The Muladona called out in its hoarse, horrible voice, my father’s authoritative tone now resounding unmistakably in the background, ‘It’s just the lo-ogical conclu-usion of my work. Tonight is the last page of my magnum o-opus.’
I cowered on the sopping grass, the flames burning out of control around me. Even under the torrents of rain, the trees were consumed, like gasoline poured on top of water.
‘That’s what you were writing in your notebooks all this time . . . those horrible stories?’ I called out in disbelief. ‘I thought it was a prayer book.’
Behind the flaming barrier, the thing convulsed in a fit of demonic laughter. ‘A prayer book?’ it screamed. ‘Oh, ye-es, ye-es, it was. A prayer book for the Pri-ince of Da-arkness! Ever since my father forced to me stay in Incarnation and take over the church, I’ve been looking for a way out. I’ve been looking for Pa-aradise on earth. One night, I pra-ayed all alone in the church, kneeling in front of the altar, my ha-ands gripped toge-ether so tightly that drops of blood fe-ell from them. It was then I heard the Devil’s voice whi-isper to me through the cra-acks in the floor.
‘You see, my fa-ather had built the church on top of the a-ancient tribute to Mother Ma-ary. It had, in turn, been built on the site of the mi-ine. It was the exa-act same spot where the priest from Carlos’ story had abandoned God and given in to Satan.’
‘But you hate those old stories,’ I cried out. ‘You say they lead men astray.’
‘And so they do lead men astray, far from the pa-ath of automatism and the yo-oke of the Church! I jealously guarded the old stories, sta-amped them out, for fear that others would find Pa-aradise before me. The whi-ispers told me that, if I invo-oked the Muladona, I would be the ruler of an immense kingdom, Lord and Ma-aster over everything I saw. And these whispers told me so many sto-ories, evil and grotesque clues to my Ascendance.’
‘I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this!’ I screamed.
‘On his de-eathbed, my father had confessed to me his li-ittle tryst, right after the good doctor had left. He wanted my forgi-iveness, my absolution, but I wouldn’t give it to him. The hypocrite! As he breathed his la-ast, I considered sha-aming your mother, bri-inging to light the secret and telling the whole town to go to he-ell. She had been my only friend, all these years, supporting me in the face of my awful father, corresponding with me while I was at se-eminary. Now, the very sight of her filled me with disgust.
‘But then I realised that she, the bastard child of a man of God, and a half-breed to boot, could serve my purposes: she must bear the curse of the Muladona! Since she was my sister, if we had a child together, it would be the supreme blasphemy, and it would provoke her transformation into the creature. She would become my demon bride, just as Carlos had told, and grant me all the riches and power of the world!
‘So I ma-arried her, and I was overjo-oyed at the birth of your brother, Jonas Sebastian. For the first few years I was atte-entive and ki-ind, watching for any signs that your mother was turning into the Muladona: strange sleepwa-alking, mud on her feet in the morning when we woke, fits of cru-uelty. But none of it ha-appened! In fact, instead of turning to wickedness, she became a doting, lo-oving mother. She had su-ucked all my dreams from me. All of this had been a waste.
‘Then I thought, perhaps it was your bro-other, then? Perhaps the fruit of our u-union was cursed? Would he tu-urn into the beast? I watched and I pra-ayed, but nothing happened to him ei-ither. I discarded him. He was of no u-use to me.
‘I returned to the altar, begging for inspira-ation. So many nights, with my e-ear pressed to the flo-orboards. There had to be some o-other way to produce the Beast. All the elements were there. What was I missing? What? And then, as I pored over countless ve-ersions of the Muladona tale, I realised what had been my mista-ake. Everyone bla-ames the woman who is seduced by a man of God. But that makes no sense, for she is fo-orced against her will. The true tra-ansformation must take place in the person who intentionally ca-auses evil, who cho-ooses wickedness, who destroys i-innocence. I would become the Muladona.
‘That was even more pe-erfect than I had origin-inally imagined, for I would no longer need your mother . . . except for one thing. If I did transform into the Muladona, even if I reigned for a thousand years, sooner or later the Devil would drag me down to the eternal flames. The only way out was to offer up a sacrifice to the Old M-aaster.
