Under The Bloodletting Moon

Chapter 1: Prologue

Screams sounded throughout the woods as the first rays of morning sunlight fell upon the creature. Its hideous body began sizzling. Dark blisters appeared on the decayed skin. There was no way it could move because Wilford nailed it to a tree using a sturdy iron pick. A last desperate effort. Young Stuart watched with wide eyes as it disintegrated, filling their nostrils with a horrible smell. They additionally bound it with metal chains just to be sure it will not break free. The damned thing possessed unnatural strength and resilience. It all seemed so unreal.

Black smoke rose as the creature’s rotten flesh melted. A few minutes have passed. The ghoul’s screeching voice faded into a low-pitch moan. Stuart’s heart almost sank as he was listening to the creature’s distorted screams of agony, but he remembered what it had done to Wilford’s family.

It was still clawing at the cold metal which had pierced its heart, but it was too weak now. They had chased it all night. Beginning at Greenfield Cemetery, the men had to pursue the monster through fields and forests until finally catching it. They hunted it with undying determination, shot it many times with their revolvers, cut it with their swords. A stab through the heart finally proved to be enough. A mighty swing using the heavy pick was the only thing which could reach the creature’s rotten heart through the thick bone surrounding it, they used all their cunning and strategic abilities for their trap to work.

Liquefied flesh and innards flowed into the snow. Stuart retched, he had to struggle in order to hold back the bile which was fighting to come out. The freezing morning air helped him keep the remnants of his latest meal inside. He just coughed and pulled the thick coat together on his chest.

This winter was one of the coldest winters in England, as far as people remembered. Wilford knew this was the reason the ghoul had killed his wife and two children. The cold weather froze the ground solid, it couldn’t get to the dead in the cemetery. It had kidnapped his family instead, then killed them. Having no taste for a fresh kill, the creature let them rot for a while in its underground layer before its stomach could accept the meal.

‘Rot in hell, godless beast!’ shouted Wilford as tears ran down his cheeks onto his handlebar mustache.

‘I can’t believe this...’ said Stuart, his blue eyes still fixed on the ghoul’s remains.

‘Well, you have to... I have to.’

‘Do you think there are more of these creatures?’ asked Stuart and looked sideways towards Wilford.

Wilford was a vigorous man, but after losing his family, his vigor faded. Stuart saw his haggard face and felt the urge to hug his friend in order to console him. It was the first and last time he saw his best friend with tears in his eyes. All men must suffer, thought Stuart, but not like this. Nobody deserves to a fate like this, robbed from those whom they loved the most. The sight of Wilford’s bowed head and curved back made Stuart’s heart ache like never. He looked much older than he was. As if a thousand years of suffering had fallen on his shoulders at once. His brown, once sharp eyes were now hiding deep within their sockets. Once a fearless, resolute man, now he was just a sad shadow of his formal self.

‘Think?’ asked Wilford, lost half-way in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. ‘I don’t just think, I know. If there is one, there must be more. I’m sure of that.’

‘Oh, God,’ said Stuart, his gaze shifted to the tree again.

‘I don’t know what God has to do with all this madness, my friend. Why did He let this happen?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t answer this question,’ Stuart replied, and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

‘You don’t have to, you are but a man. A good man, and a good friend. You are like a brother to me. I’ve called upon you in my hour of need, and you’ve come. I will never forget your noble gesture. If you will ever need my help, just ask, and I shall come.’

‘I would have gone to the gates of hell to help you.’

‘I know, thank you. If it weren’t for you, I’ll be dead now too. I just need to figure out what I should do with my life from now on.’

Stuart did not speak. For a moment, he watched as his breath drifted upward like white smoke. There was no way he could tell his grieving friend how should he live his life now. He couldn’t even stay with Wilford to help him through the troublesome times. He had to go back to London.

‘I know what I’m going to do,’ said Wilford. Stuart heard him. He sensed a terrible, possibly dangerous determination in the man’s voice.

‘I’m going to hunt these cursed things down,’ said Wilford. He nodded as if speaking to himself and acknowledging his own decision.

‘I beg your pardon,’ said Stuart. He shot a concerned look at his friend.

‘If there are more foul creatures like this one hiding in the darkness, I shall find them. I shall find as many as possible. I shall kill all of them. I swear it on my life.’

‘Please, Wilford, you are talking madness, this is insane...’

‘No! I’m talking revenge! I’m talking about cleansing. The extermination of these abominations which cause pain and suffering to all of us. Today it is me, tomorrow it might be you. My family didn’t die in vain. I shall not live in vain.’

