Moribund Tales (3 page)

Soul Reflection

T
he ground floor of an old apartment block had been baptised by fire. A senile occupant had drifted unwittingly into slumber and thus, a solitary flame from a single candle had turned into an angry inferno. The scent of charred flesh was soaked into the foundations of the building, ensuring its vacancy for years to come.

On the top floor, inside a modest room, a frightened youth begged not to be involved in his uncle's villainous scheme.

“Please!” Peter pleaded, his eyes slowly filling up with tears. “Don't make me!”

“Stop being such a sissy!” Frank hissed as he shot his twelve year old nephew a malefic glance.

“I'm scared!” Peter said, bowing his head like a condemned prisoner.

Frank Payne's heart was heavy with guilt.
Maybe I should reconsider, he thought. The boy is innocent.
His dark desires prevailed in the end.

“It won't hurt,” he said, reassuringly. “You have my word.”

“What do I have to do?” Peter asked, his voice trembling.

“All I need is a witness,” Frank answered. “You won't have to do anything at all.”

Peter remained silent for a moment. “And what will you do, Uncle?” he asked, voicing the question that his troubled mind wanted answered.

“Wait and see. Tonight… you will understand everything.”

Peter turned his head and looked out the window. The night had devoured everything in its path. He shivered. His thoughts were in turmoil.

The child's oblivious dreams were disrupted by the icy hand that shook him awake.

“Get up, Pete!” Frank's voice was full of excitement. “I need you now.”

“What time is it?”

“Time to get up. Now get dressed and hurry up about it!”

The boy staggered into the living room and gave a tiny gasp. The walls were decorated with unknown encryptions. A skilfully carved table lay in the middle of the room with an antique mirror dominating its centre. A single candle shone in front of it.

Frank kneeled and put down a sacrificial dagger. “Tonight, my boy… we shall attempt to get a glimpse of my soul through the mirror.”

Peter was transfixed, his mind chaotic.

“Come closer,” Frank whispered. His nephew took several unsteady steps towards him. “From now on, be quiet and obey my every command. Stand behind me and don't speak. You hear me, boy?”

He nodded, signalling his understanding.

The temperature of the room dropped, creating a chilly atmosphere. The flat was already cold from the damp that was hiding in the walls. To Peter, it almost appeared as if time stood still. The only person that existed was his uncle kneeling in front of the peculiar mirror, gazing upon his reflection with murderous intensity.

Suddenly, without a word, Frank picked up the ceremonial dagger and slashed himself across his palm.

Peter twitched and almost let out a scream of protest as he saw how heavily the open wound was bleeding. Frank calmly smeared his bloody hand across the eyes of his own reflection.

“Uncle, please stop this madness!” Peter whined. “You're scaring me!”

And then… he saw it.

The youth trembled and fell back against the wall. “Look!” he exclaimed. “Your reflection…”

The candle had illuminated the other Frank's determined grimace.

Peter mustered the sum of his courage and leapt over his uncle. He knew he had to break the spell and knock the mirror over.

A hand reached up and grabbed his wrist, holding it in an iron clamp. “No! Don't touch it!” Frank snapped. “I won't let you interfere!”

The boy looked at his enchanted uncle and then back to the mirror. He weighed his options and decided to knock over the candle instead.

“I can't watch any longer!” Peter screamed as he dived for the light and extinguished the flame between his petite fingers.

“You imbecile!” Frank seized his nephew by the collar and shook him frantically. “Do you even realise what you've done?!”

He pulled a soiled handkerchief from his pocket to wrap around his bleeding wound. Realising he had to wash the hand in case of infection, he headed for the bathroom.

The water was cold, and when it collided with his tired face and dripped down his stubble he gave an involuntary shiver. Frank examined his palm and took a long look at his reflection in the mirror.

If only the little cretin hadn't interfered.

Taking a towel, he dried his weary face before tossing it into the pile of dirty laundry that reigned in the corner. He stopped. Something was wrong. His heart skipped a beat as he turned and glanced once more into the glass.

At first, Frank's appearance remained unchanged, then shock mirrored in his eyes as he saw his features age. The face he saw was undeniably his, but it was at least… forty years older. His fingers slowly crawled up his cheeks as the reflection smiled back with glee.

