The Revenants

by Geoffrey Farrington

  And so I was left much to myself in those early days. Most nights that alluring vortex rose swirling before me, and I would linger above it, toying with death, testing myself, seeing how far I might indulge my pleasure before finally pulling back, hurling the limp gasping bodies aside; hardly yet aware that what I did was anything more than a dangerous yet exhilarating game.

  Sometimes I barely saw Helena for nights on end. Often when I woke she was already gone, and frequently she never returned until sunrise. And on those occasions when she did consent to come and walk with me she remained curiously silent most of the time, turning sometimes to smile at me softly, or give me some brief words of advice or instruction, but seemingly distant, absorbed in thoughts she did not share with me. And much as I wished to talk to her, to ask questions, to learn about her and know her, and about myself, I always felt too shy and awkward to interrupt these reveries, so that we never spoke to each other in any real depth. This distressed me. My feelings towards her were stronger than any I had ever known and I wished desperately to be close to her. Her every move, her every gesture entranced me as ever, but she was an enigma: I could not begin to guess at the workings of her mind, the thoughts that preoccupied her. I had supposed that now I was like her I should grow to understand her, but this was not so. In many ways she seemed as remote and unreal to me as always. Yet not for a moment then did I begin to distrust her secrecy. I was too intoxicated with my new life to allow anything to trouble me greatly. In those first months I lived from moment to moment, as a dreamer, never pausing long to ponder or question, swept along on a constant tide of fresh experience and discovery. Darkness unfolded its secrets to me, filled me with wonder at the endless depths, the varied shades and hues of beauty within, where before there had been nothing but blindness and gloom.

  And I told myself that Helena had been a long time alone, and was unaccustomed to close companionship. That she needed to adjust to her new situation, even as I did, and that the barriers between us would dissolve with time. For now, her very presence made me feel self conscious and naive. It left me barely capable of thought.

  Yet there were times when alone I grew confused, even angry and resentful that she should have ushered me into this new existence as her companion only to seem so solitary and distant now. At times I felt the need for her reassurance. The transformation in me was utterly beyond my every power to comprehend. And then, young, ardent, long repressed and alone, suddenly released and experiencing new and powerful emotions, I would have been constantly near her, with all the cloying devotion of a lover. There was much I had yet to realise. But now, looking back, I am astonished at how little I really tried to understand.

  When at last the cold winds of autumn began, Helena came to me one evening and said that soon we must move away to some city, where we would spend the winter. She explained that, strangely, we are often safer living in cities, among thousands of men, than near small, isolated and sparsely populated rural villages like those which surrounded us there.

  “The more people there are about us,” she said, “the more inconspicuous we can remain. But more than this. The city dweller prides himself on his sophistication and worldliness. He supposes that nothing can be beyond his own knowledge and experience, and finds reasons he can understand for everything. Country people are different. They must live by the whims of nature and have less control over their world. They are more ready to accept that which they cannot explain.”

  The news that we were to embark upon a journey filled me with excitement. I had never before been very far from my home, although as I have explained, the thought of travel had long attracted me. Now I was no longer incapacitated, mentally or physically, it seemed I was free to do so.

  We decided that we should go first to Plymouth. Since we may travel safely only by night it is difficult for us to make long journeys, except in small stages. From Plymouth we might move on whenever we wished. I made arrangements to rent a house on the outskirts of the city. Then I ordered the construction of two wooden boxes, like large packing cases, which might be easily and inconspicuously transported, and in which we might rest during the daytime. Helena told me all the things I should do, the provisions I should make, for she was inclined to travel about for much of the time. She said she had never thought it particularly safe to remain in any one place for too long; though she often liked to return to the house in Cornwall where she was born.

  I arranged for a carriage to take me to Plymouth, and told my servants that I did not know when I should come back. I travelled alone. Helena and I agreed that we should make the journey separately, for I was anxious not to arouse any undue local curiosity at my departure – and my setting off with an unknown woman would certainly have done that!