‘But it’s still madness, you are running into your death.’

‘I’ll tell you what’s madness. Madness is that which is lurking all around us in the darkness. Fiery eyes of hate and malice searching for their next victim. Madness is the desperate search for your loved ones, not knowing if you will ever find them alive. Finding their remains, desecrated by some unholy beast. Madness is living with the thought you could have done something, but you didn’t.’

‘Is this truly what you wish?’

‘No, it’s not what I wish, it’s what I have to do!’

Fire burned in Wilford’s eyes. Stuart watched his friend with a dropped jaw. He was not mistaken when he began looking up to Wilford. Stuart nodded after a few seconds have passed. He was in no position to judge his friend. If he were in this situation, he might hang himself now, maybe shoot himself in the head. Stuart shuddered at these thoughts. But Wilford wanted war, and war is what he would get, a war against the night...

Chapter 2: A town damned to hell

Summerton, a small town west from London, was only eighty miles from the capital city. If somebody wanted to go to London, or maybe travel from the capital to Summerton, it would take no more than hours by train.

Nobody knew exactly when people established Summerton, but townsfolk usually agreed that it was an old town. Except for a few new houses, mansions and renovated buildings, everything else was old and rustic. On its northern side, an old oak forest stood. On the other sides, extensive fields surrounded Summerton. People grew their crops or vegetables on these.

Poor people didn’t own much. A small garden, a pig or two, and maybe some poultry. Many chose instead to work for farmers, or as apprentices for the many artisans in town. Some ventured into London to work for factories. Wealthy people lived close to the town center. Some possessed mansions outside of town. They just sent the servants to the market whenever they needed goods.

No one knew Summerton better than its mayor, Edward Davy. An influential man in his mid-forties. Most of Summerton befell under his control. His target was a complete control of Summerton. Maybe also a neighboring town or two. To some extent, he had achieved this goal. He also gathered considerable wealth. Davy had many connections in London and around the country. Whispers about his dirty business were circulating among people, but most of them ignored these. He always told his influential friends that honest work is the fool’s hope of getting rich.

When the new and wonderful technology of the telephone became available, he had one installed right away in his office at the town house. He had installed the other one inside his home, of course. Davy left the good old telegraph for the common people.

In strong contrast with Edward Davy stood William Watson, chief constable of Summerton. An honorable man and keeper of the law, he was doing everything in his power to maintain the fragile order. This was a demanding job, the separation between poor and wealthy being considerable. Petty crimes, sometimes serious ones, were an everyday occurrence. Had William been aware of what faith was awaiting the town, he wouldn’t have complained.

William recently accepted his son, David Watson, into the Summerton police force. It was not exactly a force, but this was how everybody called it. It comprised the chief and five more men, six now, considering that David became a part of it. It pleased the chief to see the same determination in his son as he had when he was young. David tried as hard as he could to follow his example. Being a police officer didn’t come with a high salary, but William knew nothing else, and his son wanted nothing else.

Compared in wealth to William was Edmund Craig. He inherited his father’s animal farm and took incredible care of it. His father would have been proud of his son. Edmund raised animals and slaughtered them. He then sold the meat to a local butcher’s shop. Many people from town were working at his farm, and he paid well. He always said that excellent motivation was key to outstanding work being done. One of his sons, Carlton Craig, was not exactly in agreement with his aging father. He didn’t really like to work. Sometimes he did, but most of the time he was away drinking, gambling, or whoring.

Summerton was not a big town, but it had its share of weird inhabitants too. Most notable was Randolph Rhett, or Ratface as people liked to call him. Randolph got ‘baptized’ with this nickname when he was a child. He had a birth defect which doctors could not correct. His lower jaw did not develop enough, and his protruding upper jaw and teeth cursed him for the rest of his life. Randolph was the town’s most notable thief. He had to resort to this kind of ‘work’ because nobody really wanted to hire him due to his ugly face.

His brother Morton was the town drunkard and also professional grave digger. If there could be anything professional about it, that is. Morton ate and drank like a king. For some time now, he was just a caretaker because his considerable belly didn’t let him work well. He took a few young lads under his sweaty arms, and he was teaching them the secrets of digging the perfect hole for the dear departed, like if they cared.

‘Be precise about them holes, ya know, he used to say, unless you wanna... unless you wanna pound that damned coffin in with a sledgehammer,’ he used to say to his young apprentices.

