The
Resurrectionist
A Novel By
Jake E. Sampson
Prologue
William had once known a place that belonged to the devil, a desolate hole that drew in light, only to vanquish it. It was there that William first encountered fear, all-pervading, secular fear. The eyes of a beast and the smell of dreadful epithelium coated the sanctum, within William saw him; a man, tall and well suited.
“It’s not quite as simple as that William.” The tall man beamed, in a sanguine voice. “But, the gist of what you said so far has been relatively accurate.”
William’s confused stare, sweaty palms and heavy breathing served to arouse the figure. By all accounts William had not once spoken to the well-suited sneak. William’s expression changed dramatically as the sound of the door behind him closed shut, sealing him inside the dark hideaway.
“What could you possibly want with me?” William cowered.
“Oh, my dear William, there is always plenty to want in this world.”
“How could you know my name, and why did you think I had spoken to you?”
“Questions, dear, for another time. First I must ask you to surrender your watch.”
Looking, disconcertedly, at his small silver wristwatch, he unfastened it and threw it at the feet of the suited figure.
“There, I ask of you for only my freedom.”
“That, is not something I can grant.”
William, through all of the puzzlement, had yet to inspect the figure’s face. Though poorly lit, the left side flickered a shade of candlelight-orange. His eyes were a pale white, and his skin a crackled grey; the voice now bore a far more ominous tenor. The figure’s flesh resembled, not that of a man, but that of a saccharine blossom, this apprehension jolted William with repulsion.
“By God, what foul form of creature are you?”
The figure remained, ominous and ever glaring. “I am retribution, dear William, I am sacrifice, pain and woe; I hold the battered souls of a thousand hateful murderers and I endeavor to collect another.”
Retreating further still. “I have never taken a life, not once I say!”
“Though my eyes may be dull, I have foreseen it William. You are no more innocent than the monsters you hid from as a child.”
A surprisingly pleasant wave of recognition overcame William, he could remember it as if it were happening before him; the sound of the wind passing through the scarcely open door, and the shadows that pirouetted athwart his moonlit room; the spirits and ghouls that taunted him the creaking floorboards and horrifying whimpers. Though, at the time, William loathed the nights in his family home, the memories seemed somewhat bearable in light of his current predicament.
“You mean to kill me?” William shuddered.
“I mean to educate you.” The figure turned toward the candlelight, raising his rotten hand above the dwindling flame. “It is when one is afraid, that one learns best, wouldn’t you agree?”
William nodded, his skin crawling and the copious droplets of stress dripped forth onto his shirt. Had he known the impending doom, he would have likely remained silent.
“I do not fear you; no creature, with such horror and uncanny being, could possibly exist. I am in the midst of a dream, a conjuring of my darkest imagination.”
The figure smiled, a sickly smile. The smell of his carrion form became unbearable as the creature strode forth.
“You will learn to fear me, William. You will know true dread before my mission is complete.”
Once more the creature approached William, the smell more unwholesome than ever before. The beast stood not more than arms reach from William, his dull eyes hidden in the silhouetted form he had now taken. Without a moments pause, the candle’s abiding light extinguished; the room, now an unholy black, was absent upon William’s senses, save for the pungent smell of death that the beast had provided. It was in this ultimate darkness, that the beast spoke words that would haunt William until his dying breath.
“He that committeth sin is of the devil; for the devil sinneth from the beginning.”
Then, as if existence itself had ceased, there was nothing.
Though one could not see it, the sun had risen. The dawn shut out by the thick wooden slacks of Joseph’s cabin; he had boarded the windows long ago. Something within Joseph stirred, perhaps he had, somehow, known that dawn had approached. Slowly peeling one eye open he saw the musky interior of the cabin, the dust floating, searching for a place to land and the still flickering fire from the night before. Joseph breathed a lungful of stale-smokey air, coughing as he did so. Standing, his weary legs met the lightly carpeted floor, the thick furs caressing the souls of his feet. The wonders of the world beyond his cabin had been lost to Joseph for many years; though he woke everyday, his mind endured swathed in darkness, he had certainly not smiled and nor ought he. Not three years prior to this morn, Joseph had witnessed the dawning of a new earth, the birth of his children and the marvels of newfangled machinery. It was a beautiful year for Joseph, his work as an investment banker had been a long-suffering torture, but for once he had something to look forward to. Joseph’s wife, Muriel, had wanted to move from the hustle of the city and wonder in the depths of the countryside, the life she had dreamt of since she was a child.
“You’ve always wanted to see the world Joseph, you will never see it from behind your desk.” Muriel giggled. “You’ve wanted not for the city, just as I.”
Pushing the pile of unsigned papers aside. “My dear, what could you possibly crave with such a fantasy; how many banks do you know of in the country? I’m no good for labor.”
“You’re good for me my dear. Stop this unreasonable stubbornness; we have a family now, how can they live in such a foul city?”