‘Your mother must bear me ano-other child, conceived in love, inno-ocent and pure. I would forfeit that child to the Da-ark One, and he would give me eternal life in return. Again, I thought of your brother, but he was u-useless. Because I’d turned my back on him, he was unru-uly and rebellious, and he’d lost his i-innocence long before. The Devil wouldn’t want him as a gift.
‘So I thought of ano-other plan. I saw how Pastor O-olafssen looked at your mother. I saw a love, pure and true. That would be pe-erfect! But Olafssen was a simpleton, slave to the Church’s mo-oral code, and he did not want to betra-ay me. I had to put in place a thou-usand, separate schemes to get them together. I poured cruelty and inattention upon your mother, making sure the good Pastor was in e-earshot all the time. I drove her from me, like a spike into the ice. And I drove him into her a-arms, full of chi-ivalrous intentions of saving her. Finally, I arra-anged for them both to be working with the foul Indians on the outski-irts of town, just as a thunderstorm was advancing. And trapped that night in a mangy hut, filled with lou-uses and lightning flashing all around, that’s when you were conceived!
‘And you were exa-actly what the Devil wanted. Inn-ocent, pu-ure, goo-d,’ he said, as if those words pained him. ‘The whispers told me all I needed was to wait until a week before your fourteenth birthday. Then I would transform into the all-powerful mule and t-ake you down to hell. But if you resi-isted, I would torture you with these tales. Then you would be mine, and I’d be unstoppable!’
‘Why didn’t you just take me?’ I sobbed. ‘Why did you have to kill them, too?’
‘Just a few days before your se-eventh birthday, Pastor Olafssen confessed his sin to me. Just imagine, to me who had the blackest soul imaginable! He was going to le-eave the Church and wanted my permi-ission to go off with her and take you two boys with him. With his mispla-aced sense of honour, he told me his whole plan ahead of time. The fool! And it would ruin e-everything.
‘So, on your bi-irthday, I invited him and your mo-other for a civilised tea, to discuss how they could leave town under some excuse or ano-other and not drag me through any scandal. I poisoned them both,’ he hissed out a cloud of noxious gas. ‘But Olafssen was too strong, and, as soon as he re-ealised what was happening, he struggled for a hold on my throat. So I pulled the bayone-et from the wall and gu-utted him like a pig.’
‘Now I remember,’ I cried. ‘I remember it all. Mother had sent us out of the house for a picnic down by the old mill. But Lupita had forgotten her shawl, so I ran back home for it. When I got into the parlour, I saw you stabbing poor Pastor Olafssen. Oh, God, why didn’t you just kill me then?’
‘I tho-ought of it,’ the creature screamed, ‘to cover up my crime. But I still needed you. Thankfully, as I put the bla-ade to your throat, I saw you had fallen into a catato-onic state. Your mind was too we-eak to accept what you’d seen, and it collapsed in on itself, so I let you go.’
‘And Lupita and Sebas were coming back!’ I cried out.
‘Yes, I just had enough time to dra-ag the bo-odies into the backyard and dump them into the scum-filled pool. Then I mo-opped up the blood. And that was the end of the su-uccubus and her lover.’
‘That’s why you had the pool filled in!’
‘Yes! You don’t reme-ember, but you were sick in bed for days after the mu-urders, your fee-eble mind fighting for a ho-old on re-eason. When you woke up, I feared you’d identify me as the murderer. But, ima-agine my relief, when you awo-oke and didn’t remember a thing! That’s when I started you on your “me-edicine”, just a little every day. I needed to keep you ali-ive fo
r the next seven years—too weak to leave me, but healthy enough to make it to Halloween, when the Devil’s might is at its zenith. I threw down the gauntlet of the seven tales. And I have beaten you!’
Then the creature blew forth another great burst of fire, splintering my shield of peach trees everywhere. As he advanced through the burning mess, the battered, beastly body was framed by the flames, a triumphant look on its face.
It had won. There was nowhere else to go.
But then I heard the words. Or, rather, I read them, in the wind. Floating, beckoning to me, they read, ‘Come deeper into the woods. The earth will protect you.’
I recognised the voice. She’d been calling me the last few nights, but I hadn’t understood who it was until now.
It was Mother.
