by Hunter Blain
As the nights came and went, I continued to develop my abilities with Ulric as he taught me the ways of the preternatural. I grew stronger with each kill, siphoning the mortal’s life energy into myself. My predatory side and my consciousness became accustomed to one another and worked out a symbiotic partnership, allowing me to remain in control while listening to its guidance. In return, it remained next to me, ready to grab a rein at any time rather than being in the carriage by himself. This made me an efficient killing machine, but with control enough to not hunt every person in the vicinity once I started feeding.
I had problems wrapping my head around some of what Ulric taught, such as there being multiple planes of existence where monsters resided. Monsters that could tear even vampires apart like leaves on a tree.
One of my lessons consisted of controlling the mind of a mortal. We left two soldiers alive after one of our nightly escapades and sat them by a fire.
Ulric explained that first, in order to control the mind, you had to learn the brain. This would allow for information harvesting as well as entertainment, at least for Ulric.
The soldier closest to Ulric was tied and gagged, sitting in the dirt back to back with another soldier. Tears had cleaned paths down his cheeks, and his mouth hung open in a perpetual sob, soaking the cloth in his mouth.
Ulric dramatically lifted his hand, fingers spread wide and palm open, toward the soldier. He yelped and tensed his body in surprise, as if stung by a painful insect, then relaxed, with eyes becoming unfocused.
“Look up,” Ulric commanded.
The soldier did.
“Hold up your hands.”
The soldier raised his bound hands into the air.
“Now, void your bowels,” Ulric said with a smile.
With his hands still in the air, the soldier pushed, straining to the point where veins popped out in his forehead and neck. His face turned red, and his eyeballs seemed ready to explode. This went on for a full minute before Ulric intervened.
“What is wrong?” Ulric asked, still amused but curious.
The soldier spoke like he was deep in a dream, “I cannot right now. I was in the privy when everyone started screaming.”
“Ah,” Ulric said, accepting his answer.
“Let me try,” I said eagerly.
“Wait!” Ulric exclaimed. But it was too late. I held up my hand and focused my will on the soldier who sat in front of me. I felt an extension of my essence stretch from my hand and envelope his head. He gasped like the first soldier, but didn’t relax. Instead, tremors started in his hands and feet, followed by his arms and legs, until his core was convulsing. A little at first, but quickly grew to violent spasms. His eyes rolled into his head, and blood started to pour down the white orbs like an artist who had dumped his paint on top of a blank canvas. Little streams of crimson started falling out of his nose and ears, which quickly became raging rivers. The convulsions grew increasingly violent, and soon he was kicking up dirt and grass.
I dropped my hand and released my focus, feeling the essence retract back into me. The soldier stopped convulsing, and he reached his bound hands up to his face. He sucked in a long, deep breath, and produced a startling screech that sounded more like a dying animal than a human. His fingers grabbed at his forehead and pressed in. His knuckles went white from the pressure, and bright blood began to trickle down where his fingernails pierced his skin. He sucked in another breath and screamed again, this time while slowly clawing at his face. Strips of flesh came with his hands and peeled away like a banana. His bottom eyelids tore away like a ravaged bedsheet flapping in the wind. When he got to his nose, a fingernail caught and ripped a nostril away. His fingers went into his mouth and continued their downward journey, prying teeth from gums and tearing his bottom lip to shreds. Bright blood ran freely from his face onto his clothing, creating a growing pool of rubies that sparkled in the firelight.
I sat in awe and glanced at Ulric, who seemed to be intrigued. He had let his focus fade from his play toy, and the soldier was coming to, startled by the inhuman wails. He struggled to arch and turn his head, only to see the back of the other soldier. The look of confusion evaporated into terror as he realized his companion was pulling away hands painted in crimson and gore. He cried out and tried to squirm away, prompting Ulric to casually put his foot down on the rope that restrained the man’s feet, all without taking his eyes off the self-mutilating soldier. My wide eyes went back to the decimation taking place before me.
Another breath and his hands went up for more, not satisfied with their progress. This time, his fingers found purchase and pulled the meat from his face; muscle, skin, everything. In its wake, a scarlet skeleton was being born. He pulled past the eyes, nose, and finally lips. The sound reminded me of slowly peeling an orange. What was left was a screaming skull complete with lidless eyes and exposed teeth coated in flowing blood.
The man stopped screaming and closed his jaw as he looked right at me; the muscles attaching his upper and lower jaws were the only meat remaining on his entire head. His perfectly round eyeballs, out of place amidst the bone, stared at me. Though it was impossible to see any expression, I knew what I saw was pure, unhinged madness.
He reached his hands up and stuck his thumb, index, and middle fingers around his exposed eyeballs. The madman pushed them back deeper into his skull, the blood making it easier to slide between the orbs and sockets, until all the knuckles of each finger were submerged completely. The fingers tightened, and he pulled. Tissue snapped under the stress, and his eyes came free of their sockets, with only meaty cords connecting them to his skull. He pulled them forward and two loud twangs pierced the night, like bowstrings being cut. The soldier held his hands out to me and opened them palms up, revealing his gifts. He started a throaty chuckle which grew in intensity until his naked jaw opened and closed with every laugh. It escalated into hysteria, with his head lifting to the sky.
