The Raising of Vlad

He was a Wizard. The thing about being a wizard is that you get no work at all for most of the year, except the odd full moon job, but come Halloween you are rushed off your feet. This Halloween was going to be different because he was not working. He had refused it all and was staying at home. He was just going to light up the pumpkin, pour a nice glass of blood red wine and read his book.

What a find it had been. The book seller had not realised its value. It had no cover and the pages were loose but the information it contained was unique. It could have been a copy of the writings of Vlad himself. Vlad the Impaler, the most evil man that had ever lived. King Vlad had killed thousands of men, woman and children, in the most vile manner. He believed that watching someone die would bring him one step closer to eternal life. Some say he had misread the ancient Mongol writings and ‘Eternal life’ should have been read as ‘Eternal death’. At the best he would be stuck in Limbo never to escape.

It was said that Vlad was not human but descended from an offshoot of humanity. They could be recognised by their six fingered hands.

The Wizard leant over the pages spread out on the coffee table before him. Slowly the old and faded words became clearer and he was soon able to get to his particular interest: necromancy, raising the dead, creatures from the grave, monsters from the id, witches, … No, never again not a witch! It was quite a let down that night he brought back a witch. Burnt in 1666, she was so grateful, she wanted to cure all the Wizard’s boils. He had tried to explain that he did not have any boils, however she insisted in collecting the most disgusting things from his dustbin. The smell almost made him sick. And all that cackling. No, never again, not a witch!

So what else is there? The wizard read on: ghosts, goblins, sea hags. No, he did them ten years back and his room smelt of fish for weeks. Shades…. Perhaps.

Oh, he was looking forward to tonight, it was going to be great!

But which would he conjure up? A vampire perhaps? They were a bit of a cliché these days.
On the other hand……… He felt the scars of the two tiny puncture bites on his neck and remembered the night in the castle in Lithuania . He was young, she was a Gothic vision of seduction as she leant over him, her silk gown billowing in the evening breeze, an open mouth, a bare neck, a trickle of warm blood down his neck and he was hers……..oh, dear! Never mind all that now, it was ages ago and he was a young wizard then.

What about tonight? Which one shall he choose? What about the shades? They were a neglected entity these days. Thecreatures of the nether world that existed between this one and the next. It would be dangerous though. He would need to keep a firm grip on things and make sure that he had the anti-spell ready. That was the first rule of wizardry: ‘never do what you can not undo.’ Otherwise it could be worse than the vampire situation. That just led to a painful neck for a few weeks and a strange dread of sunrise!

He would do it. Shades it was. He found the page with the spell and the one with the anti-spell. He laid them neatly side by side and downed a large gulp of wine.

Years of experience had taught him how to read spells. Slowly at first, rising to a crescendo and finishing on tip toe with a classic grand cape flourish.

Mongol Shaman o’ the night
Banish good, banish light.
Thumbs do prick on Halloween
And the bile does fill the spleen.
The hag that thrives within the well,
Now rise again and hear my spell.
The bat that flees the waxing moon,
Come here, come now, it’s ne’er too soon.
Changeling left upon the altar
From the bleak and deepest water
Come hither and conjoin thy power
For now’s the minute, now’s the hour
And Father Death will hold his blade
Rise up, rise up oh, un-dead shade!

He waited.
Nothing.
He waited some more.
Still nothing.
Yet more waiting.
The candle in the pumpkin flickered, just a little.
His black cat stood and arched its back.
Outside a bat flew across the moon!

The wizard rubbed his hands in expectant glee!

There was a sound, so low that only a wizard could hear it. It was like the very bowels of the Earth, the magma, was straining to unleash a long pent up groan. It grew and grew, like a hellhound, clawing its way up through the world beneath the wizard’s feet.
Then silence.

The smell of leaf mould, of graveside grass freshly watered by the tears of loved ones. Then sulphur, overpowering everything else, the sickening stench of a burning knackers yard; burnt bone, burnt hoof, burnt hair and burning flesh.

In the corner of his room, where people who were not wizards had televisions, a shape was growing. A flicker, a light, a skull floating in the air, a sudden roar like a train in a tunnel, bones whistled through the room. The wizard dived to the floor and knocked over the coffee table. The bones swirled around a skull, and then began to form a familiar outline of a skeleton. Flesh hung on the screaming face and the shade took on a human form. The shade’s fingers reached out towards the wizard, pleading, wanting something. Now the shade was grasping at its own throat and trying to speak but, having only putrid bags for lungs, full of the abandon husks of insects and the maggot carcases of aeons, it could say nothing. It fell to its knees and dust from crumbling cartilages filled the naked shafts of candlelight from the pumpkin.

