I paced incessantly across the wooden floor, mindful of my master’s path as he hurried about his work. He went over to Hase’s cage, lifted the cover – he kept it covered during the day for Hase’s protection – and drew several vials of the rabbit’s blood while he slept. Cluttered masses of beakers, maps, and journals orbited and merged into each other on the table. I wish I had known more about calculations or science; it was torture not knowing how things were progressing, made worse by not being able to ask. My master only spoke to himself when he worked and he preferred German.
The Detective stopped by around midday in his guise as the amiable woman with fine taste in roosters. ‘She’ had ‘her’ companion, who I recognized was the friend from the night Abraham met the peculiar man, bring in a tailor’s mannequin that had been covered by a thick white sheet. When the Detective removed it, I could see that there was a very close reproduction of the Count’s outfit beneath, including the billowy dark black cloak with the brilliant crimson inner lining. The mannequin was crowned with a dark black wig that reminded me of the slick, smooth coif the Count sported. He gave Abraham some tips on maintaining the disguise and when he was through with that the Detective offered Abraham the last piece of the puzzle.
“I know where the ceremony shall take place.” The Detective moved over to the map and instantly pointed it out. Abraham had been off by about half a kilometer. Not a terribly large amount, by terms of calculation.
“How?” asked my master.
“I have a reliable source, an inside source, as it were.” The Detective nodded. “I trust him.” he assured us. “I also took the liberty of wandering about the wilderness in costume.” He gestured towards the be-caped mannequin. “I ensured that I was seen by gipsies and animals alike. There will be talk of the Count’s miraculous resurrection. No doubt they will consider it quite clever that he ‘falsified’ his own demise.”
“No doubt.” Abraham smiled. “I could not have done this vithout your help. You are a true friend, Detective. I fear that I have little to offer you in return. Nor, do I believe I vill ever get the chance to repay you.” My master’s smile dimmed. “Vhich is vhy it pains me to ask you for yet another boon.”
“Doctor, you are fighting directly against the forces of chaos. You are owed for your sacrifices. Ask, and I shall endeavour to see your requests met.”
Abraham thanked him and handed him several parcels of letters. Either way he wasn’t going to have a chance to send them out. The three men – my master, the Detective and his friend – shared a drink and said their goodbyes.
“It has been a pleasure, Detective.”
“Likewise, entirely. We may yet meet one final time. You see, I have my own rather drastic measures in place. Extremis malis, extrema remedia.”
“Ja, das is vhat they say. Good fortune, mein freund.”
“Good luck.” offered the Detective before adopting the mannerisms of a woman once more and stepping out into the street. A carriage conveyed him out of sight and out of our lives.
There was only one final drastic step in a long parade of drastic steps that needed to be taken.
I followed my master into the cellar. It was dark and the earth was soft. The lantern light reflected eerily off of the hypodermic needle that contained Hase’s blood mixed with the chemical concoction of Abraham’s transfusion formula. Outside, the sun was setting, the dusk casting its deep shadows across our apartment.
I knew he wouldn’t understand me, but I wished him luck all the same. Abraham caught my gaze and nodded grimly before finding himself the darkest corner of that dank hole.
At the end of the night, the needle was empty and my master was dead.
October 31
The sun set and I could hear Abraham stirring in the cellar. He moaned a dark, mournful cry and I knew that there was a large part of him that regretted ever waking up again.
But there was no time for regret or reservations: this was the big night. Everything we had worked for would culminate in the preservation of the earth and humanity. It was too horrible to think of what would happen if we failed.
I saw Abraham’s hand wrapping about the door frame as he dragged himself out of the cellar that had become his grave. He was pale, but the injury on his arm no longer seemed to be bothering him. I knew he had a whole mess of other troubles to worry about now, though.
