The one I wanted the most was the first to see me. Alden. He was standing in the cotton field talking, or I should say shouting, at the man I had seen carry out the whipping two days ago: The plantation foreman. Although the sun had already begun to set and rain was falling, the slaves were still bent double, working methodically with a fearful urgency, as if the devil himself was indeed at their heels. Alden glanced toward the trees and then halted in mid-flow as the colour completely drained from his face. I imagined that this is how Lot’s wife might have looked as he stared past the rows of cotton and the dark figures working between them, to me. After a few moments he staggered back, his eyes never leaving mine as I stood at the edge of the field by the trees with Julia in my arms. By that time, the foreman and a few others had noticed his odd behaviour and followed his gaze. Fear and horror quickly spread through the field like a tsunami and a few screams pierced the warm summer evening.
Alden turned and fled. The main house was at least a twenty minute walk away. At a run he could perhaps reach it in five. I would save him for last.
I gently laid Julia’s body—no, her corpse—on the soft grass as more screams joined the others in a pitiful chorus of horror as the acrid stench of their fear drifted to me. It almost overwhelmed the scent of their blood which sweetened the twilight air. The sound of their feet hitting the earth as they began to run away was like a multitude of heartbeats beating frantically. To me, it appeared as if they were moving in slow motion, the sluggish flight that characterised nightmares, and for a few seconds, I almost felt remorse because they all knew that most, if not all of them, would be dead before they could reach the edge of the field. But the rage, along with the cold, sharp thorns of bloodlust, had pulled me in too deep to allow me to feel anything for them. I tore my gaze away from them to look down at Julia’s hard, bloated face. Her skin was purple under the light of the setting sun and her eyes were milky white. The corpse now looked nothing at all like my dear, sweet wife, but I knelt and stroked her hair, kissing her gently on the forehead.
“I know your kind heart would never approve of what I am about to do, especially in your name. But I hope you will forgive me this one last thing.”
The sightless eyes of the corpse stared past me, neither seeing the darkening sky or the setting sun.
I straightened and surveyed the fleeing figures, welcoming the pressure in my gums as my incisors lengthened and the red veil descended. Then I drew that dark power to me and became weightless as I transported myself into the field.
I caught the first slave by the front of his shirt. I didn’t give him time to scream but brought my mouth down savagely on his neck and tore his throat out. Hot, sweet blood spurted from the wound, but as enticing as it was, I let him go and he slowly sank to his knees with his hand to his throat, his gaze on mine, his expression a strange mixture of confusion and awe. He was slowly tilting to the right when I moved on to the next slave, a female.
She merely stood frozen to the spot screaming in terror as I advanced. This time I took a few moments to savour the warm crimson nectar before I broke her neck and threw her body away from me. I went from one to the next, snapping necks, ripping into and tearing flesh, crushing bone. I was utterly merciless and felt no remorse for the lives I took. These people had all conspired against me and Julia. They had all known the danger we were in but had merely averted their gazes, their silence lining the trap into which we were being led. It seemed I was caught in a frenzy, a tornado of blood which swept me through the field, their screams and cries of pain a deafening roar that spurred me on from one to the next until silence descended around me.
I came to as if waking from a feverish dream, glancing around at a field full of dead bodies, their blood soaking into the earth along with the rain. Only a few minutes had passed.
Pausing for only long enough to glance at Julia’s corpse, I dove into the woods, following my prey as he raced through the trees, his heavy frantic footsteps disrupting the stillness all around. Hatred blurred my vision to the point where I almost couldn’t see anymore as I chased him.
I disappeared and materialised again a few metres in the direction he was headed. He came to a stumbling halt, a half-scream caught in his throat. His eyes were bulging and sweat running down his face as he turned and fled in the other direction. But I was once more blocking his path, and this time, the scream that had caught in his throat was wrenched free and he darted to his left, screaming, his eyes oddly glazed. This time I let him run for a few seconds before I appeared before him once more and knocked him to the ground. He lay there staring up at me, whimpering as tears filled his eyes. He didn’t try to fight me when I took the whip that was tied to his belt and hauled him to his feet. I wound it around his neck, and leading him like an errant dog, I disappeared, pulling him with me into the ether.
A male Negro was walking down the front steps of the mansion. He practically leapt out of his skin when we materialised in front of him. He backed away along with a few others and screams once more filled the air as they ran into the mansion. I let them go, knowing I would not have to wait long.
Foster came to one of the downstairs windows a few seconds later, his face an ugly shade of red. He was breathing so heavily it looked as if his chest would burst out of the opulent teak coat he wore.
“Alden! Alden! Let him go!” he bellowed.
He disappeared from the window and I could hear his footsteps as he moved to the door. Other footsteps joined his and it seemed as if some kind of scuffle took place. I heard a mumbled curse and then the thick, sharp sound of a slap.
“Let me go!” he roared before the front door was wrenched open a few moments later.
His rage had begun to subside and raw fear marked his features. “My son, let him go. Take me instead.”
“Invite me inside,” I said softly.
Foster tried to step outside, but dark hands grasped him, holding him back, a few terrified faces peering from behind his large bulk. He violently shrugged them off and stepped outside. Another voice joined the others and I recognised Mrs Foster screaming his name, the most I had heard her say since we arrived. More footsteps descended toward the door and the multitude of voices raised in panic from within the house became a loud rumble.
“Take me instead, don’t harm him!” Foster pleaded.
“Invite me in!” I roared.
When he merely stood there trembling in the gathering dark, I pulled Alden’s head back by the hair, exposing his throat, my teeth bared. Foster’s eyes widened in alarm. He was in a blind panic and I took the opportunity to reach into his mind to heighten his fear and confusion.
