A Beast in Venice: (Literary Horror set in Venice)

by Michael E. Henderson

  “Oh.”

  “I told her everything but she didn’t believe it. She thinks I have a girlfriend.”

  Gloria’s eyes grew large. “You told her about the sanguinarians?”

  “Yeah, but she didn’t believe it. I knew she wouldn’t.”

  “Well, I would still like to see your studio.”

  “She might come there. I slept there last night.”

  “I see,” Gloria said, dropping her gaze.

  Brigham hated to disappoint a woman, so he relented. “I’ll take you there, but if she shows up, I’m going to make like you just agreed to buy a painting.”

  Gloria nodded. “I can live with that.”

  They started toward the studio.

  “By the way,” she said, “there’s another meeting tonight.”

  He blew air through his lips like a balloon being deflated. “Christ, I dunno. She was rather pissed when she found the hair. Did I mention I slept in my studio last night?”

  “I understand, but we both know that nothing is going on between us, and that’s all that counts.”

  Brigham stopped and leaned with both hands on the railing of the bridge, looking off into the distance. “Actually that’s not all that counts. Going to another meeting would have the appearance of impropriety, as they say. And if Rose thinks it, it’s as good as true. And it could certainly be deduced from the circumstances.”

  She laughed. “Oh, you were a lawyer.”

  “Where I practiced law, all you needed to prove adultery was opportunity and predisposition.”

  “Ooh,” she said, pursing her lips.

  “But we’re in Italy, and I’m not sure what the law is here, and I’m not sure it makes a fuck.”

  “I see your point, though.”

  “Good. When we get to the studio we will leave the door open, and be prepared to play the role of art patron.”

  “Got it.”

  At the studio, Gloria wandered about the room as if at a museum. “Beautiful stuff. I love the energy, and the colors are great. And I love the smell of turpentine. My dad used to paint.”

  “The color and the energy. That’s what it’s all about. Would you like some wine or coffee or something?”

  “It’s a little early yet, but this is Italy. Do you have any white wine?”

  “Of course. What kind of barbarian do you take me for?”

  He poured a glass and handed it to her. “Do they have these vampire meetings every night?”

  He poured himself a glass of red.

  “Almost, but I don’t go every night. I am going tonight, though.” She sipped her wine. “You’re invited, if you want to come.”

  He didn’t answer. Gloria sat in one of the chairs, and he sat on the sofa. “What do you think of that painting over there?” he asked, pointing to Pink Jesus.

  She studied it for a minute, then said, “Amazing. I see what you’ve done. You painted something, and then decided to paint over it with pink, but it didn’t quite cover it up. The effect is… mystical.”

  “Funny you should say that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he talks to me.”

  “Talks to you?” She stood quietly for a moment, sipping wine while studying the painting.

  “Yes. I have a habit of talking to my paintings. Each painting takes on a character and life of its own as the work progresses. One day, this one talked back.”

  “A bit strange, don’t you think?”

  “You go to a club where they drink blood from naked people, and you think it strange that a painting talks to a brother?”

  She laughed. “Good point. Has he talked to anyone else?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “What does he tell you?” she asked, peering at him over her glass.

  “He gives me advice.”

  “Is that so?”

  Brigham leaned back and crossed his legs, glass in hand. “Yep.”

  “What advice does he give you?”

  “He told me not to go to your little nightclub.”

  She frowned.

  “Don’t be angry. I obviously didn’t take his advice.”

  Gloria remained quiet.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Paintings don’t talk. Anything you heard him say was your own mind talking.”

  He looked at her. She must think him crazy, or worse. “Even if that were true, all it would mean is that one part of me thought it would be a mistake to go while the other part thought it was a good idea. The good idea side won.”

  “True.”

  “Devil on one shoulder, angel on the other type of thing.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Here we are, all friends and whatnot.”

  Gloria lowered her eyes. “Are you glad you went?”

