Resurrection - A Gothic Romance

The full moon cast a silvery light onto the graveyard, highlighting the cracks and crevices that adorned the headstones below. A small chapel stood nearby, it’s mossy stones coated in frost, a reminder of the chilling rain of the day before. A wrought-iron gate swung on its hinges, producing a surreal sound that echoed through the musty air.1

Through this gate the man crept. A tall, pale, eerily handsome man, his black suit camouflaging him against the bleak night sky. A sudden gust of wind took him by surprise as it billowed his crimson cloak behind him, giving him the appearance of a vampire. And this was exactly what he was. Count Lartsen Van Zurhorst, the last remaining vampire in the whole of England, and he was searching for something. 2

Taking long, steady strides, he looked amongst the headstones, becoming more and more desperate as he went. He had spent over a century searching for this grave, and he was sure this was where Morticia was buried. The resurrection had to take place within a century, and that time was almost up. It was just one week until the hundredth anniversary of her death. He simply had to find that grave.3

Finally, when the Count was almost ready to give up, he found her. It was one of the oldest headstones, way back in the far corner of the cemetery, beside an ivy-covered wall. Moss completely coated the worn headstone, and the gothic script was almost unreadable, but Lartsen knew what it said. “Morticia Van Zurhorst, died aged 21 on the 17th November 1903, beautiful daughter, beloved wife” Morticia had died just two years after her marriage to Lartsen, a victim of a terrible disease. Lartsen had been abroad when his wife had been taken ill, and he was informed of her death almost a year after the tragic event. He had never been told where his wife was laid to rest, and he had devoted all his life as a vampire to searching graveyards at night, desperately searching for her grave. So far, to no avail. But tonight he had found her, and he knew exactly what he had to do. 4

A single click of his fingers, and a shovel appeared at his side. Slowly, purposefully he began to dig. After what seemed like a lifetime, the spade hit something hard with an almighty thud. With a thankful sigh, the Count jumped down into the grave, removing the last of the dirt from the coffin with his hands. A few hard-working minutes later, and Lartsen was staring down at an ebony-black coffin, an intricate silver cross delicately inlaid into the lid.

Carefully, he prised the lid from the casket, revealing the long-decomposed skeleton of his wife, still wearing the raven-black gown she had chosen to be buried in. Lartsen remembered the dress well. It was the gown in which Morticia had been married, shunning the traditional choice of wearing a white one. She always had been partial to black. The wedding ceremony had also been far from traditional. Instead of rings, the couple had exchanged necklaces, bought from a gypsy woman who swore that the charms had the power to resurrect the dead. Morticia had insisted that he buy them, not because she believed the ancient woman, but because the designs intrigued her. One of the necklaces was a tiny silver key, covered with intricate designs of flowers, and one was a lock, covered in a similar, but less floral design. The young lovers had decided to customise their wedding ceremony around these interesting pieces of jewellery, and the result had been the best day of Lartsen’s life. 5

Remembering that day over a century ago, Lartsen almost lost himself in his memory; but he was jolted back to earth with the realisation that dawn was almost ready to break. 6

Tenderly, he lifted Morticia’s decomposed head, and slipped the necklace of from around her skeletal neck. The shiny silver key reflected the light that was already beginning to break over the horison. The Count would have to hurry. Grabbing his own necklace, he closed his eyes as he placed the tiny key into the delicate lock and turned.7

Suddenly, Van Zurhorst was thrown back by an invisible force, and landed a few metres away, face down in the muddy earth. He looked down at his hands, expecting to find the necklaces, but instead found he was holding nothing but mud. A tear trickled down his face. If he couldn’t find the necklaces, he could never complete the ritual. He‘d never be with his wife. The love of his life. The single tear gave way to a flood and soon he was screaming into oblivion, overtaken by the grief he had suppressed for so many years.8

His crying was halted as an eery light began to glow from behind him. He turned to see the corpse of his wife rising into the air, supported by nothing but light. The skeleton began to spin, on each turn becoming less and less decomposed, and more and more like his beloved wife. Eventually, his wife, in all her beauty, pale skin, jet-black hair falling down her back like an ebony waterfall, was standing before him. Tears of happiness fell from Lartsen’s eyes as he ran towards his long-lost love, and held her in a tight embrace.
“You saved me”, Morticia whispered, her sweet voice full of adoration.
“Not yet,” Lartsen replied, “but don’t worry, everything is going to be alright.”
And as he sunk his fangs into his wifes sumptuous neck, she knew that he was telling the truth. 9

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