Halton Cray (Shadows of the World Book 1) (27 page)

‘It was there in that moment, Alex, I sealed my own
fate! You remember the good intentions I spoke of? I myself forged an iron link
that chained me to an eternal hell!’

Twenty-four

‘He did not wear his scarlet coat, for blood and wine are
red, and blood and wine were on his hands when they found him with the dead.’

– Oscar Wilde,
The
Ballad of Reading Gaol

‘How can I describe what I
saw in that room, Alex? It was a massacre! Two blood-spattered bodies slumped
on the sofa. They were as poorly dressed as me. Johan stood with his back to
me, his waistcoat torn. He roared a cry of mirth as he made sport of the woman
left alive, cornering her as she shook and cried. I felt sick and violent! She
was begging for her life, praying with her hands and repeatedly making the sign
of the crucifix.

I ran in and grabbed a poker. I hit Johan hard
across the back of the head, and I felt satisfaction at doing it. He turned as
if I’d struck him with a feather, punching me here’ – Thom thumped at his chest
– ‘winding me. It hurled me across the room. He came up to here on me, Alex.’
Thom held his hand horizontal at his mouth. ‘The blow confirmed what I’d begun
to suspect – that he was something else. I staggered to my feet to find him tearing
into the woman’s throat with his teeth, and more viciously than any wild
animal. The pleasure in his expression terrified me most. The woman was dead. I
could do nothing for her. Yet I grabbed the poker and ran at him again. He let
the woman drop and effortlessly dodged my attempt to stab him. With a fiendish
smile and stony eyes, he turned casually to the mirror over the fireplace. He
stared into it as if to straighten his collar.

‘“You dare to interfere again?” he said evenly.
“That’s not what I pay you for. What do you know of those creatures?” He
pointed to the women. “Nothing!
They’re
nothing, but snakes!” he fumed,
turning to look a second time into the mirror where a strange light grew. I
don’t need to describe his reflection; you’ve seen similar for yourself. But he
was proud of it, wore it like a medal.

‘“Do you see there, young man, in the glass–” He
sneered at me. – If, Alex, I hadn’t looked upon the creature with such horror
and disgust, I believe Johan would have killed me immediately. He frowned and
grinned at once. “Make yourself acquainted with your preserver!”

‘He moved towards me. Still armed with the poker I
ran round the sofa towards the door. I knew he could outmanoeuvre me, and so he
did, cornering me in the hallway. He guffawed even as I sheathed one-half of
the poker, hard as I could, in his stomach. After which he grabbed my hand. He
twisted it until I heard and felt the bones crack, so that I was incapacitated.
It was one of the most painful experiences of my existence.

‘With his other hand he yanked the poker from his
body and flung it down. Blood oozed from him, but not like blood I’d ever seen.
It was thick as mud. He’d crushed my hand to the point that I was now bleeding.

 ‘He thrust my hand into his gaping wound:
disgusting! I could feel his blood mixing with mine. I can still feel it now,
creeping through my veins – the very evilness in it! It felt like knives
stabbing all at once within my body. I couldn’t move, scream, or cry for the
pain. Instinct told me I was done for. I remember hearing his very last words
to me –

‘“And now with the world before you!”

‘Everything went black. I woke in my room with the
door shut and locked from the inside. My hand felt and looked normal, as if nothing
had happened. I wondered if it was only a bad dream. I’d gotten used to them
and the feeling they may have been real. I was sure I must have fallen asleep while
originally waiting for his guests to leave. But I still wanted to get out of
there! Daylight crept through my window, but I didn’t know what time it was. I
knew he was in the house somewhere – sleeping, I hoped. I went straight down
the stairs and peered into the dining room before I left. No bodies or
bloodstains, not a cushion out of place. I fled anyway. Concerned for my family
and desperate to get away from that place, I went to enquire about passage back
to Ireland. A steamship was leaving that afternoon for Southampton via Cobh. I
was probably the only Irishman going back. Conveniently placed at the port was
a pawnbroker’s – for people like me – and the devils running it can smell the
desperation on you. They can read every line in your face that says, “I have
something of considerable worth, and I need to get home.”

