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

by Michael E. Henderson

  The church had been stripped and was being used for the storage of building materials, although this night it was nearly empty. Beams of moonlight from high windows shone into the stark marble interior with light the color of bone.

  The plan was to search the tombs, as the map from the book indicated that this church might be used by the shroud eaters to store people.

  Mauro attempted to open one of the tombs by inserting the crowbar into the gap between the floor and the lid, and raising it slightly. The stone at the edge of the lid chipped, and the lid fell back with an echoing crash.

  Mauro gritted his teeth. “Dammit.”

  “That’s all right,” Brigham said. “Try again.”

  Gloria shined a light where the crowbar met the marble. Mauro inserted the crowbar again, and the lid moved. He raised it sufficiently for Brigham to shine his light inside.

  Nothing.

  Brigham winced in pain.

  “What’s the matter?” Gloria asked.

  He told her about being stabbed.

  “You should see a doctor. The emergency room isn’t far from here.”

  “I’m fine,” Brigham said. “I’ve seen a doctor, and he took care of it. It still hurts, though.”

  “Okay,” she said, “but watch yourself. And honestly, you don’t look all that good.”

  “I’m fine, really. I’ll make it.” At least he hoped. The pills had taken the edge off his desire for blood, but it was overdue.

  Mauro lifted the next tomb. It, too, was empty. He shook his head. “Brig, I don’t know. This isn’t a good idea.”

  “What?” Brigham said. “Now you say it’s not a good idea? What’s the problem?”

  Mauro rubbed his hand over his cop hair. “These are graves. There might actually be people in them. And it’s a church. Sacred ground.”

  “Didn’t you think of this before?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Come on, you know this church has been deconsecrated and that there’s nothing in these graves, or at least not the original occupants.”

  Mauro was shaking his head, gazing at the floor.

  “Look,” Brigham said, “there are only a few left. Pop ’em and we’ll get outta here.”

  Mauro sighed. “Okay, but let’s hurry.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  A bottle shattered on the pavement outside the front door, and drunken voices echoed in the quiet of the night. They listened. A group of inebriated American youths, still engaged in the drinking of beer, had stumbled upon the church and seemed to be fascinated by its haunting beauty.

  Brigham motioned for Mauro to hand him the crowbar, and he moved slowly toward the door. The drunken boys were discussing the possibility of breaking into the church. One of them was pissing into the canal. They approached the door and started fiddling with the chain. One tried to peek through a small hole in the door. As he did, Brigham struck the door with the crowbar. They all shouted in terror and sprinted down the street.

  “I bet they don’t stop running until they get back to Alabama,” Brigham said.

  On the third tomb, Brigham peeked in. There was something in it. “We’ve got to raise the lid a bit higher.”

  Mauro was having difficulty keeping the lid up for more than a few seconds. Gloria found lengths of wood stacked along the wall and used one to hold the top up for a moment. Brigham still couldn’t see, so she got another piece of wood and stuck it on top of the first. Brigham peered in with the light.

  He jumped back, landing in the middle of the church.

  “What is it?” Gloria asked.

  Brigham opened his mouth to speak, but words wouldn’t come out.

  “Brigham, what is it?”

  Barely able to speak, he wheezed, “Samantha.”

  “What?” Gloria said.

  “It’s Samantha. Samantha Raymond. Charles’s wife.”

  “She’s in the tomb?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “No.”

  “Is she alive?” Mauro asked.

  “I don’t know. Move the lid all the way off, if you can.”

  “I think we should get out of here,” Mauro said. “Please, let’s go.”

  “I’m with Mauro on this one,” Gloria said. “Leave well enough alone.”

  Brigham shook his head. “No, she might need our help. I met her. She was very nice to me.”

  They moved the lid and Brigham looked in. Mauro mumbled something under his breath. Brigham reached into the tomb to check for a pulse. As he did, Samantha grabbed his arm, pulled him into the tomb, and began to bite his face.

  Gloria shouted to Brigham, but he wasn’t able to answer. She found a long pointed strip of wood and struck Samantha on the head. Samantha didn’t let go of Brigham. Gloria struck her again, but Samantha only glared at her.

  “What do I do?” Gloria shouted to Mauro. “She’s killing him.”

  “Stab her.” Mauro said.

  Gloria jammed the point of the wood into Samantha’s eye, pushing it to the back of her skull. Samantha screamed as blood sprayed from the wound. She let go of Brigham, and Mauro and Gloria pulled him out of the tomb.

  Brigham lay on the marble floor of the church, panting.

  “Are you all right?” Gloria asked.

  He swallowed and caught his breath. “Yeah, I think so, though my side is fucking killing me.”

  “We’ve got to get you to a doctor,” she said. “Let me see your face.”

  “I’ve already seen a doctor. I’m fine.”

  She examined his face. “Nothing serious. We distracted her in time.”

  Brigham looked into the tomb. Samantha lay in a pool of blood, surrounding her head like a red halo. “Holy fuck, she’s dead. What are we gonna do?”

  “What was she doing in there in the first place?” Gloria said. “I thought shroud eaters didn’t do that.”

