Blood Runs Cold

Paul Sheffer walked slowly along the avenue. The morning was crisp and bright, the scent of all the new flowers in bloom delighted him. The city park was only a few blocks further, he and his Carole had frequented it for fifty years. He paused, some days he did not feel he could continue living alone.1

The park was almost deserted. He could remember a time when it was full of children. Those had been simpler times, those children were gone. They had kids and grandkids of their own. 2

Their first trip to the park had been the day they moved into their house. They never missed a day after that. Paul had worked a nine to five position in an ad agency, he always had a half hour to spare before work. It was a date they kept every day for fifty years.3

He sat on the bench they used to share. Right here was where he spent many happy moments in his life, but also his most wretched. Carole had been sitting here when she collapsed. She had been talking about the birds, and how they had come back early. She let out a sigh, a small almost indistinguishable sound, then pitched forward. Paul scrambled to her side, terrified of the truth before he confirmed it. His Carole was dead; she had a massive heart attack and had died before she collapsed. That had been a year ago.4

He lost himself in thoughts of the past and the life he had with Carole. A piercing scream brought him back to the present. He became alarmed and looked for the young mother and her boy. He had noticed them as he came into the park. He walked briskly, determined to make sure all was well when the scream came again. 5

He ran as fast as his body would allow. He was almost seventy, not as spry as he was at twenty. A woman ran frantically through the park, screaming and flailing her arms wildly. She dropped to her knees and screamed again piteously. Paul moved toward her as fast as he could withstand. She saw him and began to plead. "Help me! It's attacking me!" Before he could question what it was, he saw the marks. Bite marks and deep scratches, appearing all over her skin even as he watched. He stood frozen unsure how he could help her. 6

The attack ceased as sudden as she had appeared. She pulled herself up in a tight ball upon the ground sobbing. "It will come back. Once the sun begins to go down that thing will be back for me.” Paul knelt beside her examining her wounds. Some were deep but he did not think she was in any danger of bleeding to death. She should be seen to get a tetanus vaccine he reasoned. 7

"I'll call for an ambulance. You sit tight,” he said, reaching into his pocket for a cell phone.8

"No!" she protested. "They will lock me up. They will think I am crazy.”9

“Right now I'm thinking we both are." Paul said gently. She looked up at him, her soft brown eyes pleading. "I saw the marks appearing." 10

Paul helped her to her feet. She looked around as she stood, carefully watching the treetops. "It sits up there,” she said, inclining her head toward the tree tops. “It sits and it watches. As soon as the sun is down enough it regains its strength. It leaves me when the sun becomes bright. It will be back this evening and this time it will kill me."11

Paul became alarmed. "Kill you? Why would you think such a thing, dear?" he asked as he led her to the bench he and Carole shared so often. The young woman shivered despite the warmth of the day. 12

"If I told you even you would think I am crazy,” the young woman said. "You know there are things in the world we were never meant to know." She said, again watching the treetops as the winds shifted them. Paul thought they looked like they were shivering. What kind of dreadful beast could make the trees shiver?13

"I studied the occult when I was very young. My grandmother was an occultist as well. She had one of the rarest grimiore's ever written. It was as dreaded and as powerful as the Necronomicon, except it is very real. When grandmother died the book was passed on to me," she stopped talking as suddenly as she had started. "I shouldn't be telling you this. As I said there are some things, we were never meant to know. There are things we were never meant to mess with either.14

I had been in love with Matthew since we were 12, after eight long years he noticed me. We began dating, after only six months, we were married. It was the most wonderful time of my life.”15

Paul nodded sympathetically; his time with Carole had been the most precious thing in his life. She was watching him, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I see you know that kind of bliss." Paul nodded, smiling just a touch despite himself. 16

"Two years later was on his way home from work when a car struck him. He was disfigured horribly, but survived. I can’t say lived, the light faded from his eyes. When he came home, after three months, he was not the same person. He had become hateful and violent.17

One night, mid spring, I heard him leave the bedroom. I thought nothing of it; he had taken to walking in the garden late at night. I did not mind, it seemed to soothe his soul. After his walks in the garden he would be much calmer, more his old self. Have you ever heard that once a person has decided to die, and knows how they will do it, they are finally at peace with themselves?" Paul mulled this statement over briefly. He had heard that very statement almost word for word when talking to his son Kenneth's psychiatrist, shortly after Kenneth had committed suicide. Paul's eyes widened as he realized Matthew had walked the same path as his son.18

