The Vampire's Grave and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  Marlowe turned to glare at him.

  "You know who I mean, right?"

  "I'm just getting on with the task at hand," Marlowe replied as he turned back to look at the scar tissue. He was determined to avoid all mention of his conversation with Amanda the previous night, not only because it was of no consequence, but also because it was none of Wade's business. He'd never felt a desire to 'bond' with Wade, viewing the man as nothing more than an annoyance. The pair of them had no relationship away from the museum, and Marlowe was more than happy to keep things that way. "I'm just a little tired. How are you getting on with those samples? Can you have the first results ready by one?"

  "I can try," Wade said, with an annoyingly cheery tone to his voice.

  "Does the process involve sitting around and making idle smalltalk?" Marlowe continued, unable to hide his annoyance at the slow pace of work. "We've only got these bodies until the end of the month, so maybe we should push ahead a little faster. I still want to get some more imaging of each specimen before we're done."

  The two men worked in silence for a few more minutes, with Marlowe finally managing to drift into the 'zone' that allowed him to really get on with things. More than anything, he hated distractions and unnecessary complications; he was convinced that he'd get more work done if he didn't have to deal with an assistant, and he viewed Wade as little more than an annoyance. Still, his departmental heads insisted on supplying someone to 'help out', and that someone was Wade. It was tiring, having to come up with jobs for Wade to do each day, and having to answer inane questions. The man seemed incapable of shutting up for any decent period of time.

  "Boss, did you change the markers?" Wade called out eventually, as if to prove Marlowe's point.

  "The markers?"

  "The little cone things on each table."

  "I know what the markers are," Marlowe replied tersely. "Why are you asking if I've changed them? Why would I do that? It'd defeat the whole point."

  Wade paused for a moment. "I thought specimen 1A was supposed to have a 5mm fracture around the lower left side of the face, but..." He turned to one of the other bodies. "I don't know, but I swear to God there's been a numbering mistake. This one's labeled as 1A, but it has..." He paused again, before grabbing a clipboard and double-checking the numbers. "Okay, 2B's causing problems. According to our original manifest and inspection, 2B is supposed to have minimal scarring and skin, but I'm looking at 2B right now, and I'm seeing both scarring and skin around the cheekbones."

  "No," Marlowe said, trying to hide his annoyance as he walked over to join Wade. "That's not right, 2B is..." He paused as he saw that Wade was right: specimen 2B definitely had some large patches of skin on the cheekbones and, upon closer inspection, also around the lower neck area. After double-checking the clipboard, Marlowe turned to look over at 1A.

  "Is there any way the markers could have been switched?" Wade asked. "Has anyone else been in here? A janitor, maybe? Anyone who didn't have authorization?"

  "Of course not," Marlowe snapped, before thinking back to his conversation with Amanda. It was an insane idea, but the only logical explanation for the confusion was that somehow Amanda had ended up moving a few of the markers. She'd probably done it by accident and then felt too embarrassed to admit to her mistake. Having relied on each marker to help keep track of the different bodies, Marlowe suddenly found himself uncertain as to which body was which. Apart from the visual clues, some of the sets of bones were very similar, and he wasn't yet sufficiently familiar with each body to be able to recognize them without referring to the paperwork.

  "Something's definitely gone wrong," Wade said. "I swear, I didn't touch the markers. I looked at them last night, right before I left, and I know I'd have noticed if there was anything wrong."

  "We'll have to check the photos again," Marlowe said with a sigh, realizing that a whole morning's work was now on the verge of being wiped out. "Get the images, hopefully they've got the markers in all of them and we can set things right."

  "Sure," Wade said, "but don't you think we also need to work out what went wrong? If it happened once, it could happen again."

  "I'll deal with that," Marlowe replied tersely. "Just do what I asked. We're supposed to be good at our job, but apparently we can't even keep a goddamn numbering system in order."

