Tragic Silence

by E. C. Hibbs

  “Come on,” I said, recognising the stone angel as we passed it. The forest of tombstones gradually dropped in height as the end drew near, and the sharp crunch of gravel soon appeared under our feet. We ran until the ghostly outline of the gates appeared, silhouetted against the heavy cloud of dew hanging in the air. A line of blood had seeped down my chin and I wiped it away with my sleeve, smearing it across my cheek. My thumb was still bleeding too, but not as much – and I could tell from the warm, clean stinging above my ankle that I was cut there as well. A gust of wind howled through the cemetery and tore my beret off my head. I didn’t stop to get it and it disappeared behind us.

  The path transformed into asphalt as we emerged onto my street and the house came into view. I hurried Lucy up the steps. My keys jangled noisily in my hands as I unlocked the door.

  “Open, you stupid...” I growled to myself, twisting violently. The catch clicked and I pushed her inside. I slammed the door shut and shoved my key into the lock, leaving it there, before taking Lucy by the shoulders and sitting her down on the couch.

  “Stay there, don’t move. I’ll be right back,” I ordered as I bent beside the fireplace and grabbed a book of matches from the mantelpiece. Then I sprinted into my room, striking a match as I went.

  The next few minutes blurred. I was hell-bent on somehow shielding the house. My eyes kept flitting to the door, the windows; even the air vent in the corner. My pulse pounded through my veins like a drum, and my head hurt with every beat. I lit a stick of incense and set it down in a wooden holder under the living room window. The musky odour was heavy in my nose when I ran into the back garden, where a small birch tree grew. I hacked down some branches and brought them back inside, snapping off a handful of twigs.

  “Keep these with you,” I said, giving them to Lucy and stuffing more into my own pockets. I tossed the branches into the fire and they caught the embers quickly. Then I snatched up the leftover sticks and started to line them up around the couch.

  Lucy watched, numbly clutching the twigs in her lap. “What are you doing?”

  “Improvising.” I worked quickly, making sure that the ends of every twig were touching so there were no gaps. “This is birch. I think this will work...”

  My voice trailed off as I finished and fell back into one of the chairs. “It’s alright now,” I said, clenching my fists. My breath caught up with me and I closed my eyes, swallowing a sudden well of nausea.

  “Aren’t you doing it around your chair?”

  I shook my head, and ran through everything in my mind like a checklist. “Okay... the key’s in the lock; the windows are shut; burn birch and incense... I think that’s all.”

  I glanced at Lucy, then got to my feet and knelt down to check her over. Her heartbeat was fast, but relatively steady, and she didn’t seem feverish. But I fetched the first aid kit from the kitchen and dabbed some antiseptic over her grazes. I didn’t dress them though; it would be better to leave them open to the air to heal quicker. Then I wrapped an adhesive bandage around my thumb and cleaned up my leg. The cut was clean and not too deep – it looked as though I’d caught myself with a knife or a pair of scissors – but blood had smeared across my skin, staining my sock and jeans a horrid crimson. I covered the wound with a larger bandage, securing the edges with white medical tape.

  Afterwards, I went from room to room again, double-checking all of the windows. I reached under the back door mat for the spare key and slid it into the lock, then rolled up an old blanket along the bottom to keep out drafts. I closed my bedroom door and changed into some clean jeans, leaving the other pair in my laundry basket. I leant against the wall, breathing deeply to calm myself. In through my nose, out through my mouth, just as Apa had instructed me to do for exams. I chewed my lips anxiously, and my eyes lingered on the hilt of my old pocketknife, tucked away on the dresser beside my money box.

  Apa had given it to me when I’d been initiated into the Guides, years ago. I remembered taking my promise and receiving my badge. It was the only group I’d ever been a part of. I’d only used the knife once, when we went away to the countryside to camp, but I’d kept it close, because it reminded me of such a brilliant time in my childhood.

