The Aching Darkness_A Dark Fantasy Anthology

by Parker Sinclair

  “Yes, sir.” I shook his hand heartily, although I wasn’t aware of why he’d need to trust me. “I can pay you.”

  “No need, Josef. This is my gift to you,” Kathalin chimed in.

  “I am grateful,” I replied. Actually, I was grateful that I wasn’t slurring my speech and getting tossed out on my ass.

  When the last customer left, Kathalin brought me up to the room, where I quickly realized why they needed trust—the brother slept in the same room as she did, although separate beds. I more or less collapsed on what I hoped was the brother’s bed, and prayed I didn’t cause any damage.

  Kathalin sat on the edge of the bed, her hand on my forearm. “Are you okay?” her voice was gentle, soothing. “Did the ale help?”

  “Yes,” I replied, “but not as much as your gracious heart.”

  She moved her hand to my shoulder, and her touch felt warm and inviting, but still, I must stress, not in a sexual way. I think there was some kind of unspoken communication between us that, despite the situation, sex wasn’t what I wanted. I rolled over and felt her get into the bed with me. Her arms encircled me, and I felt her head next to mine. Some of my memories may have faded, but I can still remember the smell of Kathalin’s hair—like berries and smoke from the fire. It was a beautiful, if unlikely, combination and I’ve never smelled it since. She kissed my forehead.

  “You are very kind, Kathalin.”

  “When I first saw you, I knew you needed something, and I wanted to help.”

  I rolled over to face her, and she placed her hand on my chest. It wasn’t magic, but her touch sent a wave of calm through me. An undulation of warmth that seemed to banish the horrors of the Countess of Bathory to the dark recesses of my mind. Then we fell asleep, dead to the world until morning.

  “So you just spooned? No sex?” I was incredulous.

  “Afraid not.” Joe spread his hands in mock apology. “That was what we needed.”

  “Wow. She must have made quite an impression on you.”

  “Yeah...” Joe was looking at some faraway spot that only he could see. “I’ve only felt a connection like that a few times in my life. She was the real deal.”

  I grinned. “And to top it off, she sounds hot.”

  Joe laughed. “You would have melted, man. I’m at half chub just thinking about her. But, it was not to be.”

  “What happened?”

  “A big pile of nothing.” Joe sighed as he shrugged his shoulders. “I told her I’d come back, and she seemed pretty excited. The effects of the screams were still lingering, though, and I was in a pretty bad place. I wound up getting into a fight in a nearby town. Killed two guys.”

  “Must have been some fight,” I said.

  “Sure was.” Joe popped another beer, then let out a snort of contempt. “Anyhow, it went to court, and even though due process found that they started the fight, the magistrate was a friend of one of them, and I was locked up. In prison for three years.”

  “Holy shit. That sucks.”

  A dark smirk crossed Joe’s features. “Yeah, well I can tell you the magistrate thought it sucked when I flayed his skin off while he was alive. Fuckin’ dick.”

  “That’ll show him.” I raised my drink.

  “Okay, back to the story…”

  After serving my sentence and taking the necessary revenge, I made my way back to the tavern. I was pleased to see it was much the same place. I found a seat and enjoyed some ale, hoping to see Kathalin. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to be working.

  “Excuse me,” I said to the older bar maid. “Is Kathalin or her father around?”

  She shot me a look that was equal parts angry, enigmatic, and wounded. I was taken slightly aback—Hey, lady, I’ve been a little indisposed for the last couple of years, give a guy a break!

  She pointed up the stairs. “Her father is in his room. He rarely comes out anymore.”

  I nodded to her and made my way up the stairs. On my way, I began to notice the state of the place; it was much dirtier now, the stairs and upper corridor were grimy and unswept, bits of refuse kicked to the sides. Cobwebs and dust lined the walls and ceiling, as though the place was abandoned. A sharp contrast to the bustling alehouse below. Something was amiss.

  I reached the bedroom door and heard snoring, a deep sleep, even though the afternoon was barely over. I knocked once and got no reply. I knocked louder, this time with the base of my fist. The snoring came to an uneven stop, and finally I heard a voice.

