The Birth Of Evil #2

This is the second chapter of a novel I started about a year ago, its continues telling the two stories in parallel.

I have my own take on vampires which is a lot close to Bram Stoker's view than most modern vampire books so please don't complain about the fact that sunlight doesn't kill them.

I have recently moved up to basic membership but now I have the space to add to my port I never seem to have the time so the next four chapters which have been written but need a fair amount of proofing will be appearing as soon as possible.

This is still a work in progress with no idea when or if it will be finished so please be patient.

All comments and criticisms welcomed.

Hope you find it interesting
Midnight Stalker

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Her eyes open slowly to reveal the blurry room, no golden gate with saint peter welcoming her in as she was sure would greet her eyes when she reopened them. The light of dawn coming in from the windows adds to the haze of the room the curtains barely making a difference to the amount of light coming in. Stumbling to her feet her one leg screams in pain but manages to take her weight despite during the night being barely connected to her. She holds the wall as she moves shakily across the floor everything still a blur, towards what she assumes is James' body rather than just a shapeless lump. Kneeling down next to him she reaches out with one blood encrusted arm towards his neck aiming for the pink section of the blur not the ruddy brown section that she wants to avoid thinking about.

His skin is cold with no sign of a pulse. Repulsed by the feel she draws her arm back and cradles it in her other arm as if it had been damaged by touching James' dead body. Getting back to her feet the pain in her leg is tremendous but coping with her weight extraordinarily well considering the horrific state it was in before she died.

The thought raced through her head and she corrected it, she hadn't died, it was that she passed out and she had only thought she was going to die, but the idea that she could still be alive she can't accept. Her throat had been ripped open by the madman and then he had been drinking her blood she had felt air being sucked into her body from the wound to replace it, remembering that strange feeling makes her shudder.

Carefully she steps round James and the pool of black next to him not allowing herself to dwell on what had happened to the other body. Staggering out the room holding the door frame she moves out onto the landing, her vision slowly clearing to allow her to make out the patches of blood on the floor the splatters up the walls. Wanting to get the dried blood off her body she heads for the bathroom, as if cleaning it off her could reverse what has happened and then maybe they would be back maybe she could walk into her parents bedroom and find them hiding in the corner scared but alive. That washing the blood from her arm could make the blood disappear from the walls, from the floor and if no blood is covering the wood then it could not be that they were dead as their blood can not be anywhere but in them.

Opening the door she almost falls against the basin her hands sliding along its edge till she finally has enough purchase to stop herself. In the mirror above the basin she sees her face, blood covering it, dried flakes of brown blood covering her cheeks, her nose caked in blood, smears across her forehead. Her vision still blurry begins to worsen as tears begin to fill her eyes. Fighting back the tears she turns on the taps and begins to wash her face in the cold water watching the red water run down the drain till the water running from her face runs clear and then she begins on her arm rubbing it over and over till the water runs out.

She looks round for the water bucket and finds it empty; she picks it up before realising she can not put off going to her parents room by filling the bucket from the well outside. Dropping the bucket she turns back to the mirror her vision now almost back to normal, she stares at her skin, no colour left in her cheeks, her lips drained. turning her head to the side lets her see her red neck: the wound a mess, black scar tissue already in the middle then the mass of red and brown blood surrounding it like a surreally coloured mountain range running up her neck. Her hand is inexplicable drawn towards it her finger tips touching it and causing her to wince with the pain.

Again she questions her existence questioning if what going on around her was the real world or some twisted purgatory or maybe even hell making her see the deaths of her loved ones before the fires consume her. She falls to her knees, the pain relatively minor, and begins to ask forgiveness for her and James she prays to a god she has always feared for all the acts she felt guilty for committing, purging her soul to heaven hoping that her prayers will be answered. She doesn't pray for it to be a dream, she knows it is too real, she prays that she is only in purgatory that she will one day be let into heaven her church lessons tumble through her mind she tries to remember what was said about purgatory. Her hand goes to her throat where her crucifix hangs and finds nothing, she doesn't try to remember where it is as she knows she took it off knowing what her and James were doing was wrong and again she has to fight back tears as she realises she deserved to die, she deserved to die for committing an act she could not bare to do with a crucifix around her neck. Fighting back the tears as she gets to her feet using the basin to raise herself from her knees.

