Before Midnight (333 hits)
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Submitted by <supercow7514.at.hotmail.com> (View user info) at 2004-12-02 19:40:34 EST
A small French village, December 1732
Emilie Johansen walked quickly down the cobbled street. The click of her heels echoed off of the empty shops, making her uneasy. All of the lamps, save one at the end of the street, had been extinguished. Shivering, she pulled her meager cloak closer to her thin frame and ducked her head in an attempt to ward off the accursed wind. Even now, it whistled and moaned, wrapping its thin, cruel fingers around her face, pulling at the edge of her tattered dress and cloak, chilling her to the bone.
She imagined herself getting home to her father's cottage, and taking off the clothes that had been made smelly by her work at the fish market. She would huddle in a warm blanket in front of the small fireplace. Her father would be home by now. She would be able to sup on a meager portion of watery stew, and then listen attentively as her father read aloud from the Bible. After listening to the parables and psalms, she would tuck her brother and sisters into bed, and would then herself be allowed to slip into the sweet land of slumber.
As Emilie imagined all of these fine things, she did not take notice of the pale, shimmering moon slipping out from behind the clouds, nor hear the heart-rending howl that followed the abrupt appearance. She was wrapped up, warm and cozy, inside of her own imagination, and as such, did not heed a warning that had been drilled into her head since the moment of her birth. Again and again it had been repeated, until she knew the warning was the most important thing that she would ever learn. Never go unaccompanied on the night of a full moon.
Emilie looked up and smiled, seeing her home fast approaching. Quickening her pace, she tried to ignore a feeling of horrible foreboding. As such, she failed to examine where her feet were stepping. Wasting time in brushing away the impromptu premonition, she missed the sharp stone jutting out of the normally smooth path. The tip of the stone caught onto the toe of her oversized boot, and she tripped, sprawling face first onto the ground. Coughing and choking, Emily lifted her head up. She reached a hand up and put it to her face, shocked to see, as she drew it away, her fingers covered in warm, sticky blood.
Groaning, she cursed her stupidity, and grumbled as she stood up and started dusting off her clothes. She stopped her motions abruptly as a mournful wail tore through the sky, surrounding her. Her eyes widened, and she stifled a gasp. As fast as she could, Emily ran towards the cottage, kicking up dust and gravel in her wake. And suddenly, she heard claws digging into the path behind her, and heavy breaths closing in around her. Another howl and she was knocked to the ground, being held down by a pair of monstrous claws, digging sharply into her back. She felt the back of her dress being ripped open, and her skin tore open with a sickening noise. The pain was worse than anything Emily could have ever imagined. A thousand knives were sharpening themselves and then cutting her, repeatedly. And suddenly, the world went dark.
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The Marquis de Flore sighed heavily as he poured himself another glass of sharp liquor. Putting the carved lid back onto the top of the glass decanter, he turned towards the roaring fire. Holding up the crystal glass, he swirled the liquid in a circle and admired the way it caught the light. Smirking, he tilted his head back and swallowed the bitter drink in one gulp. Grimacing, he gritted his teeth. Settling back in his majestic leather armchair, his pale skin caught the light of the fire, and the pallid white of his face shone even more. His fine silvery hair, caught back at the nape of his neck, shone as well. As he smirked, his pointed canine teeth gleamed in the light. His brilliantly green feline shaped eyes narrowed as he heard the distant howl of his werewolf servant. He had been warned to be discreet in his task. He would definitely have to be dealt with later.
Getting up from his chair, Luis stretched his arms above his head. As he did so, the elegant velvet suit that he was adorned in shone a soft black color. Running his tongue over his teeth, he walked toward the window and peered out at the moonlit path leading to the manor. Luis chuckled as he heard the faint scream of the werewolf's prey. Smiling to himself, he stepped back from the window. He walked to the door and pulled it open. After all, so many preparations had to be made before the sunrise and the coming of his new guest.
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Emilie sat bolt upright, panting and gasping. Immediately, the pain of a thousand pokers stabbed through her lower back. She cried out and doubled over, curling in a ball and rocking back and forth. She was in such pain that delirium soon ensued. She began shouting, not knowing what words she used, only knowing that they spilled forth from her mouth. Her yelling soon became a fever pitch, and she was screaming, crying, and losing so much blood that she felt ill. Stopping her screaming, she leaned over the edge of the small pallet she was curled up on and relieved her stomach of the burdens it carried.
The door to the small dank cell she was currently encased in slammed open, and in stomped a most misfortunate looking man. He was wearing the remains of a suit that had at one time been elegant. The knees were almost completely frayed, and it hung on his body like a sack. His face was pinched and there were large dark circles under his eyes, which were now narrowed in anger. His hair hung in filthy clumps around his face, and there were several missing chunks. He had several scars of deep scratches running along his cheeks and chin. His skin was pale and filthy. He looked like an escaped fugitive. And yet, he was all but invisible to Emilie.
