The Maiden

Beware the lady in the fog...

 

 

The only thing in London, richer than the Royal Family, is the poor man’s imagination that gets caught along the bank of the Thames on a cold, foggy night.  Among the thick bank of impenetrable, sensory depriving fog that rolls in on top of tepid, muddied waters like a creeping ghost, he’ll swear she’s there; a lovely maiden, with the fairest of hair.  Like a whisper, she’ll pass by him trailing her hand across his face.  Her caress will dance deliciously across his skin, lingering like spider silk.  With the heat of a thousand fires her eyes will bore right to his soul, colorless, yet bright as the sun.  Under her gaze his heart will start to burn from the inside out…changing.

 Her volition will imprint upon his, until the point of no return.  The desire to kiss her will be overwhelming!  But if he’s smart he won’t dare.  Though, the cost of rejecting The Maiden would be great.  She’s been known to drive men insane!  Then again, Lord and Country know if he’s seeing her, he’s already standing in his grave.  The story claims, The Maiden always gets what she wants.

Our mum’s warned us, when we were young and warm in our beds, “beware The Maiden, she’s the most fearsome of beasts.  If you’re unfortunate enough to see this beautiful demon, you’re better off dead.”

Henry never believed in such drivel.  It was nonsense mum’s told their sons to keep them close to their own bosoms.  Demons and beasts were products of over imaginations and other human machinations.  Things that could be dispelled with holy water and prayer couldn’t possibly be real.  He never cared when things went bump in the night.  You could lock him in a dark cellar and he wouldn’t pay no never mind.  Scary things simply didn’t give him a fright.  It was as if he were immune to all the stories his mum tried to warn him about.  Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so cavalier.  Perhaps he should have lingered a little longer in childhood where stories aren’t just stories.  Perhaps he should have taken the time to care.  But boys, will be boys.

#

Henry has found that people are quick to call London, the birthplace of dreams.  But, he’s never had any dreams, only nightmares.  He’s spent countless hours wandering these bland, gray streets looking for something to inspire him, but everything he touches leaves him feeling dull and empty inside.  In the eyes of society and his peers, he’s been unofficially labeled a tragic and hopeless case.  His only saving grace is that he hasn’t been nabbed by Scotland Yard and thrown in gaol, yet.  Lord knows he’s committed enough petty crime to fit the bill.  It’s just that none of his victims - if you insist on using that vile word - are willing to press charges.  See, all of his crimes have been committed against women.  He fancies rich women.  He swoons them, boost their self esteem �" which is usually seriously lacking �" and then, swindles them out of all their money, because he needs it more, or so he tells himself.  Really, it’s a mutually beneficially relationship.  Or, if we are maintaining honesty, his friend Wilfred likes to tell him, the correct title of his occupation is man-w***e.   Having been born with an indelible amount of charm, Henry is able to talk his way into any wallet and out of any trouble.  It’s an envious skill.  But he is vicious, cold and calculating.  Why, you ask.  Because he has to be.

Growing up on the streets, without a penny to your name, tends to make your heart cold.  The world doesn’t care about you, nor you it.  After watching his mum die in his arms from a fever, Henry swore that he’d make something of himself, though he didn’t have a clue how.  He was fascinated by the women in the shadows, whoring themselves out.  Love for money.  They always brought in enough coin to feed themselves and their children.  It couldn’t be that bad.  Lie with a warm body for a while and get paid for it.  So one day he followed one of them to her Madam.  Oh, she laughed at the scrawny boy at first, told me to run home to his mum.  But he stood his ground and said he’d no home to run to, so the Madam took pity on him.  Once she trained him in the arts, he made the Madam a lot of money.  Women were apparently inclined to pay almost anything for a sweet young thing.  And so with the Madams guidance, he began a life of seductive crime.  Though it was callous and demanding he could never regret it.  When the fever claimed the Madam too, he had the skills and the freedom to make his own way.

It’s not a glorious story.  It’s definitely not a story that you would tell the mum of the woman you want to marry.  In fact he has to lie to Mary’s parents.  They think he’s a writer and that he spends his days holed up in various locations for inspiration.  The lies are part of why he’s yet to ask for her hand in marriage.  Mary’s the only good thing that’s ever happened to him.  And yet, if he keeps up with their hot and cold banter he’s sure to lose her too. 