  “Who is there? What do you want?” I recognized his voice instantly, although it was far more gravelly and weaker than I remembered it.

  “It is Josef,” I said, raising my voice to be heard through the heavy wooden door. “We met a few years ago. I was hoping to say hello to Kathalin.”

  There was a pause. “Go away.”

  “Sir, please,” I persisted. “I had hoped to return much sooner, but could not escape my dealings.”

  “I remember you,” the voice, melancholy until now, turned hostile. “Kathalin was awaiting you.”

  I heard footsteps, then the door was flung open, and I was greeted by the shadow of the man I once knew. Dishevelled, his stature was slumped, and he almost seemed to be drowning in his grubby, unmended clothes. The moustache I remembered was long and untrimmed, it covered his mouth and was now joined by an equally unkempt beard. Both were shot through with streaks of grey, well early for a man of his age. Similarly aged was his face, it was marked with deep lines earned through grief, worry, and stress. His eyes were red-rimmed and bleary, like he’d been crying.

  “She waited for you.” He jabbed a finger at me. “For whatever reason, she felt close to you. When you did not come back, she gave up and went to work for the Countess.”

  My heart sank. “Is she still there?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t heard from her in over a year. She’s disappeared along with many other girls from the town.” Suddenly, he exploded with rage. “The Countess is a witch! People say she eats the girls.”

  I swallowed. Knowing better than anyone that in this case, the rumor mill was more right than it knew.

  “I will speak with the Countess.” I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm. His grip was surprisingly strong.

  “No, no. You’ll only share her fate! Just leave town. Leave this place...leave me alone.”

  And with that, he released me and closed the door.

  As I approached the townhouse, there was a gnawing dread in my stomach that increased with each step. There was some small part of me, the part that sometimes smiles at strangers and believes that there is good in all people, that believed that Kathalin was still alive. However, the much larger part of me that wasn’t a child was already steeling me for the terrible truth; tortured, drained of blood, perhaps eaten—those were the only possibilities I could allow myself.

  Reaching the door, I forced myself to knock. My mind was swimming; simultaneously I needed and never wanted to know what had become of Kathalin. The door opened, and I was greeted by Andras, his face was as inscrutable as I remembered.

  I didn’t have to say anything, he stepped away from the entrance and gestured for me to come inside. “The Countess is here. I will let her know of your presence.”

  I stood in the antechamber and looked around, as if my surroundings would somehow provide a clue to the knowledge that I was dreading. “There was a girl named Kathalin. She worked at the tavern where I first met the Countess. Her father said she was working here.”

  Andras remained true to form, betraying nothing. “I will get the Countess,” he said as he left the room.

  My unease was reaching a crescendo. I didn’t know what I would do, how I would react when I learned of Kathalin’s fate. She had shown me kindness, true and selfless, in a time and place where no one would consider such a thing. To have that light snuffed out would have been more than I could bear. The effect of the tainted blood had long since faded, but this sensation, a breathless suspension between h
ope and tragedy, was in its own way worse. And what would happen when the reality of it was settled? Would I weep? Destroy myself? Lash out and kill Countess Bathory? I was a raw nerve, pulled to its breaking point, and I didn’t know what would happen when I snapped. That was what frightened me most of all.

  “Josef!” Her voice made my heart leap in spite of myself, and I turned to see her enter the room. I know the subtle signs of aging better than most, and I could see that she had not perceptibly matured at all since our last meeting. She was still breathtaking, in both her physical form and the ease with which she conducted herself. I knew, however, how she had achieved this, and now it sickened me.

  “I’m glad you are here,” said Bathory, encircling me with her outstretched arms. I did not reciprocate.

  “Kathalin,” I said, pushing her gently away, “the barmaid from the tavern. Does she work here?”

  A ripple of guilt played across her perfect features, and all hope was extinguished. “I don’t recall that name.”

  I leveled my gaze at her, and she didn’t try to avoid it, as many did. “Did you bleed her? Or did you eat her?”

  Andras had sensed my anger, and he withdrew from the room. He returned moments later with Ficko, swords drawn.

