Tag: Heart of the Night

by Joe Stanley

“If we are to save him, we must act now. We may already be too late.”
“Fool that I was not to have seen this sooner. Now I understand why he refused further treatment.”
“What shall we need?”

We scrambled out, into the heart of the night. The changes to the place had been unnerving, even beneath the sun, but now the darkness swallowed almost everything. Beyond the dim, yellow ring of our lantern light what glimpses I caught were distorted, nightmarish visions.

Against the faint horizon, trees turned and twisted though I felt no wind. The grass, long and wild, clutched at our feet and legs as though to slow our progress. Even the lifeline of light from the house behind us was seen as through smoked glass. It faded with each step and with each diminishing increment hope evaporated and fear grew.

Ahead, the family graveyard crawled slowly into view. The rusted, iron spikes of the fence permitted us to enter but as we passed they seemed to vow to hold us in forever. The gravestones, dark with age and mold, leaned as though disturbed from below. At last, the mausoleum stood before us. Its silence bespoke the keeping of unearthly secrets, its darkness nothing less than the promise of death.

It was impossible to speak, we progressed by some primal pattern known instinctively but mercifully discarded in everyday life. We simply moved, daring not to think, for to do so would force us to ponder the horror that lay ahead. As we forced the door, its sound was the groaning of a wound.

We paused only a moment making ready and sharing a look at each other. Then we stormed the darkness. The Reverend held the lantern and the crucifix, as the doctor and I searched for and found the refuge of the monster. The doctor kept the stake in hand, and I the mallet, as we forced the heavy lid.

As the hollow inched wider, my mind began to slip into panic. What horrid visions teased from the darkness in my mind. Would we find her whole and free of corruption? Or would a horrid corpse leap up and tear us to pieces with grave-honed claws? Of all the nightmares that flashed before me, none were so terrible as what we really saw.

Within, there was nothing, neither body nor bones.

Only too late did we realize that if she was not here then surely she must be…
One of us wailed and we tore back through the night. From the tomb and the field of the dead, through the serpent grass and toward the mocking lights. I had not run so fast or feared so much since I was a child.

The halls were longer, the stairs were taller and steeper. Every form and feature mocked my eyes, the house gave no more comfort than the tomb. Hence, I knew beforehand what we would find. As we tore into the bedroom, our hideous quest was done.

He lay still and quiet, looking up with open eyes. His face now free of his earthly burden, it wore a smile of utter and absolute peace. Numbly, I understood this was what he wanted, that the love he so cherished meant more to him than his life, than his soul itself. Perhaps he was right and we three fools were but villains whose failure was just.

We stood, silent and stunned, unable to ponder what dreadful things should be done. And then I heard, or thought I heard, as from a great distance, the happy laughter of Annabelle.

-end-

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by Joe Stanley

WHILE MY THINGS WERE BEING CARRIED TO MY ROOM, I sat with Lee. I had always known him to be one to get straight to the point, and his condition had not changed that.
“I’m sorry to have neglected our correspondence,” he began. “I have neglected many things as of late. You are a good man, a good friend, to come here on my behalf. I see the worry in your eyes, but I ask you not to pity me as the other two do.”

Before I could reply, he raised a finger and I said nothing. He thought to himself quietly before continuing.

“Everyone pities me,” he observed with a mixture of fatigue and anger in his voice. “But at the same time, I pity them because they do not know or understand. I pray that someday they will, that they will have the treasure that is mine.”

“The Doctor worries for my life, the Reverend frets for my soul. Neither offers anything that matters to me now. Truly, I wonder if this is for my sake or for the failing of power they think they have,” he said with a mischievous smile that carried me back many years.

“They think that I am mad and perhaps I am. When I tell you what I have told them, you may as well. If I am mad, I do not give a damn.

“They tell me she is dead, she is gone. They tell me to let go and to move on. But, I tell you, she is with me still, our bond, our love is strong. When she passed, I was distraught. For a year, despair was all I knew. I pleaded with the Almighty to ease my pain and when that did not come to be, I pleaded for death. Three times He has forsaken me, and I renounce Him.”

I was shocked, for I had always known him to be a man of unswerving faith. But I knew that he grieved and deeply so.

“As our anniversary drew near, my misery grew. I had resolved, since mercy was not forthcoming in any form, that I would take my own life. In that moment, I thought of her and to my heart there came both fear and yet a kind of peace. All I can say is that I knew she was there, even as I know you sit with me now.

“They have tried to convince me otherwise. I listened but I knew they were wrong. For this last year, she has come to me and comforted me in the night. And I tell you now, that I have heard her sweet voice at last. Do not grieve for me when I am gone, for I will be with her. I will stand by her side for all of time.”

I did not know what to say, and shortly he suggested that we retire. I saw that it would be no use to become a third voice against him and as I lay sleepless I resolved to be a good companion regardless of what I wanted.

The night stretched on and the silence only gave voice to the hopelessness in my heart. But through the adjoining wall, where my friend slept, I heard his muffled voice. I did not know if he called for help or merely talked in his sleep, and I eased myself from the bed. I crept softly down the hall, his voice growing more clear.