  “We don’t,” Brigham said. “She’s obviously not a shroud eater. More the vampire side of the family.”

  They all stood at the edge of the tomb, looking at the corpse, stick protruding from her eye, mouth open, blood everywhere.

  Mauro renewed his plea that they leave.

  “Are we just going to leave her?” Gloria asked.

  “What else can we do?” Brigham said.

  “We can get the hell out of here,” Mauro said.

  “Maybe we should call the police,” Gloria said.

  “That’s the last thing we should do,” Brigham said. “I say we just close this thing up and split. Don’t leave anything behind.”

  “Then what?” Mauro asked.

  “We’ve still got to go to San Francesco della Vigna.”

  Gloria shook her head. “No, you’ve had enough for one night, and so have we.”

  “More than enough,” Mauro said.

  “And you’re hurt,” she said. “If you don’t want to go to a doctor that’s your business, but you are going home to rest.”

  They made sure that no one was about, left the church, and secured the door.

  SHAKEN AND EXHAUSTED, Brigham headed back to his apartment with the others. He walked, holding his side, stopping on occasion and doubling over, wracked with pain, the illness of needing blood beginning to overwhelm him. At the apartment he reclined on the sofa.

  “Hand me that nice green bottle over there.”

  Gloria handed him the gin.

  He washed down two pain pills and two antibiotics.

  “What are those?” Gloria asked.

  When he told her, she took the bottle from him. “You can’t take painkillers with alcohol.”

  He wiped his mouth. “That rule applies only to you mortals.”

  He felt the color return to his face and his strength coming back.

  “That was an exciting evening,” Mauro said.

  Brigham and Gloria nodded.

  “We’ve got one little ol’ problem, though,” Brigham said. “We jammed a stick through the eyeb
all of Charles’s wife. He’s likely to take that shit personal.”

  “Yeah,” Mauro said, “what we gonna do about that?”

  “How will he know we did it?” Gloria asked.

  “He’ll figure it out,” Brigham said.

  “I wonder if he’ll call the police,” she said.

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s a problem,” Brigham said. He’s not exactly operating within the confines of the law.”

  “That’s worse, in a way,” Mauro said. “That means he’ll take the law into his own hands.”

  “No doubt.”

  “What do you think he’ll do?” Gloria asked.

  “I have no fucking idea,” Brigham said, “but he’s got a very creative imagination, and you can bet your ass it’s gonna come with a medieval twist.”

  “What if he did kidnap Rose?” Mauro asked.

  “Give me the gin,” Brigham said. He took a swig. “If he’s got her, I suspect we’ll hear from him soon on that point.”

  “What do we do in the meantime?” Gloria asked. “Do we continue to hunt for her?”

  “Of course. I don’t think there’s any other choice. Mauro, have you given that vial to your cousin?”

  “Yes, she’s going to get back to me in the morning.”

  “Good. What about the phone?”

  “I gave it to my friend who runs a computer consulting business to look it over and see what’s on it. I expect to hear from him tomorrow, too.”

  “Good. Keep after them.”

  “Brig,” Mauro said, “I have to get home. Some of us do have to work for a living.”

  “That’s fine,” Brigham said. “Go get some rest and I’ll talk to you later.”

  “By the way,” Mauro said, “I know a doctor who might be willing to come over here and take a look at that cut without asking a lot of questions.”

  “Have him call me. I’ve had it stitched, but I’ll need someone to look at it in a day or so.”

  “I will,” Mauro said. “Ciao.”

  “Ciao.”

  “What’s the next step?” Gloria asked after Mauro left.

  “I’m gonna rest, then in the morning I’ll come up with an answer.”

  “I think I should stay here with you. You are in no condition to be alone.”

  “Suit yourself. I could use the human company. Maybe you can help me figure out what to do next.”

  “Certainly.”

  “There is, however, one more little thing on the agenda for tonight.”

  “Which is?”

  “I need to satisfy my hunger, as it were.”

  “You mean—”

  “Yes. The pills helped, but I’m not going to make it until tomorrow without something.”

  He told her about the episode with Lorenzo. He phoned Lorenzo, who had been expecting his call.

  GLORIA PASSED THE NIGHT on Brigham’s sofa.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, handing him a cup of coffee the next morning. She wore one of Brigham’s bathrobes.

  He realized that this young woman staying the night didn’t look so good. If Rose found out it would all be over.

  “I feel a lot better,” Brigham said. “Sorry I had to leave for a while last night, but it was necessary.”

  “I understand,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re better. We have work to do.”

  He tried the coffee. “Wow, great coffee.”

  The dogs realized he was up and came running, the corgi jumping on him full force.

  “Jesus, take it easy,” he said to the dog. “I’m old and injured.”

  Gloria laughed. “I think they want to go out.”

  “It is that time. Come on,” he said to the dogs. “Let’s go.” The dogs ran to the back door, and he let them into the garden.

  “That’s quite convenient,” she said. “Not very many people in Venice have that.”

  “That’s true. I don’t know what I’d do without it. And this coffee is really good.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. There are a few things I know how to do.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, taking a big gulp from his cup. “So are you on for tonight?” Brigham asked.

