Excerpt: Necrophobia

Save for a distant murmuring at the front of the old chapel, there was silence. Save for an array of red and black candles lit across the altar, there was darkness. Save for the innocent life that lay gagged and chained in the center of a pentagram… there was evil.

A black-cloaked form muttered Latin phrases under his breath as he knelt in front of the old wooden altar and prayed to his god. It had taken him many long hours - days even - to prepare this ritual and set the scene for his ascension to glory; hours of work that he knew would all be for a few minutes of excruciating pain… followed by a lifetime of riches and power. He had gone to great lengths to prepare the old chapel he’d found in the basement of the monastery. Many animal sacrifices had been made and dissected, special bones and organs picked out from their carcasses. Each part had a special purpose. Each part had a unique trait. And certain parts drew - or were drawn by - evil.

The old chapel was not a large one, but it had several rows of pews which faced a semicircular raised stage area. The step up was no more than two feet; two simple steps made for an easy ascent and also created an altar area at which the cloaked form was now kneeling. The ceiling of the chapel was lofty and vaulted; despite being located underground, beneath the monastery’s other structures, plenty of room had been given to the towering, gothic structure. The room’s acoustics caused the slightest sound to resonate clearly throughout the room. When the cloaked figure had begun his ritual, the candle light had flickered brightly enough to illuminate the wooden beams and stone arches which marked the chapel’s ceiling; now, however, the darkness was pressing in so closely and thick that had the figure turned around he would have scarcely been able to make out the form of the first row of pews sitting five feet away. The heat, too, had increased exponentially; before all this had started the chapel was a cave-like fifty two degrees and practically dripping with moisture. The old wooden pews were covered in mildew and the stone walls in moss. Now, sweat mingled with tears dripped from the tip of the hooded figure’s nose as steam rose from the stone floors and made the candles’ wax soften and deform.

The silence, too, was changing. Outside of the cloaked figure’s fervent prayers and the soft, steady breathing of the unconscious girl lying tied in the pentagram painted in the center of the platform, the silence had become heavier and fell like a burden onto the figure’s shoulders.

He prayed thus for perhaps an hour, perhaps two. But time was lost to the girl who had been unlucky enough to have been the figure’s prey two nights before. He had kept her in a drugged stupor most of the time and refused to answer her questions, refused to remove the rough cloth which - until now - had been tied tightly around her head to blindfold her eyes and hold her muzzle shut. He hadn’t fed her, and though he had required her occasional cooperation with moving from one place to another, he was never rough with her. Not once did he strike or hurt her, despite her resistance. He merely had great patience and a way of using his words to form within her the motivation she needed to move. Despite the circumstances she had found she’d come to trust this strange cloaked figure with the scarred hands and cold skin.

But now that she’d woken into a nightmare, the girl realized too late her trust had been misplaced. Before her eyes even snapped open, she knew she was tightly and painfully bound hand and foot- her arms were spread out on either side of her, as were her legs. Had she been able to see her predicament, she would have learned that she was tied in the center of a pentagram, with her limbs being at four points of the star and her head being at the last. But instead, when she opened her eyes all she saw was darkness. All she heard was the low, guttural praying of the figure whom she’d trusted. And all she felt was evil.

The presence in the chapel felt so strong, so real, that she could have sworn that if her hand was free she could have reached out and touched it. Chills raced up and down her spine and the hairs along her neck and arms stood on end as gooseflesh rose in haphazard rows. She felt exceptionally dry-mouthed and tried to speak, but the utter lack of moisture plaguing her tongue and throat robbed her of the ability to form coherent words. Her meager groan went unanswered by the hooded figure, but the weak sound stirred something else in the room.

The candles flickered as if a breeze had passed by them, though the girl detected no wind. The darkness seemed to pulse slightly, as if it had suddenly formed a heartbeat. And somewhere in the dark corners of the chapel there was a faint sound like the fluttering of a thousand wings.

Fearing what might happen if she made another sound, the girl fell silent and waited.

---

Gabriel awoke to a searing pain in his left side. The white-furred wolf groaned and sat up, clenching his teeth and baring a set of sharp elongated canine teeth. As a vampire he wasn’t accustomed to injury and was generally exempt from danger of the normal sort, but the staggering pain which now seared through his side was making it difficult to remain standing. He looked down at himself and growled weakly, but what he saw made his vision swim. Where a blade might cut or slice, the wound in Gabe’s side was neither of these things. The skin and muscle which used to form part of his side was now simply gone. a moment he lay there blankly, staring at the gaping hole in his side and wondering how and by the grace of what deity he was still alive. But the instant a twig snapped nearby his memory jolted out of its stupor and immediately reminded him of two things:

He was not alone; his attacker was still in the area.

If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to die.

Though he could survive with a gaping hole in his side for longer than any mere mortal could, the loss of vital muscle and flesh would slow him down considerably. And judging by the soft, squishy nature of his abdomen, his internal organs had been damaged as well. For all he knew when he stood up they’d all come spilling out, and he couldn’t have that happen. Not only would he be considerably slowed dragging behind him twenty feet of intestines which would catch on sticks and rubble, but he’d also be a veritable smorgasbord for any scavenging animal that thought a vampire’s entrails would make a nice meal. Gabe could and had survived many things, but being a buffet for wild animals was pushing it; either way he didn’t want to find out.

A quick check of his situation revealed that Gabriel was wearing nothing save a baggy, ragged pair of black shorts; in other words, essentially nothing with which to dress his wound.

Gabriel was not a wolf subject to panic, but his situation was pressing and time was growing short. He could feel his hunger gnawing at every bone in his body, a complication which was only made worse by his body’s need to heal itself. He needed blood to regenerate; it had been some time since his last meal and he was definitely feeling the effects.

The white wolf glanced around the area and looked for somewhere to go, to hide, to get away from the area and escape his hunter. But it was the dead of winter and he was surrounded by sparse forest with little undergrowth. The sky was overcast; it looked as if it might snow any minute. Despite the thirty-degree temperature and his notable lack of clothing, Gabriel wasn’t cold - one of the many perks of being a vampire who was, in essence, already dead. However, his hands had begun to tremble from shock. Apparently his body wasn’t quite okay with the ‘inconvenience’ of having a large chunk of its flesh missing.

Grunting in pain, Gabriel sat up with some effort - pressing one arm against the hole in his side just in case - and made an effort to get to his feet. Twice he tried and failed unsuccessfully, but the third time he felt a pair of hands at his back - hands that quickly went from comfortably warm to searing hot. Gabe felt himself being lifted up and caught a whiff of an oddly misplaced aroma; a sweet mixture of spices and cinnamon. A moment later there was a flash of orange and brown in the distance, and in that moment his knees gave out, his legs buckled, and he fell to the ground.

In the moments before he passed back into unconsciousness, a breeze blew past him carrying the calming scent of incense.