She walks out of the room back onto the blood stained hallway her washed face and half a clean arm have made no affect on the blood and she knows her parents wont be hiding scared in the corner of their room. She knows her father would not hide in the corner of his room knowing that she was in the house and the sounds of the two shotgun blasts still echo in her head, he could no more be alive than James could be. She pulls open her parents door and looks into the dark room, the curtains much heavier keeping out the light of day.

Her father lies in a pile in one corner of the room his eyes open staring at the floor his mouth open a trail of blood running from the corner of his mouth now dry. In his hands he still hold the shotgun one hand on the trigger the other holding the barrel as if waiting for something to happen for him to need to use his gun rather than it now being an empty useless metal pole with a wooden handle that had done nothing to the madman who had invaded their home. She walks over to him and kneels beside him looking into his eyes, no life flickers behind their glassy fronts and she closes them no longer wanting him to see the house he tried to protect, she still holds onto the hope that it is the same house not a replica for her imprisonment.

On the bed lies her mother, her body twisted and her head almost facing backwards, she can see two red hand prints on her face one on each cheek. She stumbles as she imagines the man with his hands on her face twisting it suddenly and that sickening crack she had heard. She catches herself from falling on the edge of the bed, leaning over it her face too close to her mothers dead body. She stands up straight scared what might happen if she let herself stay within easy reach of her mother. Unlike her father her mother could have been asleep except for her open eyes and her twisted neck no blood other than that of the hand prints were on her, her heavy pink night-gown showing no damage. She tentatively reaches out and closes her mother's eyes before turning away from her not wanting to see her body for she felt she would wait an eternity watching for her chest to rise to show she were merely sleeping with her head turned to one side and not dead.

Sitting on the edge of the bed she looks down at the floor, the boards covered with dirt and blood one spent shotgun shell lying in the middle the second still in the gun. She watches flies dart around occasionally landing on the edge of the red pools she wants to tell them to stop for them to leave her fathers blood alone but she can not her mouth will not let her say those words it will not let her open her mouth and admit that it is her father's blood on the floor before her. It will not let her remove the final strained strand of denial that her father has not been killed that he is purely unconscious in the corner of the room after loosing no more than a thimble full of blood from biting his own lip. She didn't check his pulse he could not still be alive. She stands needing to leave the room, needing to get away from her dead parents: her dead mother not asleep on the bed; her dead father not unconscious in a pile in the corner. She feels her mind tearing itself apart half wanting to accept the truth for it has no option and half not accepting the truth as accepting the truth would be like accepting death, giving up, and if she accepted the truth there would be no future, no parents, no James, no life just an existence full of grieving.

From the hallway she hears a sound. In her mind she sees James lying on the floor the black pool beside him where a body should be. She looks at her parents door, once more closed as it always does when not held open. She crosses to beside the door and picks up the heavy iron candle stick, a free standing stick branching into three at chest height. The footsteps outside are coming towards her. She knows the candle stick will do no good against a man who has been shot twice and had a sword through his heart but she will die fighting. The man being out there proves she is alive, he was not missing because she was dead and in the next world leaving him behind, he was missing because he too was alive and had left the room and her movements had alerted him to the fact she was still alive and he had come back.

Holding the candle stick thinking she would still open her eyes and find saint peter before her when this was over she is ready for him as the door slowly opens outwards. She swings the stick high ready to bring it down on him as he steps into the room. With all her force she brings the stick down, as her arm passes her face she sees the red mess on his neck. As it nears his head she sees he has no dirty coat, he has no top just a pair of cotton shorts. As it makes contact with his head she realises the candle stick has hit James. As the cracking sound reaches her ears she begins to scream. As his body collapses the sound rises in her throat. As he slams down on the floor the scream is released from her lips.

