shadows and stones - an original fiction series of gothic, horror, dark fantasy

I’m working on my computer, doing a little writing, when I hear a car pulling up the driveway. Since most of the locals prefer horses or bicycles for getting around, my curiosity is roused. Glancing out the open window, I see two women exiting a nondescript rental car. Groaning, I save my file and run for the door. I should have talked to Rath about them last night, but I didn’t feel like dealing with it. By this morning, I had completely forgotten.

Rath is going to kill me.

Racing out of my room and down the stairs, I strain my senses, hoping to locate him before the occupants of the car can reach the door. Unfortunately, they’re faster than I anticipate; the doorbell echoes loudly through the house while I am only halfway down the stairs. I knew I should have flown.

“Damn!” I still haven’t scented Rath. Finding him before he finds them is now imperative. I hit the ground floor running, my goal being the library where he often sits and reads at this time of day.

“Lady Eva?” Somehow Melanie makes what is supposed to be a respectful term sound like an insult. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, the dislike between the housekeeper and myself is mutual. I stop, giving her the courtesy of a polite acknowledgement despite her rudeness.

“Yes?”

“A pair of American women are at the door. They claim to be acquaintances of yours.” I can hear the question in her voice, and disapproval is fairly spilling from her eyes. Yep, I’ve pissed her off once again. I sigh heavily. Why couldn’t Ursula have gotten the door this morning?

“Yes, I know them. Would you please settle them in the morning room? They can’t possibly do any damage there.” I don’t deserve the courtesy of a response apparently; Melanie turns to do as I’ve asked without uttering a sound.

“Melanie? ” I hate asking for her help, but at the moment I don’t have much choice. “Do you know where Rath is?”

She doesn’t even stop walking to respond. “In his office.”

Great, I can get there without passing the morning room. His door is slightly ajar when I arrive, so I don’t knock before entering. Inside, I find he isn’t there after all, though his scent is strong and fresh. Damn, that means he’s probably in the cellar talking with Simon. I really hate seeing that vampire head. No help for it if I plan to talk with him, however. Opening the cellar door, I find the stairs brightly lit, confirming he is somewhere below.

“Shit,” I swear for courage, before hastening down.

Before I reach the bottom I hear Rath’s voice murmuring in the distance. As I get closer, I realize he’s reading aloud. By the time I stand in the doorway and can see the book in his hands, I’ve already identified its title – “Interview with the Vampire”.

“Sadist!” I call out, hoping to surprise him. I should have known better; Rath probably heard my footsteps in his office before I ever opened the cellar door. With a calm expression he looks up, then folds over the page in the paperback.

“Isn’t it cruel and unusual punishment to read vampire fiction to a vampire head?” I ask.

“How do you know he doesn’t like it?” A look of amusement plays in Rath’s eyes as he gestures towards the head of Simon, the vampire, resting in its velvet lined box. Hatred and contempt emanate from Simon’s eyes as he glares back at Rath. The question is too ridiculous to deserve an answer, so I plow ahead with my request instead.

“Rath, can I show the house to a couple of tourists?” I brace myself for an onslaught of temper.

“Pardon?” Damn, he’s being polite. Rath is always at his worst when he’s being polite, and he’s not going to like my explanation.

“It was an accident, Rath. Yesterday I went to sit in the abbey ruins. I was minding my own business when these two women tourists showed up out of nowhere – I mean, the abbey isn’t exactly a well known spot, I’ve never been disturbed there before.” Rath nods to acknowledge the truth of my comment. “Anyway, they just barged right up to me, introducing themselves and generally being a nuisance. ‘Fellow Americans’ and all that bull. Before I knew it they were insisting on giving me a drive home since I didn’t have a car and it was so cold out. What was I supposed to do, tell them I planned on flying home as a crow?”

“Perish the thought.” Great. Sarcasm. That’s even worse than politeness.

“Well, they took one look at the house and invited themselves over for a tour. I told them I don’ t own the place and that my brother is an anti-social bastard who eats small children and tourists for breakfast, but it didn’t seem to faze them.“

“Indeed? I’m shocked. I should have thought your hairstyle and poor wardrobe choices would have been enough to frighten them away without having to bring up my bad habits.” I decide to let the insults slide, since I’d started it after all.

“Look, I know you hate strangers, so just say no. I’ll send them on their way and we’ll all be happier.” I hadn’t planned on telling Rath the more bizarre bit of my encounter with the women, but if he knows it might encourage him to say no. I don’t want the women in the house. “Something else, Rath. Those two made me nervous. My skin kept itching whenever I got near them, as though I were wearing a wool sweater. And one of them was really strange. She wouldn’t look me in the eye and backed away whenever I got within a few feet.”