“Come inside, come inside,” he blurted. “Just don’t hurt him.”
I felt the energy holding me back from the house loosen. I grasped Alden under the jaw, my other hand on his shoulder, and began to pull. Foster’s eyes widened in alarm, his mouth opening in a wordless cry as he tried to run toward his son. I concentrated my telekinetic energy on Alden’s neck. He was only able to utter a gurgled half-scream before I tore his head off. The blood gushed like a dark red river but I was already away from the dead son and before the father as he reached for his son’s dismembered body. I grasped Foster by the shoulders, lifted him off of his feet, and slammed him down on his back with devastating force. I heard his bones crunch, and the back of his head smashed inward like an egg, blood and brain matter oozing out onto the grass.
I did not allow myself to savour his death, for there were still many more left for me to kill.
I entered the mansion. Again they tried to escape but there was nowhere for them to run or hide. I chased them from room to room, slaughtering, their blood filling and exciting every inch of me as I rampaged through the mansion, led on by grief, revenge and despair. I completely surrendered myself to the malevolence that now inhabited my soul, caught in the red veil that pulled me into the dark bosom of evil.
I was in the kitchen when the veil lifted.
I had hold of one of the house slaves, a tall, lanky male. I was about to sink my fangs into his neck but something tugged me out of the crimson net I was trapped in. I pulled away and merely peered into the slave’s terror-filled eyes in confusion whilst he mumbled incoherently. I then became aware of what had actually pulled me out of the vermilion chaos.
Beneath the sound of his incoherent mumbling, and beyond that, the sound of some of the house slaves who had been fortunate enough to escape, running for their lives through the rain. Beneath the dark cries that characterised the Mississippi night and those of the woods, I heard another sound. Quick, shallow breaths and a rapid heartbeat. I do not know how that sound reached me above the din and the strident voice of the call for blood, but it did. I turned to the sound.
It was a child. A boy. He sat on the kitchen floor cleaving to the empty-eyed stare of a corpse. A female who was no doubt his mother. I remembered vaguely she had been the first person I killed when I pursued Mrs Foster into the kitchen. Her corpse was lying near the back door. The child’s eyes met mine. Surprisingly there was no fear from him, only shock. For him, the worst—the corpse by his side—had already happened.
I released the lanky Negro. His mumbles faded and he scrambled away from me to the door that led to the corridor. Before he could reach the door, I materialised in the doorway eliciting a low moan of despair from him which turned into a terrified cry when I grasped him by the arm and pushed him back into the kitchen, where he fell to his knees.
My gaze was drawn to his neck. The scent of blood was strong in the room, from the corpses all around, and especially from his strong vibrant flesh. I looked down at the ground, but even the floor was smeared in swirls of blood. I took a breath and tried to still the beast within trembling for more blood.
“Get him out of here,” I hissed with only a cursory glance at the boy.
He stared blankly at me for a few seconds and then his frightened gaze took in the child. I stepped to the side, leaving the doorway clear. He rose into a half-crouch and stumbled toward the boy, slipping and sliding in the blood on the floor. He pulled the child to him and rose with the boy to his chest.
He stood staring at me for a few moments, his mouth clamped shut and clearly trying to fight back the tears in his eyes. Then he took a slow, deliberate step to the side. With his gaze darting from me to the doorway and freedom, he inched his way toward the doorway and then broke into a clumsy run with the child still clutched to his chest. I listened to the sound of his footsteps long after he left the mansion into the night.
It was something I did not give much thought to at the time, but which I continually revisited in the years that followed. How had I heard the child’s breathing and heartbeat amidst the frenzy of the bloodlust? But it had made me stop. I stood completely still now and desperately fought against the bloodlust. I had already killed hundreds, and drank and drank and drank. But I still wasn’t sated. If anything, the more I drank, the more blood I yearned for.
I’d had my vengeance, enough blood had been shed. I had to leave before I was drawn back into the crimson snare. But then another sound came to me. It wasn’t those of the ones who hid in closets, or underneath beds, hoping I wouldn’t be able to find them. This one was a deliberate and distinct sound. It was the clink of glass against glass and then a muted thud. I knew immediately who had made the sound. I disappeared into the either and entered the drawing room.
Kato hadn’t bothered to run, but was sitting at the table in the drawing room, a glass of wine in his hand. When I entered, he merely downed the glass and set it down. His thoughts were calm and he only appeared to be concerned about the fact that he’d fulfilled a long sought after wish; to be able to sit at his master’s table and drink his master’s favourite wine, and pretend, if only for a few brief moments, that he was the master of the house. His gaze was belligerent, but there was no trace of fear as his eyes met mine.
At least it will be quick, he thought to himself, and an image flittered briefly through his mind of a young male Negro, his naked body marked by sores and wounds that no human being should have had to endure.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” I hissed.
He merely regarded me coolly, that arrogance even in the face of death bringing a fresh wave of anger, especially since I remembered him bowing to Julia, that mocking smile on his lips.
It was my guilt that saved his life. His thoughts were laid bare before me and they were of Minny. He had been the one who informed Alden that she had tried to warn us. It was not something he had wanted to do, but he had known that Auria would have seen it the moment Julia and I were in her presence and it would have ensured an extremely torturous death for him and her. So he had told Alden in the hopes that her punishment, or death, would be swift. He hadn’t counted on me putting a stop to the whipping, an act that had instead led to a much worse fate for the girl. Even then he had taken a risk and left the relative safety of the slave quarters that night to go and leave food for her, but he was already sure she was dead by then.
So, no, I wouldn’t kill him. He didn’t even flinch when I reached for him, grasping him by the lapels. I moved into the ether and we became weightless.