Frequently
of a night, instead of retiring to his
consort's
chamber, he repaired to Brunhilda's grave,
where
he murmured forth his discontent,
saying:
"Wilt thou sleep for ever?"
Wake
Not the Dead
Johann
Ludwig Tieck
One
Cornwall England, 1802
Lightning flashed in the distance and Tess Crawford gripped the ladder
tight. The wind whipped hair across her
face and skirts against her legs. This was a perfect night. She looked up
toward the open window. It was past ten
and her students should have been asleep by now. At the very least, all lights should be
extinguished, but candles flickered in Rosemary’s room.
With slow deliberation, Tess inched her way to the destination. Upon
reaching the top, she ducked to the side and listened. It would do no good for
the girls to catch her.
“At length Walter, heated with
wine and love, conducted his bride into the nuptial chamber:”
Yes, that was Eliza reading. Why wasn’t she surprised?
“…but, oh! horror! Scarcely had
he clasped her in his arms ere she transformed herself into a monstrous
serpent, which entwining him in its horrid folds, crushed him to death.” The
voice rose with further anticipated horror.
Tess peeked around the corner of the window frame. One candle sat on
the table and flickered with the breeze.
Further into the room, three girls sat huddled together, their robes
wrapped around their legs. A lamp burned
brightly behind Eliza’s shoulder, casting a halo around her red curls. Tess grinned.
Her timing could not have been more perfect.
“Flames crackled on every side of
the apartment;” Eliza continued. “in
a few minutes after, the whole castle was enveloped in a blaze that consumed it
entirely: while, as the walls fell in with a tremendous crash, a voice
exclaimed aloud -- "Wake not the dead!"
Tess blew out the candle by the bed and ducked out of sight. In her most dramatic voice, she moaned, “Not
the dead.”
Screams erupted from inside the room.
One of the girls slammed the window shut, apparently too frightened to
notice the ladder or Tess, and yanked the curtains closed. Tess bit her lip to keep her laughter
inside. She edged down the ladder when
pounding erupted on the door. “Girls, is
everything all right?” Natalie, her friend and also a teacher, called.
The wind grew stronger as Tess hastened her descent before Mother
Nature helped her to the ground in a most unpleasant manner. She tipped the ladder so it lay on the ground
and raced to the door. She could not
wait to hear the explanation the girls offered for their screams.
Sophia sighed and shot an irritated
look at her cohorts. “They thought the
monster was at the window.”
“Monster?” Tess tried to hold back
her laughter as she walked into Rosemary’s room.
“Yes. The creature that lives in that old
manor.” Eliza explained. Tess knew exactly which one she meant. Lord Atwood’s house must date back at least a
century or more, and it did look a bit spooky with its gabled windows and grey
stone exterior with dark ivy creeping up the side and the gargoyle overlooking
the portico entrance. Of course, she
would never admit such a thing to her students.
“It’s just like Wake Not the Dead,” Rosemary whispered.
This time Tess couldn’t help but
laugh. “Are you saying a vampire lives
in Atwood Manor and he came here?”
“Yes,” Eliza insisted and the other
two girls vigorously nodded their heads in agreement. Their curls bounced in
rhythm to the movement.
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
Natalie asked and settled onto the bed. If Tess didn’t know better, she would
think her friend was giving some credence to the girl’s irrational fears.
“Lord Atwood never goes out during
the day,” Eliza answered, all knowing.
“Is that all the evidence you
have?” Tess crossed her arms over her
chest and tilted her head, eyebrows raised waiting for the girl to
continue.
“No,” Eliza retorted. “He died only to return from the grave after
his wife willed him to. Just like Walter
did. Except Lady Atwood perished upon
his return and now Lord Atwood is doomed to be alone on this earth.” Eliza
sighed, placing a hand over her heart and glanced toward the window. She returned her focus to Tess; color high in
her cheeks and eyes lit with excitement. Eliza continued the tale, or rumor
rather, that circulated around their small village. “Everyone knows he visits her grave every
midnight because there are fresh flowers every morning. Lord Atwood has not been able to bring his
beloved back from the dead, yet.”
Too bad Eliza was the daughter of a
viscount. Had she been common-born, no
doubt she would make a nice living trodding the boards on Drury Lane .
Tess leaned down and whispered,
“But why would he come here?”
Eliza glanced toward the window.
“Because he is hungry.”
Rosemary turned alarmingly pale.
Tess bit her lip. Perhaps she had
taken this too far? No, she argued with herself.
They were being ridiculous and the girls should know better. Still, Tess
made a mental note to once again go through the library and remove any book
that could possibly resemble a horrid novel. She thought she had found and
hidden them all a week ago, but apparently Wake
Not the Dead had been overlooked.
Tess clapped her hands to get their
attention. “Enough of this nonsense.
Lord Atwood is not a vampire, nor did he come here tonight.”
“But, who was at the window?”
Sophia asked, her big blue eyes round with fear.
