Grayland: Chapter Three of the Dark Chicago Series

by David Ghilardi

  “Add to that degradation, you lie with a man? Far better if my kin had aborted you.” He growled through gritted teeth.

  Abernathy smiled back. “Likewise, dear uncle. The Smythes have always held close to the notion that your side of the family were the rotten stain on our good name. How did my mother put it? Ah … ‘You must ladle spoilt cream offf the top before it turns the rest.’ We should have flushed you down the cistern long ago. But it has been awhile since you’ve looked in a mirror. You are a fright.”

  Gray’s fading elan re flected in his waning smile. Abernathy raised his crossbow and loosed another shaft. The wood penetrated the Gray’s shoulder burying itself deep in the muscle. His uncle had become excellent in dodging weapons meant to pierce his heart. The monster hadn’t connived and schemed for decades without learning how to survive.

  “So much rage for a little man,” Gray sneered. “It won’t give you back the one thing you desire most. I’ll never let your sad love go.”

  Two silver knives were pitched at Gray’s face. He ducked one while the other sliced along his jaw neatly curling up the pale flesh with its blade. Gray exhaled. A hunk of black beard flapped down along his chin. He began to chuckle.

  Abernathy raised his crossbow again, just as his uncle grabbed the dining room table a mere fiive feet away, raising it as his shield. The arrow thunked into the thick oak surface. He tossed the entire table back at the smaller man who dodged almost in time. The falling furniture caught his arm, knocking free the crossbow, then forcing him to land upon it. The weapon broke into pieces.

  Reaching into his vest, Abernathy spun what sharp stilettos he possessed. Three found their mark in Gray’s legs and one pierced his stomach. His uncle merely advanced, slowly pulling them free from his body.

  “Is that all you have, youngling? I expected so much more from you. So did Charles. Your lover deserved more, no? Let’s ask him, shall we?” The bear of a man looked up as if listening to a tree fall in the forest or bird song along the crest of hell’s ridge-line. His face, dark as a thunderstorm, seemed to search for a signal.

  The room went still for a brief moment. Then, a voice rasped in the silence.

  “Darling? Abbie, where are you?” The Gray pulled out the fiinal silver knife from his legs, letting it clatter on the kitchen tiles. Abernathy felt his knees buckle. Tears welled up in the Brit’s sockets. His face felt hot, the room began to spin.

  Abernathy could feel his soul shriveling.

  Charles kept whispering. “You said we would always be together. Please. Please don’t leave me here in the dark.”

  Charles’ voice reached out to Abernathy there in the hallway. The small man wiped away hot tears from his eyes.

  “Look at me.” Whispered Gray. Abernathy locked eyes with his heinous relation. Immediately feeling his sense of self ripped away, the once valiant Brit found an overwhelming vein of fear.

  “I could kill you. But what delight is there in that?” Gray chuckled, his eyes glittering like black diamonds. Abernathy found he could not break away from his uncle. The Gray was in his mind.

  “Listen to me.” The man demanded. “Whatever you thought of yourself is a done thing. The confiident image you had of yourself is destroyed. Once a war hero, now a spineless coward. All your core beliefs have been corrupted. Your love for your mate was fallacy. Your legs feeling like rubber? That’s the foolish notions of who you are leaving you.”

  Abernathy drooled unable to break away from the ebony lasers piercing his brain. “You’re a failure in every respect. And down deep, you know this. All you have left is flight. See? A tiny abomination is all you are. And these thoughts will be in your mind for the few days you have remaining.”

  Abernathy blinked through streams running down his cheeks. “I’ve ruined you. The life you knew, the people you loved, that world is over. Kill yourself or run. Those are the only choices left to you now.”

  A tree succumbed to the winds, branches thumping its defeat outside.

  “Run. Or die, little circus freak.” Gray smiled through his ultimatum. Abernathy wanted to run. Leave his Love in the hands of this sick monster. How could he? The act would make him a coward. Never in his Life had he run from conflict. How could he sacrifiice his ideals now?

  Gray’s eyes burned into Abernathy. His will dissolved into shattered glass. Tears coated his cheeks now. The dark man had broken him. He glanced at his valise with the umbrella cane nestled between its handles near the coats and boots by the front door. They were all that remained available to him for succor. He sidled his body towards the packed suitcase.

