Toska

by A. R. Kingston

  Victor pulls the Lada over to the side of the road and shuts it off; we’re close to where the entrance used to be. I follow him as he trudges through the deep snow over to a rusty iron gate, no one has been able to open this thing for the last twenty or so years. Climbing over an adjoining stone fence, he looks over at the sprawling hallowed ground before him. I can’t see where he is looking, but I have no need to, I know Victor is looking up toward the hill where my body sleeps. Targeting his mark, he sets off at a sprint through the freshly fallen snow, kicking up light white power behind him as he runs.

  Not wishing to let him out of my sight ever again, I float closely behind him. I’m having a hard time keeping up with him, guess those legends of superhuman speed and stamina of a vampire are not exaggerating. Fortunately, ghost do not get winded, so I pick up the pace and float closer to him, staying by his side. I am impressed as he skillfully makes his way through the maze of plots, without hitting a single buried stone as he runs.

  The cemetery is abnormally empty tonight; all the usual suspects are out haunting elsewhere, there must be something going on in town if they are all gone. That is fine with me though; I want to be alone with my Victor without having to explain our situation to anyone else. My hill is all the way at the end, and he does not stop running until he gets to a fence surrounding my mound. Hesitating, Victor opens the gate and slowly saunters up to my solitary bed of dirt where I have been since I was put there.

  Solemnly, he comes to stand over my grave, a frozen tear glistening on the corner of his eye. My resting place had been decorated with candles and evergreens by the locals, a bottle of Kagor sits firmly planted in the snow. Rolling my eyes, I shake my head, this is how I have spent the last one-hundred Christmas seasons. Generally, I do not mind the shows of affection I get from the few people who remember, but tonight I feel embraced at having him see me like this.

  Apparently not paying any attention to the state of my grave, Victor kneels at my mound of dirt. Lightly he brushes the snow which has buried my tombstone and gradually traces his fingers over the letters of my name, pausing briefly at each one. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out my ring and brings it up to his lips to give it a kiss. As he closes his eyes shut, a tear streaks down his white cheek. Holding my ring tightly in his hand he brings it to his heart. Stifling a cry down to a light whimper he places his forehead firmly against my marker.

  “How long has it been Katechka?” his voice is soft and anguished “You would think that it would get easier with the passage of time, that I would have gotten over you by now, found a way to move on. But look at me, one hundred and fifty-three years after your death, and I’m still bleeding from the wound you left on my heart when you died.”

  “I’m right here Victor, I never left,” I whisper, but he does not hear me.

  “I was here for your funeral you know, lurking in the shadows. I watched them bury you, my love. I was hoping it would give me closure, but it just made the wound sting more. I even planted this tree next to your grave. You always loved willows; I remember all the hours you spent reading under them to me while I laid my head in your lap. I just wanted you to know that I have not forgotten you, that I still loved you.” Victor stood up and wiped the tears from his face “And even though I know you are gone, your presence still haunts me.”

  “I’m not gone, I’m right here.” I protested, but my complaints fell on deaf ears.

  “I know this may sound strange, but I just can’t let go of this notion that you are still here.”

  “That’s because I am.” I scoffed angrily. Kicking the snow under my feet I managed to make it move, but Victor did not seem to notice.

  “The last few days I have been feeling like I am starting to lose my mind. Since the anniversary of that night, I have been hearing your voice, calling my name in dim alleyways. I feel your presence by my side as I walk, and in my bed, lying next to me as I sleep. I keep seeing you in my room and even smell your heavenly scent around me. So tell me, how am I supposed to let go when I can’t even let go of this fantasy that you are still with me?”

  His confession leaves me stunned, all this time I thought he was looking past me, but in reality, he was staring at me. I did get the vague impression that he could sense faint hints of my presence, but I did not think it was so prevalent. My heart lit up with joy at his revelations; if he can catch glimpses of me, it means there is still hope I can communicate with him. But how, how could I make myself known to him? Now that I am aware it’s possible, I must find a way to do it. I reach out and hold his hand in mine, and I can feel him shiver as we stand together under the cover of night in a lonely village cemetery.

  “I realize I’m being silly, I know this, but it’s just that I would give anything to see you once again.” Victor’s voice is choked with sorrow as he continues to lament before my stone. More tears fall from his face, freezing in the chilly winter night. “It was foolish of me to come here; I don’t even know what has come over me. I’m not even sure what I was hoping to find here, you are in a better place love, spared from knowing what a monster I have become.”

  With a defeated look on his face, Victor turned to leave, but I couldn’t let him go, not yet. I needed him to know I was still here, wished to tell him I still loved him. Seeing him in so much pain, hearing his words, I wanted him to feel happy again, and if I made him happy, then he needed to know I never left. He started to walk away, and not knowing what to do I did the only thing that felt right, I grabbed at the sleeve of his jacket.

  “Please stay.” I cry out as I take hold of the soft wool coat.

