I’m Glad You’re Dead

by Hunter Blain

  A dull pain, like an insect bite, began to grow on my neck. My hand instinctively swatted at the bug that didn’t exist. I rubbed feverishly as the sharp ache descended into my neck.

  I felt something press on my chest and I stopped floating toward eternity. My eyes squinted open as a shadowed, winged figure partially blocked the piercing light, its outstretched, armored arm planting a firm hand on me. I noted absently the armor was white with an outline of gold.

  A powerful, deep commanding voice reverberated inside my head. ‘Heaven is not for you, abomination.’

  The light was abruptly squelched out of existence and the blackness regained its dominate hold. The figure was gone, and I was alone in the nothing, the nowhere. I jerked my head in all directions trying to spot something, anything. I waved my hands and feet, trying to pivot in place. I couldn’t tell if I was making any headway.

  The throb in my neck grew to a sharp, flaming pain. It quickly became the center of my universe, the only thing that mattered. I grasped fruitlessly at the spreading inferno as it enveloped my entire body, bringing with it torture I could never have even dreamt about. My soul spasmed and twitched relentlessly, contorting my incorporeal body without release. I managed to condense myself into a ball and tried to ride out the storm and wherever it was taking me.

  Curled into a fetal position with my eyes squeezed shut, I saw red and purple lines of ghostly fire snake across my vision, branding my essence. Forcing my eyes open I saw my hands growing black where the ghost flames touched. I couldn’t scream, the piercing agony stole my breath and caused my body to seize uncontrollably once more, forcing me out of my fetal position.

  After what felt like hours, I was aware of my feet and finally toes being scalded. As quickly as it had begun, the pain receded, and I was left floating in the nothingness with a raw, charred body. The electrified agony letting its clutch over my existence wane and fade, leaving behind a case of the worst pins and needles in the history of me.

  Numbness spread, and then withdrew, leaving behind a tingle of pure energy. I looked at my hands, which were normal again, but they felt… different. I couldn’t describe what had happened, but I was aware of a fundamental change.

  Something tugged me backwards, like a hooked fish being reeled in. I was aware of being pulled at unfathomable speeds through the universe of nothing. Dots of light started popping into existence, forming the stars I was accustomed to seeing at night when I lay in the fields, staring into the vast ocean in the sky. I turned in midair and saw a blue, green, and brown sphere rushing toward me. Each color was assigned to its own domain, with inter-lapping sections coalescing into a unified partnership. Green slowly turned lighter to meet the brown that was turning darker, there they combined and warred for eternity on who would control the area. Here and there, blue wantonly interjected itself right in the middle, defiant of the other color’s claims. A beautiful swirl of white was intermixed sporadically, passing over the other colors at its leisure, careless of the fight for control below and content to just watch.

  The world was expanding, filling all that I could see, and I started to panic. A wall of white clouds came into view and I sliced through them like an arrow through a fog. Once through, I began to scream as I free fell toward the green fields and solid ground that were becoming vaguely familiar. In the distance, I could see the unmistakable outline of my farm, my home. It was ablaze with the fires having already consumed. The pins where we kept the livestock were all open and empty, presumably taken from the heretics.

  An amalgamation of anger and sorrow filled my veins as my home retreated from my vision and an encampment rushed to welcome me back to my grim reality. My eyes locked onto the brazen bull which now stood alone with its belly closed. I tried to glance inside with a hopeless thought that maybe my mother would crawl out, once again whole, and tell me everything was fine. That everything had been just a dream and I should go back to bed before I woke my father. Then I was launching through a wall into darkness.

  As I flew through the stone blocks of my prison, I slammed into my body with enough force that if Ulric wasn’t still holding me, I would have been thrown back. As my soul reattached itself to my once mortal flesh, there was a sense of completion that was indescribable. As if my body was dying without its soul.

  There was a warm, metallic taste in my mouth and I weakly looked up to see Ulric had been holding his palm up to my mouth.

  He let go of me and I collapsed to the ground.