  I picked it up, gently pulling out the hinged blade. Three inches of sharpened metal shone. The hilt was painted in the red, white and green stripes of the flag, and there were words painted across it on one side in gold: Isten, áld meg a Magyart. God, bless the Hungarians.

  I wasn’t sure what good a blade would do, but it was all I had. I snapped it shut and dropped it into my pocket.

  CHAPTER V

  I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. It was like seeing me as I had sometimes come home from school a few years ago, back when I was being bullied. My hair was a mess, as though I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, and an ugly bruise was beginning to darken on my cheekbone from where I’d hit the floor. My arm and shoulder still ached, my lip was beginning to swell and my back was sore. I rinsed out my mouth and spat a stream of bloodstained water into the sink. But I didn’t care about any of it. Because somehow, Lucy was in my living room. Alive.

  She’d slipped into a light sleep by the time I returned. I grabbed a thick theology book from my shelves and began to comb through it, sitting opposite her in the armchair. I was desperate to find some sort of clue, even though a horrid idea had already begun to play on my mind.

  Lucy woke soon after, and I was pleased to see that she looked a little better. I remembered back to the cold stone floor, and the shabby blanket that had been her only protection from it.

  No wonder, I told myself. That was probably the best sleep she’d had for weeks.

  I rested the book on my lap. “How are you feeling?” I asked softly.

  “Okay, I think...” Lucy replied, holding a hand to her forehead. I was relieved when I heard her voice, too: already much less strained. I motioned towards a glass of water that I’d fetched for her and left on the coffee table. She looked at it for a moment, then her eyes widened as she realised what it was. She snatched out at it so violently that she nearly spilled it across the carpet.

  “Hey, take it easy!” I said. She drank deeply and didn’t stop until she’d drained the glass. It was our largest one as well: I’d rooted through the cupboard to find it, suspecting that she’d be dehydrated. But I was shocked at just how correct I’d been, and wondered if it showed on my face. I tried to keep calm and went to get her a refill.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked, even though I already knew what the answer would be.

  “Starving,” Lucy replied. Her voice cracked, but I could hear the relief and gratitude rippling through it. I glanced over my shoulder. Her face was gaunt, and she was alarmingly thinner; her cheekbones stood out in her face and her lips were tinged an alarming shade of grey.

  What’s she been eating? How much? I wondered. What the hell happened down there?

  Part of me didn’t want to know. The girl sitting on my sofa had almost nothing left of herself. It was like she’d been possessed and then left for dead, or set upon by a swarm of leeches.

  I forced myself to distraction by asking if she wanted anything in particular to eat. She just shook her head, so I made her an omelette with paprika powder mixed in, and two rounds of buttered bread on the side. As the top of the egg bubbled in the pan, I watched the birch bark in the fire crumble into powdery ash, and slowly collapse to the bottom of the pile. The metal grate in the hearth distorted the flames a little as they swept up the chimney.

  I gave Lucy the omelette and settled down in my armchair. She immediately attacked it with the fork.

  “Eat that slowly,” I said firmly. “Don’t make yourself sick. Alright?”

  Lucy nodded, and duly cut the huge slice that she’d ripped off in two with the knife. Satisfied that she’d listened, I rubbed my eyes. They tingled from incense smoke and the heat of the fire, and although I’d managed a relatively restful sleep the night before, I suddenly felt like I hadn�
��t stopped at all since my birthday. That mysterious face had branded into my mind, and now I’d actually seen him, every second was a subconscious battle against my own want to cover my ears and eyes.

  I looked up when I heard movement, as Lucy got to her feet with the now polished plate. I leapt up and snatched it from her. “Nem! You stay there.”

  “Why?”

  I quickly took the dishes to the kitchen and slid them into the sink. “Stay in that circle,” I ordered. “All the time. Except for when you need to go to the bathroom, don’t step outside it. And when you need to, make sure you keep those twigs with you. Alright?”

  Lucy glanced at the rough circle around the couch, as though she’d only just noticed it was there. I took a bit of license when I deemed it a circle. It was very wonky, but there were no gaps, and that was what mattered.

