A Note For Elizabeth

A Note For Elizabeth

The streets of London were slicked with hardened ice, the sky was
encased in a dome of storm clouds all day and all night. It had been
like this for a few days now, and the families mostly kept to
themselves. But the weather could hardly dampen their spirits,
considering what time of year it was. Each house was decorated in
crimson and emerald ornaments, each living room was home to small but
fashionable Christmas trees. Even though the weather was the worst it
had been in years, the spirit of Saint Nicholas was still shining
strong. This was the norm of every house in London. Well, all except
one. Mrs Welkes, and her eleven year old daughter, Elizabeth stood at
their front window, gazing out into the darkened street, waiting for
their beloved father to step over the threshold and greet them with
warm smiles and open arms. They waited, but he did not arrive. They
waited until the burning street lamp gave in to the cold outside, they
could wait no more. They were disappointed, but not surprised by his
absence.

Johnathon Welkes was a successful man, a scientist respected amongst
scientists. He was also a busy man, and he regretted the times that his
work interfered with his family time. But they understood. It was hard
for Elizabeth, but she was a good girl, and she was very understanding,
and mature for her age. She had a lot of her father's determination in
her, and it tore John up inside to miss seeing her grow up. Elizabeth,
like so many other children in the area, went to a boarding school to
study. She only came home for holidays, which seemed to be the busiest
time of the year for John. It was 10 days until Christmas, 15th
December, 1933, and John was hard at work, trying his damnedest to
finish his research so that he could be with his family on Christmas.
He had promised Elizabeth that he would be there for her. And she was
so overjoyed to have the opportunity, for she had not had a Christmas
with her father since she was five years old. Although she knew deep
down that her father might be too busy, she couldn't help but pour all
her hopes into his promise, and think that this year would be "the one".

Johnathon was working through the night, papers littered his desk,
essays, documentations, diagrams, photographs, and there were even a
couple of models of his subjects. I walked into his office at around
midnight to see his pen scrawling madly across paper. I placed a coffee
on the corner of his desk and peered over his shoulder at his papers.
My eye caught one particular photograph that was so horrific, it still
haunts me to this day. My reaction was of pure revulsion and fear, of
such force, I knocked John's coffee cup to the floor. His pen stopped
moving.
His head remained bent over the paper, "What?" he asked, with a tone of annoyance.
"Sorry, John, it's just that... that picture" I pointed at the foul,
disfigured image in the photo, trying my best not to look at it again.
"Filthy beasts" He said. "they're human, but they've altered
themselves. I don't know why, I don't know how, and if I don't figure
that out soon, I'll miss Christmas again."
A sharp knock came from the door. John looked at his watch before
muttering to himself "of course". He strode out of his office to answer
the door. I followed him, still trying to get the photograph out of my
mind. I was afraid of what these monsters might be capable of doing,
but I felt that sticking close to a learned man such as Johnathon would
be safest for me. I figured that the more I knew, the less I would
fear, and I would be able to sleep without images of that photograph
torturing me while I sleep. How very wrong I was.

John's colleagues had arrived with a gift that pleased him beyond
doubt. They had brought him his specimen to study, dissect and analyze.
He led them down to the basement laboratory, helping them navigate the
8 feet long crate through the building. The crate rattled and shook
continuously, as if something alive was in there. I followed
tentatively down the stairs, keeping my distance, a growing dread sat
in my stomach, for I had made an educated guess that the thing in the
crate was the same specimen as the monster in the picture. I shivered
just thinking about it, but that reaction was nothing to the paralyzing
fear I felt when I actually discovered that my assumptions were correct.

Once in the basement, the men used a crowbar to pry open the lid.
They turned it over onto the floor, and I had a clear view of the
creature within. Almost 8 feet tall, vampirous in appearance (according
to descriptions in folklore, at least), battered and twisted wings were
bonded to its side, limbs bound, mouth gagged. If it weren't for these
things keeping it secure, I would have left then and there, out of the
room, the office, the city, hell, I'd probably have been on a ship half
way to America before the others realized I had gone. But even with the
bondage, and the six burly men restraining the struggling monster, my
feet were rooted to the floor with fear. I would have screamed, but my
terror had robbed me of that, too. It was only after John stuck a
needle into his specimen and dragged the limp body into a prison-like
cell, that I found the strength to sit down, and get my brain
functioning properly again.

I watched as John gathered samples from the creature, clippings off
its wings, blood samples, saliva samples, teeth molds. He worked from
behind the locked bars, which caused my stomach to turn, if the beast
were to awaken, he'd be dead. But he worked quickly and efficiently,
appearing calm and collected, while I sat in the corner, trying to stop
my head spinning just thinking about the situation. He then lacerated
the bonds holding the creature into place, and it slackened onto the
floor. Although John didn't show it physically, he was relieved to get
out of the cell and lock his specimen away. He put the samples under
microscopes, he took notes, he mixed the fluids with chemicals, he took
more notes. I had no idea what he was looking for, and by the way he
held his head over his work, neither did he.

