by J. C. Diem
I should have had plenty of time to get used to the idea of my impending death. I should have had years, decades or even centuries to steel myself to the inevitable. Instead, I’d been untimely stricken down by my dark and brooding protector before I could even begin my destined job of whittling down the vamp population.
A pout formed on my lips. It just isn’t fair! I hadn’t even started to kill off the vampire race yet and I had been reduced to being a head in a box. I knew who was at fault here. “Yes I do,” I murmured into the darkness of the box just large enough to contain my hacked off head. “Yes indeedy.”
Lord Lucentio might have been the one to separate my head from my body but I remembered who had given him the order. “The praying mantis,” I snarled in a truly evil tone. Most vampires referred to her as the Comtesse. I called her a praying mantis because her midnight black eyes were set too far apart. They were also as creepy and soulless as the insect I named her after.
During our very first meeting I’d figured out pretty quickly that I didn’t like her. Mostly because she’d made me strip naked in front of two hundred or so courtiers. I figured she’d done that to humiliate me and to put me in my place. I had the feeling that she wasn’t happy Luc had made me his servant. He’d sworn centuries ago that he would never turn a human into one of us.
It was a lie, of course, me being his servant. Silvius had been my maker but we couldn’t exactly tell people that I’d offed the old guy. Murdering your maker was a big no no for vampires. That was one more thing that set me apart from the rest of my kin. I’d killed my master and had survived.
Getting back to the Comtesse, the second time we’d met, she’d ordered my death. It had all been a bit hazy to start with but I was remembering it very clearly now. I also recalled what Luc had said to me just before chopping off my head. He’d said that no vampire could refuse an order given to them by their master. Luc had told me earlier that his master was dead and that he was a free man. If that was the case then the Comtesse shouldn’t have had any power over him. Yet he had followed her order anyway. I found that little fact very interesting.
After my head was severed from my body, it had bounced to a stop at an angle where I could watch as my body was hacked apart by frenzied guards. When the chopping was over, the Comtesse had examined my remains. I’d begun shutting down then but had seen something odd about her shadow. It had moved of its own accord, just like Silvius’ and Alexander’s had.
I might be down but I still wasn’t out and I knew two secrets about the praying mantis that few others knew. Number one: she was Luc’s true master. Number two: the Comtesse had a shadow that acted independently. This was a fact that only I could possibly know because I was the only one who could see them in action.
Her shadow had spoken to me as my poor rent body had been kicked into a heap and I’d been on the edge of blacking out. “Did you really think you were any match for us?” It had whispered in my mind. “You have failed, Mortis and now we are free to rise.”
It sounded crazy but I was certain that the shadows were tied to the creature that had created the vampire race in the first place. The prophet’s journal had explained how we’d come to be. A book I’d acquired after dispatching Alexander the sewer vamp had confirmed it.
A long, long time ago, an alien that was close to being a demi-god had shared its blood with a human, promising the fool eternal life. It had lied, surprise, surprise. We didn’t have eternal life at all. What we had was a temporary and often miserable unlife. We could be killed pretty easily if you knew how to take us down. Some of the more wily vampires managed to live for thousands of years but in the end we would all be reduced to being messy stains on the ground.
Over the millennia, the alien blood in our veins had begun to evolve. Eventually, it had begun to change our shadows, turning them sentient. On two occasions, shadows had acted against me directly. Alexander’s had even managed to possess him and take over his body. Eventually, they would all gain the power to do so.
Once this happened, our shadows would then be in charge. That could only mean one thing; the progeny of our long dead alien father would be in control of the deadliest creatures on earth.
Chapter Three
My memory was complete and now I knew how and why I had become a head in a box. When my body hadn’t instantly been turned into noisome liquid after being decapitated, the Comtesse’s solution must have been to hack me to pieces.
The picture of my dismembered limbs being kicked into a small pile was fresh enough. It was a gruesome sight but I fixed it in my mind and examined it closely. Through the ragged tears in my clothing I made out severed feet, hands, legs, arms and my body in two pieces. All up, including my head, I now consisted of eleven separate pieces.