"That last night he went to the garden as usual I settled back into bed thinking of nothing but how he would be better soon. I could not have been more wrong. I leapt from the bed in terror as a single gunshot disrupted the silence of the night. The shot it seemed to rip the life from the night itself as it screamed out its message of death and ruin. 19

My own life was over just as quickly as Matthew's was. He was dead, and I lived, a husk of what I once was. I went through the motions of living, nothing was the same. I had to have Matthew back. Six months later I remembered the grimoire. 20

Soon I stood before the crypt; reciting the incantations that would bring him back, whole and intact. He would be as beautiful as when I married him. There would be no disfigurement, nothing to make him unhappy this time. It is funny how irrational we can become when grieving isn't it?21

I made so many stupid mistakes. Things that were important I had not considered. Matthew's mother and older brother were still living. It was almost inevitable they would see him eventually. I thought only of having Matthew back. 22

I remember standing before the vault. My hands were outstretched waiting for him to emerge. I waited for him to take me into his embrace. 23

He came to me and held me deep into the night. He still smelled of the grave, a stench of death intermingled with a musty smell. That scent passed with time but one thing did not, his indifference. Though he did not behave as he did before he died, he did seem strangely indifferent to things that used to move him deeply. It was as though he had left his passion in the grave. However, he was renewed, that is all that mattered to me. He loved himself again and therefore loved me. Every night I lay waiting for him to go into the garden. Most nights he slept close to me all night. One singular event changed everything for the worst yet again.24

I spoiled him I admit. I was so happy to have him back I bought him anything his heart desired. Grandmother had left me quite a fortune when she passed. I could see no reason not to spend it on my beloved. On one such shopping trip, I was perusing the men's clothing. Matthew was trying on a few things we had already selected. I was so busy with the materials and cuts of the clothing. I failed to see her until she said my name. "Shanda darling, it is nice to see you again. I thought after my Matthew's death you would remain a recluse forever."25

I looked up from my endeavors straight into the face of Matthew's mother. "Thank you, Mother,” I stammered. She nodded but said nothing more. Her eyes were trained upon the clothing I held. I looked down at them, instantly a furious blush crept over my cheeks. "I am shopping for my cousin, Thomas. Do you remember him?"26

She seemed to relax a bit and smiled. "Why yes, I do. Is he with you?" I explained he was trying on some clothes. She seemed satisfied and bid me a good afternoon. As she turned to leave, my worst horror unfolded before me. 27

She almost ran into him as she turned. "I beg your pardon. I'm so sorry..." she began as she looked up to face the man she had run into. A scream began in her throat, at first nothing more than a gargled strangling sound, it soon rose to a shriek. Matthew stared at her, confused, and caught her as she fainted. 28

Patrons and employees of the store were starting to gather. "Someone call an ambulance!" I screamed, "My mother-in-law has had some sort of an attack!" In all reality, I thought she had fainted, the ambulance and ensuing confusion gave me a chance to urge Matthew to leave. I tried desperately, he would not hear of it. The ambulance bore her away. She was pronounced D.O.A.. The shock of seeing Matthew alive was too much. She was old and frail; Matthew had been a late in life baby. 29

It was too much for my Matthew. The full magnitude of his situation weighed heavily on him. He had really been dead and now alive. He confided in me he had convinced himself he had never died, but had been in a coma. His disfiguration and subsequent death had been a terrible coma induced dream. His mother's reaction brought his true situation into a terrible new light for him. 30

He started his nightly walks in the garden again. This time it was almost four months when that terrible shot ravaged the night. Luckily, we lived far from town and had no neighbors within hearing range. I dragged his body back inside the house, mulling over my situation. I had to have him back; I could not be without him. I would take him out of the country, this time no one would know him. 31

I began my ritual again. I did everything perfectly, the incantation, the candles, the ointments for his body. I held my arms out for him as I had done the first time. His body lay just as I placed it, lifeless and pale; there was absolutely no change at all. I went over the entire ritual in my mind. Why would he not return to me? 32

