by P. K. Tyler
Eleanor did not stir. She was deep asleep. Kissing her hand, Wolt felt a pang of guilt in his heart for disturbing his wife’s sleep. She had so precious little of it these days.
“Eleanor, I have news for you,” he said in his normal tone of voice. Brushing the locks from her face, he leaned forward and kissed the soft skin by her ear.
“Wake up, love. Good news for you.”
It was only then that Wolt noticed how cold Eleanor’s hand was.
“You’re cold, love. Should I bring you another blanket?”
Eleanor remained silent. Wolt frowned. It was unusual for Eleanor to sleep so deeply. He had to tell her the good news. She would be so happy. Surely, that merited waking her? Gently shaking her shoulder to wake her yielded no fruit. His heart froze. Ice claws of dread racked his back.
It could not be!
Yanking back the blankets, Wolt pressed his ear against her chest. Not a single thump-thump of her heart reached his ear. Fishing out his silver pocket watch, he held it to her nose. Not a single breath misted the surface.
“No! No! No! No! Eleanor! Wake up!” Wolt yelled and frantically shook her shoulders. Eleanor did not respond. Tears rolled over his cheeks as sharp stakes tore through his heart.
“Eleanor… no… don’t do this to me!”
The claws of dread cupped his heart and squeezed as realization set in.
“ELEANOR!!”
Resolve
“Time stole you from me, but I won’t allow time to ravage your body,” Wolt whispered. He leaned against a large glass sphere. Within the sphere was Eleanor. She looked radiant and at peace, the same way she looked when he found her.
He wanted to join her in her everlasting serenity. The torment of living without her had sapped his strength. Gazing upon her peaceful face, the pencil of guilt stabbed repeatedly in Wolt's soul. The point was made. He had neglected her and was paying for his sin.
“If only I found this sooner!” He balled his fist and shook it. Numb rage begged desperately for release, for flesh to meet a solid surface with bone-crunching velocity. Abruptly, he turned and stomped to the wall. Physical pain made him momentarily aware that he was indeed alive. For a fleeting second, the numbness in his heart was not as acute, however the reprieve only lasted until he gazed upon the glass sphere. Numbness returned, flooding him with a tidal wave of emptiness.
As Wolt gazed upon her face through the glass and viscous liquid, he realized just how much he missed Eleanor. She was arranged on her favourite chair and wearing her favourite white dress. Eleanor looked like she was having a peaceful nap and that she would wake at any given moment.
Wolt was too late to save her from the disease, but he could prevent time from turning her body into dust. He wanted to capture her radiant peacefulness and save it forever. He was not ready to part with her yet. She had left him too soon and so suddenly. His mind could barely comprehend that he would never hear her voice again. Her lilting laugh was lost the world forever, as was her kind disposition. Wolt knew that the true tragedy was not Eleanor's passing, but the fact that she had been bestowed into his care and he had neglected her. There was only one of her, and now she was lost.
The same experiment he conducted on the lab rat, Wolt repeated with Eleanor. Her body was suspended in a clear, viscous liquid that was slowly drying, eventually becoming the equivalent of amber. Eleanor’s sphere was in the study. It was the only room empty enough to allow Wolt to freely do the experiment. Sunlight filtered through a high window and gleamed brightly on the smooth glass surface. For a moment, it seemed like Eleanor was inside a sparkling water bubble.
Rubbing his hand over the glass surface, Wolt rubbed away a speck of dust.
“It’s just like the amber we saw in the museum, my love. You will remain beautiful a thousand years from now.”
Tears muddled his vision as he leaned his head against the cool surface. “It should have been me that was taking care of you, not Judith.”
His knees grew weak beneath the weight of the crushing numbness. He slumped to the floor, silent sobs his only company in the study.
* * *
Judith was absently preparing supper in the kitchen. Members of the Academic Board had stopped by to pay their respects and share their condolences. Wolt barely acknowledged them and preferred to be locked up in the study with the glass sphere. Mercifully, his visitors did not take offence, saying that grief makes a man run from his senses.
