Tales of a Night Walker By Bert McKenzie Copyright 2010
Chapter 1
I knew it was wrong. I was engaged to the most beautiful girl in the county, but I didn't want her. I wanted her brother. The Church said it was a sin. I made the mistake of confessing my secret desire in the confessional and trusted the priest to maintain his unbreakable vows. No one should ever know I was secretly in love with my fiance's brother Armand. Everyone who had ever committed such a sin was surely burning in the eternal fires of hell and damnation. But I would gladly risk eternal damnation to be with Armand; to touch his smooth skin; to brush our lips together. What a fool I was.
I'm Jefferson Wesley Smythe, III and I was young then, only 23. I was a tall, lanky boy standing 6'3" with thin blond hair hanging over my ears and down to my collar. My most noticeable feature was my piercing green eyes something I inherited from my mother's Irish ancestry. My family had wealth and position. We owned a large plantation just south of Richmond, Virginia. The eldest of two brothers and three sisters, I was destined to inherit a ready-made station in life. But I was a disappointment to my father. He wanted a strong businessman for a son, someone who would help run the family estates and eventually take over for him. Instead, I was interested in the arts. I painted and played music. I even acted in plays in Sunday school and when home between terms, I had my brothers and sisters involved in my little dramas that we put on for the servants. Jefferson Smythe, II abhorred this sort of foolery and waste of time. And the final, crushing disappointment came when the old priest spoke with him about his eldest son. For all I know the priest may have only been trying to save my soul, but in the end it was my damnation.
I had met Felicity Dubois at a party thrown by her cousins. She was a stunning beauty, but my eye was caught and my heart ensnared by her brother Armand. Armand was shorter than me, thick set, and carried himself with a noble bearing. His face was remarkably handsome with dark brown eyes deep set beneath his low brow. His mouth was small, a cupid bow with thick lips. How I longed to kiss those lips. While Felicity was a beautiful woman, Armand was my idea of the perfect male form. I often dreamed of what the young man's body must look like beneath his clothing.
Armand had a love of horses, and so I was able to talk with him at length about them. Our family owned a fine stable and I invited Armand to go riding. Armand insisted on bringing along his sister. I couldn't very well admit my disappointment. She was all girl, needing to be the center of attention, needing help onto her horse and so on. She couldn't ride as fast as the two of us, so I was the gentleman and held back to stay with her although I longed to be galloping ahead with Armand. Still, soon the three of us became fast friends, although I have to admit I wanted more from Armand. I began to court Felicity just to be near Armand. It was wrong, but I thought it would serve my purpose. After all, I needed a bride; it was the expected thing of young men in my station. And if she brought me closer to my secret lust, so much the better.
Little did I know the scrutiny I was under. The old priest knew my voice and broke the sacred vows of silence. He carried a tale to my father before I had even acted on my impure thoughts. I had never been particularly close to my father, nor had the older man to me. In fact, the elder Smythe had never been close to anyone in our family. He was the patriarch and consummate land owner, but a loving man, he was not. Our mother had passed on with the birth of my youngest sister and we children were raised by our father's colored slaves. As children it was to our best favor to stay well clear of father. Only later in our teenage years did he seem to take any real interest in us, and then only when he thought he could use us to his advantage. I was well aware of the midnight visits father paid to my sisters. I had heard the screams and cries, and had held the girls and comforted them after the older man had gone back to his bedroom. It was degrading to have to live with such a secret and not be able to do anything to help the children. Perhaps it was this perversion that helped me to realize my own forbidden interest in men couldn't be quite so bad. After all, I would never hurt an innocent child. But my supposed secret longings only added to my father's dislike of me and gave the older man an excuse to spy on me through his servants. They covertly followed my every move, noting when I would visit with Armand, what I would say or how I would act. They often colored their reports to their master. They enjoyed making my meetings with Armand more frequent and my time with Felicity much less arduous.
We three friends planned a grand party so Felicity and I could announce our engagement. Granted I had not spoken with Felicity's father yet, but I was sure he would grant me his daughter's hand when he returned from his business trip to England. Everyone in the county would be there. The anticipation I felt was surely due to the knowledge that I would be able to spend time in a party setting with Armand. The young man was quite delightful in his attentions to me as a perspective brother-in-law. If only Armand would see me as something more. I so longed to confess my secret affection to him as more than just his brother-in-law but feared the inevitable rejection. My dreams would be fulfilled if I could but share with Armand an intimacy that should be saved only for husband and wife. I longed to kiss those full lips and crush Armand's warm flesh to me in a passionate embrace.