The shade’s hands supported its bowed carcass. There was something strange about the hands. The fingers. The wizard counted. Six! There were six fingers on each hand. Could this be the body of Vlad himself? The shade’s head cowered in weariness. Vlad had been trapped, doomed to suffer until the last grain of time. But now, slowly, he looked up. He saw the wizard. He began to crawl and drag his bones across the floor. Vlad knew that this was his only chance to escape the world of shades, his only chance in six hundred years. He would have to capture and drag into Limbo a replacement for himself because there always had to be six hundred and sixty six shades in Limbo.

Vlad had known this before he died and had written a book with a spell that would bring him out of Limbo. Someone, somewhere and at sometime, would read the spell and that would be his opportunity. He had also written the anti-spell and had left out a vital word. The anti-spell would not work. Once out of Limbo he would never be sent back.

If Vlad could pull another being down he would free his own soul from limbo and live among people again. He had not expected to spend over six hundred years in the nether world of shades. If only he could reach the wizard, he stretched out.…

The wizard, saw him coming, reached for the anti-spell, but the pages were all over the floor.
Where was it? They had got knocked off the coffee table when the wizard had fallen over.
Which page?
He could not see, it was too dark.
He grabbed a pile of pages and leafed through them in the candle light.
He backed up towards the door, as in front of him, on six fingered hands and crumbling knees the skeleton dragged itself across the room.
Where’s the page?
The shade was nearly upon him.
Where was it?
Here! Just in time.
Vlad knew he was safe. He just needed a soul to replace him in Limbo. He would have the Wizard soon.

The Wizard read:

Father Death thy work is done
Time to reap what time begun
Un-contract conspiring forces
Back again in deepest courses
Sharpened scythe now take the head
Of changeling on the offering bed.
The moon doth wane, the bat doth fly
Back in the well the hag shall lie
Thumbs shall rest, the pricking done
Halloween is o’er, All Saints begun.

All fell silent.
The shade was still. Then it slowly began shaking, then shaking faster.
It was laughing. A silent mocking laugh. Then it started towards the Wizard again with renewed strength. It stood up and reached for the Wizard, who was still on tip toe from his spell ending cape flourish.

The wizard dived for the living room door, pulled himself through into the front passageway and slammed the door shut just as Vlad’s pile of skin and bone crashed into the other side and slid down the door with a sickening clatter.
All went quiet.
Perhaps he had gone.
Maybe the anti-spell had worked.
He would have a peep.
No. He could not summon up the courage.
He waited.
Still no sound.
Perhaps he should have a peep. If he was quick there would be no harm.
Who was he kidding? As soon as he opened the door Vlad would rip his head off.
The Wizard remembered the story of the time Vlad had nailed the hats on to the Turkish ambassadors for not taking them off in his presence.
Was it his imagination or was the door getting hotter?
He could smell burning.
Perhaps in the morning when the sun rose?
The doorbell rang.
“Damn!” thought the wizard, “Who’s that at my front door?”,
It rang again,
“Go away!” said the wizard.
It rang yet again.
He opened the street door, “What is it?”
“Trick or treat?” said a voice behind a vampire mask.
“Go away!” said the wizard.
“I’ll do something really nasty unless you give me a treat.”
“I am very busy,” he said getting worried by the smoke seeping under his living room door.
“Go on. Give me a treat or I’ll come back and do something horrible.”
“What could you do to me?”
“On dustbin night I’ll empty all your bins.” the boy said.
The Wizard could hear the sound of scraping bony fingers on the wallpaper of his living room.

“Well, in that case,” asked the wizard, “do you like scary things? Are you brave?”
“Nothing scares me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!” said the boy.
“You better come in then,” said the wizard.

“I’ll find a little treat for you.
First on the right and into my living room. That’s right. Just open the door and in you go.”

Later that night in Limbo the newcomer felt hot. Very hot. He took off the vampire mask, it had started to melt. The smell here was disgusting and there were all kinds of howls and groans coming from the dark that surrounded him.

“Is there anyone there?” he called out.

Six hundred and sixty five un-dead creatures turned and moved towards the new voice.

It was three in the morning before the Wizard had got his living room straight again. He would have to re-wallpaper and get a new carpet. Never again.

Out in the street Vlad the Impaler breathed in the city air. Free at last. His red eyes strained along the row of fence palings opposite the Wizard’s house. He lifted his gaze to the telegraph poles. He ran his sixth finger across his glistening lips, pulled his cape around his shoulders and walked off into the night.