I knelt over him running my fingers over his face hoping against hope for some trace of warmth. There was nothing but the relentless cold of death. I went back to my grimiore flipping desperately through the pages, hoping to find a solution. There was nothing viable and it seemed nothing I could do. It was almost dawn again. I was running out of time. If I did not succeed soon I would have to suffer another day with his rapidly decaying corpse. He was decaying at an alarming rate. I reached for another grimiore, hoping it might provide me with something the other did not. That was when I felt the first bite.33

I pulled my hand away from the book as I felt the pain travel up my arm. I looked at my hand thinking I had struck it on something sharp as I had reached for the book. There was a perfect bite mark forming on the back of my hand. I looked around the room trying to decide what might have done this to me. I reached for the book again and I was bitten. 'Shanda', a voice whispered, one that seemed incredibly old. It dripped with venomous evil. 'Shanda, Matthew does not wish to return to you. You killed his mother. Will you kill his brother too?'34

'I did not kill anyone!' I objected loudly. 'His mother was old and had a bad heart. How was I to know she would see him and react so badly? She should have been happy to have him back.'35

'Back?' the voice taunted. 'You raised him from the dead but was he truly back Shanda? Think about it. Did he have a choice? Was he himself when he returned or was he different.'36

The voice laughed at me and shivers raced along my spine. Bad enough to have a disembodied voice talk to me, but now it was laughing at me. 'I see nothing funny. The spell in the grimoire must have been faulty,’ I defended.37

The voice laughed again, heartily. 'Think what you will. You will soon know death yourself,' it threatened. The cold finger of dread touched my spine. 'It is almost dawn. You have three days to live. I will torment you ceaselessly every time the darkness descends.' 38

Tonight is my third night. At dusk, it will come back and kill me. It said Matthew did not want to come back, I must go to him. I am afraid to. What if we do not go to the same place? What if I am damned?" 39

Paul considered her entire story and last question with great care. "I don't think you will be damned. If you used the magic to hurt people then I could understand. You just wanted your husband back. That is a feeling I know all too well. I think maybe if I had known about magic and spells, I might have tried to bring Carole back those first few months. Kenneth too, poor boy. No one can hold your grief against you. Even if it does make you do something you normally would not."40

She smiled and patted his hand. "Thank you, Paul. I will not forget your kindness," she stood abruptly. "I have some thing I have to take care of before tonight. Legal things, last chance you know," she winked knowingly. Paul stared after her wondering how she could be so hysterical then calm in such a short time. He eased off the park bench, his muscles protesting and creaking audibly. 41

He made his way slowly home returned all the greetings that he received. People knew him in the neighborhood. They always had a second to say hello and ask after him, such a rare thing these days, Paul thought. I never complain I tell them my life is as good as it can be. Which is true, I have everything I need...except, Carole. The thought saddened him, by the time he arrived at his home he was ready for a cup of hot tea. 42

He put the kettle on the stove and retrieved the tea bags as he waited for the water to heat. He dropped the tea bag distractedly into the cup and poured in the water. He added cream and sugar then headed into the living room. He passed the rest of his day watching television and wondering about the strange young woman he met in the park. She never did directly say her name but in her story, she called herself Shanda.43

The day drew on and soon the extended shadows of night began to play at the corners of the room. He was waiting for something and he knew it. He was not certain how but the feeling was so strong he could not ignore it. 44

An insistent pounding awakened him on his door. "Coming!" he called moving as fast as his stiffened joints would allow him. "Who is it?"45

"I have a package for a Paul Sheffer," the voice called. Paul opened the door and was met by a young man no more than twenty-five. "Are you Paul Sheffer?" he inquired. Paul nodded, his eyes trained upon the package. "Please sign here." Paul scratched out his signature and took the package. Thanks, have a wonderful day." The young man strode away humming to himself. Paul was curious about the package. It bore no writing save his name and address. No trace of the sender appeared anywhere.46

He sat at the dining room table studying the package. He took out a penknife and carefully cut the packaging. He lifted the flaps of the box slowly afraid something might spring out at him...or worse. On the very top was a note. The other contents were tightly wrapped so he was unsure of their content yet. He fumbled for his glasses. The writing was unfamiliar to him. It was not from any of his kids.47