Rath throws me one of those inscrutable looks he’s so good at while he ponders my story.

“I think we shall let the ladies have their tour. It would be rude to disappoint them.” Rath unexpectedly responds.

Simon beats me to the obvious retort. “Since when has that bothered you?”

Rath reacts as though he only just remembered the vampire head was sitting there. If I weren’t so concerned about the tourists upstairs I’d laugh at the ludicrous performance.

“Time for you to go back on the shelf, Simon. I’ve already kept you up past your bedtime.” I watch in macabre fascination as Rath drops the paperback, then closes up the collapsible box in which the head resides. With Simon back on the shelf, Rath turns to me and grins. “Shall we go meet our guests?”

“Rath, what kind of game is this? I know you dislike having strangers in the house.”

“Indeed,” he says while taking my arm and guiding me back up the stairs. “American tourists are by far the worst; however, I find they tend to be extremely vociferous when tours are refused. I would rather send them merrily on their way, having seen only what I choose, then send them away angry and dissatisfied to complain elsewhere. Besides, I’d like to find out why they give you a rash.” Rath never ceases to amaze me.

Together we walk into the morning room where the women are intently studying the view from the bay window. Though we move in absolute silence, the taller of the two reacts immediately as we enter, spinning to look at us. A second later her friend turns, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her plain face. Hands extended, they approach Rath.

“You must be Eva’s brother,” the shorter one exclaims, grabbing his hand and shaking it firmly. I can see Rath’s almost imperceptible shudder at the contact. The taller woman must have noticed his reaction, she drops her hand immediately.

“My name is Cindy, and this is my cohort in crime, Darla,” the shorter one continued. “I hope we aren’t intruding or anything, but we just love these old houses and yours is one of the most beautiful we’ve seen so far.”

I keep an eye on Rath to gauge his reaction. He isn’t susceptible to pointless flattery, so the comment about the house doesn’t affect him, but I think he, like myself, senses something odd about these two; his smile is far from genuine. Meanwhile, I’m fighting desperately to not scratch the irritating itch which returned, en force, the moment I entered the room. Why? How are they causing it?

Cindy behaves sweet and nice, but I can smell a layer of menace under every word she utters and every move she makes. All fluttery eyes – useless on a rather plain face – and cheerful patter, she attempts to ingratiate herself with Rath. Such blatant flirting makes my stomach churn; I can only imagine how it is affecting him. Darla, on the other hand, is a tall, ungainly woman who looks as though her better days have not only passed, they never stopped to wake her up. She keeps a healthy distance from both of us – a difficult accomplishment in a rather small room.

“Yes, I am Eva’s brother, Michael Ratheson. I’m afraid I do not generally give tours, however. This is our Uncle’s home after all, not a museum. There are, however, a few areas I could allow you to see. I trust that will be sufficient?” The tone of his voice implies that it had better be. Out of the corner of my eye, while Cindy is nodding her agreement, I notice Darla pale. A shudder, not so very different from the one Rath made earlier, runs through her. The itching on my arms increases. Rath gestures for the women to exit the room as he begins the tour. Impelled by my suspicions, I fall behind them, where I will be able to see their actions and reactions clearly. As we move from room to room, I find it increasingly hard to believe they are simple tourists.

On the way to the drawing room, both women seem intent on studying their surroundings, yet neither is taking interest in any of the truly magnificent pieces of art we pass. Nor do they give more than a cursory glance to any of the artifacts and furnishings. Instead, their eyes seem to rest most often on the layout of the structure itself – windows and doors.

“A place this big must require one heck of a lot of staff to maintain,” Cindy comments as we entered the drawing room. Rath doesn’t answer, and Cindy throws a look back to Darla in the ensuing silence.

Allowing the women to wander freely around the drawing room, Rath offers no explanations of the contents or history. Despite his seemingly careless attitude, however, his eyes are on them as keenly as my own. Suddenly, as she closely passes the door of Rath’s office, Darla stumbles collapsing to her knees. While I am standing closest to her when it happens, it is Cindy who moves with surprising speed to reach her first.

“Is she all right?” I inquire with some genuine concern. I’m sure Darla is not faking, but I’m also sure there is something unnatural about this as well. “Does she need water or something?”