  Abernathy’s dearest continued to caress his ears with honeyed words from within the bedroom. Charles’ honeyed words laced with arsenic.

  “You strapped me down, love. Why? Come to me. Let’s talk here in the dark. Your uncle, Gray wants us to help him. We will be together forever. We will be sweet abominations together.”

  Abernathy looked down unable to control the flow of tears. His uncle’s mirthless chuckle reverberated in his skull.

  “Beard splitting, Rantallion black Bastard.” He fumed. Shame flayed what sterling aspects of soul left. The Gray stood winding an old pocket watch he found in the vest’s tattered fob pocket. His long sharp nails needed proper maintenance, but that would be attended to shortly. He looked up.

  “Come be with me, love.” Cajoled Charles. “See, dwar f? Someone pines for you still. Even if they’re under my thrall. Why don’t you give up this tiresome fiight and join with me? Think how powerful our side of the Smythe family would become. Even stunted trees throw shade. Last chance.”

  Abernathy leaned back against the hallway lobby. He fought back furious tears.

  “I’ll see you in Hell.” He whispered. The Gray ngered fiilleted facial skin, rolling it back along his jawline. It took his body a while to regenerate from a wound. When he was fiirst bitten centuries back, his form had bounced back immediately after injury. No longer. He needed blood to continue any repairs. All this haggling with family must be put to rest soon as possible.

  “Actually, I was born like you. A Life fiilled with desires and wants I had little chance of fulfiilling. Then things changed. I learned what to do with the generous gift that was bestowed on me. Let me show you what I’m capable of.”

  Gray turned. His hands grabbed the biggest remaining settee he could fiind. Heavy chairs shunted out of the way. Whipping the piece over his head brought a chandelier crashing down, bursting it into a thousand crystal pieces. The settee exploded into spinning shards of wood before its mangled carcass thunked to the floor.

  Gray danced quickly to his lef t, anticipating a fiierce riposte from Abernathy. He looked towards the front hallway.

  The front door was ajar. His relation had slipped away quickly, escaping quietly into the night. Abernathy was gone. “Merde.” Spat the Gray. “Coward.” If Gray chased af ter him, he was certain he would fiind the little runt, but it would cost him time. Time was precious. He had to release the box’s denizens or he himself would pay the price. The infernal things in the black Pandora’s Box were unforgiving entities. The Gray was existing on borrowed time. He needed to be at full strength. The wounds had sapped him of a bit of strength. Damn. Being old was a curse. A monster had its limits. Blood was needed, the fountain of human life. Gray scratched his jawline feeling the skin stitching itself back to the bone. He had to hunt. Blood needed to be replenished.

  “Abbie? Charlie? You guys safe?” The Gray turned towards the back of the house where the voice was heard. His unholy prayers looked to be answered.

  Chapter 6

  Mavis took a swig from her bottle refusing to give up her perch. It was perfect for snooping on the neighborhood outside. Snow had stopped falling but the strong winds whipped through the streets taking the top layers offf the fiields of white, blowing it all into the atmosphere. All the Aframe homes on the block huddled against the icy wind. Falling temps turned the pliable snow hard as drywall. She couldn’t see anyone wh
o had lights on. The grid was still up. Mavis had checked her fuse box. People were hunkering down. The howling of the wind through empty streets added another layer of chill. Nature was relentless.

  It was warm behind her makeshif t barricade. Mattresses piled against one another, wood lathe nailed across the frame's exterior, kept her aging bones moderately warm. Having been erected less than eight hours before, her nice wood door been ripped offf by that creature, Mavis was settling in nicely. Her ‘new’ sons were quite a pair. The old woman sloshed the whiskey in her mouth using it as mouthwash. Were they that dear to her? She swallowed quenching with it her emotions. Best not to get too close to anyone anymore. Even at this Holy time.

  Christmas Day morning had arrived. She was alone. That sucked on any level, she thought. Mavis drank deep. The hot brandy was a flame-thrower to her insides. The old woman coughed. At least there was alcohol. Maker’s Mark lit the furnace in her belly and kept it hot.