  “Of course. I enjoyed it.”

  She looked up. “What about tonight?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. Same time, same channel?”

  She nodded. “Same time, same channel.”

  “I HAVE SOME VERY INTERESTING INFORMATION,” Mauro said, his face dark in the subdued light of the café.

  “About what?” Brigham asked as he motioned for the waiter to bring a beer.

  “About the bodies they have been finding in the canals.”

  “What about ’em?”

  Mauro glanced around the room. “They’re not from this century,” he whispered.

  “What are you talking about?” Brigham’s beer arrived, and once the waiter left, Mauro answered.

  “The bodies that have been gutted.”

  “Yeah, I got that part,” Brigham said, taking a swig of beer. “What do you mean ‘they’re not from this century’?”

  “They say—”

  “Who’s they?”

  “The doctors. And keep your voice down. The doctors who examined the bodies say that they couldn’t be from this century.”

  “How do they know that?” Brigham asked, munching a potato chip.

  “Based on their teeth and tissue samples. They could tell the kind of diet they had.”

  “So, what century do they belong to?”

  “The sixteenth,” Mauro said, sipping his coffee.

  “You still fucking with that coffee-drinking idea?”

  “I promised—”

  “C’mon, drink wine, like a man.” Brigham waved for the waiter. “Bring my friend here a red wine, preferably Valpolicella Ripasso.”

  The waiter nodded.

  “Brig—”

  Brigham held up his hand. “Shut up. I’m calling the shots around here.”

  “Fine. Anyway, don’t you think it’s wild? The bodies coming from five hundred years ago?”

  Brigham crunched a corn nut. “I think it’s downright bizarre. But things are starting to make sense.”

  Mauro knitted his brow, the flickering candle on the table reflecting in his glasses. “How so?”

  “Think about it. If you were a shroud eater and needed a store of people, where would you get them?”

  Mauro shrugged. “I guess I would just go out into the city and grab one.”

  “Ah, but now they have all that DNA shit and ways of finding people. There would be a missing person’s report, and there might even be a video of it, between surveillance cameras every fucking where, and everyone with their goddamn cell phones. Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to go to different times, steal people, bring them back, all without that worry?”

  Mauro put his hand to his mouth and stared blankly at the candle. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “If you went far enough back, when scientific methods of police work didn’t exist, you’d never get caught. They’d never be looking for the person where they really were—here and now, not then.”

  “I’m confused. Anyway, if you went back in time, wouldn’t you be changing history? What if you grabbed your great-great-great-grandfather? You would never be born.”

  “Not necessarily. I saw a guy talking about that on TV. He said that if you
could go back in time, you’d go back in time in a parallel universe, not your own.”

  Mauro slugged back his wine and motioned to the waiter for another. “Oh boy.”

  “So if you went back to when your mother was young, and you met your mother, it wouldn’t really be your mother. It would be her counterpart in another universe.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And if you fell in love with her, for example, and you got married and had a kid, it wouldn’t change your universe, because your mother in your universe already gave birth to you. You can’t change that.”

  “Sounds like a lot of gibberish to me.”

  “Yeah, it’s hard to get your head around, but how else do you explain the bodies from a different time?” Brigham asked, munching a corn nut. “I love these nuts. This is the only place in Venice that serves them.”

  “I don’t like them. Too hard. Anyway, I can’t explain it.”

  “Wouldn’t it be something if these shroud eaters or vampires, whatever they are, can go back in time?”

  “But how would they do it?”

  “I have no idea.” After a few moments he added, “You know, some of my troubles started after I saw people go through walls. Maybe that’s how they do it. That could explain why they were chasing me and why they knocked me down.”

  “They knocked you down?” Mauro asked, his eyes large.

  “Remind me to tell you about it sometime.”

  “They must know that you know.”

  “They at least know I saw something.”

  Mauro frowned. “That can’t be healthy.” His wine arrived and he took a sip. “The wine here is good.”

