I’m Glad You’re Dead (The Preternatural Chronicles Book 1)

by Hunter Blain

  My perspective shifted and I was no longer looking at Adam. Beth was standing in the doorway, holding her bulging stomach. She watched as I mounted the horse and made my way to my uncle’s farm. We lived miles from anyone and my uncle made sure to pay me more than I deserved to help with my growing family.

  I remember the feeling in my stomach as I made my way up the path at the end of the day and saw the blackened ruins of my home. I leapt off the horse and burst through the weakened wood of the door to see my wife, charred and crushed under the single beam that ran along the roofline. I screamed so loud and for so long that my throat never fully recovered. Now I just don’t speak.

  I’m standing in the church with her father yelling at me that I didn’t build our cabin right. I stared past him at the closed casket that held my entire world.

  The water is cold, freezing even. From this height, if the fall didn’t kill me, the temperature would. I’m was about to step off the ledge when a tall, gaunt man approached. He offered meaning in my life. Structure. A sense of belonging. I took his hand and stepped safely off the ledge.

  “Damned stew,” I said as what must have been fire left my body. It had tasted good going in. I started to clean myself when I heard screams. My heart pounded and breathing became labored. My hands shook uncontrollably as I reached for my pants. The screaming stopped and I opened the privy door. A hand grabbed my throat and I had never been more terrified in my entire life. The last thought that flashed in my mind before blackness washed over me was: I don’t want to die anymore.

  My eyes fluttered open and I was sitting in the dirt next to a fire. A disheveled looking man was sitting on a log in front of me. It looked like he had slept in a mound of dirt.

  I rushed out of the soldier’s head, back up the mist and into my own body. My eyes flew open and I shot to my feet. As I started pacing, I looked at Ulric and asked in a frantic voice, “What was that!?”

  Ulric let his hand drop and he looked at me, understanding in his eyes.

  “It is imperative that you only see what you want to see. It will take time to control the path you follow. What you saw, is a direct reflection of your own mind,” Ulric informed me, patiently.

  “I’m Adam! She was my wife! I…,” I stammered wide eyed. Ulric stood and placed a hand on my shoulder, calming me.

  “Who are we but a collection of memories,” Ulric said. “You dove too deep.”

  “Dove too deep!” I shrieked, “I lived for weeks as Adam! I loved Beth! Oh god, my baby! It’s all my fault!”

  “It will wear off,” Ulric said impatiently. “We are done for tonight.”

  After a few ragged breaths, I calmed my mind. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me. I am John Cook. My parents are…my parents are dead. That did the trick—reality was back with a vengeance.

  “What are we going to do with m… with him?” I asked with a steady voice, but scared of the answer.

  “I already took care of the matter,” Ulric said calmly.

  I looked at Adam as he slumped forward, head dangling, and saw that his skin was pale. Two dots on his neck leaked a few droplets of blood. I stood there, staring at his body. My innards were a mingle of emotion. But, somewhere in the mix, I was happy he was with Beth and his child, again.

  Chapter 17

  Now

  Day waned and receded while the night slid into existence, taking its rightful place. It brought with it the freedom most supernatural beings need, including yours truly, in order to thrive.

  I awoke, face down in a pool of my own drool. I could see the puddle on the ground. Reaching up, I probed my head under my grey beanie starting with my thick, strong hair then down my smooth forehead to my nose and lips. Wait, smooth forehead. Yes! My jizz stain was gone; though it was an excellent conversation starter. Everything was back to its original glory, even my dense, reddish mustache had grown back to join with the rest of my beard.

  After checking out, I returned to my car and drove the rest of the way home without incident. Leaving the radio off, only my thoughts kept me company.

  This doesn’t feel right. It’s as if I’m standing on tracks as a train is barreling at me from behind. I can’t see it, but I know it’s there and I know what’s going to happen if I don’t do something. But in this thought, the answer is easy—move off the tracks.

  I turned down the road leading to the storage unit where I kept Mortis. After dropping him off at the stables, I started walking down to Valenta’s. As the saloon came into view, I noticed the parking lot was even emptier than my last visit. Pushing through the doors, I stepped inside.

