Shed of the Dead

Hello, fellow Crappers!  (Did you forget that I call you all Crappers?)  Below is the first part of a short story that I'm writing with a friend of mine, we'll call her...Ami.  If you read my previous short story, Strange Faces, you may like this one as well, although its a slightly different style.  The title is a temporary "working title", but I think it fits with where the story is going.  If you like it, leave a comment below or on our FaceBook page.  Feel free to leave suggestions or ideas that you think might make it better.  I promise to shamelessly steal those ideas from you at the first opportunity.   Enjoy!

Shed of the Dead (working title)

A rush of coldness went through her spine as her emerald eyes grew wide with fear. The long auburn hair atop her head fell from it's perfect styling. Her body grew chill and her strength began to fade. Her neck tilted  gracefully to the side as a stream of crimson life ran steadily towards her breast, in violent contrast to her porcelain skin. Her eyes welled with tears and they and fell like diamonds to the cold earthen ground beneath her. With her breath beginning to grow faint she gazed into her attackers steely cobalt eyes and knew this was the end. With a small sigh of acceptance she closed her eyes as the last bit of life drained out of her.......

 Callously dropping her lifeless body, the handsome stranger turned to walk away.  "This was a good start", he thought.  He would return later to dispose of her body. This was not his first victim, nor will it be his last. Not tonight.  He had certain…ideas.. for this evening. As her body lie there, soaked in innocent blood, he turned from her and made his way back to the manor where the festivities were being held. He had planned this so he would not be away from the other guests for too long. He couldn't afford to be missed.

Unfortunately for the stranger, the location of his chosen crime was in the worst possible place. The shed behind Baron Gorskys’ manor where he had left her body was no ordinary shed. Stepping beyond the door you wouldn't find a lawnmower or a rake or any of the ordinary gardening tools you would expect to see in a gardening shed. Instead, you would be surprised to discover an empty room with a lone switch on the wall that, when pressed, activated a hidden stairwell descending into his secret lab.

It was just hours ago that the Baron exited his laboratory, carrying an open vial of his most recent formula. A formula as yet untested, but one that he hoped fervently would restore some semblance of life to his comatose wife upstairs, who lay in bed connected the cold and unfeeling machines that were keeping her alive. Unknown to the Baron, a small amount of the liquid escaped his vial as he tripped on his way out of the shed. 

It was into this small puddle that the mysterious stranger had left the lovely Melanie to suffer her final minutes. He could not have known what the Baron had created or that the puddle on the ground was anything other than fresh rain from the storm that afternoon. Nor could he know the reaction the strange liquid was having on the still and lifeless form of Melanie. 

Sparks of life, firing neurons in a brain as dead as the Barons wife. A finger twitching. Eyelids fluttering and finally opening revealing pupils that belonged to no living thing that crawled on this earth.

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Not realizing she was now one of the living dead, she struggles to stand.  With only a shred of consciousness left, her limbs felt alien to her.  Strange thoughts were clouding her mind, she was unable to concentrate.  A soft moan escaped her lips as she attempts her first faltering steps on newly unreliable legs.  Without knowing why, she found herself drawn towards the manor.  She remembers a face.  Cold blue eyes.  The handsome stranger.  The last memory she could recall, it was becoming her whole world. 

<Find him>

Feeling drawn towards the manor somehow, she manages to stop just short of the courtyard.  There was something else here.  A feeling.  Some sort of new found sense.  She couldn't understand it.  Not with what was left of her mind.  But she somehow knew instinctively that she was not alone.  There were others.  And they needed her help.  Turning back, she began her search. 

 ****************************

Back at the manor, the baron was just extracting himself from a group of admirers when he suddenly bumped into the well dressed stranger. 

“Oh my”, he exclaimed, as a portion from the vial spilled on the gentleman's hand. “Pardon me sir”

“That’s quite all right, Baron.  I wasn't using that hand anyway” he said with a wry smile, casually wiping the liquid on his suit.  Extending his clean hand to the baron, he said, “I don’t believe we've met.  My name is Roger Pemrose.”

“Ah, Mr. Pemrose,” said the baron.  “I've heard so much about you.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.”, Roger replied.

A bit unnerved by the look in Rogers eye, the Baron said, “I understand you've made quite a name for yourself in the scientific community.  I’m something of a scientist myself,”.