  “Tonight? What’s tonight?”

  “We are going to San Francesco della Vigna .”

  Gloria sipped her coffee. “Yes, right. Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Brigham nodded. “Good. I expect to hear from Mauro about the contents of the vial and the phone any time now. And I’m afraid I’ll need to do something again tonight with respect to being a shroud eater.”

  The dogs ran back into the house, ready for breakfast.

  “Let me ask you about that. Do you need to actually kill people or can you have a donor?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, heading for the kitchen to feed the dogs. “I suppose all I really need is the blood, or the flesh.”

  She followed him into the kitchen. “Flesh? You mean—”

  “Yes.”

  She hesitated. “Then... then let me be your donor. Blood only, of course.”

  Brigham ran his fingers through his hair. “No,” he said, “I couldn’t allow that. It’s too much to ask.”

  “What are you going to do, then?”

  He waved his hand. “You don’t want to know.”

  “That’s how you got stabbed, isn’t it?”

  The morning sun shone through the kitchen window, and a group of blackbirds sang in a nearby tree.

  He nodded, lowering his eyes. “Yes.”

  “Then I can imagine what horrible things you’ve done.”

  “Better if you don’t.”

  “And it’s quite dangerous for you.”

  In the next room he pulled back a curtain. Light glistened off the canal as a man loaded bread into a boat on the other side. “Let me think about it. I would never ask it of anyone.”

  “Don’t forget how we met,” Gloria said with a smile.

  Brigham’s phone rang.

  “Mauro, what’s up?” He motioned for Gloria to put her ear near the phone.

  “I have news about what’s in the vial.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s a very old concoction called scorpion oil. They made it by drowning a hundred scorpions in a liter of olive oil. It’s supposed to cure just about everything.”

  Gloria raised her brow.

  “I’ve seen scorpions around Venice,” Brigham said. “Had a baby one in my bathtub once. Why do you figure the woman had it?”

  “No idea.”

  “And the phone?”

  “You’re going to love this. One of the main people called on it was Charles Raymond.”

  Brigham nodded. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “And that’s who he was talking to at the herbalist’s.”

  “Makes sense. Anything else?”

  “Nothing of interest to us.”

  Gloria walked to the window.

  “You on for tonight?” he asked Mauro.

  “Of course. I can’t let you do it without me.”

  Gloria pulled back the curtain and looked out the window.

  “Thanks.”

  “By the way, what is it exactly we’re doing tonight?” Mauro asked.

  “We’re going to have a look around San Francesco della Vigna. Bring your crowbar.”

  Church bells rang in the distance.

  “The fun never stops with you, does it?” Mauro said.

  “You in or out?”

  “I’m in, but if we get caught I’m giving you up.”

  Brigham chuckled. “No problem. I would expect nothing less.”

  “So when and where?”

  “I’ll meet you at the campo in front of the church at midnight. And stay in the shadows.”

  “He’s a reluctant hero,” Gloria said.

  “He’s reluctant, but he’s no hero,” Brigham said, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

  “Sure, he is. And I suspect he’ll have a chance to prove it.”

  “Don’t
give him too much credit. He’s a nice boy, but he has his flaws and limitations.”

  She smiled. “Don’t we all?”

  “Speak for yourself.”

  Gloria laughed, then grew serious. “Now, what about the blood?”

  “I will allow it this time,” Brigham said, “as sort of an experiment. But I’m not going to take it directly from you. I want you to get one of those gizmos I saw them using at the club.”

  “Good, thanks. I’ll get on it. What time should I come back here?”

  “Ten o’clock.”

  GLORIA ARRIVED WITH A SIMPLE set up: a plastic tube with a needle on one end and a crimp on the other to prevent the blood from flowing unless released. Brigham held the crimp as Gloria inserted the needle into her arm. The tube became a red line as blood moved down its length. Brigham closed the crimp. He had been feeling the need to have blood for a couple of hours and was beginning to burn for it. Gloria reclined on the sofa while Brigham sat next to her with the tube in his mouth, slowly taking in the salty-sweet substance. It seemed to be working. His hunger was abated, although he felt vaguely unsatisfied. If this could hold him over, it would be a safer and more refined method of taking care of his cravings. Whether Rose would approve once she got back—and she would be back, as Brigham couldn’t handle the thought of things turning out any other way—was another question.

  XXII

  At midnight, they met Mauro at the small square in front of the church of San Francesco della Vigna. The moon lit the square light the color of bone. They stood in the gray shadow of the lone tree devising a strategy.

  The tombs they sought to inspect lay in a large cloister, access to which was through an iron gate secured by a chain. Mauro quickly broke the chain with the crowbar, and they went in, closing the gate behind them.

  They passed into the cloister through a small wooden door. Before them lay a walkway paved in tombs. Large, flat, rectangular stones carved with the names and dates of death of the deceased shone in the moonlight, smooth from centuries of wear.

  To their left, a statue of Saint Francis stood in the middle of a lawn dotted with tall cedars. Around the lawn ran a row of columns, which held up the ceiling of the walkway.