“That’s enough,” Ulric said, holding his own hand up to the man, prompting…nothing. Nothing happened. The soldier continued to bark out high-pitched laughs that shook his entire body and stretched his jaw to the point that the muscles gave way and snapped apart, leaving a slack-jawed skull bellowing madness.
Annoyance entwined with anger as Ulric stood and grabbed the top of the man’s head, pushing the laughing skull into the chest cavity with a wet slosh. The sound mixed with that of breaking bones, like dry foliage underfoot. Bound, red-coated hands, still holding onto their treasure, fell lifelessly to the soldier’s lap; the eyes rolled into the dirt and grass. One stopped just at my feet, the iris looking right at me. I lifted my foot and squashed it, unnerved.
The final sound the man made was a gurgle of escaping air being forced out of his crushed lungs. Then, silence. Only the sound of the remaining soldier whimpering and the crackle of fire were left in the night’s air. A breeze picked up the heavy smell of freshly spilled blood.
The other soldier started rocking back and forth.
Ulric beckoned for me to sit next to him. As I sat on the log, he said, “I want you to feel what I feel. Put your hand over mine.” His hand stretched out to the soldier, who flinched back, and I put my hand on his. I let my essence flow over his hand and then piggyback as his own went into the soldier’s mind.
Ulric went slow and controlled, first joining with the soldier’s aura, then gently descending inside his mind.
“Close your eyes and open your mind,” Ulric said to me. I did as he instructed and closed my eyes. I took in a breath, concentrated, and opened my mind. We were standing behind the scenes of the campfire. The wind blew through the trees at a fraction of its normal pace. Everything seemed darker. Looking down, I could see that Ulric, the soldier, and myself were all ghostly outlines, as if we were made of mist. My eyes followed the mist as it left our hands and swirled around the soldier’s head. In it, tendrils snaked into his skull from all angles.
“Follow them, John,” Ulric said through the dream.
&nbs
p; I let myself soar over our hands and down the mist until I reached the first tendril. I willed myself into it and was taken to a scene of the soldier—his name was Adam—sitting in a tree with a young woman named Beth. As their lips touched, Adam knew that he loved her and knew they were destined to spend their lives together.
My perspective shifted, and I was no longer looking at Adam. Beth was standing in the doorway, holding her bulging stomach. She watched as I mounted the horse and made my way to my uncle’s farm. We lived miles from anyone, and my uncle made sure to pay me more than I deserved to help with my growing family.
I remembered the feeling in my stomach as I’d made my way up the path at the end of the day and seen the blackened ruins of my home. I had leaped off the horse and burst through the weakened wood of the door to see my wife charred and crushed under the single beam that ran along the roofline. I had screamed so loud and for so long that my throat had never fully recovered. Now I just didn’t speak.
I was standing in the church with her father yelling at me that I hadn’t built our cabin right. I stared past him at the closed casket that held my entire world.
The water was cold, freezing even. From this height, if the fall didn’t kill me, the temperature would. I was about to step off the ledge when a tall, gaunt man approached. He offered meaning to my life. Structure. A sense of belonging. I took his hand and stepped safely off the ledge.
“Damned stew,” I said as what must have been fire left my body. It had tasted good going in. I started to clean myself when I heard screams. My heart pounded and my breathing became labored. My hands shook uncontrollably as I reached for my pants. The screaming stopped and I opened the privy door. A hand grabbed my throat, and I had never been more terrified in my entire life. The last thought that flashed in my mind before blackness washed over me was: I don’t want to die anymore.
My eyes fluttered open and I was sitting in the dirt next to a fire. A disheveled-looking man was sitting on a log in front of me. It looked like he had slept in a mound of dirt.
I rushed out of the soldier’s head, back up the mist and into my own body. My eyes flew open and I shot to my feet. As I started pacing, I looked at Ulric and asked in a frantic voice, “What was that?!”
Ulric let his hand drop and looked at me, understanding in his eyes.
“It is imperative that you only see what you want to see. It will take time to control the path you follow. What you saw is a direct reflection of your own mind,” Ulric informed me, patiently.
“I’m Adam! She was my wife! I…” I stammered, wide-eyed. Ulric stood and placed a hand on my shoulder, calming me.
“Who are we but a collection of memories,” Ulric said. “You dove too deep.”
“Dove too deep!” I shrieked, “I lived for weeks as Adam! I loved Beth! Oh God, my baby! It’s all my fault!”
“It will wear off,” Ulric said impatiently. “We are done for tonight.”
After a few ragged breaths, I calmed my mind. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me. I was John Cook. My parents were…my parents were dead. That did the trick—reality was back with a vengeance.
“What are we going to do with m— with him?” I asked with a steady voice, but scared of the answer.
“I already took care of the matter,” Ulric said calmly.
I looked at Adam as he slumped forward, head dangling, and saw that his skin was pale. Two dots on his neck leaked a few droplets of blood. I stood there, staring at his body. My innards were a mingle of emotions. But somewhere in the mix, I was happy he was with Beth and his child again.