  “Oh dear, not strong enough yet I see,” Ulric said. With the same teeth that had taken my life, he gave a new life. Still grinning, he dramatically bit into the freshly closed veins on his palm and let the blood well. The wound was deep, causing a spill over which he directed into my gaping, eager mouth. Ulric focused, preventing the wound from closing.

  Electricity shot through my entire being as his pure life force hit my tongue and slid down my throat. Warmth grew from my throat and stomach, rapidly expanding out like a wildfire. Elation overtook everything I knew. There was no pain in those moments, even my parents were a distant nagging memory I couldn’t quite pinpoint. I pulled his palm to my mouth and wrapped my lips around the wound. My body convulsed in the purest pleasure. Every cell grew stronger with powerful life energy. My vision cleared as if I had been blind my entire life and only now saw the world for its beauty. I became dizzy with ecstasy. Ulric pulled away, cutting me off from the fountain of eternal life and happiness. The bliss remained, and I had to fight my swimming, carefree thoughts to focus back on reality.

  “Was he there?” Ulric asked, letting his focus drop and his palm to close. His voice was a lighthouse in the distance and I used it for guidance. I needed more.

  Climbing to my hands and knees, I reached for his arm. He took a casual step back and swatted my hands like a child who was reaching for another dessert.

  I looked up with a frown, grasping at the words he had spoken, and muttered with crimson teeth, “Wh-who?”

  “The Gatekeeper. Hard to miss.”

  Fragments of memory staggered back into place and I could recall the winged man with the armor. “Yes,” I managed. “Who is he?” My speech caught the peripheral of my attention. It was far away, but there.

  “Let me guess, abomination was his selected term?” Ulric asked bemused.

  “Y-yes… Why’d he refer to me as that?” The weight of the meaning attempting to sink in. The Gatekeeper to heaven had called me an abomination. Pretty sure that wasn’t good.

  “Because that’s what we are in their eyes. We will discuss this and more, in time. Now it is time to feed.”

  Chapter 7

  Now

  “Boy, you got ‘bout twenty minutes till dawn. Best be on your way,” Val informed me.

  “Merde!” I exclaimed. “Guess I was lost in my own brain. Easy to do with all the empty space up there.”

  I slammed the rest of my drink and made my way to the parking lot. The sky was already blinding to my preternatural eyes, with the sun only minutes away from cresting the horizon. I wasted no time and bounded down the street twenty feet at a time to the cemetery where my coffin awaited. Strategically, it is only a few blocks away from my favorite relaxation spot that is Valenta’s Saloon and I made it with plenty of time to spare.

  Walking up to a large, gauche mausoleum, I placed my hands on the cold stone slab and pushed. The rock grinded as it moved, and I shifted my hands to push it to one side. Inside, I closed the chic sliding door behind me and lowered a titanium beam in place to secure it, which was not cheap to come by—so I stole it. Using my preternatural eyes, I located the false stone on the far wall behind the raised coffin platform and pressed it in. There was a click and the platform lifted and slid to one side, revealing a darkened staircase carved from the hard rock and earth beneath.

  Along its length I had placed spooky torches that I ignited with a force of my will. All it takes is to excite the molecules within the wicks. There is no other reason to do this except that it
looks really, really cool. Plus, I paid for them. They we’re cheaper than the titanium beam and less suspicious, so you’re damn right I’m going to use them. I pressed another stone and the platform slid back in place with a resounding thud.

  The stone stairs descend forty feet into the earth. I did this so some grave digger wouldn’t accidentally break through my ceiling, especially considering only soft earth was between my hidey hole and the surface. There usually isn’t underground piping running beneath cemeteries which made it fairly easy to dig, but cost me in structural integrity. The hard part was digging a hole by myself that was big enough to fit the large freight containers I had procured, place them, and then cover the hole all before dawn without anyone noticing. Not to mention dispersing the several hundred square feet of excess dirt across the entire cemetery to avoid suspicion from the employees. I then ran the electrical to the groundskeepers building and tapped in as well as put in a ventilation system hidden in the trunk of a hollowed-out tree a few yards from the hidden entrance. I even built a rain water filtration system so I could shower, God I fucking love YouTube and Pinterest. Did I say Pinterest? I meant I do pushups. Not that other thing you thought I said.

