by Amy Cross
So here we are, in the cemetery of St. Mary's Church. I cannot see anything, of course, but I can hear a small gathering of people who have come to bid farewell to their loved one. And Thomas Lumic is here, holding my arm and guiding me through the gravestones until we reach the freshly-dug grave.
"And what is the name of the deceased?" I ask him quietly.
"Duncan," Lumic replies in his usual dark, hoarse voice. "He had no surname."
Now that I am blind, I find that my hearing has improved a little. And standing at the graveside, I can hear whispered voices nearby, but also other sounds: strange, unearthly, ghostly sounds. I suppose I must be imagining things.
"Dear friends," I say. "We are gathered here today to pay our last respects to Duncan. I am afraid that I know very little about Duncan, about his life, about the kind of man that he was. But the fact that we are here today to bid him farewell, is a sign that he touched our lives in some way. To have inspired us to come and bid him farewell, he must have done great things for each of us, and for that may we be thankful to the Lord, that he allowed us to know Duncan for as long as we did." I pause, not sure what to say next. Thomas Lumic has given me no information about Duncan, which really leaves me in a difficult position. Nevertheless, I must keep going. There are people here who mourn Duncan, and who are saddened by his passing. "We must each remember," I say, "and keep in our hearts, that which made Duncan special to us. I will now invite any of you gathered here today, to step forward and say a little about this man."
I wait. No-one speaks up. Instead, I just hear the same strange sounds as before. One of the sounds is snakelike, hissing with a faint rattle. Another sound is heavy and hard-breathing, and seems to be coming from many meters up in the air. If I didn't know better, I would say that an assortment of monsters had gathered around this grave. If only I could see...
"We must all," I say finally, a little put off by the sounds around me, "remember Duncan in our own private way. Though his body is gone, his spirit remains with us, and we are all, I am sure, enriched by the time that we spent with him. Amen."
"Amen," says Thomas Lumic from behind me, but his is still the only voice. Why do the others remain so silent?
"I will now ask," I say, glad to be coming to the end of this unusual situation, "that the coffin be lowered into the grave."
I hear some feet shuffle toward the grave, and then there is a sudden loud thud as something heavy lands in the grave. It doesn't sound like a coffin at all. It sounds like someone just tipped a body straight into the ground. And then, just as suddenly, there is a second thud, as if the body has been thrown down into the grave in two pieces.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. What have I got myself into? What kind of... I take a deep breath. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to bring this service to a close and then perhaps bid good-day to the mourners. Whatever is going on here, I would rather not be a part of it. It feels... strange and inhuman, and ungodly.
"Lord our God," I say, raising my head as if to look heavenward. "We commend the body of Duncan to your service, and we ask that you bless him with your kind understanding of the difficulties of life on this Earth. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."
I wait. All around me, there are strange sounds: hissing, rattling, shuffling, growls, like a menagerie of the world's most fearsome creatures.
"Thank you, father," says Thomas Lumic. He takes my arm and leads me away.
"I must say," I whisper as we depart, "that was one of the more unusual funeral services that I have attended."
Lumic laughs a little. "Be glad, father," he says eventually, "that you are blind."
Prologue 2
"Don't worry about her," shouts Darla, swigging from the bottle of vodka as the car bounces along the dirt road. "She's worried about a guy. Some guy. I can't remember his name." She turns to her friend, who is sitting in the back. "What's his name again, darling?"
"Duncan," says Jess.
It's been a couple of hours since I picked these two hitch-hikers up by the side of the road, a couple of miles west of Exeter. I'll be honest and admit that since they're both pretty hot, I was hoping there might be some action. Unfortunately, it looks like things aren't heading that way at all, since Darla's clearly drunk out of her mind and Jess seems too broody and distracted to have any fun.
"So where are you girls headed again?" I ask.
"London town," Darla shouts excitedly. She raises a clenched, gloved fist and laughs. "We're gonna hit it hard."