  Bathory’s brow knit in genuine confusion. “Josef, what is a single barmaid to you or me? She has no value, being a commoner.”

  “I am a commoner.”

  “Yes, but you are special.” She tried to hug me again but I pulled away. This small rejection seemed to raise her ire. “Who do you think you are? I am of royal birth and the Countess of these lands. Leave me now, as you no longer please me.”

  “What did you do to her?” Rage was consuming me, I gritted my teeth but managed to snarl the words.

  Her eyes went dull and cruel, and she grinned savagely. “I not only bathed in her blood, but I enjoyed her tender meat for a special dinner. She was delectable, though I must admit that parts of her were tough.”

  Any civility I had left evaporated, and I lunged toward her, seized with an unstoppable urge to tear her apart. She stepped backward, crossing her arms in front of her as she did. She then thrust her arms forward in a pushing motion, and I felt a sensation like a hurricane wind as I was thrown backward. My back and head slammed into the wall, knocking the wind out of me. I flopped to the floor, trying to breathe.

  I saw Ficko and Andras, swords in hand, drawing closer. They were cautious but deliberate, professional killers to the core. Behind them, I saw Bathory gathering her skirts about her as she exited the room. She gave a dismissive wave in my direction.

  “Let me know when you are done with him,” she said as she started up the stairs.

  Andras lunged toward me, slashing down with his sword. My recuperative powers are beyond the norm, so I was able to roll to the side. I clambered to my feet and snatched a tray from a nearby table, raising it just in time to deflect a strike from Ficko. I threw the tray at Andras, disrupting his attack, and rolled over the table. Once the table was between us, I flipped it toward the two of them, not expecting it would do much good.

  As I predicted, they simply stepped back, almost as one, to avoid the crude projectile. I had to admire their technique. Their coordination was perfect, like a dance. They never got in one another’s way, alternating thrusts to keep me constantly on the defensive.

  I could tell they were surprised at my resilience, though. They had clearly come in expecting an easier fight. I had never mentioned my powers to them, or Bathory, which remained my only advantage. I still needed a clear head to use those powers, however, and they were intent on not giving me a chance to breathe. They had me cornered, and only my quick reflexes were keeping me alive as I dodged their perfectly timed blades.

  Still, I had to try. I focused on Andras’s leg muscles, attempting to freeze them. It worked, but not as well as it should have. One of his legs seemed to give out and he went down to one knee, but he still didn’t miss his turn to swipe at me. Ficko took full advantage of my inattention and struck me in the back, severing what I knew was my shoulder blade. I bit back the pain, spun, and poured all of my concentration into exploding his heart.

  Ficko grimaced, then collapsed, clutching his chest. He wasn’t dead, I knew, just in a great deal of pain. Once again, my abilities had not performed up to snuff, and I couldn’t fully blame the stress of the situation. The Countess had some magic of her own, it seemed, which was counteracting my powers somehow. It was the first time I’d encountered such a thing, and it fascinated me even as an edge of panic began to set in.

  So surprised was I at this development that I forgot to maintain control over Andras. I paid the price for that lapse. A bolt of pain rocked through me as Andras plunged his blade into my back. I felt the cold metal invade my body, and l looked down to see that the silver tip of the blade was protruding out of my chest in the front. Fighting through the pain was getting tough, and I needed to take some risks if I was to survive. I reeled to face Andras, the look of stunned surprise that I wasn’t dead was the first emotion I’ve ever seen on his face. It was also his last.

  Grabbing him, I hurled him bodily toward the marble mantle above the fireplace with all my considerable strength. There was a dull but distinct thud as he hit, and I heard the snap of his spine as it broke in several places, along with a few other bones. He spilled to the floor, dead.

  Ficko, meanwhile, took off in the direction of the Countess. I gave chase. Found them up in the library.

  Bathory sat in one of her overstuffed chairs, legs crossed demurely at the knee. Her surviving manservant stood beside her, brandishing his bloodied sword.

  “You can’t go on like this,” I said. “You’re creating nothing but suffering and pain, I’ve heard it. And I’ve felt it. It’s why I left that night.”

