Letting the Demons Out

by Ray Wallace

  "Katrina. Enough."

  And once more Nicolae was caught unaware, for there stood Alexander in the room's entrance, the same place occupied by Katrina only moments before. She whirled to face her former master.

  "Enough? How dare you!" For a moment Nicolae thought she was going to physically attack Alexander. "Don't tell me what to do. You gave up that right a long time ago, the moment you deserted us."

  With that she brushed past Alexander and fled the room. He did nothing to stop her.

  Nicolae and Alexander left the party a short time later, bade farewell to the finely dressed ladies and gentlemen gathered in the great house's ballroom, donned their coats and headed off into the frigid night. As they walked through the falling snow Alexander explained how he had brought a family together, a Coven of his own making. Twelve beautiful young men and women to whom he had given his blood. For many years they had lived together, one big happy family. Thirteen of them. The perfect number. Or so a centuries-long recurring dream had shown him. And for a time it seemed that the dream had been correct. Alexander had never been happier, had never felt stronger than when his Coven was complete. And as the years passed they would only grow stronger together, more powerful. A time would come when not even an army of mortals could stand before them. But then came the other dream, the one that showed Alexander there was a Judas in their midst. Mathias, one of his favorites, with his German accent, his impish good looks, and his razor sharp wit. This one would betray Alexander. It seemed that Mathias had plans of ruling the Coven himself one day. Only one way for that to happen. He would have to take Alexander out of the picture. It was all there, in the dream, recurring day after day, year after year. The traitor was only biding his time, allowing his strength to grow. Alexander didn't want to believe it but he had learned long ago how accurate his dreams usually were, especially those that came to him repeatedly as this one did. The way he saw it there were only two solutions to this situation. He could kill Mathias. Or he could leave. Heartbroken - by the betrayal, by what it was he'd decided to do - he chose the latter. It just wasn't in him to destroy what he had created, what he had come to love. And so he deserted the Coven. Left it to its apparent ruin.

  The two of them fed on the way back to the hotel room. Then they slept. The next night they walked together through the streets of St. Petersburg. Alexander lifted his nose, sniffed at the cold winter air. "This city is ripe for revolution," he said.

  "How do you know?" asked Nicolae a bit incredulously.

  "Can't you smell it? The fear, the anger, it's there, floating on the air."

  All Nicolae could smell was the stench of rotting garbage.

  "Soon this will not be a place fit for such civilized beings as ourselves. We will leave tomorrow, after I've put some of my affairs in order."

  And the next night that's what they did, they left the city, struck out once more for less inhabited lands.

  Eventually Nicolae heard the reports of the mob that had marched on Czar Nicholas's palace in St. Petersburg, of the troops that opened fire on the demonstrators there, of the chaos that ensued. And he thought to himself: That Alexander has quite the nose. More likely he had had some inside information as to what was brewing. Or maybe it had been one of his dreams. Maybe he really can see the future.

  Twenty years passed.

  One evening Nicolae awoke to find Alexander gone. There was a note lying on the dresser in the tiny room of the inn he and Alexander had chanced upon the previous night. The note simply read, "I'm sorry. The dreams. I must go. I do hope you understand." That was all. And Nicolae did understand, to a point. But it didn't make things any easier. Next to where Alexander had left his message was a small silk bag closed with a drawstring. Nicolae opened the bag, emptied the precious gemstones contained within onto his hand. A fortune there. He wept for a time then he packed his things and went away from that place, that town, that country, eventually found himself on a ship headed for America where he hoped to carve out a new existence for himself, one where dreams didn't chart the course of one's destiny.

  He came ashore in New York City then made his way across that strange new land, decided at some point to test Alexander's "Coven theory," started searching for those he believed he'd be able to spend the coming years with. It was at this point that his own dreams began to influence his decisions. Was this symptomatic of his kind, being guided in this way, or was this a trait he had inherited from Alexander, from the blood that had granted him this second life? He had no way of knowing, found himself inherently trusting the dreams, however, when they came to him, vivid and alluring, aiding him in his quest to build a family. The dreams led him to New Orleans where he found Judith and Mary, later north where he encountered a woman named Sara, eventually west where he crossed paths with a young writer named Alex, to so many other places in between. And then he was urged further west to a sprawling metropolis where he discovered an old mansion in the hills. Immediately, he set about ensuring the safety of his family by bringing the city leaders under his control by way of a little trick taught to him by his old master. Under Alexander's tutelage he had discovered just how easy it was to manipulate the weak minded humans. One method was particularly effective. The blood of Nicolae's kind contained their essence. Pass it along to a mortal and, with any luck, they would soon become immortal. The saliva had a weaker but still quite useful effect. "Just a taste, a single kiss," Alexander had told him, "and they are yours. A part of you will be passed along to them, a brief taste of immortality, of unimaginable power, that they will do anything to experience again."

  "Anything?" Nicolae had asked, thinking of the possibilities.

  "Yes, anything."

  The eating of the brains, the controlling of the hallucinations that came with this act, the deciphering of the visions offered to him, that he learned on his own. These visions were more powerful, more direct than his dreams. Through them he foresaw the one who would complete his Coven, the one who would make it strong. The thirteenth member. His czarina.

