Into Hell

by James Roy Daley

  Where was here?

  She looked over her shoulder, nothing but darkness.

  A coffin, she thought. Why a coffin?

  The easiest answer seemed to be: because she was in hell. However, that wasn’t the answer Stephenie was looking for. The answer she was seeking presented itself in a question: Where do you find coffins?

  In graveyards, yes… but where else can you find them? And with that, the answer came: she was inside a mausoleum.

  Stephenie stepped away from the casket, thinking about escape. Mausoleums had doors, right? There had to be a door somewhere.

  She took a couple quick steps away from the rattling sounds, protecting the flame in her hand. There was a slight reflection; then it was gone.

  The match went out.

  She lit another, moved towards the reflection and found a wall made of stone. She put a finger against the gritty surface and began walking. As she dragged her finger across the rock, a bug crawled over her hand. She ignored it.

  The match flickered.

  She heard rattles––not one. Not two or three: a bunch of them. Sounded like a samba dance party. Clearly, there was a family of rattlesnakes hanging out in the corner she was approaching. And she could see it was a corner. The flame allowed that much. Just.

  “Okay,” she whispered, and she moved the other way.

  The match burned her finger and she dropped it; the fire went out. She walked a couple feet in darkness before she decided to light another match.

  A thought came: I’m almost out of matches, why not light the matchbook and have a moment of real fire?

  At first she thought it was risky move, but it wasn’t really. She was losing her fire anyhow, and after counting the matches by touch, she knew she only had three left. A moment slipped past while she considered the alternative, which seemed to be having three little fires that were next to useless anyhow.

  “Screw it,” she said.

  Without pulling the matchstick from the booklet, she bent the match around its package, rubbed the phosphorus end against the striking surface and ignited the match.

  “Yes,” she whispered, reveling in a moment of success.

  She pushed the flame against the two fresh matches and they ignited too.

  For a brief moment the fire was significant. She could see the ceiling, the floor, two of the walls and the outline of the coffin all at the same time. And in that moment she also found what she was looking for: the door. Relieved as she was at finding the door, it wasn’t what captured her attention. The ceiling was a living blanket of bats, hanging by their feet, clinging to the rafters. Dark, leathery wings wrapped their bodies like jackets.

  She made a quick assessment; her estimate was two hundred creatures. Maybe more. Probably more, she thought. She put a hand to her mouth, holding back a chuckle. Not that something funny was happening, heaven no. Seeing a ceiling loaded with hundreds of bats was both startling and terrifying at the same time. But Stephenie felt so nervous and on edge she thought she might laugh anyhow, just to keep sane.

  She lowered the flame, and her stare. Looked at the floor.

  With no snakes slithering in her direction, she approached the door, touched it, found a handle and pushed.

  Nothing happened.

  She pulled.

  The door opened and light entered the tomb. Not sunlight, moonlight.

  Stephenie grinned once again, this time feeling a good-sized touch of relief. She thought she was home free.

  Of course, she wasn’t.

  There was an iron gate blocking her way. She grabbed it with her free hand and discovered that the gate was locked, or at the very least, secured. But this was still good, all things considered. She had found the exit. Now she had light––things were going in the right direction. If she could get out of the mausoleum without getting chomped by a rattlesnake or attacked by a swarm of bats, things would be a whole lot better still.

  Stephenie dropped the book of matches, even though the fire still burned. She didn’t need it. The moonlight was quite bright; she could see its bloated curves above a sea of tombstones, a few scattered trees and the roll of several hills.

  “Please,” she whispered, with her spirits rising slightly. “Time to get out of here.”

  She heard something creak and she felt her stomach tighten. As she turned around, her eyes found the coffin.

  At first there was nothing to see. Then there was.

  The coffin lid was lifting.

  And something was getting out.

  3

  Stephenie’s shoulders sagged as her bottom lip trembled. She watched a small hand push the coffin lid open like it didn’t weigh a thing. Once the lid was in place the hand lowered. The body in the casket sat up, but not quickly. The thing inside the box wasn’t in a hurry. Dead things don’t hurry.