“Yes, I’m well aware.  Perhaps you could spare a bit time later.  It would be a rare chance to pick a brain as unique as yours.”

Again, that look in his eye.  The Baron Gorsky knew he should be flattered, but something told him that there was something….off…about this man.  There was no way he could know that “Roger Pemrose” was almost a complete fiction.  Oh, there was actually a man by that name.  A scientist even.  But the real Roger Pemrose was little more than a hermit, hiding himself in isolation for years.  It had been so long since he appeared in public, hardly anyone remembered what he looked like anymore.  It took little effort for the well dressed stranger to assume his identity.  After killing him, of course.

“Pick my brain, you say.  Well, perhaps we could pick each others.  Rumors of your work have spread, I’m quite interested”, said Gorsky.  “However, that’s one pleasure that will have to wait.  I’m in a bit of a hurry.  If you’ll excuse me”

“Of course,” said the man named Roger. 

As the baron made his way through the crowd toward the stairs, Roger followed him with his eyes, his gaze predatory. 

“Soon, we’ll have plenty of time to ourselves,” he said quietly.

**********************************

"Please wake up", thought the Baron, as he injected his serum into his wife's IV. "Please."

It had been more than six months since his wife had lapsed into a coma, the result of an unexpected brain aneurysm.  The baron spared no expense in contracting the very best medical team that money could buy, but no amount of riches could change the reality of his wife's condition.  Every doctor who had examined her came to the same conclusion:  irreversible end of brain activity due to total necrosis of the cerebral neurons following loss of brain oxygenation.   To put it simply, brain death. 

The baron cursed the aneurysm at first. Then he cursed the ambulance that took far too long to reach his wife.  He cursed the traffic that prevented them from reaching the hospital in time.  He cursed the doctors who failed to save her, and who offered only this crude semblance of life for her; he cursed the machines that kept her heart pumping and lungs filled with air.  And finally, he cursed God.  God, who had allowed this to happen.  Who had seen fit to bring this calamity to the barons family.

 He had never been a very religious man, but he had never been a very bad man either.  And when he met his wife, she made him want to be a good man.  She saw the best in him and he strove to prove it everyday.  The hedonistic days of his youth were behind him and a new chapter of his life began.  And when his daughter, Melanie, was born, he swore that he would help make the world a better place for her.  It was his goal to create vaccines to battle diseases, and eventually conquer aging itself.  It wasn't just for mankind that he did this, but for his family.  He himself may never benefit from his works, but Melanie, the one thing left that he cared for in this world, would never know suffering.  He would see to that. 

And then, tragedy.  After his wife's aneurysm, he spent a small fortune on doctors and hospitals.  He searched every part of the globe for the most brilliant men of science to aid him in his quest to reverse his wife's condition.  Some of what he attempted was unethical at best and criminal at worst.  And slowly, the tide of sympathy from his peers began to wane.  And with them, any hope of success. 

So he began again, on his own.  Standing on the shoulders of those who came before him, he synthesized serum after serum, formula after formula in his secret lab.  Failure had a become a constant companion.  Failure and the bodies of his test subjects, of course.  Homeless men, vagabonds, prostitutes who the world would never miss.  Volunteers, he called them.  And they were happy to assist him when he offered them payment.  Not that any of them ever collected. How could they, when they were busy occupying the mass grave behind the shed?

But this time he had done it.  He was sure of it.  He had finally created the miracle cure that would save his beloved wife, Lenore. 

That’s what this gathering was about.  The reintroduction of his wife to the world, the vindication of his works to his peers and a refutation of a cold and uncaring God.  After all, the baron now held in his hand the power of life.  

He was his own god now.     

***************************

John Peterson was locked in a battle of wills that he was slowly losing.  Staring his foe in the eyes was clearly a mistake, as he felt as though his enemy was siphoning off all of his strength like some sort of psychic vampire.  It was a fight he had lost too many times before, but as God as his witness, tonight he would be victorious. 

“All right, you son of a bitch,” he whispered.  “This time you’re going down.”

Grabbing his opponents front end  in one hand and its back end with the other, he twisted off its head in one fluid motion.  Bringing the open end of its head to his lips, he sucked out the delicious juices with triumph. 