  Once more, the years passed.

  And now, here he was, in this bed, Ariella beside him. Just as the visions had promised. His Coven was complete. For the time being, at least, all was right with the world.

  With a sigh of contentment he closed his eyes and tried to find sleep once more.

  - THE THING WITHIN -

  Author's note: Here's another "ode to Lovecraft" story, maybe even more so than "One of the Six." Not really much to say about it except that this one, too, has an ending with some rather monstrous implications to it. Enjoy...

  *

  I have always been plagued by nightmares. For reasons unknown, He Who Weaves the Dream has seen fit to fill my sleep-thoughts with the most vividly horrifying images. I would awake in the silent darkness, trembling, gasping for air, until gentle arms would enfold me and the voice of my sweet Henrietta would whisper in my ear, saying, "I'm here, my love, I'm here. It's all right. It was only a dream." And just like that, the nightmare's wispy tendrils, steadfastly clinging to my waking mind, would disappear like so much fog, and I would echo the words that suddenly meant everything to me: "Only a dream..."

  But now my sweet Henrietta is gone. It has been nearly five years since she died, since I sat at the bedside and watched her fade away... fade away like a slowly wilting rose, possessed by a demon called Cancer, a demon none could exorcise. Now there is no one to hold me, to whisper away my fears...

  I visit her grave every day.

  The estate on which I live was built by my great-great-grandfather and was willed to me by my father, and my eldest son Jonas will inherit it when I pass away. The house is large enough to be considered a mansion by many, and there is a lot of land, most of which is covered by forest, its trees now bare due to winter's early arrival. Directly east of the house is a path that leads into the forest, and if one were to follow this path he would find that it ends after a short distance at a clearing where the small family cemetery is located.

&n
bsp; One day I walked to the clearing as I always did, the frigid wind tearing at my jacket, rattling the skeletal branches of the surrounding trees. It was a grey day. Fast-flying clouds whipped across the sky, succeeded only in filtering the sun's already feeble light. I knelt on the frozen ground next to Henrietta's headstone and told her the same things I had told her the day before: how well Jonas's law practice was doing; how young Charles was getting along at medical school; how Isabella was soon expecting her second child... Henrietta had been the most loving mother and would never tire of discussing her children. Then I told her not to worry about me. I was just fine... But I knew that she could tell I was lying, for the truth of the matter is that the grief I discovered at her passing has never left me, and nightmares still plague my sleep.

  After telling her that I loved her I simply knelt there in silence, listened to the whispering rustle of the wind through the trees, strained to understand its message. I looked around, examining my surroundings: the grey, sunless sky; the ground with its dying grass, its scattered patches of snow; the headstones of those I had loved - my wife, my mother, my father - and the more distant relatives I had never met; the lifeless forest and the path that led back to the house. And there was something else. Something I had never seen before.

  Another path!

  How had it escaped my notice until then? True, it was thin and cluttered with fallen branches, but from where I knelt it looked so obvious. I couldn't believe it had gone unobserved for so long. But had I ever studied the area this closely before? Probably not.

  I stood and walked over to the path which started at the opposite side of the clearing from the one I had followed to the cemetery so many times in the past. This newly discovered one led deeper into the woods. And before I realized what I was doing, I pulled my coat more tightly about me and started along it.

  Something seemed to call me onward down the twisting trail, forcing me to undertake such a spur-of-the-moment adventure. Darkness came early at this time of the year, and I knew that it was unwise to wander any deeper into the forest for it was already late in the afternoon. But wander I did. The path weaved among the trees and seemed to follow a gradual downhill slope, so the journey was not an arduous one - although I realized that this would not be the case with the return trip since it would all be uphill. This did not concern me, however; all I knew was that I must see where this mysterious trail led.

  Then, a short while later, the path burst forth from the almost claustrophobic closeness of the woods into another clearing, somewhat smaller than the cemetery's. A hill rose abruptly along the clearing's far side and into its face was carved the mouth of a cave. I stepped into the clearing a bit hesitantly as a flickering, inexplicable sensation of fear passed through me like a mild electric current. Seconds later, the feeling was forgotten as my curiosity pushed it aside, for upon approaching the cave I was able to see in the fast-fading light that just beyond its entrance it had been boarded shut. How long ago had somebody done this? And why? My first impression was that the cave was in fact a mine-shaft, sealed after its usefulness had been depleted. I could not, however, recall ever hearing or reading of any mining done in the area, but I supposed it was possible; my memory could have very likely been faulty on the subject. The mystery would have to remain unsolved for another day, however, for nightfall was fast approaching. I turned my back on the cave - the sensation of fear briefly filling me again - and began the journey home.

  Full darkness had descended as I reached the family plot. The chill wind picked up, whistling a melancholy tune through the trees. I knelt next to my sweet Henrietta's headstone again, needing to rest a moment; my aging bones were beginning to ache from the cold. I stared at the sky for a while, at the thinning clouds, at the nearly full moon hanging bloated and milky-white amidst the stars, like the blinded, eons-old eye of some long-forgotten, cyclopean deity. I shuddered at the thought then pushed myself to my feet, grunting a bit from the effort, said goodnight to Henrietta, and made my way along the dark path I had walked so many times before.

