by Al K. Line
He lifted his mangled arms and roared in agony and ecstasy, then everything was silent.
No noise. Pure emptiness.
Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Nobody said a word.
I watched, transfixed. After a frustrating wait, the Chemist sagged then was motionless.
It started with his head.
The skin on his scalp smoothed out, took on a natural color, the scars and nodules gone, replaced with a blemish-free layer of perfect skin like he'd been kissed by the sun.
Then hair grew, dark brown and lustrous, inches a second. As it lengthened, the transformation spread. His face rippled in waves, the hole in his cheek filled in then flesh popped out to fill the puckered scar, smooth as a baby's bottom.
The weeping, droopy eye fixed itself, eyebrows stretched like lazy caterpillars, sharp and giving him a smart, intelligent look. His nose grew at the tip, nostrils flared and perfect. His lips fattened until they were plump and entirely kissable.
As the lips parted, teeth glinted as they caught the light. Bright white, the envy of any actor in a toothpaste commercial. Hazel eyes were clear and mesmerizing with a sharp intelligence, sparkling and clear, the whites as pure as fresh snow.
Down his neck went the effects of the potion. His pockmarked, melted skin tightened and became regal, hinting at power and suppleness. His shoulders widened and took on an athletic appearance.
The Chemist's arms shortened, his fingers fattened, bones creaked and cracked, lumps burrowed under the skin and vanished. Arm hair grew, even as the hair on his head sped past his shoulders.
Pianist's fingers flexed for the first time in their perfect form, revealing powerful forearms and strong biceps, everything slender but with an undeniable manly strength.
His chest expanded, hinting at muscle, and his legs unbuckled, straightened out and adjusted so they were of equal length. The thigh muscles thickened and I could tell his backside rounded and would be as perfect as the rest of him.
And then he moved. This new man shook out his legs and arms, ran a hand over his face and reached up to stroke his hair and a short beard that highlighted his chiseled jaw and sharp cheekbones perfectly.
"You're so handsome," I said, shocked by just how amazing he looked. It was still him, you'd recognize the Chemist, but he was also entirely different, a true man, and a very good looking one at that.
"I… I feel so alive." The Chemist lifted his head and laughed, almost cackled with glee at the new body he now inhabited.
"It worked," said Faz, smiling.
"You're gonna be a knockout with the women," said Mithnite, with a hint of jealousy.
"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet." The Chemist's face turned serious, and dark.
I got a bad feeling.
Things Get Stretchy
The air shimmered around the Chemist. He smiled so brightly, and struck such a cheesy pose, I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd suddenly draped a sweater over his shoulders and posed for a catalog picture. He looked so damn healthy and full of vigor it was like he'd been grown in a futuristic lab.
Magic emanated from him as though he was the gateway to immeasurable power, and everything became so bright we had to look away. It was at this point I realized we were all holding hands, Faz to my left, Mithnite to my right. We were squeezing hard. Drawn to his beauty and intensity like magical moths to a wizard's glowing staff, we had to look at him again, so intoxicating was he.
Nobody could speak, words were lost, as the man before us grew in stature, filling the room with his presence, his purity. His beauty.
Then the brightness faded, gently and with an intimate whisper like a caress on the cheek. Darkness fell. The atmosphere turned oppressive and the bright autumn day dimmed until the room was gloomy yet the Chemist was still sharply in focus, effervescent, but with a dark light.
His flawless body changed once again. The hair grew longer, down to his backside, but the luster was gone. It hung limp and greasy, perfectly straight. He became taller, no longer an illusion caused by his presence, but stretching out, well over seven feet tall.
The forehead enlarged, the hair receded, leaving it domed and prominent. His nose sharpened and narrowed, the nostrils constricted until it reminded me of a bird's beak.
The mouth widened, the lips faded to gray, and his ashen tongue darted out and licked sharp, pointed teeth in an erotic parody that made me shiver.
