Innocence Nevermore

A Story by Cari Kenja

I haven't figured out where this story is going... read it for what the story is really about and you'll understand it better for now.

November, 1919.... A small town near London reeks of blood. Several thousand people don't even notice the smell. But I do. I smell it deeply like the smell of a rotting corpse lain out across the dinner table. I walk the cobblestone roads that haven't been updated even as the times turn to more prosperous and technological wonder. I think to myself what it could be that holds me to this sickening town. Could it be the excitement that I feel when one of 'them' appears? Could it be the darkness that envelops this little hamlet of hell? I am not quite sure but I know I will keep looking for it.

I am an exorcist of sorts. I reap that what walks the earth that shouldn't I also purify the darkness in the souls of the living. I am not a priest- I have never once liked the practices of the church- especially those performed by the priests themselves. It was a small joke I shared with a prophet one day that it will not change very much as the time goes on. The Roman Catholic Church will forget there ever was such a thing as human decency in the pursuit of divine benediction. Benediction will not come from the false gods these people worship.

My name is Zadok Granger- an old name mixed with an English surname does fit me I think. Something to think about on those long nights while hunting those I disposes of with swift justice. I am known by many aliases, Count Monte- Measter Gregminster, Examiner Q, but Zadok is my given name but I don't often give it out- count yourself lucky o' odd one.

As I sit in the clock tower square I find myself sipping my warm tea looking for some shadow to appear. I call them the Vile. Nothing like an appropriate name for those creatures that walk the night stalking young children and old codgers and ripping their bodies inside out only to leave not a trace of their existence. The most peculiar thing of The Vile is the fact that nobody notices who they take away ever existed; A very odd trait indeed.

The Vile; known only by that name I think- I almost wonder if I'm the only one that sees them. Perhaps it’s insanity- perhaps I’ve gone mad- but night after night- once the clock strikes 12 I see them roaming the streets in droves. I don't know why they don't notice me- perhaps I am as they are to most people. I can get their attention but it takes a little coaxing of my hand alone does not stir the beasts.

Once I saw a little girl flash in the middle of The Vile- then another night- I call her Vile Maiden. Any time somebody walks among The Vile and is not immediately ripped from stem to stern I assume they are with The Vile. This little girl is the only person I have seen walk the streets and before I have a chance to catch her- The Vile along with her disappear and the clock begins to pass time normally... with a single stroke of one.

One hour they stay- and in that time I have won many battles...and lost many souls. I feel it is a losing war. Perhaps it is... or perhaps i'm haunted by the demons of the past, Knights- Kings- Bishops- and so on to the future of soldiers, privates, and parliament. I cannot think of any better fitting end for those obsessed with war.

I finish my tea as the dark ones appear... I see a little girl and I hold out my hand a tiny gemstone clutched within. I say a prayer and The Vile disappears. The little girl takes one glance at me and runs in fear of me. I wonder what a child like her would be doing in the streets after dark. Then I saw her face... It was her- the child that haunts the streets with The Vial... I take chase but then end my dash with a compleat stop of a stone wall blocking my path. She was nowhere to be found.... It was a Dead End.

"She got away"

The next day I see Rumi- a lad not so much strapping as he is resourceful. He stood only 139.7cm tall even though he was almost as old as my lost son would be.... I remember the day I first saw The Vial. They took him away from me and ever since that day I vowed to eradicate them. My son- he would have been twenty two this year. This day in fact.

Rumi had been a gopher for me for the past year now getting every little thing I requested of him. He went for this- he went for that he obtained artifacts from people when I could not attend myself. He was a trustworthy person; albeit a little bit hyper.

My days were spent with less excitement- I am a trader by day. I trade priceless items to the highest bidder and I provide information about artifacts that I have seen or heard of in my travels. Most of the time I stay in this little town but The Vial lurk everywhere so it does not ache my heart to leave the people here alone. Most people at this time would lock their doors and seal the windows after midnight- Old men would say tis' bewitching hours and no man should venture out. I however belay that warning in a confirmation to the darkness that I will not be taken by those 'witches'.

Rumi gave me the ticket from Mr. Valentine- that man had more money than he knew what to do with- so often he would send me to procure the gaudiest of items from every corner of the old Roman Empire. He called his collection "Renaissance Reborn"- I called his collection "The Pornographic Library"; of pictures, statues, and the rare clock or two with more than it's share of sinfulness.

Mr. Valentine was a collector of anything nude.... I do believe he was an utter lush but since the price was right who was I to complain? I am after all a well to do man about town with no permanent address to my name but fortunately he keeps my mail for me as well. I do think our arrangements are supplemental to my needs. Sometimes I go as far as Japan- the land of the Rising Sun as the natives call it to fetch tapestries and silk depicting Samurai and his house boy helping his master release his frustrations. However to say that Master Valentine were a pervert would be an insult to perverts. (At least perverts have the decency to keep it secret.)

I take the ticket from Rumi holding the latest request for the Pornographic Library; as well as a envelope stating that the agreed amount had been transferred to my account in London. The request was simple- an Eros Statue in Sicily. Only thing tackier than this man's taste was his home... I swear I cannot sleep there. I just retrieve my mail or send Rumi. It is most unattractive. I would take a knife from the table and slit his eyeballs so he did not have to see such things but his life was hard enough without having to trip over his shoelaces.

I would say my goodbyes and make way to Sicily by boat. An obvious choice considering the trip was just as long by land with all the rebuilding going on and the fact I would have to board a boat anyway was just a hassle. I decide to make my way to Bristol via Train across the English Countryside and catch the next steamship headed for the Mediterranean.

I sat that night on my train crossing the quiet communities that dotted the queen's island; each town more different than the last. I sat in my seat as nicely dressed ladies and gentlemen walked down the aisles... it was drawing close to evening again. It would be dark before I arrived in Bristol. It would be night time by the time I boarded the liner. I would look out the window of my car and see every last person thinking what they see at night... What dark creatures haunt them?

The trip was uneventful as I boarded the RMS Meriwether- a fine steamship of the Queen's fleet. The ship was built sturdy- not like that giant whale of a ship now at the bottom of the ocean; The RMS Titanic. It was named aptly- not only for its legacy but for its size... I saw it the day they launched her... Glad I didn't have the money to afford to cross on board first class. (I don't ride in less than first class.) I would have gone down with that Titanic Failure of technology.

Meriwether was loading her cargo and every man, woman, and child she could now legally hold. I found my way to my stateroom where the alcohol was on tap and the ice was free. I wasn't much for conversing or sitting at the captain’s table- although I’ve been invited a few times by female callers. All of which (and I blame Valentine) I was not interested in. You see I haven't any interest in the activities... not my cup of hot English tea I’m afraid. You see I have an abundance of sexual visualizations.... my mind needn't ask for more.

I wait in my room till night and we are cruising at our maximum speed for spring months down the side of the French coastline... (Lovely beaches you should visit sometime.) The darkness floods over the ship... yes- even this place is not immune to The Vial... though few in number you now know why