Tales of a Night Walker By Bert McKenzie Copyright 2010
Chapter 2
Time passed. How much I could not tell. I was awake and aware. I tried again to push against the lid of my confinement to no avail. I was indeed trapped. And now my head hurt and my throat burned. It felt as though my body were on fire. It must have been the pain that had awakened me. But there were no flames. Struggle as I might, I could only lay there writhing in agony. Eventually I fell back into blissful unconsciousness. This odd awakening and slumber took me several more times. Each time I woke to more intense pain and thirst. And each time I fell back again only to drift away. In those dreadful slumbers I knew no dreams. Had I lain there an hour, a day, a week, I would not know. Time meant nothing to me.
And eventually a sound had awakened me and I was instantly alert. Something was out there. I could hear the scrape against the wood. Should I make a noise, pound on the lid or not? Was this a savior come to rescue me, or some new fiend come to make sure I was indeed dead? I could do little more than lay in the darkness and listen.
Again I heard the metallic clank of chain on the wood of my coffin. Someone was tugging at it and moving it. Then a loud crack sounded. And again. Someone was hammering on the metal. Whoever it was hammered on the chain, trying to break it. Finally there was another loud crack and I could hear the chain falling off the wood and down the side. Next I heard the creaking groan of a pry bar pulling at the nails that held my coffin lid in place. Soon I would breathe fresh air and confront whoever was trying to release me. Need I be prepared to defend myself from my father's henchmen? Or need I be prepared to embrace my savior? As I listened to the sounds of coming freedom a thought occurred to me. I was certain it must be Armand come to rescue me from a fate worse than death itself. My lover had renounced me only to bide his time and save me from my father's crazy plans to bury me alive. Even now he was pulling the nails from the lid of the coffin.
The last of the creaking nails groaned and I could see light in the crack at the edge of the lid. Suddenly the wooden lid was pulled free and lifted and I felt the sting of the cool air on my face and the fetid smell of the tomb around me. The light was dim, as from a lantern on the floor. But I heard voices. "Hold that flashlight up here, Arny," a man said. "This one ought to have something we can use. The chain probably means it holds a fortune in jewelry."
Grave robbers! My life had been spared by grave robbers. The light shown in on my face, momentarily blinding me, and I did not move. "Good God, Kyle. He looks like he just died. He isn't even decomposed," another voice said.
At that moment I blinked against the light and tried to sit up. I must have startled them because the two who had opened my casket screamed. I tried to speak but all that came out was a rasp. I reach out my arm and one of them dropped the light. They both scrambled in the darkness, shrieking in terror. A thin sliver of light appeared as a door opened and two bodies stumbled quickly away and out of the tomb.
My body ached and I felt stiff from lying in one position for so long, but it felt good to sit up. I chuckled at the thought of what a start I must have given my grave robbers. I then wondered where I was, certainly not in a vault in a local cemetery. There was no doubt my father would not have me buried on our property or with the family. Then I remembered the long wagon ride. I could be almost anywhere. I looked about in the dim light and saw my coffin rested on a stone bench. The light, dropped by the robbers was shining from the floor of the tomb. I stretched and then stood, jumping lightly over the side of the box and landing on the floor. At my feet was the light, but such a strange lamp it was. It looked like a fat club from which the light poured. I picked it up and examined it. It was cool to the touch, a shiny metal tube and the light shone forth from one end in a strong beam that cast a circle on the wall. It had a lens to focus the light, but the fire was cold. It was an intense white and should have been extremely hot, and seemed to emanate from a small round globe behind the lens. It did not flicker as I swung the club around. The beam of light moved as I pointed the club in the different directions. What an odd invention? How would poor grave robbers come to possess such a marvelous thing?