  After a couple hours of hanging drywall, installing laminate flooring, cabinets, and all the other DIY accoutrements; my home was ready.

  “Da, I’m home!” I proclaimed to the fortress of solitaire.

  A mans cultured, British accent responded. “About bloody time. I was about to list all your worldly possessions on Craig’s List.”

  “You better not even think about touching my Battlefield Earth cups. They’re collectables!” I said as I rushed to my locked cabinet where I opened the doors to reveal a stunning collection. Picking up my favorite glass, I ran my finger over John Travolta’s disfigured face, longingly. “Oh, Rocky Dennis. You showed them all, didn’t you?”

  “I can never tell when you’re serious,” Da said.

  “Un-dead serious,” I clutched my fist and shook it in a gesture of accomplishment for using the pun so soon. Da just stared at me, unblinking.

  Da has been my companion for countless decades. He found me at a time when I needed him most and has tried to guide me down a path by playing Devil’s Advocate—hence the nickname Da.

  Da is a faerie that hates faeries and simply refuses to even acknowledge his predicament. He insists, vehemently, that he is an angel—with no wings or flaming sword. Normally he stands at about 5 inches tall and he likes to pal around on my shoulder, proffering sage advice. Plus, he has the wisdom of the Fae, so he is pretty indispensable, though I’d never admit that to him.

  As he floated into the living room, I noted his hand-made silk PJs, reminiscent of a one Hugh Hefner.

  “What did take so long, John? I thought you were only supposed to scare a group of “probably teenagers” from pretending to summon the devil, or so you put.” He added air quotations to mock me.

  “I think this one was the real deal Da. They had like robes and candles and… other items. Plus, there was a, uh flagrant, uh energy in the air.”

  He stopped in midair and raised an eye brow.

  “Sorry, it is on my daily word calendar,” I said.

  “Do you even bother to read the definition below the word?” He asked like a teacher who knows the child doesn’t even have a dog.

  Moving up my sleeve with my middle finger I say, “Boy, would you look at the time. Would love to stay and be talked down to by a fair…I mean… five-inch angel, but the sun is almost up. So, I bid you, ahfuckyou.” That last part had a French twist to it akin to their farewell.

  As I strode past him and into the bedroom, my preter ears hear him mutter, “I’ll show you five inches.”

  “Very angelic of you, Da,” I called over my shoulder.

  The bedroom had a king-sized mattress and frame that provided the real cover for my 100% iron coffin that was hidden underneath. The iron prevents divination or ranged attacks, such as curses. What can I say? I haven’t lived for over 600 years by not having redundancies in place.

  I lifted the foot of the mattress, which was on hydraulics, revealing my safe space. Bullies would never hurt me here! Inside were a few books from Jim Butcher, Stephen King, Kevin Hearne, and Richard Kadrey that I hadn’t finished yet. There was also a laptop computer (no I don’t get Wi-Fi forty feet underground…yet) and LED lighting surrounding the frame.

  At the foot of my hidden bed, I even managed to install a compact industrial fridge to keep my secret stash of “stored packed red blood cells.” They can last anywhere from six weeks to twelve months depending on the temperature; but the older the blood, the less it quenches. An unsatiated thirst can be excruciating, like a south Texas marathon runner who didn’t adequately ration his water bottle. It can consume your every thought and eventually drive you insane. Men have drunk sea-water, knowing full well that it would spell their doom, because they couldn’t take it anymore. There was no cost too great in order to get even a semblance of water to pass over their tongue and slide down their throat.

  If a vampire is not hibernating, they can lose their mind in a matter of months of sobriety. So, should I ever become trapped, I have enough blood to sustain me for several weeks or even months somewhat comfortably. Or, at least, enough so I don’t lose my precious mind. After that, it would be up to future me to figure out a plan of escape. Present me is satisfied knowing I at least have a BOB, otherwise known as a Blood-Out-Bag.