“Disgusting little creatures,” he said to himself as he finished his crawfish.  “But a million Cajuns can’t be wrong”. 

Having conquered one enemy, John turned from the buffet table and searched the room.  He could have sworn he had just seen the baron a few minutes ago by the bay windows talking to someone he couldn't recognize.  It was just as well.  He still had time to gather his courage, it would seem.  It had been a long time since he had seen his old mentor and their last meeting was anything but amicable.  But tonight was about new beginnings.  At least that was what the invitation promised. 

“We’ll see how that goes,” he thought.

“Peterson, you old dog!”  Caught by surprise, he found himself being approached by Jay Digby, his old classmate.  “Why, I never thought I would see YOU here!”

Accepting his outstretched hand in welcome, John said, “Hello, Jay.  How have you been?”

“Oh, you know me, Peterson.  Busy busy, family and whatnot.  Attending meetings all day, making millions by night.  The usual”, he said offhandedly.  Jay came from a wealthy family, and after college had accepted a position at his fathers company.  John still wasn't exactly sure what he did, but he had a feeling that Jay didn't either. 

“Of course, ” John replied.  “And please, I've asked you repeatedly to call me “John”, not “Peterson”.  “ 

“Yes, I know, but John is such boring name.  You should really think about changing it.  You might get more respect”, said Jay, trying his best not to sound patronizing and failing miserably.  “Try Franklin.  That’s as respectable as they come.”

John said, “This coming from a man named after a letter of the alphabet.  Perhaps you shouldn't  throw stones.”

“I’ll throw a  stone at the champagne man if doesn't bring my drink back fast enough”, said Jay.

“Champagne man?”

“You know, the ones who bring you champagne at cocktail parties.  What do you call them?”

“You know,” said John.  “I actually have no idea”.

“Well, this is a first.  Peterson doesn't know something.  Someone call the papers!” cried Jay with a laugh, startling a couple behind them.

“Alright, calm down.  And I told you to stop calling me Peters-, you know what forget it”, said John.  “And why did you think I wouldn't be here?”

“Beg your pardon?” replied Jay. 

“Just a moment ago you said I was the last person you expected to see here.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.  What did you mean by that?” asked John

“I’m sure I didn't mean anything.  Certainly I was going to bring up Melanie,” said Jay, with a sly look.

“Good,” said John.  “As I’m sure you can imagine, it's something of a sore spot for me.”

“You mean sore like when the father of the woman you love forces her to reject you, and threatens to have you expelled from the university if you ever come near her again, even if it means abandoning the work that the two of you spent years on just as you were so close to completion on a secret project that would change forever the way we look health and the human body kind of sore?”

“Yeah, that kind of sore,” said John, not without a hint of regret.  “Where the hell is that champagne man?”

 ******************************

It had been two years since John had seen the Baron.  At the time, he acted as the Barons assistant in his research into anti aging.  The Baron believed that by lengthening or slowing down the decrease in telomeres, the cap at the end of DNA, one could achieve substantially longer life.  Telomere regions deter the degradation of genes near the ends of chromosomes by allowing chromosome ends to shorten, which necessarily occurs during replication.  Every time a cell divides the telomere becomes a bit shorter; when it is finally worn down, the cell is unable to split and dies.  While telomere extension had proven somewhat successful in reversing aging in mice and certain species of worm, no definitive work had ever been shown to affect humans.  Indeed, some speculate that longer telomeres play a role in causing cancer; after all, what is cancer except a failure of regulation in tissue growth.?

The Barons research in this area had been remarkable and John felt privileged to be a part of it.  The idea of extending ones life was something of a holy grail in the scientific community.  The Barons work in rejuvenation and his claim that even dead cells could be brought back to life had earned him the nickname “Dr. Frankenstein” among some of his peers.  But although derided by some, there was no question regarding his brilliance.  Many secretly believe that if anyone could conquer death, it would be Baron Gorsky.

John had been chosen from a group of over a dozen applicants, and while the work he did with the Baron could be quite demanding, he enjoyed it immensely.  For while the Baron Gorsky could be described as cold and distant, his daughter stood in stark contrast as a warm and inviting presence.  Too inviting, as the baron discovered later.

