Das Verdammte

The beginning of a prequel to the novel I will one day write. Everyone loves a circus, the magic, the fun, the face-eating clowns.

Das Verdammte

“Bernice, are you out of your mind?” the cloaked figure snapped to the almost identical figure beside her. “That’s red, I need the crimson vial! Right there, yes there.” The figure’s tone became frustrated as a hand extended from the cloak’s sleeve to smother the sigh escaping from the obviously feminine lips. This sign of exasperation caused a laugh, muffled only by the build up of phlegm in her throat, to escape from the second figure’s mouth.

“Red, crimson, they’re all the same.” A smirk crossed her face as the woman pulled the hood from her head, allowing her features to come into the candle light for the first time. The skin around the woman’s eyes and cheeks hung down so low as if it were to fall off if touched. Her hair was sparse and grayed, loosely pulled back into a bun, and the hood now lay on her back, stressing the present hump.

“You crazy old hag.”

Once again the laugh came forth. “I’m but one year older than you Hester.” As she spoke her companion too pulled back the hood of her cloak, revealing a very different view. Her skin was taut, pale, and smooth, as if unaffected by time and age. The thick, dark, auburn hair atop her head was clearly thicker and more healthy. But the one thing that truly stressed the year of difference between the two women was the color and intensity of their gaze upon the other. The older woman, Bernice, seemed to be dreaming constantly, her eyes a pale blue and cloudy, while Hester’s eyes were dark, her gaze threatening. This deeper tone of blue-green seemed to allow for no emotion to show through, only her facial expression changing to fit her preferred tone of the moment.

“You do realize the show is ending within the hour. If we don’t finish it, that year is going to show even more. Quiet now, Bernice,” she snapped, turning to face a small, metal stand behind her with a burning candle atop it. With one quick exhale the small flame was extinguished, letting the small fire in the center of the room provide the little light that remained. Without a word, Hester gave a small gesture with her right hand, to which her companion responded with a small step to the left, allowing the correct color of vial to make its way into her nimble fingers.

The cork keeping the contents enclosed gave a small pop as the witch’s thumb removed it and pour the liquid into the fire, all in one quick motion. As the two made contact, fire and liquid, the heat and intensity of the yellow flame changed. Both women expecting what was to come next, took a step back before the fire roared, growing higher and higher, stopping only an inch from the ceiling of the small trailer. And as quickly as the flames had risen, they receded; remaining a good deal larger than their original form, but allowing a clear view of what now floated a finger’s length from the floor. Black, cast iron, the cauldron defied gravity, with no additional effort put forth by either witch to keep it that way. It was, after all, pointless to do so. The massive object wouldn’t fall or waver until its bewitching was done.

Bernice’s laugh, once again, came forth, like a child witnessing some awe inspiring event for the first time. Without a word, Hester, clearly annoyed at her companion’s loud response, stepped closer to the black vat. Slowly, her hand came to float above the cauldron, her fingers wiggling slightly, and her lips muttering some unknown phrase. She blinked, opening her eyes upon the liquid now present, a murky water-like substance. Without turning away her left hand reached back behind her leg, where a small bush was growing through the floor boards. Quickly picking three leaves, she regained her stance before letting them fall into the heating liquid.

“Bernice, can you manage to find the hemlock? Bernice!”

The older woman snapped back, having been staring into the cauldron. “What? Oh, root of-“

“Not ‘root of’,” Hester snapped, “Hemlock! You are more trouble to deal with than you are worth. We might be able to restore your looks, but your mind is never coming back.” And this was true, as mortals age, their minds tend to go, though with a witch the reason for seemingly going senile was far more complicated. They’d written their names in the Devil’s book, sold their souls. And to beings, like Hester, that truly took pleasure in the pain of others this never fazed them, while others’, Bernice a clear example, conscious caught up with them.

In less time than the wasted conversation just took up, the younger of the two made her way the entire two feet to a glass jar, one of the thousands of items crowding the shelves that filled the entire east wall. Pulling a small, dried hemlock bundle from the jar, Hester one again took her original place and tossed the small flowers in. The few pieces of flora now floating in the cauldron seemed as if they had no effect what so ever, bobbing up and down in the small ripples formed in the already, slowly boiling liquid.

Both women looked at each other before pulling their hoods back onto their heads, protecting what they could of their heads from the radiating heat. Their eyes locked onto the cauldron before moving in a speed must faster than any of their previous actions. Bernice grasped an uncorked bottle behind her, pouring half of its contents into the forming mixture, not once checking to see if it was the correct one. Hester reached for another small plant, this one growing from a pot on the table behind her, and plucked a small hand full of leaves, her eyes never moving from their gaze in front of her. Both women seemed to be in a trance, not once blinking or slowing their hands. Only turning to reach a high shelve allowed them to look away from the concoction which was now green in color.

Though Hester hadn’t seemed unsure at all during the night’s events, her older companion was quite a different story. She’d stumbled over her own two feet, and fumbled through the shelves, almost breaking open a numerous amount of hard to find ingredients. But now she too was sure of every action, never faltering.