The door of the vault stood ajar, the one through which the grave robbers had made their rapid escape. I walked to it and pushed against the old metal. The door resisted, but slowly opened with a loud groan. I stepped out into the fresh air and found myself in a cemetery, surrounded by many such vaults, and a number of smaller headstones. I carried the odd torch with me, the beam of light swinging at my side as I walked among the old stones, no sign of my unfortunate rescuers in sight. I wasn't sure why I carried the unusual torch, for although it was night, the world seemed quite bright to my eyes. It was as if my vision had somehow been enhanced, allowing me to see quite well in the dark. I continued walking past the graves, thinking to find the end of the cemetery and then find a horse and see if I could make my way back home to confront my father, but the cemetery was much larger than I had ever imagined.
As I strode through the grass, I noticed how the old stones seemed to give way to new headstones. The newer ones were polished to a shiny gleam, as of smooth marble, but they didn't all look like marble. They were all variety of colors and styles. I stopped to look at one and was shocked by what I saw. This must be a bad prank. The dates on the stone said 1875 to 1929. These were dates far in the future. It was only 1823. I continued on, seeing a large iron fence in the distance. I looked again and the dates become even more outlandish. When I got to the fence one of the nearby stones had a death date of 1953. What manner of crazy cemetery was this? Had my father buried me in a grave yard tended by madmen?
I followed the fence until I came to a large gateway. It marked the road into the cemetery, but an unusual roadway like none other. It was paved in a smooth black stone that showed no joins between the pavings. It was as if the roadway was one gigantic stone. I stepped out of the gateway and looked at a sign that stood beside them. "Mount Hope Cemetery" it read, "Founded in 1812," finally a date that made sense. But this was much too new of a cemetery to be this large and I had never heard of Mount Hope.
I turned to walk down the road, in hopes of finding a horse when I saw in the distance, two bright lights. They almost looked like carriage lamps, but they were incredibly bright, and approaching faster than any carriage could. I stood by the side of the road and as what I thought was a carriage approached, I could perceive the lights were mounted on some sort of metal machine. It ran along the roadway on wheels, like a wagon, but there were no horses, nor visible method of conveyance. The machine came closer and closer, emitting a strange growling roar. It zoomed past me with the speed of wild horses at full gallop. The tail end of it had two matching red lights that rapidly dwindled in the distance.
This was my first introduction to the modern world. I sat by the side of that roadway in the darkness. In another hour three more of the wild machines flew by. I was perplexed and considerably frightened. I had no idea where I was, nor how the world had changed while I slept. Dawn approached as I sat there unable to comprehend this strange new world. Small birds began chirping in the trees and the sky began to brighten from dark blue to a rosy pink. As it did so I began to feel uncomfortable, as if my body was rejecting the coming daylight. Soon the golden sun would begin to rise over the trees on the horizon. As the skyline brightened in anticipation I felt an intense pain, as if I had developed an allergy to the light. A moment of panic hit me and I pulled my jacket up over my head and ran back into the cemetery. I knew not where to flee from the burning torture of the dawn. The brighter it grew, the more painful it became. I ran and ran until I again saw the mausoleum from which I had come. The door stood open and the darkness seemed to welcome me. I ran inside and pulled the door shut to just a crack. I then sat on the bench beside my coffin. What had happened to me? Was I truly in some strange future world? Had I actually slept for more than a hundred years? With my head down I sat and waited in the darkness for the sunset when I could again go to explore this strange new world.
That day, waiting in the darkness of the crypt, was perhaps the longest day of my young life if indeed I was alive and if indeed I was still young. Can someone be young who had slept in a coffin for nearly 125 years? As I sat there I began to realize the awful truth. I felt my shoulder and could feel the wound there. Removing my jacket and shirt, I examined myself as best I could in the gloom of the vault. It felt as though something had bitten me on the shoulder. It was then that I knew what had transpired and what I had become. I was a cursed creature of the night, a vampire. One of our slaves called them night walkers. The strange foreigner that my father had brought to the engagement party must have been one as well. How my father was associated with such a creature I could not imagine. Yet I knew my father had many ties to what men in polite civilization would shun. The man may have been a shrewd businessman, but it wasn't always because of his business skill. He would cheat, lie and steal to improve his situation. We children often joked that our father would sell his soul to the devil, and perhaps that is just what he did. He had made a bargain of some sort with this creature of evil, and at my party he had prepared his trap and waited. Had I but played the role of the dutiful son, I might have been spared. But as I was caught in the position of sinful lust, my father unleashed his evil plan, allowing his own son to be given over to a vampire.
