The Spiders' Tale

9. What Smell?

All was silent as Dragomir laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. All he could hear were occasional creaks of the old house, and the faint heartbeats and soft breathing of those who slept in the surrounding rooms.

He couldn’t sleep. The shadows of the night appeared to him as faces and visions. The more he stared, the more he saw. What was once the decorative cap of the pole which held the bed curtains slowly morphed to the shape of a human heart. What was once an intricate, non-objective design on the door was now an abstract picture of Marius, standing over the lifeless body of a woman. The doorknob and the shadow beneath appeared as her severed head.

Bence’s hunting party wouldn’t be able to defeat Marius unscathed. Even with his and Dr. Winston’s help, there would be more casualties and deaths than he could bear. What, then, could he do to ensure they would all come out alive?

A solution presented itself more than once. He’d been pondering it ever since he heard of Mr. VanDer’s plan to destroy the monster, but it was too painful to consider for more than a few seconds. There had to be something else. He needed to come up with another plan. But no matter how long nor how hard he thought, there still was nothing for him to do. Nothing, save the one thing he never wanted to do.

He closed his eyes and cleared the terrible visions from his mind. A moment after reopening them, he took a breath, sat up, and lit the delicate tin lantern on the nightstand. He had to close his eyes again before he became accustomed to the light of the little flame. Squinting, he held the lantern and stood.

The floorboards creaked under his bare feet as he crept quietly out of his room. He felt like a ghost gliding in the silver moonlight. The curtains gently lifted at a subtle midnight breeze. In the soft glow of the candle in the lantern, he sluggishly closed the door behind him and turned for the foyer.

“Are you sleepwalking?”

Dragomir looked over his shoulder and found Mariana standing in the kitchen, her hair cascading over her shoulders in wavy snake-like clumps. She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, just as her mother had done, and took a sip of water from her glass.

“I’m not asleep,” he weakly answered.

“Where are you going, then? It’s bedtime.”

“Home. I need to pick up a few things and then I’ll be back.”

She frowned. “You can’t do that tomorrow, Mr. Dodrescu?”

He took some steps to her, laughing while his heart cried. “No, I cannot, Mari. This is urgent.”

“Oh. And you’ll come right back?” The little girl sipped more water.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took her in a hug and murmured, “I’ll come right back.”

After kissing his cheek she murmured, “You better.”

Before she could see the whites of his eyes turn pink, Dragomir stood and turned away for the foyer. “Now go to sleep.” As he stepped down the corridor he heard the soft clink of glass and knew she’d placed the cup in the sink. By the time she made it to the staircase, he had approached the front door, slipped on his boots, and stepped outside.

The shocking, biting chill of the autumn night felt like ice on his stony face. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but invigorating. Fully awakened and on trembling limbs he strode his way down the hill. Despite the untimely hour there were still houses with their lights on. He noticed the solemn stare of Wallace Dodds through his window, apparent suspicion in his eyes. Dragomir knew how strange his actions were. To be about business at the dead of night was unusual, but he didn’t care. It wouldn’t matter for long.

There ahead was the Dodrescu house, standing short and lone amidst the tall dark trees. He could barely make it out in the faraway light of the Dodds home across the street. All he saw was the outline of the stone walls and the paneled roof. The closer he got, the more apparent the stench grew. The sweet, gut-churning stink of death. Was his father’s body so disturbing, nobody would dare move it, if only to dispose of the smell?

He wouldn’t let himself pause, but continued on, the moonlight unveiling more of the house with every step he took. Avoiding the door, he crossed around to the side and up to his bedroom window, not caring for the plants he stepped on to get there.

Intending to pull the window open from the outside, he stuck his fingers in the middle crack. The glass broke around his digits and the lock fell away. The window was ruined. But it didn’t matter - so long as he was able to climb through. Heart in his throat, he pulled open the hinges, pushed down on the windowsill, and thus lifted himself inside.

The smell was overbearing now. Something in his gut turned and he had to keep from retching. The door to the kitchen was straight ahead. Shaking, he turned away and found his dresser with the vase on top and the rose within. Taking a few deep breaths through his mouth, he plucked up the flower and snatched the ring beside it, wasting no time in climbing back out the window. He heard a heart beating nearby and low, raspy breathing from behind him. Curious, Dragomir slowly eased himself down from the windowsill.

There was a soft click of metal.

“Don’t move,” grumbled the voice. “We don’t tolerate thieves here.”

Dragomir raised his hands up. “Mr. Christian?”

“Oh!” The boy turned around and witnessed the old man lower his gun. “Dragomir. It’s you.” With a sheepish laugh he explained, “I thought you were a thief. What...what are you breaking into your own house for?”

The boy stepped from the wall and dropped the ring into his pocket. “I...I couldn’t get in through the front.”

“You couldn’t? Or...” The old man paused a moment, understanding washing over his face. “Oh. You wouldn’t.” He sighed. “We’ll bury him in the morning, if you like. I reckon Wallace would help - a butcher’s son would stomach the job well, wouldn’t he?”

“I suppose,” Dragomir muttered, inspecting a thorn on the rose in his grasp. “Can you not smell it from your house, though?” When Mr. Christian’s head tilted back in inquiry, the boy answered the unvoiced question. “Death.”

The old man frowned and shook his head. “I can’t smell anything.” It was silent for a moment as both tried to think of what more to say. When he remembered Mr. Christian’s question the boy said, “I came here to collect a few things. The ring I bought from you. This rose.” He lifted the flower for emphasis.

Mr. Christian nodded. “So I see.”

After another moment, he added, “Thank you, again. For the generous discount.”

The old man offered a weak grin. “It was nothing.”

Trying his best to breathe through his mouth and not his nose, Dragomir inquired, “And what of you? What are you doing, up and about in the middle of the night?”

The man’s gaze lowered to the ground. “Cleaning up. Putting away what’s left of my stand. With all that’s happened today, the All Hollows Eve festival has been more or less forgotten. Bence was rounding us up to hunt the monster; didn’t give us much time to close up shop in the daytime hours. So here I am,” he said, laughing without humor.

Both were silent as Dragomir stared straight ahead and Mr. Christian tried to think of what next to say.

The old man finally decided. “Well. I’ll see you later.”

Dragomir nodded and the two went their separate ways.