Five Days of Darkness

by Greg Hall

  The bloodsucker had fallen forward and collapsed on the small wooden platform. He struggled for air, but his breaths were ragged and fleeting. He tried in vain to reach around to pull the stake from his back. He fatigued quickly and gave up trying.

  “You think this will stop me?” the bloodsucker said. He was trying to sound courageous, his words were barely audible.

  “Just die,” Modeste said, grabbing her cane. She pushed herself up to her feet. She still lacked enough energy to walk very far. but she needed to check on Henri. He was still inside, and she was scared as to what she might find. She turned toward the open door.

  “It would have been better had you hit my heart. It would have been a quicker kill,” the bloodsucker said.

  Modeste felt the monster rise beside her, the blood covered stake still protruding through its chest. Modeste was surprised by its tenacity. She was unarmed and unprepared. Her energy was too low to conjure, let alone run. She came so far and was now so close to killing the monster who took her daughter. Now, he stood, refusing to die, inches from her face.

  Modeste grasped her cane. Her cane! Modeste took a firm grip on the handle, and as the bloodsucker reached to grab her throat, she thrust the dowel worn base of her cane through its heart.

  The bloodsucker cried out again in agony as he fell backwards onto the porch. His body lifeless on the wood. Modeste’s cane was sticking straight up.

  Modeste used her remaining energy to grab her cane. She ripped it from the bloodsucker’s chest. The force sent her backward and tumbling onto the ground. She struggled to stand, but she was too weak. The spirit transference had cost her too much.

  She felt weaker and weaker with every breath, until finally, she passed out.

  43

  Henri passed in and out of consciousness.

  He knew he wouldn’t survive much longer. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open. The room was dark, with only a hint of blue hue from a window on the south wall. The gun lay a few feet from his body. His body was contorted, his legs splayed in opposite directions. A pool of blood had begun to spread across the floor. It seeped out from under his back.

  Henri was so close to death, he wanted to reflect on his life. He had spoken to a few dying men in the past, and the thing they all had in common was their need for absolution. In Henri’s eyes, this entire journey was one of absolution. He doubted that he achieved his purpose. He didn’t stop the monster, he left the burden solely in Modeste’s hands. He loathed the fact that he left her on her own. He was supposed to be the hero, the one to stop the bloodsucker.

  Maybe the monster was right. Perhaps everything he told his congregation was a lie. He had been fighting that thought for years. He followed the tenets of Christianity for his entire life, but how he frequently questioned his faith, Henri wondered if his departure from his faith had impacted his parish. If the bloodsucker was right and Henri had propagating lies for years, then what was waiting for him on the other side?

  Henri closed his eyes in defeat and waited for the cold hand of death. He wished he could see Modeste one last time, but nothing in Henri’s life was going to work out the way he hoped. He couldn’t help Modeste. He couldn’t save Eli. He couldn’t save himself.

  Henri was ready to surrender to his impending death when he heard the familiar tap of a cane on wood. His nostrils were tickled with the sweet smell of lavender and he knew Modeste was nearby. He forced his eyes open, and it took a moment before they adjusted to the light. Modeste stood over him.

  Henri was unsure what happened next, but he saw her cane lying on the floor by his head. He felt her warm embrace wrap around him, and suddenly his body wasn’t cold and shivering anymore. Modeste slid down on the floor beside Henri. She was weak and seemed frail, Henri thought. All of a sudden, Henri was ready.

  “What have you done, Henri?” Modeste cried.

  “Modeste, I’m not doing well.”

  “No, no, you’re not,” Modeste replied. Her words were sounding broken. “How could you let this happen?”

  Henri could hear the sadness in her voice. He couldn’t see her face, and he didn’t have the energy to turn his head toward her. He wanted to see her face. He wanted to see her brown eyes and the creases that make her smile. So lovely. But the embrace would do for the moment.

  “What happens after this?” Henri asked.

  “We leave here. We head back to Morrow. We get you better.”

  “We both know I’m not going anywhere. This is my final stop.” The words felt strange to say out loud. Henri wondered if everyone’s last thoughts were about not wanting to die. “What do you think will happen to me when I pass?”

  A silence fell between them. Henri waited for Modeste to say something. She didn’t say anything, but he felt her body tremble as she fought back tears.

  She inhaled sharply and said, “Death energizes the living.”

  “How so?”

  “Our spirits are just energy. When we pass, the energy is pushed back into the lives of the living. It heals the sick. The Conjurer uses your energy to heal those in need.

  A smile appeared on Henri’s face. He liked the idea that his spirit would help those in need. Henri wanted to think that some good would come from his death. He hoped Modeste was right.

  “You know what made me begin to question my faith?” Henri asked.

  “No.”

  “It wasn’t death. It wasn’t why people died. It wasn’t why Eli died so young. What bothered me, and what I could never justify or rationalize, was the suffering that surrounds death. Why did Eli have to experience such pain before his death? Why must people suffer?”

  The question baffled Modeste. The question baffled most people, religious or not. Henri didn’t expect an answer.