The day of the party arrived and I dressed in my best blue velvet. My friends met me in the ballroom and I welcomed my bride to be and my love, my Armand as they came in all excited. The three of us then stood in the hall and greeted our guests as they arrived. The musicians played and I danced with Felicity. When not paying attention to my fiance, I spent time visiting with her brother, all under the watchful gaze of my father. Had I but known the man's evil plans, I would have found a horse and fled as though Satan himself were chasing me. But I was naive to the darkness that had grown and possessed my father's heart.
Part way through the evening, my father called me aside to introduce me to a visitor from a foreign country. The tall man with the dark visage was dressed peculiarly in a long frock coat and black opera cape. He was from Europe and I assumed that he was a business associate of my father. I was polite but aloof, not wanting to waste my time with strangers or business acquaintances when I could be with my friends. As the evening wore on, the ladies retired to refresh themselves and no doubt visit about the men. The men folk likewise repaired to the solarium where they would smoke cigars and tell ribald stories. This was my chance to steal away with Armand. Although I might not be able to be with him as I wanted, I was determined to have a few moments in private, if only to look with affection on my would be lover's countenance. I took Armand by the hand and led him through the glass doors and into the garden.
When we were alone and hidden from the rest of the party by the high growth of roses and hyacinth, I asked his advice. I concocted a story that I was nervous about his sister. Armand asked me why my consternation. I explained to him that I feared my kisses were not suitable. I told my secret love that I feared Felicity would not welcome my physical advances. I asked Armand's advice on kissing. How did he approach a woman? Could he explain his method of kissing? Armand giggled at the questions and told me that he thought my worries baseless, but I assured him of my honest concern. I asked him if he could but demonstrate his technique in kissing a maiden. Armand looked about in surprise. "Surely, my friend, Jefferson, how can I possibly show you how to kiss a maid when there are nary about?"
"Well," I prevaricated, "I supposed, just for the sake of an educational experience, you could pretend that I was the maid. You could kiss me and thus show me how you correctly perform this, whilst learning how inferior I am at the process."
Again Armand giggled, as a youth would. "I kiss you? Oh Jefferson, surely you jest!" he laughed. But I assured him of my earnestness. I begged him to demonstrate his kiss. Finally with several more giggles and chuckles he agreed for the sake of helping his sister achieve true happiness from her future husband. Armand drew me to him as he would a lass of years younger, and placed his hand against the back of my head. Then he pulled me so willingly to him and pressed his warm, sensuous lips to mine. It would have ended there, but that I opened my mouth and forced my tongue between what I thought to be the unwilling lips of my friend. My kiss became one of passion and in surprise I felt my pretend lover respond in kind. Armand's arms held me firmly rather than pushing me away. His tongue battled with mine for supremacy of our mouths. Our passions rose and we kissed not as student and teacher, but as one lover will with another. Our bodies were entwined, pressed together as were our lips. My heart nearly burst with happiness as I finally achieved my desire. I could feel the heat of my blood throughout my loins and I knew I would be able to press my claim further. One day, perhaps even later this evening we would enjoy more physical passion.
But my father's agents took that moment to act. They brought the older man with them into the garden to witness our passionate embrace and kiss. My father and his men acted swiftly. They grabbed both of us and pulled us violently apart separating me from my erstwhile lover. Armand looked shocked at first and then realized the position we were in and quickly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand while denouncing me. Armand cast me to be the aggressor and the beast who would attack a young and innocent boy in such a manner. My father's men dragged me struggling from the garden and out to the stables. They held me as my father and his strange companion from overseas came into the lamplight. My father told his strange associate that he was welcome to me and then turned away. He left me alone in the stable with his two henchmen and this mysterious foreigner. The servants bound me to one of the support beams so that I was unable to escape. They then tore open my jacket and shirt, exposing my bare chest. The servants laughed as they left me alone with the stranger.