  Danforth, the gardener, met me at the end of the trail all bundled-up against the night's frigid air, flashlight in hand. He and the other servants had begun to worry about me, so he had decided to come and make sure I was all right. I thanked him for his concern and assured him that I was fine, just a bit cold. He told me that this was no night to be out wandering around the woods. I had to agree. And with that, we turned and walked towards the house, away from the forest and the path that ended with a mystery.

  That night I dreamed of the cave...

  And awoke sweating, sucking in great lungfuls of the room's stale air, desperately wishing that Henrietta were there to hold me. It took some time to calm myself, to force my hand to reach out and turn on the reading lamp that sat upon the nightstand next to the bed. The room seemed so hot, so stifling. I stood and walked over to the window, opened it, and enjoyed the feel of the night's bitter wind entering the room, playing over my damp skin.

  Already, much of the nightmare was fading from memory, but the grim finale and the events just prior to it insisted on staying with me.

  I remember my dream-self entering the small clearing at the end of the hidden trail, a canvas bag of tools thrown over my shoulder, a dormant flashlight in my hand. Opening the bag, pulling out an axe, a crowbar, then chopping-prying-pulling at the boards that sealed the cave. Dropping the tools, turning on the flashlight, and entering a tunnel to which I could see no end. The dread feeling of having no choice but to follow the flashlight's piercing beam into the cave's deepening darkness, as if I was being swallowed down some gargantuan throat. The flashlight suddenly, inexplicably dying, and finding only darkness when I turned in the direction of where the entrance should have been. Then my feet going out from under me as I stepped on something slimy, something wet and slippery, and the awareness that the tunnel was tilting, sending me sliding through the darkness, faster... faster towards some imagined drop-off into an infinite abyss...

  That was when I awoke.

  And as I stared out the open window towards the woods that held the family plot and the long-sealed cave, I was filled with a certainty that with the morning I would enact parts of that dream which had given me such a scare but had ultimately served only to deepen my sense of curiosity. As the saying goes, everyone loves a mystery.

  The next day, I reached the secret clearing well before noon, my shoulder aching with the weight of the tools within the bag. Setting the bag and the flashlight upon the ground, I leaned against a particularly large tree, resting a moment before I began my work. I smiled at the memory of the confused looks upon the servants' faces as I walked past them towards the woods. Wishing them each a pleasant day, I had left them to wonder at the strange errand I was setting out upon.

  After a few minutes of rest, I reached down, untied the bag and removed the axe and the crowbar held within. The boards that sealed the cave were old and rotting, so it did not take long for me to create an opening large enough to enter. The first part of the dream completed, I placed the tools back in the bag, picked up the flashlight and entered the opening, once again feeling the dull current of fear I had felt the day before.

  The air within the cave was much warmer than that outside and held a slight odor of mildew, of decay. I undid the buttons on the heavy overcoat I wore then turned on the flashlight and, without a second thought, advanced into the ever-deepening darkness before me. Within moments, I rounded a curve and any light that had made its way through the opening I had created disappeared completely, leaving the flashlight as my only source of illumination. The terror of the dream tried to return and I had to fight back the memory of the flashlight dying, of slipping in the darkness and sliding... sliding towards that unfathomable abyss.

  The tunnel seemed to slope continuously downward, the air to grow increasingly warm. After another minute of walking, a strange realization came to me: The cave was not as dark as before! In fact, it grew lighter as I slowly advanced, and
the downward slope seemed to increase. Soon, I was able to turn off the flashlight and discover the reason behind the dissipating of the darkness: the roof and walls of the cave were covered in a moss-like fungus which emitted a dull, greenish glow that grew brighter as the amount of fungus increased. I stopped and marveled at this for a moment, wondering what strange plant-life this was, then looked farther down the tunnel. About a hundred feet further along, the passageway turned sharply to the right, blocking my view of what lay beyond. For some reason, this sight caused me a great deal of anxiety which nearly drove me to turn and flee. But that part of me that had made me return to the cave in the first place, that curious part that loves a mystery, took over, and instead of running I took a number of deep breaths, swept a hand across my perspiring brow and walked onward, toward that sharp curve and whatever lay beyond.

  Oh, if only I had listened to the voice of my fear, to the primal warning that urged me to depart that hole in the Earth and return to the surface, to the abode of Man, where he dwells in relative safety away from the unimagined horrors that dwell beneath the land on which he lives, beneath the floors on which he walks. But I didn't listen, and now I know what is down there. I wish to God I didn't. But I do, more intimately than even the most wicked of men ever should...

  I rounded the corner and stopped. Before me was a set of ancient, rough-hewn stairs descending at a steep angle, carved in granite by some ages-forgotten hand for a purpose I could not even guess at. And before I realized what I was doing, I began the descent as if in a trance, my fear and anxiety a fading memory, a sudden desire filling me to reach the base of the stairs and lay eyes on whatever marvel I was suddenly, inexplicably certain I would discover there.