So he constantly wonders, how many lies can I tell before they discover the truth?  How many more stolen moments’s can I enjoy before my world comes crashing down?

#

The day was freezing.  Rain was pouring down sideways.  But Henry’s cold heart actually started to beat.  The second could have been plucked right from the pages of any Edgar Allan Poe Story.  The scene was miserable, dreary, right to the last fat drop of water, falling from the contemptuous gray sky above.  Until he looked up that is. 

His heart beat faster, almost skipping in anticipating.  Standing across Oxford street, on the opposite side walk, was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.  Trailing behind her in the wind was the fairest hair.   She had eyes that looked as if they could hold the sunset.  And her lips were as red as fresh picked cherries.  When her eyes met his, he burned.

 He couldn’t tell you how long he starred into the abyss of her eyes, but he could have starred at her all day.  A portly gentleman lost his balance though, bowling into Henry tearing his gaze from hers.  In that instant it felt like all the life had been sucked out of the world.  By the time he looked back up, she was gone.  He ran through the crowded street searching for this stranger, but he couldn’t find her.  And yet, every time he closed my eyes, there she was.  The image of her had been singed into the back of his mind.

As he sloshed through the rain back to his flat all he could think about was this woman.  Who could she be?  Everything about this stunning vision fascinated him.

#                        

The next morning upon rising Henry felt vaguely guilty that he hadn’t rung Mary.  But he had the worst stomach ache and his head was pounding.  It was as if he had a hangover, only he didn’t remember drinking.

Shaking his bodies nagging discomfort, memories from Oxford Street began to surface: blond oblivion, cherry lips and fiery eyes.  Yes, he remembered all that, who could forget.  But what happened after that?  He had a black spot in the rest of my day.  How odd.  He must have been slipped something by a client.

Trying to shake it off and act like a normal human being, Henry grabbed a cup of tea from the local shop and met his best friend Wilfred, in Hyde Park.  As soon as Wilfred saw him, he could tell something had changed.  But he didn’t say anything.  They sat on a park bench watching random passersby’s drinking our caffeine until Henry couldn’t hold it in any more.  “I saw the most amazing woman yesterday.  She was stunning.  I’m telling you Wilfred this woman saw me.  She looked right at me.  And when she did it was as if my whole body was on fire.  She was the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen in my entire life.  I have to know who she was.”

Laughing in good nature Wilfred offered, “Sure she did mate.  And I’m the next King of England.  You want my opinion?  You’re better off forgetting this imaginary friend a yours.  Settle down with Mary whilst you still can.  She won’t let you string her along forever you know.  That woman has a massive thing for you.  Lord knows why, you toss pot.”

“It’s because I’m quite charming, thank you.  Just ask any of the ladies I’ve swindled for money in the past.”

“And that right there Henry, old chap, is why you are a toss pot.”

The two friends laughed. 

Sobering a little Henry confessed, “Wilfred, Mary is quite lovely.  And I know that despite my flaws she would give me her heart.  But, what kind of man would she be giving her heart to?  I’ve no money.  No job that I’m proud of.  I mean, it’s not like I can tell her mum I’m a man-w***e.  I’ve no suitable home.  And no name.  I’m one step up from a beggar and a thief.  Who am I kidding?  Even this fair haired creature would be seduced by a lie.  They all are!”

Wilfred didn’t know what to say, at first.  He’d never seen Henry doubt himself.  “Henry, any woman whose worthy of my best mate, would be able to see that you’ve got It.  The unattainable It, that most men spend their whole lives trying to get.  But you, you were just born with it.  So stop being such a blimey git already.”

Considerable cheered by Wilfred’s slap on the back Henry joked, “If I didn’t know you better Wilfred I’d think you just gave me a compliment.”

“Ughh.  Come now, don’t let it go to your head mate.”

