I’m Glad You’re Dead

by Hunter Blain

I heard the rug being yanked away. Dust and light flowed through the cracks and into my eyes. The door was almost pulled off its hinges as several men peered in and reached down. Greedy hands grasped my mother’s limbs as I rushed to her, trying to fight them off. Several vicelike grips dug painfully into my skin and muscles as I felt myself being hoisted through the cellar door. My eyes burned from the dirt in them. I heard my mother scream and squinted to see her being struck in the head.

  Everything went to a pin-point focus. My feet found purchase as they cleared the cellar, and I shoved with all my might throwing my captors off balance. I felt hands release as they tried to catch themselves. I pivoted as I was falling and used my momentum to bring my fists down like hammers on the closest soldier. His mouth was open in a gape of surprise as I drove my anger and rage on his chin, snapping it backwards until it met with his own throat and caved it inward. The panic was immediate, akin to a stuck pig. Helpless hands grasped at his crushed throat. A crimson cloud escaped the snakelike jaws as he tried to inhale precious air. The sound dampened and then was cut off completely as his throat swelled shut. His eyes searched around desperately for help, but after a handful of heartbeats, they went unfocused and the only sound made was the steady gurgling of his last breath squeezing out. Red bubbles boiled out of his mouth and nose, then ceased.

  I started to pick myself up to attack the next one when there was a flash of blinding light accompanied by a crack of thunder and my head snapped forward. I was distantly aware of my teeth clattering as my chin hit my chest. The stars in my vision faded to black and I felt myself falling through nothingness.

  Chapter 3

  Now

  Euphoric with blood, I was practically dancing as I approached the church of Father Thomes Philseep to report on the resounding success of my mission.

  What’s that you say? Vampires can’t enter churches...and...and crucifixes and what not?

  Balderdash, I says to you, another myth to make humans feel safe. Vampires aren’t inherently evil as movies and books would have you believe, or emotional crybabies like those sparkly twats.

  We choose what to do with our dark gift. Though the “dark” part doesn’t make it sound like all halos and harps admittedly. I didn’t name it but it’s better than the “fuchsia gift.”

  Man makes their choices to be good, or not so good. It is the same with most super natural beings. Otherwise the news would bukkake the public with stories and videos of mountains made from mangled human bodies. So, much like a man who has murdered his neighbor can enter a church, so can I.

  The decaying cathedral is seemingly ancient and in a #WhitePeopleLockingCarDoors part of town. A century’s worth of grime coats the stained-glass windows. The once grey stone is now a deliciously creepy shade of dirty black. Even the noble statues that once guarded the grounds seem to have transformed into eerie, shapeless figures. One even has a face full of residue from the centuries that now looks like a black skull, peering down.

  Around the property, the iron fence is rusting, the tombstones are indiscernible, and the trees and grass are all dead. I absolutely love it. It’s like it was made just for little ol’ me.

  I ascended the crumbling stone steps to the door with a bounce in my step, where I knocked my secret, after hours knock; the theme to Terminator.

  After a few moments, I heard rustling behind the weathered wooden door. I could tell by the creaking that someone stopped at the threshold; which is another myth for human peace of mind by the way.

  “What’s the secret phrase?” A weathered but confident, calm voice asked through the thick wooden door.

  I respond in my best Ahnold impression. ”I nheed yourh cloothes, yourh boohts, and yourh motorcycle.”

  There was a grinding, metallic groan as locks were freed and the ancient door creaked open.

  Father Thomes appeared in the doorway wearing, and I kid you not, a blue and white striped pj set complete with a matching cap and slippers.

  “What, are you wearing?” I asked, giving him a once over.

  “Traditional old man nightwear,” he responded with a smile. “Come inside, my son.”

  “Thanks, dad,” I said. Did I mention I’m witty? “You know I was kidding about the pass phrase after hours, right? I mean who else would come knocking on this decadently eerie place at night? Ha! I rhymed.”

  “I know you were undying to try out your impression,” he returned with a smirk while putting a fist to his mouth, trying to stifle laughter from his dad joke.