The "creature" in the cell started to come around as the drugs wore
off. It got to its feet, head almost touching the ceiling, wings had
barely enough room to unfold. John had his back turned, and had no
notice, so did a few of his colleagues, who were also conducting
several small scale experiments. But a couple of others noticed too,
and they looked very afraid. The vampire yelled, a long, agonizing,
almost wolf-like cry. It rattled the bars of the cell and batted its
wings furiously.
"Mi ala fa'hra shi omar!" It yelled. " Mi ala fa'hra shi omar!"
John was now staring at the creature as it repeated this phrase at the
top of its lungs. His pen scrawled across parchment, but his eyes
remained fixated on the beast. What were these words it was speaking?
What language? What meaning? I looked over at Johnathon, he sat there
with his papers, pen still flailing madly. When we came down to the
basement, the desk and equipment were all neatly organized, now, after
the short time while John and his men worked, his desk was as messy as
the one in his office, paper strewn everywhere, he had books opened all
over the place, and now he was intently observing the conscious
daemon's actions. He was writing frantically, absorbing every movement,
every action processed by this creature's mind. A full psycho-analysis
was unfolding before my eyes, and he sat there writing, mimicking the
phrase under his breath, "Mi ala fa'hra shi omar".

We had been in the basement for hours, but I seemed to be the only
one in the room at a loss as to what to do. There came a point where I
could take it no longer, my still silence and observations were driving
me mad. I got to my feet and shuffled back upstairs to make beverages
for John and his team. From the small office kitchen, I could still
head the monster's cries. I didn't want to go back down there, so I
took as much time as needed to prepare the tea and coffee. Several
minutes passed, as I waited for the water to boil, when I noticed a
loud crash from below. The lights went out, I could hear some yelling
and grunting from the basement, of which I couldn't distinguish man
from beast. I stood fast, rooted to the spot, waiting for some
indication to move. I waited a few more minutes, listening intently to
the sounds beneath me. Were they... dead? I couldn't hear anything any
more, such was the sudden, intense silence. No voice or movement could
be heard, I was isolated in the darkness, fear starting to consume me,
consciousness confusing real with dream. It was all real, no I wasn't
imagining things. I was brought to my senses by the sound of slow,
heavy footsteps climbing up the stairs.

The footsteps were moving closer and closer. I could hear them just
outside the kitchen door. A faint candlestick glow came through the
doorway, it was Johnathon.
"Oh, thank God" I said, and I followed him back out into the hallway. "What happened?".
"They had given the specimen its tranquilizer, opened the cell to take
it out, but it failed to react to the shot, and it lashed out and
attacked them", his voice was shaking slightly. "Three... maybe four of
them were badly injured. When the vampire lashed out, he also knocked
out the power generator." John went into his office and got his pen and
paper. He scrawled something down and folded up the paper. He handed it
to me and said "Can you do a favour for me? Take this note to my
daughter, Elizabeth, and then come straight back, we need to sort this
mess out".

John walked with me to the door, then I ran down the street. As soon
as I turned the corner, I unfolded the message and read, "Dear
Elizabeth, I won't be making it home for Christmas this year. I am
truly, deeply sorry. With sincerest apologies, your father."
I folded the note up, regretting the situation John was forced into. He
was like a small, innocent creature, being boxed in by an 8 feet tall
carnivorous bat. I started running again, his house wasn't very far
from his office. The note was crumpled in my hand, my grip on it was
unrelenting. I came to a halt outside the house, doubled over to catch
my breath. I lifted a fist and knocked on the door. I saw little
Elizabeth peer through the curtains of the front window to see who I
was. She opened the door to let me in.
"Hello, Elizabeth" I said kindly. "I'm sorry I can't stay this time,
I'm just here to give you this note from your father". A tear rolled
down my cheek. It tore me up inside to bring such devastating news to
such a young, innocent child.
"Thank you, Mr. Dawson" she said, and she began unfolding the note. Her
lip trembled as the news hit her. She looked up from the paper to say
something to me, but I had already started running back to her father.

I approached the office to find that the electricity had been
restored. I walked through the open front door, and called out, "John!?"
"I'm in the basement!" He yelled back.
I crept down the stairs once again, afraid of what I would find there.
The room was pretty messy, quite a bit of blood on the floor, and John
stood over a table, strapped to which was the vampire. There were 3 of
John's colleagues also standing over the creature, the others, I
noticed to my horror, were locked in the cell, piled on the floor.
"Are they... dead?" I asked.
"No, they're unconscious. They should come round soon enough, but I'd
prefer that they were dead. They were bitten by the specimen, and if my
research is consistent, they have been infected with a virus which will
latch on to their brain, release toxins into their blood. They'll have
to leech off the blood of others to keep their blood oxygenated, to
stay alive."
"So, how's this one staying alive?" I was revolted by the thought of the werewolf-like disease John was speaking of.
"These wings here", he said, indicating to the large black wings
sprouting from the creature's back, "they're grown over time, due to a
genetic alteration from the infection. The wings create a blood
stimulation that produces a hormone which balances against the decay. A
lot of people who get this disease will die shortly after, because they
can't replenish their blood."
It was disturbing, yet hauntingly tragic, how precise John had been
with his research on the existence of such an aberration of nature.

His next actions truly disturbed me more than anything he had done
in the past. He produced a hacksaw from his tool kit, lifted one of the
vampire wings off the table, and began sawing it off from the
unconscious vampire. He held a jar to the base of the wing, collecting
its viscous blood. He proceeded to do the same with the other. Then, he
slowly raised the jar to his lips, and consumed its entire contents.
And at that point, I realized. I departed the room in an instance, up
the flight of stairs, out onto the street, as far from his as possible,
for I knew that he was void of all human emotions.
From several blocks away, I heard a menacing cry coming from his office, " Mi ala fa'hra shi omar!"
And I knew that never again, would he see his daughter on Christmas...