‘They read me and I sold my own father’s watch for
pittance. It was enough to pay for my passage, food and water for the journey.
But I felt too sick to eat. I shared a cabin the size of a bathroom with three
other men, none of whom spoke much English. They all eyed me strangely, and
after the first day never tried to communicate with me. And they had reason to
fear me.

‘We were eleven days at sea. For most of the journey
they didn’t allow us up on deck, which suited me. The very sight of the sea had
some strange effect on me, as it had never done before. I knew it wasn’t
seasickness because the rolling waves and movement of the ship didn’t bother
me, and never had. It was the smell and sight of that water – I hated it! With
that, the agitation, and general violence I began to feel towards my
cabin-mates – for no particular reason – I was sure I’d contracted rabies or
something similar somehow. I wanted to hurt them but I didn’t know why. They
looked different. They smelled different.

‘Ravenous though I was, I couldn’t stomach a
thing. I forced myself to eat some bread. But far from tasting of nothing, it felt
wrong and I had no desire to put it in my mouth. Food was no longer
my
food. I suppose if you tore a page out of that book’ – he pointed to a pile of
them – ‘and ate it, you would feel something similar to what I felt then. I
didn’t understand what was happening. I was sure I was dying. Yet something was
stirring within me, and my cabin-mates knew it. They steered clear of me as
much as they could, though it was difficult. More times than I can count I held
myself back from attacking them. I don’t know how I managed it, but they
survived that journey.

‘Once the ship docked I made my way home to
Limerick, hoping to find my mother and sister there. Once I arrived I stayed
back from seeing them. I feared giving them whatever disease I had. Still
unable to satisfy my appetite, I had an idea to end my own misery,’ Thom sighed,
shaking his head. ‘Well, Alex, let me ask you. Did you read Shakespeare in
school?’

I scoffed. ‘In my school? We weren’t lucky enough
to get Jane Eyre. I’ve read some Shakespeare since.’

‘Do you know Hamlet’s monologue on the question of
what would be better, to live or die?’

‘Yes –
to be or not to be
. I don’t know it
off by heart,’ I added.

‘My father read it to me once. I wished then to
have it in front of me, to ponder on those thoughts of his – Hamlet’s, I mean.
Suddenly I found I could remember it all, word for word.’ He rested his
forehead against the palm of his hand. ‘Despite the detestation I felt for the
sea, I went down to the Shannon and stared over her black waters. Only she
could save me now, I thought. But the river I knew well was now a stranger to
me. I hated the sight of her, and she hated me in return! To my horror I found
I had no reflection on her surface. She wouldn’t even acknowledge me. I thought
this was an omen. Perhaps I was already so close to death, the river didn’t
fear to announce it. This drove those dark thoughts from my mind. I had no more
energy to keep going and I ultimately welcomed death. I slumped to the ground
by the Shannon, losing the battle to breathe, my limbs already frozen with cold.
I felt stripped of something, as I’m certain I died then. What followed is
beyond me.

‘The next thing I knew, I was conscious and lying
flat on my back in utter darkness. No light filtered through and yet my eyes
quickly adjusted to it. I was inside a wooden box, which I soon realised was a
coffin –
my
coffin. I could hear worms turning and insects crawling in
the surrounding soil. Rats scurried aboveground. The smell of decay was
everywhere. I knew I hadn’t been buried alive. I remembered taking my very last
breath by the river. My body must have been found there and buried here,
wherever here was. Not too deeply either in the economical coffin reserved for
poor strangers found dead.

‘Did it matter, I asked myself; I was clearly dead.
Such was my first thought. I knew though I wasn’t a ghost – unless ghosts can alter
things physically. I had a strong sensation however that I was not exactly
dead, as much as I wasn’t alive. I no longer felt ill, and the idea of dying
was from then as unnatural to me as the idea of breathing underwater is to you,
Alex. I felt a surge of energy and a hunger so extreme that I punched a hole in
the wood above me. Adrenaline, you see, is useful. Even to my kind. I woke in
that coffin with the strength and speed of any regular man. I had no idea of my
potential.’ Thom here got up and crossed the room fast as the tail of a comet,
before returning to his seat. ‘You see? My strength, too, is practically
unrestrained. But I was reborn with only the potential to achieve more – that’s
all. In order to realise them, I would have to train like any athlete. None of
my newfound capabilities came pre-developed. You do not pick up a guitar and
just start playing a great tune without any study or practice, even if you were
born with a talent. You must learn, as I had to learn, to defy gravity and the
human eye. The demon is naturally lithe and durable, and I could utilise these
if I dedicated myself. When hunger visited me, so did the demon, and therefore
so did its abilities.

