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The Heart of Rose
by Wayne Summers
Wayne Summers lives in Perth, Western Australia with his cat. He has been writing since high school and has been published in many magazines and e-zines both in the US
and in the UK. His initial interest in the dark side began as a child watching Doctor
Who, which cemented his love of horror and science fiction. A handful of psychic
episodes in his 20's piqued that interest and prompted him to write his first horror
story.
He cites as his main influences Anne Rice and the music of such favourites as Marilyn Manson, Siouxsie and Kate Bush, although a lot of his ideas are the result of dreams.
Night had fallen. The full moon sat like a monarch in the centre of the sky, casting patches of soft, pale light onto the world below. A chill wind whistled through the leaves and branches of the forest trees, creating an eerie and unwelcoming atmosphere, while giant shadows cast by swiftly moving clouds raced across the snow-covered landscape, reaching out menacingly like dark, grabbing fingers.
At the edge of the vast forest, where the great oaks met the grass of the surrounding meadows, a field mouse scurried from a hollow in one tree towards another a short distance away, completely unaware that it was being watched. Suddenly an almighty screech tore through the night. There was a flurry of beating wings behind the terrified creature and then a sharp, stabbing pain as the talons of a large Barn Owl pierced its flesh and snatched it up from the frozen ground.
Rose observed the killing from a window in the upper-most level of the small chateau in which she hid and smiled.
"Mmmmmm, the savage night," she said to herself as she turned from the frosted window and padded across the room to the chair in front of her dressing table. "It never changes."
She looked into the reflection of her pale blue eyes and then at her hair, which hung down over her breasts like a length of black silk. Almost absent-mindedly, she wrapped her long, pale fingers around the handle of her silver hairbrush and lifted it from the cold marble top of her dressing table. Then she paused, returning the brush to the table top as a single tear welled up in the corner of one eye before spilling over onto the milky-white skin of her cheek.
Although she didn't look a day over twenty-one she was in fact nearly two-hundred years old. For almost two centuries she had languished in the chateau, sleeping in the darkened room which had become her prison by day and rising after sunset to hunt in the nearby forest and surrounding villages. Her routine was constant. She had been doomed by an ancient curse to forever walk in darkness, hiding like a criminal from the light of day and wishing for her demise the entire night.
"Curse that young prince!" she spat bitterly when she thought of the handsome stranger who had stolen her life. "May his torment be a hundred-fold more unbearable than my own."
It was a thought that was as much a part of her as her immortality. As the daughter of a poor peasant she had never possessed anything other than her youth and beauty, though on that fateful evening so long ago she wished she had never owned either. The dark prince had taken her where she stood, sinking his demon fangs into the tender, virgin skin of her long neck, transforming her from one who lived in the sun to a creature of the darkness.
Rose put her pale face into her hands and sobbed, and though her tears were of blood she cared not for the mess she was making. The utter despair that had been her constant companion all these years on occasion overcame her. With endless more years of solitude to look forward to there were times when only weeping would break the monotony of her miserable existence. Then, over the sound of her sobs, she heard a strange noise outside which startled her. It was like no other noise she had heard before.
She arose from her chair and moved cautiously over to the window, wiped away the condensation and looked out into the bleak night. A man had pulled up in his car and was alighting from the vehicle. With her preternatural vision she could see the details of his face in the moonlight and it was pale like hers, but not so deathly white, and every feature was in perfect proportion. His brow and jaw were strong, indicating a person who knew his own mind. She liked that. His nose was perfect too, not too big and not too small, and his lips were full and still pink even in the icy breeze which blew around the walls of her home. He wore a woollen beanie, which covered his ears, but she could see from his sideburns and trimmed moustache that he had brown hair.
Rose wrapped her arms around her chest and twirled around the room grinning from ear to ear. Perhaps her years of loneliness were at an end. It seemed entirely possible that a companion had come to save her from the isolation she suffered every hour of every day. But then she stopped. Her presence in the chateau had always been a secret. No-one knew she lived there and that was for her own protection. The building had been vacant for longer than she could remember and it had fallen into such disrepair that only the ravens and the creatures of the forest visited her. How could she make herself known to this man without drawing suspicion to herself?
