Moonlight

by Tim O'Rourke

  And when would Thaddeus be back? She wanted him to return. In her head, fused with the screeching and banging coming from outside in the dark, Winnie could hear Nate’s voice. She remembered him screeching that ‘HE’ had murdered Frances. Was ‘HE’ Thaddeus? She feared it to be true. Thaddeus had told her Frances had died almost a year ago of cancer. If Frances truly had died that way, why, then, had Nate been screaming that he would not rest until he had avenged her death? As she rocked back and forth in fear, it was only then, as she fought to try and make sense of everything she had seen and heard, that she realised the tapping at the windows and scrambling sounds from above had stopped.

  Winnie lay dead still. She dared not to even blink. Perhaps they had gone away – given up, realising that she would never let them in. With her eyes still closed, she listened for the slightest sound, the smallest of movements, but all she could hear was the sound of her heart racing and the wind blowing about the eaves. Again, she did not know how long she stayed there like that, focusing on the slightest creak, on the whispering of the leaves of the trees outside as they rustled in the wind. Eventually, believing that perhaps they had indeed gone – for now at least – Winnie pulled the hood from over her head, opened her eyes, and peered into the darkness of her room. Slices of moonlight shone from around the edges of the curtains covering her window, and she could just make out the shape of the dressing table and closets in the corner. Taking small, shallow breaths, Winnie climbed from her bed. She stood like a statue in the middle of her room, again listening for the slightest of sounds. When she was satisfied that she couldn’t hear the strangers, she crept slowly towards the window.

  With her body shaking and trembling, Winnie slowly reached out and gripped the edge of the curtain. She waited, making sure that she couldn’t hear them, but the only noise came from the groaning wind outside. Then, very slowly, Winnie peeled back the edge of the curtain, like a nurse carefully removing the dressing from an infected wound. With her eye pressed close to the gap she had made, she peered out into the night. The moon shone high above her, casting its milky-blue rays over everything in its sight. Winnie dared to glance down, and then left and right, but she couldn’t see any sign of the strangers. She let the curtain fall slowly back into place.

  Standing alone in the middle of her room, the temptation to bolt down the stairs, throw open the door, and run for her life was overwhelming. Dare she risk it? Her scrambled mind tried to reason this. What if they were still out there? Winnie knew she was miles from town, from the nearest house – from anyone who might be able to help her. Wouldn’t it be safer to stay locked in the house? They couldn’t get in or they already would have, she told herself. Was she really going to wait for Thaddeus to arrive home? The little voice in her spoke up. What if he was a part of all of this somehow? What if he really had murdered Frances? Then she thought of the bedroom Thaddeus had discovered her in, the room with the sewing machine, the narrow bed, and the boarded-up windows. Why had he boarded them over? Was Frances’s body hidden in there somewhere, perhaps beneath the bed, bloated, and being eaten by maggots?

  With that terrifying image seesawing before her, Winnie raced across her room and yanked open the door, just wanting to be free of the house – of Thaddeus. Almost blind with fear and the darkness on the landing outside her room, Winnie ran towards the top of the wide staircase. Her legs felt like she was wading through the sea again. Each step slow and sluggish. Winnie stumbled past the room with the boarded-up windows, and the sight of those photographs of the ancient lady flashed before her mind.

  “...was she your grandmother?” she heard herself ask Thaddeus.

  “...yes,” he had smiled at her.

  And as Winnie stared at the door, the sound of her breathing now more like a shallow rasp as her chest rose up and down, she remembered the night she had first met Thaddeus. He had said he didn’t have any family. Thaddeus had told her he was all alone.

  But not anymore, the little voice inside Winnie was now screaming.

  “Thaddeus isn’t alone anymore, Winnie, because he has you,” the little voice said. This time the little voice didn’t sound as if it had come from within her...but behind her.