"Dearest Paul,48

You did me such a kindness today I wanted to return the favor. Tomorrow at midnight, you will receive a special gift. I am sorry I could not be there to see your face when it comes. As you know tonight, I meet my fate. I have enclosed the grimoire in the box so that you may keep it safe and keep anyone from again using it in such a stupid way. Do with it what you will. Holding the utmost affection for the sweetest most understanding person I have ever met, yours truly Shanda MacAlister." he read then placed the note aside, peering dubiously into the box. He reached in and removed the grimoire, holding it as though it might come alive at any second. 49

He ran his fingers over the cover. It was made out of strange material; it was not leather but very close. The imprint upon it was gold reading Le Livre de Mort. He had no idea what that meant though he recognized 'mort' as death. He laid the book aside and peered into the box once more. There were several more items. Personal items. A key, a vial of what looked like blood, and a card with the name of a lawyer on it. Paul sighed and placed all the items back in the box. He closed it and set it to the side. He slowly dressed and went out for his daily walk to the park. He had a lot to think about and his walks always helped. 50

The park was deserted for the most part. He was late today and had missed the regulars. He spent the entire morning sitting and wondering what was to happen at midnight. A ferocious rumbling in his stomach reminded him he had not eaten since breakfast the day before. He stood, stretched and began to make his way home. 51

The news reported the gruesome death of a young woman the night before. He knew the details, she was covered in bite marks, most likely had her throat ripped out, and her name was Shanda MacAlister. He had only missed one thing. Instead of her throat, being ripped out that awful creature had torn her heart from her chest. Police still had not located it. "Probably ate it." Paul muttered with disgust. 52

The doorbell rang at precisely midnight. He opened it slowly, his heart pounding so hard he thought it would explode. "Paul, darling!" a familiar voice cried. Paul gasped and stepped back. This was the one thing he had not expected. "Oh now Paul what is wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost?"53

Or the black side of hell he thought as she moved to the living room. "Oh now, Paul Sheffer don't act shy with me. I've been married to you more than fifty years." She patted the seat of the chair beside her. "Come sit and talk with me." Paul sat cautiously. His Carole was back with him as he had once hoped. He wondered if she would always smell as she did now. Her scent reminded him of a mix of freshly dug earth and decay. Of course it does, he thought wildly, she just dug herself out of her grave. 54

She eventually wandered off into the kitchen. Paul retrieved the grimiore and began to flip through the pages. He was not exactly sure what he was looking for. He eventually came to piece of paper folded amongst the pages. "Paul, I hope you liked the gift. If you do not please follow the instruction on page 244. With utmost love, Shanda." He quickly turned to page 244. He was grateful to Shanda for her gift but more grateful she had left him a way out. 55

He quickly began to gather the things listed. Simple things he had around the house, he had always thought spells were supposed to be eye of newt and black candle and magical symbols. He almost laughed at the simplicity. He followed the directions carefully then began the incantation, pausing only long enough to turn the page. The incantation seemed to take on a different tone but he stubbornly continued ahead.56

Carole came running from the kitchen bellowing like an enraged animal. "What are you doing? Why are you doing this to me?" she screamed. Paul calmly kept going, though his nervousness was beginning to show in his voice. Carole let out one final gut-wrenching scream and collapsed onto the carpet. Paul watched with horror. How would he be able to return the body to the grave like that? He took a deep breath and continued the spell. He had already done the damage, might as well finish. He focused entirely upon the book not daring move his eyes from it until he was finished completely. 57

He looked precariously toward Carole's body. It was gone. Fear seized his heart as he began to look frantically around the house. She did not appear to be in the house. What if he had failed and she had simply gotten up and walked out while he read the incantation? He flung open the door and ran into the night. Nothing. Where could she be? He went back into the house and looked over the book. As he turned back to page 244, he noticed the page felt odd, thick in fact. He glanced at the page number already knowing but needing confirmation. The page read 247. Pages 245 and 246 were stuck together. 58

Horror crept the entire length of his body as he returned to his chair in front of the television. The grandfather clock in the front hall chimed in the hour of four. As the last chime died away returning the house again to its eerie silence Paul felt the first bite. He looked at the rising welt resigning himself to his fate.59