  "But if -"

  "Just do it!" Marlowe said firmly, momentarily allowing his annoyance to spill over. "Jesus, can't you just follow a simple order for once? Get the photos and match the original markers to the images, and make sure everything's back in place. I can't work if I'm not able to keep a clear indication of which body is which!" He looked down at the specimen that was currently labeled as 2B, and for a moment he was filled with doubt; he was certain that none of the bodies had displayed that particular formation of skin, but at the same time he also knew that mistakes could creep into even the most tightly-controlled situation.

  "Sorry," Wade muttered, heading over to the desk in the far corner. It was clear that he'd taken offense.

  Marlowe opened his mouth to apologize for the outburst, but the words didn't come. He didn't feel bad for what he'd said or how he'd said it, but he was worried that Wade might be a less effective worker if he felt under-appreciated.

  "Let's get this mess sorted by lunchtime," Marlowe said eventually, hoping to calm things down without necessarily having to resort to a full apology. "It's not a big problem. At least we caught it early, before it screwed everything up. Let's just get it fixed and make sure it doesn't happen again, okay?"

  Wade nodded cautiously.

  For the rest of the morning, the two men worked in silence. It was the kind of environment that Marlowe had been craving since the project started, except that he was coming to realize that it was the wrong kind of silence. Occasionally glancing over at Wade, he could tell that he'd caused offense with his outburst, which meant that Wade was probably sulking. Sighing, Marlowe realized that somehow Wade was louder when he was silently sulking than when he was nattering away.

  Dead people, even five-hundred-year-old corpses, were infinitely better company.

  Four

  "I'm sorry to have called you down here," said Jerry, the museum's head of security, as he led Marlowe along a corridor, "but he refuses to leave. I've tried dealing with him, but he insists on speaking to you in person. I figured it might be best to just let him have his moment and then send him on his way. Frankly, he's been ranting at everyone in sight for the past half hour."

  "So I hear," Marlowe replied. Even before they reached the front hall, he could hear the man shouting angrily. Although he'd known that a protest like this was possible, Marlowe was still disappointed to find that it had materialized in such a vocal and uncivilized fashion. Besides, he thought that men like Jerry were paid specifically to deal with this kind of problem, so he didn't really see why he'd been dragged away from his work in order to speak to some idiotic member of the public. He made a mental note to speak to someone about Jerry's performance.

  "Mr. Varvel," Jerry said as he and Marlowe reached the main reception desk, where a short, angry-looking bald man was berating a startled member of staff while banging the handle of his umbrella on the desk. Unfortunately, the little man was so busy shouting, he didn't seem to have noticed that anyone else was trying to talk to him.

  "Mr. Varvel!" Jerry said again, raising his voice a little.

  "What?" Varvel asked, turning to him with an angry look in his eyes.

  "Mr. Varvel, I'm sorry it took a little longer than expected," Jerry continued, flashing a fake and condescending smile, "but Dr. Marlowe was in the middle of some very important work. However, he's very kindly taken the time to -"

  "You're Marlowe?" Varvel asked with a thick Eastern European accident, waving his umbrella in the air as if he meant to use it as some kind of weapon.

  Marlowe opened his mouth to reply.

  "So you're him, huh?" Varvel continued, regarding him with evident disgust. "You're the one.
"

  "I'm the one what?" Marlowe asked, feeling both annoyed and slightly amused by this angry little man. He took a step back, keen to ensure he was out of range of the umbrella.

  "Come on," Varvel said, lunging at him and grabbing his arm, before attempting to lead him back along one of the corridors. "You can take me to see. Right now, huh? You can take me to see them. We'll wrap them up for the journey home."

  "Get the hell off me!" Marlowe said firmly, pulling free.

  "Dr. Marlowe has come down here to answer your questions," Jerry said, clearly struggling to remain polite. "I thought perhaps he could allay some of your fears, but that's only possible if the situation remains non-violent and non-threatening. Can you do that, Mr. Varvel?"