  “I realize it ain’t healthy seeing what I saw. But what can I do? And they seem intent on doing bodily harm to your humble servant.”

  “Do you really think they go back in time? Sounds kinda crazy to me .”

  “Not really, but it’s interesting to think about.”

  “I think you ought to lay low for a while,” Mauro said, swirling the wine around in his glass. “Maybe tell the police.”

  “You’re the one who wanted me to do something, and I don’t like police.”

  “Yeah, but that was then; this is now.”

  “There’s one little ol’ problem with that.”

  “What would that be?” Mauro asked, leaning back in his chair, holding his glass, the light from the candles glinting in the wine like rubies.

  “I think I’m in the thick of the local vampire scene.”

  Mauro nearly choked. “The local what?”

  “Vampire scene. You gotta get out and meet the neighbors.”

  Mauro downed the rest of his wine and signaled the waiter for another. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

  “It was an accident.” Brigham continued to tell Mauro the story, after which Mauro had a couple of questions… “No, I didn’t fuck her… Yes, Rose knows. Why do you think I slept in my studio last night?… Yeah, as a matter of fact, I’m going back to the club tonight. Don’t panic, it’s cool… Don’t worry, Rose will be okay. They don’t know about her… Because I’m the only one to see men go through walls… No, I didn’t see Charles there… The girl’s name is Gloria. She’s an American too… Yes, she is very pretty… Yes, I’m sure I didn’t fuck her. What sort of animal do you think I am?… Yes, she got her titties out, but I’m a gentleman. I have some self-restraint… Yeah, well, fuck you too… No, you can’t come, but it would be good if you stayed near your phone.”

  “Don’t look now, amico, but we got company,” Mauro said.

  Brigham, who had been sitting with his back to the door, didn’t see Rose come into the café. She looked in their direction and started toward them.

  “Fuckin’-A ,” Brigham said. “This is why I usually sit facing the door.”

  “Well, well, well,” Rose said, “look what we have here. Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dummer’n-all-hell ”

  The two looked at her with saucer eyes, unable to make any other movement.

  Brigham’s mouth dried and he could barely speak, but he managed to croak, “Rose.”

  “Mr. Stone,” she said.

  Oh, that wasn’t good. Not good at all.

  “Rose,” Mauro said, “please sit down.”

  “Please tell Mr. Stone that I’m particular of the company I keep.”

  Brigham started, “You can tell Mrs. Stone—”

  “Stop it,” Mauro said, “both of you. Rose, sit down.” Mauro pushed the chair out for her.

  To Brigham’s surprise, she sat.

  “Has Brigham here told you the mischief he’s been up to?” Rose asked.

  “Yes,” Brigham said, “I told him. You don’t have to talk as if I’m not here.”

  “What do you think?” she asked Mauro.

  “It was all his idea,” Brigham said.

  “It was his idea to go to the vampire strip club?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant, and it wasn’t a strip club. But it was his idea to look into the shroud eaters. This club thing just popped up because a woman saw me reading a book about vampires.”

  “Oh, so some woman sees you reading a book, she comes on to you—”

  “She didn’t come on to me.”

  “She comes on to you, and you decide you need to follow her to that stupid club.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Brigham said.

  “Seems that simple to me.”

  “Look, do we need to rehash this in public? And what are you doing here anyway? And how did you find me?”

  “I came here to see whether you were with your girlfriend. I followed you.”

  “You followed me? That tears it. Maybe you had a right to be pissed, but now I have even more of a right. And she ain’t my girlfriend. Please, go home and let’s talk about this tomorrow. I can’t talk to you while you’re in this state.”