As Melanie was his only child, the Baron was somewhat overprotective of her, especially when it came to her social life, which wouldn't exist at all if he had anything to say about it.  Private schools weren't good enough for Baron Gorsky, so until she was 18, he had arranged for Melanie to be home schooled by the finest tutors money could buy.  But intelligence alone could only take you so far, and his wife Lenore had insisted that she be allowed to attend some sort of public education system at some point in her life.  So using his status as visiting professor at Miskatonic University, he arranged for her to attend while continuing to maintain a close presence to watch over her.

It was during one of Johns late night lab sessions with the Baron that he first saw Melanie.  She had come to drop off a some dinner that her mother had prepared, knowing as she did her husbands propensity for all nighters.  When Johns eyes met Melanies, he knew instantly he was lost.  Their attraction was immediate and intense.  Their subsequent romance equally so.  Those were the happiest days of Johns life, cut short once the Baron discovered their relationship.  While Baron Gorsky believed that John was more than an adequate assistant in his endeavors, he in no way believed that he was a suitable suitor for his daughter.  Threatened with expulsion from the university, John would still have given up everything to be with Melanie, who he knew felt the same.  But the matter was soon taken out of his hands when the Baron quite suddenly resigned his post, and took his daughter with him.

Any further contact between John and Melanie had become impossible, the Baron had seen to that.  The unexpected aneurysm that his wife suffered only furthered their isolation from John, as they all but vanished from the scientific community.   And over time, burdened as he was by his studies, the fire John carried for Melanie began to fade, though it was never fully extinguished. 

It was with thoughts of her that John had accepted the invitation to come here.  It certainly wasn't for the baron, although rumor had it that Gorsky had achieved some sort breakthrough in his research.  But that didn't matter to John. Seeing Melanie was his only goal tonight.

 ******************************

It had taken every last shred of Melanies remaining consciousness to recall the location of her fathers hidden laboratory.  Descending the stairs, she tilted her head to the side, sniffing the air like a hound dog.  She knew instinctively what she was looking for even if she couldn't name it.  It was the formula.  The liquid.  The life in a bottle.  A strange alien feeling was drawing her inexorably towards it, a kind of beacon, pulsing in her head.

Winding her way through numerous tables filled with tools both familiar and strange, past the large chalkboard with complex equations and formulas, she came to first of several small refrigerators, each secured with a small but effective locking mechanism.  Ignoring these token security measures, she simply drove her hand through the glass, reaching for the vials inside.  Somehow she knew that the formula contained within them were not of the same quality that brought her back from the dead, but that they would suit her purposes nonetheless.  After all, these vials weren't for her.  They were for the nearly two dozen bodies in shallow graves behind the shed, and she didn't need them to be as cognizant as her.  In fact, with these crude and unrefined formula, it would be a minor miracle if those she brought back would last until dawn.  But that’s all the time she needed.

Exiting the shed, she found the bodies in a shallow mass grave exactly where she thought they would be.  The afternoon storm had already done most of the work for her, eroding the already superficial resting spots.  Dousing the corpses liberally with her fathers formula, it took only a few moments for the bodies to react.  As they started convulsing in violent spasms of life, Melanie began to feel something strange, as if the newly undead were speaking to her.  She began to understand that she had almost complete control over their actions, even if she didn't know why.  Perhaps it was the primitive urge for revenge that connected them.  Perhaps it was a bizarre side effect of her having been resurrected from the more advanced formula; she couldn't know.  She only knew what she could feel.

With more of her memories returning every minute, Melanie was becoming more aware of her appearance.  Brushing her by now filthy auburn hair from her sunken eyes, revealing the crimson gash that had replaced the necklace around her throat, she attempted now to straighten her tattered and blood soaked gown in a futile attempt at human vanity. 

Revenge coursed through her veins for the blood of her killer.  The man with the cobalt blue eyes would pay for what he had done.  Her undead slaves could feel her rage and let out a blood curdling screech that could have been mistaken for banshees as they made their way towards the manor.

***************************

Roger was having a good night.  Already he had solved one problem with the murder of Melanie and it was still early.  Killing her so soon had not been part of his original plan, but he found himself unable to resist.  Being so near the Baron was frustrating, and knowing that his death had to look like an accident, he took out his blood lust on his daughter instead.  It was extremely satisfying.

Scratching his hand absentmindedly, Roger took a moment to recall the circumstances that brought him here. 