Again the prince's kiss those many decades ago haunted her. It had brought her nothing but sadness, and while the physical scars of the prince's fangs had long ago healed, the pain in her soul remained; if in fact she still had one. Regardless, she would find a way to be with this handsome stranger now making his way up the stairs to the second floor.
Within a week the man, who she had ascertained was known as Philip, had settled into his new home. With her senses much more developed than they had been when she was merely human, she could hear everything, even from her tiny, undiscovered chamber. It seemed from his many phone calls that he had purchased the building to renovate it and when he'd finished, he would sell it. Alas, his stay was only to be temporary.
Rose continued to sleep during the day and to rise every night despite Philip's presence in the chateau. This made her usually mundane routine more interesting, adding an element of danger because now she had to be very careful how she came and went from the building lest she give herself away. And it was not time for that yet.
One night soon after Philip had moved in Rose set off for the hunt earlier than usual. She found a victim within the hour, drained him of the warm blood so vital for her survival then hurried back to the chateau. This night, however, instead of returning to her chamber she crept along the narrow corridor to where Philip slept. Her keen senses told her there was no danger, though her heart still threatened to break through her ribcage such was the force of its beat.
Rose placed a hand carefully on the doorknob and listened through the thick wood to the deep breathing of someone sleeping on the other side. Confident she would remain undetected Rose slipped into Philip's bedroom and hurried over to his bed. In the filtered light from the window he looked even more handsome than she remembered. She pulled a small upholstered stool to the bed and sat down, not once taking her eyes from the object of her desire. For a while she was content to watch the flair and fall of his nostrils as he inhaled and exhaled, but she longed to get closer to him. She leaned over, hovering not more than three centimetres from his face, and breathed in the scent of his warm, masculine body. She closed her eyes and sucked his manly aroma in, deep into her lungs; breathing him in and knowing that she was taking some small part of him into her own body.
Eventually Rose opened her eyes to gaze once more upon Philip's sweet face. She smiled then realised that her hand was moving slowly through the air towards his face to stroke it, to feel it. She held her breath. Even as her trembling hand neared him she knew that what she was about to do was forbidden, but her heart was the master over its slave, her body. Gently she brushed his unshaven jaw, thick with bristles, and shuddered. The texture was unlike anything she had felt before. How she longed to put her own cheek against it, to feel his roughness against her softness, but she daren't. She would save that pleasure for a future time.
Instinct told her that morning was approaching. She'd been so lost in her thoughts of Philip that the approaching sunrise had nearly caught her by surprise. She got up to leave, not once taking her eyes off her sleeping prince, but a sudden and powerful desire swept over her, compelling her to kiss his smooth forehead. She bent down and as her lips touched his skin Philip stirred slightly, but did not wake. Satisfied, at least for the moment, Rose left his room and returned to her own, locking and bolting the door before drawing the curtains of her four-poster bed and falling asleep.
As the days of winter dragged by Rose found herself becoming more and more obsessed with the mortal called Philip. She had to hunt every night or she would wither and die. She needed blood as surely as Philip needed oxygen, but the hunt was always swift. No longer did she wander in search of the perfect meal. She was beginning to make mistakes, feasting on villagers instead of travellers; leaving bodies where they could easily be found instead of taking them to the forest where their deaths would be attributed to wolves or bears. Her carelessness had led to the local villagers organising a vigilante group which was determined to find the culprit responsible and bring them to justice.
Rose spent less and less time on the hunt just to have more time with Philip. While he dreamed Rose sat beside his bed and imagined a life together with him. In moments of weakness she would stroke his soft, brown hair or kiss him lightly on the cheek or on the hand. Sometimes she even dared to hold his hand and imagine that it was he who was holding hers. While he slept in oblivion she would whisper words of love into his ear, knowing that somehow he could hear her.
Then one night, shortly after returning from the hunt, there was a banging on the front door and some commotion on the front steps. Philip woke up and leapt out of bed. Rose, who had been maintaining her regular nightly vigil, jumped onto the ceiling above the canopy of the bed where she hung until Philip had left the room. When he had gone, she dropped from the ceiling and ran to the window. She could clearly hear the angry mob demanding to be let inside the building to search it. Philip had no choice but to admit them into his home.
