by Неизвестный
Elsebeth laughed; it was harsh and breathy. “Yes, have a good look. You see this?” Her shoulder made a loud crunching sound as she lifted her left arm up to show Carmen. “I was beaten while in London, in the year seventeen-sixty…. Hm. Oh, I don’t even know anymore. It doesn’t matter.” She tapped her twisted fingertips against her protruding hipbone. “Car accident, nearly sixty years ago. I’ve been walking on a broken pelvis ever since. I once tried to see if I could take my life by swallowing poison. Would you like me to tell you how that felt? You get used to the agony. A body with no death has no real balance of life. I can’t grow, I can’t heal, and I can’t die… oh, but I can age! I can waste away!”
Elsebeth’s smile faded; her milky eyes looked terrified for a moment and Carmen wondered if Elsebeth could even see anymore. “There are worse things than death, Carmen. It starts when you take the aqua vitae. You may think dying hurts, but losing your life, at least, is natural. Losing your death is dark, dangerous magic, and you will never feel a pain quite like it. Papa knew that when he kissed me and handed me the glass. And then he died.”
Elsebeth turned her back to her; Carmen heard the sound of liquid pouring into a glass, and when she turned again, Elsebeth was holding a steaming cup between her twisted fingers, quickly walking over, a heavy jerk in her step. When Carmen jumped, Elsebeth placed herself between her and the door.
“So I’m not going to kill you, Carmen. I’m going to do something much worse; I’m going to take your death away from you. Why are you scared? You wanted this. You went searching for an alchemist, for the fountain of youth. Today, we will sign a binding contract together. I’m offering you a fair exchange; my eternal life, for your death.”
She held up the glass; the liquid was clear, casting off a strongly-smelling steam. It didn’t stink, but it made Carmen feel as though she would vomit. Years of research, and finally she’d found what she’d been looking for. But…
“Not like this,” Carmen whispered.
“You came to me,” Elsebeth rasped. “You convinced me to meet you. You will not run, you will not hide. I’ve not lied to you; you will have immortality. No one will ever look at you like you looked at your sister. You won’t feel that bite. So take the elixir.”
“No.”
“Take it, girl. You had your chance to run. My sympathy, thin as it was, has dissipated. Take it willingly, or I will force you. I need to die. I need to feel the bite of the Ouroboros on its tail.”
Carmen debated knocking the glass out of Elsebeth’s hand, kicking her to the ground, running to the door. The thought of assaulting an old woman gave her pause, but she told herself this was no sweet elderly grandmother standing before her.
Carmen stared at the raw, open skin of Elsebeth’s body. She could smell the stink of near-death hovering around her, like a rabid dog on a chain. No, a snake. An Ouroboros with bare fangs, snapping at her.
She made her decision, and drew her hand back to smack Elsebeth on the side of the head.
You get used to the agony.
Carmen was no fighter; her punch was sloppy and connected with Elsebeth’s ear. The old woman jerked from the impact but there was no trace of pain in her washed-out eyes. The centuries had honed her reflexes; Elsebeth struck back, with a savage strike to the jaw that knocked Carmen flat on her butt. Elsebeth had hit her with all the strength and power of someone whose body felt no mortal limitations.
Carmen’s head was still ringing when she felt Elsebeth pin her to the dirty floor, setting her jagged body down on her ribs. Carmen lashed out frantically with her arm, trying to slap or push Elsebeth from her. Her hand connected with Elsebeth’s face; when Carmen clawed and pushed, the wrinkled skin beneath her finger tore and slid off like the skin of a ripe tomato, revealing more gaping flesh, more yellowed bare skull. She’d taken half of Elsebeth’s face and head off and still the old woman fought her, feeling nothing. Carmen gagged at the sight and shook her hand to get the skin off, succeeding only in knocking one of Elsebeth’s eyes out of its socket. It bounced on Carmen’s cheek and landed on the floor with a splatter.
Elsebeth’s bony fingers went to Carmen’s jaw, squeezing with freakish strength. Panicked, Carmen tried to struggle, but the squeezing intensified, and the pain in her jaw and the sight of bloody bare skull and empty eyeholes made her gasp and go still.
