The Last Supper - A Christmas Tale of Horror

by Ana C. Nunes



  THE LAST SUPPER – A Christmas Tale of Horror

  by Ana C. Nunes

  Copyright © 2012 by Ana C. Nunes

  Cover © Ana C. Nunes

  Copy-Editors: Ana Cláudia Silva and Diana Sousa

  ISBN: 9781301313037

  Contacto: anacorvonunes@gmail.com

  Blog: https://anacnunes.wordpress.com/

  Author’s Note:

  This story is set in Portugal during Christmas, and the traditions portrayed are in agreement with the ones from this beautiful country.

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Excerpt from “Angel Gabriel – Blood Bound”

  Chapter 1

  I never really liked my uncle.

  He seems older than he actually is, has a dirty and badly trimmed beard going down to his stomach and some pretty disgusting table manners.

  It’s not like he ever did me any harm, but I’d rather spend Christmas’ Eve at aunt Petunia’s house, along with her thirty cats, than at uncle José’s. Not to mention he lives at the end of the world, in a place that looks more like a swamp than anything else. My tennis-shoes always end up covered in mud, from just walking across the short space between the car and his front porch. He lives at a small farm by himself, ever since aunt Julia died seven months ago. I think that’s why mom insisted we came here for Christmas. He refuses to leave the house, even if just for a few hours, and my mother, bless her big heart, decided to come over. I wonder why that big heart of hers is never quite large enough to give me a new videogame when I ask her.

  Another thing that bothers me is that I bet this farm in the middle of nowhere doesn’t even have cable TV. I can’t even see an antenna!

  As my mom helps uncle with dinner, and dad finishes decorating the Christmas tree and putting the gifts around it, I’m forced to keep an eye on the little one. My baby brother throws his plate to the floor, for the third time, and then giggles like a small monkey.

  “Stay still.” I tell him, as I bend down and end up being kicked in the cheek, while he goes on laughing. I slap his little foot, playfully, but that only makes him fling his legs harder, all the while trying to throw down the other plastic utensils.

  “Mom, Gui wants to come down.”

  “Gui, honey, mommy will be right there.” She knows he hates to be in his chair, but since she’s in the kitchen, I’m the one who has keep up with him, so it doesn’t really bother her.

  I pick him up by the armpits, and pull him off the chair. Then put him down on the floor and smile when he loses his balance and falls on his butt. Even when he’s kicking my face with his tiny feet, he’s way too cute. I walk back a few steps, hold my palms up and call him to me. “Come Gui. Come here.”

  He leans forward, his hands down, his body shaking as he lifts his body up, booty first. He balances himself on his two feet, still wobbly, and gives a slow, insecure step forward.

  “That’s it Gui. You’re doing great.”

  He falls down again, but doesn’t give up. He’s up again and manages the three steps separating us, then he falls into my open arms. He giggles like a little monkey again and I fall back, lying down on the floor, raising him up towards the ceiling, turning him into a noisy plane hovering over the old house’s skies.

  “Attention all passengers. We’ll have to proceed to an emergency landing.”

  He’s still laughing, even as I lay him down on my chest. We both lie there, in the cold wooden floor. The only noise comes from the kitchen and I start to feel bored.

  Rolling over my stomach, careful not to hurt Gui, I get up and take him with me.

  “Dad, can you take care of Gui while I go to the bathroom?”

  He looks away from the Christmas tree and smiles. I can’t even recall the last time he’d been so calm, not since the trouble at his company began. Mom says he’ll have to fire some employees in the New Year and he always hates to do that.

  “Go on then. But don’t go snooping around in your uncle’s house. He doesn’t like that.”

  I nod slowly but have no intention of obeying him. I’m not even thinking of really going to the bathroom, all I want is to see what’s so special about the house my uncle refuses to leave, even if a bomb was to go off in his backyard.