The chairperson of the Board approached Judith when Wolt fled from his guests. “Judith, you seem like a reasonable and shrewd woman,” he began, but Judith cut him short.
“Flattery won’t work on me, sir.” The answering smile on his face could have won the Nobel Peace Prize. “Come now, Judith, there’s no need for hostilities during such a tragic time.”
“Only vultures prey on the grief-stricken, sir.” Judith struggled to keep her voice from becoming too acidic. Ever since she learned the truth about what the Board had done to Wolt, Judith could not stand them.
“I’m not preying, Judith. You would do well to remember your place. I am merely here to check up on an old friend and to offer him a position within the Board. A busy man does not have time to grieve.”
“I will ask you to leave now, sir. Thieving, lying mongrels best belong in the slums.” Judith glared at each member in turn until they left.
Six years ago, these men stole Wolt’s academic research and shamefully dismissed him when he confronted the Board about the intellectual theft. She would not allow such a thing to happen again. It was the least she could do for Wolt. She had come to love him as a son.
* * *
The manse was empty now and cool night air poured in from the open windows, bringing relief from the stuffy daytime heat. Spooning beef stew into a plate, Judith hoped that Wolt would eat. He’d been starving himself for days.
Quietly, Judith went to the study, supper tray in hand, and slipped in through the door. Wolt was on the floor, curled up in a foetal position, his eyes red and swollen from tears shed. Placing the supper tray on a nearby table, Judith gazed at the glass sphere. Moonlight danced on the smooth surface, casting deep shadows and stark highlights over the glass surface, completely obscuring Eleanor from view.
Chills crept down her spine.
Draping a blanket over her sleeping master, Judith exited the study. A single tear crept down her wrinkled cheek. She was still vehemently opposed to the sacrilege Wolt had committed.
Eleanor's soul was unhappy. She just knew it. Who would be satisfied having their remains encased in glass? Having their most private moment, that last second when Death came, on display for all to see? It was unnatural.
* * *
The next morning, Wolt woke to find Judith bringing the breakfast tray. Her face was deeply lined with worry. He was still on the floor, curled into a ball, with the blanket covering him.
“Sir, your breakfast. Please eat something.”
“What’s the use, Judith? Eleanor is gone.” Wolt knew his eyes were as hollow as his soul. What use was there to sustain his body when his reason to breathe had left?
Judith shook her head. Her brows knit together in stern reprimand. She could no longer stomach his self-pity.
“And now you have her body trapped in a glass sphere, like a trophy. It’s an abomination! The least you can do for her is to have her properly buried. You've neglected her enough in her final moments, but for heaven's sake do not violate her body like this! Have you no respect for her memory?” Judith's wrath trembled throughout her plump body. Her aged face was set in deep wrinkles; sharp eyes gave Wolt a crippling stare before she turned on her heel and left the study.
Tears stung her eyes, but she could not allow Wolt to see her cry. Leaning back against the heavy door of the study, Judith heard his weeping start anew. “Let it all out, sir,” she whispered between her silent tears. “Let it all out,” she whispered as her clogs echoed hollowly on wooden flooring.
Birth
&nbs
p; Darkness and solitude suited Wolt. The dank and mouldy air in the study reflected his mood. Judith's desertion was an unexpected betrayal, one that Wolt could not forgive. Leaving him behind when he was at his most desperate and vulnerable! The gall of that woman. His dissatisfaction was acutely pointed on the fact that she left. He had not been given the chance to dismiss her, especially after her little tirade.
Leave, he thought, that's what you all do!
Still lost in his thoughts, Wolt did not realize his grip had tightened around the mug until he heard a cracking sound. He did not care. Numbness had given way to mute, inexpressible, and infernal anger. Crushing the mug harder, he waited in anticipation for sharp shards to stab into his hand. Perhaps watching blood flow from his hand would bleed out some of his grief. Seconds ticked by and the bite of pain did not come.
A louder crack sounded.
Exasperated, he glared at the mug, mentally cursing the wretched thing for denying him a brief respite. Closer inspection with the aid of a flickering candle revealed no crack.