In all honesty, I was sure my father only wanted my death. But remembering the conversation I heard at my wake, I realized the evil creature went beyond his commission and in some way performed an act that assured I would likewise be resurrected as the undead, a thing of evil. And now I am condemned to walk the night and live off the blood of innocent victims. This was the price I was to pay for desiring the love of another man. It may have been my father's doing, but I felt I was ultimately responsible. All this went through my mind as I waited in the darkness of a tomb. I awaited the sunset when I could once again emerge from this dank repository to stalk the earth as an abhorrent creature.
By mid afternoon I felt a great pain in my stomach and throat and knew the pangs of the blood thirst. I craved sustenance, but I feared what food would satisfy me. As the time wore on the thirst grew to be excruciating. I felt weak and lay on the floor in agony. I knew as soon as the darkness came I would have to find something to assuage my desire.
Eventually, I looked out the crack in the doorway and saw that all was in shadow. It must be time. I slipped outside. I was surprised to find the sun had not yet set, but it was close to the horizon and well behind trees. It did not cause me pain as the early dawn light had in the morning. I marveled at the truth. Apparently there were many myths surrounding what I had become. One was that I must lie dormant in a coffin during the day. I had not done this. Another was that I would be unable to move from my grave until sunset. Again this was not true. I found that as long as I avoided the direct rays of the sun I was able to move about. Perhaps there were other untruths to this life. Perhaps I need not feast on the blood of the living. Maybe I only needed real food, having been sleeping in that box for some time. I began to wonder how long I had actually slept. There were so many questions yet to be answered.
A movement caught my eye. Only a few rows of tombstones away, I saw a woman. She looked young, perhaps 18 or 19, certainly no older than the mid 20s, with a sweet face, but she was dressed very oddly, almost as a boy. She wore a brightly colored top which looked more like a shirt than something a girl would wear, and tight black trousers. Her long, straight hair was tied back from her face and hung down her back in a single plait. She was kneeling by a grave, and at first I thought she was a mourner in prayer. But then I observed her place a piece of paper against the stone and rub it with something, perhaps chalk or charcoal. She must be an artist, for I had seen grave rubbings in my youth in an exhibition in Richmond. I thought to speak with her, but wondered what my reception would be. At the thought of approaching her, my throat burned with a hunger and thirst. A strange desire came over me. I felt a burning need to approach this lonely girl by stealth. I knew she could satisfy the craving and stop my suffering. She could provide me with what I needed at the moment. She was in shadow, and by following a slightly circuitous path, I might be able to come upon her. I immediately embarked on the journey.
As I approached where the girl had worked I found she was gone. Instead I observed the grave stone she had been rubbing. It held a chilling epitaph.
"Remember, friend, as you pass by,
As you are now, so once was I.
As I am now, so shall you be.
Prepare for death and follow me."
Was I dead? Had I followed the course of human life to the inevitable end in death? If so, why was I still moving, thinking, walking the earth? This was just not how my life was supposed to be.
Apparently finished for the day, the girl had packed up her artistic supplies in a small wooden case and then left. I could see her in the distance walking back toward the gate. Silently and keeping to the shadows, I felt compelled to trail along behind. Unknowingly she led me to the gate of the cemetery. She paused there for a moment, looking back into the darkening graveyard. I quickly slipped behind a tombstone and blended in with the shadows. Then we moved on, the two, she in the lead and I, her shadow trailing behind. We followed the roadway for a short distance to a bench beside the road. My hunger flared as I stood in the shadows of a tree and hid by some large bushes not far from where she sat on the bench, apparently waiting for someone. I thought to approach her but before I could I heard footsteps and drew back further into the shadows of the overgrowth knowing my hunger would not allow me to wait long.