His neck was thin now, the skin thick and almost scaly, same as his face and arms.
Again, bone creaked and cracked and the arms elongated until they hung lower than ever, and his fingers doubled in length, the knuckles twisted and knobbly. Ten fingernails dropped to the flagstones without a sound, leaving raw, pink flesh exposed, then ten claws burst from the tips. Blood spurted over the walls as he flicked his hands as though to activate them.
Legs that had been perfect moments ago became stalks, the knees bony and wide, and his clothes split and finally fell away revealing his flesh.
From a light golden tan, the skin underwent an extreme transformation, turning white then green-gray like he was decomposing. At the same time, his eyes sank as they darkened and turned cold, reptilian, with a deep, unsettling knowledge. He stared at us without emotion.
The Chemist screamed in agony as his skin split, but also with what sounded like glee, with anticipation for what was to come.
Blood beaded his flesh, but the bubbles burst and rivulets meandered down to his feet, pooling in the rags he stood on. A gust of impossible wind cut through the air like a knife and he shivered as the blood froze, dropping as red snow. He was as granite, carved and stretched like a Giacometti sculpture.
His entire body scabbed over and flakes of skin drifted away like withered leaves, weaving left then right as they fell.
Faz released my hand, bellowed, "No," and punched out with his palm toward the Chemist. As I turned to my husband, his eyes snapped to hard black and the ink on his exposed wrist hinted at what was occurring underneath his smart suit.
A torrent of magical flame burning vicious red through the dark air spat and forked, then hit the Chemist, engulfing him in flame.
Faz fell back, spent, writhing on the floor as the Empty took its payment, and Mithnite came out of his trance, unsure what to do, but ready for action.
I turned from Faz to the Chemist as the flames died, noticing that the fallen scabs had burned to ash.
The Chemist was untouched. He was covered in soot, but he hadn't burned, hadn't been affected by the magic at all.
"My children," he wailed, as he scooped up the ash and stuffed it into his mouth.
He turned to us, stared at Faz on the floor, and said, "Because we're friends, I forgive you. But I warn you, I warn you all, don't interfere."
I didn't know what the hell was happening.
Then the kitchen turned pitch black, my head felt as if it was about to implode, and when I opened my eyes the room was in half dark. Three figures I recognized only too well were standing by the sink, motionless.
"We will obey," said a strained, hoarse voice like a talking nightmare. The simple words were full of untold horrors, things that crawl in dark places and consume your flesh, earthy and covered in mucous like a worm as it slithered into my mind, leaving me numb and afraid.
"I did it!" the Chemist exclaimed with childish glee.
He sure did.
What You Get for Helping
"It worked, it really worked," whispered the Chemist in wonder. He waved his oversized arms around, shook his beanstalk legs, and stroked his lank hair. He seemed to have forgotten that Faz had tried to incinerate him, or maybe it wasn't him he was after, but the scabs that had fallen.
Then I understood.
"You turned yourself into an Elder."
"He sure did," said Faz as Mithnite helped him up.
"And it worked. No more skulking about, no more answering to you guys," he said as he scowled at the immobile Elders. "I call the shots now. You will obey." He glared at
them, tone so commanding it was as if he'd acquired Voice.
"We will," they chorused with a deep, eldritch rumble. I'm sure they bowed their heads a touch in reluctant acknowledgment.
"What have you done?" I whispered. "We trusted you. I helped you."
"Kate, I am truly sorry for the subterfuge, but there was no other way once the accident happened. Faz, I understand your reaction, no hard feelings." The Chemist took a few steps forward and held out his left arm, but then smiled as he stared at the talons for fingernails so withdrew his hand—nobody would willingly shake that.
"Get out of my home," ordered Faz hoarsely, the words taking all of his remaining strength.
The Chemist nodded. "I understand. I'll give you a few days to cool off then I'm sure we'll be friends again."