“The Ouroboros will not leave me alone,” Elsebeth pleaded. For the first time, she didn’t sound like an old woman, but like the young girl she’d been, dragged kicking and screaming out of time, wearing a centuries-old mask. “Let me die. Let me bite the tail. Please let me die!”
Carmen saw, with horror, the still-steaming glass as Elsebeth brought it up over her face. She shrieked; Elsebeth poured it into Carmen’s open mouth, scalding her tongue, pushing her jaw shut until she had no choice but to swallow the mixture.
It tasted sickly-sweet, and bitter as ash. It burned like fire down Carmen’s throat and into her stomach; for a moment there was nothing, and Elsebeth got off of her—she could hear Elsebeth’s bones cracking as she did. When nothing continued to happen, Carmen wondered if the old woman had messed up, if she hadn’t mixed the elixir right.
A pain suddenly blossomed inside Carmen’s belly, spreading to her limbs, to her head, to her soul. She rolled over and gasped, blood roaring furiously in her ears, and she felt as though she was dying—but no, God no, it was the opposite.
She was becoming immortal. The pain was the pain of her death tearing away from her, as though someone had plunged a hand into her chest, digging around the gore and guts to pluck a shiny penny out.
Alchemy. Balance. Creation and destruction. Life and death in a never-ending cycle.
When the pain stopped, Carmen felt sweaty and weak. She had no clue how long she’d been out—and then realized with a shock that it didn’t matter anymore, because she was immortal. She could waste all the time she wanted.
She struggled to her feet, placing her hand in a pile of damp dust, breathing around a deep ache in her belly, and looked about for Elsebeth. She didn’t see her immediately, at least until she realized the damp dust she’d touched was Elsebeth, dead at last, decomposed into a moist pile of ash.
Stumbling toward the worktable, her hand landed on the booklet with hand-written instructions: First, you must fashion a spoon carved from the wood of an oak tree…
Her fingers were clumsy as she shut the booklet and gathered it up. In her haste, the back of Carmen’s hand struck the edge of the pot Elsebeth had used to prepare the elixir; the metal was still hot, leaving a small burn.
It stung. It was a small wound, but one that Carmen knew would never heal. She felt sick then, but she got what she wanted-- immortality. She’d traded the agony of the bite to her soul for something much, much more terrible.
Carmen left the dank apartment to ponder her new life. Touching the burn on her knuckle, she had a sudden vision of a snake’s mouth, open and gaping, the fangs snapping, seeking, pleading.
Marie Victoria Robertson is a speculative fiction and horror writer from Ottawa, Ontario. Her work has previously appeared in Crossed Genres magazine, Canadian Stories, Capital Geek Girls, The Loudest Geeks in the Room and on the local (Ottawa, Canada) stage with Troupe de la Lune, Nemesis Productions, and What The Foggle Productions. She enjoys Victorian occult societies, piles of skulls, and long walks on the beach.
HERE I LIE
by
LORRAINE VERSINI
A throbbing pain behind his eyes woke Robert up. Frowning and moaning, he wriggled as he came to, optimistic that a little more comfort would somehow provide some relief. Maybe if he could just lie on his side, it would make a difference. Might not help with the headache, but it would certainly prevent him from choking on the bile that was burning a trail up his oesophagus.
“What happened?” he mumbled. However, trying to bring up memories from the massive cotton wool ball that was his brain proved too much hard work. A complete void filled his mind, enveloping any beg
inning of reasoning and swallowing it before it reached any conclusion.
Heaving himself to rest on his right flank, Robert triggered a new torment. A tight band wrapped itself around his chest as his rib cage bent to accommodate his movement. A sharp pain shot up his lungs, bringing his breathing to a halt after one big gulp of air so stale he could actually taste it. Surrendering, Robert slumped back down, a thousand prickly stars exploding in his skull, prompting another strained groan.
A metallic tang began to replace that of sour mustiness. Robert swallowed and guessed the liquid that had pooled at the back of his throat was not saliva. Its consistency was much thicker, and its flavour violently squeezed another wave of nausea out of his stomach. In reflex, he rubbed his nose. The crunching noise and the drilling sensation of bone grating against bone told him all he needed to know. Something serious had occurred, and he was in need of medical help. But what justified the complete silence? Where was he?
