by Allison Wade
I am guided by my senses and I finally reach it. My nostrils sing the triumph of the next meal: it is a body! A corpse. Dead.
Doesn’t matter, my hunger is too much.
Without hesitation, I open my jaws and take the first bite. My teeth sink into the flesh, I feel the fluids of the creature slipping down my throat, on my chin, they stain my face. My jaws do not stop, I keep my avid chewing, I bite pieces of skin and flesh and I eat... what a wonderful feeling!
* * *
“How do we find him?” whispered Anselmo, in the ear of Father Guglielmo. The sun had already set; the last few devotees were preparing to return from the prayer wake on the lonely path that led from the monastery to the country. The two of them were hidden among the vegetation of the surrounding countryside, armed with crucifixes, necklaces of garlic, holy water and pointed sticks.
“It will be on the trail of new preys; this is the only place where he can find them. Nobody gets out in the evening since the outbreak of the plague and the creatures of the night are not allowed to enter the houses.”
They saw a woman, which, stopping to collect the rosary that had fallen from her hands into darkness, found herself isolated from the rest of the group. They quietly followed her, remaining hidden among the trees that lined the path.
The woman looked around bewildered, as if she had experienced a noise or a presence, then she hurried up and tried to reach the others. It was then that he appeared to bar her way, a black shadow, slender, wrapped in a long cloak.
The woman started to scream, but he hastened to cover her mouth, then stopped on top of her, as to smell her.
Anselmo did not resist and jumped out from the trees, with a cross in his hand, shaking it towards the creature. “Get away from her!”
The monk followed him reciting, “Vade retro Satan’s beast!”
The creature, caught by surprise, let go of the woman, who just ran away, and turned to the two intruders.
Now, under the crescent moon, his figure was visible: he had the traits and the physicality of a man, tall and thin, with deathly pallor and long hair, matted and black, but his face was deformed in an angry grin. He opened his mouth showing pointy fangs and hissing like a cat at the sight of the crosses and the scent of garlic.
Anselmo hesitated, appalled by his appearance. “Who... who are you, demon?”
“Vampire!” said Father Guglielmo, and then he bustled about with a couple of flints to light a torch.
The vampire laughed. “Stupid mortals. You had courage to chase me, only the two of you. I am the Lord of Nachzehrers, devourers of the night!” His accent sounded foreigner, from the east.
Anselmo pointed his sharp stick at him. “You’re the one who brought the plague in our country!”
Meanwhile, the spark caught on and Father Guglielmo managed to light the torch; there was no time to waste on small talk. He sprang toward him, threatening him with fire. The demon walked away, but did not run; it was too much the desire to hunt his new preys.
He caught Anselmo from behind, snatched his garlic necklace with a cry of disgust. The Father took the opportunity to approach him with fire. The flame seared the vampire’s face and alight his long hair, forcing him to give up and gesture to smother the flames. It was only a temporary distraction. The next instant, the demon, furious, jumped on the monk, throwing him to the ground, causing him to drop the torch.
The Father tried to resist, pressing the cross on his chest, causing him to scream in pain, burned, but he could not make him desist from his hunger for death. As the creature flung open his jaws to bite the neck of Father Guglielmo, Anselm came from behind and pierced his heart with his stick.
The creature screamed into the night, howling at the moon his last groans, then slumped to the ground lifeless.
Anselmo helped the monk to get up. “Do you think he’s dead, Father?”
Father Guglielmo went to pick up the torch that wasn’t extinguished yet. “Ashes to ashes...” he whispered, and then set the vampire’s clothes on fire.
Within a few moments, the body was engulfed in flames.
The two men watched him burn and be consumed slowly, making the sign of the cross.
When the fire was extinguished, the monk sprinkled the remains with holy water and put them in a sack. “He will be buried in consecrated ground, so that it could not rise again.”
They walked toward the convent.
“What about that girl who was bitten?” asked Anselmo.
“She will die,” replied the monk, somberly. “She will die and then rise again, unless we stop her. The Nachzehrer is also known as shroud chewer. Once infected, the body wakes up after death and, guided by hunger, it start to bite and feed on everything it encounters, to regain its strength and become a true vampire. By doing so, it drains the energies of human beings, exposing them to diseases and plagues. But there is a way to prevent this from happening.”
* * *
A new energy runs through my veins, I feel my body become stronger, my mind is clearer, my eyes penetrate the darkness and I can finally see.
What I bit and devoured greedily is the body of a young woman with alabaster skin and long dark hair. Its aroma of wilted flower intoxicates me.
I feel the strength flowing back into my arms; I can finally move the upper part of my body. I lever with my elbows and try to sit up, raising my back with effort. Now I can look around.
I’m in a crypt dug in the rock, I lie on an altar of stone and there are other bodies here with me, dozens of corpses disfigured by the signs of the plague. They’ve been left this way, haphazardly, thrown with resigned neglect when the space for the dead was no longer sufficient; the bodies piled on top of each other, abandoned. Like the young girl that has been cast upon me, which has now become my source of nourishment.