  The thing was a child, as Stephenie assumed it would be. And this child had a poise and composure that chilled Stephenie to the bone; it moved like it had all the time in the world. It moved like it was…

  It was Carrie.

  Stephenie swallowed back the lump in her throat.

  Carrie’s head tilted from one side to the other, breeding a twisted grin. Her eyes glowed, rolling in their sockets like slow moving spheres. They seemed to grow larger and rounder as they focused on Stephenie’s petrified face. But the rest of her face was empty, expressionless––hollow. Even her smirk seemed to be without depth or meaning. She held the ultimate poker face: deadpan, pinched, and somehow not altogether there. Carrie’s arid encompassing eyes were nearly vacant too, but there was something inside, something terrible hiding behind the dull glare, something that didn’t seem like Carrie one bit.

  A cold and tiny hand, pale beyond description, gripped the side of the box. Knees lifted, pallid and dehydrated. Carrie leaned forward, making evaluations and judgments with her gaze. She almost seemed to be floating, almost but not quite. There was a skillful grace that came with her movements, an unspoken elegance that whispered dire refinement.

  Stephenie felt the black-iron gate behind her. Her fingers circled a picket for support. She thought about the gate. If the gate was locked she was in trouble. If it was merely latched she could unhook the handle, push the door open, and be free of this monster––if she found the courage.

  But this wasn’t a monster. It was Carrie, wasn’t it?

  The child crept free of her box, legs pouring over the edge of the coffin, bare toes curled inward like a talons on a stick. Her body drifted towards the ground gracefully, elegantly. Stephenie heard the exposed feet touching the earth and stone, and she realized how quiet everything had become. The bugs weren’t chirping or squeaking, the snakes weren’t rattling their tails; the bats, flies, and moths, were no longer flapping their wings. Everything was quiet. Everything was still. Perhaps the insects and the animals were demonstrating their admiration for the greater being. Or maybe they were showing their fear. Or maybe, just maybe, the child was controlling them.

  Carrie, dressed in her favorite nightgown, the one she wore every night before bed, placed one foot in front of the other, licked her lips, held out her hands, and moved towards Stephenie––grinning, more now than before; her long sharp fangs sat exaggerated inside her tiny mouth.

  Vampire’s teeth…

  Stephenie’s heart pounded her chest like a mallet on a drum and her fingers tightened around the picket, but the rest of her body didn’t move. Part of her mind was thinking, run! But a bigger part––the component being dominated by the vampire’s yearning––was thinking: Stay in the tomb, get down on your knees, extend your neck, let it happen!

  The child’s eyes glowed a little brighter as she crept across the ancient vault. Eyes gleamed inside dark shells hauntingly.

  Stephenie’s legs shook; her teeth chattered. She felt cold now, like she was dying.

  She wasn’t. The icy chill was coming from Carrie’s skin, cooling Stephenie’s blood.

  Carrie said, “Mother.” But her voice wa
s not her own. There was no soul in that voice, no compassion, just an empty space; an impassive hate that dwelled from a time long past. “Mother, not only to me. But to the world.”

  Stephenie dropped to her knees. She heard herself saying, “Yes. I’m yours.”

  A feeling of dread came. Stephenie didn’t want to say those words; Lord knows she didn’t mean them. But she did say them. It seemed she had no choice. The vampire’s will was dominant and she was powerless against it. She wondered what would happen next and was afraid to search for answers.

  Carrie opened her mouth slightly; she leaned closer than before. A pause. “Do you remember me?”

  Stephenie nodded. “Of course.”

  “No,” the thing whispered. “Not my shell. Of course you recognize the image of your daughter. But do you know who I am? Do you remember me?”

