Dusk: A Re-Imagining of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (The Frankenstein Saga Book 2) Read online

  “Keep your mind focused, girl,” the old woman chided me. “Won’t do us any good if your horse throws you, then gallops off.”

  My tongue still hurt from when I had bitten it earlier and from time to time blood pooled in my mouth. I spit to the side, a trail of blood and saliva staining the melting snow.

  “These sangsue you spoke of, do they only come out at night?” I asked.

  She ran a wary gaze across the terrain ahead of us. “No,” she said and the simple answer hit me like a blow.

  “So they could appear at any moment?”

  She shook her head, an expression on her face as if she’d gotten stuck with a schoolgirl who hadn’t learned her lessons for the day. “The storm and the clouds have given us a false night, but the sun still reigns. Even though we can’t see it, they can feel it. One or two of them might be bold or foolish enough to try and attack—but they would be weak and easy to overpower.”

  I thought of the man-beast I’d seen in the woods last night and his vile handiwork—a scattered wreckage of wild dogs. If that was evidence of the sangsue at their peak of strength, it was more like that of a god than a man. Their weakness seemed like it would be more than I could best.

  My fingers ran nervously over the rifle slung over my shoulder, again and again, while I subconsciously spewed another mouthful of blood into the wind. “What is the blood sickness you mentioned earlier?”

  “It would be best to keep your thoughts on the road.”

  We must have been getting closer to the villa, for my horse broke into a canter, setting a pace for the other horse as well. I thought I heard something behind us, a rustling of the brush, almost like a surge of wind through the trees. Meanwhile, the fog began to creep into the vale, rolling across the road from the lake to the forest, until it surrounded us, high as the horses’ necks. It felt like we were wading through a milky swamp, unable to see what was in front of us. My horse became skittish and hard to control, so I needed both hands on the reins.

  “Steady, boy. We’re almost home,” I said, forcing my voice to stay soft and soothing when I really wanted to tell him to hurry. Again, I thought I heard a noise—a whispering of grass to my right. “Did you hear that?” I asked the old woman.

  “Pick up your pace!” she ordered as she slapped her reins. Her horse instantly sped up, like it was in a race.

  I tried the same, but my horse whinnied in fear, trotting a few paces, then halting, trotting, then halting. Each movement became more erratic until the beast no longer responded to my commands. I glanced behind me and saw five shadowy figures coming towards me from a nearby grove, all of them looking like that man-beast with glowing eyes and gaping mouths, claw-like hands reaching out.

  For a second I froze, unable to move, the reins slipping from my fingers.

  Then I leaned forward and spoke in the horse’s ear, “Go home, boy. Now!”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and he bolted forward, for the wind had cleared a path before us and we could see the villa and the stable on a nearby hillside. He galloped, off the road and straight up the incline, as if he knew every rock and gulley here by heart. His hooves struck the ground, a fierce drumbeat that mimicked the rhythm of my heart, up and up we went, climbing a steep ridge until finally it leveled out. All the while, I kept flashing on those wolves, ripped to pieces, and I hoped the creatures behind us wouldn’t be able to catch up.

  We’d never survive if they did. Whether the sun was out or not.

  I still didn’t know where these creatures drew their supernatural strength or even what they were, but I knew that my life—and, perhaps, even my immortal soul—were in danger.

  So, I leaned into my horse, arms about his neck, knees tucked up, all of me curling as far as I could from the monsters that were after us.

  Three

  I don’t know what I expected, but the villa was dark as we approached. There were no lights anywhere. Tendrils of fog swirled through the English garden, around struggling blossoms of rose, lavender, and aloe. Most of the snow had melted here, revealing patches of dark earth and brown grass, and leaving puddles of muddy water behind. For the first time, the tile roof looked as red as blood and that astonished me, for it stood out like the only color in a landscape of faded browns and grays. One last thin beam of sunlight glinted off the roof, as if guiding us toward the only safety in a world of despair.