Despair threatened to overwhelm me. I tried to tell myself that it could be worse. Yeah, they could have left me out in the sun to be incinerated instead of burying me. I’d accidentally caught a tiny dose of sunlight not long ago and it had burned my finger right down to the bone. It had taken hours for the flesh to reknit and that was after Alexander had turned me into a super vamp that healed like lightning and could now sleep like a human.
I’d almost forgotten about that last perk. Most vampires fell into a state that reduced them back to the corpses they were during daylight hours. That rule didn’t apply to me anymore. Now, if I wanted to, I could stay up all day as long as I stayed out of the sun.
Usually, a vamp had to be hundreds if not thousands of years old before they could resist the magic that animated our bodies and forced us down for the day. At a rough count, I determined I’d been undead for just over three weeks now. I was still practically a baby, yet had powers far greater than even the oldest vampires I’d met so far. Yeah, well look where my magical powers have gotten me; I’m a head in a box!
If my body parts had been dragged out into the sun, what would have happened to me? Would I have died? I wonder why they didn’t try it? It was useless to speculate about it and I wasn’t sure what difference it would make anyway. The rest of me was most likely trapped in ten other boxes just like the one my head was being kept in. There was no hope of escape for me. For all I knew, my other pieces were scattered all through the UK or even across Europe.
An even more horrible fact occurred to me then. They’ve cut me up, buried me and left me here to starve to death. I’d seen what happened to vampires when they starved themselves and it wasn’t a state I aspired to. The prophet Luc and I had visited in Romania hadn’t eaten for a couple of hundred years, or so he’d told me. He’d looked like a dried up piece of beef jerky and had smelled like cinnamon.
I was a lot younger than the prophet and I didn’t think it would take me anywhere near as long as it was taking him to mummify. It would still take years if not decades to reach that state. I’d woken up in the box a couple of hours ago and I was already starting to get antsy from inactivity. I’d go crazy long before thirst dried me out.
How could Luc let this happen to me? Sure, the Comtesse had ordered him to lop off my head and he’d been helpless to resist her. But how could he stand by and let them box me up? Either he didn’t really care about me, which was a devastating thought, or she’d ordered him not to interfere. Personally, I was hoping the second explanation was the accurate one.
Since becoming undead, I’d learned to sense when the sun was about to rise from the way the earth seemed to heat up just before dawn. It was probably a warning sign for vamps that death was fast approaching. Being buried in a box an unknown distance below the ground, I couldn’t feel the heat of the sun. But I could still sense it up there anyway, shooting out its blinding, burning rays.
All other vampires in the area would be either dead asleep or fighting against the compulsion to sink into welcoming darkness. I felt no such compulsion but decided I might as well try to sleep anyway. Closing my eyes, I willed myself into oblivion.
My sleep was deep and dreamless. Awareness flooded back when I opened my eyes ag
ain, bringing deep depression with it. If I could stay asleep until I finally expired, I would. But I was wide awake now. Awake and alone. I was just a head in a box with no one to talk to and no way out.
To break the silence that had quickly become monotonous, I alternated between humming popular pop songs and dry sobbing in self-pity.
Halfway through mangling a song, I sensed someone approaching on the surface above and my dry sobs ceased immediately. I had no idea how I knew that a vampire was standing there, staring at the spot where my head was buried. I just knew.
They stood there for a long time before moving away. It never occurred to me to scream for help. If the Comtesse became aware that I was still unalive down here, I was pretty sure she’d have my remains dug up and staked out for the sun to finish me off. No more sobbing or singing, I warned myself. Not at night-time anyway.
An itch started up on my chin and almost instantly began to drive me insane. My tongue wasn’t quite long enough to reach it and put me out of my misery. Without a body to anchor my head with, I couldn’t roll over and rub my chin in the dirt. It had been difficult enough just rolling it over in the first place. Now I knew what paraplegics felt like, unable to perform a task as simple as scratching an itchy spot.