Sitting by his adopted mothers deathbed, he kept silent watch as she slowly began to slip away.  Having given her last confession to her only child, she would leave this earth with no secrets.  She had finally told him who his father was.

It was nearly thirty years ago that she had met the Baron and his then very pregnant wife.  Traveling through the countryside on their way to the city, the Barons wife suddenly went into labor.  Still an hours drive from the nearest hospital, they stopped at the local villages inn's, in search of a room and anyone who could assist them.  What they found was a sturdy middle aged woman who informed them that besides being an innkeeper, she was also a midwife. 

After taking the Barons wife to one of the spare rooms, and shuffling the Baron himself into the kitchen to wait, the innkeeper proceeded to deliver not one, but two healthy babies from his wife's womb.  Not expecting twins, and worn out from the ordeal that is childbirth, the young mother passed out in exhaustion.  .   It was just as well, since the innkeeper was not ready to explain to the new mother what “relatively healthy” meant.

Summoning the baron to the bedchamber, the innkeeper presented to him his newborn children.  Baron Gorskys’ eyes immediately welled with tears of joy as he gazed first upon his daughter.  She was at once the most beautiful and delicate thing he had ever seen.  Fatherly pride coursed through him, and he gave a silent prayer of thanks for his child. 

“My lord?”, said the innkeeper, interrupting his thoughts.  “You also have a son.”

“Twins?”  asked Baron Gorsky.  He couldn't imagine anything better.  Tonight he truly felt blessed.  “Show him to me.”

“I’m afraid you may not like what you see”, said the innkeeper. 

“What do you mean?  Show me my son!”  replied the Baron.

“He’s here”.  With that, the innkeeper motioned to a bassinet behind her.  Brushing past her, eager to lay eyes on his son, the baron removed the veil covering the child's small frame. 

“Good god!”  he exclaimed in horror.  Lying in the bassinet was his son, barely an hour old, seemingly healthy in almost all regards.  The child looked up at him from beneath a head of tousled hair as black as the barons.  He even had the barons sharply pointed nose.  But it was what the child had that the baron didn't that caused him to cry out in horror. 

Attached to his new born sons’ torso, on his side just above the hip was a third tiny arm and a half formed face.  Misshapen fingers grasped at the air and its mouth opened and closed with what may have been a silent scream for all the baron knew.  Unable to process what he was seeing on an emotional level, the barons brain took refuge in the science he so familiar with.  He knew exactly what he was looking at.  His son was carrying a parasitic twin.  Or was it triplet?

Unlike with conjoined twins, one will cease development during gestation and is vestigial to a fully formed, otherwise healthy twin.  The undeveloped twin is defined as parasitic because it is incompletely formed and dependent on the bodily functions of the healthy twin who acts as host. 

Turning back to the innkeeper, he said “That is no child of mine!”

“But, my lord!  He is your son!”, she replied. 

“No!  He is a mistake, a cruel joke!” he said.  “Has my wife seen him?” he asked.

“No, she lost consciousness before I delivered the boy.”  The innkeeper wasn't sure what she should do.  The child needed caring, and it wasn't clear that the baron could provide it.  “What will you do, my lord?”

What indeed.  The baron was at a loss.  All he knew was that he couldn't bring that child back home with him.  There was no room in his life for imperfection. 

“Do you have children of your own?”, he asked.

“I have not been blessed with children, sir”, replied the innkeeper.

The baron said, “You have now.  Take this child, care for him as if he were your own and tell no one of this.  You will be provided for, I assure you.  But this is a secret you will take to your grave.” 

Of course, Roger knew most of the story, but what he never knew until his mothers deathbed confession was who his father really was.  Armed with this new information, Roger saw this as a chance to finally rise from his station and leave his poor and filthy village behind.  Killing his biological father would be sweet revenge for being abandoned as a child.  And the thought of becoming the barons sole heir would certainly be an appropriate compensation for the years he spent in poverty.   

Rubbing his hand lightly on his pants and still lost in reverie, he didn't notice the lesions that were slowly growing behind his knuckles…and spreading.

**************************
Confusion. Disorientation. Bewilderment. These words meant nothing to the figure on the bed, but the sensations were clear enough.  Fluttering eyelids creaking open for the first time in months.  Atrophied muscles struggling to move yet somehow gaining strength with every passing second.  Consciousness slowly returning to a mind that was recently as empty as the barons pleas to an uncaring god.  His wife was waking up. 