  By cheer luck, the first door I open is the one to the bathroom. I wriggle my nose at the sight of the old, dirty place and find it a bit disturbing. It doesn’t stink, but does anyone actually expect a fifty years-old bathroom to be immune to bacteria. It’s decided! Should the need arise, I’ll just go outside. It seems less likely for me to catch a disease, from my grandma’s time, out in the open.

  I continue down the hall, which leads up to a strange greenish window, so green it seems covered in moss. The last door on the right leads to a small room with an even smaller iron bed inside, along with a ridiculously small chair. I think this is where I’m supposed to sleep, all by my lonesome self, judging from the blue suitcase inside. And I don’t think I’m going to like it.

  I close the door with way too much strength, and the whole corridor shakes. Houses with wooden walls! Whose brilliant idea was that?

  I stand still, waiting for any head to pop out from the living room, screaming at me for snooping around, but nothing moves and no one shows up, so I go back and walk down the hall to the other side of the house. I find two more rooms. The biggest is my uncle’s, where I still find one of my late aunt’s nightgowns, on top of an old swinging-chair by the window. It’s depressing.

  The other room is a bit more inviting. It’s bigger and the bed is far more modern, even if it’s still probably older than I am. There’s only one dresser and a bedside table, aside from the two suitcases I promptly recognize. My dad had brought them in earlier and laid them next to the bed.

  I sigh, restless, and wriggle my nose again. Nothing interesting to see. What a waste of time!

  When I look at the end of the hall, it seems to end up just like it’s mirrored side, in another mould-covered window, but, when I take a closer look, I realize that one of the walls continues to the right. I follow through the narrow passageway and find myself at a small door, so short I almost hit my head on the doorframe. I open it without much trouble, and find a descending flight of stairs that screeches loudly. I go down, hand-in-hand with fear, praying that the steps don’t crumble down under me.

  The wood sounds and looks older, and far more humid, than anything else I’d seen in that house, and all I can think about is how the bugs and rodents must love the place. At least that distracts me from the fear of falling into the darkness.

  As I step into the basement’s cement floor, I let out a breath I didn’t notice I was holding. My eyes widen at what I see: the walls are full of fishing tools, nets of all types and sizes, harpoons of several lengths and even an axe (I have no idea what that’s for), an old and rusty anchor, a wall covered in fishing rods, including a few that looked like relics.

  At the centre of the basement, there’s a table, seemingly painted in old dried blood. A wriggle my nose at the stink of rotten fish. Several knives rest in the table, all of them very sharp and shining so brightly they look new. At one of the corners of the basement there’s also a freezer looking even newer than the knives, although at the rims it’s covered in blood, fresh blood.

  My stomach twists and I turn to get out of there, but then I spot a small door beneath the staircase and curiosity gets the best of me. I open it carefully and when I see what’s inside, I laugh.

  It’s a bathroom.

  At least the visit to
the ‘fish market’ isn’t a total waste. The bathroom down here is far better than the one upstairs and, consequently, it became my place of election, should nature call.

  When I go up the stairs, I hear a noise and turn back. I freeze in place, listening to the smallest of sounds. Nothing, not even a fly buzzing. Shrugging I go all the way upstairs and as soon as I walk back into the living room, the first thing I see, is my father’s hair standing on end. Literally. Gui has climbed up his shoulders and has been pulling at his few remaining hairs.

  Father readjusts his glasses, and hastily hands me Gui, as if he couldn’t get rid of him fast enough.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Taking a dump.” My answer is inconvenient enough to keep him from pressing the subject. I smile as I swing Gui up in the air. “Weeeeeeeeeee.”

  A few minutes later mum calls us to the table.

  Chapter 2

  My mother lifts the casserole’s lid and the world seems to stop around me. My eyes are locked on the foaming fish spread out between the roasted potatoes, carrots and cabbages. Huge slices of a fish with the most surreal colours: green, rose, blue and grey dance together in its shiny scales. The meat looks scrumptious and tender, its colour a deep red that resembles steak. And I’m not the only one hypnotized by it: dad has the same dumbstruck face I must be wearing.

