This was a gamble, a bet that this man would refuse the offer. Honestly, there would be little enough to eat without the additional mouth to feed, but she assumed his palate was geared for something else.
The man looked towards the kitchen and spotted the long shadows of her two sisters. The realisation that there were others in the house was enough to send him away.
“Mass you say,” the man said. “I will catch up with her then.”
“Good night Father,” Clara said in an unflinching tone.
“Good night,” he replied.
The man looked longingly towards her mother’s bedroom and then melted into the darkness. All except for those eyes and their disturbing glow, they endured on for a few moments until even they were swallowed up by the night.
“Who was that,” Maria asked.
Startled by her sister’s question, Clara stuttered, “Just a travelling bible salesman.”
Fortunately, she was not questioned further. As Clara closed the door, she felt certain that this would not be the last time she encountered this man.
* * * *
Clara often felt a rush when proven right. Tonight two of her theories had been proven correct, but all it did was make her worry. It seemed that the fruits of victory could be just as bitter as they were sweet. Unfortunately, that bitter taste in her mouth would not settle until it travelled the pit of her stomach. Clara gritted her teeth. Now was not the time to worry or cower. Action was called for and Clara believed that hiding under the bed was the best way ahead.
Before the moon rose over the tree line, Clara had stashed away a kitchen knife under her mother’s bed. Over the last couple of days, her mother’s mental state had deteriorated severely, so Clara could have hidden a suit of armour, horse and squire without arousing suspicion.
Her sisters would have been sure to intervene if she walked by with an axe in hand. While powerful, that type of weapon was bulky and needed plenty of room to handle, Clara needed something with more finesse.
Since the man had left without putting up much of a fight, she assumed he would avoid an attack in the face of opposition. Tonight she would put her theory to the test.
She hid under the bed with nothing more than the silver moonlight to illuminate the room. Just above, her mother’s laborious breathing went on, oblivious to the threat lurking outside.
Once the moon had travelled to the top of the window, she heard something downstairs. At first, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her. Ada’s ghost stories late at night certainly did little to help rein in her imagination.
Through her jumbled thoughts, Clara visualised the bolt catch sliding back. A moment later, the door opened with a long creaking sound that echoed throughout the home.
Clara waited and sure enough, there were a series of soft thumps as the sound made its way upstairs. One thump, followed by another and then a squeak. After a brief pause came a third thump. It seemed that this visitor was easily able to find his way through the house.
The steps approached her mother’s bedroom and paused once they were just outside. Again Clara heard the man sniff the air and make another series of sounds as it smacked its lips. She swore she could hear it drool but doubt ruled on whether this was real.
Clara opened her eyes and saw two shadows stretch out from under the door. The other side was aglow in a ghastly light. So powerful was the light that it bathed the room in a hellish glare once the door cracked open.
She wanted nothing more than to run out of the room. She fought the urge knowing that such an action would prove to be foolhardy. Instead, she chose to hold her breath as the silhouette pushed deeper into the room.
Once at the foot of the bed, there was this overpowering scent of dirt and rotten meat. How had she missed that before?
Clara gripped the wooden handle of the knife while shifting her weight to prepare for an attack. She knew what this creature sought. It sensed how close her mother was to death and desired to feast on her decaying flesh.
Unfortunately, the shift caused one of the floorboards to creak and for a moment everything was silent. Was it aware of her presence? What should she do?
Quick as a flash, Clara was greeted by the sight of those sharp teeth, a long thin nose and a pair of red glowing eyes. In that moment, she realised what had been the source of that infernal light.
Clara could not help but stare into the fiery inferno raging on in its eyes. Those eyes were hypnotic and just like that, the world began to fade to black.
* * * *
Clara woke up with the sun’s glow warming her face. As her eyes fluttered open, she saw the familiar settings of her room. She looked to her side and noticed that her sisters were already up and about.
They were bound to be cross with her, seeing how she slept past sunrise. After all, every waking moment was necessary to get their chores done.
Clara sprung out from the bed and noticed her unfamiliar nightgown. It was one of Maria’s and hung loosely from her frame. She furrowed her brow trying to remember when it had been passed down but could not recall.
Sounds from below got her attention, so Clara quickly got dressed then ran down the stairs, even now making sure to leap over the second to last step. Clara expected to find her sisters hard at work making breakfast or busy doing this morning’s laundry; instead her sisters were sitting around a table filled with food. Clara could not help but salivate at the thought of all those scrumptious dishes. So what was the occasion?
