Second Hand Curses

by Drew Hayes

  It was this curiosity that ultimately led to the undoing of their idyllic home life. While they had lessons with the cast-off corpse parts, Father had forbidden him from going to the basement where the good bits were stored. The explanation given was that the environment down there was delicate, and a few minor mistakes could wipe out their entire stock of backup pieces. It was a good reason, one that put his safety in jeopardy if he ignored it, but he was still childlike in his naivety, and mischievous exploration went hand-in-hand. By the time he understood where such impulses were coming from, it would be too late.

  One evening, when Father and Igor were drinking and playing cards, he snuck down to the basement. There was a thick padlock on the door, however he’d read more than enough on blacksmithing and metallurgy to find its weak points. A single smooth blow at just the right angle was enough to snap off the lock, revealing the cold room within. He wandered inside carefully, taking Father’s warnings to heart, and began to inspect the materials available. There would be no disguising the break-in, but if he could prove his theories to Father then all would be forgiven. Father was a man of science; he would understand the breaking of rules to see boundaries expanded. It was the sort of thinking that had led him to create life in the first place.

  Most of what was down there was ill-suited to the purposes in mind, fingers and toes that looked at the point of turning, if not past it. But as he rounded a corner, new options came into view. They were small, too small to be useful for extremities; however the freshness was worlds above everything else in here. As he perused, a trickle of fear and doubt crept into his mind. These pieces…they were too small. Too small, and a touch too familiar. With every new bit that came into view, his stomach grew tighter. Part of him screamed that he should run, apologize for breaking the lock, and never come back here. Yet more of him, a part buried deep within his skull, urged him forward, demanded that he see what his Father had done.

  By the time he found the jar, he almost knew already, but the sight was still enough to bring him up short. The head was preserved well in whatever liquid Father had put inside. It might have been dropped in yesterday by the looks of it, yet he knew better. Because he knew when his last surgery was, the one that gave him his new, far improved pieces of brain, as well as a replacement right eye. The eye that still dwelled in his socket, a perfect match for the brilliant blue one staring back at him from the depths of the jar. There was shock in the expression looking at him. Shock, betrayal, and terror. She’d thought she was being led to safety. He’d thought the same. But they had both been wrong, and she’d paid the price for it.

  A droplet fell from his face, splashing to the cold ground softly. Reaching up to his cheek, he realized the stolen right eye was crying. It was odd; he understood the mechanics of tears yet he’d never experienced them for himself. Then again, perhaps he’d simply never had reason to. Looking around, he took in the body parts with a new perspective. How many had been taken from corpses fresh in the ground, and how many were stolen from those still using them? His eyes continued downward to the tapestry of his own body. So many pieces. So many stolen parts. This was the price of his life, the cost that Father had paid to bring him into the world.

  And it was too high.

  There was no telling how long he stood in that freezer. The cold didn’t bother him; it would take true freezing to accomplish that. He just stared at the jar, and the contents within, trying to comprehend what he should do. This was wrong. Father was wrong. They weren’t creating life at all. They were stealing it, moving it from one being to another. His very existence was a sin, although he couldn’t imagine any god that would allow a creature like him to exist in the first place. He should end this here, tonight, and restore the natural order.

  Sounds came from outside the room, stirring him from his reverie. Father and Igor must have finished their game and come looking for him. When the evening began, he’d had such high hopes of greeting them with a cheerful surprise and a successful experiment. It seemed a lifetime ago, and in a way, it had been. Only that life wasn’t his. But their arrival reminded him of an important fact he’d nearly forgotten: they would try again. Father was nothing if not driven, and now that he knew it was possible nothing would stand in his way. More parts would be assembled, more lives lost. They might even start with what they had on hand.

  That thought was enough to force his body into action. Shelley had already lost enough for the mistake of trusting him. He wouldn’t see her raised as a monster. No one else, ever again, would know the pain of this existence. Turning, he walked briskly out of the room, emerging just as Father and Igor finished descending the stairs.

  For a moment, they stared at him and he looked back at them. Something had changed, and Father could sense it. Carefully reaching behind him, he shut the door to the storage room. The dead didn’t need to be disturbed by what came next.

  “I’m sure you have questions,” Father said. “And I will be glad to answer them. I’d hoped to spare you from the messiness of life for a while longer, to keep your education pure and theoretical, but you now know there is a cost for scientific advancement.”

  “You killed that girl. You used me as your pawn and had me bring her to her own execution.”

  “She fell into a stream and was swept out of sight before anyone could jump in,” Father explained. “So far as the world knew, she was already dead. And she would have been, if you hadn’t saved her. Isn’t it only fair that she helped to save you, too?”

  There was no remorse in Father’s words, no guilt at what he’d done. For the first time since his creation, he could see Father’s true character laid bare. The man cared for nothing. Not people, not decency, only for science. Perhaps in time he would have become like that as well, but Father had made an error in choosing the new pieces of brain. These still carried the tinge of life and goodness that had existed before. Some part of Shelley still lived on in his mind, telling him that this was wrong. And knowing that made what he had to do all the worse, because it would mean forever tainting the one spark of humanity inside him.

