A Last Night Together
This is a story I wrote a while ago, but didn't post until now. It was written in a completely different style to test out a different method of writing rather than using the same techniques over and over again (thus the short length). I don't like it as much as other stories I've written, but I think it came out alright. Enjoy and feel free to leave feedback.
To those of you who are about to read this story, I want you to know that I wish this experience onto absolutely no one. Not even onto my deepest enemies.
You see it all began nearly three years ago when I was called to a small European village isolated far out in the country side. A letter had arrived two weeks prior to my visit, announcing that a relative whom I did not know existed, was holding onto life just barely. I had been called by him as an heir to some unknown estate. When I got there however, I found that the man had already passed and left only a tattered old deed behind.
I attended the funeral, which was held in a family cemetery at a large mansion. It was a small gathering, and I knew none of the people there. When the service was done, I went to seek out a lawyer who could make official my ownership of whatever estate had been left to me.
I'll admit I came to that small old village partly out of greed, I wanted to know what riches had been left to me. However, it was mostly curiosity which drove me to it. Here I was, in a place I'd never heard of before, receiving a deed to the old mansion at which the funeral had been held. Surely, the man had had closer family to leave it to, yet I had been searched out as an heir. To this day I wonder why it was me he chose to inherit it.
When I had inquired around town, most seemed weary to talk of the man whom I had recently discovered to be an uncle. All I got were myths and legends of unholy going-ons at the old place. I found it odd that I had heard nothing of my father's brother before, but neither of my parents was alive to ask about this mysterious family member anymore.
Nevertheless, I took charge of the old mansion. It was a stormy night when I first arrived at the old place, and I could see that the rain had patted down the freshly dug earth of the new grave. Lightning flashed across the sky and was reflected off the puddles which covered much of the ground. Flashlight in hand, I stepped out of my car and pulled my hood up to escape from the torrential rain. I ran hastily towards the door, fumbling for a moment with the keys I had been given, before managing to unlock the door and push it open.
Once inside, I shut the door behind me, not wanting to let the rain damage the interior of the building I had just inherited. I took a deep breath and sneezed. As lightning flashed again, I could see the air was thick with dust which I had recently disturbed. Had the old man not lived here? Why was this place in such disorder if that was so?
I shivered slightly, not from fear, but rather from the cold. I looked around to find a light switch. Finally my efforts were rewarded. The lights flickered as they came to life, illuminating the room which I had stepped into. It was large, and clearly served as an entrance room to the building. To the left and right were two open doorways which led into hallways. Centered in the room, was a large set of stairs leading up to a second floor. Railings which lined the top of the stairs blocked my view of seeing anything up on the second floor.
As I searched throughout the place I found that everything that my uncle must have owned was still in it. I found a fully equipped kitchen, a den, and a huge library with books which filled shelves that went from floor to ceiling in row, after row, after row. It was in here however, that the first strange occurrence in my experience with the place happened. As I sat down on a small leather chair near a large stack of books to rest, the lights of the room went out. From my seat I could still see light from the other rooms pouring in. I brushed it off as nothing but a strange coincidence. Perhaps, all the lights in the room had managed to go out from because of an electrical surge, or maybe a fuse had blown. I tried hard not to think about it as I continued my search deeper into the mansion.
I was always a skeptic, but something about this place had been giving me the creeps and the incident in the library was sitting heavily in the back of my mind. The villagers stories kept coming back to me... When I came across a computer room and the same thing which had happened in the library occurred in there, I decided I had had enough of the place and quickly turned off the lights which were still on and ran for the door. I don't think I even bothered to lock it.
That night I slept uneasily in the village's only inn. When I awoke the next morning I dismissed the previous night's events as pure coincidence and decided I shouldn't give in so easily to the superstitions of the townspeople. As I ate breakfast served to me in my room, the peppy young vixen who worked as a maid and had delivered the food talked to me. I honestly cannot remember how we started talking, I think she asked if I was from the area because she had never seen my face before, but like I said, I can't remember for sure. If that was the case it was nothing more than an excuse by her to strike up a conversation with me, for clearly anyone who was a stranger in the inn of such a small town must not be from the area. Anyway, the conversation we shared was pleasant.
She told me that visitors hardly ever came through here, and that the town was boring but her parents forbid her from going to the city unless she was in the company of her brother. When I eventually asked if she cared to join me in checking out the wonders of the old mansion she jumped at the opportunity. Apparently, the stories told by most of the village had made her harvest a deep interest in the place. She confessed, that once or twice, as a kit she had ventured over to the gardens but would go no farther for fear of discovery. She remembered that the one time she had gone closer, she had gotten yelled at and had run home crying with her tail between her legs. We had had such a good time talking that I nearly forgot to ask her name, which I found out was Emily.