She falls to her knees beside him and lifts his head holding his cold white cheeks in his hand. She pulls his face to hers while bending closer and presses her lips against his cold colourless lips: she closes her eyes and wants to die. His lips twitch beneath hers and she jerks her head back her eyes open wide. He opens his eyes slowly and looks up at her and opens his mouth to talk. She throws her arms round his neck and holds him close to her; he manages to raise his arms around her and cling to her on the floor.

He begins to cough, Heather instantly pulls back from him worried she is the cause. He lowers his head as his coughing gets worse his body spasming with each cough. Heather screams again as she sees the mist of blood coming from his mouth with each cough, it building up on the floorboards below him. He manages to get himself under control the coughing fit slowly passing and then he sits back his breathing still laboured.

Heather's eyes search the room trying to think what she can do to help and decides that getting him back into his bed is her only option then she can try and help him but already she is thinking that she will only be able to make him comfortable as he waits to die.

"Help me up, It's not too bad all I need is to get some food and some sleep." His words are weak and she winces at the sounds of his gulps for air between words and is sure he wont see another dawn.

"we're going to have to take it slowly, I'll get you to a nice soft bed don't worry everything will be fine." She puts her arm round him and helps him to his feet. She helps him slowly across the landing using the wall to support her as his legs barely help. Helping him down onto the bed she lifts his legs up so he can lie down. As she helps him she feels the heat of the sun on her back her body sweating and the work seeming so much harder. With him lying in his bed she turns to face the window, the sun now shining through holes in the curtain, staring at the light she begins to feel sick. Walking over to the window her hip begins to scream as she gets closer. She takes James' winter coat from the cupboard and hangs it over the flimsy curtain rail blocking out the light.

She walks back to James lying helpless, barely alive on his bed, her leg once more being fine her hip hardly moaning to her about having the bone grinding in its socket where the previous night the socket had been temporarily empty. James appears almost dead, his chest the only part of him moving, with each breath it rises slightly and without a bare chest there would be no visible sign of life. His face is white, his lips pale, the rasp coming from his chest with each breath surprisingly reassuring to Heather as she watches him.

She kisses him on the cheek, the coldness sends a shiver through her, no sense of life beneath the skin. She leaves the room and picks up the water bucket from the bathroom and heads downstairs. At the front door she pauses her hand on the handle ready to open it. The light coming in from the window besides the door knots her stomach as if warning her not to go outside. She throws the door open and the light floods into the doorway, she controls the urge to throw-up dropping the bucket in order to clutch her tightening stomach. On one knee she slowly composes herself and then picks up the bucket and gets back to her feet her leg once more screaming in agony as she puts weight on the joint.

Despite the agony she makes the short distance to the pump and begins working the pump, the heavy leaver making her sweat as the water begins to finally flow. With the bucket full she carries on pumping wanting to finish washing off the rest of the blood from her arm. She moves round to the water spilling from the spout and begins washing her arm the blood mainly rubbing at it as it comes off in flakes. By the time the water stops spilling out she is merely rubbing the skin raw. As she stands up her head spins and she vomits over the ground falling to her hands and knees. In front of her on the ground the pool of vomit disgusts her more blood than bile the vomit contains maggots squirming and smoking in the sun.

She grabs the bucket and runs into the house splashing water as she runs. She collapses against the closed door sliding to the floor as she catches her breath. The pain and illness slowly fade and she heads back up to James. Back in the bedroom she feels much better the cool darkness settling her. She cleans James' neck, horrified by the amount of his neck missing, carefully cleaning trying to avoid causing him any pain, but he seems fine and with the rasping gone she starts to feel hopeful that he will survive, despite having the chunk of his neck ripped off.