"Fear not, my sweet boy" he said in a thickly accented voice. "I will simply grant you the rest you deserve, and one to which all mortal men must one day succumb." He leaned forward and smiled. "I realize that you enjoy the kiss of a man." He pressed his lips to my mouth. His breath smelled rank, as of the charnel house, and I struggled, turning my head from side to side. But the stranger only pulled back and laughed. As he smiled, I noticed his unusually long canine teeth. "This will hurt but a little," he said, "but pain is the doorway to the afterlife, is it not?" I knew then that the foreigner planned to kill me and I knew with the same conviction that this plan was approved by my loving father. To my surprise, the stranger made a quick move with his head, and began to kiss me on the side of the face, sliding down, kissing my neck. I then felt a sharp pain as the man bit me, piercing the flesh of my shoulder, just above the collar bone. I was surprised and amazed expecting the man to murder me instead of biting me. It wasn't a mortal wound, but it was deep enough to bleed profusely. Then the strange man leaned forward and placed his lips over the wound and sucked with all his might. I could feel the strange man pulling the blood from my body.
The stranger continued to feast on me and then leaned back to smile again at me, his mouth and chin red with my life's blood. He laughed and leaned back to the wound and sucked again. The bite had not done mortal damage, but he apparently nicked a vein and was draining and drinking the life from me, his victim. I felt cold and dizzy and began to swoon but the man stopped and slapped my face to gain my attention. He then took a thin knife and opening his own coat and shirt, he made a cut on his breast. It began to bleed. The man pulled my face to his chest and my lips to the wound. "Suck," he commanded. "Taste my life giving blood." The thought revolted me but the foreigner held my face to his chest and his blood smeared onto my lips. To my incredulous surprise, I found it did not taste like blood. There was a strange stinging flavor, almost as of mint, and although I was disgusted at the thought, it seemed to incite some kind of odd need in me. I tasted it and then despite my revulsion sucked again, more deeply, filling my mouth with it. "Yes, my little one," the foreigner laughed. "Taste and be one with me." He pulled away from me and leaned forward to suck more from the wound he had inflicted on my shoulder. As I became dizzy again, the strange man pressed my face against his chest, forcing more of his blood into my mouth. The cold and dizziness seemed to sweep over me again. My head fell down onto my chest and I felt as though I were falling into a dream world. It was a world colored red with blood and fire. I cried out for help, and then knew no more.
Some time later, I awakened to great pain. It felt as though my whole body was on fire. I wanted to scream, but had no voice. I thought I had indeed died and was now suffering the damnation I thought I deserved in hell. I tried to open my eyes, but was unable to do so. It was as if my mind were cut off from my body, unable to affect it. But I could still feel. My one sensation was the excruciating pain. After what seemed like an eternity of torment, very gradually the pain began to subside. It was a great relief to feel it slowly ebb away. With the pain's surcease I could begin to feel sensations. I could feel the surface beneath me. It seemed as though I had awakened on a hard bed, but I was still paralyzed, unable to move or even open my eyes. There was a loud roaring in my ears which slowly seemed to resolve itself. I was gaining back my faculties very slowly, one by one. The first had been feeling, and now it was hearing. The roar gradually modified to become a murmur of voices. They were hushed as if speaking in reverence, but I couldn't quite make out the words. I could however, hear soft sobbing in the background behind the voices. Perhaps this wasn't hell, but purgatory, a place of sadness, heaven's waiting room.
I felt a sting in my nasal passages and realized my sense of smell must also be returning. The scent was almost overpowering and I thought to hold my breath. That was when I suddenly realized I wasn't even breathing in the first place. How was that possible? Somehow I knew the paralysis was keeping my chest immobile, no air moving in my throat. I tried to gasp, but was unable. This was certainly an odd sensation. It only confirmed my thought that I must be dead, for if I were not breathing, then this must truly be the afterlife. Yet I could still feel the sting of the scent in my nose. It resolved itself into a floral aroma. There was an overwhelming scent of flowers. But there was more. It was as if there were body aromas mixed in, the scent of people and cologne and mold. It wasn't pleasant.
Eventually the sounds changed and the sobbing grew more distant. The space around me grew very quiet. It was at that time that I found I was able to open my eyes. I was gaining control over my body again. Although I could see I was still unable to move. I could plainly see that I was lying in a coffin, the pink satin lining of the open box surrounded me and I could see the tops of the sprays of flowers nearby. Again I heard murmured voices and tried to understand their words. This time I was successful.
"You were to kill him. That was our agreement." It was my father's voice. Then perhaps I wasn't in the afterlife. Perhaps I wasn't even dead.
