It had faded away just before dawn. She knows he has to be nearby. Maybe in another apartment. He will be back once night fell. But he knew that Elise and Dylan could not leave the apartment during the daylight hours.
But Brianna can.
Dylan is wrapped in a blanket and tucked into the bottom of his closet now. Elise is asleep, her head resting on Brianna's lap. She had been asleep ever since giving some of the last of her blood to Brianna. She looks weak. If she wanted to, Brianna supposed she could find something to stake Elise and leave with her son.
But she won't.
There is a great, terrible need in Elise. And also a wonderful, poignant love. Brianna saw it in Elise's eyes as she held Dylan. He will need her to survive the supernatural world. Brianna has done all she can for him. Now it is his new vampire mother's turn.
And Brianna is determined to give them both that chance.
“Elise, wake up,” she whispers.
The vampire slowly opens her eyes, struggling to focus.
“What do I do? Where do I go?”
Reaching up, the vampire draws her close and whispers to her.
9
Large sunglasses covering her eyes, Brianna slams the driver's door to the moving van shut. Dressed in jeans, a thick wool sweater, and a knit hat, she clutches the big bag full of money at her side. She has already put a few hundreds in her pocket.
“Hey, you guys!” She flags down a few young men walking down the street, talking. “I got three hundred bucks for you guys if you can help me carry down a wardrobe.”
They hesitate, curious expressions on her face.
“I can't move it myself,” she says and fishes out the money.
One of the men, a man with thick dreads and a beautiful smile nods. “You got it, lady. Where to?”
Smiling, Brianna motions them to follow her.
10
New York City is far behind them when the sun finally sets. Brianna pulls over in a rest stop and opens the back. Elise is sitting on the wardrobe with Dylan on her lap.
“There is a town three miles back,” Brianna says.
“We won't be long,” Elise answers, dropping out of the truck. She lightly touches Brianna's cheek. “Thank you.”
Brianna smiles at her, then looks at her son. He looks groggy still and she runs her fingers over his cold cheek. “Take care of my boy.”
Elise nods and walks into the night. Dylan waves at Brianna over her shoulder.
She closes the truck and waits.
An hour later, Elise slides out of the darkness, holding Dylan's hand. They both look flushed and healthier. Dylan pulls free and runs to Brianna, flinging his arms around her neck. Kissing her cheek, he giggles.
“Mama Elise can fly,” Dylan says.
“Wow? Really? Awesome!” Brianna feels a pang of sadness, but fights it away.
Elise just smiles.
Brianna feels a lump in her throat. “Mama Elise is going to take good care of you.” She felt tears in her eyes, but did not want to shed them. She wanted him to be happy with her departure. “She's going to take you to a new house. A new place.”
“You, too?”
Brianna shakes her head. “No, baby. I have to go somewhere new, too. But I'll be happy that she's taking care of you.”
“Mommy, I want you to come with me.” He looks close to tears.
Brianna looks down, tears falling down her cheeks. Elise draws closer, her hand reaching out to rub Dylan's back. He grabs her hand and pulls her even closer. Taking Brianna's hand, he holds their hands together between his. “No, I want my mommies with me. Both of them.”
Brianna looks up at Elise, wondering if it is safe. If they should do this?
Elise slowly nods. “You can help us by day.”
Brianna licks her lips, then nods.
Dylan grins.
11
The house is always full of life at night. Brianna teaches Dylan to read and write while Elise teaches him to hunt. The old Victorian on the edges of the small town is tucked away behind lush trees, granting them privacy. The townspeople think Brianna is caring for her ailing son with the aid of her sister.
Elise loves music and it constantly fills the house. Brianna makes her watch cheesy old horror movies. Dylan conscripts them to play his console games with him.
They all sleep during the day, Elise and Dylan in the basement in secure containers, Brianna in the bed upstairs. She awakens in the early afternoon to do errands and enjoy the sun. Her meals are all taken while her son is asleep. Food doesn't interest him anyway.