In a few strides, he was over to the pallet. He pulled on the neck of her dress and tilted his face very close to hers. In a menacing manner, he whispered, "I know that you must be in great pain, but if you scream like that once more, much worse than the dead shall surely awaken."
Emilie whimpered and struggled to escape the grip of this filthy man. She could think of nothing but the pain she was in, and the way that he held her dress made the back of it rub against her wounds. Tears ran freely down her face, and the filthy man took pity on her. He laid her down gently on her side, and then rolled her over so that she was lying on her stomach. He then took a small, crude dagger out of his boot and cut at the fabric surrounding the wound. It was hard to saw through, as it had been soaked with blood. He somehow managed to clear a path to the wound and looked with pity at the cursed girl's back.
Five claw marks were scored deep in her back. She had been clawed by a werewolf, and as such, had become the one thing that her family surely hated the most. There was no cure for lycanthropy, and all werewolves eventually became evil, or insane, driven mad by the pain that they were made to endure month upon month. Being the handler of the Marquis' "servants", he himself had been at the receiving end of many of their scratches, but as he was a quarter dwarf, he was immune to actually contracting lycanthropy.
After he had seen the scratches, Clavet knew that there was nothing he could do except clean and bandage the wounds. Werewolves were immune to any sort of medicine, and as such, were much more susceptible to disease. Thus, it was very rare to see any werewolf over the age of thirty-five. Sighing, Clavet stood up and walked out of the door, making sure to lock it behind him. She might have only been a girl, but he knew better than to underestimate a werewolf in pain.
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Luis yawned and stretched his arms up, chuckling to himself. He had had the most amusing dream involving a peasant girl. Pushing the lid of the elegant mahogany coffin up, he climbed out carefully. Once out, he pressed the lid down gently, and caressed the lid as if it were a lover. Dropping a kiss to the shiny surface, he turned slowly around. Smiling slyly, he inquired, "Clavet, how fares our guest?"
Clavet bowed his head. "She fares very poorly master. It seems that she is in copious amounts of pain. She was screaming when I entered the room, and vomited on the floor. It seems that she was scratched by Cesar last night."
Luis growled and slammed his fist on the large desk next to him. Spidery thin cracks appeared underneath of his fist. Growling, he turned to the door and swept out, leaving Clavet stammering behind him. The short servant quickly walked to the door and shut it gently. He ran after his master, breath coming in quick puffs. He ran down the stairs two at a time. As he got to the lower levels of the Manor, he clutched the lapels of his coat close to his throat. He could see his own breath in little clouds in front of him. Curse the gods, it was cold.
Ahead of him, a loud shout was heard, and then a piteous moan. The master had found Cesar. Quickening his pace, Clavet gulped and entered the room. He sighed and shook his head at the sight that greeted him. He had seen it many times before. Luis held a thin man up off of the ground by his throat, and was yelling in his face. "You idiot! I told you that the girl was not to be harmed! And now, look what you've done! She is to become a monster like you once a month. She is of no use to me now! Get out of my sight!"
He dropped the unfortunate man on the ground, where he landed in a miserable heap. Choking and sobbing, he gasped out apologies to his master. "Master, please...I know not what I do during my transformations...I know what you told me...but her blood...so sweet, so fresh...untainted by any other...it called to me as a siren would to dash a ship upon the rocks! Her flesh...tasty morsel...I am but a humble beast, master...temptation is too great for me...I am sorry, so sorry..."
Luis listened thoughtfully during this speech. His eyes narrowed in thought, as they slowly changed back from red to green. Slowly, a truly evil smile graced his beautiful features. Stroking his chin slowly, he circled the beast still lying on the floor. "Well, Cesar, fortune has indeed smiled upon you, for I am in a better mood than before. As a repayment for the debt you owe me, you shall teach the girl in the ways of the Wolf. You will see that she knows how to hunt, to feed. This you will do, and if you fail in this task, you shall regret it indeed."
The man slowly stood up, and the meager lamp sitting on a small table lit his features. His black hair was thick and mussed. Several places were crusted with what could only be blood, and he had fresh cut across his cheekbone. His amber eyes were sorrowful, and his mouth turned down in a frown. The clothes he was wearing hung loosely on his thin frame, and were torn and dirty. Wearily, he turned to face Luis and bowed. "As you command, master."
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Emilie groaned and rolled onto her side. A scratching noise filled the room and she slowly cracked open one eyelid. Her eyes opened wide as she saw a small brown rat skittering across the stone floor. She sat up, her nose twitching. She could smell a thousand different smells. Blood. Rat. Human. Straw. Sweat. One smell stuck out from the rest. It was a sharp scent, very musty and almost offensively masculine.
Emilie's sniffing was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Hesitantly, she stood up and stumbled over to the door, still a bit weak from the loss of blood. She put her hand to the knob of the door, but jumped back as it turned of its own accord. The broad door swung open slowly, giving an ominous creak.
