Ancient Darkness

by D. A. Alexander

  She held her gaze with the picture for several minutes, never breaking her concentration as the sun revealed its light through the small hole in the window covering. The hazy gray of the morning light created a conical portal of light that revealed dusty particles that seemed to float in the air around us. I basked in the morning light and felt my eyelids droop into slumber. A dream of mysteries that needed unraveling would have been welcomed, but that would require a deeper kind of sleep.

  The sound of weeping to my right carried me away from the land of rest. My eyes opened to reveal a slightly brighter ray of light enter the window and I could see Maggie through the beam of light with her head rested in her hands. A slight sob left her body as the soft, delicate tears fell from her eyes. The tears were stained red and brought about an image of Christ sweating blood as he prayed at Gethsemane. The image triggered a memory of Sunday school when I was a child; the old church that we attended had the other children my age assimilated in a room no bigger than a walk-in closet. I could still hear the voice of the old woman with bluish hair read the passage from the book of Luke aloud, the smell of spearmint gum and lavender filling my nostrils.

  "Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and his disciples followed him. On reaching the place, he said to them, "Pray that you will not fall into temptation." He withdrew about a stone's throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, "Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done." An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. When he rose from prayer and went back to the disciples, he found them asleep, exhausted from sorrow. "Why are you sleeping?" he asked them. "Get up and pray so that you will not fall into temptation."

  That was a time in my life when my faith had been more evident than it was today, not yet recognizing the death and other losses that would befall me in my short mortal life. I did not question the existence of God then, as I did now. I did not ponder the ability of a benevolent creator to breathe life into clay and unfold the powers of the universe. I did not question anything, I wondered if that had always been my problem. Did my acceptance of anything and everything bring me to where I was now? I hoped against it, but fate had a cruel hand to play regardless of the truth. Either I did not believe and was fooled, or I believed and wound up to be deceived. There was no hope in that situation; the cold heart of sorrow had proved that.

  I shot a glance at Maggie and I knew that she questioned as well. Why did the same thing befall her? Did the answer to that question really matter?

  I thought for a moment that I should console her, but then I thought better of the idea. Whatever it was that she was dealing with would not be made easier with my disturbance. Besides, I had my own demons to battle, I was certain that she would understand that fact. I quietly reclined my head back and closed my eyes. I listened, intent to be there for her if she asked me, until I finally drifted back to sleep.

  Chapter 8

  Falling was the kind of dream in which most nightmares were made. The helplessness of being captive to gravity, unrestrained by the resistant properties of solid ground brought bile to my throat. They say that if you die in a dream, then, in turn, you are dead in real life. What's not real about a dream? The fears and pleasures of the 'real' world are held in place with the same bounds of sensual existence. It is the control of either that is not real. A pathetic thought for the dying, the ground coming closer and closer. The burden of weight against stone cold air was not my friend. This was the culmination of my suffering? This is what life had to offer?

  My body touched the ground with the force of a truck. The ground beneath me shuddered violently in my wake. I felt in in my bones, in my chest, in my head. I knew that I was spilling out, unconstrained by my body anymore. At least it would be over now if I were lucky.

  I could hear his name, spoken on the wind. The fear of dread was a merciless thing even for these monsters to understand.

  A choke, feminine in nature, sputtered a curse in my direction. It could not burn any more than I was already feeling. There were words in what she said, but I was too dead to understand them. They were more of a murmur and a whine. The whimpering of a dog made more sense to me than what she was saying. I lacked understanding until the sound of a snap and thud flooded into my knowing. I felt it more than I heard it. I tasted it more than I smelled it. The bile of wretched existence filled the air, as a flame licked my lips from more than six feet away. The light flickered out as they danced around like a Native American rain dance. The ashes filled my lungs and I knew what had happened. I did not descend into hell, hell had ascended to earth, and the end was nigh. The end was nigh.

  The empty cabin was a fearsome thing to wake to, a cavity full of regret and forgotten time, disheveled and waiting for something more alive to fill its void. Maggie was not in her chair, instead, there was a folded piece of paper, the lamplight casting a shadow onto the table where it sat, urging me to read the secrets in which it silently contained. I obliged.

  “Dear, Noah. The picture we found yesterday has brought about memories in which I need answers. I do not know how long it will take for me to find them, but know that I will return to help you in your quest to restore your memories. I just need the time to sort this mess out. I’m sure that you understand. Sincerely, Maggie,” the small note was written with elegant penmanship. I thought about casting the note into the fireplace to burn it, to match the yearning of my soul for my own answers. How could she abandon me to my own devices at this time? I bit my tongue as anger welled deep inside of me. I had an eternity to sort the mysteries of my mind out. I took solace in that small fact as a pang of hunger crept into my stomach, it's wanting reached into my throat and I soon felt my fangs grow out invitingly as the sound of a beating heart entered my ears. I dared a peek from the window and could see a bobcat perched on a low hanging branch from a large oak tree.