“The wind,” Tess said dismissively,
not about to reveal the truth. “That
will teach you to read horrid novels when you should be asleep.” Tess tapped her finger against her chin. “This gives me an excellent topic for our
literature lesson tomorrow.”
“Are we going to discuss Wake Not the Dead?” Eliza bobbed with excitement.
“No. We are going to discuss the
difference between fiction and
nonfiction.”
Vincent Latimer, Earl of Atwood, pulled the collar up to his ears. Wind
whipped the greatcoat out from his body. He grasped the front and buttoned it
in haste while he glanced up to the overcast sky. Not even one star could be
seen, but he knew they lay just beyond.
Lightning flashed. There would be
a wicked storm tonight. He grinned and stepped onto the road and turned toward
the cemetery.
The walk was not long but he was glad he did not bring his hat. It
would have blown off his head as soon as he stepped out from the protection of
the front portico. Thunder rumbled
behind him. No doubt he would be soaked with rain by the time he left the
cemetery.
Nearing the church, he stopped and looked around. The houses were
closer here and each held well-tended gardens.
Who should he steal from tonight?
A grin pulled at his lips. Mrs. Harpy had a lovely selection. He hopped the low fence and strode into the
back garden. However, since he was taking a bouquet from the woman’s gardens,
he should at least think of her by her proper name, Mrs. Harper.
He shook his head and withdrew the scissors from his deep pocket. No, Harper was too kind of a name for
her. After all, Harpy was the one who
first fueled the gossip when his wife died.
The flame ignited, and ever since he had been deemed the most feared
monster of history and lore. On the
other hand, it did benefit him. Everyone
knew he took the bouquets from the gardens in the neighborhood, yet no one
would ever reproach him. They were too afraid.
It also served his lifestyle well.
By using the gardens owned by his neighbors, he did not have to employ a
gardener for his own. The less people
who lived on his estate the better. Besides, what would the neighbors think if
he did not visit his wife’s grave at midnight? What else would they have to
talk about?
The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He glanced toward the house. Harpy stood in the upstairs window watching
him. She stepped back into the shadows,
but he knew she could still see him.
Vincent flashed his teeth at her and growled. Her silhouette disappeared. The woman was probably cowering in her bed,
or her husband’s. He doubted Mr. Harper would thank him.
Vincent turned back to study the garden. There was little to choose from as fall was
descending and many of the fragrant summer flowers he preferred were long
dead. He selected mums, asters and late
blooming roses. From his pocket he
withdrew a pink ribbon and tied it to hold the arrangement together.
Tess paced in the front parlor,
too on edge to sleep. It was easier to control her anxiety over the storm
brewing in the distances when she was focused on the student or conversing over
tea with the other teachers in the school, as she had done tonight. However, everyone retired a short time ago
but she knew she would not find rest tonight, not when she was now alone with
her thoughts. She grabbed her cloak and
stepped out on to the porch. Leaves flew, carried by the fierce winds. Energy
surrounded her and she could not stay inside.
She glanced up at the house. The lamp still burned in Rosemary’s room.
She would need to speak to the girls about their late hours, but knew she had
brought on their fright tonight.
With a shake of her head, she started down the road. Tonight was no different from the night her
life irrevocably changed.
No, she would not think about that now. If she did, she would never
sleep. What she needed was a walk. The
storm was a little ways off to the southwest, coming in off the Channel, and
she had only the wind to contend with at the moment. Once she strolled the area, she would be able
to retire.
Tess pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and walked down the
lane toward the village. Nobody was out
at night and she preferred it this way.
The others did not understand her need for these evening strolls nor did
she wish to explain. They each had their own secrets that brought them back to
the school where they met, to become teachers.
In truth, Tess did not go out at night all that often. Only when there
was a storm brewing. It helped to chase
her demons away. The demons that only
visited her on nights such as this.
All of the houses were dark, for which she was grateful. Her cloak was
black so if someone peered out a window, they might not even see her. If they did, the hood covered her head and
hid her face. It would not serve the
school well if someone reported that she was seen out and about alone so close
to midnight. If someone did catch her,
would she be labeled a monster as well?
A smile pulled at her lips at the ridiculous thought.
She started to pass the cemetery, but did not glance in that direction. Tess did not want to know if Lord Atwood
actually visited there each night and she refused to give credence to the rumors. Besides, if the man had any intelligence, he
wouldn’t be walking around on a night like this anyway.
Thunder rumbled and the wind picked up and whipped around her, blowing
the hood off of her head. Perhaps she
should return home. It appeared the storm was much closer than she realized.
An ominous crack, sharper than thunder, sounded overhead. Tess looked
up but before she could determine the source a large body flattened her.
The trapped air left her body in one great
whoosh. Though from fear or being
crushed to the ground she couldn’t tell.
She looked into the almost black eyes of Lord Atwood. His cloaked arm
came up and covered her face in blackness as his head descended to her neck.
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