  I soon immersed myself in city life. It was all new and tremendously exciting, and I took to it far more quickly and readily than I had ever supposed I might. I walked the streets by night, surrounded by bright lights and carriages and people: swarms of people of every type, class and occupation, all hurrying about, seeming hardly to notice each other. Here I could walk the streets openly, become absorbed into the crowds without the vague fear of being seen and recognised I had always felt in Cornwall. Here I felt a sense of freedom that no longer obliged me to skulk all the while in shadows. Often I would just walk the city, keenly observing all the different sorts of people for half the night; sometimes going into a tavern and pretending to drink from a mug of ale – for normal food and drink is quite indigestible to us – simply to watch and feel myself a part of the great flow of life that went on all about me. Often I went to shops and bought crates of goods that were in reality quite useless to me, just because I loved to buy things, and to see the shopkeepers with their smiling faces and gleaming eyes as they flattered me like a prince in their efforts to induce me to part with the handfuls of money I held up before them. For all these things, amidst the speed and bustle of city life, were new and thrilling experiences for me.

  Helena remained as aloof and as solitary in her habits as ever, yet now such was my involvement with all about me that it seemed to concern me less. It soon became clear to me why we had come here for the winter. Back at home people stayed indoors as much as they could during the winter nights, when freezing winds blew in from the Atlantic. Opportunities to feed would have been few and risky. In Plymouth, however, it was a very different matter. The streets were never entirely empty whatever the hour or the weather. And there were so many dark lanes, alleyways, shop fronts and doorways where we might wait and watch, unseen and unsuspected.

  It was about Christmas-time, and it seemed that not a year but a life-time had passed since I was that strange, shy young man at the Lansdownes. One dark and cold evening I wandered down by the seafront, past countless shadowy places and drifting figures. I had not walked far before two large, bearded and very drunk seamen crashed noisily out of an inn just ahead. Catching sight of me they staggered over.

  “Ah!” said one, nudging the other hard in the ribs. “’ere… ’ere’s a right gent.”

  They tripped up to me, looking me up and down with blatant curiosity. Then they shook my hand in turn, introducing themselves as Captain Kidd and Davy Jones, and referring to me as “Yer Majesty!” Suddenly they let out several loud whoops and began a stumbling, clumsy attempt at a hornpipe dance in a circle around me, chanting a breathy sea shanty that either I did not know or they were too inebriated to sing in a recognisable fashion. A small crowd gathered quickly about, a drunken ragged black-toothed rabble, grinning, clapping and laughing. Then at once the two sailors seemed to forget me and hurried over toward a rather grubby young woman, evidently of their acquaintance, asking with loud giggles for permission to dock alongside her for the night. I looked at them, smiling. Then I moved quickly on.

  I had gone but a short distance when I heard footsteps behind me, getting faster and nearer, until at last they walked by my side. I inclined my head to see a small red haired woman I guessed to be somewhere in her mid
dle twenties, wearing a slightly shabby green dress. She cast me a quick sidelong glance and smiled. I said nothing but slowed my pace slightly. After several moments she spoke in a low voice.

  “It’s not safe ’round ’ere, y’know.”

  I kept my eye on her but made no reply.

  “It’s not safe,” she went on. “Not fer a young gen’l’man like y’self. Some of ’em ’round ’ere ’d cut yer throat soon as look at you fer ’alf a crown an’ a silk ’anky. Believe me. I know ’em!”

  Now I looked her up and down. She was light skinned and seemed to have a nice shape, if somewhat thin. She was really quite pretty – in fact, for a waterfront whore, very pretty.

  “Still,” she smiled, “there’s only one reason an’ ’an’some young gen’l’man like you’d come ’round ’ere. I’got a room near ’ere. Come ’ome wi’ me.”