A man came walking down the sidewalk and paused as he saw her sitting at the bench in the evening gloom. He looked about to make sure they were alone, not seeing me hiding in the darkness. The man then grabbed her from behind and pulled the struggling girl from the bench. She managed one short scream before he clamped his hand over her mouth. The girl continued to struggle, but was obviously no match for this stranger. He began forcing her back toward the shadows of the trees lining the street. Her eyes wide in fear, she continued to try and fight him off. With one hand he held her firmly to his body while the other was still clamped over her mouth, stifling her cries. "Stop struggling and don't make a sound or I'll slit your throat," he said in a rasping voice as he dragged her further toward the bushes. A gasp escaped her lips as he removed his hand and began tugging at her clothing. I was shocked at the obvious assault going on but a few yards from me. Ashamed that I had thought to do much the same thing in the blood lust and craving that had seized me, I now watched the man forcing the girl back toward the shadows of my hiding place beneath the tree. I could see her eyes wide in fear and smell the tang of sweat on her assailant.
"Please, please don't do this," she pleaded, tears running down her face. Why didn't she fight back or attempt to flee? The assailant no longer held her but was busy trying to unfasten her boyish trousers. I could wait no longer and acted on instinct, stepping up behind him. Suddenly the girl saw me step out of shadows. She began to tremble with fear, worrying that her attacker had a partner to assist him. The man had no idea anyone was behind him as he tried to attack the girl. I reached out and grabbed her assailant, surprising him and pulling him from her. He immediately turned and the two of us began to fight. The girl saw me pull her assailant into the bushes, and she turned to run. She got as far as the bench and stopped. I had come to her rescue. She couldn't just leave me. She didn't know what to do. Was there a pay phone somewhere in the area so she could call the police? There were strange sounds coming form the bushes where the two of us disappeared. To the girl it almost sounded like a dog fight; it was an animalistic growl as the bushes shook and shuddered.
The man began to struggle, but was no match for me. He grabbed me by the throat and began to squeeze, but I brushed his hands away as if he were a child. Then I bent him back easily, not even feeling the blows the thug was trying to inflict. Instinct again took over as I smelled the fear now and heard the man's heart thumping wildly in his chest. It was exciting and the thirst in my throat burned even stronger. I could see the carotid artery pulsing beneath the skin of my victim's throat, inviting and inflaming me, and I leaned down pressing my mouth to it and bit, tearing the flesh. A strangled gurgle escaped the man's lips as I tasted the warm blood. It excited me further and I drank, sucking the hot taste into my mouth. It quenched the fire in my throat and belly and I continued to drink as the man struggled less and less in my arms.
In a very short time I dropped the lifeless body to the ground and stood, licking the last of the life-giving liquid from my lips. I looked down and saw the man's blood staining my shirt and jacket. I pulled a kerchief from my pocket and wiped my chin as if I had just dined on a succulent meal, then walked back from our hiding place in the bushes toward the roadway. Standing by the bench the girl stood in the light of a streetlamp that had apparently been lit as the darkness grew. I stood there and looked at her and knew not what to say, but wondered where the lamplighter had gone, perhaps to find a constable. After a moment of silence she spoke. "Th-thank you," she stammered. "Where did he g-go?"
"Do not worry," I answered wiping my hands on the bloody kerchief and stuffing it back in my pocket. "He will not bother anyone further."
It was then that she noticed the blood on my shirt. "Oh, my God, you're hurt!" she exclaimed and ran to my side.
"No, no I'm fine," I said, not knowing what to tell her. How could I explain that I had just killed her assailant by ripping his throat and drinking his blood?
