Page 65 of Fragile Wicked Things
Startled, I rushed to the window, pushing Lucy aside When I looked out, I saw our pig near a tree, and I understood how Lucy could have mistaken the tree, barren of leaves, branches arched out like arms, for a man. The pig was to be brought to market the following spring, so I threw on my warmest coat, left the house, and pulled the door closed tight with Meghan pushing on the other side.
At times, the pure force of the wind held me back, yet I trudged forward, head down, the wind biting at my ears. The animal squealed and grunted, reared itself against the tree moving farther away from me and shook its head in agitation. I grabbed at the makeshift rope tied around his neck, ran my hand along the braid to the end that had been torn to shreds and led the pig back to the shed. The latch of the forged iron hardware was secure. Somehow, I must have forgotten the pig outside. Inside, there was the agitated movement of the animals—the young goat bucked, the two hens flew inside their wired cage, the cow tramped and still the pig squealed, running in circles. We have had rough weather in the past, and they never behaved as strangely as they did on that particular night.
After sliding the latch across, I yanked at the lock to ensure it would hold. A horrific growl carried on the wind, startling me and with quick steps, I ventured around the shed towards my home looking over my shoulder. Again, the wind blew, and the putrid smell of death infiltrated my nostrils, and I came to a sudden stop. Across the field, some ways not too far ahead, I saw the figure of a man. He swayed side to side as he walked in circles and from the illumination of the moon, I could see he had a cloak wrapped around himself. He appeared to be hurt, hunched over and favoring his left side. I called out to him although I suspected he could not hear me above the whistling wind and stepped closer until I stood but a mere few feet away. The man then collapsed, tugging at the frayed cloak over his peculiar form to safeguard himself against the cold.
"Is it help that you require?" I asked. His back to me, his head shot up, cocked to one side.
"Good sir," he said, "I've fallen ill."
"Come inside and I can provide shelter from the storm. I have a fire."
"It is not warmth nor shelter that I seek, good sir, but I require sustenance, having become lost in these fields with little around."
I thought only of the dry bits of bread we had left that would be dipped in milk and eaten the following morning. It was not enough for the three of us, much less a fourth.
"Come closer and help me,” he said.
As I approached, a gust of wind swept around us, howling with ferocity, and then blew at my face, robbing me of breath. I fell to my knees near the man and as I reached out for his arm, caught a glimpse of his face. From what I could see, he was not much older than me. When I attempted to pull him up with me, he did not move, and for such a weak man, I felt powerless to lift him.
Suddenly, he grabbed me around my shoulders, bringing me down to meet him. The blanket fell away, and in the moonlight, I could see the entirety of his face—his skin was pale, his hair was raven, there was a scar across his right cheek, and a darkness in his eyes. The soulless eyes stared at me, his mouth enlarged, and jagged, sharp teeth sank into my neck, the pain unbearable. I had visions of my life until then, the first time I met Meghan when she was a shop-girl at a dry goods store and I purchased items I had no use for; the first time I heard Lucy cry when she entered the world; my first successful harvest that put a feast on the table. The creature tore at my flesh, sucked my blood, and drew out my life's energy. Soon, he would kill me, but with his hands wrapped around me with such strength, I was rendered powerless. My visions were gone, replaced by streams of blood, streaking downwards, obscuring my happy images. Then I felt unimaginable pleasure and let out a moan, let my arms fall limp to the ground, and gave myself to the creature. And then, nothing.
Darkness. Coldness. Although I could sense it around me, I didn't feel cold.
I awoke in a wooden coffin, buried not too deep in the ground by gravediggers who had no doubt become tired from the ordeal of digging in the cold. Although there was no light, everything was visible, every nail hammered in, every knot of the wood, every discolored patch. I brought my hands up before me—the once hard, callused farmer's hands were now delicate like an aristocrat's, in place of my heart, there was silence. A great power lay within. I was reborn but did not comprehend the enormity of the monster I had become.
I clawed my way out from that death, broke apart the wood, scraped at the ground, climbing upwards until my hands broke through and the wind tickled my flesh. Finally, I was free and, when I looked back at the gaping hole I had dug myself out from, I was blinded by the wooden cross over my grave. My arm flew up to cover my eyes, my body turned away from a God who was no longer mine, and when I lowered my hands from my face, I stood facing a home that had once been mine.
Through the window appeared the flicker of a firelight; smoke emanated from the chimney top. My wife and child were in there, warm but grieving, fed but empty. Who would teach my daughter how to catch a halfpenny now?
Deep inside me, there was a longing, nothing I had felt before but many times since. When the longing became unbearable, I had no choice but to feed the desire. A small part of me remained shrouded in this darkness, controlled by the beast, and I knew as I stood looking at my wife and child through the window that I was no longer Edward Lawrence Dylan.