A blue liquid was added, the mixture changed to a vermillion color. A pasty yellow came next, the contents of the cauldron changing from a water-like consistency to that of molasses. The flames roared each time a new ingredient was added, and wrapped itself around the cast iron. The mixture boiled quicker and quicker, bubbling almost over the lip of the container. Hester reached for a small plate of powder, and after taking a small pinch threw it into the liquid. The instant one fleck of the white powder made contact the boiling ceased completely, the concoction’s red-ish color changed to a dark black, and only after the fire burnt itself out (in a matter of seconds) did the two witches return to normal, Bernice cracking a smile with her yellowed teeth.

As if purposely timed a knock on the door echoed through the small room. The door opened allowing some light from the surrounding fair ground to make its way in, revealing a slim, tall figure in the doorway.

“The show is over, girls, and let me tell you what; the audience was full of kids.”
A smirk crossed Hester’s face before speaking, “Isn’t it always? But never mind that, how many of them do you think will be joining us?”

“Quite a few, I know of two boys talking to Liam now, and one girl waiting around to get in to see him. But you know how it works, half of our recruits show up in the morning after some big fight with mommy or daddy.”

“The potion has to sit until tomorrow night, so the girl can stay with Bernice until we need her. As for the boys, like I told you.”

“Yes. The boss knows as well, he’ll make sure you get someone to help you out.”

“Run over to his train car, will you, and make sure I get someone that can actually be of use. I don’t need another annoyance.” She gestured over at Bernice.

“Of course.” Before turning of the door, he flashed the whitest smile in Das Verdammte. His elongated canines showed exactly why he was in this God forsaken circus.

Now on his way, Victor walked as all the myths and legends said he would. Each step was strong, sure, and effortless. His feet hit the ground hard, though no marks were left in the soft dirt behind him. For a moment he noticed this about himself, taking pride in his current state of being, before quickening his pace just a bit more in order to catch his favorite part of Liam’s speech to all the newcomers. And in less than a minute he was there.

He approached the train car, stationary on four large cement blocks, after being removed from the tracks. Inside Liam could clearly be heard, almost finished with what he did best, being a two-faced lunatic. Quickly stepping inside, the vampire shut the door behind him and took a stance leaning against the back wall. A large leather bound book sat atop the ringmaster’s desk, the tattered pages visible around the edges of the cover.

“Now boys, are you sure you want to come travel with us? I won’t lie to you, life on the road is a lot harder than you might expect.” Liam removed the top hat from his head and sat it on the desk to his right of the book.

Both boys, beaming, answer simultaneously, “Yes, sir!”

The ringmaster smiled, opening the book to a page marked by a frayed red ribbon. The think, yellow paper was completely void of any sort of mark, waiting for a quill to touch down, and now one sat beside it.

“When you’re ready boys, sign away.” Both boys fought for the pen. “Wait now, hold on,” he continued, “Das Verdammte is like a family. When you sign, you’re here for life. We don’t just let people join us only to leave a week later. Do I have both of you boys’ words that you plan to stay around here?” He smiled kindly, while Victor in the back chuckled to himself, unheard.

Again, both boys answer, “Yes, sir!” This time Liam chuckled, allowing the boys to push each other out of the way during the struggle for the pen. The winner, and the first of the two to sign was a bit plump, with a mass of curly red hair atop his head. With quill in hand he signed the name Freddie Bergul. Now smiling, satisfied with being the first, he stepped aside, handing the quill to his friend.

This boy was slimmer, and though his hair was curly it was far better kept, not a lock out of place. Stepping forward to the book he too signed his name Joshua Smith. He too smiled, now finished and stepped back as Liam shut the book. “Sir?” he questioned, “What does ‘Das Verdammte’ mean?”

“It is German, boy, meant to sound foreign to the men and women around here. It means the Damned, boy, and now you’re one of us.”

Author's Note

Comment on the story line, the characters, whatever you would like. Once finished Das Verdammte will include (at least with a brief mention) vampires, werewolves, face-eating clowns, witches, demonic shape-shifters, walking skeletons, and zombies. If you have any opions on how I could mess these up, I'd love to know. (For example, I know some people love Twilight, and some people hate it. Something I'd love to read would be: "Don't make them sparkle.")

Reviews

[MJ Durston]

Sory I jut read your author's not and I wanted to give you ome advice from soeone who's in the horror genre as well. Vegetarian Vampires - Drie me nuts if you're going tohave vampires - I want to see heads ripped of, bloo ucked dry. It's an untamale urge - don't suffcate it. Werewolvs are easy - I like when they don't talk - because thn you have the ability to reallyuse their anger as an advntag as oppsed to a typical - I'ma man nw, and a wolflater scenerio.

[MJ Durston]

Watch out for advrbs. They're unnecessary always. Adverbs are descriptive words ending in "ly" for example: "obviously feminine lips". take out the obviously, "feminine lps" same effect - less complicated.