  Stephenie wasn’t being forced into specific answers, not now. Maybe she never was. Maybe she was just so overwhelmed her mind snapped. Was it feasible? Oh yes, it definitely was. But now her will had returned (and maybe it never left); she could answer the question as she wished. She could lie or speak the truth. But what was the truth? If this wasn’t Carrie, what was it? Another trick? Another hallucination? Some creature dressed in Carrie’s skin?

  “I don’t know,” she said as tears leaked from her eyes. “I don’t who you are.”

  “Yes you do, Stephenie. Think.”

  Stephenie shook her head. “No, I don’t know. I don’t remember.” But she did, a little. She knew that voice, she just didn’t know why.

  The thing that looked like Carrie, said: “I told you Stephenie––that night inside your room, the night you still revisit in your dreams, that you… you’re the one. The dead will rise for you. It will be the beginning of the end, the beginning of the apocalypse. No one will hear you scream. No one will hear your voice. They won’t believe your words no matter how much you try to convince them. They will discredit you and your actions. They will call you names behind your back and say you’re the one at fault; you’re the one responsible, never once thinking you might be their savior, you might be the one they should fall upon their knees and praise!”

  Stephenie’s eyes grew large. She remembered those words, those terrible and confounded words. She whispered “no” once again, but this time there was no truth in her voice. Oh God. Oh dear God. What was happening?

  What did it all mean?

  “Stephenie,” the thing wearing Carrie’s husk said.

  “No.”

  “Listen to me.”

  “I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this!”

  “You don’t understand this, that’s the truth. You don’t understand the gift that you have been given, but soon enough you will. Soon you’ll understand everything and more. You will fulfill your destiny, and all the world will bow before you. You are the chosen one. You are the savior.”

  “This is crazy. I want my old life back.”

  The child’s eyes shifted––saddened, if it was possible. “Your old life is gone, Stephenie. It is gone forever. Let it go. Embrace the future. That is what you have now.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to let the past go. Maybe I don’t want the future.”

  “But you need to let the past lie, and you will. For what it’s worth Stephenie Paige, mother to the world, savoir of us all, I’m sorry they mistreated you. They didn’t know how dear you really are. They didn’t know your true merit. But I do, Stephenie. I do. And sooner than you think, others will know your true significance as well.”

  “Who? Who doesn’t know how dear I am?”

  Carrie lifted her hand and her fingers fluttered. With obvious distaste, she said, “ You know of whom I speak: them.”

  Stephenie looked at the fluttering fingers. All of Carrie’s fingers were attached and accounted for. She wasn’t sure if this was good news or bad. She wasn’t sure if there was any Carrie inside this monster or not. Everything was so confusing. Nothing was stable or everlasting. Nothing was consistent. With her eyes closed, she asked, “What are you?”

  A smile. “Soon, I shall be your servant. I shall be the Renfield to your Dracula.”

  Still on her knees, Stephenie opened her eyes. “My Dracula? What does that mean?”

  “Yes Stephenie, your Dracula. You know about literature, don’t you? Of course you do. But first, before that is to happen, before I am to be the servant at your side, I am to be your host. The giver to your eternal life, the hand which is to feed––and for that I am both honored and grateful.”

  “I don’t understand any of this!”

  Moving closer. “Again, I must say it. Soon you will understand everything and more. All will be explained, in time. You have one more death in this realm, Stephenie. Just one. And my hand shall be the hand that delivers your death and seals your fate. After that, you and I shall return to the place in which you desire––you and I, almost together. You first… alone; then after a short while I shall join you. Soon, everything begins.”

  “But I don’t––”

  The vampire clutched Stephenie’s wrist with one hand. Her fingers felt like ice. With her other hand, she tapped her index finger against her temple. “Remember this, and you will understand, Stephenie. Just one more death in this realm, and you will!”

  She tapped her finger against her temple again and again.

  And Stephenie didn’t know why.

  4

  The vampire opened her mouth, and leaned forward.