I’m not ready, I’m not complete yet. I need more blood, even if it’s as bitter as gall, and more flesh, even if it’s flaccid and rotten; my hunger has not yet subsided.
I grab her with both hands and I maul her white neck as I feel her lymph flowing inside of me. I have everything I need here to rise again.
***
Lightning, thunders and finally the rain.
The water came down from the sky, unstoppable, absorbed by the thirsty and needy earth, cleaning up the streets, purifying the air.
Anselmo greeted it with renewed optimism, while, dressed in his vulture mask, he loaded the girl’s body, wrapped in a blanket, on his cart.
Two days had passed since the night they killed the vampire, and now, inevitably, the bitten girl had perished, overwhelmed by his poison.
The mother said her goodbye with the sign of the cross, while the rain washed away the last tears from her face.
Anselmo spurred his horse without looking back, heading to the graveyard where Father Guglielmo was already waiting for him.
He had dug a hole under the pouring water, his few hair plastered to his head, his robe soaked and heavy, with drops flowing from his eyelids and the curves of his face. He felt almost cleansed. He greeted Anselmo’s arrival with a nod.
The doctor came down from the cart, but this time he didn’t took off his outfit. A mixture of fear and anxiety had crept into his heart, but in the end he trusted the monk and would follow his instructions.
“Place it here,” said Father Guglielmo pointing to the side of the hole.
Anselmo dumped the bundle trying to deposit it with as much delicacy as possible.
The monk leaned over, and uncovered her face. Only then Anselmo noticed the strange objects he had brought with him: a stone and a hammer.
“What are you going to do to her, Father?”
“To prevent the Nachzehrer from rising, we need to prevent her from feeding. It’s only this way that she can gather the energy to escape her grave.” With his bare hands, he grabbed the girl’s face and opened her mouth, then took the stone, which had the size of a foot, and rested it on her tongue, inserting it into the oral cavity. “We hav
e to stop her from chewing.” He picked up the hammer and with a few blows the stone sank into the young girl’s skull smashing her jaw.
Anselmo looked away, disturbed; a shudder ran through his spine like icy fingers.
The monk placed a crucifix on the victim’s chest, uttering muffled prayers and then concluded, “We have done everything we could. Now help me.”
Anselmo regained his cool and returned promptly to give his support to the monk as he lifted the body to place it into the hole. The incessant water had soaked the cloth and now that miserable bundle seemed overwhelmingly heavy.
They dropped it to the bottom and then began to shovel the wet dirt to seal the grave.
The Father ended with a prayer for the dead.
“Have you found other sick people with bite marks, in the village?” he finally asked, startling Anselmo.
“Not that I remember, not this month... all whom I visited had the signs of the plague.”
“So maybe we are safe. Pray to God that this nightmare has come to an end.”
Anselmo made the sign of the cross.
“Amen.”
***
So be it.
The time has come.
I gathered my new energy feeding on flesh and blood, I feel my power grow, I feel an ancient and dark force pulsating underneath my skin.
Every fiber of my body is throbbing of its essence. My legs are infused with strength and vigor.
I get off from my altar and finally stand in all my stature. I have a strong young body. My clothes are humble, but a new nobility pervades me. I am the Lord of the Night, I hear the call of the moon and the stars.
I hear the call of a new hunger.
This time it will be living blood and healthy flesh.
A new awareness takes over me.
Nothing could stop me anymore.
The Amulet
“I can’t find it anywhere.” Shana is in a cold sweat while she rummages through her things in the caravan.
“Maybe you placed it someplace,” I reply, faking indifference.
“You don’t understand, Tasha! It’s an amulet that belonged to my mother; she gave it to me for protection, the night she disappeared. Without it... he will find me... I feel his presence, at night, outside the trailers, I feel him breathing, I see his dark shadow... he comes for me!” Her eyes are wide open. It isn’t just superstition; it’s pure terror what I read in them.
I try to reassure her. “I’m positive you will find it.”
Shana puts her hand under the pillow and gives a start. “Here it is!” she smiles at me, relieved.
I observe it with attention; it’s a round shaped charm with a black spiral carved in. “Yep, that’s it for sure.”
“How did you know? I never showed it to you before...”
I sneer. “I’ve been looking for you for so long, Shana.”
The Show Must Go On
“Come on, Ladies and Gentlemen!” shouts the host from the center of the ring.
The show is about to begin, and the audience crowds at the entrance of the big top.
“You’ll see the rocket woman and the two-headed calf!” shouts the little man with his drawn mustaches, winking in his red and white uniform with golden buttons like an officer of Her Majesty.
“The dwarfs, the bearded woman, and the strongest man in the world!”
The people clamor, take a seat, cheer.
Silvie is listening behind the curtains; she is the girl with no legs that walks on her hands (something you’ve never seen!).