  I lay inside and pulled the strap attached to my coffin lid, and turned off all the lights in my bedroom. Next to it was another switch that turned on the LEDs. I flipped it and grabbed the latest book in the current series I was enjoying. Technically I can ingest entire pages worth of content with just a glance due to an exact photographic memory; but for the books I read for fun, I prefer the old-fashioned way. Word by word. Took me months to read “IT” by Stephen King. The man creeps me out sometimes.

  As I started to read about a wizard being hired by Bigfoot, my mind started to lose focus and replay the events of the night. My brain just couldn’t fathom how cataclysmic whatever was coming that other supes were forced to hide in those planes. One of which is presided over by the Fae who are twisted little fucks that can spend centuries torturing anyone who crosses into their territory. Plus, in their world, the Fae are as strong to supes as supes are to humans on this plane. Makes my gonads want to retreat into my pelvic cavity every time I try to comprehend the predatory shift of the food chain.

  I placed the Darth Vader book mark back between the pages and set it aside. Turning off the LEDs, I stared into the darkness and let scenarios of what might lay ahead run through my mind. Then the dawn was upon me and unconsciousness took hold.

  Chapter 8

  Ireland, 1480

  I stood up, feeling as if I weighed nothing at all, and Ulric placed a hand firmly on my shoulder, steadying me.

  “Careful, John. You could have jumped through the top of this enclosure, simply by standing. It will take you time to become accustomed to the new power coursing through your veins,” Ulric informed me like a proud father.

  My eyes shot down to my hands with the rest of my head following suit. They were normal at first glance, no markings or lines. I flexed them curiously, stretching first out in a fan as much as I could, then making a fist.

  Ulric strode to the nearest wall and with a smile in my direction, hammered a fist into the stone wall, exploding out a section.

  Voices from outside could be heard, shouting with urgency. Their commander didn’t appreciate failure, and the men rightfully feared him.

  Ulric picked up a piece of stone that had tumbled to the ground and walked over to where I stood, dumfounded. He held it out with an expectant look and I took the rock from his hand.

  “Crush it,” he said. There was no curiosity in his voice, only a direct command that he fully expected would be followed.

  “With what?” I asked meekly.

  “With your hand,” he said without sar
casm or reproach.

  “That’s impossible,” I said, my brow deeply furrowed with bewilderment at the inconceivable task laid at my feet. Or more appropriately, my hands.

  “For a mortal, yes, but you are no longer human. Now do as I command.” His gaze sharpened, daring me to protest further.

  I squeezed as hard as I could, but the rock stayed whole.

  “John, stop believing in your limitations. Close your eyes,” He said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  An unseen hand swiped up the side of my head, stinging a little.

  “What was that for?” I asked dumbly.

  “You will learn to obey me, John. It is for your own good. But first, you must learn. If you are willing to be my protégé, I will hone your powers and you, John, you will avenge your family.”

  “Family,” I whispered to myself, allowing the flood of emotion that had been placed behind the dam of my rebirth, to break free.

  My hands clinched to fists and the rock exploded into sand, falling through my fingers like water.

  “Very good, John. It is time to forget the limitations of your past and embrace the strength of an eternal,” Ulric said. “Have you noticed your speech has adapted?”

  That brought me out of my focused hate.

  “Ye-yes,” I said, unbelieving. “How?”

  With a smile, Ulric said, “The gift affects us all in subtle, various ways, but there are several consistencies. You probably view your accent now as the proper way of speaking. Because of your subconscious wish, your preternaturally enhanced brain made it so. You can slide in and out of any dialect you wish. Learning to converse in a new language will become clear to you, like the brightest moon piercing the thinnest of clouds. Information will flow from the pages of every scroll you gaze upon. It will be as if the ink is replicated onto your mind. One of your lessons will be to create a library in your head space. Otherwise, you might go insane as your thoughts will be uncontrollable with so much raw information floating around.”