The story read, ‘The boy picked himself up. Although in agony, he hobbled through the maze of trees, until he got to a clearing.’ I could just make out the stone border of the old, filled-in pool. Its centre was devoid of plants, a murky darkness.
‘Come, my son,’ the voice urged the boy. ‘Jump into the pool. Quickly.’
I waded into the thick, deep mud, sloshing in up to my knees. Then I began to sink in the filthy mess almost up to my waist. When I was halfway across, I heard a crashing noise behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see the Muladona emerge. With its ears cut off and bleeding, and the fur about its face singed off, for the first time, I could see the appearance of my father’s features. It brayed in triumph, ‘You’re tra-apped like a sta-ag in a bo-og. Just give up.’
With great difficulty, I turned my body around in the muck to face him. I balled my hands into fists and shouted, ‘Come and get me, you filthy creature. I’m not going to make it easy on you.’
‘No-o pro-oblem,’ it brayed, and entered the muddy pit. Sinking up to its chest, it moved towards me with difficulty. But it still had a look of triumph on its face. The thing moved closer. Soon it was five yards from me, gnashing its crooked teeth, infernal drool oozing from its muzzle.
‘Oh, Mother,’ I called out, ‘why did you lead me here? Mother, Mother!’
‘So she could have a clear shot at him,’ the wind whispered.
I heard a strange ‘twang’ noise in the air, and the creature cried out in pain.
‘What manner of . . .’ it screamed. But before it could complete the sentence, I heard the twang again, and it screamed even more ferociously. Two holes appeared in its hide, from which blood began to gush.
‘Godda-amit, godda-amit,’ it screamed, ‘who dares shoot at me?’
I looked across the clearing in the direction of the shots. There, illuminated by the fire behind me, was the figure of Carolina perched on top of the fence. She put another shotgun pellet into her slingshot. Taking careful aim, she shot the beast’s exposed underbelly. Again, the shot pierced its hide, and the thing wailed.
‘I won’t let you steal my love!’ Carolina screamed above the storm. ‘I won’t let you.’
‘You ca-an’t stop me,’ the thing screamed back at her. ‘All I need to do is re-each him with my te-eeth, and the deal is done.’
The creature struggled towards me, its blood gushing into the mud. Straining its neck, it pushed itself forward, until it was just an arms-length away.
‘Carolina!’ I called out, ‘shoot again. Shoot. It’s working.’
‘I can’t,’ she wailed. ‘I’ve run out of shot. I only found one old cartridge in my house.’
The thing by now had almost reached me, when the words on the page said, ‘And then the girl remembered the tooth she always carried around her throat. It was a piece of her own body, broken in defence of her mother. It was an amulet for all mothers everywhere to protect what they hold dear.’
I cast my eyes toward Carolina. From the look on her face, I knew she’s heard the words in the wind, too. Balancing precariously on the fence, she reached down her shirt and broke off the tooth from the string dangling about her neck. The monster advanced, and I struck it hard against its burning face. My hand was roasted in the process, but I screamed in defiance, ‘There, take that, you devil!’ Then I struck it again.
Carolina fitted the tooth to the slingshot and took aim. The monster opened wide its mouth; it unhooked its jaws like a huge anaconda about to devour its prey. I saw down its throat, deep into the pit of its stomach that bubbled like putrid lava. Its breath burned my face like the sun. Just then, I heard the ‘twang’. The tooth struck home, and the creature’s stomach burst, exploding in a mass of dead flesh and pus, in a flash of fire.
‘No!’ the creature screamed. The voices of the damned that had intermingled in its mouth began to separate, fly off in the night sky in all directions.
‘No!’ my father screamed, in his own voice—his dictatorial, hypocritical, preacher’s voice. ‘I’ll have my victory yet!’ The mule’s body began to dissolve, heaps of flesh and hair melting into the mud.
Then the thing, half man, half mule now, reached its fleshy arms towards me, hooves transforming into claw-like fingers. It dug those claws into my shoulders, piercing deep into my flesh. Although writhing in pain, I pummelled the creature, left and right. Then I grabbed its golden bridle in both hands and pulled with all my might.
I ripped it off, and, with it, a huge portion of the creature’s face pulled off, too. The whole front of its head was an exposed human skull, whose long mandible extended out like a mule’s.