  Valenta stood behind the bar reading a brown paged book that was old enough for the cover to have dissolved. I could smell the must from the ancient pages where I stood.

  “Welcome to the party, son,” Valenta said without looking up from his book. He licked his finger and casually turned the page.

  “Where…?” I began.

  “Gone,” he interrupted. “Did’je hear ‘bout the demon what was summoned by earlier tonight? Wreaking havoc downtown. Lots dead, including supes.”

  “Just got back into town,” I gulped. Father Thomes was going to be unhappy I didn’t come see him last night. “Papa T come by?” I asked.

  “Nah, but I’m sure he’ll have words with ya bein’ out o’ town. Surely, he knew’a one was a’commen.” He looked up from his book and gave me a ‘you’re gonna get it’ look.

  “Hey! Don’t you give me that look young man! You were the one who suggested I go make friends!” I said as I sat in my favorite stool.

  “My name’s Paul and that shit’s ‘tween ya’ll,” He said, returning his gaze to his book. “Bess be moven along, John. Got work t’do.”

  Message received. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” I said while getting up from the bar and heading to the door.

  “Ya don’t get paid at’all,” He reminded me.

  I stopped with my hand on the door, “Wait, supes dead? Why were they attacking it? And how big was this fucker?”

  “Supes got responsibility t’stop demons, boy. As for yer second question; big,” Valenta said as he licked his finger, turning another page.

  Taking my cue, I walked back to the storage place and opened my trunk, pulling out the bag Depweg had given me. I took off my shirt and strapped the iron infused Kevlar over my torso. I put the Glock and its inner-waist-band holster at the small of my back. I replaced my shirt, looked in the direction of downtown while closing the storage unit, and leapt into the air. On my way to face God only knows what.

  Chapter 18

  London, 1666

  Ulric and I walked through filthy back alleys where human excrement poured into the streets. Rats congregated in droves, chittering their defiance at the passersby.

  We had just arrived in town, having exhausted any and all leads. The Inquisition continued to trudge forward, replacing camps as quickly as they were taken down by Ulric and myself. We had saved many families the pain I had endured at the hands of the commander, whose trail had grown cold many seasons ago. I wasn’t sure how long it had been, but my patience was near snapping. Ulric always knew just what to say to string me along a little longer.

  A crumbled newspaper tumbled down the alley, propelled by a rancid breeze. I leaned down and scooped it up as it passed, with my free hand holding onto my recently procured top hat that the man at the shop said was a must for all gentlemen. I called it a top hat, but it was just a tall hat with a large brim and a moderate crown. It matched our dark coats that only came to our ribcages with sleeves that barely covered our elbows. It bothered me how impractical the garments were in this part of the world. Not to mention the fancy pantaloons.

  I lifted the newspaper and uncrumpled it. As I held the paper up to the lone burning oil lamp which illuminated the alley, a scowl creased my face as I noticed the date at the top.

  “Ulric,” I said.

  “Yes?” Ulric responded as he stopped and turned to face me.

 
“Does London use a different calendar than the rest of the world?” I asked, perplexed at the 1666 at the top of the paper.

  Ulric looked at me and then down at the paper I held. A flash of shock passed over his face like the light from a lightning bolt. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone. I took note of this.

  “Ulric?”

  Ulric sighed and looked me in my eyes. “No, John. They use the same system of time as everywhere else we have been.”

  I pointed to the date on the paper and turned it to show him.

  “So, this date is accurate?!” I asked, straining to keep my voice calm. The feeling of self-control started to slip from my grasp. Even PS was agitated and confused. Ulric was at the center of the brewing storm, but I couldn’t figure out how or why.

  “Yes,” Ulric said with a tone that suggested he had been awaiting this very moment in time, but was still dismayed that it had actually arrived.

  “How’s it been s’long, Ulric? Where’s th’ feck’n commander?” I screamed, barely able to coherently speak.

  “Dead,” Ulric said without pause. “His mortal existence was extinguished long ago, even if by natural causation.”