“No!” Surprisingly, Cindy answers rather sharply for her friend. “This happens sometimes, when we’re indoors too much. It’s sort of like claustrophobia. I just need to get her outside.” Shunning my assistance Cindy, who appears to be stronger than I had thought, helps Darla up. I’m not so concerned about Darla’s health that I miss the fact Cindy needs no guidance in finding her way out of the house. This time it is Rath, who hasn’t made a single comment the whole time, who brings up the rear of our tour party.

Only after Darla is safely in their car, does Rath finally comment.

“A pity your visit is cut so short. Should you ever return to this part of England in the future, you must be certain to drop by and finish.” His tone is so laden with sarcasm even an obtuse American must be able to hear it. The only response he gets, however, is a quick wave from Cindy as the car starts up and speeds down the driveway.

I stand beside Rath, watching the vehicle recede in the distance. My uneasiness doesn’t recede with them, however, although the itching stopped the moment the car doors were shut. Rath appears to also be uneasy. Turning to face the house. he studies its façade for several minutes.

“Tonight I want all of the windows and doors locked tightly. Except for the window nearest the vestibule, let’s leave that one open.”

“Don’t you think they’ll suspect a trap?” Surprisingly I don’t need to ask if he is planning one. I must be starting to think like Rath, a scary thought in and of itself.

“Personally, I don’t think they are intelligent enough to notice a trap. Not even if I put up a spot-lit sign saying ‘Enter Here’.”

“Hmmm, you have a point. So have you determined why is it whenever they’re around me I itch?”

“I don’t know, but I suspect we will eventually find out.” With what passed for a chuckle, Rath returns to the house. Despite his claims of ignorance, I think he knows what’s going on here. Annoyed that he doesn’t see fit to share the information with me, I storm back to my room to finish my work.

I can’t believe I’m hiding in the recess to the right of the front door when the clock in the hallway chimes midnight. Rath is the one who’s so sure the women are going to break in, why does he need me to wait for the inevitable? I stifle a yawn, bored senseless as we enter the third hour of our vigil. If Cindy and Darla are as stupid as Rath thinks, then they should arrive any time now, if they arrive at all.

“Why are you so sure they’re coming back, anyway?” I mumble to Rath.

“Because they were about a subtle as a shovel to the back of the head,” Rath’s voice is mirthful as it echoes slightly off of the stones. God help me, he’s enjoying this!

Fortunately, a fumbling at the front door a few seconds later alerts us to our visitor’s presence. Fleetingly, I wonder if the women will try to pick the locks – then I hear movement by the open window. It seems Rath was right about their stupidity. We both push further into the shadows as a figure blocks the light of the window.

“Look, Dar, they forgot to lock this one – we can climb through easily.”

I will not laugh, I will not laugh.

As they carefully step on the library table under the window, I wonder that they fail to notice how conveniently we moved it there – previously a large chair had blocked that spot – and how the beautiful art nouveau clock is no longer resting on the table’s surface. Absentmindedly, I scratch my left arm.

Rath gestures at me from his hiding place in the shadows as the two women prepare to move further into the house. In accordance with the plan we made earlier, I step nonchalantly from my hiding place, touching Darla on the shoulder.

“Awful late for a tour, don’t you agree, ladies?”

A scream like something out of a horror movie rips through the vestibule. “Let go of me, you excrescent bitch!” Darla howls, putting a hand in my face and shoving me violently backwards. Cindy immediately turns to back up her partner, her pose aggressive; not even a pretense of sweetness is in her expression now. Behind me, I can sense Rath tensing.

“Why don’t you just turn around and leave the way you entered – only this time consider any future invitations null and void.” My voice is hard. I add some subtle feline tones to make my menace doubly clear. Hopefully, they’ll take the hint and Rath won’t have to involve himself. Things could get ugly if he does.

“NO!” My eardrums strain, but don’t quite break at the volume of Darla’s scream. “No, Cindy. Now, you have to do it now – there are so many…, so many I can’t stand it.” I watch, amazed, as Darla slowly sinks to the floor, gibbering and drooling. “Oh my God, there are so many…. So foul…, so foul…, the air is so hard to breathe around them.”

I make a mistake, glancing backwards to see Rath’s reaction to this performance. Fingers bury themselves in my hair as I’m jerked backwards. Since an extremely livid Rath is now in front of me, and Darla is dribbling and mumbling on the floor to my left, I assume it’s Cindy who has me. Cold metal hovers near my temple. The stench of powder is unmistakable; Daddy used to hunt every season, I know a gun when I smell one.

