The Revenants

by Geoffrey Farrington

  “Now,” I said, my expression rigid, my eyes wide. “Observe.” And I pulled him around so that he saw his father lying unconscious on the floor. Instinctively he made to go to him, but I held him fast and gestured quickly to the girl on the bed. “Yes,” I said, “your parent, and your sister. No. You shall not go to them. First you will hear me.”

  At once he stopped struggling. No doubt his first thought was that I was a madman escaped from some institution, and that it might be dangerous to anger me further. I regarded him grimly, then I said:

  “Once I had someone. A parent, a sister, a companion. A love. But no more. She… ”

  At once he interrupted me with a cry, a hoarse strangled choke. He was staring at his sister. He had just seen the fresh puncture in her bare neck, the dark drop of blood that trickled down her pale skin and stained her pillow. And he looked back at me, his eyes bulging in sheer horror as all grew clear to him. I remembered his words that night in the vault: how the mere knowledge that such as I could exist, the sight of Helena lying in repose, had been almost more than he could bear. Now, faced with the living presence, all his senses were overwhelmed and petrified. And this infuriated me more than I would have thought possible. All my control and restraint, that had until then been so necessary for the construction and execution of my plan, and the preserving of my sanity, was at once hurled aside as I gave way to the full power of my misery and rage. With a growl I threw him down onto the floor.

  “But of course!” I spat the words at him, “I forgot. I cannot love. For love is good and I am only evil. ‘The spawn of darkness’.”

  I loomed over him, the lamplight throwing my shadow huge and grotesque on the opposite wall. His eyes swam, his body shook violently as his lips fell open and he gasped:

  “God… God help me!”

  “And why should God help you? What is it makes your kind so arrogant? To believe you alone are entitled to the love of God? That only you are capable of feeling and good. And how covetous you are of this pretended goodness, hoarding it to yourselves like misers, allowing none other a single drop.”

  I sneered, at once exhilarated. It was the fear, blind panic that blazed from him as a living thing, intoxicating me, exciting me to a frenzy. I wanted more of that fear. I wanted to tear from him every ounce of hope, strength and sanity, as he had torn these things from me. To make him lost and abject as I was. I grinned, leaning close to him, saying in my gentlest voice:

  “And what if I told you, with all my unearthly knowledge, from my discourse with death, what if I told you, priest, that there is no God. That God is the invention of man, an illusion of light in a world that is only darkness. And I, who can see through the darkness, who knows all this, free from man’s delusions: I, who may live forever with this knowledge. I am the closest thing to God!”

  Wild demonic laughter burst and rang suddenly throughout the room. I started. It was several moments before I realised that it came from me. And then I stopped. I froze. I drew back. I noticed something. Around his neck on a thin chain, fallen from the front of his nightshirt, hung a silver crucifix. Its effect on me was instantaneous. As I looked on it I felt a rush of shock and shame at what I was doing. I realised the blasphemy I had just spoken – denying the existence of God when truly I knew no more of God now than I had in human life – raging and laughing, deranged with hatred. It made me see myself! And I remembered uneasily the distant Christian teachings of my childhood as again I felt the old dread – the fear of what I was, of what I had become. And for that moment all my strength and will were gone, lost in doubt and confusion.

  The priest seemed to sense my agitation, and also the reason for it. His trembling hand reached up at once, fumbling for the crucifix, gripping it awkwardly, pulling the chain from his neck; then with superhuman effort he staggered to his feet and lurched towards me, holding the cross before his face. He advanced unsteadily and his voice broke so thick and strained it was nearly incoherent.

  “O God protect your servant and give him strength!” He glared at me suddenly, his eyes blazing, the cross too, reflecting the flame from the lamp behind me. His voice grew louder. “I banish you with all your evil and perfidy. Get from this place in the name of Almighty God, and the power of our Saviour Jesus Christ.”