  “Breakfast,” I said as I exited the cabin on all fours. Primal, I stalked the bobcat as time stopped around me. I moved with lightening quickness and finality. The blood of the predator drained into my mouth and I felt the beating of its heart waiver. I was thankful for the nourishment that the blood provided, and the soothing of my desires, the blood lust.

  I dropped the animal and moved back towards the cabin. I knew Maggie may not return for some time. With my fill of blood, I accepted that reality and pulled a book from the shelf to read and pass the time. ‘War and Peace’ read the front cover, a voluminous tome whose spine was cracked and falling to pieces. Only the thick adhesive kept the yellowed pages together. I wondered how many times Maggie and scrolled through these pages, memorizing the words found between them. I read the book until the sun rose once again, alone and listless, waiting for the girl who had taken me in only to leave me behind. I swallowed hard and fought back tears, my emotions getting the best of me. My mind racing at the thought that I may never have the answers that I was looking for.

  “I’ll be damned if I don’t,” I whispered aloud to myself. The truth was, I was damned either way, and I knew it.

  Chapter 9

  Nourishment, that one thing that holds these carbon-based lifeforms together in a universe of circumstance. Our DNA started in the same originating place, but the branches of this coven have proved that humanity is lower of the evolutionary ladder. I thought it was a myth, but like most things, my thoughts have not made it through the fires of judgment. Perhaps there was a God, the angels of hell had found me, why not God himself? Was this broken form of desperation really stricken and forsaken? Was there an endless bitter than the one I had tasted?

  A sharp pain pierced my side and I doubled over. My flesh had not lifted from the floor boards of this church in weeks, months. I had lost touch with time, along with my own humanity. The fragile thing that I was, so much stronger than I currently was. I was between death and life, closer to the first, farther from the latter. Why must he
milk this process so?

  My body stiffened and straightened as another painful indulgence of his blood did his bidding. This was where my vision faded into nothingness. I have craved for sleep and have not found rest. My wretched soul did not deserve this, it deserved much more, he assured me of that in silent recognition. The beasts in Satan’s company leer at me with frozen glee. I am the pet of the filthy, the reward for bringing this hell to humanity.

  “He’s turning,” a hiss is uttered in my direction, but it was not for my ears.

  “Patience, Cerene,” those were the first words that I heard him say that went uninterrupted. His eastern European accent carried in the air subtly and breached my recognition. Romania? Slovakia? No, I knew it was much older, wiser, ancient. My chest heaved as pain coursed again, it was more than my body could take, but I knew there would be more.

  Two weeks passed before I saw Maggie step back through the cabin doors, she looked bewildered from wherever it was that she exiled herself to, I decided not to bring it up unless she wanted to discuss it. Her silence on the matter indicated that she didn’t. Instead, she sat quietly in her own chair, the plush fabric nestled against her body. She closed her eyes and stayed that way for a long while before speaking.

  “I’m sorry I left you, here alone I mean.”

  I looked up fully from the book that I was reading and replied, “It’s all right, I caught up on a little light reading.”

  She smiled at me as I lifted a tattered version of ‘The Stand’ by Stephen King and waved the mountainous pages like a fan. “I’m glad to see someone else enjoys books in this musty old cabin.”

  “Well, there’s not a lot else to do besides hunt every few days and feed, I have to do something in the meantime,” I said. “Don’t worry, my diet has been strictly deer and one bobcat that was perched in a tree outside the front door. No humans, I promise.”

  She smiled and nodded in my direction, clearly relieved that being left to my own devices was not contrary to her ideals. “So, where are you in the book?”

  “In the middle of a rat-infested cornfield,” I said. “Even my immortal flesh feels shivers at the work of Mr. King,” I joked with a grin. She laughed aloud a boisterous laugh and leaned forward, touching my knee with her gentle hand.

  “Mine too,” she said softly, and then she reclined back and stretched her body fully in her chair. “I think I’m in dire need of a shower, I had to sleep in one of those corn fields a couple of days ago. It’s about time I washed that memory out of my mind.”

  I chuckled as she stood, relieved that she was home, and relatively normal. She no longer showed the signs of sorrow that I had filled the room prior to her leaving. Perhaps the time away allowed her to sort things out on her own. Either way, I was glad to have her back in my life, maybe later we could discuss our future plans, but for now I would let her be. There was always tomorrow, it's not always promised to humanity, but when you’re immortal, it is almost a sure bet.

  Chapter 10

  “No, no, no. You must not drain him completely, Lareve,” the sound of a woman’s voice said in hushed tones. The sound of a fish bowl atmosphere, something reminiscent of a time when I had a severe sinus infection, overwhelmed me. There was a dreariness to the way that I felt, a slumber that was more like a coma, kept calling me back to its arms. I missed its warmth, its solitude.

  “Hush, you wretch,” he snarled. It was at that moment I felt the pain of his fangs exit my flesh. There was a longing for it to return. Oh, God, why am I so perverse? In what way does this make sense? Had I fallen in love with my captures?

