Shadows On The Wall

Chapter 26: The Abyss 

by Nicky


Voiceover (by Don Briscoe): “Despair is nothing new to all those who dwell on
the great estate of Collinwood, in this century or any other.  On this night
evil will walk in many guises, but it is an evil from the past, long thought
banished, that will open the doorway for new horrors to torment the Collins
family and with everyone they come in contact.” 

1 

Too soon, too soon, Christopher Jennings thought.  His unwavering gaze was
fixed on the moon that rode above him in the cloudy sky, nearly three-quarters
full.  He dropped his gaze and frowned at the soil beneath his feet, now
covered in leaves that, during daylight hours would blaze in glorious shades of
crimson and orange, but were now only black suggestions that whispered
underfoot. 

Carolyn Stoddard cooed in a voice deceptively soft, “So strong.  So virile.  So
...  interesting.  The things you must have seen since you left this horrible
place —” She slid her hand gracefully, easily into his and squeezed it once. 

He shrugged uncomfortably, his face frowning in the darkness.  “Not really,” he
said, and pulled his hand from hers.  She glared at him, unseen under a cover
of velvety blackness.  “I’ve spent a lot of time by myself.  I don’t like to
see other people much.” 

“A shame,” she said.  “I think you’re fascinating.” She batted her eyes coyly
at him, but he seemed impervious to her wiles.  She gritted her teeth.  “I’ll
bet a lot of girls do.” 

“I suppose,” he said. 

“But you must have travelled extensively,” she said.  “Gone places.” She
laughed.  “My mother never encouraged travel when I was a child.  Collinwood’s
been a prison for me these last few years.  I’d kill to see other countries,
experience other cultures.” 

“Not really,” he said. 

“Mr.  Jennings,” she cried, frustration cracking her voice, “are you honestly
going to tell me you’ve lived in a cave for the past few years?  Or are you
just leaving out all the fascinating details because you don’t want to make me
jealous?” 

He grinned a little.  “No details, I swear,” he said.  “And I didn’t live in a
cave. Not really.” She stared at him.  “I’ve lived in quite a few cabins,
though.  No people around. Makes things easy.” 

“Aren’t you terribly lonely?” she asked. 

“No,” he said, easily and honestly.  “No, I’m not.  I don’t need a lot of
company around.  I’m pretty much my own man.” 

She pressed a hand against his arm, stopping him in his tracks.  He swallowed,
and she stared up into his face.  A ray of moonlight glanced across her cheeks,
and she glowed porcelain.  Her crystalline eyes searched his.  “Any company?”
she whispered.  “Or just me?” She raised her eyes and closed her eyes, and her
mouth drew closer and closer to his. 

He pulled away abruptly, and turned his head, staring with trembling jaw into
the darkness of the woods.  “Any company, Miss Stoddard.  Not just yours.” 

She dropped her head, defeated, and when she lifted her eyes again, they shone
in the light like a wolf.  “Too bad,” she purred.  “I could’ve enjoyed you. 
Makes the kill less interesting, you see, if they don’t care about you.” 

Chris struck the ground with a muffled grunt, unconscious before he could even
register her words.  She chuckled throatily and brushed tangled strands of
flaxen hair out of her eyes as she removed the straight razor from her pocket. 
She was always tempted to run it across her own palm, separating flesh,
revelling in the hot flash of exquisite pain as blood bloomed from the lipless
wound ...  but that would raise suspicions, and she wanted no one suspicious of
Carolyn Stoddard now.  This body suited her, and she refused to part with it. 

She knelt beside him, stroking his soft, straw hair with her slim fingers.
“There is something about you,” she said, her voice thick with Danielle Roget’s
French accent. “Something I don’t understand.  A pity that I’ll never get the
chance.  You are an intriguing one, Monsieur Jennings, you really are.” She
smiled wickedly.  “Or were.” The grip on his hair tightened, and Carolyn lifted
his head, exposing his throat, gleaming like marble in the dim light of the
moon. 

Chris moaned deep in his throat as Carolyn pressed the razor against the
pulsing vein and she paused, chuckling diabolically.  “Bon soir, monsieur,” she
whispered. 