  My eyes grew wide in disbelief. I had put up with this animal for decades, no, centuries. Oh Lilith, centuries. My gaze shifted to the ground and everything went unfocused, digging deep in the perfect recall of my memories. I entered the city of my mind and went to the theatre where I re-watched the events of every search in an instant. Camp after camp. After all our travels. Not a single calendar could be seen in my mind’s eye.

  “Ulric,” I started calmly but with a flat undertone, “why did not a single camp have a calendar? A dated scroll?” I looked at him after speaking, awaiting his response.

  Ulric sighed and did something I wasn’t expecting; he looked right at me with cold eyes and said in a tone of finality, “Because I removed them before you could figure out that the mortal commander was long since dead, you petulant child.”

  PS knocked me over and grabbed the reins, hard. In one instance, I stood paralyzed in disbelief. In the next, I was flying through the air at Ulric with a blood-longsword in my hands. It was the mightiest weapon I could imagine in my fury. As I swung, Ulric moved with impossible speeds, even for my eyes, and what must have been a cannon ball was shot point blank into my stomach. My momentum was cancelled completely, and I hunched over Ulric’s fist, utterly stunned.

  Ulric removed his fist from my stomach and used his index finger to lift my chin high so that our eyes met. His were predatory red.

  Still hunched over, I put all my strength into my legs and jumped off the ground with enough force to leap over tall buildings. As my feet left the ground, I tucked one knee up and went for Ulric’s jaw.

  As if I were moving in slow motion, he turned around and hooked his hands around the back of my bent knee. All I could manage was a grimace as the filthy cobblestones rushed up to meet my face. As I lay stunned, I noticed vermin had stopped to watch the show, twitching their noses in interest.

  Regaining my senses, I rolled onto my back and whipped the sword around in an arc toward Ulric’s knees. The sword went into the nearby brick wall and lodged. Ulric stood on top of the blade, pretending to check his nails for dirt with a smirk at the corners of his mouth.

  While still on my back, I swung a leg around to try and trip up Ulric, who all but vanished in front of my own, supernatural eyes. Lilith, he was fucking fast.

  Eyes wide and searching, I got up, using my moment of reprieve to yank at my sword in the wall. I pulled, hard, and wound up back on my ass as the sword came loose.

  Ulric appeared behind me, emerging from the shadows, a chuckle escaping from between his lips.

  Sighing, Ulric said, “I will miss your buffoonery, child.” His words straightened my spine and stole my breath like jumping into a frozen lake.

  I shot up, holding my sword in my right hand with my left hand in a defensive position in front of my body.

  In an instant, Ulric was ten feet in front of me, his eyes intent on their prey. In another, he was standing nose to nose. I choked in surprise and started to fall backwards.

  Ulric grabbed my sword wielding wrist in one hand and my elbow in his other. With barely a grunt of effort, my hand was ripped off and replaced with a white sheet of pain that sent a bolt of lightning through my entire body. I went to my knees, my mouth agape and eyes glazing as I began to tumble from my vantage point behind my eyes and into the welcoming darkness. I fought to regain control and swam back to an unfocused world. A crimson river flowed from my jagged forearm. In the back of my mind, an image of my father hanging a freshly butchered pig flashed; its throat slashed and gushing as it thrashed, helpless to its fate.

  I was unable to focus on the wound and close it due to not only the blinding pain, but the pure loss of life-energy that left me empty.

  With eyes that trembled in their sockets, I managed to focus on Ulric who was standing a few paces away now, holding my hand and the sword that was still in it. The long, heavy blade was melting like an ice sculpture exposed to a roaring flame. Ulric smiled at me with his abnormally wide mouth, teeth on full display; but it wasn’t a smile I had ever been on this side of. In all of our travels, he had been tough with me, but it was all for the sake of learning to be better than I was. This grin was reserved for the most defiant of his prey, knowing that the end was coming and the mortal wouldn’t be able to stop him. I had only seen it a few times, and it always unnerved me how malicious it had been. Now I was the recipient.