  With her eyes wide open with fear, Winnie slowly turned her head and looked back into the darkness behind her. She had left her door open and a stream of moonlight poured out onto the landing. With arms and legs shaking beyond control, and streams of tears running the length of her face, Winnie looked at the little girl standing in the moonlight. Her red coat almost glistened as much as the stream of vomit, which snaked from the corner of her mouth.

  “Ruby?” Winnie sobbed.

  “Why haven’t you been listening to me?” Ruby whispered. “I’ve been trying to tell you that you are in danger. Why haven’t you been listening to that little voice inside of you?”

  “But you died...” Winnie choked on her tears, feeling as if she were going to suffocate. “You shouldn’t be here...”

  “Run! Run! RUN!” the little girl standing in the moonlight screamed at Winnie.

  Spinning around, Winnie did what she had always done, and ran. At the top of the stairs, Winnie looked back over her shoulder, but there was no sign of the pool of moonlight, or her friend, Ruby Little. Feeling as if she were somehow going insane, Winnie turned and raced down the stairs and into the hallway. In her fear and desperation to get away, she threw open the front door and screamed.

  “Please invite us in,” Nate grinned, his mouth stretching across his face.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Winnie slammed the door shut with such force, it rattled in its frame. She pressed her back against it. At once, the strangers outside began to pound against the door with their fists. There was another sound, too, which Winnie could now hear. It sounded like claws being dragged down the windowpane in the lounge. It was ear-splitting and Winnie threw her hands over her ears.

  “Leave me alone!” she screamed, hot tears blinding her.

  The desperation and sheer terror in her voice excited the strangers outside, and they threw themselves against the door. Winnie rocked forward under the weight of them crashing against it.

  “This could all be over,” one of them hissed, “You know what you have to do.”

  “Never!” Winnie sobbed, crawling away from the door on her stomach, sliding like a snake into the lounge. Looking up, she could see the silhouette of one them dragging their fingernails down the length of the window.

  “Please,” the silhouette hissed.

  Winnie recognised the voice to be that of the woman, Michelle.

  When Michelle got no answer from Winnie, she began to tap lightly on the glass, as if teasing her somehow. “It’s not you we want,” Michelle said from outside, her voice sounding softer now. “We just want Thaddeus.”

  “He’s not here,” Winnie cried out.

  “You lie!” came the voice of Nate from behind the front door. “And I will burn you for it.”

  “He’s not here!” Winnie screamed.

  “Let us take a look for ourselves.” This time it was the voice of Claude she could hear, as if coming from above her – the roof, perhaps.

  “No,” Winnie sobbed into the balls of her hands. “No, I can’t let you in.”

  “Yes, you can,” Michelle said, her voice soothing now, like an older sister trying to offer some understanding and comfort. “We won’t hurt you. It’s Thaddeus we want.”

  With the sound of Michelle’s fingernails tapping against the window quickening, and the banging on the door growing louder again, Winnie felt as if she were being mentally tortured. She felt as if her mind was being chipped away at, and bit by bit, her resolve, her strength to defy the strangers outside was being broken down.

  “Just ask us to come in,” Michelle whispered. “You don’t even have to stay. You could take the chance to run. To get far away from Thaddeus. He is the one who will kill you, not us.”

  With Michelle’s words floating around in her mind, and knowi
ng that she just wanted to run and run until her heart burst, Winnie pulled herself to her feet and walked slowly towards the front door.

  “You promise you won’t hurt me?” she sobbed, her arm shaking uncontrollably as she reached out for the door handle. “You promise you will let me run far away from here?”

  “We promise,” Nate said, his voice now sounding as smooth as silk, like Michelle’s.

  With her heart beating at a deafening level in her ears, Winnie curled her fingers around the door handle. Then, in between the beats of her heart, she heard another sound. A voice – a little voice.

  No, it whispered.