"What are you searching for?" he asked one of the men as the burly brute brushed past.
"Vampire," came the curt reply.
Philip furrowed his brow.
"Vampire? But you must be joking!"
The villager glared at Philip.
“'Tis no joking matter when there are family and friends being found in the snow sucked dry."
"Well just be careful then," Philip shouted after him.
Rose had fled back to her chamber and lay mortified beneath the wooden frame of the bed. Hopefully the large tapestry which hid the entrance to her bedroom door would be overlooked. Somehow Philip had overlooked it all these weeks. She could hear the men coming closer, hear the sound of their boots running up and down the short corridor outside her room. Someone lifted the tapestry and Rose held her breath, but whoever it was didn't take the time to investigate further and soon the men left.
"Sorry to have troubled you sir," said the villager. "We're searching every inch of this countryside until we find the creature that has been feeding on our townsfolk. I hope you understand."
Philip nodded and closed the door after them. He returned to bed but could not sleep. The word 'vampire' played upon his mind and all kinds of fantastic images appeared to him, frighteningly realistic and unsettling.
Rose stayed beneath her bed for the rest of the night and throughout the following day, only leaving the safety of the castle when her gnawing hunger grew too fierce to bear. Moving like the wind through the forest, she hunted further a field this time, taking a drunken man who had fallen asleep in the snow of a village many miles from her own. When she had finished, she took him from the small side street and carried him into the forest, covering him with snow and then leaving him to nature.
When she returned to the chateau she crept, as she always did, towards Philip's bedroom door, listening as she approached for the familiar sound of him sleeping. Hearing them and knowing she could enter undetected; she turned the knob on his door and made her way silently to his bedside. She knelt down next to the double mattress and gazed at his face, so peaceful and calm. Despite being fully aware of the dangers, but being unable to help herself, she climbed onto the bed next to him and for the first time lay beside him, daring to put her hand on his and closing her eyes to savour the feel of it beneath her own hand. It was only because of her preternatural gifts that she was able to be near Philip in this way. Had she been mortal her human clumsiness would have given her away many nights ago.
"I know that when you look upon my pale, beautiful face untouched by the scars and marks of time that you will see a monster and not the spirit of romance that is in every cell of my body," she whispered tenderly. "Oh my dear one, I pray that I am wrong and that when you open your eyes and first behold the woman who has kept you company all these long nights that you will recognise love. Shhhhhhh. But sleep now. Morning creeps ever closer, trying to catch me off my guard. I must return to my chamber and my lonely bed."
She leaned over and brushed her lips against his cheek, barely touching it but feeling the warmth of it. The smell of blood was strong in her nostrils, though this was the only soul alive that was utterly safe from her fatal bite. In a whirl of black cloth and hair, Rose turned and disappeared from the room.
For two years Rose continued her one-way love affair with the handsome Philip. However, since she had to hunt further and further from home to avoid detection, she had less and less time to spend with him. Then one evening, when the first new buds of spring had begun pushing upwards through the softening snow, Rose awoke and left her chamber to find the chateau filled with boxes and bags. Upon closer inspection she saw that they belonged to Philip and she was immediately filled with dread.
The chateau had been transformed into a luxuriously modern building, with running hot and cold water, central heating and connections for both the telephone and television. Every wall had been patched and painted and the windows had had all their centuries-old glass replaced. Carpet had been installed in almost every room and new light fittings replaced the broken and rusted candelabras and ancient chandeliers. Although Philip intended to sell the chateau unfurnished he could expect a substantial return on his investment.
Instinctively Rose knew that the only man she had ever loved was going to leave her. Her nights would once again be lonely and her days would be filled with the terror of being discovered by the new occupants. Every minute she would have to lie in torment behind the secret door of her chamber, waiting for the moment when someone from the other side pushed it open and stepped into her sanctuary. The tapestry had remained, hiding the secret door, because Philip had left that part of the chateau as a tribute to the building's history. A new floor had been put down and new light fittings installed, but aside from that and some cleaning, Rose's part of the chateau remained relatively untouched. But for how long? She couldn't let him leave.