Finishing his tea and listening to his friend talk about everyday things; Henry was momentary drawn back to life.  But across the riverbank something familiar caught his eye, flowing and golden, dancing just out of sight.  By the time he turned to see her, she was gone.  A burning sensation flicked against his heart, hot and demanding.  But finding only absence, he was left standing on the river bank cold and alone, wondering if she was even real.

#

The afternoon was cold and gray.  The dark clouds reflected his ominous mood. Whilst running his errands he tried not to think about the woman he’d seen or rather hadn’t seen.  Instead he focused on what his friend had said.  If he was honest with himself, Wilfred had been right.  It was time to relinquish his childish antics and embrace a life more suitable to a gentleman.  Mary was the perfect choice for a bride.  She was smart, charming and witty.  And she’d been chasing after him since they were children.  There was no denying how beautiful she was, other girls always paled in comparison.  She had hair as brown as nutrient rich soil.  Skin the color of sweet milk, eyes as gray as a rainy London day, and lips as pink as barely ripe strawberries.  Yes, Mary was quiet stunning.  So what kept him from claiming her?

So lost in his own mind he didn’t pay attention to the traffic around him.  About to step into the middle of a busy street he felt a soft and delicate hand fall onto his shoulder restraining him.

“I’m so sorry Sir for my bold address.  Please forgive me.”

Stunned to see the woman from Oxford Street standing before him he uttered the only word that would escape his lips, “You?”

“Yes Sir.  If it pleases.”

Her voice was so gentle and soft, it touched his ears as if it was a whisper sent straight from Heaven.  “Where are my manners?  Thank you, sweet lady.  I fear you may have just saved my life!”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your musings Sir.  I just couldn’t let you wander into harms way.”

Gaping openly at her beauty Henry felt the familiar burn begin in his heart.  It was as if his body was coming alive under her command.  “Forgive me; I don’t know your name.”

When she smiled Henry thought he would die from the sheer beauty of it.  And yet he sensed something cold under her perfect veneer. 

“Henry, we’re old friends you and I.  Though I’m not surprised you don’t remember me.  It’s been a quiet a while.  But I must say, you’ve grown quiet nicely.”

“I’m sorry.  Speak plainly, please.  I insist.”

“If you insist.  Let us walk so as we have more privacy and I will answer all your questions.

As the two fell into step Henry felt the fir growing in his heart, it felt as if it was burning from the inside out.  A strange memory began tugging at the corners of his mind.

“Henry, you have a mark.”

Instinctively he reached to his upper left arm and cradled his birthmark.

“No Henry.  You can not see this mark.  The mark is mine.  I left it on you many years ago.  You were stranded along the Thames as the fog rolled in.  I don’t normally take children, but I saw something in you.  So I marked you and told you I would come back for you when you were grown.  Do you know who I am now?”

Henry’s mind kept tossing the story of the Maiden to the forefront of his mind but he could not recall the night she was talking about.  “You are claiming to be The Maiden, but I do not remember being stranded on the banks of the Thames.  Your story is implausible, however stunning you may be.  I’m sorry miss, I must get going.  I’ve a lady I’m going to propose to today.”

“That would be a mistake Henry.  The mark has been activated.  Your Turn has begun.  You will be mine.”

“I am sorry miss.”

“Isabelle.  My name is Isabelle.  You may as well know the name you will come to love.”

“Goodbye miss.”  Is what he said.  But in his head he was saying, Dear god Isabelle, what have you done to me!

#

The Turn, what could she have meant by the Turn?  Of course this woman wasn’t actually The Maiden.  She was just some crack pot who happened to be gorgeous.  There were gorgeous crazy people.  But his chest was aching as if something was eating him from the inside out.  And he was freezing cold.  And he would swear that his jaw was shifting to accommodate new teeth.  But all of this was impossible!  He had to pull it together.  He was to be picking Mary up for a stroll this evening.  The last thing he needed was for her chaperones to be thinking that he was mad. 

Meeting with Wilfred before hand to decompress, the two friends wandered through Piccadilly.  Feeling as if he were in the gutter looking up at the stars Henry couldn’t shake the burning heat stirring within his heart.  Searching the sea of faces around him one stood out like a goddess.