In a rush to answer all the questions raised, Robert attempted to open his eyes, but the total darkness he met hit him with a sense of impending doom. He was alone, in an unknown place. No one to save him. Not a flicker of light to give him hope. As he surged upwards to get a better idea of his surroundings, willing himself not to focus on the soreness that flooded his insides, his forehead hit a wooden plank in a thump that rode his already overstrung nerves all the way down his spine. He resisted the bounce, the unexpected surprise rattling yet again the alarm bells that were ringing Robert’s downfall. To remedy the worrying lack of information that heightened his fear, Robert placed his hands on the surface he’d just encountered. It was damp and cool to the touch, flat and rough, and as his arms worked their way further and further aside…
“My God, I’m in a box!” he erupted, beads of cold sweat already trickling down his temples. A box big enough to contain him, to allow him a little movement, yet his location remained the most perplexing and frightening concern.
Robert needed to get out. He had to get out. Survival instinct kicked in, and for several minutes – an eternity more like – Robert yelled, banged, punched, kicked, scratched and prayed, warring against the texture that grated his knuckles, then ignoring the torture inflicted on his nails as they split and tore, one by one, until his digits turned into stubs of mangled flesh.
Capitulating to despair, Robert crumbled into a heap of exhaustion and tears. His sobs became more pronounced as his panting worsened from the lack of oxygen. Bringing his curled up fists close to his heart to nurse his wounds, he whimpered a futile “Mummy, help me…”
He barely had the chance to conjure her picture up from his memory before the panels above him caved in, and a mountain of earth flooded his grim coffin.
* * *
Bright neon lights were lighting up the room when Jolene came out of her comatose state. A sigh escaped through a tight-lined smile. She seemed happy to be back in the land of the conscious.
“How are you, sweetie?” Tanya gently asked, while Pete’s calloused hand closed on Jolene’s.
“I’m okay, Mum... I feel like I’ve been sleeping for days.” She sniffed the air, and coughed. “It stinks of antiseptic here. Where am I?”
“You’re in hospital, Jolene. You were hit by a car yesterday. You’ve had to have surgery to fix your collarbone, but the doctors say that you should be out in a few days. Thank goodness you’re alive!”
Pete understood the emotions that bubbled up inside his wife as she started acting all motherly and listing all the can’t-dos until their daughter was completely recovered. Now that the stifling clouds of fear were gone, the skies were being taken over by a hurricane of extreme relief, immense gratitude, and overwhelming love.
Jolene opened her eyes, and in encouragement, Pete squeezed the fingers his hand was protecting. He couldn’t let her fall back into slumber just yet. “Jolene, the driver said you jumped right in front of her car. It’s not like you to be so careless. What happened?”
“Pete, now is not the time!” his wife suggested, her gaze shooting bullets of scolding warnings straight at his brain.
“It’s fine, Mum … I’m just a bit woozy… Someone attacked me… He grabbed me by my jacket and pulled me in the alley before crushing me against the wall with his weight.” Her face started to scrunch up, before drops of distress escaped from her eyelids. “He had his hands and his tongue all over me!” she wailed.
“Do you know him, Jolene?” Pete interrupted, his spine stiffened by the announcement.
Jolene took a pause, apparently trying to gather the thoughts that the morphine must have scattered around. “Yes, it’s the weirdo that hangs around college all the time…”
In the far end of the room, Jimmy stood right up from his chair, his hands curled into fists.
“What’s his name?” Pete continued, restraining the rage that was threatening to gush forth from the darkest place of his soul, one he had sworn not to visit again when he got sentenced to a four year stint in confinement for grievous bodily harm. “Got to send him to jail. He can’t get away with this!” He felt his complexion turn hot and clammy.
“I’ve seen the guy before, Dad,” Jimmy blurted out. “We call him ‘Uncle Robert’.”
“Grab your coat, Boy, we’re going to the station,” Pete urged as he shifted his position to face his son. The nod he received in reply sent him stomping urgently to the seat that was buried under the family’s belongings to grab his parka. Without wasting any time saying goodbye, he stormed down the corridor, with Jimmy on his heels.
