. Richard had been coming for her, she was sure of it. Molly had been in the way and she’d unwittingly saved her life. But in order to keep it, she had to get moving. Esther ducked and scrambled on her hands and knees toward the bedroom door, sliding around a footstool. Her knees bruised beneath her undergarments as they struck the smooth stone, but she couldn’t feel the pain yet. Pushing to her feet, her boots struck the stone floor hard and she sent a prayer of thanks that Molly hadn’t gotten to remove her boots earlier. Then, she staggered at the sudden realization that her knees were actually in pain and almost fell over.
Righting herself, she ran to the door and p
ulled it open as she heard Richard start to chase her. She looked over her shoulder to gauge how close he was and she shrieked. He’d dropped Molly’s body on the floor to pursue Esther. Molly’s body twitched, blood still pumping copiously from her wounds as it spread across the floor in a grisly puddle.
He was close. It would take one leaping grab and she’d be trapped. Grasping at the door, she saw the wet blood and feral expression on his face and she couldn’t stop shrieking. He opened his mouth and snarled at her just as Esther managed to swing the door closed when he reached it. Richard hit the other side growling and making loud frustrated cries in his throat. When he began to beat at the door, Esther screamed and jumped back into the middle of the hall, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.
A breeze raced down the hallway, and with a shiver that had to do with the cold as much as fear, she realized that by her standards she was practically naked in public. It was against her upbringing to be seen running scandalously around the estate in her underwear. Her mind was admonishing the necessity, but she had little choice other than to be outside her room in them as she moved from the sounds Richard was making behind the bedroom door. There was no way she could go back inside and politely ask for a dress to wear.
Maybe if she could quietly slip toward the trunk of her seasonal clothes on the bottom floor she could pick out something to be properly dressed in. She crept down the hall, careful not to make a sound that would give her away. But as she reached the stairs, the sound of shrilled screams below in the dark made her change her route. It sounded like it’d come from the main entryway. She turned and ran back down the hallway, passing beautifully carved doorways with gleaming polished handles.