"You abused our trust." With those words Faz lost all control of his legs and dropped to his knees as if in supplication. Only he never did that, for anyone.
"I said I was sorry. Ah, I can feel the might growing. So much to do, I don't know where to begin. And you," he said, turning to the Elders, "there will be many changes. Starting with an apology for kidnapping my friend and scaring poor Kate here. You could have left me alone to finish my work."
"You have blasphemed. We wished to stop you," whispered an Elder.
"Enough! You will apologize. Now."
For a moment they remained silent, then mumbled, "Sorry," as one, as if the apology was being drawn out of them regardless of their wishes.
The Chemist cackled and gloated then turned away from them. "I'll go. And please, don't interfere."
"With what?" I asked, but the room darkened again, my skin erupted with goosebumps as the temperature plummeted, and with an overpowering stench of decay, earth, and rot filling my nostrils they were gone.
No Chemist, no Elders, just us, a jar, an empty test tube, and a pile of rags and ash on the floor.
"No more lodgers," I said, meaning it.
Fancy a Cuppa?
We helped Faz into a chair and then, not knowing what else to do, I put the kettle on. We were all in shock, the turn of events so unexpected, so peculiar, that it was hard to believe any of it had actually happened. The kitchen still sparkled, the scent of lemon and pine needles in the air, the day was clear and bright outside as brown leaves drifted to the grass, and the only sign the Chemist had ever been here were the few items remaining in the kitchen, and the skip outside the door.
We sipped strong, aromatic coffee with three sugars each and kept staring at each other, waiting for someone to say something, to put the madness into words that made sense.
"How could he… Why would… What does he think… Ugh, this is crazy." I gave up. I had no words, just questions and a deep, unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. What had he done to himself? What did he think he'd achieve?
"He's fed up being a ghoul and looking like he does," said Faz, ready to fall asleep.
"But he looks freaky now, too."
"Maybe, but it's different. You saw the power he had. The power those Elders have. They bowed to him. He's stronger than them now."
"So the becoming human thing was all a ruse?" asked Mithnite.
"I guess," I said. "It was just a part of the transformation, something to endure to become like them. I'm not certain he's a real Elder, I guess he can't be, but he's something like them only more so."
"And what was with the flaking skin?" asked Mithnite. "You blasted him, Faz, but to burn it, right? Faz?" Mithnite shook him awake.
Faz managed a, "Huh?"
"Why did you blast the Chemist?" Mithnite asked again.
"Because the stories are true. The Elders, they gave birth to all ghouls. They're born of the scabs of those ancient immortals, little but strips of rotten, festering flesh that was peeled away. They suffered for their children though, these timeless beings. They tore their own corrupted flesh, let it partially heal, so it hardened and scabbed, then they stripped the rest off so there was living tissue and dead. When it was abandoned it would grow, like a grub, expand and draw in energy from the Empty until soon enough you had a ghoul."
"That's messed up," said Mithnite.
"Hey, humans are born of sperm and eggs, it's all pretty gross if you think about it."
"I guess." Mithnite frowned, trying to come to terms with the basics of all creation. He turned back to Faz to ask another question but he was already asleep and snoring.
"Leave him a minute then we'll get him to bed. I can't believe the Chemist did this. What is he thinking?" I asked, not expecting an answer and not getting one.
So Faz had burned away the scabs that had fallen. Did that mean the Chemist had tried to birth, or create, ghouls of his own? Have a family of sorts? Why would he do such a thing? For what purpose? Did there need to be one? After all, I wanted a child more than anything, and felt the stirrings of things changing inside me, coming close to being ready for such dreams to become reality.
Could it be as simple as that need, that desire? Was all this a warped way of him having his own family, finding a place in the world? The only way he knew how as ghouls don't have children of their own, it never happens. If all ghouls really were born from the Elders, had the Chemist gone through all this subterfuge and deception so he could be a father? A father of scabs?