He looked over at me with an alert, nearly feral stare. There was a battle raging behind those eyes and I’m ashamed to say that for several moments I considered running. But just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Abraham’s iron will had held out. He raised himself up, but it was an alien and unnatural motion, his body drifting upwards at odd angles until he stood straight and tall. He forced a smile at me and I noticed the elongated canine teeth he now sported. Abraham tore the bandages and splints off of his arm. There wasn’t any sign of his injury on his undead body. My master flowed towards the mannequin and the outfit that the Detective had put together half slid, half appeared upon him as he moved in tight flickering bursts. It was hurting my eyes to watch him, but I found myself transfixed.
“I can feel his familiar in my mind. Of course he vould have chosen a bat. So easily controlled, his…” my master began speaking in an eerily uncanny copy of the Count’s Eastern European accent. “Children of the night!” He pulled the wig from the mannequin and brought it over to the the mirror that was hanging on the wall by the mantle. “The familiar vill do as I…” His voice died on his lips as he stared at himself in the mirror, or, more appropriately, his lack of self. “Ah. Right. Ja, that makes sense.” Abraham made do without his reflection as he tucked his locks under the dark, straight-haired wig. He pinned it into place before raising his arm – cape draped over it – and hid the lower part of his face as he prowled towards me. My heart quickened as I stared at him. He wasn’t a hunter anymore, he was a predator, in the spitting image of the predator.
I took a step back and he stopped, turning a shameful gaze down towards the ground.
“I am sorry, I should not have frightened you, Hahn. I vear his image but I vill never be him. Nor vill I ever have his centuries of experience. I… I feel a certain strength… but also veakness. Mein Gott, I am so hungry… thirsty. I do not remember vhen I have ever been so ravenous. But even this I can endure… for just vun night.” He whispered. He locked his eyes with mine. “I make an offering to the fire that vill be in the middle of the circle and declare my allegiance. Anything that the openers attempt, it vill be up to me and any other closers to counter?”
I nodded once.
“Alright, then..it is time for my opening night performance.”
I scratched at the floor with my silver spurs and looked away.
“Poor choice of vords. I must go. Mind the house vhile I’m avay, Hahn. I vill see you soon, Ja?” He slipped the dark stoned ring onto his finger.
I really hoped so.
And with that, Count Abraham flowed out the door. He was like a shadow, darting quickly across the moonlit road and off, towards the damned hill where it would all play out.
I was left alone.
The cages rattled.
No, not quite alone.
“Stop it.” I said. Even I wasn’t in the mood for playful banter with the girls or Hase’s somewhat lax ‘Master of the Night’ routine.
“No, Hahn, we won’t.” The girls chirped their soft, sarcastic little chirps. “You don’t get to tell us what to do… and the old man is gone now…”
For several moments, the only sound was the howling of the baleful wind rattling against our apartment and then the cage jumped in place as I heard the girls impact forcefully against the metal rungs.
I moved forward, leaping onto the desk and stood at the cage’s side.
“You smell so good, Hahn… oh we just want a little taste… we’re oh so peckish…” The cage jerked towards the edge.
“No! Don’t!” I crowed, pushing myself between the cage and the long fall to the hardwood floor.
I braced against the cover and was met with the knife-like jabs of their beaks. They tore through the leather as if it were paper. Sharp spikes of pain erupted along my body. I backed away in surprise, falling from the desk. I landed heavily on the ground, too shocked to beat my wings fast enough to cushion against the impact.
“Delicious…delicious…delicious!” They sang in chorus, hissing and laughing.
I watched in stunned terror as the cage teetered over the edge above me and with one final push from the girls, launched itself over the precipice. I flapped and jumped out of the way with barely enough time to avoid being smashed into the ground beneath it. The cover had been partially dislodged from the cage and they were busy tearing through the wreckage. I heard the metal bars snapping and I could see their glowing red eyes peering out from the inky darkness within.
“Save some for me!” shouted a voice from above. Hase probably thought he was commanding them, but it came out sounding more like he was begging for scraps. Scraps of me.