  “Can you promise me something?” he asked, leaving his previous questions unanswered.

  “Anything.”

  “Stay in Morrow. Help the black community there. I wanted to start something there, and I didn’t do enough.”

  “You did plenty.”

  “I could have done more,” Henri said, after a deep exhale.. Every breath was more difficult and more painful. “I should have done more.”

  “I hope one day things will change. Maybe they won’t. Maybe real change won’t happen until we are both long gone. But you started. You believed Betsy.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I have a small confession to make, Henri.”

  The last thing Henri expected to do on his deathbed was listen to a confession. He was surprised. He didn’t think she would be one to confess his sins. She believed in God, but their religious beliefs were vastly different.

  “What is it?”

  “Betsy came to me first about her vision with the Lord. She was afraid to come to you. She was scared that you wouldn’t listen. She was scared that you would kick her out of the parish. I told her to talk to you, and tell you everything about how God spoke to her.. I knew you would listen.”

  “Why were you so sure?”

  “Because of what you were doing. Not a single white man, let alone a priest had opened their doors. I knew once you heard what was happening, you would help.”

  “But I let Eli die.”

  “You didn’t let Eli die. Those boys killed him.”

  “I could have prevented it.”

  “Had you stepped in earlier, those boys would have got Eli another way. You can’t place the blame on yourself.”

  “But I didn’t act. I knew I needed to act, and I didn’t.”

  “If Eli was here right now, would he forgive you?” Modeste asked.

  “I hope so.”

  “I think he would. You saved me, Henri. There was no inaction there. You saw plenty of opportunities to act and you did. I think Eli would approve of your actions.”

  Henri felt his body getting weaker. He knew he didn’t have much time left, and he didn’t want to leave this moment on a negative note. He wanted to make sure that Modeste knew how he truly felt.


  “Modeste, there is something I wanted to say to you too,” Henri said, struggling to speak. The pain intensified with each word.

  “Save your words, Henri. They’re going to hurt both of us,” Modeste said as if she knew what Henri was going to say.

  Henri himself wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say, but he felt relief that she knew how he felt. He loved the sensation he had felt when he was with her. He felt at ease whenever she was near. Her presence wasn’t just calming, but soothing too.

  Now, his lungs felt heavy, and felt like they were filling with blood. It was becoming nearly impossible to breathe.

  He could feel Modeste’s trembling hands. They shook uncontrollably.

  “Modeste? What’s wrong?”

  “I might not be leaving this place either.”

  “What? You have to.”

  “I did something. I asked for too much, and my body might not have enough to recover,” Modeste said, with anguish.

  “I don’t know what any of that means, Modeste. But you better walk on out of here and head back to Morrow. They need you. Betsy needs you. You’re the only one she has now,” Henri’s words barely murmured.

  The pressure grew in Henri’s chest. His time was running out, but at the moment, he was in her arms, content. He was at peace.

  “I don’t know if I can make it, Henri. I don’t think I’m going anywhere,” Modeste said, fighting back tears.

  Her words were for naught. Henri was gone.

  44

  Modeste didn’t want to let go of Henri.

  Her arms were still wrapped around him. She had tried her best not to burden him with her sorrow. In her heart, she knew Henri’s journey was over, but in her mind, she didn’t want to believe it. Modeste had hoped they could start their next chapter together. One where the two of them could experience joy together.

  Modeste wanted more time with him, but the conjurer had other plans. Even Modeste’s desire to save Henri couldn't convince the conjurer to save him. Henri was suffering, and it was selfish of Modeste to want him to continue in pain. Every ounce of remaining energy was dedicated to holding onto him. She felt that if she let go, then she too would be gone.

  Her body was getting weaker with every breath she took. She freely gave her life to stop the bloodsucker, and she lost a daughter and friend along the way. Now she could die knowing that the monster that took her daughter wouldn’t hurt another soul.

  A blinding aura filled the room. So bright that Modeste couldn’t keep her eyes open. Even through her closed eyelids, she could see the blinding light fill the room. A strange sensation radiated through her body. She felt fire coursing through her veins. A fire that was rushing through every organ, fueling her strength like she’d never felt before. Her eyes burned. Her heart throbbed with an unimaginable ache, like no other. The fire intensified on her right leg.

  Finally, the heat was too much, and Modeste gave into its warmth. It was too much for her to handle. Her grip loosened on Henri, although she fought as much as she could. Her fingers finally slipped, and Modeste passed out.

  As Modeste stepped out onto the deck, there was no pain in her right leg. It was an odd feeling, being able to walk without her cane. She felt stronger than ever before. She looked over to where the body of the monster should have been.

  The body of the bloodsucker was gone. Modeste had heard their bodies decompose in a matter of minutes, and hoped that it was true. All that lay in its wake was the stake that was once sticking out through its chest. There was no sign of a struggle, and the blood on the front porch had disappeared.

  Modeste walked away from the house and stopped. She felt like a new woman. She walked with confidence and strength, but more importantly, she no longer needed the cane. Modeste couldn’t explain it, but there was no more pain in her right knee. She worried that she was fueled by adrenaline from her fight with the bloodsucker.

