Eldren: The Book of the Dark (23 page)

It wasn’t murder...how could it be...they were dead already.

Over the years he’d learned about his quarry. How there were three kinds...the old ones who slept in deep places and who held the power, the ones who had been turned by the old ones but who had little or no intelligence...like the old man he’d sent off last night. And then there was the third, more elusive variety...the intelligent ones; the ones who claimed to have overcome the blood lust.

He’d met them all, and he’d executed them all, even the third kind. They might like to think they were better than the others were, but he had seen their fangs, and felt the rage in their stare. He knew what they were, and they were sent down for it.

Until the police caught him with a body.

That had been a bad one. He’d read the usual signs...the cattle mutilations, the disappearing children, and he’d tried to get to the town as fast as possible...a small village in Wester Ross, miles from any public transport. Back then, only six years after the bad times on Jura, he still had some savings, enough to rent a car, but he was still almost too late.

Half the town had been turned by the time he got there, and the other half were quaking in fear behind locked doors.

Jim had nearly died twice in three nights as he chased bloodsuckers up and down the coast, and the trail of bodies he left behind had finally alerted the national police.

But by then he had caught up with the cause. He had just put the final bolt into its black heart when a floodlight lit him up and a police foghorn told him to put down his weapons.

The trial was a formality of course, and they kept the whole thing hushed up to stop the population from being frightened. But he’d seen it in some of their eyes. Not only did they believe him...they knew about it already. And still they did nothing.

They put him away for a long time.

For the first couple of years it was solitary confinement, with only the exercise regime and the books to break the monotony. Back then they wouldn’t let him read anything that might excite him. That included anything to do with his obsession.

But after the therapy things got a bit looser. He’d been a model citizen, and the social workers had got him into one of the new ‘open’ prisons. One with a library and a request service.

He spent years in research. He read Stoker and King, he subscribed to
The Velvet Vampyre
and
Bats and Red Velvet
and he corresponded with university researchers. And then came the Internet. He learned about its use and requested access in the prison library. They took it as another sign of his rehabilitation and within a month he was online to thousands of pages of information worldwide.

He realized that he wasn’t alone, that across the world there were others like him, and he used the computer services to pass on information, telling the others about his methods of disposal.

But he never wrote about the time on Jura...that stayed in his heart alone.

And there he might have stayed, happy to let others fight the good fight, if he hadn’t seen the newspaper reports about the cattle mutilations in the farms around Finsburgh.

He escaped the next day, evading the guards easily. He wasn’t happy at leaving his research behind, but he had it all on the ‘Net’, and it could be accessed from anywhere.

He stole the crossbow and quarrels from a hunting shop in Glasgow...the use of computers wasn’t the only thing he’d learned inside…and the garlic came from a health food shop. Then he headed for Finsburgh.

He wasn’t sure if he’d got here in time...God knows how many had been turned last night. He had to get to the cause...the old one he’d pursued through the town to this house. He hefted the crossbow in his right hand, testing its weight.

With one final check that the garlic was still in his pockets he opened the door and entered the vampire’s lair.

~-o0O0o-~

Brian slept.

There were no dreams, and out in the daylight world the sun moved across the sky, so slowly that its progress was almost imperceptible, but moving nonetheless.

TEMPLE

THE THIRD BOOK OF THE DARK

AMRO SAW many of the sons of Adam pass into dust while he lived in the glory of the Lord, yet Shoa and the Unforgiven were not to be seen on the face of the Earth.

And Amro took himself to Iorma, the mountain that reached for the Moon, and raised his eyes to the stars saying: “Oh Lord, what is thy purpose for us, your first made?”

And the stars spun in the sky in a great dance, wheels within wheels as the fire burned in the darkness. And Amro felt himself risen up from the earth to join in the celestial spinning. The stars spun faster and ever faster and Amro saw that each of the stars signified the soul of an Eldren.