My mind raced. The girls were getting out and the first thing they were going to do was kill me. I had to focus. I had spent the last several months in the company of the most prolific vampire hunter in the world. Some of that had to have rubbed off! My head darted quickly back and forth as I scanned the room. I caught sight of Abraham’s satchel, my carrying case – the one with his supplies in it – lying by the door. Once I had a goal, I was off. My footfalls punctuated the girls’ taunting; something flew silently overhead and I tried not to notice it. I had to get in that bag! I admit, as far as life saving plans go, ‘get to the bag‘ wasn’t a great one, but I liked to think of it as a work in progress.
One of the girls skimmed over me just as I got to Abraham’s tools. I caught a flash of ivory feathers before she disappeared high above me. Suddenly, things had become far too quiet.
I pushed my beak up under the flap and began to climb inside. I felt exposed with my tail feathers hanging out of the bag while I groped blindly past the wooden stakes and the mallet, which wouldn’t do me any kind of good.
“Don’t hurt us, Hahn, please don’t hurt us…” Their voices were muffled, but I could hear the scorn in the girls’ tweets. Nobody can pull off scathing derision like a cockatoo. I felt something at the very bottom of the bag, my beak scraping along beads as I tried to get a grip on them.
Pain. Something ripped into my hind quarters and dragged me out of the bag. It was too strong. I made one last desperate grab for what I hoped would be my salvation as I was torn away from Abraham’s bag of tricks and dumped onto the ground like so much rubbish. I saw the beautiful, deadly, lithe girls rushing forward, their wings extended over their heads and their eyes wild and hungry. I tossed my head to the side from my position on my back and felt the swing of the beaded loop as I jostled the rosary in my beak from left to right. The crucifix at the end flew in ungainly arcs but the girls recoiled long enough to allow me to get my footing.
They began circling me, more like vultures than cockatoos. They hissed and tried to dart at me, but I was fast too. I shifted my weight, using the rosary like a shield. Every brandish was rewarded with them retreating. But every time they withdrew, they gained more room to separate. They surrounded me and it became harder to keep tossing the rosary in their way.
“Hahn, the great hunter… do you really think that’s what they’ll say? Come on, you know just where you belong…don’t you want us? We want you…There’s only one way this can end.”
I took a long slow breath and realized that they were exactly right. I jerked the beaded loop back so that it would wrap around my neck and I’d have my beak free again.
They rushed me, all at once, and it was in that instant that I let my instincts guide me. All we ever have in this world are our instincts, our reason and our tools.
I kicked at one of the nearly identical cockatoos behind me and I felt my silver spur gaining purchase in her body. She screamed as the others descended upon me, their talons and beaks driving into me, but the pain became an afterthought. It didn’t matter what they did to me anymore. It only mattered that I fought them. Another flash of silver and the one I had wounded fell back, decapitated.
The remaining two screeched their torment at me and lifted me into the air. They didn’t seem to have to flap their wings to fly. I struggled against them. One of the two drove her beak into my side and I could feel her start to drink. I cawed out in agony. The other stared eye to eye with me and I could feel my mind getting fuzzy, until I struck forward and tore out one of her hellish red orbs with the sharp point of my beak. I reared up and kicked, dragging both spurs down across her brilliant white breast and she fell away, her meat sizzling from the silver.
I was left hanging in mid air, growing weaker as the remaining monster drank my lifeblood. I tried to pull away but she had a vice grip on my wing and she used my movements against me, wrenching it out of place with a series of pops. I twisted so that the crucifix hanging along my chest would be pressed against the back of her head. She tensed, pulling away from me, and I saw that her once-yellow beak was painted in my blood.
She was fast, spinning in place and tearing at my head with her long, sharp claws. I only barely managed to move my eyes out of the way. She raked my comb excruciatingly, but had left herself open. It was then that I had a startling realization. These weren’t soldiers. They were victims of a disease. My spurs dug into her and we fell to the ground. One of the girls was still and headless. The other two were still fluttering around, shrieking pain and surprise. I pushed my aching body off the floor and I felt a terrible sadness.