  She couldn’t fully explain the strange light or the unexplainable phenomenon that took place moments ago, but she believed the Conjurer had used Henri’s energy to heal her. Without her calling to the Conjurer, the only way she could have received the energy was if someone close to death had made their own deal. It was a fair assumption that Henri was the one to make a deal. She had so much more to learn, and now that she was healed, she was motivated to reconnect with God the Conjurer to help heal more patients.

  The sun was rising, and the town that she only knew at night was cast in a new light. It was peaceful. Quiet. A lot had changed in just one night. There were five dead citizen and no killer to be found.

  Modeste stepped onto the dewy grass and let her toes feel the dampness. It was a refreshing sensation. A simple feeling she would have previously taken for granted. Birds were singing their morning tune, and Modeste smiled.

  Her sense of peace didn’t last long. As she caught a glimpse of the Sheriff’s decapitated body, the realization from the previous night rushed back. She thought of Henri and how she would be traveling back to Morrow on her own. She also realized that she was going to have to flee the town before she became the prime suspect.

  She never thought that she would be able to build such a strong connection with someone like Henri. She had known many priests in the past, but none were willing to listen, let alone, accept any advice. She made a friend. Maybe in a different world, they could have been something more. Henri would always be in her heart.

  Modeste placed her cane on her shoulder and looked for the train tracks. She needed to get back to Morrow and connect with Randy in hopes of getting Henri’s body back to town, and give him the proper burial that he deserved.

  Modeste was finally ready to get back to Morrow.

  Epilogue

  A fiddle played nearby.

  The happy tune kept a smile on Modeste’s face. It had been a week since she last heard the beautiful sound, and at one point, she thought she might never hear it again. The Cajun tunes always brought a feeling of calmness, ease.

  Her cane leaned against the chair. It was more than a keepsake. It was her most valuable possession. Now, her leg felt better than ever, and she was almost back to walking the way she had before the accident. Once in a while, she worried that the pain would come back, but she knew that was a useless worry.

  She still felt Henri around. He had vital energy, and it would be a long time until it faded away. She wished that he was here to spend the nights listening to the fiddle. They could have enjoyed it together.

  Betsy came to visit her some nights. She held onto the responsibility of tending to the garden in front of the parish. Modeste had offered her a place to stay, but Betsy wanted to remain at her own home. She felt her family's spirit and wanted to make sure she was around for them.

  Modeste knew the feeling of loss and love too well.

  The bottle of bourbon was missing a few fingers, and her cup was almost empty. She kept her hand on the glass as if it was an extension of her body. Most of the time, she didn’t drink much, the bite of bourbon put her mind at ease.

  “Modeste Barre?” a trembling voice called out from the darkness.

  Modeste was instantly brought back to that moment just a couple of weeks ago when Henri stood out in the dark, contemplating whether he should approach her.

  “Yessir. Step into the light.”

  The young male approached, and the glow from the lamp illuminated his face. The man wore similar clothing to Henri. Even down to the clerical collar. He must have been twenty years her junior and appeared as though he was fresh from the brotherhood. He was thin, and his skin was very pale. She wondered if his mild manner was because he was nervous standing in front of her.

  “My name is Vincent. I’ve been told that I should speak with you about Morrow.”

  “Oh? And who might have told you that?”

  “Father Henri Joffre,” he said.

  Modeste’s jaw dropped open, hearing Henri’s name. This man must be playing with her, and she didn’t want any of it.

  “Is
this some kind of joke?”

  “I mean, he left a note,” he stammered, then continued, “There was a letter in his chambers. It was all about your journey across the state. He called it a confession. Said he was waiting to be hanged, and if this letter got back to Morrow, for the next Father to speak with you.”

  Modeste had so many questions. How did he get the letter here? Why didn’t he leave anything for her? Franklin?! That must be it. It’s the only way. She was desperate to read the letter and hoped that maybe Vincent would be kind enough to share it with her.

  “Care to have a seat?”

  Vincent was still hesitant, as he made his way across her porch and sat down in front of her.

  Modeste held out the bottle of bourbon and motioned for him to take it, but he refused. That was expected, Modeste thought. Henri was the same way, but for different reasons. He was young, and new to the brotherhood, so alcohol wouldn’t be his first choice.

  “Pardon my intrusion on your night, but I have passed by your place a few times and haven’t found the nerve to approach.”

  “My door is always open,” Modeste said.

  “Well, that’s mighty kind of you,” Vincent said, then his tone began to change. “So I have to know, was it actually a vampire?”

  “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

  “I don’t know. I just, it changes everything I’ve ever been taught.”

  “Sometimes, the things you learn in books aren’t true in practice”

  “What about the girl? Sarah Jane? The letter said she may have been bitten by the vampire.”

  “She is safe and healthy, back at home with her family,” Modeste smiled, reveling in her healing work.

  “But the letter said something about bite marks.”

  “Sarah Jane has tuberculosis. I should say she had tuberculosis. After I performed my ritual in the house, she didn’t fall to consumption. The bite marks were self induced.”