  The Countess’s face was an impassive mask. “It gives me power. It gives me beauty. I will not stop.”

  My resolve hardened. The woman I’d fallen in love with was gone, if she’d ever existed at all. I cursed myself for my folly, for ignoring all this suffering for the sake of pleasure. Had it not been for my actions, Kathalin might still be alive. I wouldn’t make that mistake again. I charged at Bathory, prepared to end her once and for all.

  I didn’t get two steps before I felt the equivalent of a baseball bat to the throat. The Countess had stood, her hand outstretched and clawed as though she was gripping an invisible neck. I felt my airway constricting as the viselike grip tightened.

  “You were special, Josef. But, you cannot defeat me.” Her voice was as gentle as the first night we’d made love.

  Ficko produced a goblet, but I could smell it before I saw it—I knew it was filled with the tainted blood. Bathory took it from him and raised it to her lips, drinking deeply from it. I would have recoiled if I could. How could anyone consume something so foul?

  Then, to my horror, she approached me, still holding her hand in the air to maintain whatever spell was holding me aloft. The scent of death and pain was overpowering, and I could see a fine line of red draining from the corner of her mouth. She was holding some of the blood in her mouth, and I knew with grim confidence what she planned to do with it.

  She lowered me so that we were eye to eye. My legs simply gave way beneath me, not having the strength to hold me up. Bringing her face close to mine, she kissed me, releasing the blood into my mouth as she did so. I had only had a trace amount enter my system before, and this was millions of times worse. It was like I was there, undergoing hundreds of tortures all at once. The screams were deafening, I was drowning in a sea of blood and writhing bodies, unable to cry out myself, beyond all hope. And yet I couldn’t deny a distinct sense of intoxication. I hated what I was seeing, that it had happened, that I had to suffer knowledge of it; but there was a sense of kinship as well, an agreement between monsters. In those horrible moments, I found myself understanding what she derived from this: the destruction of beauty, the feeling of holding another’s fate in one’s hands, the tota
l control of life and death, and the ability to snuff it out in an instant. God, damn me to hell, but I had to admit on a certain level I got it. And I got her.

  I hated myself for it.

  Somewhere, over the screams, I heard her voice, as soft and beautiful as it ever was. “Goodbye, Josef.”

  The world came flooding back as I came to just in time to see her make a sharp gesture with her hand. I felt like I had been pushed off of a building, air rushing past me as I flew across the room. I heard smashing glass, briefly felt the fresh air of outdoors. Then there was a dull thud as my body impacted with a cobblestone street. I honestly don’t know how I survived because the fight had significantly weakened me. But I felt the familiar itch of bones knitting and the pop of joints pulling themselves back into place. I can only surmise that it was the tainted blood that did it. One last gift from Countess Bathory.

  Fortunately for me, Kathalin’s father had decided to break out of his cloister to stop me from a grim fate. He picked me up and returned with me to the tavern, where he nursed me back to health. I was grateful but didn’t understand why he’d bother, perhaps empathy ran in the family.

  My eyes were wide. “Woah, she wasted you? I get the feeling that doesn’t happen very often.”

  “Almost never. There have only been a few times that people had the upper hand, mostly owing to superior numbers, or firepower. That tainted blood gave her power like I’d never seen. Just another way she was special. I would have liked to understand how she managed to harness it, but that was obviously out of the question.”

  “And, damn—she ate Kathalin?”

  Joe took a deep breath. “Apparently so. I blame myself in a way. Maybe if I hadn’t gotten myself locked up I could have done something.”

  “Did you see Bathory again?”

  “I did, my friend, I did…”

  It was decades later, and Elizabeth’s notoriety had only grown in that time, sadly to her detriment. I was making my way back to Transylvania and had heard stories of The Countess of Blood. Fearful stories of torture and debauchery, never spoken above a whisper, such was her influence. She’d only gotten worse in my absence, killing many more, never showing remorse. Then I heard of her capture. How they pulled it off, I’ll never know. I attended her trial in time to see Ficko’s testimony.