Whispers From the Dark

One More Time

Gore warning

Damp air touched his face, a soft caress awakening him. Jean Philippe Michel L'Parre struggled to raise rusty eyelids. As consciousness returned, so did memory.

She'd been there, in his lair under the lighthouse. Lying in wait for his return at sunrise. He remembered the surprise followed by the pain. Excruciating, burning pain. It immobilized him as she sealed the entry of his cavern. His final memory had been of black, dry silence.

His eyes adjusted to the dark as he slowly moved his weakened extremities. Arms lethargically drew his hands over his body. When they reached his unmoving chest, he grasped the rotting wood of the stake driven there.

He twisted the shaft free, the accompanying scream reverberating in the small space meant to be his tomb. The elder memory of pain blotted out by fresh agony.

He lie still, willing strength to return. Vengeance growing hotter as the burning wave of pain subsided. He threw the offensive wood, its clatter echoing more softly than his cry.

Hours passed before he became aware of the sound dripping water. Then the scuttling of tiny clawed feet. Here was the creature that had breached the seal, inviting the wood moldering wetness.

Curiosity drove the rat closer. L'Parre waited patiently as it sniffed and shuffled about his feet. When it moved within his reach, he snatched it with one emaciated hand. Not bothering to bring it to his fangs, he simply twisted its head off. He held the body over his open mouth, letting the crimson flow run down his throat.

When the blood no longer ran freely, he used both hands to wring the remaining rusty drops directly into the gaping hole in his chest.

He tossed the empty body the same direction as the stake. Then closed his eyes once more, resting, to let "nature" take its course, while he dreamed of the demise of Mademoiselle McClarren.