The second time I pulled up to the mansion it was a much nicer day. The sun was shining and most of the puddles had begun to shrink under the hot sun. Emily was first to step into the old building and she marveled at its size. We explored it for a while and I showed her all the areas I had already discovered. Not once did I dare mention the odd occurrences of the previous night, mostly for her sake, but partly for my own. With Emily around I was more distracted and less apt to think about them. Nothing strange occurred the time we were there and we left back to the inn.
Day after day we would go back to the mansion and explore a seemingly endless number of rooms. She asked me if I planned on keeping the place and living there, to which I responded I had no idea. At that point in time I think I was planning on selling it for what it was worth and leaving this town to go back to my old life significantly wealthier.
But love is a funny thing and can make people do crazy things. When I finally declared my love to Emily, she accepted and we were happily engaged for a short time. After we were married and our honeymoon was over, I arranged to have my stuff from back in the States brought over to this small town with my new home, and have my old house sold. If I had the ability to turn back time, I would have sold the mansion and taken Emily back with me to the States.
We lived happily together in the mansion. Not once did anything strange occur during our time together. And then one fateful night, as Emily and I walked home from the local tavern, gunshots rang out. It was clear I was the intended target, for as I tackled the gunman, who made no point of hiding, he cursed my existence and said I was doomed to the same fate that the rest of my family was. The police arrived quickly on the scene, and soon Emily was airlifted to the largest hospital in the country. I went with her and never left her side, but despite the best care the doctors could give, she passed away.
I decided to have her buried in the family cemetery on the property. The funeral consisted only of me and Emily's immediate family, for the rest of the village was far too afraid to step foot onto the property.
Following Emily's death, I became a loner keeping to myself and rarely talking to any
others. Often Emily's family would visit, but I had become cold and made it clear I was not happy to have them around. Eventually they gave up, and the only times I saw them were when they came to visit their kin's grave.
I contemplated suicide, nothing seemed that it would ever make me happy. I was writing my last note on this Earth out on the computer when I noticed half hidden underneath the monitor a disc labeled "Restoring Life". My curiosity peaked, I popped the disc into the machine and read over the course of weeks thousands of pages about a method which could supposedly bring the dead back to life. On the last page the author's name was given, Daniel Tray, my uncle. I dismissed it as utter nonsense, yet it nagged at me for days. What if it was really possible? Was it possible for me to bring Emily back to life?
I spent a good four or five months after the discovery locked up in my home, only emerging for food. I did nothing but watch TV and read. I spent countless hours in the library, trying to drown out my sorrows with books. As I neared one of the shelves up against the wall, I remember feeling an odd draft. I investigated the shelf closely, and discovered the draft was coming from behind the bookcase. I laughed, hidden rooms and that sort of nonsense was for the movies and nothing else. However, despite my feelings I felt myself pushing the bookshelf to one side and remember going wide eyed as it flung open like a swinging door.
The new room was what I can best describe as an operating room, though as I found out later was actually a laboratory. Everything was neat and tidy, and the placed seemed completely sterile. On an operating table sat a book filled with information of experiments my uncle had performed. I sat down on the table and read. It seemed that everything he had done was carefully written down, step by step, not a detail missed. He had been able to restore a decaying body to what it had been in life, but still had not managed to bring it back from the dead.
This was ludicrous! No wonder the villager's didn't want to talk about my uncle and feared this place so much. He was a nut job! I threw the book on the floor and walked out of the room. It must have been garbage, I mean, there was no way that this was real, was there?
My curiosity once again got the better of me. I decided to try and repeat one of his "successes". I mixed a serum as the book gave directions. It was easy to follow and soon I had a small flask of what he had deemed his "restoring formula". Using a decaying rat, I tested out the mixture by injecting a small amount into it. Almost instantly the rat filled out and became covered with fur. I could only assume that everything on the inside had been rejuvenated in the same manner. I don't remember much else from that night. I ran around and danced for joy for so long that I collapsed and fell asleep from exhaustion.
The next day when I awoke I immediately poured over my uncle's theories on bringing the dead back to life. I memorized every detail he left behind from his research. For years I experimented with different formulas, never seeming to get it right. I wrote detailed journals describing each of my experiments. I became discouraged until after one of the serums made the dead rat twitch. It opened its eyes and walked about but quickly died again. Despite the fact that this was just one more failure to add to the growing book, it motivated me intensely. I had gotten it so close! Just a few more tweaks and the rat would be living once again.
It took an incredulous 'nother year and a half before I finally got it right. The rat was up and walking about! I studied it for days. Just as in life, it ate, slept, and drank. The only difference was in its eyes. They had become a glowing golden yellow. This seemed only to be a harmless side effect.
I remember smiling wickedly to myself after two weeks of studying the rat. If I could bring this back to life, then clearly I could bring my love back to me! You see, I was half crazy at this point. Years of isolation and no companionship had made me this way, and the ability to bring back Emily seemed like a God-send.