A sudden gutteral growl, an animal snarl, erupted out of the blackness that
surrounded her; it grew quickly into a furious bellowing howl that echoed from
every corner of the forest.  Carolyn shrieked and hardly felt the razor drop
from her numb fingers as she pressed her hands against her ears to drive away
that terrible cry that was as animal as it was horrifically human.  “Non,” she
panted, shaking her head back and forth, “non, non ...  non!  You dare not —” 

The bushes to her left parted, and something stepped out of them.  She drew in
a shaky breath as her eyes took it in.  It was a grotesquely enormous black
animal with slavering jaws and feral red eyes — a wolf it seemed, but a larger
wolf than she’d ever seen before.  Its triangle ears were flattened back
against the wiry fur of its scalp, and its teeth drawn back were yellow and
stained. Her eyes widened as she realized that she could see the trees of the
forest through its massive body.  It was dim, hazy like smoke, here and then
gone, but its teeth were so very sharp and wicked — 

It took a shivering step forward, questing with one misshapen paw.  Its tongue
lolled from its mouth, and its eyes seemed to laugh at her. 

“Stay away from me,” she snarled at it, and swiped the razor from the forest
floor, then brandished it at the ghostly monstrosity. 

It growled threateningly, and took another step. 

Chris echoed the growl in his own throat, and when Carolyn turned to look at
him, she found that his eyes were open — and they mirrored exactly the eyes in
the brutish face of the ghost-wolf that faced her, so blood-red they were
almost black. 

“Impossible,” she whispered.  Her gaze darted from Chris’ impassive, entranced
gaze to the vindictive stare of the wolf.  They were one and the same, somehow,
she realized that.  But how? 

“Loup garou!” she cried accusingly at the monster in front of her.  It paused,
and its blackened lips stretched into an obscene, lupine grin.  She remembered
from her childhood in France the tales whispered round the hearth of men that
became monsters when the moon was full, of children who went picking flowers
and returned as wolves to devour their brothers and sisters, of townships
peopled by wolves wearing human skins.  I was going to kill this man tonight,
she thought, but whatever demon dwells within him is too powerful to allow me
that priviledge. It was able to manifest itself outside his body to thwart me. 

The wolf tipped its head back and howled again. 

“All right!” Carolyn screamed.  “You win!  I won’t touch him, I swear.” She
thrust out her hand.  “I command you, in the name of Alhazared the Unholy, by
the charred and blackened stars that rained at my master’s beginning, by
Cerberus who guards the gates of hell, to return to that place wherein you
dwell ...  now!” Still grinning, the wolfen manifestation backed away into the
shadows, fading away as it did. 

Carolyn sank to the ground, limp with relief.  She turned to stare coldly at
Chris’ unconscious form; his eyes had closed, and he was breathing easily.  He
will pay for this, she swore.  I don’t yet know how, but I will find a way to
make him suffer.  This I promise. 

“Chris,” she said sweetly, and shook his arm.  “Time to wake up, baby.” 

2 

“This is impossible!” Barnabas cried, lost in the terrible scene unfolding
before him.  Julia, swooning in Cassandra’s arms, wearily lifted her head as
the vampire snarled and flung its victim to the ground.  Barnabas nearly
retched as Cassandra stepped towards him. Her hair was a black corona around
her head, and her features were waxen, the eyes gleaming like silver coins and
the red lips sticky with blood. 

“Barnabas,” she whispered, and ran a self-conscious hand over her mouth,
smearing the blood instead of wiping it away.  “I ...  I never wanted you to
see me like this —” 

“How did this happen?” he moaned; ignoring her, he sank to Julia’s side.  She
lay on the ground in a rapidly widening pool of her own blood that leaked from
the twin punctures over her jugular vein.  Her eyelids fluttered, and Barnabas
was reminded sickeningly of the events that had transpired only a week before. 
Surely Julia couldn’t be strong enough to survive a trauma like this so soon
after ... 

“Nicholas did this to me,” Cassandra spat, her voice crawling with hatred.  “As
a punishment that I dared to meddle in his plans.” 

Barnabas cradled Julia in his arms.  He glared up at the unsteady creature
facing him, and hissed, “Witch ...  murderess!  If Julia dies, I will burn you
to ashes, I swear it.” 