  "Fears?" Varvel replied. "I have no fears. I'm just here to stop you making a big mistake. You don't think there are consequences to disturbing hallowed ground? You think you can just rip bodies out of the soil and do whatever you want with them, and no-one's going to notice?"

  "What are you talking about?" Marlowe asked with a sigh, before turning to Jerry. "No-one's been ripping bodies out of the ground, hallowed or otherwise. I don't have time for this bullshit..."

  "Gentlemen -" Jerry began to say.

  "This is ridiculous," Marlowe said firmly. "Mr. Varvel, or whatever your name is, I'm a busy man. If you have something to say to me, I'd appreciate it if you could say it. I'm not going to listen to you, but if it'd make you feel better to shout at me, at least do it quickly."

  "You're a smart-ass, are you?" Varvel asked, glaring at Marlowe.

  "I can assure you that Dr. Marlowe is not a smart-ass," Jerry said.

  "You're the one who's desecrating the bodies," Varvel spat back at Marlowe. "You have a load of human bodies up there, and you're cutting them open and playing with them and doing whatever you want! You're ignoring the will of God, and the will of the people who buried those bodies in holy ground!"

  "Not quite," Marlowe replied. "I'm conducting a series of tests -"

  "You're abusing them!" Varvel shouted. "You're playing with them! They were buried in accordance with the wishes of God, and you dug them up and brought them here so you could fiddle with them and stick things in them and do awful things!"

  "No-one's sticking anything in them," Marlowe replied, trying to remain calm. "No-one's cutting them or slicing them, either. We're using scanning technology to look inside the bodies and get a better idea of what happened to them. It's all perfectly valid science, and it doesn't harm the tissue in any way. The bodies are going to be in exactly the same condition when we're done as they were when they arrived, and then we're going to send them back and it'll be like they never left their graves."

  "And you think God won't notice?"

  "I don't think an imaginary deity has much to say about anything," Marlowe said coolly.

  "This is immoral!" Varvel shouted, before adding something in his own language.

  "That's your opinion," Marlowe said calmly, "but frankly, it's none of your business."

  "None of my business?" Varvel roared. "None of my business?" He turned to Jerry. "You hear this idiot? None of my business? He drags my countrymen halfway across the world and then he claims that it's none of my business! How would you like it if I dug up a load of your ancestors and hauled them off to some laboratory so I could poke them and dishonor their bodies? Those people were buried in accordance with God, and with respect to their souls, and now you come and dig them up like you're a dog digging up some juicy bones!"

  "I don't have time for this," Marlowe replied, turning to Jerry. “Get rid of him.”

  "Get back here!" Varvel shouted, finally making use of the umbrella by whacking it against Marlowe's arm.

  "Jesus!" Marlowe shouted, leaping out of the way.

  "Okay," Jerry said, stepping between the two of them. "I don't want to have to call the police -" Before he could finish the sentence, the umbrella thwacked him on the side of the head, sending him stumbling back a few paces.

  "You hide behind your security," Varvel said, keeping his eyes fixed on the startled Marlowe. "You tell yourself you have total rights to be doing what you're doing. So what? It's just words. You're going against the wishes of these people and their families and our traditions." He paused for a moment. "It doesn't matter how deep you hide yourself under your clever words. God will find you, Mr. Marlowe, and the evil of Thaxos will strike you down!"

  "You have to leave now," Jerry said firmly, maneuvering Varvel to the exit. "Verbal disagreements are one thing, but physical violence is not tolerated. I'm going to have to physically prevent you from returning, do you understand? You're banned from this building indefinitely, and if you attempt to contact any member of staff in any capacity or at any time, the police will be involved. Okay?"

  "Whatever," Varvel grunted, pulling free and starting to walk down the steps. He called something back at them, but it was in a language that neither Jerry nor Marlowe understood.

  "Some people are nuts, huh?" Jerry said as he walked back over to Marlowe.

  "Next time some asshole comes and tries to cause trouble," Marlowe replied, "do me a favor, yeah? Do your job instead of calling me down to deal with him."