Raymond Davidson was the town doctor. It looked like he was competing in ugliness with Ratface Rhett. Despite his medical experience and expertise, people avoided him as much as possible. He inherited an unfortunate birth defect which made life uncomfortable for him. Raymond’s face didn’t help him much. His behavior was also questionable, but there was nobody else to replace him yet. Women avoided him, at least the living ones. The dead ones had no choice. His nightly trips to Fairmount Cemetery went unnoticed so far. His cunning helped Raymond a lot in hiding his unholy business. Only Morton knew what the good doctor was doing. Raymond rewarded him with the most expensive liquors and food he could put his crooked hands on.

The church and the cemetery were located close to each other. There was only a cobblestone road separating the two. Father Matthew Gallagher was the head priest of the parish. Right after him in the hierarchy was his apprentice Kenneth Craig. While also being the son of Edmund, he was the polar opposite of his brother. Father Matt was aging, and he was looking for somebody to replace him. Kenny seemed a wonderful choice. Father Gallagher saw in him an unquestionable loyalty towards God and the Church.

Gallagher’s loyalty and faith were more questionable, however. His joining of the priesthood was not of his choosing. His father had forced him to be a servant of God when he was young. Now, as most of his time on this earth had gone by, he struggled to find his way to redemption. Yes, he needed redemption. His weakness was women. Despite being over seventy years old, he always threw guilty stares around. The good father tried his best to suppress his evil urges, and he thought it finally worked. A lot of prayer and meditation were helping. Old age also helped as the natural bodily impulses diminished.

People were going to the church regularly, as they were to the pub or the whorehouse. Madame Lola was the queen of the night in Summerton. The pub, called The Limping Peacock, was hers, also the whorehouse which was upstairs. In reality, it was a boardinghouse, but foreign customers were not that common. The married men from town used it instead to vent their conjugal frustrations.

Chapter 3: A new home

The Sullivan family was busy packing their belongings in briefcases and crates in their luxurious home in the heart of London. Servants were running around and executing the orders given by their master, Harold Sullivan, the co-proprietor of Armstrong and Sullivan Firearms and Explosives. Harold was one of the wealthiest men in London, he was famous for supplying the Empire’s armies with weapons and ammunition in its conquest of the underdeveloped world. Wars are the true drivers of progress, he used to tell his son, Stuart, because in these grave times it is imperative to have better technology than our adversaries.

Stuart was also busy helping, his father left the house to him. Harold decided that he, together with his wife, Florence, and Stuart’s two siblings, Grace, and Tommy, are going to move to the countryside. He wanted a peaceful retirement. Pretty paradoxical for a man who earned his living from wars, death, and destruction.

Everything in the house was, or at least looked, expensive. There were many things brought to Harold as gifts from his rich friends and army officers. Things that originated in faraway corners of the world, spoils of war and conquest. Silk and satin, expensive china and sculptures made of different exotic woods, shrunken heads and weapons from Africa, and so on.

‘I leave the house to you, my son,’ said Harold. He then dragged a hearty amount of smoke from his cigar.

‘Thank you, father,’ Stuart replied, ‘but isn’t it big for me?’

‘Well, it’s time for you to find a young and beautiful wife. Have many children to fill all this space. You are thirty years old. Start a family!’

Harold laughed under his bushy mustache. Stuart noticed the raspy laugh which made Harold cough.

‘Your father is right,’ said Florence. She came from behind Harold and overheard the men talking.

‘Bless us with grandchildren, so life in Summerton won’t be boring,’ she continued.

‘I’m working on it, mother. First, I have to learn the ways of leading father’s factory. Then I’ll have time to establish a family.’

‘Don’t worry, lad,’ said Harold. He laughed again. His vast belly vibrated.

‘I will make you proud, father. I’m confident about it.’

‘I know, therefore I entrusted the firm to you. You are my eldest son and a bright man. I didn’t pay for your studies at the university for you to become some loser.’

‘Harold,’ said Florence, ‘the servants are almost complete. We will soon be ready for travel. Are the renovations on our new home done?’

‘Yes, my dear,’ he replied. Harold dragged another smoke from the cigar. ‘The town of Summerton awaits us with its peaceful countryside and friendly people.’ He then turned to Stuart again. ‘I already exchanged some letters with a man named Edmund Craig, who is a wealthy animal farmer there. I have a new business idea.’

‘Is that so?’ asked Florence. ‘And why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Business is not for women,’ he replied in a condescending tone, ‘let the men handle it. What about Grace and Thomas? Are they ready to leave?’

‘I will check!’