  We went a little further, then turned off down a small, dark winding alleyway. She walked just ahead of me to lead the way. Cold hunger was growing fierce in me, as I felt her closeness and warmth. My limbs grew tense as I reached out, my hands seeking her throat as I leaned forward. At that moment there came a faint, muffled burst of laughter and some stumbling footsteps from up ahead. At once I drew back and stared forward into the darkness. Two figures were approaching, a man and a woman. The man was drunk and his arms were wrapped about the woman for support. Of course they had not seen us in the dark, and neither was my companion aware of them. Suddenly the couple halted and the woman leaned back against the alley wall, pulling the man onto her, both of them merging deeper into the shadows. The man swayed for a moment, as if he might fall over backwards, then regaining his balance he began to paw her clumsily with big, calloused hands as their mouths met in an awkward, fumbling kiss. My own companion meanwhile moved on towards them, still quite unaware of their presence. When she was almost upon them I went to warn her, but then, realising how odd this might seem, decided to keep silent, and watched as the girl blundered into the long legs of the man, which stuck out from the shadows as he leaned against the woman. She stumbled forward and fell with a cry, while the man grunted, and the woman pulled her lips from his and spluttered:

  “’Ere! wotch where yer bleedin’ goin’!”

  “’Wotch where yer bleedin’ goin’ yerself. Silly sow!” screeched back my companion in a sudden, raucous fury as she scrambled to her feet. “You shouldn’t stand down dark alleys if you don’t want people fallin’ over you. Now get out’the way!”

  I squeezed past the mumbling, angry couple and we both moved on quickly to the end of the alleyway.

  “Sorry about that!” the girl told me with a quick smile, regaining her composure and brushing down her soiled dress, “but you do get some right rubbish ’round ’ere. Some of ’em ’ll do it anywhere.”

  Now we were standing on a street corner. Overhead hung a street lamp. I knew I could not take her here. It was too open. Too dangerous.

  “It’s just up ’ere.” She pointed along the street. I was led to a narrow, dingy doorway. Inside it was dank and unlit, and she took me up a long, creaking flight of stairs. “’Ere we are,” she said, opening a door. Before we entered she leaned up close to me and smiled. “Don’t say much, do you?”

  “No!” I answered quietly. “Not much.”

  It was a garret room, gloomy and grey. Patches of damp stained the walls, and a ragged curtain that looked as if it was made from a worn blanket covered the single window. There were a few old, plain pieces of furniture – a table and chair, a wardrobe and a bed with a cabinet beside it. A candle and some matches stood on the table. She went over, struck a match and lit the candle. A dim flicker of light spread through the room which did nothing to improve the look of it. I glanced about curiously. Never before had I seen such a miserable dwelling, only read of them in the works of popular novelists, and I was astonished, not to say appalled, to learn that their descriptions were barely exaggerated.

  The girl went now to her bedside cabinet and took from inside a half-full bottle of some spirit and two cups.

  “Drink?” she said, looking over at me. “Go on. It’ll warm you up.”

  “No,” I answered, “thank you.”

  “Oh! Well, I ’ope you don’t mind if I do?”

  “No!”

  She smiled, poured herself a cup, and drained it in one quick swallow. Then she sat on the bed.

  “Come on, then,” she said after a few moments. She seemed a little nervous, I thought. I had no way of knowing, but I felt she was inexperienced in her profession. A servant girl perhaps, dismissed for some reason without a reference, who could find no other employment.

  I moved slowly towards the bed, my eyes fixed on her smooth white skin. Quickly she unfastened her dress so that it fell down from her shoulders. She wriggled her arms free and began to unlace her undergarment. I stopped now and stood before her, fascinated as she pulled open her bodice to reveal her pink round breasts. She looked up at me. I remained where I was and watched as she continued to pull off the rest of her clothes, her soft pale skin quivering in the cold. I had never before seen a naked woman and my curiosity was like that of a child. She lay back on the bed, her teeth chattering slightly, and eventually she said:

  “What’s the matter? Come on.”

  I sat on the bed beside her. She raised her arms, winding them about my shoulders and pulling me down onto her, then she began to unbutton my coat with quick, deft fingers, pushing it from my shoulders so that it fell down onto the floor behind me. Then she was undoing my necktie, pulling open my shirt. I felt her burning hand caress my bare chest, then recoil as she gasped in shock.

  “My God!” Her voice was a small, tremulous whisper. “My God! You’re cold. Your skin’s cold. So cold!”

  “Yes,” I said. “But you will make me warm.” And I began to run my hands over her smooth body. I felt her flesh crawl beneath my touch.

