by Chad Lutzke
I walked through the trees and lamp posts that I had earlier avoided; all the while watching my body for a change in shape. I seem to be nothing more than a three-dimensional image that only I could see.
As I stood in the trunk of a tree, I could see every fiber and ring of its internal structure. I observed an ant that had made its home in the underside of the bark. I watched as it dug its way further in, adding to its hall of mazes. I exited the tree with the sounds of the city startling me. It had been still and quiet inside the trunk.
I began contemplating myself and my circumstances. I took many things into account and had an abundance of questions. As I passed by someone, did they feel a chill? Or was that a ghostly urban legend? How was it that I could touch inanimate objects but not animate? If my heart ceased to work, was my blood now hardened branches of red? My brain useless grey matter? Or was I now out of body and in a spirit form? And if so, why did I appear to still sport clothing?
I tried denying my circumstances and my condition, but my heightened senses would not allow it. I reflected on the recent days past and was able to pinpoint the most logical time of my death. I knew it had to be just one day prior to seeing the woman. I had been forewarned of an aneurysm of the brain and was told nothing could be done; that it was only a matter of time before the vessel’s demise, which would ultimately lead to my own.
My thoughts turned to that of the woman. If I was now deceased, why had I such admiration for a living being? The love, in fact, was stronger now than any I had felt when alive. Or was it an insatiable lust guised as a selfish love? Despite my feelings, I could in no way have her. She was unaware of my existence for the simple fact that I did not exist.
She would never have an idea of my longing for her—that I had stood before her with my heart in my hands, stricken with an incomprehensible desire.
Again I began to panic, thinking of hell and believing there perhaps was such as place. I contemplated whether this was where I now resided. I lived my life with selfish ambition and greed. I was arrogant and often rude to those around me. It occurred to me those flaws in my character were why I spent my life alone, but forever longed for a wife. With that consideration, was this my hell created solely for me? Was I stricken with a passion that now cursed me? One that that would forever go unquenched?
As I thought more of it, my yearning for love grew. An entire feast before me, with all the garnishings and scents, with my eyes to lust and my nose to smell, but the feeling of her touch I would never feel and the taste of her lips I would not taste. I would be forever empty.
I have yet to gain knowledge to my actual whereabouts or any of my other queries. I do feel, however, that I am in waiting, most assuredly for something dreadful rather than good. I feel a great acknowledgement in a creator but a distant separation from Him.
I have stumbled across certain capabilities I now possess, besides the most obvious. And this is where I am now torn. I, of course, still desire the woman, even more so. Yet I cannot have her. My loneliness has driven me to a point indescribable by words. I love her, yes. And that is why—for now—I let her be. But you see, I could take her life. The question is, would she enter this world with me?
I feel I will take the chance.
Notes on Torn
Out of the stories I'd written nearly two decades ago, this is the one I was most proud of. I had been reading a lot of Poe, which is very evident in my prose. It was really rubbing off on me at the time. I didn't seek publication, and a few years later the movie The Sixth Sense came out. I was distraught. Though Torn is a romantic tragedy and the other is more of a ghost story, they held the same idea—a guy who doesn't know he is dead. I felt like I had the idea first, but then again, I was drawing from old horror comics from the 50s, and I'm sure it'd been done before.
Self-Immolation
The skies were clear the night I decided to die. It had been a long time coming. No satisfaction could be found in what once occupied my waking hours, and remorse had started to penetrate my blackened, undead heart. I could not bear the thought of walking Earth yet another two centuries; not with the newfound guilt of each senseless murder progressively weighing down upon me.
The year of my undead turning was a honeymoon of which I will never forget. The brilliant enlightening of all things life. The awakening of every sense within me, heightened to extremes of euphoric proportions. The thrill of a hunt; to possess a power so great that any woman I so desired would be lost within my eyes and submit to my will. The ability to shift my shape with merely a thought. Yes, existing as a creature of the night was indeed as eloquent, and as adventurous, as one would wonder. However, it came with a price: To live as a heliophobic day after sun-filled day, virtually indestructible, yet having a vulnerability as simple, yet as vast, as the daylight.
It was mankind that initially set me on my path of reawakening, where I began to be consumed with a remorse stronger than my vampiric blood could keep at bay. After losing my own will to the powers that then ran through my blood, anything which may be called evil was hidden from my mind's eye. In short, my conscious died along with my living and breathing, warm-blooded body. My morals quickly departed. I cared not for man or woman, elder or child. Scales formed over my eyes destroying the idea of sin. All was selfish pleasure.
Over decades, I have watched mankind destroy itself. They no longer feared me, but themselves. I watched as they lost all morals, seeking pleasures of the flesh, killing one another, hating each other, full of rage, envy, bitterness, resentment, perverted lust; all of this with not a single drop of vampiric blood running through their mortal veins. Evil was reigning on the planet, and man was succumbing to her whorish temptations. I doubt not that this played a significant role in my self awareness. My own sinful behavior was no longer a deep contrast to humankind but now paralleled it. Each night mortals would demonstrate such primitive behavior, as though it was now their only excuse for living, as though waiting like hungry lions prowling the streets for victims. It shone a bright light on the very horrors I had instilled upon them for centuries.