Infant's Fingers

N
imble fingers ran through albino curls, hung over the forehead of a sightless girl. Diane had been robbed of her sight as a child, not long after her mother had decided to withdraw her from the world. She'd been raised within a religious sect that expected nothing but total obedience.

“You owe it to me,” Luna said, spitefully. “He must die for what he has done to me.”

Diane had no choice in anything; it had been that way since her father left. She dreamed of finding him, to ask why he'd abandoned her.

“Consider your wish fulfilled,” Diane said, with a face that suggested her conscience was uncomfortable. “I will use my gift and wipe his memory from existence.”

Inside Rochester city hospital, in the far corner of the maternity ward, Dr. Renee was inspecting the woman that was lying across the examination table.

“Well, Cynthia, you look just about ready to burst! How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I'm absolutely marvellous.”

The Doctor grinned, she was used to sarcasm.

“Have you decided on a name?”

“Not yet, but we have a few in mind.”

The Doctor smiled and left the room as her husband marched in with a bucket of lilies.

“Hey, honey. How are you doing?”

Cynthia let out a tired sigh. “Why does everyone have to ask me that?”

James kissed his wife's cheek and playfully caressed her raven hair.

“Have you made a decision?”

“I want to call her Lucy, after your mum.”

James leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“Thank you.”

Above the Blackburn residence, dark clouds had gathered. A sinister figure stood before a mirror, staring into her reflection. The shapely form that had once been considered beautiful had been replaced by the warped image of a skeletal creature.

Scott lifted a glass of Scotch, sniffed it and took a sip.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

He savoured the taste on his tongue for a few seconds before swallowing.

“The girl is innocent.”

Luna opened a wooden box, removed a curiously shaped medallion and hung it around her neck.

Will he have what it takes when the time comes? If he doesn't, he will pay with his life.

“Do you really want to sacrifice your own daughter for the sake of petty vengeance? The past is the past; you can't change it no matter how much you want to.”

Scott took another sip of Scotch to calm his nerves.

“Diane doesn't deserve this fate. I beg you to reconsider.”

Knowing what was expected of him didn't make the situation any easier. He needed plenty of encouragement to fulfil his duty. The whisky provided the solution.

Scott tried to continue his point, but Luna raised her hand to silence him.

“You are my brother and I love you, but this has to be done. How can I allow a man to break my heart and find happiness? I know that what I've asked of you will test your devotion to myself and the group, but I cannot allow this treachery to go unpunished. Twelve years ago he walked out on me for that harlot and now he thinks he can start a family. No, he must pay. If I can't have him, no one will.”

Luna offered Scott her hand, which he accepted with some apprehension.

“Come, my brother. All is prepared.”

The two of them walked, hand in hand, down a flight of stairs into a dark cellar. In its centre was a circle made of sand. A group of hooded figures stood around the sacred ground, waiting for Luna to step up to an altar and address the crowd.

“My children, you are extremely privileged, for tonight you shall witness a spectacle that hasn't been seen in 122 years. A goddess will be reborn.”

Luna put two hands around a bejewelled chalice and poured its contents down her throat. She swallowed the sweet nectar and wiped her mouth.

“Shall we begin?”

Six disciples began chanting a secret incantation.

Luna raised her hands to the heavens. “Come forth, my daughter!”

Diane stepped out of the darkness into the circle. Her blank face was illuminated by candlelight. She had been stripped of all dignity and left without clothes.

The chanting got louder as the disciples swayed to a more fervent beat.

Diane remained immobile as Scott removed a torch from the nearest wall and walked begrudgingly towards her.

I must accept my destiny.

Luna muttered words in a language that Diane could not understand. Doubt began to creep into her mind as she turned her blind eyes towards the sound of her mother's voice.

“Now!”

Scott hesitated for a split second, but nonetheless obeyed the command of his sister. He thrust the torch towards Diane and the girl ignited in an instant. Several disciples gasped as she burned like a condemned witch at the stake. Not a single scream escaped her lips. She tilted her head back and raised her arms as if embracing the flames. Luna watched with fascination as her daughter anxiously awaited the result of her metamorphosis.