Days become weeks then become months. The weather changes, but the world feels wonderful as the fall fills it with flaming oranges, yellows, and reds.
“Why did you let me live?” Brianna asks one night.
Elise looks up from the piano keys. “Why are you asking?”
“You had him. My son. You were free from Jacob. I got you out of New York. You could have killed me as soon as we got here.”
“He would have hated me,” Elise says. Then with a shrug, she confesses, “And there was something in your eyes when you were willing to give up your life for him.”
Brianna leans against the piano, thoughtful. “What was that?”
“Perfect love. I couldn't bear to destroy it.” She grips Brianna's hand for the briefest moment.
Brianna tilts her head and smiles slightly. “You mean what I see in your eyes right now?”
Elise's eyes glimmer and she laughs nervously.
The glass shatters before another word can be uttered. Jacob is between them before Brianna can blink. He backhands her, sending her flying into a wall. Elise is instantly on her feet, baring her fangs. They crash into each other, clawed hands flashing as they strike. Fabric and cloth shreds. Blood splashes the room. Elise slashes at him, trying for a killing blow. He is faster than her, blocking her moves, and drawing even more blood. She can see Brianna limp against the wall and her body heaves with anguish. Jacob is destroying her world.
Another blow sends her flying across the room. She hurtles into the stairs, shattering the wood into long splinters. One impales her thigh. Crying out in pain, she struggles to her feet. Jacob has grabbed hold of Brianna. She is stirring in his grip.
“No!”
“Leave my mommy alone!” Dylan launches himself from the doorway onto Jacob.
Brianna and Elise both scream.
Elise rushes forward, no thought other than to keep her son from the blood-soaked, growling vampire that created her. Jacob has the perfect opening for a killing blow. Faster despite her blood loss, she manages to cross the room and deflect Dylan's flying body onto a nearby sofa. The strike meant for Dylan rips out her throat and sends her to the ground. Her blood gushes onto the floor around her hands as she tries to push herself up to defend Brianna and Dylan.
Jacob is howling like a beast. His foot slams into her side over and over, trying to flip her over. He'll snatch out her heart next. She feels despair fill her as she realizes she won't care if he kills her if Brianna and Dylan die tonight.
Dylan and Brianna are both screaming. The blows in her side are fierce and her blood is a fountain on the floor. Darkness darkens her vision.
The world seems to tilt forward and suddenly Jacob is lying beside of her. His expression is shocked as his hand strains toward the huge wooden stake through his heart.
“Butcher knife, Dylan!” Brianna cries out. She is covered in blood. She is beautiful.
Elise manages to roll onto her back, struggling to get up and help them. Dylan runs back with the requested butcher knife in his small hand. Brianna grabs it from him and as Jacob tries to get to his knees, she begins to hack at his thick neck. She doesn't stop until his head rolls away.
Falling back to the floor, Elise can't move. Her blood has run out. Her power is gone. Death is tangible. She feels weak, mortal. Dylan and Brianna are suddenly over her. They are covered in blood. Both are weeping.
“Don't leave me,” Brianna crie
s, her fingers sliding Elise's blood slicked hair back from her face. “Don't leave me!”
Dylan is clutching her, weeping.
Brianna covers her face with kisses, her lips sweet with blood and love. “Don't leave us. Drink from me! Drink!”
Elise isn't sure if that will help anymore, but she lets herself be dragged into Brianna's arms. Her embrace is a haven. Everything in the world suddenly seems perfect despite death filling her body. Dylan wraps his arms around her, sobbing.
Brianna's eyes are huge and full of life. “Drink, Elise. Drink.”
She does.
12
Christmas lights and snow fill the world with magic.
Another town. Another holiday.
Dylan is playing with other children in the town square as the holiday displays twinkle like bright stars in the night. People are caroling, laughing, eating, dancing. The world is full of life.