A depression clutched my very soul, forcing me to see myself for who I had become. The scales had fallen from my eyes. A vampire with remorse can not walk the same ground as the living. I have tried, and it far exceeds what I can bare.
Tonight—my last night—I reflected deeply on the days of my youth; when I walked hand in hand with my mother along the shore 'neath the sun; my bare feet touching the sun-baked sand. I recalled the illumination of the peaks of each mild ripple of water shining like stars, nearly too bright to look at; the sounds of the gulls calling out to one another, while the water reached for more of the earth to pull back into its vast body.
Despite the seemingly unlimited power and abundant riches, I grew empty and alone. But above all it was the sun I missed the most; its warmth on my face, blanketing my skin in its heated affection like a mother holding tight to her child. The life it brought to everything under its radiant glow. Its reflection scattered like diamonds on blades of grass and leaves wet from a passing rain.
Mankind could destroy itself without me. Today the undying would die.
I spent the evening sitting on a park bench watching people as they walked by; some holding hands, some strolling solo. I shared a smile with anyone who would make eye contact with me. All were oblivious to the speed at which I could rip out their throats. Most, willingly and unknowingly, smiled directly into the face of death. To them, the evening was beautiful; a sky void of any cloud and filled with the brilliance of the moon. However, to myself the night was but a reminder of the monotony of my existence.
Several hours before sunrise, I walked my way to Daniels Park; a rocky precipice in the country that overlooked a valley of vivid green foliage and grasslands. For me, there would be no better place to witness the sunrise that would ultimately be my absolute demise.
I smiled as I looked over the miles of land being kissed by the light of the moon. It felt satisfying to know
it was mere hours before my sacrifice. Other than passing to others the same curse I received, I had given no soul anything. This morning I would give my ash to this earth and rid the planet of a relentless murderer.
I sat on the stone ridge; my legs hung over the edge. I gazed hard at the skyline for hours. I took in every smell the light breeze brought to me: pine, lilac, grass, among others I could not name, but were no less familiar with.
Hours went by before the horizon yielded a subtle hint of a violet orange glow. The average mortal would not have noticed it, although the now alerting birds gave away its incoming presence. My breathing quickened and my heart raced with anxiety as my mind told me to run. My body was trained to fear the light and so reacted with a tremulousness that I barely managed to control. I stood and removed my clothing. I wanted to feel the sun's rays over the entirety of my pale body.
The glow grew less subtle.
Had I let it, my shaking would have become violent and I would have given way to my instinct to run and seek shelter, but I reflected on the misery of my last victim; an old man with stories to tell. I had pulled him from his car and tore out his jugular behind a dumpster where I left him for the city. Like the others, he begged me to spare him, adding in a spiel regarding his wife or kids or grandkids. I couldn't remember. I paid no mind. I never did. The disgust in my own actions, in this progressively decaying, world calmed me; as I was reminded why I stood naked atop the small cliff. Yet playing the role of my own assassin helped lift the burden I had been carrying.
I stood with my arms open and out as though inviting the sun to hold me. More orange light rose from the horizon eclipsing the violet. More than once in the past had I nearly been caught in the daylight. However, it took more than the soft glow I now observed to be life threatening for any creature of the night. The sun itself would have to show before my undead flesh would succumb to it. I watched fascinated as the valley below me became frosted in pink and orange. I suppose there was a certain romanticism about killing myself for the sun. Nevertheless, it was too late to retreat. The immolation had begun.
I shut my eyes tightly. To blind them now so early in my sacrifice would be in vain. I lifted my arms higher in submission to the rising star as my skin began to seemingly crawl in anticipation. I breathed in deep through my nose. The sun had already brought to life a new array of scents. Another deep breath and I could feel the air tighten my lungs; uncomfortable yet not painful, like a small bruise one might keep pushing. My skin prickled as though being sprayed by a shower of sparks. I felt my pores open as every hair from my scalp dropped onto the ground around me.
Even with my eyes closed, I could see the day brightening. I felt my skin tighten and crack. I began to feel the immense pain one may expect from the stretching of skin. I held for the moment I knew the sun itself would greet me, and at that point opened my eyes. Though the tears I immediately shed could have been from the damage to my corneas, I suspect they were the result of overwhelming nostalgia. The brilliance of a light I had not seen in centuries took my breath away, and as I tried to regain it, an extraordinary heat expanded my lungs almost to the point of combustion. I struggled to see through my tears, and I suspect their wetness kept my vision longer than it should have. The cracking of my skin grew deep, and I saw what were large flakes of myself blow away in my peripheral. Tears ran from my eyes as I fought the need to close them, until at last they burst from their sockets. A cool liquid mixed with my tears poured down my disintegrating face. I gathered one last breath as my lungs popped and collapsed. I smiled until my lips, and then jaw, gave way and dropped to meet the hair around me.