  "I just thought -"

  "Do your goddamn job," Marlowe said again, before turning and storming back along the corridor. He'd had enough of all these interruptions, and he was determined to get back to work. Day in, day out, he came to the museum and got his job done. He hit every deadline and he came in under every budget, and he couldn't help thinking that if everyone else was so conscientious, the world would be a much calmer place.

  He hated dealing with members of the public. At least dead bodies stayed put, and didn't answer back. Sure, they occasionally revealed surprises and fresh mysteries, but at least they didn't get up and start hitting people with umbrellas.

  Five

  As soon as his clock reached 22:00, Marlowe stepped out of the storage room and began the slow walk up to his office. Once again, he was hoping to avoid bumping into anyone. Wade had left an hour ago to meet some friends at the pub, and all the other offices should be empty by now. With the building empty, Marlowe would be able to get on with his work, free of interruptions. All he needed was peace and quiet.

  When he reached the elevators, he was relieved to find that there was no-one around. After a moment, however, he stopped to undo his shoelaces and retie them. He told himself at first that his shoes had felt a little loose, but eventually he had to acknowledge the truth: he was loitering in case Amanda Carter happened to be around. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd come to quite enjoy their accidental meetings. Tonight, though, there was no sign of her. Figuring she'd probably left earlier in the evening, Marlowe walked dejectedly through to his office and then finally to the laboratory, where the fifteen sets of skeletal remains were laid out as before. With Wade having spent the afternoon reassigning the markers and re-cataloging the condition of each specimen, the main work could finally begin in earnest, and Marlowe had decided to spend yet another night alone, doing what he did best: getting on with things, without any interruptions.

  "Let's start with you," he said as he approached specimen 2B. "You're my favorite."

  In many ways, 2B was both the most interesting and the most puzzling of all the bodies. For one thing, 2B was the corpse that seemed to have had its head removed and then later reattached; for another, 2B had considerably more skin and hair left, which Marlowe assumed was a result of different environmental factors. There were even pieces of cartilage left in some of the sections, which was remarkable given that the body was recorded as having been buried in 1680. Every time he came to look at 2B, Marlowe was surprised by the amount of extant tissue. If he didn't know better, he'd think it was slowly growing.

  In fact, if he was a superstitious man, he'd also swear that the lower jaw was moving a few millimeters each day, as if the skull was very slowly opening its mouth.

  "What did they do to you?" Marlowe whispe
red, leaning closer and examining the thin, dry skin that still clung to parts of the face. The left side, in particular, seemed to be partially preserved, and there was even a small amount of matter left in the eye sockets, as if the eyeballs had shriveled in the grave. Peering into those two dark voids, Marlowe felt the irresistible tug of his imagination, trying to make him believe that there might be some vestige of the body's soul still lingering in the bones like a fine mist. Smiling, he reminded himself that this was just the way the human mind worked, and that souls existed only in fairy-tales.

  Looking closer at the cut around the neck, Marlowe noticed two unusual things. First, the incision seemed to be very clean and neat. Given that most decapitations in the seventeenth century would have been performed with a blunt instrument such an ax, Marlowe was surprised to see that in this case, a much sharper and more delicate blade had been used. Second, he couldn't help but notice that the skin on either side of the cut seemed to have partly begun to heal. The only logical explanation was that the head was placed back on the neck shortly after decapitation, which meant that the skin perhaps made a cursory attempt to patch the wound even though the man was already dead. Although this was kind of an odd idea, it was the only thing that made sense right now, and Marlowe made a mental note to consult with a few colleagues in order to see if the theory could be defended.

  "Wait here," Marlowe said, deciding that he wanted to get a better look at the wound. Setting his voice recorder on the table next to the corpse, he hurried through to the next room, where he grabbed a thermal imaging camera and quickly attached the lens he needed for such a delicate job. He was hoping to get a very specific and highly magnified image of the edges of the cut, in order to see if he could get a better estimate of the time difference between the head being severed and then the attempt to place it back on the neck. If he could -