Taken aback, Cassandra hesitated, then murmured, “She ...  she means that much
to you?” 

“She does,” Barnabas said stonily. 

“But your precious Miss Winters,” she taunted him suddenly. 

“Leave her out of this,” Barnabas growled. 

“You love her, don’t you,” she said, then screamed, “Don’t you!” 

“Barnabas,” Julia whispered through numb lips.  She opened her eyes and stared
up at him blearily. “Run, Barnabas,” she urged him, her hand fluttering like a
moth over his.  “Get away ...  from her —” 

“Shut up, Julia,” Cassandra snapped.  “Must you be so tiresome?” 

“Leave her alone, Angelique,” Barnabas said. 

“Why?  Because you love her?” He said nothing, but stared into her icy eyes
unflinchingly.  Her mouth curled into a vicious smile, and she purred, “You
don’t have to answer that, Barnabas.  You stupid, stupid man.  Do you really
think you can have your cake and eat it too?  Have the past two centuries
taught you nothing?” 

“You seem terribly confident,” Barnabas said.  “Why are you suddenly admitting
who you are tonight?  Why not continue with this absurd pose?” 

“To everyone else at Collinwood I will remain Cassandra Collins,” the vampire
said.  Her fangs were long and curved, and gleamed a polished, bone-white in
the ghostly light of the moon.  “I will find a way to escape this curse
Nicholas has levelled at me.  Once I do, I will regain my position. You’ve
always known who I was, from the moment I arrived in this house. There is
nothing I can do about that.” 

“You fool,” Barnabas growled.  “What’s stopping me from telling everyone at
Collinwood exactly what you are?” 

Her eyes flared a furious blue.  “And risk exposing yourself?  How will you
explain to your doting family why you know so much about vampirism?  The more
acquainted they become with the facts of vampirism, the more questions will
arise in their minds.  Why were you never seen during the day when you first
arrived at Collinwood?  Why did those mysterious attacks begin with your
arrival?  You will be exposing yourself, Barnabas, remember that.  And besides
...” She extended one hand, and Julia rose mechanically from the ground and
walked slowly to Cassandra’s side. She turned, her eyes focused straight ahead,
unseeing, utterly vacant.  “...  if you tell anyone about me or say anything
against me, I will kill Julia immediately.  She will rise as a new member of
the Undead, a bloodthirsty animal prepared to stalk the night.  She will devour
your friends and family, Barnabas.” He dropped his head, ashamed, but still she
was relentless.  “Are you prepared to accept that?” 

“Monster,” he sighed under his breath.  “Release her from your spell, Angelique
...  now!” 

Cassandra tossed her head.  “You will not give me orders, Barnabas,” she said
icily.  “You understand what I have become.  You know what I can do to you.” 

He glared at her furiously, then pulled back his collar, exposing the soft
curve of his neck. Cassandra cocked her head, confused.  “Go on,” he said.  “Do
it.  It’s what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it?  Power over me?  A way to
control me?” She opened her mouth, then closed it again, and dropped her gaze. 
“What are you waiting for?” he roared.  “Make me your slave! Make me your
puppet!  Have me in the way you could never have me in life!” 

Cassandra turned away from him; her white dress billowed around her like a
cloud, a tendril of mist.  Her voice trembled when next she spoke, and for a
moment she sounded almost human.  “I ...  I never wanted you in that way,” she
whispered, and he realized she sounded very much like the naive, dewy
maidservant he had bedded so long ago in the tropical heat of Martinique.  “I
loved you because you were a man, not a puppet,” she continued.  “I ...  I
can’t do that to you now.” He heard a quiet sob catch in her throat, and his
mouth dropped open. 

“Angelique,” he whispered, beginning to rise, but she whirled to face him, her
face contorted with wolfen anger. 

“You dare to confuse me!” she shrieked.  “Taunt me ...  use me like you always
did.” She threw back her head and screamed.  “I hate you!” she wailed.  “I hate
you, I hate you!” Her venomous sobbing continued for several moments after her
body had lost all substance and faded away completely. 