  This time my fingers took a firm hold of the material, not letting it go, once again I did something I could not explain. Not wanting to lose this opportunity I gave the sleeve a hard tug and Victor stopped dead in his tracks. Looking dumbfounded, he turned around and looked at where I was standing. Reaching his hand towards me, he stops right before my chest. Anxiously I met his hand and touched his fingers with mine. For a brief moment, the universe stopped moving, and I feel his skin on mine. But within a fleeting second, it’s gone, leaving us standing stunned in the snow.

  “Katya” Victor whispers in bewilderment.

  Mystified by what transpired we stand there, in the stillness of the night, neither of us daring to move or make a sound. The thumping of my heart is drumming a hushed beat inside my head; I can hear Victor breathing across from me. I have no idea what is happening to me, but somehow in the last few days, I was able to manifest in the world of the living more than once.

  Without a word, Victor turns around and sprints hastily down my hill away from me. Fearing he is going to go back to the city I run after him, hoping to stop him. I chase him all the way back to the car, climbing into the cab to join him. As the engine roars back to life, Victor starts down a lonesome snow-covered road, but to my relief, he does not turn around, he is heading straight for the center of town.

  The central part of the village is not too far from the cemetery, two kilometers if I remember correctly, the distance just doesn’t matter as much when you are dead. Few people live here now, and the roads are unmaintained. Victor is struggling to control the stearin wheel as the Lada attempts to plow its way through the fresh snow, weaving left or pulling right.

  There are no street lights here to light the road, and most residents are asleep, so no houses have lights in their windows. We are consumed by darkness as a wild blizzard rages on. The Lada’s wipers are sweeping back and forces vigorously, trying in vain to keep up with the dust that is cascading with unrelenting force. In the distance, a haunting song of a dog or a lone wolf can be heard floating through the tranquility of the twilight hours.

  The blizzard has gotten worse, and Victor skids to a stop in front of Kalinka, the only inn, and restaurant our town have to offer up to weary travelers. Once it was the place to stay at for traveling dignitaries, now it was only a skeleton of its former self. Its faded jade plaster is cracked, most of the windows had been boarded up
to keep the winter chill out, and the roof of an attached bakery had long ago given way to the heavy snow loads. It is the fate most buildings in Dedinovo have suffered, as the city grew and the village population declined not many were left to maintain what was left. Solemnly shaking his head, Victor put his hands into his coat pockets and headed for a shabby wood door that was Kalinka’s only entrance.

  The cozy warm lobby was musky and had a faint hint of mildew in the air, by the desk set a bucket, collecting water as it dripped from the ceiling. Olga was the night clerk here; she shared her duties with her mother, aunt, and older sister. I had always liked Olga, lovely young lady with a full figure and an attitude to match.

  She looked like one of the new age city girls: short red hair that brightened up her lively blue eyes, a metal stud under her lip and a ring through her eyebrow. This metal obsession seemed to extend to all her jewelry; with the studded bracelets, enormous silver rings decorated by skulls and bats, and a dog collar for a necklace. Olga never left the inn without plaid pants of various colors, accented by chains and a sleeveless shirt with an odd combination of words. Today her shirt said Megadeth and had a picture of some monster on it. I will never understand the young women today and their aversion to a cute dress.

  Olga was into the supernatural and often visited me at my gravesite, taking pictures of my moss-covered tombstone and dropping off offerings. Occasionally, during the warmer month she would roll a blanket out by the willow tree and read books out loud for me, mostly poetry books, but on occasion, I would get to hear a good Gothic novel. Tonight, she had her nose buried deep into a book of real-life ghost hauntings. Briefly glancing up from her text, she popped the gum in her mouth and studied Victor over carefully.

  “Long night?” She said shifting her weight in her chair to face him.

  “Yeah, something like that. Look, I got caught in the blizzard and just need a place to crash for a few hours. Something cheap if you have it.”

  Nodding her head, Olga turned around and pulled out a dusty ledger. She did not say anything as she scribbled in her book, but cheap is all they have here. I am honestly surprised, someone who is as well versed in the occult as Olga did not recognize not one, but two supernatural creatures in her lobby. Turning her swivel chair to a cobweb infested cubby which housed the keys she reached in and pulled one out, sliding it over to Victor, eyeballing him carefully.

  “I’ll give you room three; it’s the best one we got, well with the winter and all.” She snapped her gum. “That will be fifty rubles.”

  Silently, Victor reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of crumpled up paper bills. Counting out the right amount he placed it on the counter and grabbed the key, giving Olga a keen look. Collecting the crumpled-up bills, she shoved them in the drawer with her eyebrow raised. Victor opened his mouth to speak, and Olga pointed her finger down an empty hallway, returning to her book without uttering another word.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Victor set off down a long, dark hall. The inn had suffered many years of neglect due to limited revenue it brought in. Its once beige carpet under our feet was stained and worn, in parts, the floor underneath was starting to peek through. Faint cream plaster on the wall was cracking, parts of it had fallen off entirely to reveal the rust-colored bricks underneath. Milky seashell lamps along the walls were chipped and clouded, more than half did not have a working bulb in them.

  At the end of the dim hall stood the door to room three. What was once a stately entrance has not withstood the test of time well. The varnish had worn off long ago; it had a large crack going through it. A brass number hung loosely on its side, barely supported by a single screw. The wood frame that housed the door had warped over time, causing the lock to barely latch in place, and if you looked in the large gap, you could almost see the room on the other side.