Another crack—sounding akin to the slow opening of a creaking coffin—caused the mug to slip from Wolt's scrutiny. A chill crept down his spine.
Grabbing hold of the candlestick Wolt turned around, bathing the study in the dim orange glow. Light reflected warmly from the glass sphere.
He sighed in relief. It was his imagination after all.
The relief did not last long. Candlelight illuminated a growing crack in the sphere. An outer segment of the protective shell flaked off and shattered on the floor.
“No! This can’t be happening!” He ran up to his glass creation; the candlelight revealed the crack to be a deep and feathered one. Clear, viscous liquid oozed from the crack, dripping thickly onto the floor. The sucking sounds the liquid made as it slowly dripped reminded Wolt of a nursing baby. Nausea filled the pit of his stomach at the thought. He would have loved a child, but somehow they never could conceive. Wolt had accepted it as for the best, being a busy man, and Eleanor had taken ill.
Cocking his head to the side, a deep frown formed on his face. Bending down, Wolt held the candle closer to the dripping liquid, inspecting it closely. Sticking his fingers into the goo, Wolt felt the slick texture. It was oily, thick, and slippery. Very unlike the texture of the viscous liquid Wolt had first created with the lab rat and used on Eleanor’s body. The original liquid was sticky and scentless. This liquid smelled of ammonia and sulphur.
Wiping his hand hastily on his pants, Wolt straightened from his crouched position. His heartache was temporarily replaced by a deep-seated curiosity.
“I wonder…” Taking a stray spoon from the nearby table, Wolt scooped some of the viscous substance from the floor. Holding it over the candle, he was mildly surprised when it burst into crimson flames. The stench of death and rot instantly filled the air and Wolt immediately regretted his actions.
“This is very strange. My original formulation is not flammable.” Examining the blackened spoon in the dim light, Wolt’s heart sped up considerably when another deep crack echoed through the study.
With eyes wide, candle in hand, he slowly turned, expecting to see another deep crack in the glass sphere. What greeted his grey eyes instead were several deep cracks that feathered over the fragile surface. Viscous liquid oozed more rapidly onto the floor, creating a slick, oily area around the glass sphere. Another segment of glass fell and shattered on the floor. Wolt stood transfixed, watching his work crumble. Silver moonlight played on the smooth surface, creating scars where the glass cracked and broke off.
Another crack sounded with more segments shattering on the floor and even more viscous liquid coating the floor. The sight made Wolt sick, but he was unable to look away. If the sphere kept cracking and breaking, Eleanor’s body would soon be exposed.
He had to stop the breaking!
Leaving the study, he quickly trotted down the stairs, across the vast front hall, and out the back garden to reach his lab in the hopes of finding something to stop the sphere from disintegrating entirely.
Turning the key in the lock, Wolt entered his lab and lit two lanterns. Rummaging through nearby cupboards and shelves, his frustration grew when he could not find what he was searching for.
“Surely it must be here,” Wolt grumbled, referring to the original rat on which he experimented. Feeling blindly in a dark corner, he inhaled sharply when something pricked his finger. The pain was a delicious distraction for his frantic mind. Examining his hand in the light revealed a deep laceration on his middle finger. Blood flowed freely, painting his hand red. Pain throbbed hypnotically; this was the release he had sought when the crushing numbness enveloped him.
“Could this night get any stranger?” Wolt shook his head and clumsily wrapped a rag of dubious hygiene around his injured digit. It seemed his doom that all things he sought would come to him far too late.
Shining the lantern into the nearby shelf, Wolt saw shattered glass pieces, but not the sphere he was looking for. The shelf seemed slightly oily.
Movement caught his attention from the corner of his eyes.
Did one of his rats get out of their cage?
Holding the lantern high to better illuminate the small lab, Wolt’s stomach contorted when he saw the rat. It was hairless, the pink body covered in lumps, and long teeth sank mercilessly into a normal rat. It turned its peevish gaze to Wolt, sending chills running down his spine. A high-pitched squeal emanated from the beastly rodent, its pink body shaking with the effort. Blood-coated teeth gleamed in the lantern light as it launched itself toward Wolt.