  Gusts scattered of more top layer of snow, tendrils sluicing like ghost limbs, dancing with white powder. What was that? She could see something moving close by but could not tell who it was. Obscured fiigures appeared to be coming closer, but there was no way to tell who they were. She thought there was someone standing out in the street in front of her, but after wiping her eyes clear of stinging ice crystals, nothing presented itself. Maybe her instincts had gotten rusty after all. Mavis frowned. She’d drink to that. Raising the bottle brought it eye level. A naked man stood outside her barricade.

  Cray peered through the slats nailed to the frame of the door. He was dressed only in his birthday suit. Mavis coughed out half the whiskey. “What happened to you, ya scrawny bastard?”

  Cray’s smiled slanted across his face. His arms were raised as if to say, whattya want from me?

  “Locked yourself out, didn’t ya? Bonehead. Get your ass in here.” The old woman felt relieved af ter seeing his familiar face. Cray stared at her, letting a moment hang. She noticed his regret. A cold knot of fear clenched Mavis just bellow her belly button. How stupid could she be?

  Cray’s smile faded. He wore a momentary mask of sadness, allowing the fear blossom from Mavis’ kidneys. She knew she’d just made the biggest mistake in her life. Cray looked forlorn as he retreated into the swirling winds. Nature covered up his betrayal.

  “Dumbass.” She viciously whispered to herself, as Cray Lamb reappeared, moving aside to allow his female horror to charge the doorway.

  Mavis had invited the enemy inside. Damn her bleeding Catholic heart! Loving people too much would be the death of her yet. Her old bones grasped the bottle. Her wounded body tried to respond quickly to the threat. It just wasn’t moving quick enough. The erected barrier that Doug and Cray had built for her blew apart as a small female barreled into it. Wood, blankets and heavy mattresses flew in the air in all directions. Blankets fell on the young woman entangling her body. Panting hard, she tilted her arms like windmills, trying to tear the fabric offf.

  The Driver grasped onto Mavis sleeve. The old woman pulled away from the boney hand, tearing her sleeve offf in the process. Cloth remained clutched in the Driver’s hand.

  Mavis gasped. Her body fell, pivoted away from the violent hair grab by the addled creature. The improvised barrier held for a few more seconds. The onslaught continued as the younger woman fought to get free. Mavis looked around for any weapon. She had placed many nearby, but was too flustered. Mavis couldn’t think. Damn her cluttered living room. It looked like a Yard Sale had vomited in there. The Driver snarled, tearing a blanket in two.

  The young woman, dark haired, black mascara dripping down her cheeks, sank onto her haunches. She was a feral creature. Little thought, all action. Undead thing.

  “Hunnnnnnngry.” It scoured its words as their eyes locked. Mavis crawled backwards on her hands and feet. The sword was in the kitchen, too far to grab. Mavis couldn’t get it in time to stop this one from doing her damage. This one wants to eat you, A thought from somewhere, yelled in her head.

  “Eat a damn samich, then!,” Mavis mumbled. “Shit.Shit.Shit.” The driver reached for Mavis’ face. A smile slowly cut across the creature’s face. Mavis knew the young thing wanted to play with her food. Mavis turned sideways in time. Sharp nails cuts across her left cheek slicing skin offf. It was like being at the butchers, asking for a deli-sliced thin, pound of turkey. Mavis felt blood seeping from the wound. Her body kept inching back towards the kitchen. The Driver was entranced by the blood. She paused. Licking drops hanging from her fiingers, a delighted snarl escaped from the gash that was her mouth. The creature vibrated with joy.

  Mavis’ lef hand grazed an ironing board. It was leaning against the table top leaves and other forgotten nick-knacks she had collected over the years. Things forgotten were piled against the walls covering every inch in the living room. These pieces were placed behind the broken grandfather clock her beloved husband had always meant to fiix but never had. She had almost reached the kitchen. Mavis needed only a few more seconds. The Driver looked up. She shrieked like a bat. Sharp teeth distended from her jaw. Her black eyes flared. She leapt at Mavis for the kill.