  “Touché Father T,” I said with mock annoyance. Secretly I notated the undying pun for later use.

  Once again summoning my inner Arnold, I informed the Father, “the tarhgets have been turhmenated.”

  “Blessed be the Father!” He explained. “That is the third attempted summoning this month alone. They are increasing in regularity it would seem. I fear the balance is shifting out of our favor. I just got word that a lesser demon has broken through.”

  We walked into the room with all pews and Father Thomes eased himself down. I sat across the middle isle to him.

  “Yeah, I heard from one of the goons that they are really trying to make this shit happen; recruiting and what not. What’s odd, is no one knows the name of the person they work for, only the steps needed for an actual summoning. Not a single Ouija board between them. I don’t know who their boss is, but he knows what he’s doing.”

  “Though what you say is interesting, we still need to send it back,” Father Thomes said, still focusing on the immediate problem at hand.

  “Tomorrow night, Papa T,” I respond. “It’s too near dawn and I’m already clocked out for the night. Plus, my manager said no OT or he’d write me up. On top of that, the demon will have to lay low during the day. So, I’m going to have a drink and then hit the coffin. Care to join me for half of my nightly agenda?”

  Accepting my point, he said while stifling another dad-joke chuckle, “No thank you, John. I’m not fond of coffins.”

  “Dang! Is this what I’m like? No wonder I can’t get a date!” I say while rubbing my temples and shaking my head in faux exasperation.

  “Thank you for the drink offer, John, but I am ready to return to my chambers,” He said, standing and walking back toward his room.

  “Father, I’m not going to be able to stop them all. Sooner or later they’ll wise up. Might even set a trap for yours truly,” I said grimly.

  Father Thomes stopped and turned to face me. “Perhaps it is time to seek help, my son.”

  I returned with my best Christian Bale, “I work alone. You know that.”

  “This is important, John. Is there no one who will answer your call?” He asked.

  I continued, “Harvey Dent, can we trust him?”

  Turning, he continued to his room and said casually, “Be back here tomorrow night. Lock the door behind you and if you take the hearse, return it filled up, won’t you? That’s a good lad.” His voice trailed off toward the end as he rounded a corner down a hall.

  I stared after him for a while, taking a deep breath and feeling the prod of worry enter my mind. Something was off and I could feel it. Maybe he was right. Maybe I needed some help. Even with my sharp wit, platinum tongue, and sexy body, I hadn’t made as many friends as you would think over the years. I don’t really have a Facebook or LinkedIn account.

  I took in a deep breath and shifted my gaze to the man up on the cross on stage. Thinking about my next steps, I exhaled and said, “Jesus, I need a drink.”

  Chapter 4

  Ireland, 1480

  The sound of wood being thrown together stirred me. I blinked awake after some effort. I was terrified to only have muddied darkness enter my vision. I could make out a stone structure with what I thought to be chains hanging from the walls. A small window on one wall let in the dimmest of pale light. It took me a moment to realize that it must be night now, which meant I had been unconscious for the entire day.

  Assessing the room, I was struck by a surge o
f stabbing fire as I turned my head. With every vein in my head pulsing a rhythm of pain, I let my chin drop back to my bruised chest. My numb arms must have been shackled above my head because they didn’t respond to the instinct to cover my throbbing skull at the point of impact. I could feel them pressing on either side of my head, useless.

  Outside, the wind started to howl. Rising and falling, like the wailing of an apparition.

  I attempted to stand only to find my legs were confined to the wall. I was in a sitting position with my back side resting on my calves. For no reason in particular, I recalled a story my father had told me, and I was relieved that they hadn’t hung me upside down from my ankles with metal shackles. He told me of men whose feet eventually were pulled off from being hung upside down, like a chicken leg at dinner.

  The brief thought of my father filled me with anger. I gathered my strength and tried to pull the restraints off, in vain. I felt like a fish on a hook being pulled from the safety of the water. My breaths were ragged as snot and spittle shot from my nose and gritted teeth. They had taken him, and my mother. Tears brimmed my eyes from the frustration of helplessness.