Up until now I hadn’t thought this would get dangerous. At the worst, I figured the women were planning on burglarizing the place, stealing a few objects, then running for the hills. Once they were caught, I expected them to give up. The gun at my head is definitely not for show, however, and I can feel Cindy’s hatred clearly. My left arm and leg erupt in a painful itch, but I don’t dare move to scratch. Fleetingly, I wonder if brain damage heals on us the way other wounds do.

Rath steps out of the shadows, exuding anger and menace. Did he expect this to happen? No, I can’t believe he would let me walk into danger.

“Get back, Werewolf, or I blow the bitch’s brains out. Silver will do the job at close range.”

Silver bullets? Werewolves? I fight to not start laugh. This situation is moving from horror to humor again. Cindy can’t be serious.

“Pull your shit together, Darla and tell me how many are in here, dammit!”

“So many…,” Darla moans repeatedly like a broken record. “…lycanthropes, so many…three…no, four? Two, two others – not human, not lycanthrope, two others…kill them Cindy, kill them to make it stop hurting….”

“God, is she a couple bricks short of a load or what?” I should learn to keep my mouth shut.

Cindy doesn’t take kindly to the levity, smacking me upside the head with her gun. Rath snarls, but doesn’t change shape or move closer. After a few seconds my head stops spinning enough for me to know I’m in deep doodoo now. As I concentrate on my situation, I realize my chances of escape are actually quite good. Although Cindy holds me with my right arm twisted behind my back, I’m sure I could manage to shape shift without suffering injuries. I’ll wait before trying it in case Rath manages to convince her to give up.

“Touch my sister again, woman, and you will learn whether or not your God exists.”

“I know He does and your very existence is an affront to Him!” Has she been speaking to Grief? “We know your plans, Werewolf, but you won’t find humanity so easy to pollute. Our genetic purity will survive once we’ve destroyed you and all your tainted offspring.”

I think Cindy has us seriously confused with someone else.

“Woman, let my sister go and leave this house. You are in over your head, soon you will lose it completely.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you! Do you think I don’t know there are others outside, waiting to capture us? Well, we aren’t falling for your trap, Werewolf. We aren’t going to be two more victims in your breeding program.”

Breeding program? This time I can’t stop myself, I laugh aloud. “I hate to tell you this, Cindy, but I don’t think you’re my brother’s type.” If I thought Rath was planning to breed children with these two, I’d shoot him myself.

“Bitch!” Spit hits my face. Cindy is joining her friend in becoming completely unhinged. “Get ready to kiss the Devil,” she hisses in my ear. I hear the gun being cocked.

The tiniest movement in her body, a slight loosening of her grip on my arm warns me. I quickly shift into a mouse. The bullet passes through the air where my head had been, shattering the window near the door. I hit the ground running and feel the swoosh of air above me as Rath, now in his most dangerous half-feline form, leaps onto Cindy before she can fire again.

Racing for cover under a nearby planter, I hear a tearing sound followed by a high pitched scream. Something warm and damp splashes my tail just before I reach safety. More screams, less intense than the first, echo in the vestibule, until one is cut off suddenly, changing into a gurgle. I risk looking out from my hiding place to see what is happening. Rath has torn Cindy’s throat open and, leaving nothing to chance, continues disassembling her body by inches. A chunk of something red and squishy lands near where I sit. Quickly I move back to the wall, having no urge to watch the remainder of the destruction she brought on herself.

“Eva?” Rath calls out a moment later. There is enough concern in his voice to convince me coming out will be wise. Carefully, I dodge the puddles of blood, running to the only dry spot I can find, where I shift to human form. The vestibule looks like something out of a slasher movie and you could fit what is left of Cindy into a six-pack cooler. Curiously, I don’t feel sickened by the sight, only sad.

“Jesus Christ, Rath – was it really necessary to tear her apart? Couldn’t you just break her neck or something – it’s not like she was a vampire, you know!” Still in his half-feline form, Rath looks me over intently, no doubt reassuring himself that the bullet missed. I find myself wondering how he manages to cause so much damage without getting blood anywhere but on his hands.

“I don’t react well to my family being threatened,” he snarls. That is an understatement. “Leave the room, I’ll clean it and dispose of her remains.”

Sounds fine to me. I turn to go, but unfortunately we have both forgotten two important things: Darla, whom we assumed to be mentally incapacitated on the floor, and the gun, dropped by Cindy when Rath attacked. Three reports occur in quick succession, three burning zones of pain ignite on my body and an incredible scream of triumph reminds us both a little too late.