The cruel flames devoured Diane's tender flesh as her defeated frame collapsed. Only a pile of ash remained where the teenage girl had perished. Scott examined the aftermath and gasped as a child emerged. He could tell it was his niece right away; her teenage mind had been transported into an infant's body. The baby didn't cry, it just gazed into his eyes.

“Diane?” Scott asked in a trembling voice.

He had never witnessed anything quite like this. It was like the rebirth of a Phoenix.

Is this what happened to her?

The girl nodded, as if sensing his thoughts.

He covered the baby in a cotton blanket and walked over to the hooded followers. One of them stepped forward and removed the cape. Scott placed the baby in her arms.

“You know what to do.”

The woman bowed in acknowledgement and walked out of the cellar. It was Dr. Renee.

Cynthia blissfully slept in the hospital room, participating in the deepest sleep she'd had in nine months. The birth had been a complete success. James sat by his sleeping wife and admired her loveliness. Even after enduring one of the most traumatic experiences of her life, she was still beautiful.

Dr. Renee walked in and disturbed his train of thought.

“How are you feeling?”

He smirked in amusement, remembering his wife's annoyance with that particular question.

“I'm fine, thank you. How's Lucy?”

Dr. Renee reassured him that little Lucy was doing just fine.

“Tell you what, Cynthia should awake any moment. How about I go and get your daughter, so when she opens her eyes you can be together?”

She beamed and left the room once more. When her foot crossed the threshold, the smile vanished. She walked down the bright corridor and into the newborn room. Inside, the hectic noise of baby cries made her sick. Spending most her career delivering these things had made her despise every single one of them.

Dr. Renee strolled among the rows of newborns. All of them were asleep or crying, except one. This baby possessed an unusually penetrating gaze and an unmistakeable intelligence lurked behind her grey eyes.

After checking that no one was looking, she tied a nametag around the infant's ankle. It read: Lucy Horn. She picked the baby up in her sturdy arms and looked deep into its hypnotic eyes.

“Do it tonight. Nod twice if you can understand me.”

The baby girl studied the woman's mouth for a few seconds as if reading her lips, before nodding twice.

“Here we are! Dr. Renee said as she placed the baby into Cynthia's eager arms. “Say hello to your new daughter, Lucy.”

“Isn't she gorgeous?” Cynthia asked, full of pride.

“She gets the good looks from her mum.”

James kissed his wife's forehead before embracing his newborn daughter.

I'm going to love this little girl more than anything else in this world. If only my other one wasn't such a freak. No! Cynthia must never know. Lucy is the only one! I will love her with all my heart.

As he looked up, the baby's newly opened eyes met his.

“Look, she's smiling at you,” Cynthia said. Her voice was full of joy

“Of course she is. She recognizes her daddy.”

After two days in the hospital, the little girl called Lucy was peacefully sleeping in her room, in a cot painted with flowers and the rising sun. James was sitting on his bed, reading one of his favourite historical novels by the mercer lamp. He was nervous about being left alone with his new daughter.

What if something goes wrong? Am I capable of handling an emergency if it presents itself?

James put down his book and rolled the silk covers to one side as he silently tiptoed towards the cot to check on Lucy for the twenty-sixth time. The baby was asleep. He walked back to his bed and switched off the light, having finally decided to get some sleep.

As his eyes closed, another pair opened. The baby climbed out of its cot and sneaked towards the kitchen. She picked up a large kitchen knife with both hands, her miniature fingers struggling to hold the weapon. After a few seconds, she settled for a smaller one.

The task was almost finished.

Mother will be so proud!

The baby placed the cold blade on her father's throat. For a moment, the infant hesitated. James' eyes flew open, but in that instant the baby girl slashed his neck with all her strength. It was enough as the knife was sharp. He felt a sudden pain and immediately gasped for breath. The cut was deep, mortally so.

He felt the warm blood pouring down his body onto the sheets. He tried calling for help, but no words escaped his lips.

He gazed into the eyes of the infant, who kneeled on his chest, her grimace triumphant. James looked at her with more intensity than ever before. Suddenly, in his last seconds of life, he recognized something in that malicious stare.

Lifting his hand with the last of his strength, he reached towards the baby's face and caressed her chubby cheek.

“Diane…?”

At last she understood the real deception; she'd just killed her biological father.

“Daddy…?”