Florence then rushed upstairs with furrowed eyebrows. Even after many years of marriage, Harold had the nasty habit of angering her sometimes.

‘What kind of business, father?’

Florence was a model homemaker. She was aging, but the wrinkles on her face were barely visible. Anybody looking at her could see that she was a beautiful woman in her youth. Her moves were graceful and catlike. Hearing her come was as difficult as hearing a swan slide on the surface of a lake.

‘Meat, of course! Craig is a successful animal farmer, and I would very much like to join him. With my technological knowledge, I could improve his work. Also, with the wonderful invention of the icebox, I could transport some of his products to London. Rich people might pay more for meat, which belongs to animals raised on pastures and rural fields instead of dirty city farms. Are you following me?’

‘Oh, yes. It sounds like a good idea...’

‘Of course, it is a good idea. It’s my idea.’

The two men headed out to the busy London street where carriages and servants waited. Florence went to check her son, Thomas, sixteen and also a little slow when he had some work to do. To her mother’s astonishment, he was almost ready.

‘So, I see that you’re all dressed up and ready to go.’

‘Yes, mother, I can’t wait to see our new house. I didn’t like the big city, anyway.’

He was already a tall and handsome young man, just like Stuart was when he helped his good friend Wilford hunt down the ghoul of Greenfield. Of course, nobody knew about that story, only the two men who had taken part in the hunt for the beast.

Florence proceeded to Grace’s room. A servant passed by her, carrying a large suitcase full of clothes. Grace was sitting on her bed holding a piece of red velvet bedding in her hands. Harold gave the bedding to her as a gift for her twentieth birthday. It was dear to her heart, but she didn’t know that it was most likely taken by force from some rich family during the Empire’s many wars.

Grace was beauty incarnate, an angel among mortals. Her curly brown hair was long and thick, her face divine, and her eyes as green as the lushest forests in the middle of spring. Florence always looked upon her with immense delight, but the constant nagging of the men who were lining up at their door was unbearable sometimes. This was one reason they moved to a less crowded place.

‘Are you ready, my love?’

‘Almost, mother. I will finish up in a few minutes, and I shall be ready to leave.’

‘All right, then. We’ll meet downstairs.’

‘I will be right down,’ she said with a smile.

Florence went downstairs. Grace stuffed the velvet bedding in a suitcase and left it on the bed. A servant came into the room and took the case to carry it down. Grace too went down and onto the street. The carriage drivers were looking at her in astonishment. Her figure was slender, and her skin as white as milk. She lit up the furnace of many men’s desires since she was sixteen.

After a final glance back toward the house, they got inside the horse-driven carriages, and started towards King’s Cross Station. It was not like they will never come back here. The house will still be in their family’s possession, but leaving a place where one lived for many years was hard.

Stuart stayed behind, and after having dinner at one of the local restaurants, he went back to his new home. Two servants remained at his service. The big house required almost constant maintenance. The new co-proprietor of the Armstrong and Sullivan Firearms and Explosives factory had an arduous task ahead of him. After getting back home, he buried himself in some factory papers. Making his father proud was now a top priority for Stuart.

The Sullivan’s reached their new house in Summerton about three hours later. The journey with the train was tiresome, but it was also unavoidable. A new and wonderful life was awaiting them in Summerton, at least this was what they were thinking.

Their new home was a mansion that was just as luxurious as their home in London. Workers were gathering their tools and were loading them into carriages. The servants didn’t hesitate to begin their work. They started unloading the carriages, which the family used to come from the train station to the house.

Harold was pleased, he always delighted himself watching his plans unfold with success and on time. He hated failure as he hated the lack of punctuality. In his line of work, time was everything. He also had to learn as a young boy that in life tough decisions are unavoidable. The thing which he didn’t quite learn however was living with the poor decisions and not putting the blame on other people.

The mansion had considerable size, and an old stone fence encircled it. Between the fence and the house itself, there was plenty of space, which resembled a large garden. Grass and flowers, trees of many varieties, and a water fountain were present there, and also some benches and a great space for open-air dinners.

‘So, how do you like it?’ asked Harold.

‘It’s wonderful, father,’ said Grace. She stared at the mansion in wonder.

‘Here we’ll have a peaceful life, my dear. I’ve had enough of the factory and all of London.’

‘And beautiful also,’ added Florence.

‘Father,’ said Thomas, ‘you always take our breath away.’

‘Yes, of course. I still have some aces up my sleeve, but that’s for later. Let’s see our new home, shall we?’

The house itself was an old stone building