  Her voice trembled. “He can’t cross these?”

  I swallowed hard, and then shook my head. But in truth, I honestly didn’t know. I was just hoping desperately that he couldn’t; that I was right in suspecting what he was. I did allow myself some congratulation for quick thinking; for securing the house the way I had. Maybe it was because I’d studied entities for theology homework the year before, and had briefly written something about the folklore surrounding them. Or maybe it was because Apa had told me scary stories since I was young. And, after all, I had turned back to them in my sorrows in the library.

  “Bee,” Lucy whispered as she sat back down, clutching a cushion close to her like a shield, “I... don’t know what to say...”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” I settled next to her, being careful not to disturb the twigs on the floor.

  “If you hadn’t found me –”

  “But I did, and that’s all that matters.”

  “Bee.” Lucy suddenly looked up. “Why did you say that?”

  I frowned, one arm around her shoulders. “Say what?”

  “Why did you try to get him to take you instead? Why would you do that?” She swallowed hard, not taking her eyes off me. They were alarmingly hard, and it fleeted across my mind that she only gave that look whenever she was furious. Unlike me, who just attacked back verbally, she would glare with more strength than any shout, and I had always been grateful to have never been on the receiving end of it.

  Well, there’s a first time for everything, I suppose.

  “Because I thought it was a way to get you out,” I replied. I was amazed at how composed I sounded, as though I’d just told her how to open a door. I wondered if the look on my face was the same.

  Lucy shook her head and glanced away. Her face was still stony, but a fissure had spread across it and lessened the intensity. I noticed her gaze straying to the window. “He can’t get in here,” I assured before she could say a word. My spare hand was hidden from her view behind my leg, and I gently curled it into a fist as I thought of him. Then I offered her some hot chocolate.

  That immediately brought her attention back to me and she nodded, faster than I’d ever seen anyone nod before. I went to the kitchen and made some, and before long, both of us were clutching a warm mug, painted with green polka dots and filled to the brim with steaming drink. The mugs had been one of the first things I’d bought to furnish the house when we’d moved in. I’d seen them when I was out shopping in Buda and knew I had to have them. I’d hardly used them though, because I preferred cold fruit punches and usually drank them out of glasses. Because of that, I was slower than Lucy: she was so used to hot tea that I used to joke that her lips were made of asbestos. I was barely halfway through my hot chocolate when she set her own mug down on the coffee table. I’d only tried tea once – not long after I first met Lucy – and had diluted it to over half with milk and cold water.

  Lucy fixed her eyes on the floor for a moment, then buried her face in her hands and cried. I instantly put down my mug and handed her a tissue from the packet in my pocket. She held it to her nose and blew hard. I moved closer so that I could put my arm around her, and she leant into me, sobbing until her eyes ran dry.

  “I’m sorry.” I just managed to make it out as she wept into my top. I asked her what she was apologising for, but she only shook her head in shame. I twisted around and grabbed the waste paper basket from over the arm of the couch, holding it out. Lucy dropped her tissue inside and then took another from me. I paused for a moment, choosing my words with care.

  “Listen,” I said slowly. “Will you tell me what happened down there? Please?”

  Lucy glanced at me. Her mouth was rigid.

  “No-one else will believe you,” I carried on. “I want to help you.”

  “What could you do?” Lucy breathed; her voice tight from crying. “You saw him yourself.”

  I knew she wasn’t trying to insult me by saying that, but I had to agree with her. What could I do? Honestly? Try to be a hero and save her? He wasn’t even human. I’d seen enough to know that.

  After a moment, I replied. “I might be able to help. I think I know enough to help keep you safe, anyway.” I motioned at the twigs at her feet. “But I need you to tell me what happened. I won’t know if I’m right unless you do. Lucy, you’re my best friend. I would do anything for you. And I’d do the same for Emily. You understand me? Anything.”

  Lucy didn’t look back at me for a long time, but when she did; her eyes were bloodshot and held all of the emotions that had wracked her in the crypt. Her hands shook, and I gently placed mine over them.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” I asked. “Before it all?”