  The loss of energy stunned me for an uncomfortable period. This must be what it felt like when a soldier lost a limb on the battlefield; their brains unable to comprehend what was happening and refusing to step through the doorway of their new reality and accept the loss, as if in fighting it, the limb might reappear.

  Though I couldn’t dissect the thought, the overwhelming feeling of being powerless grew inside my mind. I might as well have been the hanging pig to Ulric.

  “Do you feel that, John?” Ulric cooed in a silken, nefarious voice. His eyes narrowed at me as he started to casually pace around where I kneeled. “It’s your final lesson, one that I had been saving for just such an occasion. If we lose our blood-manifestations, we are forever cut off from the power it took to create it. This sword,” he gestured to the half-melted sword still in my hand, that was in his hand, “took a lot of uncontrolled energy to create. You precariously expended too much of yourself, child. Letting your emotions get the better of you has cost you dearly. I didn’t dare counter the attack directly, as I was not willing to risk pouring that much of my own life into a weapon. I had learned that long ago. Instead, I used my clear mind to, if you’ll forgive the expression, disarm you,” he chuckled to himself toward the end. As he finished, the sword coalesced in a pool on the ground.

  I reached out to PS in my mind. He was just as scared as I was. Ulric had always been the alpha, and PS knew this; respected it. Now he was placed in a position to bite the hand that feeds, or potentially die. Ulric’s motives weren’t clear to PS yet, but I knew what the words he spoke meant.

  As if on cue, Ulric pulled out his own sword, a rapier. The choice of those in charge on the battlefield. I had witnessed him pulling out the same sword on those who were damned by the malicious shark’s grin he had just pointed at me.

  “He’s going to decapitate us!” I urgently shouted at PS. His response was to lower his head and close his eyes, tight, a show of submission. I was on my own.

  My eyes flicked around, desperate for anything. Ulric was smiling as he ran a finger down his blade, dramatically testing its sharpness. The blade glinted in the light.

  “The Lamp!” I yelled at PS. He looked up at me and nodded, hope and desperation growing in his eyes.

  Ulric paced back and forth in front of me, savoring every syllable of his monologue. When he turned his back to me, I reached out with my good hand and extended a whip to the lamp. It wrapped around the base, and I almos
t fainted from the use of energy.

  With my remaining strength, I lunged forward and threw my weight into my arm, ripping the lamp from the wall.

  Seemingly in slow motion, Ulric turned with a contorted, dumbfounded look on his face. The lamp struck home and exploded against his shoulder, spreading oil and flames all over the side of his body.

  I remember his primal, piercing, screams with crystal clarity. Walls shook. Rats scattered, trying to flee from the audible assault.

  As he flailed, I cried out to him, “Ulric, what was the lesson on vampires and fire?”

  Ulric turned to face me directly, teeth bared as his face began to liquify. He did something that haunts my day-dreams and lunged for me. Flaming arms outstretched. As he leapt, I fell on my back, startled, pushing my legs out in front of me instinctively. My feet landed directly into his stomach as our momentum rolled me backwards and I sent him flying overhead, a flaming artillery shell. A claw raked my face and popped an eyeball, as he flew past and into a pile of discarded, wooden boxes that contained remnants of hay for cushion. They ignited in a blaze of a hungry fire and choking smoke. Ulric continued to scream. I could hear his vocal cords bubbling from the flames as if he was trying to swallow thick porridge while screaming.

  The fire raged on, and all I could do was watch in horrid fascination.

  A melted, glowing hand reached out from the flaming debris and hooked on the cobblestone. The bones glowing red and black like embers, pulled with shriveling muscles until lidless eyes were freed from the flames; glaring at me. They disintegrated while staring directly into my own eyes, dissolving into white, bubbling pools in their sockets. Somehow the emerging skull emanated a feeling of hate that I had never experienced. The jaw dropped open as the muscles turned to ash and the head went lax, setting surprisingly lightly on the ground just outside of the flames. I watched as his clothes smoldered, letting the flames eat the exposed flesh which ignited as if marinated in oil. Within a minute, he was mostly a blackened skeleton with dried tendons holding joints together. Some meat had survived, though charred, but I knew by his burnt skull that he was gone.