"Cool," I say as I turn the car onto the next road. There's a gas station up ahead. I glance at the meter on my dashboard. We're down to just under half a tank. I guess that's a good enough excuse. "Sorry, ladies," I say, pulling into the gas station. "Pit stop."
The girls wait in the car as I fill up and pay. Then I return to the car and start the engine, but instead of going back to the road I drive around the side of the gas station and pull up again.
"What are we doing here?" Jess asks from the back seat.
"Nothing," I say. "Just... Don't take this the wrong way, but I just filled up a tank of gas, and it cost me quite a lot of money. Now -"
"We told you we haven't got any money," Darla says, swaying a little.
"I know," I say. "And that's fine. That's totally fine. I don't want money. But I was thinking maybe there's some other way you girls could repay me."
They both stare at me.
"You know," I continue, "for my generosity?"
Darla looks at Jess, and Jess looks at Darla.
"I mean, I'm not being mean or anything," I say, "but I've been on the road a while and I could use some stress relief. And..." I stare at them. The way they're looking at me is deeply, deeply unnerving. "Well," I say, "I didn't mean to embarrass you, ladies."
"You want a handjob?" Darla asks, staring at me with an uncanny glint in her eye.
Well, that's not what I was expecting. I was kind of hoping for some threeway action, but I suppose a handjob isn't the worst that could happen. And it might lead to something else. "Sure," I say, nodding. "Sure."
Darla smiles. "Sit back and relax," she says, shifting closer to me.
I lean my head back and wait as she unzips my trousers and slowly takes my penis out. I'm already pretty hard, but suddenly I feel a kind of rough sensation against the skin. I look down to find that Darla has started rubbing me, but she's still wearing the glove on her hand.
"Cool," I say. "But do you mind taking the glove off?"
Darla stops and looks at me. "You sure?" she asks.
I nod. "I'm sure."
Jess coughs from the back seat. "You really sure?" she asks.
"Yeah," I say. "I'm fucking sure."
Darla stares at me for a moment. "Okay," she says calmly. "Lean back and relax."
I lean my head back again, and then I feel her hand touching my penis. The glove is off this time, and it feels good. Everything feels really well lubricated, though I don't know how she's doing that. And her hand has some nice definition, some nice ridges that feel really nice. I swallow hard. "You can go a little faster," I say eventually.
"Okay," she says, and she does.
It feels good. Really good. Like, maybe the best I've ever had. I can tell it won't take long to finish, and there's a part of me that wants to prolong this.
"Slow down a little," I say. "I don't want to cum too soon."
"Okay," Darla says, and she slows down. It's amazing, she's so willing to please.
"You wanna use your mouth a little?" I say.
"You don't like my hand?" Darla asks.
"Oh yeah," I say. "I like it. But I just thought you might want to use your mouth for a bit."
"I could," Darla says. "But I thought you liked my hand."
"I do," I say, looking down at her hand. "It's just -" I stop cold. I hadn't looked at her hand before, but now I see it, there's something hideous about it. There's no flesh, it's just muscle and bone from the fingers up to the wrist, like some kind of dec
aying body. "What the fuck?" I shout, trying to get away.
"You don't like my hand?" Darla asks, sounding so innocent.
I open the door and jump out of the car, landing hard on the asphalt. Scrambling to my feet, I don't look back, I don't even pause to tuck my penis back in my trousers. I just run, straight across the gas station forecourt and out onto the motorway. As I go, I hear the girls laughing in the distance.
Prologue 3
"Mr. Blaum?"
I ignore the voice. Of course I do. If I am to have any pleasure at all tonight, amid the hustle and bustle of a huge party in a fashionable London hotel, I shall have to find moments of quiet and solitude. That is why I have come up here, to the empty third floor conference room, where I can stand and look out at the night skyline of London. It is a beautiful city, its architecture quite unlike that of any other place on Earth. It is a privilege to have been able to make a small impact on that architecture. To have left my mark on the city that I love. But my 'mark' will be so much greater after my death.
