Curse You

by Armada Volya

  The reward didn't keep him waiting.

  Julie screamed as her stomach bulged and ripped. A hand extended to greet the world, then disappeared again. A bald, slimy head covered in blood appeared next, crawling out of its dead mother's womb like a maggot. A creature of hell opened its tiny mouth and revealed its long, predatory fangs. The head lowered back and the jaws got to work, slowly devouring its first prey, slowly, methodically ripping chunks of flesh from Julie.

  Shocked to the bone marrow, Fredrick looked at the undead child, the abomination Fredrick brought into this world through his seed and evil deeds. The church had always talked about demons, witches, warlocks, but never in his life had Fredrick Kairan encountered anything like this. The monster of a baby and the knowledge that it was his son froze Fredrick in place. He knew not what to do. He knew not how to react.

  Minutes passed before the man who doomed his whole family to this awful fate finally regained his wits. He turned to the wall and grabbed the wooden cross, then thrust it toward the child's face.

  The baby continued chewing its mother's flesh.

  Fredrick's hand trembled. The cross fell. Blood pounded in his ears. What could he do? The holy cross itself had no effect. Fredrick shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts enough to see an answer. His eyes fell to the cross on the floor. If the cross, God's weapon, doesn't work, a weapon of men must.

  Fredrick ran into the kitchen, stumbling, his vision blurring, his mind racing. He reached a drawer, fumbled inside, and pulled out a knife. Numb fingers tried to get a good grip on the handle, but the knife slipped and crashed to the floor. Fredrick picked it up and ran back into his bedroom. As soon as he reached the child, he slashed at its neck.

  In front of Fredrick's eyes, the wound healed. Fredrick looked at Robert, hoping the doctor had a plan, but all he found was a wide-eyed man paralyzed with fear. Robert looked back at Fredrick, then at the child. His right hand darted to his own neck and clutched a leather strap with a silver cross.

  Robert slipped the cross off and threw it at the infant. The tiny symbol landed a few inches from the child. The baby screamed at the sight and retreated into its dead mother's womb.

  “We need to kill this abomination,” Fredrick said.

  “How?” Robert's voice trembled.

  “Burn it.” Fredrick squeezed his hands together to stop them from shaking.

  “How will we get it out of Julie?”

  Fredrick Kairan shuddered at the thought of digging through his dead wife's body to find the demonic creature. “We must wait for it to come out.”

  It was a long wait. Many hours passed before the creature finally stuck out its head and greeted the young night. By this time, the men had placed an old wooden crate and a rope by the bed. Fredrick had no desire to touch the monstrous babe, and Robert didn't volunteer to do it either.

  The father held open the noose and carefully threw it over his son's head. Once the rope was secure around its neck, Fredrick pulled the creature out and lowered it into the box. The doctor closed the lid and held it in place while the inquisitor nailed it shut.

  Chapter 7

  At sunrise Fredrick Kairan was ready to do his holy duty. He prepared the firewood and brought the box into the square. People of the town whispered, asked one another who was to burn and why, but no answer could be found. When Fredrick place a crate on top of the wood, murmurs erupted.

  “Good people of Greenville,” Kairan began in a loud voice, trying to drown out the town, “I give you a creature from hell, brought forth by the witch that we burned four days ago, Elizabeth. Inside this box is a child that died, yet lives again. Blades cannot harm it, and yet it shrinks away from the holy cross. Let it burn like the foul creature that it is.”

  Wide-eyed people watched the fire climb toward the box from which a muffled cry escaped. The people began whispering, asking why a child would be burned. What could an infant have done? Two men detached from the crowd and ran to the edge of town.

  Some townsfolk stared in terror at the box, others at Fredrick. “What is the matter with him?” they asked. “It's just a child.” “He went mad.” “We have to let the church know.” A man ran from the square and a minute later rode out of town.