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The desolate land is bleak, the creatures screaming and howling fighting between themselves the weakest being eaten by the stronger ones feeding off each other to survive. The animals fear her, she can feel them go into hiding as she approaches, crawling into cracks in the stone ground, behind her they leave their hiding places she feel them watching her as she passes. She can smell their fear a rank tortured smell that revolts her yet the smell excites her, she can feel her heart beating faster as the smell intensifies. She can detect each creatures own scent within the smell being able to concentrate on it her mind able to find the animal and increase its fear until the creature either runs or simply dies its heart giving up.

When she finds the scent of a large animal she tracks it to its hiding place the excitement within her swelling and then when she gazes upon the animal she can feel the fear in it explode and as it does her excitement does too leaving her with a strange feeling of satisfaction and serenity, perfect clarity within herself, no fear of what she will do, no guilt about what she left behind, only the thought of revenge filling her head like a giant fireball the light blinding her to anything else.

Standing over the body of a hyena that looks more starved to death than of fright. Its ribs showing through its sparse fur. Its head is hidden beneath its paws in a pathetic attempt to shut out the world. She pushes against its ribs with her bare foot and watches it fall sideways a lifeless sack hitting the stone its one paw falling from its head revealing the terrified face its eye like a black bead shining in a socket too small for it. The mouth open in a snarl the sharp teeth still glistening from the coating of saliva the pink gums visible beneath the brown matted fur of its snout.

She bends down squatting next to the animal and reaches out with her hand to his matted spotted fur. Her fingertips press into the fur the hot skin beneath meets them easily with such thinning fur the only barrier. The flesh moves beneath her fingertips soft and bloated she can feel the veins that carried its cursed blood round its body.

Behind her another hyena cries at the sky and she stands up leaving the carcass alone she turns to face mountain, now far in the distance, the blue hole above it still bright and piercing but she feels a change in it a brooding feel that she never felt when beneath it. The mountain's tip previously basked in a golden glow now dull and boring the change not purely the distance she's covered. Turning her back on her former home she carries on walking, ever onwards her body beginning to tremble with a thirst unlike any she had felt. Her whole body screaming out, the thirst seeming to emanate from deep within her mind. The thirst only controlled during her grappling with the animals' puny minds but never quenched. She puts the thirst to the back of her mind and carries on walking trying not to think. The whole time her thirst searching out a substantial mind in the reek of fear needing to take that fear to push it further to push it to the limit of the animal and then pushing it over the edge to feel the ecstasy of the lowly animal dying at her wont, by her will.

Overhead the rain begins to fall the lightning flashing through the air and thunder rolling round her. The cold heavy rain hits her white bare skin the rain running down over her skin, her hair gets heavy with the water flattening it against her back sticking to her skin as she walks the hair ending in the small of her back the water then running from the tips of her hair down over her ass and winding down her legs.

Her feet fall firmly on the stone ground covered now in a stream of running water, the water washing over her feet, the ground becoming a rippling slippery mirror but not hindering her strides. The wind starts to pick up from behind her she finally stops turning to face the wind. With the wind blasting at her face her hair flies out behind her in front of her the mountain seems to shake behind the curtain of rain being blown into her face. Above her the clouds race past, racing away from the mountain, away from the darkening pool of blue.

As she watches, the blue pool begins to mix with the surrounding clouds streaks of black cloud stretching into the pool while slivers of blue get teased into the surrounding cloud. The mountain begins to rumble the sound low and menacing as it tears through the ground huge fissures forming in the stone, mountain ranges forcing upwards reaching for the clouds. As the land around the mountain enters a state of turmoil her view of the mountain gets blocked by the spears of earth thrust skywards.

She turns her back to the erupting earth and walks onwards her mind once more searching for fear ignoring the chaos, not caring what happens to the world she left behind it would still be there—in some form or other—when she is ready to enter back into it. For now, she wants to be alone she needs time to think about what her role is now, a role thrust upon her. Her new life devoid of the clarity her previous life had been stifled by.