“Wilfred, that’s her!  That’s the woman!  Even though everything she said is mad, I can’t get her out my mind.  She walks like an angel, gliding across the frosty ground as if propelled by unseen wings.  Listen to her laughter, its deliciously glorious.  The sound is sweeter than a thousand church bells singing their praise to God.  To bask in the warmth of her smile would be…to be saved from the depths of Hell.  I know how crazy this sounds Will, but she is the one that God made just for me.”

Wilfred treated Henry with little more respect than a glass of spoiled milk. “Dearest Friend, you and I, we know each other well.  How is it that you can profess to a love as deep as the oceans when you know the woman not?  Henry, to love a woman such as this, surely you must know it takes more gumption, more spine and more fiendishness than someone like you is capable of.”

Henry couldn’t believe his ears.  His friends insult was lost on him.  “Wilfred, can it be true?  Does God show such mercy on my aching heart?  Do you know the love of my life?”

Wilfred considered his friend closely with pity in his heart, choosing his next words very, very, carefully.  “Aye, I do know her.  But before you get excited Henry, please hear me.  This angel of yours is a beast in disguise.  She will rip out your heart and feast on your eyes.  There is no grace to be found within the folds of her dress.  She is a demon, nothing less.”

Unable to contain the anger rippling under his skin Henry let Wilfred have a taste of the disappointment blaring within.  “Wilfred, I’ve known you since we were wee lads.  You of all chaps I thought I could always trust.  That I even have to ask, ‘Why would you betray me?’ - Over a woman no less.  You’ve left me feeling nothing for you but disgust.”

Sadly Henry turned and walked away.  

Wilfred yelled after him in dismay, “Trust me Friend!  She’s no woman.  When the beast tries to steal the humanity from within your veins you will grow to regret the first moment you saw her!  She’s a plague you can not escape!  If you choose this path you are doomed!  I’d pray for you, if I thought it would do any good.”

 

Quickly forgetting Wilfred, Henry turned on hot heels to find Isabelle but once again, she had vanished.  Feeling like he has ice water coursing through his veins, Henry started towards home.  His path took him by the local butcher shop.  As he passed by, the coppery mixture of blood and sweat wafted through the air making his gums hurt and his stomach ache.  He followed the scent inside, drawn to all the death.  He ordered the largest steak he could afford and rushed home, where he ate it raw.

            Maybe I am changing…

#

As soon as he picked up Mary, he wished he hadn’t.  His head was aching.  His body felt feverish.  And his mind kept thinking about Isabelle.  As he and Mary walked through the cool night air, he led her towards the river without knowing what he was doing.  It was as if someone else was animating his body.  As the night grew darker, the fog drifted in on the Thames.  Mary’s fear was palpable.  Right up until Henry suddenly found himself outside his body.  In that moment he could no longer feel, no longer see, nor smell.  It was as if he was dead.  The world was dark, black, and cold.

 But when he awoke…That smell…Oh God!  What is that smell?!  Rich coppery deliciousness encompassed him, saturating every single particle of air.  Drawing deep, heavy gulps into his lungs from the dark damp night, the fragrance became intoxicating.  It made him feel like a drunken school boy, heady with lust.

An icy wind drifted in from the Thames carrying the scent away from him.  As his head cleared he noticed his hands for the first time.  Covered in a sticky, sinewy substance they were the only part of him that was warm.  Lifting them near his face the delicious fragrance returned.  Lust, desire, and the most dangerous hunger burned throughout his frozen veins torturing what remained of his soul.  Licking his cold lips he pricked his tongue on jagged teeth.  Foreign blood mixed with his creating the most exotic elixir; one that threatened to unhinge his mind.  But before the madness could consume his heart the moon erupted through the clouds sending light cascading through the darkness.  Though he’s no shadow left to cast, there’s blood everywhere.  He’s standing in the middle of its bath.

Dear God, what have I done?

 “Mary?  Mary?  Answer me!  Where are you?”  Henry screams and screams until his throat is raw from the noise.  But his Mary stirs not.

It’s a voice sweeter than bells that finally whispers into his private hell, “Check your pocket.” 