  Now facing the door, Brigham saw Gloria walk into the café. Rose was railing something at him, but the terror that now came into his heart made his ears deaf, and the pounding of his heart was like someone with big boots kicking him in the chest. This type of fear can kill a man. He hadn’t felt anything like it since the day he thought his submarine was going to sink. Oh, please let her not see me, or, if she sees me, let her go the other way. Gloria apparently did see him and started in his direction. Oh, this was gonna be ugly. There was nothing he could do but make big eyes at her, as though to say, “Get out while you can.” He still heard Rose’s voice, like the sound of tortured cats in the background. Gloria came even closer, but when she was only a few feet away she spun on her heels and left the way she had come in. Brigham regained his composure and stood up.

  “Look,” he said, interrupting Rose, “I’m not going to air our laundry here in this bar. I’m going to give you time to cool off. Then we’ll talk about it.”

  “You’re not leaving!” she shouted. “You’re staying right here.” She blocked his way and took him by the arm.

  He was right close to doing her alongside the head. He never had, and he never would, but it sure would feel good just now. He looked at her with unblinking eyes and said, “Get your hands off me and get out of my way.”

  She glared at him for a second, then yielded. “You haven’t heard the end of this. We are gonna talk,” she said.

  “I’ll be glad to, but not until you can be rational. And by the way, don’t ever follow me again.”

  “I’ll follow you if—”

  “No. You do it again, and I’ll never speak to you as long as I live.”

  She stood silently as he left

  XIV

  “That was a nice move you made, turning around and getting the heck out of the café,” Brigham said to Gloria while they made their way back to the vampire club later that evening.

  Gloria smiled and nodded. “Thanks. Good thing I caught on to what was going before it was too late. What a coincidence that I decided to go there.”

  “That’s okay, you have a right to be wherever you want to be
, but I’m glad you realized the sensitivity of the situation and withdrew, as it were.”

  “Happily, Rose didn’t see me. Now, we need to get going.”

  They arrived at the club just before the festivities began. Things went pretty much as they had the night before. Some of the members recognized Brigham and spoke to him, and people he hadn’t seen before joined them to chat. Gloria introduced Brigham to them. As they were chatting, the others grew quiet, then turned and left without explanation.

  “You’re new here,” said a voice from behind.

  Brigham turned to see a young man with dark hair shaved all around his head two inches above his ears, leaving a carpet of hair on top. His skin was the whitest Brigham had ever seen, his eyes a crystal blue.

  “Yes,” Brigham said. “Last night was my first time.”

  The man smiled and held out his hand. “What do you think of our little club?”

  “It’s fascinating,” Brigham said, shaking his hand. “I couldn’t stay away. My name’s Brigham.”

  “I am Francesco,” he said. “Have you taken part in the drinking of blood, Mr. Brigham?”

  “No, I don’t have the desire, but the idea that there are people who do interests me.”

  “I invited Brigham here,” Gloria said, “because I saw him reading a book about vampires in Venice.”

  “Is that right?” Francesco said.

  “Yes,” Brigham said.

  “How did you become interested in such a topic?”

  Brigham explained how the idea of shroud eaters came up in reference to the dead bodies being found in the canals. He thought it prudent, though, to leave out the matter of people going through walls. Also, something told him that Francesco was asking questions to which he already knew the answers.

  “Let me borrow your friend for a moment,” Francesco said to Gloria.

  “Of course.”

  “Come with me, if you don’t mind,” Francesco said to Brigham. “I think you’ll be interested to see this.”

  Leaving the club, they walked across a courtyard to a wall covered in a thick layer of thorny vines, the dead remnants of a climbing rose, to which still clung the brown corpses of once-white blossoms. Through the vines Brigham could make out the finely carved marble head of a lion with fangs against a background of bat wings. He also saw a marble door frame, now bricked up and partially obscured by briers. Francesco waved a plastic card over the edge of the marble, causing the door to unlatch. He pushed it open. The door closed behind them, and they found themselves in an empty room with a stone floor and bare brick walls. At the opposite end of the room, a narrow stone staircase took them down to a landing where they stopped in front of a huge red curtain.