And the souls spun together, weaving and building into a vast structure that stretched endlessly in all directions, a temple that shone with the light of the stars.

And the Lord came to Amro in the Temple and his light was that of a thousand moons.

The Lord spoke to Amro, saying: “You will raise a temple here on the mountain, and I will make you a covenant. You will go among the Unforgiven and bring them to my house. And if all should come, and if all should be worshipful, and follow my Tenets, then all will ascend in glory and sit by my side for eternity. And the Eldren will thirst no more.”

And Amro found himself back on the mountain and he wept, for the Lord had gone from his sight. But he kept the vision of the Temple with him as he returned to the caverns of his people.

When his people saw him there was great rejoicing, for the light of the Lord burned brightly in his eyes.

Long were the years of the building of the Temple, and mighty were the deeds done in the name of the Lord. Great stones were hewn from the ground, and starlight was captured in them. Hand by hand it rose to the stars, inch by inch it soared over the mountain until its spires seemed to touch the very sky. And Amro looked at their work and saw it was good.

The Tenets of the Law were set on the highest altar, that the light of their truth might illuminate all that looked on the Temple.

And Amro chose three of his people to go out onto the face of the earth and bring the Unforgiven to the Lord. And among them was Kalent and they were known thereafter as the Chosen.

And Amro spoke, saying “Bring all of the Eldren to me, that I might share with them the glory of the Lord.”

Kalent he sent to the south, to the lands of the Adamities, and he it was who found the people of Shoa in the great city of Ur.

Great was the throng of Adamities in that place, but Kalent could move through them in the night like mist through the trees, unseen and unheard, for he was of the Eldren and he was the first made.

But there were some among the Adamities who could feel his passing. They were of the tribe of Dan and they had shared in the blood of the Unforgiven and were no longer merely sons of Adam. They were known as the Blood Children, and they are forever damned.

And the Blood Children took Kalent down into the earth to where the Priest-Kings lay in their tombs and the tribe of Shoa lived away from the burning of the Sun.

And Kalent was brought before Shoa and he was made to suffer great torture. But his faith in the Lord was strong and he spake to Shoa saying: “Come with me and look upon the Temple. The forgiveness of the Lord is yours if you would only see.”

And Shoa laughed, saying: “We have no need for your weak god. The Great Serpent sustains us and keeps us. And see...we make yet more in our image. Soon the Adamities will be no more and the first-made will take their rightful place.”

Kalent was greatly afeard but he raised his voice that all the people should hear him. “We must follow the Tenets that the good Lord gave to Amro. Only there lies our redemption.”

But Shoa knew not of the Tenets and mocked them, saying: “We will come to your temple and see what manner of things have been wrought there, and we will bring the Serpent into the house of your god. There we shall see who will prevail.”

And Shoa shackled Kalent with great chains and bound him tightly. Shoa led his people out of Ur on the journey northwards and many were the tribulations suffered by Kalent on that journey.

Many moons passed before Kalent raised his head to see the moon shining on the topmost spire of the Temple and his heart leapt in joy. And Shoa led his people up the mountainside, and there they met Amro.

The light of God shone full in Amro’s eyes as he stood in the great doorway and the people of Shoa trembled as he spoke, saying: “Welcome brothers to the house of our Lord. Enter and be worshipful.”

And many of the Unforgiven fell to their knees before the light of God, but Shoa stood straight and unbending. And Amro came to him, offering his embrace. Shoa returned the embrace, but his arms did not weaken, and Amro did not struggle as Shoa lowered his head and fed.

Kalent struggled mightily in his bonds but he was held secure. And still Shoa fed, and still Amro did not struggle until finally he fell to the ground, the light of the Lord gone from his eyes.

And Shoa entered the Great Temple, but as his foot crossed the threshold the mountain trembled, and as his body passed through the door a thunderbolt rent the sky, cleaving the uppermost spire and bringing down a rain of stone. And Shoa screamed as the temple came down around him and he was buried in stone as the mountain crumbled and the earth quaked.