"Mr. Blaum?" says the voice again. It's an unfamiliar female voice, and I decide to ignore it.
I remember, when I was nine or ten years old, sitting at school one day and wondering what it would be like to die. While my friends played in the schoolyard, I was imagining what it must be like to look at the world and know for certain that you are about to die. I suppose I was a morbid child. Today, seventy years later, I am at last finding out what it feels like to be at the point of death. The funny thing is, it feels exactly how I imagined it would. I am, as I expected I would be, quite terrified.
"Mr. Blaum," the voice says, closer this time, almost directly behind me. "Everyone is waiting."
She's right. Everyone is waiting. They are waiting for the great Franklin Blaum to come and entertain them, and in return they will shower me with praise. I used to enjoy evenings such as this. The socializing, the drinking, the chance to catch up with old friends, the chance to have intelligent conversations about buildings and architecture. But tonight is tinged with sadness, made worse by the fact that this sadness is a secret that I must carry for a few more hours before... before the end. An end that no-one else knows is coming.
"Alright," I say, turning to find a pretty young woman waiting behind me. She looks like an assistant. I don't know whose assistant, but she has the timid, mousey look of an assistant. "I suppose I had better come with you, hadn't I?"
She nods cautiously, clearly not very confident in my presence. I smile. It's nice that I can still intimidate people.
"They're all very keen to see your new design, Mr. Blaum," the woman says.
I nod. "Of course they are," I say. "Tell me, what is your name?"
"Susan," she says, swallowing hard. This is hilarious. She's terrified of me.
"Susan," I repeat. "A nice name. Tell me, Susan. What do you know of my plans for the future?"
She stares at me, clearly not sure what I mean. "I... I know that you're going to unveil the design for a new building tonight," she says. "And... and... and that people are very excited to see it."
I nod. "Good," I say. "I'm glad they're excited. It really is going to be the most extraordinary building, you know."
"I'm sure it is," she says.
"No," I say, stepping closer to her. "I mean it's going to be something entirely new. Something so new, it will be talked about for the rest of history. Something so shocking and wonderful, that it will cement my name in history forevermore as the greatest architect who ever walked the Earth."
Susan nods. "That sounds nice," she says, her voice cracking a little.
I sigh. "You have no idea," I say. "You have no vision. The ideas that I have, they are too great and too grand for your mind." I watch as she stares at me. "Don't look so sad," I continue. "It's not your fault. I'm a visionary. I'm a great architect. I'm... I hesitate to use the word genius, for that is an accolade that can only be bestowed by others, not by oneself. But believe me, when you understand this new building, when it is complete in a few years' time, you will be awed by what I have achieved."
"Yes," says Susan. "I'm sure I will be."
I stare at her. All my life, I have wondered what it would be like to kill another human being. Would it feel good? Since I am to die tonight, I could find out right now and face no repercussions. I could attack this girl savagely, I could do anything I like with her body. No-one would ever believe that it was me. I could hide the body until tomorrow, by which point I will be dead. It's so tempting, the thought of this woman's blood flowing over my hands. But no. I will not do it, not now. I want my last night to be peaceful and calm. I will die tonight, and after I am dead there will be time enough to come back and kill if I so wish. For despite dying, I shall live forever.
"Come on," I say to Susan, smiling as I put an arm around her and lead her toward the stairs. "I believe we have a party to get to."
Jess
"Lambeth," says Darla as we cross the busy road in the middle of town, narrowly avoiding being hit by various cars, bikes and buses. "Breathe in deep. Smell the place. This is where I was born. It's where I grew up. It's where I ran away from as soon as I could. Doesn't it smell... shit?" She turns to me and laughs.
I smile. "It looks okay," I say. "For south London."