Using the lantern as a weapon and shield, he smacked the attacking rat aside, sending it crashing into fragile vials. Glass fragments stuck into its back and black blood oozed from the cuts. Pain and the smell of blood sent the vermin into a frenzy as it leapt once again at Wolt. A long scratch streaked his face and he stumbled back in disbelief. Blood dripped from his cheek, but before the creature could attack him again, Wolt managed to kick it away to the far side of the lab.
Smashing his lantern against vials containing flammable liquid, Wolt ran from the lab, hoping the resulting fire would finish the job.
He knew an abomination when he saw one.
Judgement
Fear nibbled at his mind as he ran back to the study. Half-hoping he was having a bad dream, Wolt burst into the study seconds before the glass sphere gave a final crack. Wolt slipped, realizing too late that oily liquid coated the floor. Landing hard on his bottom, he gazed helplessly at the sphere as it shattered completely. Glass riddled the floor. The only illumination came from the full moon that shyly peeped in through the high window. It seemed even the moon did not want to bring light to his abomination.
Standing carefully and holding onto the door handle for support, Wolt saw Eleanor’s body in the midst of shattered glass and a pale pool of moonlight.
Oh good...she's dead.
The gratitude he felt over Eleanor being dead disturbed him greatly. It seemed his fear was unfounded. That first rat was alive when he encased it. Eleanor was not.
Slowly, he moved over the slick floor, taking care not to slip. His heart was still hammering from the strange experience with the rat. With shaky limbs, he managed to cross the few metres from the door to Eleanor’s body without slipping too badly. She lay face down, her white dress soaked and dripping from the oily liquid. Her hair was a mass of wet and tangled curls, taking on a blackish colour in the moonlight. Wolt breathed a sigh of relief.
She's really dead after all.
Staring at her pale skin, a tear rolled down his cheek. “Judith was right… you deserve a proper burial.”
“I beg to differ.” The reply was cold and empty. Wolt’s jaw dropped as Eleanor’s body began to move.
I must be hallucinating!
Shock, horror, and joy jumped simultaneously into his hammering heart. Watching with unblinking eyes, he saw Eleanor stand and squeeze the oily liquid from her hair.
“Hello darling, wh
y so shocked? Aren’t you glad to see your wife?” The voice sounded like Eleanor’s, but the cold, snide tone was foreign. Rolling her head from side to side, a sickening crack echoed through the study as Eleanor worked the kinks from her neck.
“…I…thought…”
“That I was dead?” Eleanor offered to complete Wolt’s stuttering statement. As she moved closer to him, Wolt became aware of the scent of sulphur.
Smiling beautifully, she traced a cold finger across the cut on Wolt’s cheek. Licking his blood from her finger, Eleanor pushed Wolt against the wall. Her green eyes bored deeply into his grey orbs.
“Don’t look so dumbstruck, darling. You should be glad to see your wife, especially after you neglected her so badly.” Her voice purred seduction in Wolt’s ear despite her scathing remarks. His heart was beating a mile a minute. Nothing made sense.
“But how?” was all he could manage to utter before Eleanor silenced him with a kiss. Wolt would have given his life ten times over for another kiss from his beloved wife. To feel her soft warm lips that tasted of fruit would have melted his sorrow and fears away. But her cold lips tasted of ammonia. Wolt barely contained the urge to vomit as cold sweat broke out over his body.
“How?” his whimpered confusion escaped from shaky lips.
“You did this with your experiment. Couldn’t just leave me to rot in peace, could you?” she whispered against his mouth, her sharp teeth nipping his lower lip painfully.
“N…no…” Wolt could not think. Eleanor was dead! How could the experiment have brought her back to life? It was impossible!
“Oh yessss,” she replied with a hiss. Wolt gasped as Eleanor pushed him harder against the wall. Her strength caused his shoulders to ache. Once or twice, he tried to pry himself free from her grasp, but Eleanor only tightened her grip. “Don’t squirm so much, darling. I don’t want to break you, not yet at least,” she warned as her nails dug deeply into his shoulders. Blood welled and stained his shirt where the skin broke.