  The wailing was getting louder as the fire consumed everything around the child. Slowly, the wood burned down until only hot coals remained. The infant, black from ashes, continued to cry. Fredrick looked at his son whom he had so wished to have. He shuddered. Not even fire was able to kill this demon.

  The town stood transfixed, watching the fang-toothed babe move in the remains of the fire that should have killed him.

  A man in simple, priestly robes threw a wooden cross at the undead creature. The cross hit the child on the chest and brought forth a new wave of cries, but caused no lasting harm. It fell off the child and rested on the coals, slowly heating until it burst into bright flames.

  The people gasped in horror. If the infant could turn the holy cross to ashes, then it was indeed a creature of the dark.

  Fredrick felt someone tug on his shirt and tried to ignore it, but the tugging persisted. He turned to look and saw that Robert Finch was saying something to him, but Robert's voice drowned in the roaring crowd.

  “It's not the cross.” Robert's voice reached Fredrick at last. “It's silver. He's afraid of silver. That's why he was afraid of my cross and not yours.”

  “Nonsense! A devil's minion must be scared of all crosses.”

  “But you saw yourself that the wooden ones have no effect on him.”

  “Can't be. It has to be the cross. A thing from hell must be afraid of God.” Fredrick's voice grew raw from shouting over the crowd. “I'll have to use a silver cross.”

  Fredrick saw Robert cringe, but the doctor didn't argue. Fredrick felt a drop of irritation at the doctor's doubt. Since when did people start thinking that they knew more about demons than an inquisitor?

  In long strides, Fredrick walked to the church and found another crate that food had been delivered in. They would put the demon into it once the coals had adequately cooled. The question of a silver weapon wasn't as simple though.

  The inquisitor walked into his office and unlocked a large metal chest under the window. He took out a few wallets filled with silver coins, taxes collected that year. It had taken Fredrick five years to make this much money. If he wasted this sum, he could never pay it back. The church expected it all to be sent to them, but Fredrick hoped they would understand the necessity of using the silver coins to kill the demon. Besides, he could always send the weapon forged from the smelted coins as payment. Silver was valuable, whatever form it was in.

  There was just enough silver to turn it into a large cross, almost two feet long. He put the leather pouches into a larger bag and brought it to Richard, the town's smith.

  The mountain of a man turned to the sound of the inquisitor entering the shed and said, “Fredrick, you look exhausted. Sit here, rest.” The blacksmith put a small stool next to Fredrick Kairan.

  “Richard, it's that demon child. I tried everything and it just won't die. You are my last hope. I learned that it's afraid of silver crosses, so I need you to make a large silver weapon in shape of the cross.” Fredrick gave the bag of coins to the blacksmith.

  Richard took the money, his fingers turning white and his jaw clenching.

  “Of course. Come tomorrow at noon; it'll be done by then. Or... no, I'll bring it to the church myself as soon as I finish so that you'll have it sooner.” He wiped his hands on the stained apron.

  “Thank you, Richard; you are a good man.” Fredrick rose with arms as limp as the sweat-drenched hair that touched his shoulders, its usual waves straightened by the weight of the moisture.

  “No, no... I'm the one who should be thanking you for keeping this whole town and my family safe from these creatures. Now go home and rest. You look like you need it.” He tried to smile, but it faltered as soon as he lowered the bag to the table.

  *** r />
  In the early hours of the morning, Richard brought the cross to the church and gave it to Father Paul who, in turn, passed it on to Fredrick. As soon as Fredrick Kairan received the blade, he went into the dungeons. Fredrick looked at the babe whose body was unharmed, took a deep breath, raised the newly sharpened blade, and struck at the neck.

  The head detached almost completely from the body, hanging on by only a few red strings of muscles. The eyes on the head bulged, its skin turning red and mouth opening to scream. No sound escaped, but the head didn't stop trying. The blood around the wound boiled.

  Fredrick looked at the child's body and saw its chest moving, trying to push air through severed vocal cords. Tiny hands stretched up, towards Fredrick. Tiny fingers clutched the air, and Fredrick couldn't stand it. He slashed at the hands, severing them from the body, but they continued to move.