That night, as Philip slept, Rose hunted but returned earlier than usual. For the first time in months she had hunted in the nearby village, preferring to risk detection rather than waste precious moments which could be spent with her beloved. When she returned, she leant over Philip as he slept and gazed at his face as was her habit. But tonight her gaze was purposeful. She hoped that within the beauty of his face, she might find an answer to the problem which haunted her like a thorn in her side. She might see within its striking features a solution which would keep them together. For two hours she stroked his hair softly and waited for inspiration to speak to her.
She could feel the morning approach. It was some distance away but it marched ever closer. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, leaving her lips to linger upon the warm skin so they could savour the salty taste of his living flesh. But her lips remained a second longer than they should have and Philip's eyes opened in the dark. He had, for the first time, sensed some danger within the room. He turned and looked up to see Rose's cold, pale face smiling down at him. He jumped back in fright, eyes wide with terror as he looked upon her blood-stained lips, a remainder from the night's kill. When her smile widened he saw her fangs, glistening in the moonlight like two ivory sabres.
"It's true!" he gasped, referring to the villagers' story of a vampire.
"My own true love," Rose whispered, stretching her neck towards him to kiss the lips she had longed to kiss.
"Get away from me!" Philip shrieked, falling backwards even further and tumbling out of bed.
"Darling!" Rose called out. "Did you hurt yourself? Let me see. Let me help."
"Stay away from me!" Philip shouted, backing himself up against the wall.
"Why do you tell me to stay away when I have been your constant companion for these past two years? Why do you tell the one who loves you more deeply than the life that was taken from her to leave you when there can only be happiness for us? Do you not find me beautiful?"
"I do not! You are accursed! An abomination! A thing to flee from!" spat Philip venomously.
His every word was like an arrow through her heart, piercing it as surely as if those arrows had form. The revulsion on his face insulted and humiliated her, wounding her but not subtracting one ounce of the love she felt for him.
"I find you more handsome than any man I have ever seen," she replied. "I find your beauty addictive like wine or tobacco, and like wine and tobacco I want more of you. I want you to let me love you and for you to love me in return, for just as I am eternal so shall be my love for you."
Philip cowered in the corner formed by his bed and the wall, and listened to her words of love. As she spoke them in her soft voice, something within him stirred, yet he refused to acknowledge it. In spite of every natural instinct he had he found himself looking upon Rose's face with something other than fear and disgust. Then, whether by witchcraft or confusion, he realised that he found her beautiful too. Her soft, alabaster skin and her crimson lips and dark eyes beguiled and bewitched him; and although he kept these thoughts hidden from her, she felt them and her heart became warm.
"Let me kiss those lips that I have dreamt of kissing, even if just briefly," she begged.
And Philip let her lips, with traces of the blood from another, touch his and they felt like two soft pillows upon his own. He closed his eyes and let his senses delight in Rose's gentle kiss. Then he felt her remove her lips from his and kiss his chin. His eyes remained closed. Again she removed her lips and returned them to his neck. For a moment they lingered there while Rose considered the forbidden. Should she choose love or loneliness? Would he ever forgive her for doing to him what Prince Glor had done to her centuries ago, or should she continue to suffer her fate alone? These were questions she could ponder for an eternity, though time was against her. The first golden rays of the day were just over the horizon.
Her heartbeat quickened for it knew what her decision would be before her mind did. Then, taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and whispered to him to forgive her.
Philip felt a gentle pressure as she planted her vampire's kiss upon his jugular and swooned as she drank just enough to make him hers forever. His eyes rolled back in their sockets and his head fell backwards against the wall as he momentarily lost consciousness.
When he came to, the first thing he saw was Rose's face looking lovingly at him from above. He saw everything surrounding him in a way he had never seen it before, clearer and in infinitely more detail. His senses reeled as the sounds and smells of the world outside buzzed inside his head.
Then he heard Rose's voice.
"Come now darling. Morning is again upon us and we must hurry."
She stood up and helped Philip to his feet, then taking him by the hand she led him to her secret chamber where they would lay together until the night arrived, then together they would hunt and Rose's heart would be happy forever more.
The Heart of Rose is copyrighted 2008 by Wayne Summers and may not be reproduced under any circumstances without the author's permission.