  From the darkness came an eerie chuckle, followed by a question:

  “So, you are John,” The calm voice of a cultured, British man said with mild entertainment. “If you stay here, they might string you by your feet yet.”

  I froze in pure terror. “Wh-who’s there?” I pathetically stammered.

  He spoke with dramatic pauses and emphasis. “Worry not, John...”

  “Where’s me Da? Whe… where’s me Ma?” The brimming tears fell from my eyes. I could taste the salt as they ran a path to the corners of my mouth.

  “Ah-ah-aah, John. Let us not be rude. There will be time for your questions, but first, I’d enjoy a game. Will you play it?”

  “Game? What game ye pikey? Why the shite am I here!” Rage started to build from my core. “Me fam did nuthin’ wrong!”

  Still calm, and almost like a snake, he retorted with, “A game where if you win, you will live and harness the power of the gods to send all who have wronged you into oblivion. But if you lose, your agony will be long lasting coupled with the knowledge you could have been free. As far as your family’s wrongdoings; you are sheep who are guilty of possessing what a wolf desires.”

  His words froze me. My heart beat furiously, and I forgot how to breathe as those words sunk in. Only the howl of the wavering wind drifted in the air.

  “They only wanted our land?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Precisely. Now, what is your answer, John?” He almost purred with anticipation.

  “Ye will free me and help stop the men from hurtin’ me family?” I say to myself. “Then I will walk tru’ the fires of Hell if that’s what I must do!”

  In the darkness started a throaty chuckle which cascaded into full-bodied laughter. I even heard foot stamps on the ground as if a child was just given back their long-lost favorite toy.

  “How delightful!” He exclaimed with his voice pitching higher as the words came out.

  There was the sound of two firm stamps and clothes rustling as the man stood in the darkness. A pause, and then a step. Another pause and a closer step. He’s was coming from directly in front of me. More steps. At some point, I should have been able to see something moving in the darkness, but my eyes only revealed unmoving shapes in the infinite blackness. The steps stopped not more than a foot in front of where I was chained. I squinted my eyes, struggling to see.

  The smell of molding cloth and dirt wafted into my nostrils as a whisper came from behind me. Startled, I tried to turn my head when cold, stone like hands grasped either side of my jaw and force my gaze into two, beautifully colored orbs that opened from the blackness in front of me. They were indescribable, as if painted using the colors of a sunset. Purples, blues, and reds circled the iris in a dance of captivation and elegance. I was mesmerized and nothing else in the universe mattered, except those eyes.

  More sternly, without the pauses or emphasis, he asked, “Are you a man of honor?”

  I don’t remember telling my mouth to speak or my mind to formulate an answer but the word, “Aye,” dreamily slipped out.

  He continued, “If I were to aide in the revenge of you and yours, would you feel indebted to me?”

  “Aye,” I drawled. The inside of my head felt like being in a warm bed on a winter’s morning.

  “Wonderful!” He said as his grip slid from my face. My head cleared as his eyes melted into a single shade of purple.

  His speech slid back into the theatric. “My name is Ulric, and I need someone of this age to be my companion and guide. You see, I’ve been asleep for some time and would appreciate a current view on the modern world. Our time together will be filled with travel, riches, power, and revenge.” This last word he smiled a wide grin exposing his teeth. There were two that were particularly noticeable as they were elongated and ended in points akin to that of wolves.

  “Rodents, actually,” he stated, as if I had spoken my thoughts aloud. “Wolves jaws are made for holding its prey in place and tearing flesh. Rodents, bats specifically, have piercing fangs that puncture prey without tearing so that the blood flows most efficiently.”

  Confused, I ask, “A’ye claiming t’be a rat?”

  He threw his head back and gave a throaty and dramatic laugh. After he recovered, he said, “No no, my dear boy. You would say that a bear and a wolf are different creatures would you not?”