* * *
My feet poundedthe ground of the forest, twigs snapped underfoot, branches whacked at my face, cut through my skin and left streaks of blood. I traveled far from the farm where I had lived, passed many villages—Darlington, Morpeth, Alnwick—and followed the sound of the locomotives on the new railways before heading farther east. Still, I knew by the barking of the dogs that they were close behind. Desperate for escape, I ran through rivers to mask my scent, failing at each attempt as I could not dispose of the dogs or the monster who followed, who demanded to be satisfied, to be my conqueror. Each time I fed and killed, his strength grew, the blood and power securing his position over me. The beast within me roused whole villages, and townspeople would attack, grievously bruising me with stones until I took refuge in the woodlands.
On the first sign of daylight, my skin burned, my veins blackened, and I was forced to hide in a hollow furrowed deep within the brown moor, wading knee-deep in its dark growth, the crag protecting me from the sun above. In a short time, I understood how to sleep during daylight and travel at night. My sense of vision was impeccable, and I was able to see distances I never could before. Smells were strong. Farm hands reeked of the animals they tended to, the wheat they harvested, and the beer they drank. The women smelled of rosewater dabbed on the hollow of their necks, on the cleavage of their breasts and of the men they were with. The scent I most cherished was fear. The delicious smell of sweat intoxicated me, and when I would corner a young woman in the alley behind a tavern, it seemed I could make time almost stand still, listen to her heart thump loudly, watch her pupils dilate, the hairs of her arms flick up. And the moment I knew she was mine, the moment she was aware of her imminent death that I held in my hands, was the most intoxicating of all. When I sank my teeth into her flesh and drank the life from her, I could feel her heart beating against my own still heart, her blood pulsating into my veins and it brought me back from death.
The monster was to blame for the dogs who forced me to head north, farther away from civilization and my kind. But it struck me that they were no longer my kind. The dogs long gone, I continued north where the sun wasn't as brilliant, a place where continual rain moistened the ground, soiling my shoes. My funeral suit was already tattered when I was laid to rest, but now it was caked in mud and blood.
At some point, I had crossed into Scotland. I could hear the ocean waves pound against the cliffs three, maybe four miles away. After a long time, when I was far enough away from the last hamlet I had passed and when I found myself in an area where I knew the population would be thin, I came to rest in a clearing in the forest. I fell to my knees, buried my head in my hands and wept. We know that God is everywhere; we feel His presence, but at that moment, His words were silent, lost to the likes of me, a soulless creature of the night. I begged for mercy, but He could not save what He did not create.
Not one tie held me to human civilization. Society would have not one kind thought or a good wish for me. I was lost with nowhere to turn and, with day approaching, had dug a grave with my bare hands and buried myself in the dirt. Worms squirmed around me, and insects burrowed.Nature!I will seek her breast and ask for repose. Mother seemed benign and good; I thought She loved me, outcast as I was, and I, who from Man could anticipate only mistrust, rejection, and fear, clung to Her with filial fondness. As I was Her child, I would be Her guest: my Mother would lodge me without money or price. In Her bosom, I was free—from civilization, the monster and the murderous trail I left behind.
To my delight and dismay, I discovered I could feed off the forest animals and although they did not give me the strength that I desired it was enough to temper the pain and help bring me back, subduing the monster within me, albeit temporarily. For a long time now, I have tried to return to the man I used to be, but I've never been whole. Feeding off the animals sufficed for a period, but then my body weakened, sick with the instinctual cravings the demon desired. I was not rid of him. My solitude was no solitude; my rest was no rest as long as the monster was still with me. I wandered the forest like a lost, starving dog, my strength failing me, making it difficult to trap and kill animals.
An intense pain shot through my body from my core to the tips of my fingers. My body doubled over, convulsing on the mossy ground while something unknown ripped out my insides.
"I want to die!" I shouted.
Even He, who was no longer my Creator, would not take pity on me and release me from my anguish. Over the days and nights that followed, my mumblings became incoherent even to myself. There were moments when I shouted out loud and other times when I whimpered as a child. Days, I remained hidden, and nights I would speak to the darkness believing it would answer and one day, in delirium, it did.
A voice called out. For a moment, I thought my Creator had not abandoned me after all, that He would not leave me in this world as a beast, a blot upon the earth, from which all men fled.
"Are you in need of a doctor?"
I lay on the ground, smiling at the heavens hidden behind the blackness of night, when a face appeared, peering over me, upside down. Had I not been writhing in pain, I would have heard him as his horse galloped through the woods; I would have smelled him from some distance away, smelled the blood that ran through his veins rushing to his heart; would have heard the sound of it racing against his chest and the smell of fear. One beat. Two beats. Three beats. Then there were no more.
My teeth sunk deeper into his neck, his blood now mine, flowing freely in my veins. No, my Creator had not abandoned me. The dark one who made me was determined that I should not suffer and that I should not wish to die any longer. My prayers were answered.