As I fall to the ground, bullets embedded in left shoulder, arm and hip, I have one last thought: Great, now I’m going to get bloody bits of Cindy all over my clothes and hair. I barely hear it when Darla begins screaming in earnest.

Fortunately for me, Darla was a miserable shot. The bullets didn’t do much damage, hitting nothing vital. Ursula, a remarkably skilled woman, manages to extract the two bullets that didn’t pass through, and patches the injuries neatly. Calling in a real physician would have been unwise, of course. How do you explain being shot with silver bullets?

Staring out the window, I find myself wondering where Rath has gone to dispose of the women’s remains. There was, I gather, not much left of either. At least before leaving, he took the time to explain what he knew about the women and their motive. As he suspected – and I yelled at him thoroughly for not sharing the suspicions with me – they were members of a small organization who not only believe in “mythical” creatures like werewolves, but believe they are out to contaminate the human gene pool, turning everyone into monsters. In the past, he had been able to scare them off with little effort. Reality, it seems, was quite different from what they had imagined.

“I’m sorry, Eva,” he said. “Had I known those women were more maniacal than their predecessors, I would not have put you in danger.”

I accepted his apology, what else could I do, since I knew it was genuine? As for my intense itching when they were around, Rath believes that Darla was some sort of “sensitive”, able to feel the presence of partial humans like us. Just as she was reacting to our being near her, I was reacting to the proximity of a sensitive. Wonderful. Nothing like having a built-in loony alert. I suppose I should be grateful I don’t turn into a drooling idiot like Darla.

“Don’t worry, Eva, it’s unlikely they will send any more of their number near us for quite some time.” Oh, now there is reassurance! I just nod to Rath as he leaves to do his disposal duties.

As I lie here now, the throbbing pain of the bullet wounds recedes as the medication Ursula gave me takes effect, I have plenty of time to take a look at what happened. My behavior last night worries me. Not long ago I was puking and fainting when Rath destroyed Iain, now I had witnessed him tearing a living human being into pieces, and I felt no horror at all. Granted, the spectacle wasn’t anything I enjoyed watching, but I didn’t try to stop him either. I just accepted the violence as necessary. Oh, Mama, what have I become?

“Why so sad looking, Eva? Are you still hurting?” Ursula comes into the room carrying a bed tray loaded with one of her excellent breakfasts.

“I’m not human anymore.”

Setting the tray on the table beside the bed, Ursula seats herself beside me. Though in reality there are few similarities, right now she reminds me an awful lot of Mama. There is the same concern in her eyes, the same warmth in the touch of her hand. Ignoring the pain of my injuries, I grab Ursula in a fierce hug, crying uncontrollably, the horror of last night overwhelming me all in a moment.

“He killed them…he…he just killed them…” I sob.

“Yes, he did. And you are human, Eva. The fact that you cry for them proves it.”

“But I didn’t then…I…I just watched him do it.”

Ursula envelops me in her strong embrace. “Of course you did. I’m not one of those psychiatrists Eva, but I do recognize shock when I see it. Your mind simply delayed reacting until you were in a safer situation. That doesn’t mean you’ve lost your humanity, child, I think it rather supports the fact that you still have it.”

I cry myself dry in Ursula’s arms while she continues her reassuring words. When I at last reach the point where there are no more tears left to shed, she lays me back against the pillows, tucking Roybear into my arms before setting the breakfast tray closer to the bed.

“Eat something and get some sleep. Everything will seem better after a good rest.” My mother would have said the same thing. I spare Ursula the response I would have given Mama. With a smile she leaves me alone, and I’m certain Ursula believes she has succeeded in changing my mind. Too bad she’s wrong.

Shock is an easy answer – too easy. I can’t accept it. A fundamental part of myself has changed forever, and it’s time I took responsibility for what that change makes of me. Next time, and I’m sure there will be a next time as long as I live here with Rath, I have to do something to stop him.

Ursula is right in one thing: so long as I can cry for an unnecessary death, I’m still human.

Hopefully I’ll stay that way.

�

episode i: journey into darkness - episode ii: tea party - episode iii: awakening
episode iv: the book of grief - episode v: paterfamilias - episode vi: breaking points
episode vii: the dark of the mind - episode viii: decisions
episode ix: momentary distractions - episode x: exorcising demons i
episode xi: porcelain visions - episode xii: the nature of jackals
episode xiii: exorcising demons ii - episode xiv: the invitation
episode xv: body & soul - episode xvi: mothering sunday
episode xvii: imbalance of power - episode xviii: interlude
episode xix: between life and death

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