Stiffening under the weight of the familiar sound Henry does as she say’s.  Tucked in the pocket of his jacket there is a tuft of brown hair with shards of skull still attached.  It can’t be hers.  Please dear God, don’t let it be hers.

 “Well if it’s not hers, then what poor lass did you kill dear Henry?  And better yet, where did your little miss Mary Quite Contrary go?”  The demon laughed maliciously.  “Oh.  Poor Henry.  I warned you, never to stray from me.”

Panic surges through him as he frantically searches to and fro for the innocent Mary.  Wilfred had been right.  He would live to regret the day he’d even seen this beast.

“Don’t be so ridiculous Henry.  I thought you of all men were smarter than this.  Now you’re just making me bored.”

“Bored?  You can’t be serious.  I’ve just woken up covered in blood.  NO.  Drenched in enough blood to drown a horse, Mary is missing.  Yet you conveniently show up, just to poke fun.  Forgive me if I’m not the gentleman you’ve come to know.  But these changes you’ve inspired within me leave me lacking grace at the present moment.  If you’ve nothing constructive to say please be on your way.  I must find Mary.”

“Henry.  Finally a little bit of spine.  How delicious.  Maybe you’ve earned those fangs of yours after all.”

“What did you say?”

“Oh dear me.  You really didn’t know.”

“Speak plain beast or don’t speak at all.  My patience are wearing thin.”

“You’re shadows become detached.  You’re touch is colder than ice.  Children have started to run from you because you give them a fright.  Though you can walk in the day, you’ve begun to prefer the shades of night.  And those jagged teeth you cut your tongue on, they are sharper than any knife.

Shall I go on?”

Henry looked at her like she was mad.

“Trust me Henry, love.  I’m not the one who’s mad.  I can show you where Mary is, but deary, you’ve been very very bad.”

“Enough riddles Demon.  Take me to Mary.”  Consumed by denial he followed her in stride.

She led him to the waters edge, under the London Bridge.  The smell caught his attention before her words met his ears.  “Be careful what you wish for dear Henry.  I tried to warn you.”

“Don’t pretend you love me demon spawn.  God knows you are incapable!”

Indignant at his tone Isabelle responded like a wounded bird, “Henry, please don’t say that!  You know it isn’t true.”

Ignoring Isabelle and running towards Mary; Henrys moans filled the night.   His sorrow was the most wretched and heart breaking sound.  Gripping Mary to his chest he cried, “Dear God, this can not be true!  Who did this to her?  Why?  Not my Mary.  Never my Mary.  She would never hurt anyone.”  As he declared his denial the fog rolled in carrying the sweet smell of her blood in its icy claws.  The fragrance slapped him in the face reviving his memory.

“Oh sweet mother of God!  What have I done?”  He cursed while pushing himself away from her mutilated body.  “What have you done to me?”  He asked turning to Isabelle.

“Nothing you didn’t ask me for.  You were bored.  Trapped in an existence that was half lived.  You saw me and you came alive.  Now, we can do anything, be anything, and have anything. This is the ultimate power.  Henry darling, trust me, immortality is a life that suits you.  She was nothing but a fly in your porridge.  She would have withered away and died.  I just sped up the process and gave you something yummy in return.  I am the one God truly made for you.  You said so yourself.  In time you will see so again.  And that’s the wonderful thing about living forever…we have all the time in the world.”

As the fog swirled around Isabelle, Henry finally saw the truth.  She was the woman his mother had warned him about, the Maiden Beast.  But his mother had been wrong, Isabelle was no fable.  She was as real as any other monster that lurks under the bed.  And he’d be hers now, forever wishing he could be truly dead.

 

Author's Note

Experimental horror short. Would love feedback.

Reviews

[s y e]

O_O Spooooooky! Vampires, ghostie and ghoulies! Aaaaah! I loved it! This is exactly my kinda thing and I enjoyed reading it. You had me hooked from the beginning it, it was really captivating and it pulls the reader right in.

The description is amazing, it's literally like everything is happening right in front of me! The ending was awesome, I loved it!

Amazing job Kristin!

~ Noodle.