  He held the cross before my eyes. The light glinting on it seemed at once bright, dazzling, and I stepped back blinking. I felt the power, the force of all his vehemence somehow projected at me through the symbol of his faith. It hurt me. I could not bear to look at it. I stepped back again, and my head fell so that I stared at the floor. Emboldened he moved closer, and began to mumble one of the psalms, an invocation against evil.

  “‘He that dwells under the shelter of the Most High, who abides under the shadow of the Almighty.

  Will say to the Lord, ‘my refuge and stronghold: my God, in Him I trust.’

  For He shall deliver you from the snare of the hunter: and from the deadly pestilence.

  He will cover you with His wings, His faithfulness your shield and buckler… ’”

  Anger flared in me again. And in an instant, before I knew what I did, I stepped forward, reaching out, grasping the crucifix, snatching it from him, holding it up and gazing on it in triumph. Then, smiling, I looked around at him. Had I suddenly been transformed into the Devil himself, amidst a burst of fire and brimstone, his look of sheer horror and disbelief could not have been more.

  “Well said,” I told him with a nod. “But you see,” I waved the crucifix at him, “baubles, words, they mean nothing. As you can see, we understand each other perfectly, God and I. And now to business. You have robbed me. Robbed me of all I had. Now I want compensation. That surely is not unfair? I seek only for justice. A life for a life.” And I moved to the girl on the bed, pointing down at her, my eyes meeting his. “Her life,” I said. “I could have killed her when I first came here. But I spared her. And let me tell you why. It was because of she – the one you killed. Because of all the things she told me and taught me. But now she is dead and all my compassion and restraint are dead with her. And it is your fault. You are to blame.” I pointed again at the girl. “Let her death rest on your conscience.”

  At once I fell onto my knees, wrapping my arms about the girl, raising her up, resting my lips on her throat and running my tongue over the bloodstains there. With a scream of desperation he was on me, pulling me from her with immense strength, pounding me with his fists. I staggered back off-balance, momentarily startled by the force of his attack. Then with a snarl of fury I lashed out, knocking him down, turning back to the girl. But at once he was up and struggling with me again. I grasped his arms, pulling him to me, ready in my rage to strike him dead. But then I threw him back and he slammed into the wall, falling to the floor gasping for breath.

  “No!” I told him. “Oh no. To kill you would be too easy. And what a poor revenge it would be. No! She must die!” I moved back to her side. “But do not fear.” I gave him my most pleasant smile. “You of all men must see that she dies ‘In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life’.”

  He stared up blankly for a moment, then his face twisted with an agony beyond description, grew paler even than the face of his bloodless sister, as the significance of my words grew clear. And in that moment of his utter hopelessness, I pitied him. My heart beat in my throat. My voice lost its harshness, broke and trembled. And I called out, almost pleading:

  “Don’t you see? Can’t you understand? I have no choice. You have cut me adrift, alone in the wilderness of eternity. How else may I find companionship? How else may I find love? What else can I do?”

  I do not know what I hoped to achieve by this outburst. Needless to say I achieved nothing. He just stared back at me with revulsion and terror beyond reason. And I told myself: “Be strong. You cannot afford weakness now.” I regarded him coldly.

  “But why do I remonstrate with you? What purpose can it serve? You robbed me with death. I shall rob you with life. You call me e
vil. But to me you are evil. Do you understand that? You, with your arrogance and blindness and hatred. You, fearful helpless creatures who creep through life like mice never daring to venture out from your dark secure corners of ignorance. On your hopeless journey into disease and deformity and death. But this girl… ” I laid my hand on her head… “I will save her from these taints and evils of man. I will preserve her youth and sweetness and she will live with me forever. And now,” I told him, producing again his crucifix, “she shall have this.”

  And I put the chain about her neck, placing the cross delicately on her breast. The idea had come to me that instant. “There,” I said, standing back, looking down on her, and then back at her brother, smiling at him. “Perfect. Now who will know? Who will ever suspect?”