  “What fish is this?” Father asks.

  Uncle smiles, showing off his yellowed putrid teeth. “I’m not sure of the name for it, but it was huge and I caught it this morning, so it’s fresh. I hope you don’t mind eating this instead of the traditional codfish.” He rubs his beard slowly. “When you live so close to the shore, there’s nothing better than freshly-caught fish.”

  “I agree, and this looks divine.” My father doesn’t seem to be able to take his eyes off the fish. “One of these days you’ll have to take me out fishing, uncle. I’d like to find out if I’m any good. Maybe I’ll catch one of these myself.”

  Uncle laughs, throwing back his head. “You still have much to learn before that. But we never know. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

  “Well. Let’s just eat it before it starts to get cold.” My mother grabs uncle’s plate, serving him first.

  When it’s finally my turn, I realize my mouth’s still hanging open. I close it, embarrassed. Uncle’s eyes are fixed on me and I feel bothered by the intensity of his gaze. Mom picks up my plate and I can barely wait for her to finish serving me. Finally she sits down and uncle starts a simple prayer. My family is not a very religious one but uncle is and, for that reason, before we even came here, mom told us to be respectful of his beliefs and prayers before each meal and before sleep.

  “Amen.”

  I sink my fork into the fish, slowly, and it feels even smoother than I’d imagined. I hear my father’s pleased moan and I turn my gaze to him, surprised.

  “This is divine. Such tender meat.”

  I gasp and then mimic my father, lifting the fork to my parted lips. When the fish touches my tongue, it’s as if an explosion of flavours bursts in my mouth. The meat is so silky, like a marshmallow, but with the exotic taste of the crustaceous which we only get to eat once a year, if we’re lucky. I’ve never tasted anything quite like that fish and it takes me a few seconds just to savour that first bite.

  I refuse to mix the fish with the potatoes or the vegetables, preferring to swallow each separately, afraid to spoil the fish’s taste. Father devours his part and fills his plate three more times. Even mom, who’s a picky eater, goes for seconds and thirds. Only Gui doesn’t really appreciate the feats, choosing to eat everything else and relinquish the fish to the side of his plate. Mom doesn’t even try to force him to eat it. Instead she scoops it from his plate into her own.

  I get another serving, but not like my parents. Uncle, however, surprises me in quite another way. He only eats once and then stands there, staring at us, watching us. With a smile on his lips, hands crossed under his chin, and his cheeks flushed by the wine he drinks oh so many times. I find this behaviour quite odd, but say nothing of it and no one else seems to notice it.

  When all are finally sated, mom brings to the table all the traditional holiday delicacies that no one resists. No matter how much our stomachs complain about being full, there’s always room for French Toasts, Sweet Aletria and King Cake.

  Later, when we sit by the fireplace and turn the TV on, Gui forgets I’m even there and focus his whole attention on the gadget with the moving pictures.

  It’s almost midnight when mom brings out the green broth and we warm our stomachs again, along with some coffee of barley prepared in the heat of the fireplace.

  Back home, it was tradition to open the presents right after midnight, but mom had already told us that uncle would have no such thing at his house, so we’d only be allowed to open them the next morning.

  I’m bored, but Gui is the one doing all the complaining, throwing a fit while mom carries him back to their room.

  Chapter 3

  I can’t get used to the bed. It’s hard as a rock and it creaks like a wounded dog. But after a few turns and some pillow arrangements (and the pillows feel like they’re made of straw) I manage to close my eyes.

  I wake up again when the night’s still out. I look at the watch that’s still on my wrist: ten past three. I close my eyes again but sleep is long gone. The moonlight shines in through the window, like an intruder, and there’s no curtain to shield my wide-open eyes. Tired of rolling around, I get up, put on my slippers and sneak out of the room. No one in sight.