  “Why? Why?” was all she kept saying. “Why’re you so cold?”

  “Shh!” I told her, beginning to kiss her head, her cheek and her mouth, overcome suddenly by an excitement that was mostly but not wholly born of my nagging hunger for warmth and life.

  She was pulling away from me in spite of herself, wrinkling her lips in disgust at my kisses. But I grasped at her, burying my fingers in her soft flesh and experiencing a feeling quite new to me. Suddenly I wanted not just to feed from this naked, inviting body. As I felt her breath on my cheek, her heart beating against me, I wanted to take her, to hold her and enjoy the sensation of her laying beside me, the warmth and comfort of her arms about me. I pulled her closer to me and she shivered, shutting her eyes with a faint sigh as I felt that first flow of power begin to rise. I nestled my face against hers and swallowed hard, then breathed a long, trembling gasp. At once the cold pierced my breast like a steel shaft, reminding me sharply of my need. I clung to her, running my fingers up through her thick red hair, pulling her head gently to one side as my head sank down, and my lips found her throat. My head swayed slowly back and forth as the blood came, ebbing into me. She stiffened slightly then rolled back and moaned a long sensuous moan. The flood began, that flood of every vital living force, drawn from her body into mine as water into a sponge.

  Now I was draining her hard, gripping her tight, and almost at once the vortex rose swirling before me, drawing me closer towards it. Then at last I tore myself away, sitting up, throwing her down onto the bed, gasping for air. At once she reached out, encircling my neck in her arms, her eyes dull and glazed as she started pulling me to her, her body throbbing with pleasure beneath me, her firm breasts rising and falling before my eyes as she released a succession of deep sighs.

  I hesitated a moment, resisting her, but then I sank back down, my lips seeking her neck. Something inside warned me, urged me to stop, but for that moment, as my hands as if of their own accord slid smoothly along her torso, over her sturdy hips and about her soft thighs, I was blind to my own entreaty as desire grew up in me stronger than ever before. F
or several seconds I lay there motionless, as if various parts of my being were in sudden confusion and conflict. Then I lunged forward. I did not drink from the wound I had already made, but opened my mouth wide, filling it with her sweet moist skin. I bit down hard. I felt her flesh tear.

  I pressed her writhing body hard against the bed as her moans of pleasure became chokes and gasps of terror and pain, and blood burst from her in a huge crimson flood that spurted out onto my face and chest, almost scalding my skin as it sprayed over the bed and the floor. Quickly I pressed my lips between the great torn flaps of flesh and the blood gushed into me, pouring down my throat, roaring through my veins like a burning torrent. Raw power burst and roared about me, and as the vortex rose again I hurtled down into the heart of it as sheer phenomenal pleasure engulfed me, swept me away on immense pounding waves of sensual delight that blotted out my thoughts, devastating every part of me until it seemed I was plunged and floating breathless in a great sea; spinning through vast, obscure regions of darkness. The physical sensations were gone now – instead there were a bizarre procession of mental images, like a wild, mad opium dream. Shady worlds and nebulous expanses of vague shifting forms of immense and incredible proportion that stretched beneath me and loomed above me without beginning or end. And I was soaring, hurtling through immeasurable aeons and my body had no form but was mist on the winds of endless time, drifting to some nameless destination that might never be reached.

  I do not know how long it was before I finally returned to my senses to find myself lying in a pool of sticky, partly congealed blood on the bed cover, clutching in my arms a grey, withered and mutilated corpse. Startled, horrified, I threw the body from me, and it rolled slowly, clumsily to the foot of the bed, where it tottered, poised in almost a sitting position – a lolling parody of life – for a few moments, before toppling down onto the floor with a heavy thud. I rose unsteadily to my feet and found my coat on the floor by the bed. Miraculously it was hardly bloodstained at all. I slipped it on and buttoned it up, covering the great patches of crimson that stained the front of my shirt and trousers. On the table stood a jug of water in a wash basin, so I quickly washed the blood from my hands and face. I felt bloated and torpid and my head was spinning slightly. It was as if my every capacity for pleasure and experience was filled to exhaustion, and now I was almost beyond the power to feel anything.