‘My coffin began to fill with an avalanche of soil
and small rocks from the surface as I struggled to claw my way through it. The
strong rich smell of the freshly turned dirt was quite pleasant, almost
comforting, but it couldn’t satisfy my appetite. I left the broken box behind
in the shallow earth. Using a low sturdy branch of a hawthorn tree hanging just
over my grave I pulled the rest of me out. It was night, of course, my natural
time: when else should I rise? I knew where I was: south of the Shannon, on
higher ground. This was the kind of burial place for strangers and suicides. Other
familiar unmarked mounds rested nearby. Some were laden with rocks, as mine had
been, owing to superstition – to prevent the dead from rising. The place was
deserted. To one side a small field ran down to an abandoned cottage. Its
inhabitants had died even before I left for Boston. From where I stood, I could
smell the Atlantic. Ghastly was that stench to me.

‘I knew I had to find people, living people, if I
was to eat something. I made my way to the next village. An overwhelming urge
to see my family took hold, just to see that they lived. I went to them, but found
the house deserted. Amongst some debris of broken furniture, I came across a
mirror: frameless and cracked through the centre. In it I saw a blurry
reflection. I felt relief at first, just at seeing something of myself. When I
stepped closer to it, there it was – the reflection of Johan! How it stared
back at me, and moved as I did! The demon I hoped was only in a dream. Only it
wasn’t Johan’s demon now, it was my very own. I fled the place horrified and
into the street that I realised was now my hunting ground. That night I felt
like a passenger in my own body. A surge of evilness and energy rose up within
me. I did things I couldn’t help. I didn’t know it then but the demon within me
that had replaced my soul, and coalesced in this body with all that remained of
me, now grew restless to feed.’

Thom paused and got up. He paced the room and
recommenced heatedly: ‘Yes, I’ve killed! I’ve killed as indiscriminately as
God! And yes, I will kill again. I must. The rule of
eat or die
doesn’t
apply to me! There are two choices, Alex: consume, or
be
consumed.’

I shook. I asked, ‘For human blood?’

‘The blood of anything else has the same effect as
starving myself. It doesn’t contain what the demon wants or needs. It has a lot
to do with the kill itself, the sacrifice of a human. I cannot state that the
demon and I are the same being; we are not! Perhaps as you learn more you may
understand why. The demon becomes desperate, frantic, and out of my control.
It’s not as it is with the tiger who once tastes human blood has no delight
then after for any other prey. There is no preference. There is no substitute.
I have tried other ways but there are immense consequences. I’ve experienced
them.

‘The hungrier it becomes, Alex, the more this flesh
you see me in now will fade and exchange with that in the glass.’ He pointed to
the window. ‘I’ve seen it working to get out. I’ve never sinned so much for
vanity, or for self-restraint, or for company!’ He collapsed back in the chair
and rubbed his hand over his eyes, unwilling at this point to look at me.
Meanwhile I tried to remain patient, fearless, and non-judgemental. My silence
came easily with this.

‘Once I regained control,’ he continued, ‘after
the feast, my body revived, but my conscience sickened. I couldn’t risk losing
myself to it again. I couldn’t allow it to consume me. Because what happens
when I refuse to kill? I become a backseat passenger in this vehicle’ – he
gestured to his body – ‘as it takes over the wheel, killing randomly and
brutally, taking malignant delight in its actions. I witnessed it all, unable
to do a thing. If I acquiesced and committed the crimes myself, at least I
could be merciful! I was facing the terrifying truth of what I was. Though it
burnt my throat to pray, I did it. I begged God to show me an end to it. And I
was answered, in the way such things are. It would be regarded as a strange
coincidence by many, but it was no such thing that I then stumbled upon–’ He
jumped up again, and went off in a different tone.