"I apologize, my lord, but he was too beautiful to treat thus." The second speaker had a thick accent. "I had tasted his life's blood and could tell his life was strong. I could not waste it thus. I have sired him to an eternal life as I and my kind have known."
"You mean to tell me, he will rise from his coffin? He will be a foul creature of the night like you?" I could tell that this condition, whatever it was, offended my father even more than my sinful lust for my future brother-in-law. "I will not have it, sir!"
"There is nothing you can do, save burn the body before he gains full use of his abilities," the other replied. "See, even now his eyes open."
I could not understand how I could hear and see yet not move or even breathe. But as I laid there, my father's face leaned into view. He had an abhorrent scowl and for a moment I feared he would spit on me. Then he stood back out of the field of vision. "The only way to kill your kind is to burn you?" he asked.
"Yes," the accented voice said.
"Seize him!" the man ordered. I could hear a scuffle and protests, but those sounds grew faint. Next my father's voice gave more orders. "Nail the lid on and let's get on with this." The lid of the coffin suddenly came into view. Several hands lowered it over my face. I was plunged into darkness and could feel the confining air of the tiny box in which I was trapped. Then there was a loud pounding as the lid was nailed into place. After that I could hear only indistinct muffled voices.
In a short time my body began to tingle, as if pricked with thousands of needles. The tingling continued in intensity until I feared my father had indeed set me on fire. But there were no flames, only the intense pain. Eventually that too subsided and at last I found I could move again. My legs and feet moved. My arms reached out, but I was confined in a tiny box. There was an extreme limit to what movement I could make. The lid above me was immobile, fastened securely in place with nails. I opened my mouth and was able to gasp. I could again feel the air flow into my lungs, but it was stale in the confines of the tiny box. I tried to make a sound, but had not yet received the power to use my vocal cords again.
Some time later I felt movement. Someone or perhaps several people had lifted my coffin and I was being carried. I could feel the swinging step as it gently rocked from side to side. Then I felt a sharp drop as my box was placed somewhere else. A vibration began. I could only think that I was being transported by wagon to another location, perhaps the cemetery. This lasted quite a long time. Where ever I was being taken must be quite far from where they held my viewing. The vibrations stopped, followed by a scraping noise. Once again I was in the same rocking motion, carried somewhere. Then I felt my box drop with a bang onto a solid surface. I could vaguely hear voices outside, muttering. Then after a time a new movement began, another wagon ride. I wondered where they could be sending me. Time passed and I was jostled and bumped quite a bit as we must have gone over rough country. Finally, I was lifted and carried. I was tipped head down and felt myself sliding to the end of the box, the top of my head against the thin satin covering the wood. And then another firm drop. Next I heard a clanking scrape, as of chains on the outside of the wood. My casket was being chained to something, but what. And then silence. Some time after this I found my voice. I screamed and screamed, but the sound only bounced back in my face. There was no answering sound from without. All sound had stopped. I was able to move my arms so I could push against the lid and I did so with all my might, but it would not budge. I was too weak to have any effect on the nailed lid. I kicked and pushed and screamed but the unyielding wood of the box allowed no quarter.
I eventually exhausted myself. I didn't know what to do but await death. I knew eventually I would run out of air in the tiny confines of my coffin. And when I did, I would die, forgetting about the earlier time I spent not breathing.. I lay back and relaxed and thought to pray, but to whom would I pray? Would God accept me, the one who brought this upon myself by my damned lust? I wondered what had happened to my lover. Was Armand allowed to live his life unfettered? Did his betrayal of me and his categorizing remarks as to the aggressor buy his freedom from castigation? What became of my fiance? Would she be surprised by my sudden disappearance? Or was she the one I had heard sobbing in the background? What story did my father tell? Did they all think me dead and buried? I wondered what became of the evil foreigner? The strange man had betrayed my father and had not killed me. No one ever betrayed Jefferson Smythe the second. Surely my father would not have allowed the stranger to live either. I recalled he said something about being burned. Had my father actually set him aflame?
My mind whirled around these and many other questions. I thought of my life and regretted how short it had been. Now I lay in my tomb and waited for death to creep in slowly. As I did so, I began to feel drowsy. This must be the lack of air. I knew I was about to die and welcomed the surcease. I relaxed and fell into a deep slumber from which I thought never to awaken.