Only seconds passed before I had given the world everything; my ashes to be blown and scattered through the valley below.
Notes on Self-Immolation:
Self-Immolation is my favorite story I've written and probably always will be. It is a story very dear to me for a couple of reasons. The first being my view of the modern age and mankind’s willingness to serve oneself at the cost of anything and everything. We’re a very greedy people, sinful in nature with lusts of the flesh that run deep. We have been blessed with life and opportunities, yet we continue to desecrate one another. Mankind can be far scarier than any monster in any book. That is the underlying commentary within Self-Immolation.
The main idea comes from questioning what one would miss the most if having been a vampire for such a lengthy time. Mankind’s debaucherous ways were contributory to the vampire’s decision, but the romanticism of seeing the sun just one more time is ultimately what led to it.
The more personal part of the story for me concerns my biological father, who passed away in 2009—years before I would be published. I’ve no doubt my father would be immensely proud and most likely be—other than my wife—my biggest fan.
In my late teens after moving to Denver, Colorado to live with him, he shared with me his favorite place on earth: Daniels Park. For decades he would tell me that when he died he wanted his ashes spread there off the cliff and into the valley below. I’ve lived back in Michigan now for several years and haven’t returned to Denver since his death. So his request has yet to be fulfilled, and his ashes remain on a shelf in my home.
The end of Self-Immolation is 100% for him. Because my father was an avid reader and wholly responsible for both my love of books and horror, I know he would get tremendous satisfaction knowing that in a virtual and literary way, I’ve spread his ashes through the valley below the best way I can.
Bonus Story Note: This is a very special bonus story that was written by my 10-year-old son, Nekoda. He was 9 at the time. He received his very first rejection letter concerning this story, where he had submitted it to a publication that was releasing an anthology of horror stories for children, written by children. We hope you enjoy.
The Haunting of the Squirrel
Once on a stormy night, I was taking out the trash and thought I saw something lying in the road. It looked like an animal, but I wasn’t really sure so I went up to it and saw that it was a squirrel. One of its arms was on the other side of the road. Its heart was hanging out with tire tracks across his body. It creeped me out so I started heading back inside, when a bolt of lightning hit the ground behind me. I turned around really quick and I saw that the squirrel had gotten hit by the lightening. It rose up and ran to its arm, picked it up, and pushed it back onto its body. That really freaked me out so I went to run inside. It jumped on me. I tried to punch it but that did nothing so I just grabbed it and threw it off from me. I saw it run up a tree and so I ran inside my house.
I went to my room, got my journal, and started writing. I started writing about what the creature looked like, felt like, and smelled like. It smelled like a garbage truck. It felt bumpy. It had glowing blue eyes. It was mostly bald with only small patches of fur and it had tire tracks across its skin. The skin was green and black and very wrinkly. When I thought about everything I wrote in my journal, it sounded like a zombie squirrel.
I started to think about how I might kill a zombie. In the movies and video games it always involved the smashing of their head, so the next day I got a wrench from my dad. And around the same time I took out the trash the day before, I saw the squirrel again. I snuck up close to him and wacked him in the head with the wrench, but it didn’t really do anything and it only ran off.
I went in the house and started telling my parents. They didn’t believe me at first, but then I said I would get proof. So the next day I played catch with my parents outside and we saw the squirrel. We ran back into the house and the squirrel chased us. He got into the house so we ran back out and left the squirrel in there. We opened all the windows and doors so it could get out. We saw it peeking out the window and it jumped on my dad. So I got the wrench and hit the squirrel off from my dad. It ran away again. I chased after it and hit it again, but when I hit it, I fell.
Finally, my parents believed me and we figured out a way to kill it. They thought maybe we should just run it over with th
e car. But I told them I didn’t think that would work because I saw it get hit by lightning and that’s how it got the energy to come to life again. So maybe if we waste its energy it will die.
My parents asked, “How will we waste its energy?”
I said, “We run from it. All zombies will do anything to get flesh.”
My parents said, “Then how will we get it back over here?”
I said, “By using a trap. All we need is a string, a stick, a cardboard box, and meat.”
So we got all the things gathered and I fixed up the trap. I used a stick to prop up the box and tied a string to it. Then I put the meat under the box and waited behind the fence for the squirrel to get it. We saw it come and get the meat, and I pulled the string and it was trapped under the box. So I thought to myself I hope this works. I let it out of the box and it saw me. It started chasing me around. I ran out of breath so I climbed in a tree and then I remembered that it was a squirrel and can climb so I jumped out of the tree and I kept on running, and running, and running.
In one hour, the squirrel looked pretty tired but it still didn’t stop so I kept on running, and in one more hour it fell on the ground and I ran to my parents and said “Come here, come here. I think it’s dead.”