Chapter 17
Present day
Day waned and receded while the night slid into existence, taking its rightful place. It brought with it the freedom most supernatural beings needed, including yours truly, in order to thrive.
I awoke face down in a pool of my own drool. I could see the puddle on the ground. Reaching up, I probed my head under my gray beanie, starting with my thick, strong hair then down my smooth forehead to my nose and lips. Wait, smooth forehead. Yes! My jizz stain was gone; though it had been an excellent conversation starter. Everything was back to its original glory. Even my dense, reddish mustache had grown back to join with the rest of my beard.
After checking out, I returned to my car and drove the rest of the way home without incident. Leaving the radio off, only my thoughts kept me company.
Something didn’t feel right. It was as if I was standing on the tracks as a train barreled at me from behind. I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there, and I knew what was going to happen if I didn’t do something. I needed to move off the tracks.
I turned down the road leading to the storage unit where I kept Mortis. After dropping him off at the stables, I started walking down to Valenta’s. As the saloon came into view, I noticed the parking lot was even emptier than in my last visit. Pushing through the doors, I stepped inside.
Valenta stood behind the bar, reading a brown-paged book that was old enough for the cover to have dissolved. I could smell the must from the ancient pages from where I stood.
“Welcome to the party, son,” Valenta said without looking up from his book. He licked his finger and casually turned the page.
“Where—?”
“Gone,” he interrupted. “Did’je hear ’bout the demon that was summoned earlier tonight? Wreaking havoc downtown. Lots dead, including supes.”
“Just got back into town,” I gulped. Father Thomes was going to be unhappy I hadn’t come see him last night. “Papa T come by?” I asked.
“Nah, but I’m sure he’ll have words with ya bein’ out o’ town. Surely, he knew’a one was a’commen.” He looked up from his book and gave me a “you’re gonna get it” look.
“Hey! Don’t you give me that look, young man! You were the one who suggested I go make friends!” I said as I sat in my favorite stool.
“My name’s Paul and that shit’s ’tween ya’ll,” he said, returning his gaze to his book. “Bess be moven along, John. Got work t’do.”
Message received. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” I said while getting up from the bar and heading to the door.
“Ya don’t get paid at’all,” he reminded me.
I stopped with my hand on the door, “Wait, supes dead? Why were they attacking it? And how big was this fucker?”
“Supes got a responsibility t’stop demons, boy. As for yer second question: big,” Valenta said as he licked his finger, turning another page.
Taking my cue, I walked back to the storage place and opened my trunk, pulling out the bag Depweg had given me. I took off my shirt and strapped the iron-infused Kevlar over my torso. I put the Glock and its inner-waistband holster at the small of my back. I replaced my shirt, looked in the direction of downtown while closing the storage unit, and leaped into the air, on my way to face God only knew what.
Chapter 18
London, 1666
Ulric and I walked through filthy back alleys, where human excrement poured into the streets. Rats congregated in droves, chittering their defiance at the passersby.
We had just arrived in town, having exhausted any and all leads. The Inquisition continued to trudge forward, replacing camps as quickly as they were taken down by Ulric and myself. We had saved many families the pain I had endured at the hands of the commander, whose trail had grown cold many seasons ago. I wasn’t sure how long it had been, but my patience was near snapping. Ulric always knew just what to say to string me along a little longer.
A crumpled newspaper tumbled down the alley, propelled by a rancid breeze. I leaned down and scooped it up as it passed, with my free hand holding onto my recently procured top hat that the man at the shop had said was a must for all gentlemen. I called it a top hat, but it was just a tall hat with a large brim and a moderate crown. It matched our dark coats, which only came to our ribcages and had sleeves that barely covered our elbows. It bothered me how impractical the garments were in this part of the world. Not to mention the fa
ncy pantaloons.
I lifted the newspaper and uncrumpled it. As I held the paper up to the lone burning oil lamp which illuminated the alley, a scowl creased my face as I noticed the date at the top.
“Ulric,” I said.
“Yes?” Ulric responded as he stopped and turned to face me.
“Does London use a different calendar than the rest of the world?” I asked, perplexed at the 1666 at the top of the paper.
Ulric looked at me and then down at the paper I held. A flash of shock passed over his face like a lightning bolt. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone. I took note of this.
“Ulric?”
Ulric sighed and looked me in the eyes. “No, John. They use the same system of time as everywhere else we have been.”
I pointed at the date on the paper and turned it to show him.
“So, this date is accurate?!” I asked, straining to keep my voice calm. The feeling of self-control started to slip from my grasp. Even PS was agitated and confused. Ulric was at the center of the brewing storm, but I couldn’t figure out how or why.
“Yes,” Ulric said with a tone that suggested he had been waiting for this very moment for a long time, but was still dismayed that it had actually arrived.
“How’s it been s’long, Ulric? Where’s th’ feck’n commander?” I screamed, barely able to speak coherently.
“Dead,” Ulric said without pause. “His mortal existence was extinguished long ago, even if by natural causation.”