  Normally, I would have ridden toward the stable, left my horse there and then raced toward the house.

  But as the fog cleared, I realized an entire horde of sangsue were upon me.

  At least five had followed me up from the road, though they were still climbing the hill, and now four more were running toward me from the other side of the villa, as if they had been waiting for me. I wondered if the King of the sangsue was among them and if he was the creature who had tried to enchant me last night.

  What powers did these things have?

  I refused to look upon any of them, in case they could charm me with their glowing eyes and make me forget my resolve. The old woman and her horse were nowhere in sight and I hoped they had already made it to the stable. Without her help, all would be lost.

  A growl and a snarl to my left brought me back to attention.

  I pulled myself up in the saddle, grabbed my rifle and aimed, focusing on the nearest monster and firing at it. My bullet struck the creature neat in the heart, a shot I’d made scores of times when hunting, a blow that should have driven the beast to the ground and left it dead. The shock of the blast nearly toppled me from the horse, for I had not properly braced myself, and when I regained control of the horse, I looked back at my prey. I expected to see it face down, a bloody pulp where my bullet had ripped it through the chest.

  There was a hole in the beast’s chest. I had struck it.

  But it hadn’t even slowed the creature down.

  I managed to grab the reins and, with a firm hand and a shout, I guided the horse away from his true course—the stable. I’d never make it to the villa, if we went there first. I wasn’t sure if we would make it no matter what we did, at this point.

  I steered the horse toward the portico. We raced closer and closer to the house until we were between the columns and clumping across the low porch. I was just about to climb off the horse and open the door, when it swung open before me. I crouched low and both of us managed to squeeze inside, just missing the lintel. The horse tried to stop, crashing into a small table and knocking it over, breaking a vase and a few trinkets, crunching one of them beneath his front hooves.

  “Good boy,” I said, pulling him to a halt. We slid several more feet, tangling over a Turkish rug and finally colliding with a bookcase, leather-bound volumes tumbling down upon me. I covered my head until the rain of books ceased. Then, finally, I climbed off the horse and turned around to see the old woman behind me, closing and locking the front door.

  “We must secure all the doors and windows,” she said.

  “Remember, my fiancé Percy is infected,” I said. “He could be anywhere in the villa. We should stay together.”

  “Oui,” she replied with a short answer. “Lead the way.”

  First, I secured the horse, tethering him to the table in the dining room, then I started to light an oil lamp, but the old woman stilled my hand.

  “We can’t let them know where we are. Not yet.”

  I nodded, pausing only long enough to reload my rifle.

  We moved through the downstairs rooms, as quickly and quietly as possible, first making sure all the doors to outside were bolted. Then we tackled the windows, one by one, closing the shutters and latching the windows. It began to grow dark as we traveled from one room to the next, until finally we couldn’t see at all.

  “Light the lamps now,” she said, then she paused. “My name is Hannah.”

  I told her my name, wincing slightly when I lingered upon my surname, Wollstonecraft Godwin. I had been planning to change it to Shelley for so long but now I feared that it would
never happen. Despite the problems Percy and I been having, and they were many, I still didn’t want to lose him.

  Within half an hour, Hannah and I had all the downstairs doors and windows locked. We decided to check in on Claire before heading upstairs. I pulled the key from the chain around my neck, turned the knob and together we entered the parlor. The fire had burned down to embers, but the room was still cozy and warm compared to outside. I had forgotten how cold and wet I was until now. I paused to shiver before the fire, staring down at Claire, now sleeping on the settee, blankets pulled up to her chin. The biscuits and jam were half-eaten, but I ignored those. Instead, I lifted the flask of watered-down wine to my lips, taking a long swallow, then offering it to Hannah. She took a drink before kneeling beside my stepsister.

  With a gentle hand, she pulled the blanket back.

  I thought she would examine Claire’s belly and check on the progress of her labor. Instead, she unfastened the neck of my stepsister’s nightgown, carefully peeling the fabric back and lifting the oil lamp up so she could see clearly.