  Victor unlocked the door with ease and went inside the chamber which looked no better than the rest of the building. It's faded, scuffed wood floors bowed out in some places and dipped down in others. The floral wallpaper that adorned the walls now looked like it was melting off their surface. A small single metal bed stood at the center; its canary chiffon bedspread had stains and patches all over it. Next to the bed, a small wood table housed a lamp with a missing shade, and next to it was a small window with sun-washed yellow curtains. If this was the best room they had, I sure did not care to see what they considered the worst.

  To my surprise, Victor was not put off by his modest surroundings. With a serene look on his face, he walked up to the tiny window, drawing its curtains closed. Kicking off his boots and tossing his jacket on the floor, Victor collapsed on the metal bed as its worn-out mattress moaned in agony. Curling up with his knees tightly against his chest, he pulls out my ring bringing it to his lips again, holding it there.

  “What the hell was that Katya…” he speaks barely loud enough for me to hear “…it was almost like I could touch you, you felt so real back there.”

  “I am real.” I murmur and collapse on the floor by his bed. “I’m as real as you are, I just don’t know how I can make you see that.”

  I want to sit next to him, to hold him, but the bed is far too small for me to lay next to him. Sitting on him just does not feel right either, so I stand up to hover above him, watching him suffer, helpless to take his pain away. Laying floating above him I extended my hand down and touched his cheek as tears start streaming down his face.

  “There you go again Katechka, once more I feel you as if you were here next to me, trying to comfort me.”

  “Because I am Victor…” I plead hopelessly “…I’m here so stop hurting.”

  “Don’t deny me my suffering Lord, I have earned it, I allowed the only woman I ever loved to die in the snow by your loving grace.”

  His words keep on twisting the dagger lodged in my heart with no mercy. Unable to tolerate it further, I float down and kneel by the bed. I cover him with my body, trembling as I hold on to him, yearning to be able to cry with him. Placing my head on top of his, I lean over to whisper in his ear.

  “There is no God Victor, it’s just me, your Katya. I never left, I have been searching for you. So please Victor, please stop crying, it's breaking my heart seeing you like this.”

  I don’t know if he heard me, but with a robust shiver, he stopped himself from crying more. Pulling my ring away from his lips, he placed it around his neck and closed his eyes. It did not take him long to fall asleep. I watched his chest rise and fall with his even breathing; his face looked like a child when he slept. I settled back down on the floor where I could keep a closer eye on him as he visits the land of dreams.

  With my back pressed against the small table, I continued to look on as he sleeps, touching his face, unable to pull away. I still can’t believe this incredible stroke of luck I had at finding him, it took far too long, but we are finally together again. There is only one obstacle in my way now, figuring out how to let him know I’m here. Somehow, I’ll find a way to become noticeable in this realm of humans, and when I do, Victor will stop suffering over what he thinks is a cold corpse in the ground beneath.

  5

  Sacred Vow

  I

  did not move from my spot all day, watching him sleep, listening to his muffled breath as soft vapor escaped his lips in the frigid room. The free time I had was spent on trying to figure out how to become solid again, but nothing I did seemed to work. Once in a while, the old steam radiator came to life letting out a soothing hiss as it spits out steam. The room never did warm up; I wouldn’t think it would with all those leaks and lack of insulation. In my spot by the window I pondered if vampires got cold, and they did, how cold was Victor right now.

  Waiting for him to awaken I wanted to cover him with a blanket to keep him warm, but no matter how many times I tried I was never able to succeed. Not that I had to wait long for him to wake up, the winters are long in Russia, and by the time six o’clock rolled around the sun has already begun to set. As if he was linked
to the rise and fall of the sun, Victor opened his eyes and rolled over onto his back. Pulling out my ring hidden in his shirt, he studies it up close as if it will tell him a clue he had missed. Leaning against the wall, I look on, unable to let him know I’m here with him.

  Finally rolling out of bed, he sits on the edge with his head bowed low before getting up. At the small window, he pulls the curtains back a crack and stares out into a forlorn village. This must be the first time he had been back since my funeral; he lets out a hefty sigh. Our village has changed drastically since then, not as much for me, since I was around for the change, but for him, it must look like a scene from some foreign land. From my spot, I continue to study him as he studies what damage time has inflicted on our once happy home.

  There is a change in him; he looks different, more alive. Dear Victor was so sad last night, so lost, but after we made our brief contact, he seems to have found his resolve again. Looking upon him now was as if I was looking at the Victor from days past, a man who would let nothing stand in the way of him achieving his dreams.

  Closing the curtain back up he threw on his coat and slipped his boots back on. Briefly sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled out the ring, clutching it tightly in his hand. With a firm nod of his head, he stood up and left his room, pressing the door shut tightly behind him. Halfway down the hall, he paused briefly to look over the missing plaster, shaking his head in dismay. I knew exactly how he felt, for the longest time I too had feelings of discouragement watching my village fall apart. It was starting to feel like the only thing that would remain were us spirits, but seeing as we were not tied to our graves, we too were bound to leave eventually.