There was only one treatment left for these poor souls. The final two decapitations were the easy part. Abraham’s custom spurs saw to that. I had never removed a heart with my feet before. It was slow going at first, but by the last creature I was starting to feel like a real professional.
November 1
I don’t know when I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, but I awoke in my master’s cold grip. I can’t imagine I looked much better than he did. He noticed that I was stirring and he offered me a pale smile. The wig had been removed so that his curly orange-yellow hair with white streaks hung down along the sides of his head once more.
“It vent better than I feared.” he said wearily. “Quite the experience.”
I nodded and felt a wave of relief flood through me. It was over. I looked around at our surroundings. We were out along a meadow, the dark night sky was brightening to a soft lavender in the distance. Birds had begun to sing their good mornings to the world.
“So they escaped?” he asked, knowing I couldn’t respond. “I’m sorry I left that to you, truth be told mit all the excitement, they slipped my mind. But I had left things in good hands, Ja? You did vhat you had to do. I left the cover off of Hase’s cage. It vas the only mercy I could offer the poor creature. It is never easy, but for vhat its vorth, you have made me very proud. I vish ve could have had just vun more talk.”
I stared at him. We could have one more talk, he could just get somewhere dark. He was a doctor, maybe he could have found some kind of cure? I didn’t know much about medicine but I knew that such a thing could take decades if it was even possible at all. I knew Abraham. He could never bring himself to feed on another soul. The hunger would have driven him mad.
He walked for a little longer, before settling down on a quiet hillside that overlooked a peaceful brook. The sun was breaking in a long bright line that traced the horizon for as far as I could see. It was in so many ways the most beautiful sunrise that I would ever see.
“And, at least for another turn, the vurld continues. Men and vomen everyvhere vill see this very sunrise that ve are sharing, blissfully ignorant of just how close the end of it all had been.” he chuckled softly. “It doesn’t matter what condition you are in at the end of the fight. All that matters is that it vas fought.”
He was right. My wing hung useless at my side, I ached everywhere, but I have never felt better in the entire span of my e
xistence.
“Oh, Hahn. Are you vatching this; have you ever seen anything so vunderful?” he gestured towards the approaching sunlight as it crawled across the meadow. The darkness was forced back further as the light captured territory speedily. “You vill sing for me today. And everyday after that, vill you not?”
I swallowed and turned my gaze from my dearest friend down towards the cold grass.
“I know, mein freund. Some days you vill not feel like singing. But it is on those days vhen it is the most important to do so anyvay. So please, for me, vun last time, ja?”
I stared forward at the rising sun and I crowed. I crowed as loud as I could and though every fiber in my being suffered, I sang for my friend and I sang for me and I sang for the whole damn world. Abraham never screamed. He never fought, not even when he was engulfed in the fires that were ignited when the sun’s rays touched upon him. He just sat and listened to me with a kind smile and closed eyes. Attention, world. We are here and we are unbowed.
Auf wiedersehen, mein freund.
Derek says: A Night in Lonesome October, what a story, huh? I loved it from the moment I discovered it, devouring the whole book in one sitting. It had everything: the delightfully skewed narrative perspective of Snuff, a cast of characters that would put the Avengers to shame for sheer star power, mystery, murder, deception, a cat-powered tour of the dream-realms and all this blended liberally with all the horrors-that-lay-beyond a young Lovecraftian could ever want. It was an inspired work by a monumentally gifted author. And that is exactly what the greatest authors do with their stories. They inspire. This collection of work is testament to that fact. A Counting Game is my own humble effort to honor Roger Zelazny. I really hope you’ve enjoyed Hahn’s adventure! It was an incredible amount of fun spending time in such a rich world, one of my favorites, hands down. For its part, A Counting Game is my own twist on derivative pieces like Grendel and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. I’ve always had a soft spot for works that help you look deeper into classic stories we all know so well. I’m very proud of A Counting Game and my heartfelt thanks goes out to Roger Zelazny for helping me discover my love of the genre what seems like aeons ago!
Lovecraft eZine Megapack - 2012 Page 53