It didn't ring true. There was something else going on, something bigger and much more frightening. The Elders treated him as more than just their equal, so he had immense power now. But what power? How would it manifest?
And where was the Chemist?
It was at that precise moment I realized I had no idea what his true name was. I wondered if he even remembered.
Bed Time
Eventually, we managed to wake Faz and get him upstairs and into bed. I sat with him a while, just watching him sleep and dream. Would they be pleasant dreams? No, they wouldn't. They would be nightmares, same as they always were. His recovery would be set back yet again, and I wondered if he'd ever get the rest he needed.
This life was fraught with peril, and much more of it would kill him. He needed to get away from here, to be truly alone, left in peace until he could handle the madness that cropped up on a way too regular basis.
It wasn't even like this was the result of an enforcer job gone wrong and could have been avoided. This was just our life, the way things seemed to go for us. Maybe he needed to be removed from the situation entirely, whisked away to a desert island or a wizardly retreat somewhere.
I smiled at the thought of Faz sitting on a beach, away from this Hidden world. He'd go nuts inside a week. For better or worse, this was who we were, what we did, and how we lived. If helping a friend meant this kind of nonsense was the result then so be it. What's the alternative? Never trust anyone? Never help out a friend in need? Sure, it was an extreme situation, not what usually happens when you let someone stay for a while, but we weren't normal people and normal stuff didn't happen.
That's not to say I wasn't worried about Faz. He was close to completing his recovery, over the worst, and this had been the last thing he needed. But I knew him, and I knew however much it hurt him he'd be proud of what he'd done, that he'd tried to stop things getting out of control. He'd done what he did for the Chemist's own good, to stop him before he lost himself completely to this madness he'd taken upon himself, even though it hurt Faz so much to do it.
That's true friendship, that's truly caring.
But there was no doubt about it, we were probably in for a whole world of hurt before this was over.
How could I keep him away from this? How could I deal with what arose without him pushing himself right over the edge? Doing so much harm that he could never claw his way back up to being the old him?
I padded quietly out of the bedroom and closed the door to the sound of his snoring.
I smiled.
There was only one thing for it. I'd have to go deal with the Chemist, and the Elders, on my own.
A Call
Day turned to night.
I would have cleaned but there was nothing to clean. The kitchen still gleamed, apart from the scorched bits, and I knew the hobs would take care of that once everyone slept.
Instead, I sat at the table and thought. I also enjoyed the silence, not realizing until now how much I'd missed sitting on my own drinking coffee and listening to the house settle for the night, trying to calm the strange desires and cravings that ran rampant though my system if left to their own devices.
It's a daily battle, this emerging nature. As everything quiets and darkness takes hold, part of me comes to life and aches for this cover when I could leave my house and roam the streets, unseen, a thing of the dark and the cold, a predator.
I felt the gentle stirrings of my kind throughout the city, the anticipation of the hunt, of feeding, of being at one with the creatures of the night. I was one of them, always would be, but a thing apart too. Unlike most, I forced down the urges to abandon my old self and embrace this cold that would never release me if I accepted it. I pushed it down, kept the old Kate intact so I could live with myself and function in the world of humans. How easy it would be to let it all slip away, to cease caring about anyone or anything, think only of myself and the hunger, look down on short-lived humans, not even feeling pity, just a superiority because I wasn't like them, was so much better.
But I wasn't better, and that's what kept me apart from the vampires. This nature was a curse, but one I accepted because I wanted to live and this was the only way.
The night called to me, a lover's seductive whisper in my ear. Cajoling, teasing, and tempting me. Be a mindless creature sneaking through the night running on instinct alone, doing what my body wanted, allowing it to have free rein and fulfill all its needs.
To kill. To feed.
My body neither knows of nor cares about my struggle to remain who I am. It wants to be free, to shut down conscious thought and be wild and savage. Tough, because that's not what I want and I will remain in control no matter what.