  Lucy took a shuddering breath. “I left here and... there was that fog. I thought it was just coming in from the river and I tried to walk through it and... there was...” She paused. “A light. I thought it was the headlight of our car, but it wasn’t. I saw that... and then...”

  She broke off, pulling one of her hands from under mine and holding it over her forearm, as though pressing down on a wound. She swallowed hard.

  “And then he was there,” I finished for her.

  Lucy nodded and looked at me with a newfound sense of urgency. “The door was locked, I tried it so many times... but I couldn’t open it. I guess that’s how you got us out, because it was you who opened it and not me, but... I tried so hard!”

  I suddenly noticed her fingernails, broken and raw; and imagined her scrambling at the walls, trying to reach up to the roots she’d pushed me towards. I saw her, jumping to grab them and falling back down, huddling under the blanket, shivering as the snows came. I bit my lip in anger and winced as it sent more blood seeping out of the cut.

  “He was with me every night,” she carried on. “Most times he just stood and stared at me... he didn’t even try to stop me when I screamed. But sometimes... he’d come near me... sometimes he muttered something that sounded like ‘Lillian’ when he was close... but it might have been my name, I don’t know... I know he knows my name. But I was screaming for help every night, but no-one came.”

  Then I noticed she still had her hand over her arm. Remembering how he had gone to grasp her there in the mausoleum, I glanced at her face cagily, and reached out. Her fingers stiffened, but after a few seconds she moved them away, and let me roll up her sleeve.

  There were two deep gashes on the soft underside: one fresher than the other; and each like they had been made by a blade. I gently touched them. They were close together, and what surprised me most was that there was no redness around them at all. They weren’t warm – in fact, they felt ice cold. I stared at them, and then at her.

  “What’s that?” I asked. But I already knew, even before I heard her shaky reply.

  “Where he bit me. He’s a vampire.”

  It sounded like a question, as though she couldn’t believe it herself. But out of the two of us, she was the one who knew it most of all. I didn’t say anything straight away. I couldn’t stop looking at the cuts. It went against everything I’d ever imagined. I’d always been wary of folklores and legends, and given them
their due respect. I would even have said I was superstitious in some circumstances. But I’d never thought that I’d ever come across anything like what I saw then.

  I couldn’t stop running the word through my head. Everyone knew what a vampire was, but sometimes I thought that the more well-known entities were what seemed the most shocking, if something came forward to prove they really did exist. Because they’re so well known, people want proof and explanations. When it arrives, they won’t have it.

  I snapped out of my shock enough to remind myself to get Lucy to the hospital. I thought she would be safe there. Maybe less so in the sense that she wouldn’t be sealed off like she was at my house, but she’d be with people, all the time. It would be known that she had been found, and she’d be under special protection, since her attacker was still on the loose. But I didn’t think further than that.

  I eventually convinced her that the hospital was best, but it took time. First I had to persuade her not to tell anybody that she’d been bitten; to say it had happened when she was trying to get out of the chamber. It wasn’t red or enflamed enough to be possibly labelled as any kind of bite, at least by someone who thought only in a medical outlook. And even though she was scared to leave the house, my mentioning of Emily and her parents was enough for a spark of longing to show up in her eyes, and she agreed.

  I went upstairs to phone for an ambulance on the landline, sitting down on my parents’ bed as I pressed the handset to my ear. I worried initially that the paramedics would have noticed that the tracks leading to my door from the cemetery weren’t fresh – or even worse, that he would have followed them to find us. But I’d looked out of the window before I’d made the call, and been relieved to notice that whilst we were inside, it had snowed again. A thick, fresh coat had covered everything in soft lacelike ice, but night was coming on.

  As I sat on the bed, I felt the hard shape of my penknife against my leg. I placed the handset back in the dock on the dresser, and clasped my hands over my knees. For the briefest moment, I felt separate from time, daring to outwit something that shouldn’t exist.