  “He’s not listening,” Igor called. The hunchback was searching for his axe, realizing too late that it was propped up against the wall near the storage room. “He’s nothing but a monster with bloodlust in his eyes.”

  Igor was a toady and a fearful shit, but when he was right, he was right. Carefully, the monster of the manor stepped forward, wrapping a dead man’s hand around the shaft of the axe and lifting it easily into the air.

  “You dare call me monster? You, whose handiwork I’ve just witnessed?” Looking down, he could see the terror in Father and Igor, see the way they truly viewed him. The axe in his hand trembled ever so slightly. “Perhaps you’re right. I am a monster. But I’m far from the only one here. We are all monsters, the whole lot of us. And so it is only fitting that we meet a properly monstrous end.”

  * * *

  Making their way to the pier was the riskiest part, as it was when they’d be the most easily spotted. Only the cover of a cloudy night and dark cloaks allowed them to make it without raising an alarm. Careful as these kidnappers were, they hadn’t counted on the possibility that someone would climb along the underside of the pier, dangling above the waters that teemed with gnashing teeth and empty bellies. It was a fair possibility to dismiss, since what sort of fools would have both the physical strength and the lack of self-preservation to ever try such an infiltration tactic? Well, the Bastard Champions, as it turned out.

  Frank had the easiest time of them all. His limbs didn’t properly produce lactic acid, so fatigue took far longer to accumulate in his muscles. While his stamina wasn’t endless, it was near enough to be a meaningless distinction in most discussions. Marie had allowed her body to shift slightly, enough to turn her nails to claws and cause her muscles to swell substantially. Holding that half-form was no simple task—when they’d first met her she’d never have been able to even imagine such a feat, let alone execute it—but as th
ey quietly clawed their way along the pier’s underside she held her form steady. That was a good thing, too, since the rope around her waist and tethered to Jack was their leader’s only lifeline if his own grip failed him. Jack was the only one among them without any magical enhancement, so he was the most at risk for tumbling into the water below. Luckily, as Jack had brought up then refused to expand upon when Frank raised the concern, he had a lot of experience climbing.

  Nonetheless, by the time they finally passed the last gate and arrived at the spot where the wooden area expanded to accommodate an entire theme park, even Jack’s well-trained muscles were beginning to shake. They wasted no time, moving to the nearest edge and hoisting themselves up behind a tent that played host to a shooting gallery. Thanks to the late hour, the Land of Toys was largely silent, as even the most rambunctious of children still needed sleep.

  Hunkered down behind the tent, they all took a moment to rest and compose themselves. Not a word was whispered among them; all the necessary details of the plan had been worked out before the sun had set. Marie was going to track the children’s scent to wherever they were being held and then lead or terrify them all to freedom. As the most physically imposing of the group, she stood the best chance of dealing with any guards or security she might encounter, and a few well-placed roars would get the most defiant of brats sprinting away from her as fast as their legs would carry them. Jack and Frank had another job, however. Pinocchio had been clear, he didn’t just want to save the other children, he wanted to be sure this never happened again. Young as he was, he probably had no idea what he was really requesting, but the task was still given. Every captor here would have to die to ensure the scheme wasn’t resurrected elsewhere. Frank’s powder would have made the job easier, but they hadn’t found time to buy supplies to make more of it, so they would have to do things the hard way.

  Once everyone was ready, they all exchanged brief nods and made their way off in their own directions. Finding the children might be a difficult task, but locating the owners of this establishment was no trouble at all. Like most tyrants, the adults valued comfort and decadence, which manifested in a large, lovely mansion plopped down in the middle of the pier. A pair of guards stood outside the front door, keeping a cursory watch as they visibly struggled to stay awake.

  Frank’s first blade caught his target in the eye, sinking deep into the brain and killing him instantly. The second guard began to turn as he noticed his companion wobble, just in time to catch a blade to the throat. He struggled to cry out as blood poured forth, but Frank had aimed for more than just the jugular. With severed vocal chords it would have taken a miracle for him to wheeze loudly enough to draw attention, and there was no miracle coming for this man. Only Jack, with a blade of his own, to finish the job.

  That done, they dragged the bodies out of sight and quietly slipped inside the mansion. If they were quick and quiet, they might be able to dispatch most of their targets before Marie’s chaos fully bloomed. The quick worried Frank more than the quiet, for few knew better than he just how silently Jack could move when the need possessed him.

  * * *

  Fire burned all through the mansion, claiming every scrap of Father’s research. When it was done, when the morning came, there would be nothing left. No notes or journals to stir curiosity in new minds, no experiments to cause a commotion, no machines to recreate. He’d smashed everything he could, burned every document there was, and now he was letting the flames finish the job. Only once in his night of destruction had he left the manor, one trip outside to dig a small unmarked grave and offer up a prayer to a god he was already sure wasn’t there. But he could see why humans did these things; it was a ritual that gave comfort to the living, if he could even be described as such. With everything finished, he walked into the study on the top floor, filled with the books he’d so enjoyed. This was the closest thing he had to a room, or a place of peace, so it only seemed fitting he’d meet his end here. Father’s final experiment, his greatest and most terrible work, would burn with the rest of the manor.