  “Aye, a’course.”

  “Yet they both share the same feeding style. The jaws grab the throat of their prey and squeeze until the air stops. And voila! The animal can no longer draw breath and expires. I share similarities with the bat.”

  “Ye survive on blood?! Are ye a demon?!” I felt panic start to rise in my core, tightening my chest.

  He smiled. “Perhaps,” he almost pondered. There was a pause as he considered. The wind had died down outside, leaving only the sound of a roaring fire somewhere close by. “Perhaps not. I really don’t know, to be honest. What I do know is this; after centuries of walking this world, I am the last. Until now that is.”

  With a waving gesture from his hand, the torches in the dungeon blazed to life, bathing everything in an orange haze. The light scorched my unprepared eyes and I had to squeeze them shut with discernible effort which made my head ache and my stomach lurch. After a few moments, I was able to blink them open and focus on the dirt encrusted man in front of me. His clothing was rotting away, as if he were a street urchin. The red coat he wore was now a dark, dirty brown with rusted buttons that once could have been brass or some other distinguished metal. There were frills coming out of the sleeves that were matted and in tatters. The pantaloons, because that’s what they were, had enough holes that they looked as if they could have been bought at Ye Old Hot Topic. There was a silk shirt underneath his coat that was mostly intact. The leather shoes he wore were also in good condition, albeit coated in dirt.

  The man looked like he had been caught in a mudslide, and survived. He had short, dark hair, infused with earth, that slightly receded on either side of a widow’s peak. A clean jaw stood proportional to the rest of his face. Crow’s feet had only just begun at the corners of his eyes and frown lines jutted between his eye brows. Pearly teeth were overexposed from the widest grin I had ever seen. It unnerved me. Sailors described man-eating fish that shared the same smile. I thought them the tales of drunkards, but here they were, gleaming in the dark.

  He pointed his hand toward me in a fist, then long fingers opened dramatically and my chains crumbled to dust around my wrists. My numb arms dropped in front of me and pulled the rest of me down with them. The dirt and blood covered stone floor rushed up to meet my face. Familiar stars danced just behind my eye lids and my stomach threatened to expel the bile it contained.

  “It would appear that the strike to the back of your skull was more severe than first thought. No matter. All will be well in a moment. But first,
I want you to enjoy your death.” He let the last syllable linger, tasting the weight of the word.

  Posting my elbows underneath me and looking up at the strange man, my throat tried to escape to the pit of my stomach. The pain throughout my body was dulled by my brain pulling all resources to focus on what he had just said.

  Swallowing what felt like razor blades down my barren throat, I croaked, “Me…me death?”

  My breathing became shallow and fear blossomed with every pounding heartbeat, trying to convince my numb limbs into fleeing as he walked over. The man effortlessly picked me up by my shoulders and pulled my face close to his.

  “Yes, child. For you to accept my gift, you must first die. Only after will you have the means to seek revenge on those who killed your father… and your mother.” The last words were purposeful and drawn out.

  The blood drained from my face and I started to get light headed. Only this monster in a man skin holding me up kept my limp body from collapsing to the ground. I could barely hear my own voice, as if speaking through a dream “Me… Ma?” Tears threatened to leap to their death from the corners of my eyes.

  “Just now, I’m afraid,” he said as he dragged me over to the small, barred window to the outside. With ease, he turned me around in his hands and let me peer outside. There, indeed, was a roaring fire that I had vaguely been aware of. In the center of it stood a statue of a bull made from bronze. Around it stood the soldiers with the commander giving orders to douse the flames. It took several buckets from the stream close by to extinguish the blaze. A few more were thrown over the bull, the water sizzling into steam and sending a white cloud billowing through the night’s air.

  I could see there was a door in the middle of the bull. The realization at what I was seeing began to tickle the front of my brain as a soldier reached over and grabbed the handle. With a yelp, he pulled back and dropped to his knees, grasping the wrist of the hand that was now blistering.

  The commander scalded him further, “Use a gauntlet or deer skin, you fool.”