  And then quickly I fell on her, drained her some more. I rose, taking her up in my arms. And as I carried her away I glanced quickly back. The young priest looked up at me from the floor, but his eyes were blank and unseeing. His eyes were mad.

  Suddenly I stumbled and tripped forward, almost dropping the sleeping girl. The old man had regained his senses and had crawled over to me, clinging frantically to my leg, trying to pull me down. I spun about, kicking out, throwing him back, and he lay gasping and sobbing. In his eyes I saw death. I saw it and knew he would die, and that I had killed him as surely as if I had taken him in my arms and drained him dry. I stopped for a moment by the door, looking quickly from father to son. And all I saw staring back at me was madness and death. I had anticipated with pleasure this moment of final victory. But it was bitter. It brought no satisfaction. Still carrying the girl I turned and fled.

  I took her from the house, along the lane outside towards the graveyard, to a dark secluded place where a motor car stood. Now I whispered gently into her ear:

  “Walk now, Elizabeth. I will put you on your feet. Lean against me for support. Just a short way.”

  I swung her down, threw my arm about her. There was a suitcase concealed in the bushes nearby, containing one of Helena’s cloaks, which I threw about the girl’s shoulders. Then I pulled her along with me, whistling for the driver’s attention. He jumped from the car, a broad grin on his face, winking at me. I had found him in Matlock. Told him that I and a young lady planned to run away together.

  “Unfortunately,” I had sighed, leaning close to him, whispering confidentially, “her family disapprove of me.”

  Then, smiling, he had pressed me to tell him more, and when I had he’d roared with laughter, slapping his knees, crying:

  “Well, well! A priest’s sister, is it? Running off with a priest’s sister in the middle of the night. Very nice too, I’m sure, you young devil.”

  Then I handed him money, enough to make his eyes bulge, telling him there would be more when the job was done.

  Now he helped us both into the car, patting me on the back, muttering and chuckling excitedly. Then the engine roared and we were away, blazing through the night.

  He drove us back to Matlock, left us in the town centre. I paid him off, then, pulling the still stupefied girl to me, swept her off into the shady backstreets, away to my rented home, where everything lay prepared.

  * * *

  In the cellar of my house I had placed a bed, and I lay Elizabeth upon it. I knew that I must drink from her again, but with great tenderness and care that the strain upon her should not be too great since she must be kept alive, but sufficiently weak that my power over her mind might be maintained. Over the next days and nights I must keep her as a prisoner, locked in this place as I gradually drained her life away, and while I slept her days would be spent alone. I resolved that I must try to keep her insensible of her physical circumstances. I must protect her if possible from the fear and knowledge of her condition. I would not wish her human self to die in solitude and terror, as mine had died. She must not become the weak and miserable creature I had been in death. I would make her fearless. I would make her strong. Of this I was determined.

  I would administer a sleeping draught at dawn, that she might sleep through the days. And through the nights I would feed her and attend to her comforts, and I would speak to her always to reassure her of the life and strength that would be hers. I would make her rebirth a glorious one.

  Now I raised her in my arms, brushing back the soft dank hair from her neck, and drank, pulling back almost at once to speak gently.

  “Hear me, Elizabeth. I know that you are weak and ill. But you must not fear. I have brought you here to make you well. Just a short while and you will be well again, and stronger than ever before. You must trust me, and sleep now, for this will make you well. Sleep until I waken you.”

  And she clung to my words, sinking ever deeper within herself, remaining in a state of near oblivion as the nights passed and her body seemed ever more pale and wasted. At times she appeared to grow restive, for some part of her was no doubt aware of her body’s gathering decline, and yet she remained deep within my power as I spoke to her ceaselessly throughout the night, reassuring her, carrying her upstairs, sitting her opposite me at the table, caring for her needs, arranging her, controlling her, my companion already, and telling her of my thoughts, and of her life, and what it would soon become.