* * *
Horrifying images whirled inside Pete’s mind, distracting him from the traffic he was desperately trying to pay attention to. What did the bloody fucker do to my baby girl? The thought of anyone touching Jolene made him sick to his stomach. Thank God he could hold on to his determination to hand the bastard’s sorry ass to the cops and make sure he’d rot in his cell, his very own beacon in those nightmarish stormy winds.
“Who the hell is this ‘Uncle Robert’, Jimmy?” he enquired, quickly adding, “And what kind of retarded nickname is that?” Pete hoped that by getting some answers, by filling some of the blanks, the unknown wouldn’t be so terrifying.
“He’s always around when we break school, mingling with the parents but never leaving with a child. Sometimes he sits on one of the benches during lunch break, and spies the kids through the fence. He’s well creepy, alone all the time, looks like a perv. I’m nineteen now, but he still gives me the chills whenever I see him. Remember those times when I arrived home sweaty from a run? It wasn’t because I was afraid to be late. It was because I had crossed his path and didn’t want him to catch me. They say he’s a paedo.”
Pete’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. His nostrils flared up, expelling the invisible smoke generated by his seething lungs. Ire churned through his veins like molten lava threatening to erupt, and he valiantly fought to keep it in check by holding on to the sole fact that his daughter had hopefully managed to escape the scumbag with nothing more serious than broken bones.
The car veered right, projecting Jimmy against the side door. “Dad, what the hell are you doing?” he screamed out, his skin tone a few shades paler.
“I’ve decided against going to the cops. We’re going to find that son of a bitch and teach him a lesson.”
It only took a few minutes for them to reach Einstein College and park the vehicle. Pete and his son got out, opting to search on foot to prevent suspicions. The sun began the last part of its descent towards the horizon as the church bells rang seven pm. For some, today was just another mundane day.
They walked up and down the main street. Checked dark alleyways, scrutinised the odd passers-by rushing home for the night or down to the pub to drown the day’s stress in a quick pint. When the darkness became too much of a hindrance to their fruitless search, the streetlights barely helping in keeping faces recognisable, the two men backtracked using another route. They increased their pace to cover more grounds.
Pete’s phone buzzed in his jeans’ pocket, stopping him in his tracks.
The text read: ‘Don’t know how long you’re going to be. Took a taxi home. See you there. Me x.’
As he revised his plans, now that he no longer had to worry about his wife, Pete felt a hand grab his arm.
“Dad!” Jimmy whispered. “Up there!”
Pete took his eyes off the screen and glanced in the direction indicated.
“It’s him?” Pete queried, also keeping his voice low to avoid alerting their target.
A short, plump man was stepping down the ramp that led to a late night store, his gait rigid yet unsure. He was dressed in black, in contrast with the vibrant colours of the shop’s sign reflecting on the glass of the transparent bottle he was taking a swig from. When he reached the pavement, he carried on walking and drinking, seemingly unaware of the two men who had begun to follow him.
Pete split up from his son after he ordered him to run and get the car. Jimmy had obeyed, without questioning, but then he knew better than cross his dad. Pete was a strict and authoritarian father figure; make him angry and there would be painful consequences.
The stalking went on for a while, until the man ventured in a deserted alley separating two lots of garages. That’s when Pete decided to act. Silently, he crept up close behind the man, raised a clenched fist, and whacked him on the back of the head. The chubby shape collapsed right there, the clink of the bottle hitting the floor and then rolling away, covering the sound of cracking bones as his skull met the same surface.
With a movement of his foot, Pete lifted the body to turn it over. Blood seeped from a gash on the man’s brow bone, and from nudging his limbs, Pete received the confirmation of his unconscious state.
On the lookout for his car, he returned to the intersection, rested his back against a wall, and checked his watch. He barely had time to think the night was still young before he was blinded by headlights. His SUV had just arrived. Pete waved, noticed the car slowing down, and ran to fetch the body, which he dragged by the arms, then hauled into the back of the vehicle, ensuring no blood would spill on the brand-new leather cover. The water from a bottle he had picked up from the boot helped him dilute the evidence of the assault, and after satisfying himself that he had left no traces of his presence, Pete returned to the driver’s seat vacated by his son and drove off.