  Winnie snapped her head around, half expecting to see her friend, Ruby Little, standing at the foot of the stairs, bathed in moonlight, her bright red coat shining, like the drool of vomit encrusted around her mouth. There was no moonlight, and no Ruby Little. Winnie looked down at her fingers curled around the door handle, then let them slowly slip away.

  “I won’t invite you in,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

  No sooner had the words passed over her lips, the strangers outside erupted in a frenzy of anger.

  “I will burn you,” Nate hissed around the edges of the doorframe. “I will burn both of you.”

  With her back against the wall in the hallway, Winnie slid slowly to the floor. She sat in the dark, listening to the strangers’ threats, then promises, and pleas. With her eyes shut tight, and hands pressed flat against her ears, she thought of her friend, Ruby Little, as if waiting to hear her tiny voice again. It didn’t come. Just before dawn, the banging and the screeching from the other side of the front door finally stopped. Winnie was unaware that it had, as she had finally given in to her tiredness, and fell asleep on the hallway floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Why did you clean the windows? the voice asked.

  The voice came again, but Winnie just thought it was coming from somewhere way off in her dream. She felt cold. The surface beneath her was too hard to be the wild heather and grass she was lying on in her dream.

  Why did you clean the dirt from the windows? the voice came again, and Winnie recognised it to be Thaddeus’s.

  She rolled over to find him lying next to her. Winnie could hear the sound of the sea rushing up the shore. The sun was high above her, and its bright rays of light blurred her view of him. She could see his chest was bare. She feared that he was still in love with Frances, the woman he had once loved...the woman he had murdered.

  Why did you clean the windows? she heard him ask yet again behind the dazzling sunlight.

  Because it’s my job, she whispered, suddenly feeling scared. Because if I didn’t clean the windows, you would be angry with me. You would murder me just like you murdered...

  “...Frances,” Winnie murmured, opening her eyes. She looked up to see Thaddeus standing over her.

  “What did you say?” he asked, a deep frown across his brow.

  “Huh?” she mumbled, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

  “Why did you clean the dirt off the windows?” he repeated, reaching down and pulling Winnie to her feet.

  “What?” Winnie flustered, feeling disorientated and thick-headed. She slowly glanced about as if getting her bearings, and she could see by the pale light that was streaming through the open front door, that it was dusk. How long had she slept? She wondered. Then focusing on the front door again, she pulled herself free of Thaddeus’s grasp, ran across the hall and slammed it shut.

  With a perplexed look on his face, and seeing the sudden look of fear in her eyes, Thaddeus said, “What’s wrong?”

  Winnie turned to face him, and as the memories of what had happened the night before flooded her mind, she turned around and yanked open the front door again. Before she had even stepped over the threshold, Thaddeus had taken hold of her arm again.

  “Get the fuck off me!” she screamed at him, punching and kicking out wildly at him.

  “What’s wrong?” he said, soaking up her punches.

  “You’re a freaking murderer, that’s what’s wrong!” she yelled at him.

  Looking as if he had been suddenly struck across his face, Thaddeus said, “What are you talking about? Who has said this about me?”

  “The faces I saw in the moonlight!” she shouted, trying to pull free of him. “The faces you said I had imagined.”

  “Did they speak to you?” he snapped. Then shaking her like a ragdoll, he roared, “What did you tell them? What did they say?”

  Winnie looked into his eyes and screamed, “Apart from wanting to rip your fucking heart out, and drain you of all your blood, they said you murdered Frances.”

  Hearing this, Thaddeus glanced back at the tree line, and then slamming the door shut, he paced up and down the hallway. Thaddeus ran his long fingers through his hair. He looked anxious and drawn. Then turning, he stared at Winnie and said, “Oh my God, what have I done? I’ve failed.”

  “Did you kill Frances?” Winnie yelled, screwing her hands into fists by her sides.

  Then, taking a step closer to her, he whispered, “Yes, I killed her.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Winnie reached for the door handle again, but Thaddeus was too quick and gripped her wrist.