In the doorway stood a very tall man. His thick black hair was pulled back away from his face and fastened, with but a few strands framing his face. His amber eyes were haunted and full of sorrow. His lips were pursed, as if he was performing a most horrible task. Emilie could not help noticing that his ears looked quite a bit pointed, and his fingernails were unusually long and sharp.
The man cleared his throat to gain Emilie's attention. She had the grace to blush for staring at him so blatantly. "Greetings. I am Cesar, and I have been instructed to teach you the art of the hunt. As you must realize by now, your senses have taken quite a leap in their acuteness. If I am not mistaken, you are an intelligent young woman, and I think that you should be able to reason out the cause of this most fortuitous advantage."
The man's, Cesar's, words echoed, ringing in her ears. No, it could not be. Her worst fear... She had been brought up to loathe the foul creatures. It was a cruel irony indeed that she should be cursed with the disease so early in her life. And now that she thought about it, the man, the stranger, was the source of that amazing smell. The smell that made her think of the forest, running free, chasing animals, being chased. He was one of the brethren that had been cursed as well.
"It was you last night..." she said softly. Looking up slowly, her dark hair fell around her face like a curtain. "You attacked me! You made me what I am! A cursed and foul beast am I, and it lays upon your head. I now must endure the pain, month after month after month. I shall be shunned, repulsed. Never again will I be able to visit my village. I will never be able to see my father, to hold my brother and sisters. And you, you are responsible! You sick, demented freak! I hate you! I hate you!"
Emilie had slowly been reduced to hysterics. She was now bawling appallingly, and banging her fists weakly on Cesar's chest. He stood stock still through her accusing tirade. Suddenly, he grabbed her wrists and threw her away from him. Falling heavily on the floor, she lay there for a moment, weeping. She pushed her heavy hair away from her face and glared at Cesar.
Snarling, he walked menacingly toward her. "All you think of is yourself! You cry to me of being exiled, not being able to see your family again! I have been cursed all of my life. Bitten at the age of two! My parents cast me out, abandoning me as a babe for something I had no control over. Fortunately, I was rescued by my current master. Yes, I do feel a small sense of regret for harming you. But, if you knew what it was like, you would see it is impossible to contain the animal instincts. The call of the wind, curling its desperate fingers around your nostrils, drawing you closer to your prey...it is heaven and hell, all mixed together at once. There is not a single thing that I do that I do not later regret."
As he spoke, he paced, waving his hands wildly about his head. His eyes glowed with anger, and more of his midnight hair fell around his face, giving him the air of a madman. After all, he had been a monster all of his life, so that was a great probability.
Emilie got up from the floor, sniffling and wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. She walked over to Cesar and stuck her hand out. "I am very sorry for blaming you. I cannot seem to keep my emotions in check. To continue with the introduction, my name is Emilie. Emilie Johansen."
"Yes, yes," replied Cesar. "I know who you are. Do you think that you were idly chosen? My master has been planning this for quite sometime now."
Trembling, Emilie lowered her hand. "What do you mean," she asked, quivering.
Laughing, Cesar shook his finger at her. "Now now, I can not be giving away all of the master's secrets. I will not betray his trust for anything."
"It is hard to believe that you are so loyal to this 'master'," Emilie retorted. Cesar looked at her with wide eyes.
"The master took me in when I was but two years of age. In doing so, he did more for me than anyone else ever had. He accepted me for what I am, and gave me the chance to live. At the age of 16, I contemplated taking my own life, and it was he alone who staid the blade. Thus, I owe him not one but two life debts. Yes... I would go to the ends of the world for him."
Emilie stood astonished that such a beast could have a sense of honor and loyalty. She cocked her head to the side observing Cesar. His speech had given her a reason to respect him. It was grudgingly given, but respect all the same.
User Reviews
Submitted by Impassive-Digressive (user info) at 2004-12-02 23:51:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
This was pretty long, and as such will be largely ignored around here, but well written.
In some parts the writing almost got a bit over-descriptive and it seemed to staunch the flow of the story a bit (I am sometimes a bit of an adjective-abuser myself) - but this only detracted from it a little bit.
Submitted by DanielH (user info) at 2004-12-02 22:27:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
That should have been: daniel.at.writerspacemail.com
Submitted by DanielH (user info) at 2004-12-02 22:20:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
". . . but as he was a quarter dwarf, he was immune to actually contracting lycanthropy."
Seems you've created your own lykanthr opia- mythology. Nice.
There were several cliches but that can't be avoided in such a tale. Nicely written. I'm a horror movie/book freak and think this would have gone over better if set in the present, such as in "Ginger Snaps" or "Ginger Snaps Back."
I doubt it will go over well here, though, but there are many e-zines where this would be accepted for publication. Email me and and I'll be glad to send you those site's URLs.
(daniel.at.writerspace.com)