"No, you're bleeding," she persisted and grabbed me, pulling me toward the bench. At that moment a long metal machine pulled to stop at the curb. Doors on the side hissed opened and she tugged me toward the contraption, pulling me inside and up a few short steps. She reached into her pocket and pulled out some change, dropping it into the coin box. The man sitting behind what looked like a flat ship's wheel nodded, and then she dragged me back along an aisle between rows of empty seats, pulling me down beside her on a bench. The machine pulled away from the curb and began to move along the roadway at a dizzying pace totally disorienting me.
"Where do you live?" the girl asked as she took a closer look me. I'm sure I looked like hell, my shaggy blond hair was unkempt and my clothing a mess. My dirty, blue velvet jacket and high wasted pants, with a white ruffled shirt looked to her like I had come from a period play.
"I have no place," I answered her softly. I almost laughed at the thought of saying my most recent home was a bed in a large vault in that cemetery. "What I mean is I am new here."
"Well you'll come home with me," she said authoritatively. "It's the least I can do for you." She took my hand and then gasped. It hand felt like ice to her. "Your hand is so cold." She reached up and touched my brow. It was equally cold. She really began to worry, noticing this, the blood on my white shirt and the extreme pallor of my skin. She thought I must be losing a lot of blood and could be really seriously hurt. "You must be going into shock. Hold on, it isn't far. I can find a doctor."
"No!" I said quickly. The last thing I wanted was to be examined by a physician. What would he find? Would he find a live man or an animated corpse? Would he hear a heartbeat? "I'll be fine. I just need to rest a bit." I'm sure I sounded like a man who had something to hide. The girl sat back in silence but continued to worry. "I wanted but to ask a question."
To her I'm sure it seemed as though I spoke in such odd phrases, almost as if I were reciting lines from a play or something. "Well," she said looking sharply at me. "What's the question?"
I was almost afraid to speak for a moment. "What year is it?" I asked softly.
The girl stared at me in concern. She thought perhaps I was in shock and was loosing a grasp on reality. And maybe I was. She didn't quite know how to respond. Finally she replied as though she thought I meant what year was I costumed as, "You look to be dressed for the early 1800's. Are you an actor?" Even as she asked the question, she felt it wasn't the answer. She just didn't know what to make of my very odd appearance.
I smiled and nodded. "1823 to be precise," I said.
"How did you come to be in this remote part of town," she asked, "and dressed in a costume from 1823? There are no theaters in the area."
"I am afraid I was lost. I was attending a masquerade and somehow ended up here." The girl must have thought that the road outside of Mount Hope cemetery seemed a very strange place to have a masquerade party. She knew I was lying, of that I was sure. She no doubt wondered what I had to hide. I had to come up with a more reasonable explanation. I tried to explain my messy state. "I was set upon by brigands and now have no idea of where I might be. If you may show me to an inn or public house, somewhere I may refresh myself, I won't trouble you further." Now she seemed genuinely concerned perhaps because I seemed so confused. I can't imagine what she must think of me, how I came to be here and dressed in such funny clothes and uttering conflicting and confusing explanations. I slumped back in the seat as tears began to trickle from my eyes. I felt so lost and so vulnerable.
"It's okay," she said and gently placed a hand on my shoulder. "Look, where did you come from."
I pulled the bloody cloth from my pocket and dabbed at my eyes, determined to tell her the truth. "Thank you for your kindness," I replied. "I am Jefferson Wesley Smythe, III. My father owns a plantation a few miles north of Richmond."
"Richmond," the girl said. "You're just a bit south of there. And I'm not aware of any plantations, perhaps some large tobacco farms." She reached out and took my cold hand again. "Glad to meet you Mr. Smythe. I'm Sarah Kitterage. You certainly are playing your part to the hilt. It's like you could have stepped from the pages of history. You could have come from 1823."
"Please, when is it now?" I asked in a thin voice, the voice of a lost child.
"1955," she replied confidently. I groaned and then leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I slipped into unconsciousness and knew no more.