It took Darla and me two weeks to get from Cornwall to London. We had a truck for part of the way, but that broke down and then we ended up walking. After that, we managed to hitch a few miles, but eventually we had to walk the final stretch, wandering into the city like two modern day Dick Whittingtons. And now here we are in Lambeth, the part of the city in which Darla grew up. She says she has some friends here still, that we can stay with them. That's fine by me. I just need somewhere to use as a base while I look for Duncan, and Darla has already made it clear that she has no real interest in helping me. I guess I understand. She doesn't know Duncan, she doesn't know how important it is that I find him.
"Eddie!" Darla shouts, as we stand outside a house near the main street. She's calling up to a window on the top floor, but there's music coming from inside and I doubt anyone will hear her. "Eddie!!!" she screams, trying to be heard over the music. She turns to me. "This is where Eddie lives."
"No kidding," I say, feeling slightly uncomfortable at how loud she's being. After all, last time I was in London there were army patrols trying to kill Duncan and me because we're werewolves. I'd kind of like to keep a low profile.
"EDDDDDDIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Darla yells at the top of her voice. Suddenly a man appears at the window, looking down.
"Is that Eddie?" I ask.
"No," says Darla. "Who are you?" she shouts up.
"Hang on!" the man shouts. He disappears back into the building. A moment later, the door near us buzzes. Darla rushes over and pushes it open, and we head inside. As we reach the stairs, the man comes down to meet us. "Sorry," he says. "I couldn't hear you over the music."
"You didn't think to turn it down?" Darla asks.
He stares at her for a moment. "No," he says finally.
"Where's Eddie?" she asks.
The guy shrugs. "Good question. If you see him, tell him I'm looking for him. He owes me."
"This is his place," Darla says.
"Not until he pays me the five hundred quid he owes me. I'm his landlord."
I tap Darla on the arm. "Maybe we should go," I say.
"Not yet," Darla says, keeping her eyes fixed on the guy. "What's your name?"
"Jeremy," he says, seeming a little affronted.
"Jeremy, do you know where Eddie might be? Any idea?"
He sniffs loudly. "Well, he was one of the Blaum boys, so your guess is as good as mine."
"Blaum boys?" Darla asks.
"You don't know about that?" He sighs. "Eddie got a job working security at the new Blaum Building in the City. It was a few days after that, he just vanished. And he's not the only one. That place is always hiring new security guards. You know why?" He leans in to Darla's face. "Cau
se the old ones keep fucking vanishing. That building eats people."
Darla looks away for a moment. "I'll be back," she says finally. "I have to find Eddie, okay?"
We walk away, back out into the Lambeth street. Darla looks confused and concerned, like I've never seen her before.
"I have to go and find Duncan," I say. "He needs my help. Do you want to come?"
Darla shakes her head. "Where are you going to look?"
"I have a few ideas," I say. "I have to go and find his master."
"Good luck with that," Darla says, sounding unimpressed. "We should find somewhere to stay first."
"Okay," I say, "but I'm kind of in a hurry."
"No kidding," she replies. "Aren't we all? Come on, I know a few more people we can try, they can't all have vanished."
We head off along the street.
"So where are you going to look first?" Darla says.
I sigh. The truth is, I don't know. Until a few days ago, I had this really strong sense that Duncan was alive somewhere in London. It's weird, but I could sense his... soul. His presence. But now that we're actually in London, all that has faded. I don't sense him at all. It's as if he's vanished or... No, I don't want to think about what it could mean. He's here and he's alive. He has to be. "Somewhere," I say. "Underground."
"Underground?"
"Have you ever heard of the pit?"
Darla frowns. "What pit?"
"The pit beneath London. With the wolf in it."
Darla nods. "Maybe. A long time ago, I heard something. Why, is it real?"
"Yeah," I say. "And I happen to know the wolf who's in the pit. He's the only lead I've got, so I thought it might be worth going down there to ask him."