“Because living in this city pays our way, you know that as well as I do.”
For a moment Muriel stopped smiling and drew close, her eyes fixed on the quivering hand of her husband. “You’re not well?”
“It’s fine, I’ve been out in the cold too much.”
Though part of what he had said was true, Joseph had been spending hours hounding the waterfronts in pursuit for the innumerable prostitutes that inhabit it. This had been a regular occurrence, fearing for the contraction of a disease from said nightwalkers; Joseph had endeavored to avoid seeing a physician. The dark deeds had festered in the form of syphilis, as it had began to eat away at his body, Joseph prayed for forgiveness, while knowing he could never survive in the countryside, far from any doctor. In part Muriel had known the truth, she had seen the reluctance to make love, and the slowly growing weakness within him. Over the course of the month Joseph’s ailment exacerbated, rendering him unable to leave his bedstead. The pale skin and the intruding cold wore Joseph down to breaking point, where upon he prayed once more.
“O lord, I wish upon me the strength to continue, my life’s light is failing. My darling, Muriel, cannot live in this world alone, though she will not meet me any longer; I must to be there for her. Give me the power to redeem myself and I shall remain eternally in your debt.”
The echoes of Joseph’s prayer remained unheard; the stony walls of the church where he had limped remained deserted. It was as the sunset, and the tears fell from Joseph’s cheek and spilled out onto the dusty floor, that the shadows began to drift. As Joseph prayed for his life an apparition of an unholy nature befell him. Where the beast had come from and what it had coveted were unknown to Joseph, though its obnoxious odor and gelatinous tar that coated everything it touched sent an terrible wave of nausea to the very pit of his stomach.
“It is in the darkest of places that one hides what one truly values as sacred.” The creature spoke with an uneasy charm and vigor, its suited form now torn and revealing more of the beast’s grey-stitched skin. His bastard eyes fixed on Joseph’s weaning form.
“What foul abyss did you crawl from?” Joseph recoiled. “What do you want of me?”
“Sinners sing songs of sorrow through sinewy brims to catch the ear of the fool.”
An entity of such morbid form and prowess could not stand in such a holy place and speak words of such poison, Joseph thought.
“I have sinned, though the lord has seen to punish me already. You need not admonish me with such revulsions.”
“The lord? To whom do you refer? I am a man, of flesh and pious evil; just like you.”
The creature stepped forward; his pulsating fleshy stitches now oozing more and more of the repugnant tar. Joseph withdrew further, his hands now held ahead of his face.
“Leave me be, my Muriel has been reserved from me, what more could you want? Foul swine of the undead, leave me and yield to your accursed dwelling.” Joseph bellowed.
The torn-suited-man leered forward smiling ever virulently, as he approached the tar began to drip onto Josephs clothing, each drop burning a sickly blister into his skin. The odor of the creature had become out-and-out unspeakable; the creature’s face now inches from Joseph’s.
As a small child Joseph had once observed the killing of a pig, the animal had been picked by Joseph’s father and shot hitherto. The collapse of the poor animal drove young Joseph to his father’s side, who placed the pig on his shoulder and carried it home.
“We eat all we can Joseph, do you know why?” Joseph’s father lectured.
“Because it’s a gift from God?”
“It’s a gift, that’s all that matters.”
The eventual carving of the pig had disturbed the young Joseph; he watched as his father draw the blade along the belly and delved his bloodied hands and inside ripping out the fragments of gut and flesh. Joseph thought back to this as we awoke inside the dark desolate chamber that William had found once himself; the creature drew a sharp rusted blade across his chest, the searing and tearing bore agonizing pain. The blood rained, and the rusted tools of the beast rummaged inside, yet to Joseph’s evident surprise, death did not claim him.
“Oh my, the stench of sin is ripe within you, dear Joseph.”
Joseph’s bloodcurdling cries were response enough. The beast continued, pulling open the wound he had carved, as he placed a jig to hold the bloodied cadaver open, the suited man wandered into the darkness, returning with a large clear jar. The jar contained concentrated beige liquescent, suspending a jet-black fleshy organ of some kind. Opening the jar and placing the malevolent substances inside the injury he had made, forced Joseph to shriek once more. The phantom sewed with such curious illustriousness, such fooled carefulness and attentiveness, it was as though the creature enjoyed every motion; almost conducting his own imaginary orchestra. Further to the beast’s enjoyment, he began to chant a tune as the needle pierced the tender-red flesh that belonged to Joseph.
When it’s right to pick
The juicy fruit
From its humble source
You’ll know, oh yes, you’ll know
To taint that was once pure
To sully that was once yours
Is the best kind of fun
Joseph’s torture came to an end when the final stich was cut, the exhaustion that he had suffered and the pain he endured overwhelmed him; the darkness approached.
“Good night Joseph, my dear Joseph.”