You’d think the itch would stop after a few minutes but it just kept getting worse and worse. I tried puffing air on my chin but was absolutely unsuccessful since I didn’t have lungs to fill with air or the ability to breathe at all.
“Why does death have to suck so much?” I shouted. Clenching my hand in frustration, I went still in shock when I realized the sensation wasn’t just my imagination. Somewhere out there, I could feel one of my hands.
Closing my eyes, I concentrated hard and pictured the box containing my head buried beneath the ground. Then I imagined myself rising up out of the dirt. My consciousness seemed to coalesce over my head before drifting away, seeking out the hand.
Without actual eyes in this insubstantial form, I couldn’t tell where I was buried. I glided through darkness without any landmarks to guide me. After what felt like a short trip, I stopped over the spot where I could feel my hand buried. Gathering my will, I sent it into the ground.
My hand was right there but now what? A crazy idea hit me; if a shadow could possess its vampire owner, why couldn’t I possess my own hand? It was worth a try so I forced my consciousness into the cool flesh.
My right hand convulsed when I took it over. Success! The crazy idea had actually paid off. At times I wished I had a vampire handbook to consult so I’d know all the rules. Now was not one of those times. I was pretty sure no other vampire had ever managed to possess their own severed body part before. Being told what was and wasn’t possible might be more restrictive than helpful to a creature as strange as I was.
Tentatively, I clenched my fingers and realized the hand was clutching something. Dropping the object to the ground, my fingers explored it and ascertained that it was a metal bobby pin. The memory of popping the impersonator’s head came back to me again. I had closed my hand around the small object almost instinctively after her head had disintegrated. This might come in handy, I thought. Just how it would come in handy wasn’t clear yet but I tucked the bobby pin between two fingers for safe keeping anyway.
Grit beneath my palm told me that my hand was also buried in box that had been partially filled with dirt. It’s probably been blessed by a priest or something. What I didn’t know about vampire culture could fill a book. I couldn’t think of any other reason why they’d put dirt in the boxes.
Chucking my dismembered body parts into an empty box and burying me just hadn’t been enough for the Comtesse. She, or one of her minions, hadn’t taken any chances and had gone with holy dirt as well. Luckily, holy symbols and holy water had no adverse effects on me. Fat lot of good the dirt was doing to keep my unholiness at bay. In fact, it might even end up working in my favour.
Keeping a tight hold of the bobby pin, I set about exploring the box. A couple of inches of splintered bone poked out the end of my severed wrist. It didn’t hurt but the torn flesh was ragged and unhealed. At first I dragged the broken bone of my wrist along behind me then figured out how to walk on my fingertips. It took some practice to balance my hand and the tail end of my wrist without dropping the bobby pin but it was a quicker way to move around.
Just like the box my head was buried in, this one was also about a foot square. Locating a corner, I stuck the bobby pin upright in the dirt so it would be easy to find again. I wanted to see how high the lid was so flattened my hand down in preparation to launch it into the air. Flexing my fingers, I made my hand spring upwards. It hit the lid quickly, which meant that the dirt was only a few inches from the top.
Part of my consciousness remained with my hand as I opened my eyes again. They stared up at the small metal lock a few inches above my head. I swivelled my gaze from the lock to the hinges. Even if, by some miracle, you did manage to pick the lock, how are you going to get the lid open?
If the box was buried several feet below the ground, surely the pressure on the lid would be too great to open it with only one hand. Then again, I was a super vamp now. I was strong, I was determined and I was edging towards becoming extremely bored. It was the boredom that would get to me the quickest.
Waiting around to wither and die just wasn’t me. I’d survived through Silvius, Vincent and Alexander’s craziness and the battle with the imposter pretending to be me. I would get out of this box and exact my revenge on the Comtesse if it was the last thing I did.