Brianna smiles with contentment, her hands tucked into the warm pockets of her coat. They are safe for now. Jacob is no longer a threat. He is buried in two pieces deep in the ground, his head far away from his body.
Strange how that terrible first night she had met Elise would result in this perfect evening of bliss. Standing alone in the snow admiring the twinkling lights, she feels happy and alive. A handsome police officer smiles at her warmly from a nearby table laden with bakery goods being sold to raise money for a new women's shelter. She smiles back at him, but does not approach. She can barely remember the taste of food anymore.
“So why did you let me live?” Elise asks, joining her. “You could have let me die. You would have him all to yourself.”
Elise asks the same questions every night.
Just to hear the answer.
Brianna gazes into her eyes and says, “Because of what I saw in your eyes when you were willing to die for Dylan. Perfect love.”
Elise slides her fingers around Brianna's, her glimmering eyes gazing into hers. “And what do you see now?”
Brianna smiles slowly, for there is no need to answer.
The Werewolves
Fleeing was a short story conceived for an anthology about werewolves during war. Fans had been clamoring for some time for me to tackle the furry monsters and I just hadn’t found a concept I was in love with. When the idea for this short story popped into my mind, I absolutely loved it, but wasn’t sure it would fit the anthology’s criteria. Happily, it was accepted and ended up in War Wolves by the Library of Horror Press.
Though this is a short story, I have always felt that it has an epic feel. It’s obvious that we are seeing just a small incident against a vast backdrop of an epic war. The 18th century setting allowed me to use muskets and imbue the story with a gothic feel.
The wolf pack in the story continues to intrigue me. I would love to know where they are going and if they made it they made it there intact. Our young protagonist in the tale is sadly nameless. He was too afraid to ever whisper his name in my ear.
There are many monsters in this tale. Can you spot all of them?
Fleeing is one of my all-time favorite stories. I hope you enjoy it as well.
Fleeing
The full moon was a cold, remote disc in the sky above the forest.
Every muscle in his body was crying out for relief and even his bones ached in protest as he stumbled through the trees. His chest hurt from the cold and exertion. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. The snow seeped through the cracks in his leather boots and his fingers could barely grip his musket. Tears frozen on his face, he felt numb to the world around him.
The battle waged on and an eerie red glow filled the night sky behind him. The invaders were making progress, burning villages and farms as they marched resolutely toward the capital.
It was hopeless and he knew it.
During the battle, when the fires had raged around him, the cannons thundered, and the muskets barked, he had finally understood that there was no hope. All was lost. As yet another man fell beside of him, blood spurting out onto the dirty snow, he had turned and ran.
Now he moved as swiftly as his cold, battered body would carry him toward his family’s farm. If they were quick, his family could load up the wagons and head away from the coming onslaught before the enemy soldiers reached their homestead. Perhaps they could take refuge in the capital. The army was stronger there. Trained soldiers would fight on that line, not simple farmers conscripted at the last moment to defend their lands.
His father would be disappointed in him, but he did not care anymore. In all his seventeen years of life, he had always obeyed those in authority, but no longer. He had seen the fruitlessness of war first hand. He had witnessed the deaths of his friends, neighbors and cousins.
It was time to flee.
Gasping for breath, he fell against a tree. The cold was his worst enemy now. It was seeping into his very core, freezing his limbs. Instinctively, he knew he had to keep moving or perish. The forest was alive around him as animals fled before the fires in the east. The glow was growing brighter above the treetops. Covering his mouth with his hands, he tried to warm his face. His mouth was dry, his throat parched. The desire to be home warm in his bed listening to his younger brothers’ snores washed over him, and he closed his eyes to relish the thought.
Sleep tugged at him, enticing him with its reassuring fantasies.
Jerking his head upright, he woke terrified that he had almost given in to the elements and let sleep claim him. Death would come if he let it lure him into its false comforts.
Something large crashed through the trees near him and he gasped. Yanking his musket upwards, he held it tightly in his hands.