  “We are in time,” she said with a sigh. “Your Percy has not touched her.”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant, but I was glad Claire was unharmed.

  “We should let her rest and continue checking the house,” Hannah said.

  We had to take an oil lamp with us when we went upstairs. Every corner and doorway loomed, black and full of danger. At her side, Hannah carried an iron hook—the inner edge of which was a strange white blade—while around her neck she wore a string of ivory beads. She paused long enough to run rough fingers over the cross I wore, and then nodded. “You’re safe, girl. Your ancestors have been protecting you,” she said. I couldn’t help wondering what other folk magic tokens she carried in her homespun bag.

  My hand trailed the banister as we passed the landing, making our way upstairs. This part of the house was completely silent, the only sounds the wind outside and the occasional hooting of an owl.

  If those sangsue who had chased me were still nearby, they were as quiet as the villa itself. I longed to stand before one of the windows and stare outside, figuring out where the creatures were and what they were doing. None of this felt real now that I had returned and discovered Claire was safe. Could I have imagined that I was being chased?

  The old woman held a finger to her lips as we headed down the hallway.

  Somehow, we both knew that the first room we had to check was Percy’s. I pointed toward it as we moved, her long skirts brushing the floor, my boots treading softly. Normally the doors to our bedrooms would be standing open, fires already lit by the servants, an oil lamp beside our beds. Two or three lamps would be lit in the hallway, as well, then later turned down by the servants after we had all gone to bed.

  We were so used to being cared for, from cradle to grave. Our lifestyles seemed to demand it. Percy, with his new way of thinking, Byron, with his hedonistic tendencies, and Claire, with her eagerness to try on every man she met like a new hat. I wasn’t sure where I fit in with this group, though I secretly longed to follow in my mother’s footsteps. She had died when I was only eleven days old, but her book—The Vindication of the Rights of Woman—had made a great impact on me. I wanted to be a modern woman with a formal education and accomplishments of my own. Byron often told me I was brilliant and Percy claimed to admire my intelligence, but what was I supposed to do with those talents?

  We passed my room first and I wondered if Percy could be in there, hiding like a boogeyman beneath the bed. The idea of him reaching out and latching onto my ankle when I was undressing made me stop and tighten my grip on the rifle. Aim for the head, right between the eyes. That was what Hannah had said. She claimed that a bullet wouldn’t kill a sangsue, but it would stun the creature long enough for her to cut off its head with her scythe-like hook.

  But I didn’t want to kill Percy.

  The portraits we passed all seemed to be staring at me in disapproval, their brows lowered, smiles erased.

  The closer we got to Percy’s room, the more the hallway took on a wild appearance, the carpeting twisted, paintings hanging crooked on the wall. One of the lamps on the wall was broken, a pool of oil on the floor below it.

  Percy’s doorway hung ajar and a fathomless darkness yawned within.

  One hand flew to my mouth and I stifled a cry. “He’s gotten out,” I whispered as we continued to move nearer. Hannah nodded her head, then held one finger to her lips, silencing me. She set our lamp on the floor just outside his room, then she clutched her scythe with both hands, pushing the door open with her foot. Light flooded the room like a lighthouse beacon, sweeping across the floor as the door widened, revealing much. But not all.

  I followed her into the room, my rifle drawn and cocked, my hand more steady than my feet, for my legs felt weak. I kept remembering Percy’s strange behavior the last time I’d spoken to him, the way he had pretended to be John, impersonating his voice, and the eerie sound of something being dragged across the floor. Did John have hydrophobia too? He could have been accidentally bitten by the wolf when he was putting its head in the cart last night, one brush of its teeth against his skin might have been enough. But why had he been so quiet when I was outside the door that second time? He hadn’t said a word.