“If you don’t get out of this mess, it will be the last thing you do,” I reminded myself dryly.
Chapter Four
Sending my consciousness back to my hand again, I set about instigating my great escape. I began by pushing the dirt up against one of the walls. My aim was to climb up high enough to be able to reach the lid.
There were four walls to choose from and I had no idea which one contained the all-important lock. That’s if there even is a lock on this box. Just because your head was buried in a container that can be opened doesn’t mean the rest of you has been. What a cheery thought that was. Until I discovered that there wasn’t a lock, I’d assume that there was one.
With no time pressure weighing on me to get the job done, it didn’t bother me if I had to repeat the process of wall building several times.
Hollowing out the middle of the box, I packed the dirt against the wall until it was high enough for me to climb up to the top. It was frustrating not being able to see what I was doing but I persevered. What else was I going to do? Take a break to watch TV? Open a book for a read? Scratch the itch on my chin? Out of the three, the third option would be my first choice.
Feeling along the crack at the top of the box, I came across first one hinge and then the other. Ha, take that, doubtful subconscious! Hinges were a sure sign that there would be a lock to break open.
I’d gotten lucky on my first try and I only had to shift the wall of dirt once to reach the lock. Working tirelessly, my hand knocked the wall down and started again on the opposite side of the box. Before long, my knuckles were scraping on the lid so I knew the wall was high enough.
This time I’d built a wider platform in order to make a solid base to work from. My hand had the annoying habit of overbalancing and falling off the platform. This would have been a lot easier if less bone had been sticking out the back.
Scampering down the rough ramp, I searched for and located the bobby pin in the corner and carried it back to the top of the box. It took only seconds to locate the lock. Closing my eyes, I concentrated all of my will on the severed hand and inserted the bobby pin into the lock. Be patient and for God’s sake, don’t break the bobby pin. The pin was my only shot at breaking my hand free. If it broke, all hope would be lost.
My lock picking experience was non-existent and my skills in this area were turning out to be fairly shabby. If I’d still been able to sweat, it would have soaked my brow due to my fierc
e concentration. The pin scraped against the insides of the lock, fruitlessly trying to finesse it open. Clearly, I’d never be a successful burglar.
I’d been probing the lock’s insides for hours and daylight was approaching before I finally felt something shift inside. Dropping the bobby pin, I pushed up against the lid and felt it give. “Yes!” my head croaked in its own box while my hand did happy cartwheels. It slid off the ramp and came to a halt facing palm up. I let it rest for a while before attempting to open the lid.
After a few minutes, I made the hand climb the ramp again and feel around for the metal pin. The hairpin would be crucial if I wanted to spring the rest of my body parts free. Locating it, I awkwardly clasped it between my pinkie and ring finger again. Then I braced my palm on the flattened surface of the dirt wall and pushed against the lid.
Little by little, it began to lift. My pointer finger worked its way into the crack first and the rest quickly followed. My hand wormed its way free, clawing at moist dirt. It was suddenly halted when the lid clicked shut on the bone protruding from my wrist. Burrowing into dirt, my fingers pulled the hand forward until the shattered bone was clear. I felt a faint vibration through the dirt as the lid snapped shut again.
Free! It’s free! I rejoiced at my success but deep in my mind I despaired that it had taken me so long to accomplish the task. There were still ten more pieces of me to exhume. At this rate, it would take me a week or more to free myself completely. I didn’t want to spend any more time than was absolutely necessary beneath the ground.
Since the sun was currently up, it would be a bad idea to dig my way up to the surface. A hand that had been barbequed down to the bone wouldn’t be of much use to me. Another thought dawned on me then. If someone came at night to check that the grave of my head hadn’t been disturbed, maybe the rest of my dismembered remains were also being guarded. If so, then digging my way out anywhere near where it had been buried would be a bad idea, bordering on idiotic. I, Natalie Pierce, was many things but thankfully I wasn’t an idiot. Others might have a differing opinion but they weren’t here to argue with me.