He stared after her, completely disconcerted.  Why didn’t she attack?  Why was
his throat even now unscarred?  It made no sense.  Angelique had returned from
beyond the grave to claim him, and now that she had her chance — 

He shook his head with disgust, then turned to Julia.  She shook her head as
the effects of the vampire’s trance began to fade like morning dew.  “Come,
Julia,” he said gently, wrapping one hand tenderly around her waist.  “Let’s
get you inside.” 

3 

There had been darkness, a swirling, icy void that pressed around him, shutting
out every sensation but cold, purging him of everything he once was and would
never be.  It was difficult to remember what life had been like — what life was
like at all, or had ever been — but on occasion a flash of memory, a face, a
fragment of a sentnence, would emerge from the abyss and torment him until it
faded mercifully away. 

There were times — and he never knew when, since the flow of time was different
here — when he would rise up out of the blackness, and during these occasions
he could recall his last lover, a man whom he actually might have loved. 
Liquid doe eyes a warm brown, soft hair like golden straw, supple skin he could
still taste.  He would have given up his kingdom for this man, but something
had happened — something terrible had happened to interrupt him, to destroy
everything he had planned — 

He would sink back into the inky depths whenever what remained of his shattered
consciousness would touch, however lightly, upon that terrible event that had
plunged him into this vast darkness. Sometimes the name itself was enough to
push him back down, but more often than not it was the eyes of his killer,
black and haunted, hair strewn across a dead-white scalp like tossed autumn
leaves, lips curled back from those sharp white teeth — and then he would be
gone. 

He lay in this fetid tomb for an unknown length of time, swimming in and out of
memory. 

Until a shard of light had carved a hole through the blackness, and he had
squirmed away from the light.  It burned.  It clarified everything, and brought
with it tremendous pain. 

He rememebered pain.  He remembered how it slivered through him as his neck was
snapped and his body thrown to the ground, so many useless rags.  He remembered
his last fleeting thought of Todd, and how he had loved him, how he would never
touch him again, and the fury that accompanied that thought burned him bitterly
until it had faded away with the rest of his memories. 

I will have him again, his spirit voice whispered through the blackness.  The
pain had faded, and the light made him stronger.  He swam towards it eagerly,
as more and more memories returned.  The face of his killer no longer forced
him to retreat into numbing nothingness; instead it filled him with that old
familiar hate that had set him up against the Collins family in the first
place.  I wanted them all gone, he recalled, swimming frantically; I wanted
Collinwood to be my castle, but it will be.  I’ll make it be so, and Todd will
rule at my side. 

Perhaps the thoughts were lunatic.  He didn’t care. 

The face that waited for him at the end of the tunnel explained everything —
his revival, the world he was prepared to enter, the story he was to tell, and,
most importantly, the location of the man he loved.  “He’s alive in this time
as well,” the voice explained, “but he won’t know you as you are. He will
recognize the name you give him, but you must be careful.  If the real one
comes along, you must kill him, and kill him quickly.  Do you understand?” He
did.  He had never killed before, but he had wondered in life what it would
feel like, snuffing out another’s life with your own bare hands.  The power
inherent in that act alone was enough to make his head swim. 

“And Barnabas Collins?” he asked. 

“Destroy him at your leisure,” the voice said disdainfully.  “Barnabas Collins
could become a threat to me, and I will not have that.” 

Just as well, he thought.  He stood in the lobby of the Collinsport Inn,
uncomfortable in these modern clothes.  He wore a green turtleneck and gray
pants and patent leather shoes, and he hated them.  But they were necessary. 
He understood that part too.  He needed to play his part well. 

He knocked, and waited with a beating heart.  How interesting, he marvelled,
that I now have a heart to beat.  What a glorious age. 

The door opened, and Chris Jennings stared at him, puzzled, and wiped the sleep
from his eyes. He wore a bathrobe haphazardly tied, and his bare chest was
white and alluring through the terrycloth.  “Can I help you?” Chris asked
politely. 

“Don’t you recognize me?” he asked.  “I know it’s been a long time, but still
—” 

Chris’ eyes widened with disbelief.  “Joe?” he whispered.  “Joe Haskell?  What
on earth —” 

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Nathan Forbes grinned with his new mouth,
and thought, Toddy boy, oh Toddy boy ...  I could just eat ...  you ...  up. 

The door closed behind them, and the hallway was empty again. 

TO BE CONTINUED ...