  I start to whistle but soon realize it’s not the smartest move when I’m trying to not be noticed so I quickly cover my mouth with my hands. Just for fun, I tiptoe across the wooden door going down to the basement. It was either that or going back to the living room to open up the presents and, somehow, I don’t believe my parents would’ve found that amusing at all.

  On instinct, I head for the small bathroom, and as soon as I open the door my nose wriggles again. Not because of the smell, but because I can’t think of a single reason why I have to be in the basement.

  I take a look around and felling an itching in my stomach when the freezer stands out amongst all the darkness. I search for a switch, grazing my hands on the walls, searching for anything, but it seems I’m out of luck, and then I remember to look up. I find the string easily and pull on it. The basement is illuminated by the weak and fluttering light hanging from the wooden beams above me.

  I touch the dried blood on the table. It’s so old it feels like layers of paint over each other, and yet the smell would never fool anyone. I open the big drawer under it and find several kitchen utensils to go along with the many knifes on the top.

  I look back to the freezer and its whiteness bothers me like nothing else in that place. Something so new amongst all those old and rusty things, just seems out of place and demands my attention. I recall the fish we ate at dinner and wonder if the rest of it is being stored there. Smiling stupidly, like a child about to break a rule, I lift the freezer’s cover, slowly, and after a second of hesitation, I throw it back.

  Two seconds.

  Two seconds is the time it takes me to start screaming and fall back on my floor, shaking and babbling insanities as I drag myself across the floor, until my fingers grab hold of the stairs.

  I close my eyes and my fists, searching for a way to control the shaking. I sit in the first step and take a deep breath. I’m sure I imagined it. There’s nothing strange inside the freezer. Nothing strange! I have to believe that.

  Yet, a part of me doesn’t believe that exhaustion can be the cause of an hallucination. A morbid curiosity takes over me and before I have the time to think about what I’m doing, I’m already up, stretching my neck, too scared to get closer to it again. But that alone is enough to see what I’m most afraid of. The freezer is full, but not with fish. Inside is a girl, a dead girl, with thick greenish hair and wide blue unmoving eyes, as if she’s still alive, staring straight
at me.

  I nearly jump backwards when it seems like her cornea is moving, but it must be my imagination playing tricks on me. Unable to move, I stir my eyes away from her livid face, travelling down the rest of her body, and that’s when I realise she’s no girl.

  From the waist down, her sinuous body fuses into a scaly tail that slides down to a cut, an almost perfect cut. I recognize the fin, or what I imagine it to be, considering it’s missing. Based on her pink flesh and the hypnotic mixture of colours from her scales, I recognize it.

  I run to the bathroom but never make it inside. I throw up under the staircase, fall forward and try to keep myself steady using my hands, but they get dirty in the puke and it just won’t stop coming out. I keep trying to erase the sight of the mermaid-girl from my head, but I can’t. The burning feeling in my mouth doesn’t help, and the headache that assaults me is far from being enough to settle my racing thoughts.

  When I’m sure there’s nothing left to throw out, I hear noisy footsteps coming from upstairs and see a shadow approaching. I must’ve screamed harder than I thought.

  I struggle to get back up on my feet, clean my mouth on the pyjama’s sleeve and lean on the stair-rail, trying to make sense of what my blurry vision is trying to recognize. I walk closer to the new presence in the basement and finally recognize it. It’s my uncle.

  “Look at you, boy.” His voice doesn’t sound the least bit worried. I step back a bit, too scared of the way he might react. He glances at the open freezer and then back at me. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to snoop around?”

  I take another step back, up until my back hits the tabletop. “I just wanted to go to the bathroom.”

  “There’s one upstairs.” His face became twisted.

  “I-I didn’t want to wake up anyone ...” He cuts me short with a quick hand movement which makes me flinch and almost fall back.

  He raises an eyebrow. “I’m not going to hit you, boy.” His words do nothing to calm down my nerves.

  He rounds the table and grabs one of the bigger knifes, one of the sharpest and shiniest. I can see his reflection in its blade, and that makes me slide to the stairs.