  In a feverish dance he cut again and again until the child was nothing but pieces of flesh that kept on moving, breathing, bleeding.

  Chapter 8

  Robert walked out of the church and down the dirt road that led him home. He had hoped silver would do the job, but to his horror, it had done something much worse than killing the child. He had to find a way to stop this madness, but he didn't know where to start.

  Before he reached his house, he stopped. He needed to look elsewhere.

  Nothing of this sort had ever happened in this town, but there must have been other children of the dark. Had there been other such infants, there would be some information about it recorded in the countless tomes kept in libraries. Yes, a library would have the answers if there were any to be found. The problem was that the nearest library was two days' ride away, in the city. If the city were closer, he would have made the trip the same day, but two days. No, Robert would have to wait until sunrise and use the day to prepare for the journey.

  There wasn't much to pack: some food, water, and herbs in case of an emergency. There was, of course, his dog, Rock. Robert couldn't take the dog along – it would only slow him down – so he had to find someone to watch the beast.

  The doctor walked to the house he had rarely been invited to, the house his son Gilbert lived in. Robert Finch knocked on the door. Gilbert opened soon enough.

  “Dad, I didn't expect to see you,” said the tall man with dark brown hair he had inherited from his mother. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, yes, everything is fine.” Robert smiled at the son who didn't invite him inside. “I just have to leave for a few days and was wondering if you could keep an eye on Rock for me, feed him and such.”

  “Oh, of course. Where are you going?”

  “To the city. I wanted to visit the old library, read up on some things.”

  “I see.” Gilbert's smile faded for just a moment, then found its way back. “I'll be sure to come by and feed him a few times a day. Or would you rather I keep him here until you return?”

  “Oh, there is no reason to bring him here, unless that would be more convenient for you, of course.”

  “It makes no difference to me; I can feed him here or there. I suppose I'll leave him where he is.” Gilbert's smile didn't reach his eyes.

  They awkwardly bid each other farewell, and Robert walked away. It hurt to think of the coldness and indifference in Gilbert's voice. They didn't speak often and when they did, it was always the same. With a deep sigh, Robert looked back at the house in which he wasn't welcomed and from which he rarely received guests.

  Gilbert, Gilbert, barely sixteen and already married. Perhaps Robert should have found another woman to give his son a proper mother. But it was too late to think about it now.

  ***

  With smiling eyes, Robert knelt beside his dog. “Don't worry, my friend,” he said, massaging the dog's muscular neck. “I'll be back soon, and until then Gilbert will come around to feed you. You remember Gilbert, don't you? Of course you do. You smart dog.”

  As Robert rose, his obedient beast rose with him, wanting to follow. But Robert's mind was already on the trip ahead, and as he exited the house, his thoughts turned to Glenwood, that old city that had given him so many good years of studying. He missed it, all of it – the universities, libraries, museums, and cathedrals. Oh, those magnificent cathedrals. How many Sundays had he spent in them? And how different they felt compared to the church in Greenville. Just standing inside, looking up at the high, ornate ceiling was enough to take Robert's breath away. A man could sense the Lord's presence in every icon, every stained-glass window. And the sounds inside, the music, the singing...

  Those memories drove him forward: through the town, where the rising sun played on every roof and window, and farther down the road, past fields and forests, where the sun again worked its magic – turning the morning dew into so many precious stones. Leaves reflected light that gave Robert's brown hair a green tinge and turned his blue eyes to swampy green.

  God's kingdom was magnificent.

  Men like Fredrick Kairan had it wrong. God was not about killing healers for sins they hadn't committed. He was about love and beauty. Healers understood God better; they took the herbs that God had given men and used them to save lives. They did good. They loved God for what he truly was.

  Elizabeth had known God and so had her father. They knew how to use what the Lord gave.