  The room looked empty, although Percy’s things were out of place. Normally everything in his room was exactly where it should have been—he was fastidious to a fault at times, even placing his quill in exactly the same position every time he stopped writing. Now several books lay on the floor, a small table had been overturned, and the wardrobe door hung ajar. It wasn’t until we were fully in the room—me, with a strong chill seeping into my bones and Hannah, with a grim determination on her face—that I realized an occasional muffled sound came from the far side of the bed.

  “Do you hear that?” I asked Hannah, breaking our silence.

  “Oui.”

  I probably should have let her go first, since she knew what sort of battle this truly was and had come armed for it, but I couldn’t wait. I pushed past her, swinging around the side of the bed, trying to see where only darkness reigned. The light from our lamp didn’t reach back here and I instantly regretted our decision to leave it behind. I pressed forward until my left foot struck something and a muffled cry followed.

  “Quick! Bring the lantern,” I told Hannah. She did so, but with great reluctance. A few moments later, the light bobbing with every step, she grew close enough for both of us to see what lay on the floor.

  It was John, bound and gagged by long jagged strips of bedding, his eyes blinking in the light and blood on his forehead.

  “Careful, girl! Don’t set him free just yet,” Hannah cautioned as I knelt beside him, ready to cut his bonds. “We must check for bites first.”

  She pushed me aside and unfastened the buttons of his shirt, peeling back the fabric to examine his neck and chest. His dark eyes remained fixed upon mine throughout the ordeal and I had a hard time not watching as the flickering light revealed sun-darkened skin and muscles that rippled across his broad chest and arms. A deep blush crept up my shoulders and neck, finally settling on my cheeks. I couldn’t help thinking about the last time he and I had been alone, our indiscretion that now burned like a hot iron in my chest.

  My knees grew weak as I realized this could very well end badly for all of us.

  “Where is Percy?” I asked John, even though a gag still bound his mouth. He tried to speak. I knelt beside him, tugging the thick cord of fabric from between his teeth. He worked his jaws a moment or two, and Hannah glared at me, probably angry because she wasn’t finished examining him yet.

  “Keep away from his face,” she warned as she prodded him to sit up so she could check his back for marks.

  He faced me now, me on my knees, him sitting on the floor, his hands tied behind him, his legs wrapped in a long strips of linen like an Egyptian mummy. He was completely helpless, yet a quiet anger raged inside him, so strong I could alm
ost feel it, bursting out from his chest to mine.

  “I don’t know where he is,” John said, remorse in his words. “It’s my fault. I should have bound him as soon as we got in the house. I wanted to give him a sleeping potion, to get him quiet and safe before I tied him up. But I was foolish to think I could control him...”

  Hannah began to cut through John’s bindings and I expected him to burst forth, leaping to his feet, for the emotions within him seemed so strong. Instead, he slumped forward, head sinking to his chest as if overtaken by immeasurable sorrow.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Almost as soon as you were out of the room, he changed,” he answered, lifting his head to stare into my eyes. “It was as if part of him didn’t want you to see his transformation, for it had already begun. His skin felt like ice, his muscles were suddenly stronger than ever before, and his eyes took on a strange color, no longer brown but now amber, reflecting the light from the nearby window—”

  Hannah nodded, her lips pressing into a firm resolute line. She was making some decision and I didn’t like it.

  “He’s not one of those creatures,” I interrupted. “He can’t be.”

  “Creatures?” he asked, glancing first at me, then at Hannah. “There’s more than one of them here?”

  “Oui,” she answered. “There are more than we can count. This unending winter has driven them into the valleys to feed.” Her words settled like coal dust in the room, heavy and thick and poisonous.

  “Feed on what?”

  “Blood,” she answered.

  I didn’t want to hear more of her stories about demons and their blood sickness. I wanted to ask what had happened to Percy and how John ended up tied and bound, when I realized there was something going on outside on the front lawn. It sounded like the low moaning of the wind at first, then gave way to unearthly sounds—a multitude of voices laughing and crying and howling, almost like dogs.