  Stephenie pulled back, but she had nowhere to go. She felt her neck extending despite what she wanted. Fangs penetrated her skin. Muscles contracted. Sharp frightful pain shocked her neck and spine and rolled through her body like an arctic current. She released a high-pitched squeal; her eyes watered and her lips pressed together. She could feel the child-thing sucking the blood from her body by the mouthful. The vampire’s cold lips and tongue grew warmer as her own body turned to frost. She wanted to draw away, escape the vampire’s embrace. She couldn’t. She felt like a fly caught in a spider’s web, wrapped in silk and being devoured. She remembered the vampire’s words: One more death in this realm; my hand shall be the hand that delivers your death and seals your fate…

  She thought, Oh please, no more.

  Then something changed––everything changed.

  The pain increased. She felt an unexpected hot flash rip through her body. An overwhelming amount of ecstasy came rushing in, submerging her, drowning her, erasing the pain and engulfing her. It was a heavy wave of delight and bliss, a sexual pleasure that rippled through her thighs and made the moonlight in her eyes sparkle. Her nipples hardened and her pussy turned hot and wet. Her hands grasped at nothing before they found the child’s shoulders. Feet kicked. Then she found herself pushing her neck into the bite, trying to make it happen, wanting it to happen. If she could bottle the feeling and save it for later she would. If she could spend the rest of eternity in that moment, she would do that too. She loved what was happening, loved the way it felt, the way it made her feel. She never wanted it to end.

  Something in her body exploded and her eyes rivered.

  “Ooooh God,” she whispered, knowing now that the explosion was her first massive orgasm, unlike anything she had experienced before. “Oh God, oh God.”

  But this wasn’t about God. This was adjacent to God. This act of flesh, blood, and lust, was an abomination that stood defiant against all things good and pure. Stephenie knew it; she knew it as soon as the dead child’s lips fouled her skin. This had nothing to do with God. It had to do with something else, something primitive and evil. Satanic.

  Stephenie felt a second enormous orgasm taking her and her body began to quake. Her eyes grew blurry and her fingers curled tight. She fell back against the iron gate, moaning, writhing, pushing her hips and her chest out as her toes tingled.

  The vampire continued feeding. It licked its lips and drank her blood.

  A splash of hot juices escaped, rolled down Stephenie’s chest
and belly; it dripped to the floor. She closed her eyes; her heart clunked inside her chest.

  It slowed; she was dying, dying…

  Dead.

  The thing that looked like Carrie pulled away and wiped the blood from her face. She looked at Stephenie, her Master––the selected one. A smile came, brimming with twisted delight.

  Time passed.

  Stephenie’s heart was useless now, a dead muscle inside her chest. It wasn’t beating. It was still. It was still, yet her eyes fluttered and her body shifted. Her mouth opened and she expelled her last breath from the time before, the realm before.

  She said, “Where am I?” Her voice was different now. It was empty and hollow; like Carrie’s voice.

  “Sit up Stephenie,” the child-thing responded. “Sit up; tell me how you feel.”

  Stephenie sat up, dizzy and disoriented. “I feel hungry.”

  The child-thing grinned. “That’s good. And what do you see?”

  Stephenie looked away from the vampire child; she eyed the mausoleum walls around her. Everything seemed different now; she could see so much. The casket was gleaming. The dark corners shimmered. The darkness inside the tomb was gone, replaced with a brilliant, colorless glow. It was like seeing everything in black and white––only it was perfectly luminous and shimmering with radiance. The colors were desiccated, not dull exactly, but dreary. Things glittered with a lifeless hue that was toned down and immaculate at the same time.

  She could see the world like never before.

  She looked up.

  Bats hung from the ceiling, standing together and facing her. Their bodies danced and quivered.

  On the floor, snakes had curled in the corners of the tomb and mice scurried beneath the casket. Seeing the snakes and the mice together was as strange as it was amazing. They cared not about each other now; all eyes were on Stephenie.

  Stephenie’s focus modified again. She could see spiders, crickets, moths, ants, millipedes and flies. Everything living inside the tomb, she could see them all.