"She's alive!", thought the baron.  It was all he could do to keep from exclaiming his delight to the entire house.  For a moment he pictured himself as Dr. Frankenstien standing triumphant over his creation, bathed in the light of the storm that gave life to dead flesh.  A manic sort of laughter was threatening to escape from his lips at the thought of it, but he held on to his senses and prepared to welcome his wife back to the waking world.  It wouldn't do to have the first face she saw upon regaining consciousness to be on seemingly frenzied madness; for he thought himself mad at the time that he was finally able to perform such a miracle.  

But the excitement could wait.  After all, his entire manor was filled with guests that he invited for just that purpose.  He knew it was risking his already fragile reputation by inviting so many of his peers to witness what very well could have been a boondoggle of epic proportions.  But he had been confidant that his latest formula would prove fruitful.  And that confidence was paying of now as his wife stirred on the bed below him.

"Lenore", He whispered to her.  "Welcome back."

Someone was speaking.  A welcome.  A name.  A voice that was at once familiar and distant.  A face slowly filling her vision.  The mouth forming the name "Lenore" once again.  Was that her name? Perhaps.  She did feel a sort of connection to it.   A thread linking her to a life she may have once lived.  She even began to recognize the face looking down on her.  There was a time she loved that face, she knew.  But something in her also knew that that time was passed.  She was no longer this "Lenore" that he called her.  The formula coursing through her veins had...other ideas.  Like hunger, for example.  

"Hunn...", managed the rasping voice of Lenore.  The baron was overjoyed.  Never in his wildest dreams had he considered that the formula would act so swiftly!  It's true that he had yet to perform any type of basic cognition tests on his wife, but it seemed clear to him that she already recognized him.  And to attempt speech so soon!  He was certain she was trying to call him "honey".  Those types of affectations were not typical of their relationship, that much was true.  But in his current state the baron hardly noticed. 

"Yes, 'honey',", said the baron.  "It's ME!  I've brought you back!"  The baron was beaming.  This was more than he could have ever hoped for. He felt he might cry.  "Lenore!  I finally have you back!", he exclaimed.  "Can you understand me, honey?", he asked, continuing to use the endearment.  

"Hunn...", she replied.  The baron leaned forward.  "It's alright", he said.  "Take it slow.  You vocal chords have atrophied from disuse.  The treatment I prepared for you was never designed to work so quickly.  Although the regenerative properties of the formula I used to restore you seem to be working much faster than I anticipated, it's still best to take things slowly."  The Baron could not resist a moments pride.  "You know, I worded tirelessly these last few months to find a way to bring you back", he said.  "The things I've done...the things I've sacrificed, the people I've used....," he trailed off.  His wife was looking at him now, her eyes clear for the first time.  Did she understand him, he wondered?  No matter.  The formula worked, his wife was awake and now he must prepare to present this miracle to his guests.  

Leaning forward once again, he stroked her hair as she continued to stare at him.  He hesitated for a moment.  Something in her eyes.  A spark?  Or just a figment of his imagination?  "I have some guest to attend to downstairs.  They're here for you , you know," he told her.  "But I'll be back soon.  And then I'll bring Melanie to see you.  Oh, I can only imagine how she'll react upon seeing you!"

"Hunn...", his wife replied.

"It's alright, 'honey'," he said.  "I'll be back soon".  And with that he turned to leave, not noticing that she raised her hand for the first time, almost grazing his as he stood up, reaching. 

As he reached the door he looked back at his newly restored wife on the bed.  "When I return," he said, "we're going to be a family again".  And with that he made his way out, blissfully unaware that Lenore managed one final time, as the door closed, to finally say what she had been trying to say all this time.

"Hungry."
**************************

Melanie could feel something change.  A silent reverberation in the air.  She didn't know how she knew, but Melanie could somehow sense that she was no longer alone.  Someone else had just woken up.  Not just one of these pathetic creatures she was stirring from their grave.  These shambling things were little more than husks to be controlled by Melanie.  This new presence felt different.  Without understanding how, she reached out with her mind, psychic tendrils exploring the grounds, searching for this newly awakened thing.  

JrX


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