And the voice of God spoke like thunder in the skies saying; “Begone from this place. I will remove the Tenets from your sight until you are worthy. Come no more to this place.”

And the mountain became like dust in the wind and great was the slaughter of the Eldren. When the storm passed Kalent he found that his bounds had fallen away and he was alone among the fallen stones. He raised his voice and called to the Lord for forgiveness. But there was no answer.

It is said that when the wind dies it is still possible to hear the screams of Shoa as he lies under the rock.

And the body of Amro was never found again.

I, Kalent, the last of the Chosen, testify to this, the wrath of the Lord, in the everlasting hope that the temple might rise again in glory and that the Eldren might once more come to his forgiveness.

MARGARET THOUGHT hard about the stakes...unsure where she would find them without drawing suspicion. She couldn’t see herself ordering them up in the wood merchants:
Oh...and some pointed stakes please. The size? Oh, just big enough to kill a vampire.

If there was anyone left out there, they’d be sure to put her away for that one.

Maybe that’s what I need.

Ever since last night up at the house reality seemed to be slipping away from her, every hour bringing a new concept to be accommodated into her view of how things should be. She had begun to wonder if this was the way that schizophrenia started.

She tried to force her attention onto the problem at hand. The only way to cope with the situation was to go with the flow and hope it brought her out somewhere she could recognize.

She still didn’t know where she would find the stakes. Then she remembered her sports kit. She dragged a heavy canvas bag from a cupboard under the stairs and allowed herself a grin when she moved aside the old tennis rackets.

She had a smile on her face as she turned back towards Tony.

“Do you think these will do?” she asked, and produced three cricket stumps. She bashed them together, testing their strength. They had been in the bag for at least two years, since a summer school she had held to teach the kids games they had never come across before. The wood seemed solid enough.

“And not only that,” she said, delving once more into the bag. “Just look at this.”

She produced a croquet mallet from the bag. It made a very satisfying thump as she brought it down hard on the carpet. She tried not to think of what she would do to a human body if she pounded on one of the stumps, but the images came unbidden into her mind anyway…the sudden thrashing of the body, the gouts of blood at breast and mouth and the clawed hands clutching at the stake as it slid further into the body.

She realized that her image came straight from a Hammer Horror, but that was all she had as a reference point...she had never really been exposed to the occult...too squeamish for the films and completely indifferent to the books.

But I’m learning fast.

She flung the stakes and the mallet into another, lighter sports bag that she retrieved from the back of the cupboard. She realized that she didn’t have a clue as to where to go from here.

“Okay,” she said to the boy. “You’re the expert...what else do we need?”

Tony stood in the center of the room; face screwed up in concentration. She wondered what was going on his mind. How did a small boy function when faced with the reality of vampires? How strong was his hold on reality?

“Garlic,” he said, and sheepishly produced the small jar from his pocket. “I’ve got some already...but I don’t think it’s enough.”

“Where did you get that?” she asked him.

“Up at the church. I didn’t think Mr. Reid would miss it,” he said, his voice so low as to be almost imperceptible, his head hung low on his chest. She had seen the pose so many times at school when she was chastising a pupil that she almost smiled, but Tony was still concentrating.

“Maybe we could use a Bible?” he said, “But I’m not sure...it didn’t seem to help Mr. Reid any. And there were crosses in the church...weren’t there?”

Margaret shook her head. “No. I suppose the Bible didn’t help him. I don’t have one anyway...never had much time for that sort of thing...although I might think about it a bit more once all of this is over. But we don’t know that there were any bad guys in the church.”

The look Tony gave her told her what he thought of that idea.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any crosses either,” she said, “But I can do better with the garlic though.”

She went to the kitchen and returned with a string of garlic bulbs, at least twelve threaded in a long chain.