‘I’ll have my revenge,’ the thing gurgled.
‘And I’ll have mine,’ I said, and I plunged my thumbs deep into the eye sockets of the living skull. The eyes popped in a yellowish, boiling slime, and I pushed its head under the bracken.
‘You’ll die with me!’ it gurgled. Its claws still hooked into my flesh, it pulled me down into the mud. I took a deep breath, just before the thing pulled me under. As I sunk into the mud, the crackle of fire, the burst of lightning bolts, all the sounds of God’s creation disappeared. I entered the silence of the earth.
I couldn’t hear a thing, so I must have read it in the darkness of my mind. Just four words: ‘The earth welcomes you. . . .’
At this, I felt strange, powerful arms pull the Muladona’s claws from my flesh. Then two sets of arms and legs wrapped themselves around the monster. They pinned him down in the muck. They dragged him deeper to the centre of the earth. Before they sunk down, away from all sense or feeling, I felt a warm set of lips kiss me on the forehead. And another whispered in my ear, ‘I’ve always loved you, my son, and I always will.’
Then those two, strange beings, my earthly angels, and the awful creature, sunk away. I was left, suspended, encased within the thick mud. My brain was starved of oxygen. My body thrashed uncontrollably, but it was useless. I had finally defeated the Muladona. My soul was secure, thank God, but I was buried alive.
Then the last bit of the tale was read, ‘Just when the boy felt all was lost, he reached up through the mud. Overcoming the pain, he grasped for the hand he knew must be there.’
With my last ounce of energy, I reached above my head, as far as I could. I felt a pattering of rain on my exposed hand, but my head was still deep below the surface. The peace of death surrounded me. Suddenly, I felt a strong hand grip me around the wrist. It wrenched me so hard, it dislocated my shoulder, but it did not dislodge me from my grave. But still it pulled relentlessly, until my arm was one long, focus of pain, and all I wanted to do was to be left alone to die in the mud.
A great sucking sound was all around me, as the hand began to lift me out of the muck. As soon as I was pulled to the surface, rough hands wiped away the scum from my eyes. They pulled a large gob of mud from my mouth. I coughed and sputtered. As the rain poured down my face, I saw a large, blurry figure, wearing a woollen poncho. I couldn’t make out his face, but I knew who it was just the same.
The last word I heard before I passed out—and it wasn’t from the Muladona’s tale, because the tales were over now and would never come again—was ‘Constantinople’.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
We stood around the grave. The simple headstone read, ‘Adoring mother’. It had stopped raining. There was frost on the grass, and the sun was bright and cold.
Carolina stood beside me, her arm in mine. Her mother’s old shawl covered her head, and she held prayer beads. Her other arm was around Sebas. His sunburned face was worn and haggard, a long, blond, scraggly beard growing from it. His eyes were empty and wild. On the other side of the grave, Corporal Thomas Riquelme of the American Expeditionary Forces, or ‘the hobo’ as I will always remember him, stood at attention. He was dressed in his recently-pressed uniform. His nose was cracked and pushed to one side. One of his cheekbones was caved in, making him look like a trampled wax mannequin. I could tell it pained him just to stand, but he did so with dignity.
I glanced down at my grandfather’s pocket watch; the second hand slowly swept towards eleven o’clock. As we stood, not a word between us, a peal of bells from the church back in town rang through the air.
It was the eleventh day of the eleventh month at eleven o’clock in the morning. Armistice Day, 1918.
At that moment, Corporal Riquelme put the battered Hohner to his lips and played the most melancholy version of taps I’ve ever heard. It was as if all the suffering during those years were compressed into those simple notes. It was an ache that knew no depths. We were mourning not just the war dead, but also the fifty million people killed worldwide by the Spanish Flu, more than the Black Death had killed in medieval Europe for a stretch of a hundred years.
The church bells continued to ring, as Mr Bellows stepped forward and placed a bunch of carnations on his wife’s grave. Then he fell to his knees, grasping the gravestone and sobbing. Corporal Riquelme finished his lament and then took Mr Bellows by the arm and helped lift him up. I went up to Mr Bellows and hugged him, both of us crying. He wrapped his huge, ham-like hands around me.
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