  The power in the female’s lunge was amazing. Only things keeping her away from slicing Mavis open was the falling barrage of wood and metal. Mavis leaned up and shoved, dislodging tons of collected junk, forcing it to cascade. It took all of the efffort left in her slight body, but she did it. The antique grandfather clock pasted the creature right in the head. Table leaves, disused plywood sheeting(for another home project never realized), and the top surface for a ping pong table, heavy as oak crashed upon the Driver. Bits of metal followed along with unused circular saw blades. Who had arranged all that up there? Mavis was stunned herself at how much crap descended on her assailant.

  The Driver ailed away under the heavy debris. Mavis was able to pull herself up. The respite was momentary as the new fallen barrier flew away like balsa wood. Crab walking into her kitchen, Mavis could hear glass in the clock-face shatter, the gong inside bonging once, then broke apart. She could see a table top spin like a playing card, tilted on its side, slamming thru the front door onto the porch. Mavis reached out for the kitchen counter when a huge weight fell upon her.

  The world went dark for a second. Her old arms pushed away from the stifling fiigure. She smelled its musk, recognizing by its reek that she had been pummeled with the sofa.

  The Driver scattered objects around in a fury. Glass shattered. Old bottles exploded against the wall. A colored light burst overhead. Mavis watched the dreadful being flail like a child. She had seen these things taken so young before. When a child was newly turned, that was worst of all. The change apparently gave you the insight to survive your new existence or it would rob you of your entire essence. You'd live a brain damaged monster until someone like Mavis could give you peace. Hollywood and Bram Stoker only penciled in the reality of these blood suckers. Still, these monsters got no pity from Mavis. However they got this way, all of them needed to be destroyed.

  Mavis watched the emo looking—(is that what the kids were calling it? In her day, this creature would have been called a harlot)—young woman dressed in black, crawling like a broken insect tossing away junk from the doorway. Mavis pushed most of the sofa's bulk away from her body. Still, she was stuck. Her ankle was caught under the sofa’s demolished frame. Trying to shake loose did nothing for it.

  “Gotta be shitting me.” Mavis exhaled. Crap, she thought, is this how I go out? There was still so much to do. She still had to prep Doug for what was coming. He knew nothing about the black box, Church dictates or the support network out there to help him. If there was one thing Mavis hated was leaving work undone. Her guilt was massive over leaving someone else to do her job. She grimaced. Having been raised Catholic sucked. All you had in this Life was responsibilities. This Millennial generation would never get it. She looked at the addled Emogirl. Yeah, this poor dumb thing had probably taken the easy way out. Let’s get rich quick and not pay a price. />
  “Short cuts always bite you in the end, kid.” Whispered Mavis. The Driver’s brains dripped down from her forehead like blackberry jam. Glass from the clock glass had pierced wounds in her cracked skull. Slivers stood out from her head in jagged defiiance. Her nose bubbled red with each exhalation. Gleaming incisors extended from her jaws. A rabid cur, spittle flew from weather beaten lips. The nasty young woman looked every inch a cursed creature from hell. Her nails dug into the carpet ripping out chunks. Mavis looked around for any other weapon. She saw nothing that could help. Her ankle felt cemented to the floor.

  The Driver opened her mouth. Sharp teeth pointed in her direction. Breath reeked of rotting meat, death’s fragrance. It again exhaled a painful long shriek. The Driver leaned slowly down torturing Mavis. Its pallid face fiilled up the old woman's world. This would be a slow kill.

  Mavis winced. Damn, Hell stank so bad. She braced herself for the end.

  “Psst … Yo, bitch.”

  The hissed whisper stopped the Driver’s advance. Both women glanced towards the deep heavy baritone. A long haired blonde man looked down at both of them. His fiingers pulled the trigger in his hands releasing shotgun blasts into the Driver’s face. Both barrels fiired deafening the women. Mavis rolled away from the blast, but the pressure, from being so close, was agony. The driver screamed before her face exploded.

  “That’s my mamma, Bitch.” The man yelled. Shells got racked, triggers pulled and what was lef t of the creature’s cranium evaporated into black and red mist. Headless, the godawful female continued to thrash like a turtle on its back. The blonde man moved aside to let his partner pour clear liquid over the headless thing. The fiirst man flipped matches onto her.

  There was a moment of violent thrashing until Whumpf! The Driver was engulfed in flame. The smaller man went to pour more on it. The blonde one stopped him.