  “You know as well as I do that Longinus will kill us if we bring this human to death,” she replied, sharp, and calculated. It was obvious that she was the brains between the two.

  A laugh, something from a memory, but much darker, exited his lips. I remembered it, that haunting, childish chuckle that struck fear in my heart. I moaned, it was involuntary, I did not want to bring attention to myself, but I craved the sensation that the poison of his fangs released in my body. Despite the torment, it was heaven with a small touch of hell. More than I deserved, but I wanted more.

  Maggie stepped out of the bedroom in a set of clean clothes, the smell of her shampoo was thick in the air, and the smell elevated my mood quite a bit. I had missed that smell to the point that I dared to use her shampoo on my own scalp, lathering my hair and my hands and breathing in the rich floral scent. I would not have told her this, but I missed her company, companionship was a commodity that I could grow accustomed to.

  “I was thinking,” she said. “Maybe tomorrow night we can go take a look at the mausoleum you woke up in a few weeks ago, maybe find some answers there.”

  “I looked while you were gone,” I said without looking up from my book. “The place was just as I left it, empty.”

  “As empty as the post office was when I left it many years ago?”

  I thought back to the picture that we found in the tethers of debris that scattered the tiled floor. “You have me second guessing myself, Maggie. I didn’t check that thoroughly, to be honest,” I said.

  “Then it’s a date,” she said causing me to look up and meet her eyes.

  “A date?”

  “Easy now, it’s just an expression,” she quipped.

  “I know the lingo, just wanted to make sure you weren’t trying to hit on me or anything,” I smiled.

  “I would never,” she shot back playfully. “Unless I knew it was an invitation to do so.”

  I looked into her eyes and willed it to be so, but I kept my words to myself. There were too many questions about my past that needed answers for me to be distracted in this way. Did I love her? I was sure of it. But how far did that love go? Was it reciprocated? I held back long enough for her to get the hint, and it killed me to do so.

  “You know, the part where the old woman reveals herself in the dreams?” she asked, referring to the book in my hand.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “That put more fear into my heart than the corn field full of rats.”

  She was changing the topic, trying to force a gap between our previous exchange and the silence that followed. “What if she was God? I mean, could you imagine standing in a corn field and have a cryptic conversation with God?”

  I thought about it but couldn’t fathom it.

  “To me, God being that directly involved in a life makes me wonder what His master plan is, and would He ever do something like that.”

  “I don’t know,” I said flatly, refusing to give the God question much thought. I remembered settling that notion for myself before the change, one of the last intact memories that I had prior to waking up in the mausoleum.

  “It’s just a thought,” she finished and looked out the pitch black window, looking at nothing, which was exactly what I felt like, holding in my true feelings for her was a mistake. If only she didn’t believe the facade and claimed her own love for me, would that make this easier? Or would it rip my black, dead heart from my chest and destroy it forever?

  Chapter 11

  The shuffling of feet against the dusty floor of the church woke once again. The pains had subsided, though I felt that they were still within reach, somewhere not quite out of sight. I listened intently, who was this? The man with the laugh, the woman with the soothing, yet authoritative voice, the one they called master? I could not even begin to know. My eyes were welcomed with the pitch black surroundings of the night. I thought that I could see two moons before I realized that it was not double vision when I witnessed them blink.

  "Who are you?" I asked nervously, my heart was in my throat. I shifted to my other side, trying to force my eyes to adjust on whom I was watching. They returned the favor with another blink. "What do you want from me?"

  "Everything," she answered. It was a voice as smooth as silk, and as deadly as a viper. The shimmer of her eyes held me more than any gravity could keep me at bay. She was silent for a time and the sensation faded away. I
wanted it back. I wanted her.

  "Who are you?" I asked again, more assertive, I hoped that it wasn't too bold, though I had dreams of a quicker death than they had allowed thus far.

  "My name is Cerene. I am your watcher. Please, close your eyes and rest, I will keep you from harm."

  I was struck by her directness. There was a pleading behind the veil of the shadows in which she lurked. Was it sadness, or was it regret? I may never know. I looked back up, willing my sight to witness the silver moons of her presence, but they were absent. I strained my eyes, squinting to the point of losing my focus. I could not hear her breathe, of course not, the dead do not breath.

  No longer tired from the ordeal I pushed my body up against the sheetrock walls of the church. My head rested against it lazily as I sat with my legs extended out away from me. I felt clumps of dust along the palms of my sweaty hands and wiped them along my pant leg. I drew my hair back out of my face and felt the length of beard that had grown over the course of time. My captors had kept me alive, but for what? That question was the only company that I had as I waited for the sun to rise.

  How does one express the feeling of being shunned when you are no longer alive? My heart would never beat again, yet the void left by its destruction ached just the same. Perhaps heartache was a universal sensation that had less to do with the organ and more to do with the psychology of the entity involved. Maybe I was over thinking it.