I didn't think at all about what the consequences of my actions would be as I dug up my wife's grave one cloudy night. The moon occasionally came out from behind the clouds to cast a pale white light onto my grisly work. Not for one second did I enjoy digging that hole, and my shovel hitting wood could not have come soon enough. I pried open her coffin, removing what was left of her. I nearly puked as I dragged her into the laboratory and threw her down on the operating table. It didn't take me long to inject her with both of the serums my uncle and I had spent so long working on. But unlike the rat Emily didn't spring forth from the table with life. She was rejuvenated yes, but she was still dead. I grabbed one of her furred hands and held it tightly. It was still cold. A stethoscope revealed no heart beat.
Cursing, I stormed out of the room, knocking books off the shelves and swearing loudly the entire time. I stopped in front of a mirror and looked at myself. My brown hair hung messily over my face and a scratchy beard had begun to form. I punched the mirror, cutting my hand in the process, and proceeded to scream and ask what I had done wrong. In my rage I broke open the liquor cabinet and poured myself a scotch. I had another, and another, and another until I passed out where I stood.
What happened the next morning made me feel better than I had ever before, despite my massive hangover. Emily was standing over me, gently prodding at me and telling me to get up. She smiled when I recognized it was her and grabbed her into a tight hug. She was alive again! The only noticeable difference on her was her eyes, which were much like the rat's after it had been brought back to life. She seemed to not know that she had died at any point, and I decided it was for the best if she didn't find out about it.
After she dressed herself and my hand was bandaged, we spent the day together, and when the sun set we retreated to our bedroom. We kissed and I held her tightly. I told her I'd never let her go, no matter what. She didn't say anything, only kissed me again and playfully knocked me down onto the bed. Then she ran her hand up against my chest and I felt myself grow hard. She stripped out of her clothing and I followed suit. After another few minutes of heated kissing she sat straddling me, her wet sex poised above my cock. Slowly she sank down upon it, and when it was entirely in she waited a second to allow herself to adjust to the intrusion in her. Soon she began to work her way up and down, me meeting her by thrusting my hips up as she came down.
When I felt my climax close I pulled out of her and placed her on her back. I began to softly knead one of her small breasts. She moaned and put her head back in submission. I stroked the vixen's chin as I reentered her, thrusting only a handful of times before climaxing and shooting my seed up inside of her. She too climaxed and she groaned loudly as her sex gripped me tightly. I pulled out of her, kissed her softly, and told her I loved her.
Something was wrong however. Emily pulled away from me and stared deeply into my eyes. I asked her what was wrong and got an answer which I didn't want to hear. It went roughly like this:
"Chris, I know what happened. I remember it like it was yesterday. We were on our way home from the tavern and I was shot. You stayed with me the entire time."
She paused here to give me a kiss. And then continued:
"But I didn't make it Chris. I passed away."
I just stared at her dumbly. What was I supposed to say? I had been hoping she didn't remember it...
"Last night, after I found you passed out I read your book. What you have done shouldn't have happened. The dead are supposed to stay dead. You can't keep me like this... I'm sorry."
"But what about me! You're going to leave me again, after all the work I've done!" I yelled.
"What you've done goes against the laws of nature. My existence isn't natural, it's artificial and that can't be. I'm sorry Chris. You're going to have to let go. There are plenty of others out there for you. You're a good lookin' guy and nice too, you'll have no trouble finding another."
"I don't want another..."
"I'm sorry," she repeated.
Tears streamed out of her eyes. I too began to cry.
"What do you expect me to do though? Kill you?"
Emily's eyes flashed when she heard this, and I heard a soft sob.
"Yes," she choked out.
I grabbed her into a tight hug and cried into her shoulder until morning. When daylight broke she patted me on the back and told me that in the end it would be for the best. I remember wondering how she could expect me to kill her! However she eventually convinced me to do it. I don't want to write about that part really... Just know that at around noon of that day we entered into the lab and only I came back out.
I reburied her and that same day packed up everything I owned. Before I left town I left the deed to the mansion and everything in it to Emily's family, who questioningly accepted it.
I headed back to the States where I checked myself into a mental health clinic, which is where I write this today. I wonder if the townsfolk knew of what my uncle had been doing, and for that reason had shunned him. I guess this was the case, but I have no intention of going back to find out for sure. I also wonder what became of the youth who tried to kill me and end my uncle's research with him after he got out of jail. I'm able to leave whenever I desire, but I need the help to cope with everything I've been through. I especially needed help when I remembered I hadn't gotten rid of any of the cursed materials which I used. No one believes me of course, but that's okay.
Someday some other fool will follow in my footsteps, and who knows how he'll react to it. Maybe he'll read mine and my uncle's work and shrug it off as utter nonsense. But maybe he'll see profit in it, or maybe he'll bring back his lover. To this day I lie awake at night often wondering about the work some other could be unleashing onto this Earth.