“Do we use these whole or broken up?” she asked, but the boy shrugged.

“Maybe we could make a necklace of them? I’ve seen that in the films,” he said. “It always works...but then again that’s not the real world...is it?”

It looked like she didn’t have to worry about his hold on reality.

Now all I’ve got to worry about is my own.

She couldn’t picture herself walking through the town wearing a necklace of garlic bulbs...not even when her whole concept of reality was crashing down around her.

“We’ll deal with the practicalities later...when we get to the house,” she said. “Anything else?”

“A torch. There’s no light down there...where he is.”

Once more Margaret delved into the depths of the under-stairs cupboard. She had to move aside several boxes of magazines...relics of her childhood that she couldn’t bear to throw away...but she finally found what she was looking for.

She took out a very old bicycle lamp. When she switched it on she was surprised when the bright light suddenly made her blink.

“Well, that’s working anyway,” she said, and the enormity of what they were planning suddenly hit her. If the boy hadn’t been there she would have sat on the carpet and giggled for a long time.

“Fearless vampire killers,” she managed to say before the giggles couldn’t be contained and she started to laugh, rocking backwards and forwards on her heels and hugging her arms to her chest.

Tony looked at her as if unsure whether to laugh or cry, but when she held the garlic bulbs up to her neck he too started laughing.

“Not so much Van Helsing...more like Abbott and Costello meet the Bloodsuckers,” she said between giggles, and that set them both off again although Tony didn’t understand the allusion.

It was several minutes before Margaret could get herself under control. She could feel hysteria bubble just beneath the surface, but the laughter seemed to have broken some of the sense of doom and foreboding she felt.

“You and me against the world kid,” she said in an exaggerated American accent. That nearly sent them both off again, but she managed to cover the giggles by pretending to cough and the deep pain in her muscles as she tried to stand was enough to remind her of the seriousness of their situation.

The bulbs of garlic went into the bag with the stakes, the mallet and the lamp and Margaret hefted the bag across her shoulder.

“Time to go,” she said, “But God knows what we’re going to say if we meet anyone in the street.”

She needn’t have worried.

Even after ten o’clock in the morning the streets were as empty as they had been earlier. It was as if a party had been declared out of town, and Margaret and Tony were the only ones not invited.

By the time they got to the main street Margaret was beginning to wonder just how close to the truth that was.

There were people on the street, but only half a dozen at most, walking around listlessly as if in the grip of a severe illness. They didn’t talk to each other...in fact it looked like each was unaware of the other’s existence.

Margaret had seen a zombie film once...on a date with a strange, quiet chap from University. The night out had been a disaster, but she had always remembered one image, a group of dead and decaying zombies shuffling through a shopping mall...doing the things they used to do while alive even while their guts fell out and maggots crawled in their eye sockets.

The people in the street reminded her of the film...their bodies were working, but their brains seemed to have disengaged.

There was only one shop open...the butchers. Margaret was about to go in, eager to speak to someone...anyone, but Tony held her back and pointed through the window.

The butcher stood at the counter holding a slice of raw red dripping meat in his hands. He fondled it as if it was a small cat, cradling it to his chest and making cooing noises, comforting it like you would a baby.

Then he raised it to his mouth and bit off a large chunk, chewing it hungrily, a scrap of meat hanging from the side of his mouth. He swallowed, and the pleasure in his eyes was so intense that Margaret thought she knew what he would look like when having an orgasm.

Then he started to suck the meat, his tongue running over the soft flesh. Saliva dripped from the corners of his lips, a thin drool that was tinged with red, and Margaret couldn’t watch any more. She let Tony lead her away.

None of the other people on the street showed the slightest interest in them. They walked like sleepwalkers, eyes staring sightlessly straight ahead, and feet shuffling on the pavements with a rasping like fine sandpaper over wood. They looked as if they had dressed hurriedly...trouser flies unzipped and socks forgotten. When she got close enough Margaret could see the twin wounds on each of their necks.