  “It’s not what you think,” he shouted at her, his eyes dark and desperate-looking. “Yes I killed her, but it was an accident. I never meant to kill her.”

  “You said she died of cancer,” Winnie spat at him.

  “I didn’t murderer her!” he shouted, the veins bulging beneath the flesh that covered his neck. “You’ve got to believe me.”

  “Why should I believe a word you say?” she yelled back. “You’ve done nothing but lie to me since I arrived here! I should never have accepted your offer. I should’ve stayed in London. By the sounds of it, I would have been safer living and sleeping on the streets.”

  Winnie turned her back on him and opened the front door.

  “Where are you going?” he asked her.

  “Back where I came from,” she said. “Back to what I know.”

  “You can’t leave,” he whispered over her shoulder.

  Winnie could feel him behind her, his breath cold against the nape of her neck. “Why not?” she breathed, too scared to turn around.

  “Because it’s almost dark outside and they will be back before you reach the end of the coastal path,” he said.

  “What? These people you’ve pissed off only come out at night, do they?” she asked with a sneer.

  “They aren’t people,” Thaddeus whispered in her ear. “They are vampires.”

  With the sound of disbelief in her voice, Winnie said, “Bullshit. There isn’t any such thing as vampires.”

  “Nor werewolves?” he said, pulling her around to face him.

  With her eyes wide open, and a scream trying to escape from her throat, Winnie collapsed in shock against the door. Dropping to her knees, she fought desperately to suck air into her lungs as she looked up at him. Thaddeus stood before her, his eyes bright and yellow, like two burning suns. The shape of his face hadn’t changed. He still looked like Thaddeus, other than the bushy-looking sideburns which now covered his cheeks. His hands had changed, Winnie noticed, as she stared in horror at him. Where he had once had those long, slender fingers, were now a huge set of claws. They looked strong and powerful – deadly.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” Winnie finally gasped. “What are you?”

  “I am a Lycanthrope,” he said, baring a set of razor-sharp-looking teeth. “But you would probably know me better by the more common term, werewolf, or wolf man.”

  “You’re not real,” Winnie gasped. “None of this is real. Things like you are just stuff off stories and nightmares.”

  Thaddeus took one of her hands in his claws. She immediately tried to pull away, but he held firm. His claws felt warm. The skin covering them was coarse and tough. Then, taking her hand, he placed it against his chest. Beneath his fine cotton shirt, she could feel his
heart racing.

  “I’m very real and so are the vampires you say came here last night,” he whispered.

  “Are you going to kill me like you killed Frances?” Winnie breathed.

  “If my reasons for bringing you here were to simply kill you, I would have done so already,” he said, letting go of her hand.

  “So why did you bring me here?” Winnie asked, pressing herself against the door, desperate to keep as much distance between her and Thaddeus as possible.

  He saw her flinch away, and desperate to show Winnie she had nothing to fear from him, he walked over to the staircase and sat on the bottom stair. Then, looking over at her as she cowered in the darkening shadows, he said, “As you can see, vampires and werewolves are very real. We don’t make the habit of revealing ourselves. The reaction that you’ve just had is proof enough that we are better off living in secret, keeping ourselves away from humans as much as possible. They would only hunt us down and kill us. We have done that to our own species well enough without the help of humans.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Winnie asked, drawing her knees up beneath her chin.

  “I am the last of my race,” he started to explain. “Hundreds of years ago, our two races inhabited the Carpathian Mountains, which bordered the countries of Bukovina and Moldavia. For as long as we lived in those mountains, the vampires and Lycanthrope fought for dominance of the region. The vampires were far greater in number, and they hunted down and killed my race. They drove us to the very brink of extinction. With only a small pack of us left, we fled the mountains, but this wasn’t enough for the vampires, they wanted all of us dead. They pursued us across the remote regions of Eastern Europe. One by one, they killed the Lycanthrope until there was only the one left – me,” he said, patting his chest with his claw.