  On the final night, when she lay upon the brink of death, I sat in silence for hours, staring at her, savouring the last of her burning beauty; the beauty which had caused such tragedy, and had obsessed me from the moment I first saw her. After tonight that beauty would be no more. Or rather, it would be different. It would be no longer human.

  I took her, and the flow began, the flow that would in moments become a torrent.

  “Now comes death,” I mumbled through the stream of blood. “Do not fear. Be courageous. Be strong. Cling to life. It will not desert you.”

  I drained fast. Her body trembled in my arms, her life slipped away almost at once, carrying me on its tide of overpowering pleasure. At last I let her drop down, panting for breath as I rose from the bed. Now I must wait.

  For the remaining hour or so of darkness I sat by a window upstairs, looking out into the empty street. In my thoughts I saw them still – her father and brother. Saw their staring monstrous eyes however hard I tried to push them from my mind. Until at last I rose and shouted out into the deathly stillness:

  “I had to do it. It was just. I must not think on it.”

  The next night I woke early, feeling strained and nervous. I went at once to Elizabeth. Her body was cold and white. I paced the cellar. Hours passed but she showed no signs of life. I was growing frantic. Had I misjudged? Had I drawn away her life too quickly? I did not know. I had no way of knowing.

  It was late, well past midnight, and I was half-wild with alarm when at last it happened. A tiny movement about the muscles of the face, a momentary twitching of the extremities; and all so slight that no human eye might have discerned them. But to me they were as clear as they were joyful. I leaned down, taking her hands, pressing my ear to her body, detecting slow, faint but unmistakable heartbeats. More than an hour passed before she moved again, but this time it was like a convulsion that affected every muscle. Then finally her eyes opened. And slowly she sat up, looking all about her. She looked at me, but seemed not to see me. Her mouth fell open and she mumbled something incoherently. I moved forward, drawing my face close to hers.

  “Elizabeth!” I whispered.

  She made no response. I reached out, brushing her hair from her face. She was dreadfully white and utterly lost; confused and unable to realise the transformation in her, the burst of new feeling and senses. She was weak. She needed strength.

  I took her hand, led her gently up the cellar stairs and out into the streets. We walked for a time and I whispered to her constantly, telling her I would soon cure her hunger. But still she would not acknowledge me, just allowed herself to be led, staring dully ahead.

  At last a car drove past and pulled to a halt just in front. A man climbed out and walked to a door inside a deep porch. Leaving Elizabet
h I moved forward and took him, letting him sink to the ground at my feet. Then I brought Elizabeth to him. She knelt slowly beside him, gazing hard at him for several moments before she let me push her down. She clutched at him and drained him frantically. If I had not pulled her back for breath at last she might have choked. But she fought me, struggling to take him again as her skin burned against mine and colour poured rapidly back into her. I held her fast until finally she grew calm again, and did not resist as I dragged her to her feet and led her away. Then she turned to look at me, her lips covered with flecks of blood that sparkled under the beam of a nearby light. It was as if she saw me truly for the first time. As if the vital warmth she had absorbed restored at once her reason. Wide-eyed she stared down at her red-stained hands. And at last she murmured:

  “My father… my father… and… my brother!” She looked at me again as she repeated it over and over. Then she pulled free from me and said: “You… you did it. To them… to me… it was you. It was you!”

  I stared back at her, horrified. For at once came the realisation. I had underestimated all her strength and will. She knew everything. I had told her to sleep but she must have fought me, even in her weakened state, struggling through her trance, striving for awareness in half-consciousness. And while she lay incapable of motion, and I destroyed her family in fury and vengeance, some part of her had known it all, absorbed it, and even now was remembering. And I turned from her as a single awful thought came to me.

  “She knows everything – she knows it exactly as I knew Helena’s death!”

  Now she strode up to me, quite fearless, her beauty at once made twisted and ugly through emotion. And in her outraged expression I saw her brother’s face; a sudden and intensely powerful resemblance. I could hardly look at her. But I must. Her terrible gaze held me to the spot.