As I reached his door, I heard him say, “No, my darling, please! Please don’t leave me!”
I was sure he dreamed, a tortuous vision of his lost beloved. Gently opening the door, I looked in and whispered, “Lee, are you awake?”
At this, he turned abruptly away and I knew he was. I also knew he wished to be alone and so I left him.

The following days saw him deteriorate. It seemed as though all our efforts only hastened the dreadful effect. The Doctor, Reverend, and I often met early in the day to discuss the matter as my host slept late. Our councils were gloomy ones, for we felt as though we fought against the setting of the sun.

My friend reached the state where he no longer left his bed and he slept more than he was awake. He refused further treatment, and the Doctor believed his end would come soon. We lamented our collective failure, and could do no more than to keep a vigil late into the night.

We had long since run out of things to say, it seemed we mourned him even before his inevitable passing. We sat and stared at the floor or into the fire, greatly startled by the weak sound of his voice. He stood before us a grim sight, more corpse than living man.

“Gentlemen,” he croaked, “you have all been wrong. This very night she has come to me. I have, at long last, seen her again. I have felt her flesh and held her hand in mine. On the morrow, I will be gone and I bid you farewell.”

With this, he collapsed. In the frenzy that followed, we somehow managed to get him to his bed. The Doctor found his pulse to be faint, his breath rapid and shallow. Then he noticed red spots on the front of his sleeping gown.

When his chest was bared we saw around his heart two tiny, fresh wounds and many older ones. It was the Reverend who whispered the thought we all shared, a single word.
“Vampire.”

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by Joe Stanley

I AM MOST FORTUNATE TO HAVE BEEN BLESSED with a great friend. Lee and I attended the same school and our friendship endured beyond our graduation. We remained in contact through letters and visits and his presence in my life has undoubtedly enriched it.

I have always believed that he, being orphaned at an early age, took great pains to hold to the traditions and values of his ancestors. He was a model gentleman, even as a child. I believed him when he told me it was his love for a young woman, that made him understand so early in life what it was to be a man.

He told me of his love, a love which seized him at first sight, and how he vowed to devote his life to winning her heart. I shall never forget his words, for they have come to mean so much more.
“I shall love her with each day of my life and with all my soul forever.”

When I heard of their engagement, I was overjoyed for him and he honored me with the privilege of being his best man. It was a happy journey, the long trek to join them at the plantation that was his ancestral home.

A splendid place, with majestic columns gleaming like pearls in the sun. His bride was an angelic beauty beyond compare. And he, so blissfully enchanted, attained a happiness which made me nearly weep. For that day I would not have doubted that heaven had made itself real and tangible upon the Earth.

As I watched, cheering for them, they departed on their honeymoon. I was stirred to wonder and admiration for that simple, yet transcendent, power of true love.

There, for a time, I heard nothing from my friend. I sent letters, but received no reply. Still, I assumed this was quite natural as he adjusted to his new connubial life. Days became months, then a year, then two. Though I feared our friendship had been forgotten, I could not begrudge him the attainment of his life’s dream.

When at last I heard of him again, the news came to me through a letter, though not one penned by my friend. It was a letter of introduction sent by a physician. The doctor informed me that tragedy had attended their trip to New Orleans. The bride, lovely Annabelle, had been stricken with a terrible illness and had weakened with terrible rapidity. She had perished before his eyes.

The loss had driven Lee into melancholia which had lingered all this time. The doctor had long feared that his depression had damaged his mind. He had neglected his holdings, his business, and his social contacts. But worse than all, his health was beginning to fail.

The doctor, having found my letters to him, implored me to visit my friend, in hope of helping to draw him from this state. I wrote a response and immediately set out to join him. How very different that long journey seemed from the last joyous sojourn I had taken on those roads. And when I finally laid eyes upon the plantation I was stunned.

In a scant two years, the gleaming walls had grayed, the paint now flaking. It loomed like a forgotten mausoleum amid long, neglected grass and twisted talon-like trees. With each increment I drew closer, a dread for my friend grew within me. All was impossibly aged, withered and decrepit, and I shuddered at the undeniable presence of death.

I feared I was too late as I glimpsed naught but darkness in the windows, but my knocks were answered by a butler whose sullen features came alive with hope. I was ushered to the foyer, where I heard voices in a smoldering debate.

“Glad to see you here, sir,” whispered the servant before announcing me.

There were three in the room, one I recognized as the reverend who had performed the wedding ceremony. Another I presumed was the doctor and thought his face might have been one I had likewise seen on that happy occasion. The third man I did not seem to know at all, and at first I thought him to be an elder as he leaned heavily on a cane. But as he turned to me, I saw the face of my old friend.

That face was ghastly pallid, with sunken darkly rimmed eyes. His features were as a rag draped loosely across his skull. His blonde hair was streaked with gray. I nearly balked at the changes that had overcome him.

But there, in an instant, his eyes sparkled and life rushed back into his face. At least for that moment, I had brought him some relief. In his tired smile, he told me much, and my expression must have done the same.

Briefly, I was introduced to the Reverend James and Doctor Finch who soon left us, promising to see us on the morrow.

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