Ada looked up when Clara landed on the first step. Her eyes and cheeks were red and puffy from crying. Meanwhile Maria avoided making eye contact, but her eyes were red as well. Clara thought it over for a moment and realised that she had seen this behaviour before.
“Where’s mum?” Clara asked although she guessed the answer.
Maria began to sob uncontrollably at the mention of their mother. This shower of tears confirmed Clara’s worst fears and meant that their mother had passed away during the night. Her sisters had opted to let her sleep in so they could avoid telling Clara what had happened. Could anyone ever be prepared for this?
Ada swallowed hard, trying to find the courage needed to reply, “Mum passed away last night.”
To know the truth and having it confirmed were two separate matters. Those words hit her much harder than Clara expected and she reacted just like her mother had when papa died.
Ada swooped in to console her, taking the weeping Clara into her arms. Her sister held her tight even when Clara shook violently from the sobs.
“There, there,” Ada said in a soothing voice. “It will be alright.”
Alas, for Clara there was no one home. How could God see fit to take both her parents away?
* * * *
“What do you have to report Father,” said the man wearing a red cap with red accents on his frock.
There was an aura of authority surrounding this man even if the bulk of his life had been spent serving the will of God. A man in priestly garbs that sat opposite of him, he had no distinctive features; a desirable feature for those with his particular calling.
“Your eminence,” Father Michael said to collect his thoughts.
Stories this fantastical often proved to be difficult to convey without appearing to be mad as a hatter. Even Father Michael found it hard to believe, and he had seen the evidence first hand.
Father Michael said, “I arrived on the scene a fortnight ago; called in by the local parish. The local priest led me to a home where I found three girls and their recently deceased mother.”
Father Michael hesitated for a moment before adding, “The youngest of the three had been found hours before, sleeping under their mother’s bed holding a knife. The blade was caked in a black liquid that was also found splattered all over the room.”
“Black you say?” the Cardinal asked.
“Correct, Your Eminence,” Father Michael replied.
“Very good. Carry on,” the Cardinal said.
Father Michael
added, “There was a path leading out of the room through an opened window. Some locals had gone out to find whatever had escaped and after a couple of miles, their bloodhounds found Father Andrews near some caves.”
Father Michael had no interest in mentioning the particularly gory details. How that thing’s eyes had been gouged out, nor did he wish to describe the multiple stab wounds to the face and neck. It was an altogether disturbing scene to witness.
“Father Andrews has been dead for close to a decade now,” the Cardinal said in a neutral tone.
“Correct, Your Eminence,” Father Michael said. “Closer inspection showed that the face was nothing more than a mask fashioned from the skin of the parish’s former priest.”
Before the Cardinal could comment further, Father Michael delved into the situation in greater detail. He wanted to get this out in the open so they could move onto matters of the living.
“It was a ghoul,” Father Michael said. “They feed on the necrotic flesh of the dead. People have a natural aversion to them and subconsciously make up excuses for the havoc they cause.”
“So the child attacked the creature?” His Eminence asked.
“Somehow she saw through its deceptions and put up a fight before she passed out,” Father Michael said.
“Passed out?” the Cardinal asked.
Father Michael nodded, happy that the subject was shifting in the right direction. A dead ghoul meant the matter was closed, and there were three young girls who needed to be looked after.
“Yes, Your Eminence,” Father Michael said. “Their eyes have a certain hypnotic quality which lead to memory loss. When the child awoke, she had no memory of the event, nor did she know that her mother had passed away.”
The Cardinal seemed to be deep in thought. The myriad of Bishops, Archbishops and Cardinals he encountered on these missions rarely accepted concepts which differed from scripture. This one seemed more accommodating as though this was not his first exposure to the world’s darker elements.
“What about the girls?” the Cardinal asked.
Father Michael sighed before replying, “They have no known living relatives. It was my hope that Your Eminence would see fit to make them wards of the church.”
Specifically, he was interested in the youngest child. Anyone who could see past the veil and do so without panic had potential. The fact that she destroyed one of these abominations further peaked his interests.
“I will see to it that they are appropriately placed,” His Eminence said.
“If Your Eminence would indulge me, I would be honoured if you would permit me to arrange for their placements,” Father Michael said.
The Cardinal stared at Father Michael for a long time. The man was not an idiot and knew full well that there was an ulterior motive to his eagerness.
“See to it,” the Cardinal said.
“Right away, Your Eminence,” Father Michael said before letting himself out.
FIRST BLOOD
1905
Sister Maria and Clara were outside, waiting on the platform for their train. While this woman shared her sister’s name, the similarities ended there. This was a stern woman, although anyone who had lived through what Sister Maria had was entitled to a bitter outlook on life. Clara quickly concluded that any attempts at conversation would get her nowhere.