  Lying on a nearby table were the few personal effects he’d bothered to keep. The axe, with which this monstrous nightmare had been put to an end, a few of his favorite books, and Father’s black equipment bag that he’d used to both patch and teach his creation. A few items of comfort to go with him as he departed this world. He didn’t know how one was supposed to die; this just seemed as good a method as any.

  “You know, when the soothsayer told me a corpse unlike any other awaited me across the Endless Sea, I have to say this was not what I’d expected.”

  He whirled around to find a man standing nearby, casually examining the bloody axe as smoke began trickling into the room. Noticing the movement, the stranger gave a cheerful wave of greeting. “Evening, sir, or perhaps we’re nearly to morning. My name is Jack, and it is a genuine pleasure to meet you. I have to say, I’ve been watching all of this for the last couple of weeks and I am truly impressed with what the doctor managed to create in you. One of a kind, you know?”

  “Who… How…” His mind faltered under the sudden shock and strangeness of the situation. It was all winding down, he was at peace with the ending, and now suddenly this Jack fellow had disturbed everything. Worse, he just admitted to having seen all that transpired over the last few weeks. That meant he knew what Father had created, and perhaps even bits of how it was done. No one was permitted to live in this world with that knowledge. Much as he wanted to be done with the killing, it seemed the task wasn’t over yet.

  Lunging forward, he expected to wrap his hands easily around Jack’s neck and grind it to powder. Instead, his fingers closed only on air as Jack moved nimbly out of the way. An instant later Jack delivered a swift kick to his knee, sending him tumbling down hard to the floor.

  “Careful there, your creator might have educated your mind to the ends of the world but he obviously didn’t teach you much about using your body. Sorry to say, but I’m afraid I won’t die nearly as easily as those two. Or that girl.”

  Rage burned in his chest as he hefted himself up, swinging wildly for Jack, who dodged the strikes as if he already knew where they’d be. Jack repaid the attack by smacking him across the skull with the flat of the axe, though he had no idea when Jack had picked it up.

  “That’s what this is all about, right? Your creator tricked you and you led that girl to her death, so now you’re trying to atone by dying.” Jack was suddenly overhead, axe in hand, and in a flash Jack stooped down while pressing blade against his foe’s throat. “Fire is a bad way to go, trust me on that. Since you’ve decided to piss on that girl’s memory and take a coward’s way out, why not go all the way? I’ll chop your head clean off and spare you the pain of burning. It’s what a fearful fool on this path deserves.”

  Who was this madman? Why was he fighting an undead abomination in a room filling with more and more smoke? And what right did he have to belittle the choices of atonement made by someone else? “I am a monster. What else can I do but die to make right my sins?”

  The slap was quick and fierce, though it hurt little. Jack’s hand moved so fast it was a blur; the only proof it had twitched was the slight stinging on the pale cheek above the axe blade. “I don’t care much for that word. Never have. You want to be a monster, then prove it by dying here. But know this: no one made you one. You chose to be a monster right here and now by leaving only blood as your legacy. If you’re truly sorry for what you’ve done, if you really want to atone for that girl’s death, then a peaceful end isn’t the way to prove it. Stand up. Stand up, grab your things, and go make amends by actually doing something. You’ve got strength and smarts the likes of which most men will never know. Do you really think there’s nothing, no one, no child, out there who those gifts couldn’t save?”

  Just like that, Jack was up and the axe was back on the table. Slowly, the creature pulled himself up from the floor, watching Jack hesitantly the whole while. “I am hideous. Dead parts stitch
ed together. No one will ever allow me to do good. I’ll be feared and hunted everywhere I go. There is no one who can see me as more than a monster.”

  “Really? Do I look like I see a monster?”

  It should have been a nonsense question, yet he realized for the first time that Jack was right. In all the madness of the last few minutes there had been many strange moments, but not once had Jack looked at him with the flicker of fear or disgust that always lingered in Father’s and Igor’s eyes.

  “Am I to take you as an example? You broke into a burning manor to harass a beast woven from the flesh of the dead. You are clearly insane.”

  “Very much so,” Jack agreed. “But that doesn’t make me wrong. Not much time left, you know. Soon this place will go up in flames. Are you going with it, or would you like to come with me? I can take you somewhere new, across the Endless Sea, where people are a little more accustomed to the unusual. The path won’t be easy, there’s danger at every turn where I go and few who join me survive. There will be people along that road, though, ones who invariably need help. I’ll even make you a pledge that if those people are children, I’ll make sure we lend them any aid possible. And if you join me, you will never be alone. I take very little seriously in this world, but loyalty is a rare exception. Walk out with me tonight and until the end I will stay at your side.”

  “You can’t possibly make such an extravagant promise to a thing like me, especially one you’ve only just met.”

  “It’s my life, my freedom, and I can do with it as I damn well please,” Jack rebutted. “Now what are you going to do with yours?”