She gazes at her brother/sister, Priscilla, touching up his make up in his stage costume, the sparkling red spangle suit, the ostrich feathers, his long legs hugged in tights, and the perfect ballet shoes.
The monster comes to them grunting – the man with the dog face, they call him.
“It’s time to go on stage.”
Silvie and Priscilla look at each other with an invisible nod, a bump, and the face powder rolls to the ground. “Can you pick it up for me?”
The dog man mumbles and bows, Priscilla knocks him down, and takes his legs.
He struggles and kicks and grunts.
Silvie moves on her hands, grabs the rope with her teeth, chews the knot, unties it, and the basket of dirt falls heavy from where it was suspended and ends on the misshapen head of the monster.
“You’ll never touch us anymore, animal!” shouts Priscilla, raging and thirsty for revenge. “Never again.”
The blood spreads in a dark pool, and Silvie laughs so loud that they almost hear her. Her half-life will be happier, she’s sure.
Priscilla is ready to perform his part and shouts his cry: “Help! Help! An accident!”
While the other freaks rush in, Silvie conceals her laughter behind a false fear.
“Don’t be afraid, Ladies and Gentlemen. We will be there soon. The show must go on.”
Island Folk
The people from the continent always berth here, at the south dock.
No one goes too far inland. Usually they make business with the fishermen; no one cares to know how we live, lonely and withdrawn. They call us “island folk” and they look at us as if we were aliens.
During the wintertime, the strait freezes, and we remain isolated from the world for three months. No one could come to rescue us if we are in danger; no one could hear the screams of those who get lost in a storm.
The tourists haven’t any interest in this strip of land thrown in the sea.
Once in a while, someone comes into the city, for a bowl of soup at Sue’s Diner. Rumors about her seafood soup, only them, have reached the other side of the strait.
But we, the islanders, know how to mind our own business, and the people who come from outside don’t go beyond the northern woods. No one visits the other side of the island.
Not anymore, since the time of the first conquerors, when it was still home of natives and ancient believing.
Our ancestors, whom first moved to this inhospitable land born from the sea, haven’t forgotten what once was. They ventured to the other side; they saw the cave of the big stone idol.
We’ve forgotten his name, that has gone lost with the memory of the last elder who died on the island, but we never stopped fearing and worshiping him.
He protects us from storms and tragedies; he assures us abundant fishing to feed our families.
The price he asks in return is not as high as it seems.
Just a piece of flesh for a whole winter.
I served for many years the Great Spirit; he gave me a long and prosperous life.
Now I’m old and tired. My skin is burned by the sun and spoiled by the harshness of winter. I’ve done my part already, and I sit here, on the quay, with a peaceful smile on my face.
People that come here, the strangers, don’t understand the reasons for my smile. They look at me in horror, frightened, some of them with pity and compassionate eyes.
I greet them showing my toothless mouth, my watery eyes, yet fierce for what I, along with the island elders, have done for our children.
Once in a while, my beautiful granddaughter, Anna Lou, comes to the dock to pick me up. She’s brave my Anna Lou, so young and still she already sacrificed her little finger. She wanted to do that for her eighteenth birthday.
Full of pride she grabs my wheelchair. She smiles and winks to the fishermen and to the strangers, then she pushes away her old grandpa, the man with no limbs.
Many think that my life is sad and miserable, but they don’t know that all the sacrifices I’ve made were for the good of my people, for my spot of Heaven lost in the sea.
Technology
Reality
“The public vote is closed. Leopold, you’re evicted.”
The attendant pushed the button for the lethal injection.
Binary Code
One and zero.
On and off.
Luke bit his fingernails with voracity, like he was craving his own flesh.
O
n the dark screen in front of him, the white cursor kept flashing on and off.
Black and white.
He looked down at the two buttons on the lower side of the screen: on the first a vertical line, on the second a circle.
One and zero.
His knees started to ache; he had to stand up and stretch his legs.
He turned around the cell, a perfectly cylindrical cell, like the bottom of a pit. A few feet above him, there were bars cutting out the night. An emergency light on the wall was the only source of light. Except for the blinking dash on the screen.
He followed the cracks in the stone with his fingers. They turned all around, carved at regular intervals of about eight inches. They run parallel like bended tracks, placed up to the height of six feet.
Tracks. Double tracks. Binaries. Luke chuckled hysterical.
He didn’t even remember how he came up there. The night before he got seriously drunk. Maybe he ended up talking with the wrong guy.
From some point, all became cloudy, confused, and dark.
When he woke up, it was late morning; he found himself grounded there, with that screen staring at him like a window facing nothing and just two buttons at his disposal.
At first he had pushed them, just for curiosity, only once for each.
One and zero.
Nothing happened.
Still it seemed him to hear some noise, like a clack, behind the walls. Maybe it was just his impression.
But he hadn’t dared to push them anymore. First, he must think, understand.
A whole day passed crying, calling for help, invoking for someone that wouldn’t have come.
He dribbled a puddle of his own thicken vomit and turned back to fix the flashing cursor.