Clara was anxious. A maelstrom of emotions lay just beneath her calm exterior. A lot had happened since her mother had been laid to rest. It was hard on a child to witness the chaos that invariably followed when a family loses its anchor.
A glowing light approached in the distance. At first it was as bright as a star but it grew in intensity until Clara had to avert her gaze. The ground began to tremble, but Sister Maria was not worried, since for her this was a routine and mundane affair. Clara found it hard to believe that having a mechanical behemoth barrelling towards them was anything less than extraordinary.
Clara was startled when Sister Maria grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her away from the platform’s edge. She was whisked away just in time to hear the whistle call out into the night and felt a rush of air as it roared on by. This particular train was an express and would not be making a stop at this nondescript outpost.
She sighed, disappointed that her great journey remained on hold. In the distance she saw a small group making their way up the boardwalk. Until that moment, they had been alone on the platform. Once their faces were illuminated by the light, Clara’s eyes brightened and she ran towards them. She jumped into Maria’s arms embracing her sister with all her might. It felt good to feel wanted and loved even for a moment.
When Clara turned to Ada, she noticed the family elder was holding onto a young man’s hand. She had seen him around town, the son of a miner who had just reached that age where he too would be going deep beneath the surface. It took a brave (or desperate) man to go deep under the ocean floor to mine for coal. To breathe in that dust and not see the light of day, all the while surrounded by equally desperate men and dwarvish horses. Clara hoped he would at least be spared her father’s fate.
“Couldn’t have you leave without saying goodbye,” Ada said and kissed Clara on the forehead.
“My train won’t be here until the morning,” Maria said and put on a brave face.
Clara nodded, trying to keep her tears at bay and found the stern gaze from Sister Maria did little to help. Originally, the plan had been for them to leave town as a family.
The Church had lined up work in a laundry for the elder sisters and Clara would attend school at another location. Now it was clear that they would each walk their own path.
“Congratulations,” Clara said while looking at both Ada and her beau.
It seemed like a sensible thing to say even though she could not bring herself to smile. She wanted to stay with her sisters, but they were too old to attend this school and Maria was too young to take care of Clara. Ada would soon be starting a family of her own, so Clara would have been an additional mouth to feed. That realisation was enough to douse any flames of hope in Clara’s heart.
Ada kneeled down to look Clara in the eye. It was hard to keep this moment from devolving into a shower of tears. They all knew what this meant for the last vestiges of their family.
“Thank you Clara,” Ada said. She then hugged Clara before adding, “Don’t forget to write.”
Another train came in from the distance. At first it mimicked the actions of its predecessor until it slowed to a halt in a long deliberate squeal.
Clara even felt the rush of steam as the locomotive stopped by the cistern. There, the engine would fill her boilers with enough water to carry on.
“Miss Grey,” Sister Maria said from a distance.
It seemed that this fond farewell would have to be cut short. The nun had no intention of boarding late so the girls could have some closure. A shame really, but Clara knew that this moment would remain near and dear to her heart.
“I have to go,” Clara said.
Her eyes welled up and a single tear streamed across her left cheek. This was going to be far harder than she had imagined.
“We will miss you,” her sisters said in unison.
“You’ll come and visit someday?” Clara asked.
Both her sisters nodded and individually gave her a big hug. Despite their assurances, each of the girls sensed it was the last time they would be together.
“Come now,” Sister Maria said with a hint of inevitability oozing from every word.
Her sisters gave the nun a dirty look and Clara concealed a giggle. She then ran down to the platform, grabbed her tattered suitcase filled with hand-me-downs and boarded the train.
By the time they were seated, Clara realised her sisters had gone. That’s when the tears began to stream down her cheeks; not that this torrent of emotion would garner an ounce of sympathy from Sister Maria.
* * * *
Whoever said that getting there is half the fun, had never travelled with a nun hell-bent on
getting there. For Clara, the entire journey was nothing more than a confused blur of scenery and emotion which was further exacerbated by fatigue.
They would race from one train to the next at a breakneck pace. Clara felt as though her arm would be pulled out of its socket if she tried to stop long enough to catch her breath.
To what end? All for the privilege of waiting for the train to depart the station. A bit of shuteye was out of the question as well. Who could sleep on those unforgiving wooden benches?
Clara spent the last leg of the journey in a comatose state. The two days of solid travel and transfers had driven her to exhaustion and significantly lowered her requirements for sleep. By that point, she could have slept just as soundly standing up as on a bed made from twenty mattresses.
The Van Helsing Paradox Page 2