  A memory of Elizabeth's last words came to Robert's mind. She had cursed Fredrick with her tongue, and he had sealed it with his hands. How odd.

  Chapter 9

  The day was at an end when Robert arrived in the city. The library stood as large and full of knowledge as it had so many years ago. Because the library was about to close, Robert decided against going there that day, left his horse at the stable of the inn where he was staying, and walked along the streets of his youth.

  So much had changed since those long-gone days. New factories had appeared, and new buildings had been built. Yet it was so familiar. The park Robert visited that evening was exactly as it used to be, with slightly larger trees and slightly older benches.

  But wasn't there a square a little farther? There was indeed, only three blocks from the park. It too was mostly unchanged, except for that ugly black mark in the middle. The cobblestones had been marred by nothing but dust some twenty years earlier; now they were covered in soot from those damned fires. It appeared cities weren't much different from small towns. They all had this mark burned into their hearts. This was evil, plain evil. People were blind fools for not seeing it for what it was.

  Robert's heart pounded. Anger, sorrow, and sadness united and drove Robert back to the inn. He wouldn't be able to sleep – he knew it well enough.

  At least three or four hours of sleep would be nice, but he dared not hope for even that much. Most nights he stayed awake because he felt sorry for himself, for his loneliness and his empty house. This night his anger would keep him awake, anger against all the people who watched and did nothing, anger against himself for being one of them.

  Robert rose after an hour of lying in bed, knowing he wouldn't fall asleep and knowing that he needed to get some rest to be able to do as much reading and searching as he planned. He opened the small pouch he had packed thinking that he wouldn't use it and took out a pill that he had thought he wouldn't need. After staring at the small globe of crushed root that he had rolled into a pill a few days earlier, he brought it to his mouth.

  He hated this smell and taste. Why did God make such a disgusting plant?

  Despite its foul odor, the pill worked. Within half an hour Robert's nerves calmed, his muscles relaxed, and he was able to get his first good sleep in days.

  The sleep didn't bring relief to his mind. He dreamed of his wife, as he had so often since her death. She was giving birth, screaming, sweating. And then her stomach burst open, and Gilbert's head appeared, not as an infant, but as it looked now.

  His wife, Jessica, screamed and died, as she had died sixteen years ago. This time Gilbert wasn't in his father's arms but his mother's
belly, laughing, ripping her skin, guts, and veins. And then Jessica's face moved, only it was no longer her face but Elizabeth's. She was glaring at him, cursing him for not doing anything to stop the executions, for not saving her, for not saving her father...

  Robert woke up, drenched in sweat. The sun was rising, letting its still-dim rays light the room. For a few long minutes, he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He didn't have nightmares often, and never had any been this bad. With a sigh he got up and changed, cursing himself and his cowardice.

  And if he did speak up? He would likely get executed. But so what? He didn't have anything to live for anymore. Even Gilbert left as soon as he grew up.

  ***

  The library was magnificent; shelves with scrolls and loose papers, maps, and bound books formed an endless forest of knowledge waiting to be conquered. It smelled like centuries-old paper and ink.

  The wisdom of countless generations greeted Doctor Finch as he walked through the giant room and touched books with as much gentleness as if they were a lover's face. So many priceless pearls were stored on these shelves. Some of the books had been printed on the printing press, while others were ancient handwritten tomes.

  It took some time to find the section of the library Robert needed. He had never been interested in the supernatural, so this far corner was unfamiliar. There were thousands of books full of knowledge and perhaps even more filled with nonsense. Robert had to find the one with the information he had come so far to find.

  A large, red tome with the words “Encyclopedia of Demons” on the spine caught Robert's eye. This would be a good place to start. He might at least be able to find a name for the creature he had to kill.

  Robert Finch placed the book on the table and sat before it. After flipping a few pages, he discovered that the book had illustrations for each creature it described, a convenient feature considering Robert's lack of time. Over the next hour he went through all of it, looked at all the pictures, but didn't find anything that resembled the monster child.