“The whole town?” she whispered. “My God. The whole town in just one night?”

Her mind refused to take it all in. Already it was rationalizing…a sudden highly contagious flu maybe, or something happening so earth shattering, so gripping, that the town’s population was glued to their televisions and radios.

She had almost got herself believing it when she recognized one of the people standing outside the supermarket.

“Miss White?” she asked. “Carol?”

She touched the other woman on the shoulder, exerting pressure and turning her round, but when she looked in the school secretary’s face she began to back away, almost falling over Tony who was half-hiding behind her.

The woman looked nearly dead already. Her skin was white, almost translucent, the paleness only broken by the red smear of clumsily applied lipstick and the twin circles of rouge on her cheeks which made her look like a china doll…but one that had been made in very bad taste.

It was obvious that her hair hadn’t been combed. It hung in bedraggled tails from her scalp, like dead earthworms, and the buttons of her blouse had been done up wrong so that it was three inches higher on one side than the other. Not high enough to hide the telltale wounds though.

The marks on her neck looked like they had been gouged with a blunt instrument, furrows of pink flesh that oozed a thin white fluid. The woman’s blouse was stained pink on that side, almost down as far as her breast.

Vacant eyes stared at Margaret, eyes that held no recognition at all. Her mouth hung open, revealing an unflattering brace on the front teeth that she was always so particular about hiding.

“Good grief, Carol,” Margaret said, “What has happened to you?”

The secretary scratched at the wounds on her neck, bringing a fresh spurt of watery blood and Margaret gasped in horror as the shirt took on a deeper red tinge.

The woman walked forward, and Margaret stepped aside, fearing an attack, but the secretary kept on walking along the street, swaying unsteadily from side to side.

Her gait made Margaret look down, only to see that the woman was wearing different shoes on each foot...on the left a high-heeled stiletto, on the right a flat house slipper with an absurd pom-pom that looked doubly out of place in the main street.

“Got to get something for the headmaster’s supper,” Margaret heard her murmur. “He’s coming round again tonight. He’s such a nice man really when you get to know him.”

Margaret put out a hand as if to stop the woman, but was stopped by Tony.

“We don’t have time,” the boy said. “Look.”

He pointed up at the sky, and at first Margaret didn’t know what he meant, but then she saw it...the sun was already almost directly overhead.

~-o0O0o-~

Jim Kerr stood in the kitchen of the Hansen House and looked down at the trapdoor at his feet.

He had found nothing in the rest of the house...nothing but old dust and faded memories of grandeur. The place was surprisingly free of vandalism and he wondered if maybe other people had the same talent as he did, the one that told him when the bloodsuckers were around.

The mosaic had given him a fright though. He had come across it in his research, had even seen drawings that purported to be made from life, but he had never seen anything that looked so evil, so alive. If he had a hammer he would have pounded at the mosaic until the pattern no longer worked its way into his mind, but he resolved to return...once the job was done.

Part of him had known all along that he wouldn’t find anything in the house itself...it wasn’t their style, but he had looked anyway, through the hallways and bedrooms.

He’d given up on the top floor, where he’d discovered nothing more than the remains of long dead pigeons. There was nothing living left in the house...not a pigeon, not a mouse, not even a rat.

That in itself was enough to confirm he was in the right place...the animal kingdom knew something that man had forgotten...that it was best to stay away from the pale creatures of the night.

They were down there...under his feet. He could smell them, taste them, feel their voices in his head.

They whispered to him, they had always whispered to him, ever since Jura, tiny voices in his head that he could never dispel.

He remembered when they had started.

He had come out of a long sleep, from a dream in which he chased Sandra and their son down a long dark corridor, sometimes getting close enough to touch them but never quite close enough to stop them. He shouted after them, and the boy turned. He was a beautiful child, four, then seven, then ten years old; a mop of golden curls fringing an angelic face.