Dark, sinewy shapes moved through the darkness across the clearing beside him. At first he could not believe his eyes, but after the horrors he had seen, he could accept these abominations. Massive creatures that were wolves, yet men, moved across the crisp snow. Several moved on two legs, urging smaller wolves forward. Some were dark gray, others nearly white. They solemnly moved toward the west, casting long looks over their shoulders at the fires behind them.
They must be fleeing as well, he thought.
Even their evil was not enough to hold back the invaders.
Fumbling in his coat, he felt the crucifix his grandmother had given him to ward off vampires, the tiny bag full of sage to ward off evil spirits, and finally the silver pellets that would kill a werewolf. Sliding downward into the shadows, he fumbled with his musket. The edges of the dirty paper that his gunpowder was folded into fluttered in the wind while he struggled to soundlessly load his weapon. It was difficult loading the silver ball into the barrel with his frozen fingers, but he had learned to reload rapidly in the heat of battle. As his fingers expertly worked, his keen blue eyes watched the continuous stream of wolves through the clearing, terror building inside of him.
Several stopped to sniff the air, their heads gliding back and forth on thick, furry necks, before continuing on. He wondered if they could smell him, or the gunpowder. But it did not matter. The wolves continued on.
Finally, the musket was ready and he held it close to his heaving chest. Perhaps they would pass him by and not bother with him. The pack of wolfmen seemed intent on traveling away from the fire. He could only hope they would soon be gone and he could continue home. The steady flow of werewolves trickled down to a few gray beasts then the clearing was empty once more.
Crossing himself, he stood and felt the urge to relieve himself. His hands still trembled from the fright and cold and he struggled with his trousers.
Then, out of the darkness, one last wolfman stepped into the clearing. It walked on all fours, its head down, as its massive black body moved silently through the shadows. On its back was a woman, her face turned into the thick fur of the beast. Her hands clutched its heavily muscled shoulders and she cried out in pain. Turning its great head, the wolfman snapped at the white thigh gripping its flank. The woman’s long blonde hair, tattered dress, and cloak flowed on the night wi
nd as the werewolf slowly strode after its pack. The woman screamed again, a terrible sound, and the wolf growled at her, nipping her leg again.
Terrified for his safety, yet angered by the sight of the captive woman, he gripped his musket tightly and stepped cautiously into the clearing. He had seen many terrible things this day and night and he would not allow the evil of the world to take yet another innocent. Who knew what terrible things the wolfman would to the woman.
With a battle cry, he surged forward, his numb feet carrying him over the snow toward the dark shape. The wolfman stood, the woman sliding off his back onto the cold ground. The wolf was far larger than he could have imagined, its great head towering over him. It lifted its muzzle and howled.
He stumbled to a stop, unsure of himself and the choice he had made. Then the woman cried out again and he knew he had to save her. The wolfman surged toward him, jaws snapping.
Raising his musket, the man fired. The wolfman howled in agony, falling onto the snow, steaming blood pouring from its chest. It struggled to regain its feet, but the man leaped upon and stabbed it with his bayonet. The wolf’s mighty clawed hand gripped the man’s thick coat and hurled him into a snowdrift. Growling, it struggled to its feet, hot blood sloshing onto the white ground beneath it.
Gasping in terror and in pain, the man fumbled for his musket, but it had been knocked from his grasp. As the great wolf moved toward him, his hands searched through his many layers of clothing, seeking out his dagger. The wolf was almost upon him when it let out another terrible howl. To his shock and relief, it fell onto the snow, breathing heavily. Scrambling around the big beast, he hurriedly grabbed his musket and knelt over the fallen woman.
“Madam, madam, the beast is dying. We must go!” He reached down, gripping her shoulder.
Nearby, he heard the answering call of the wolves as they turned back for their fallen pack mate.
Rolling the woman onto her back, he leaned over her. “Madam, please try to get up.”
Cthulhu's Daughter and Other Horror Tales Page 6