“It’s said to be the skull of a vampire,” the strange man said. In a clear-plastic reliquary sat a jawless skull of moldy aspect with devious canines. “They would stake and behead the suspected vampire, you see, and rebury the head away from the rest of the corpse, filling the mouth with garlic, of course.”
“And bash the brains out too?” I asked.
“Ah, you noticed. No, that is a peculiar aspect of this item. A murdered vampire, we might say. It’s beyond my expertise, but some very smart lab boy said something like the bone marrow shows that the wound would have been dealt before death. Probable cause of death, in fact.”
I was gazing into the dark eyes of the skull, and at his words felt a strange pang of pity pierce my heart.
“Were you avenging yourself, dear? Did you know when to stop? But that is the problem, you can’t stop once you go down that road.”
“What?” the strange man asked.
“Oh,” I said, “it’s just a, well, a sort of impression I have. A story appears in my mind. A poor victim, a foolish victim, and a man who wanted to save face. A very shallow hole, and she finds that death isn’t quite death, not sleep. The murdered don’t always sleep. And another man, something at least like a man, the unman, stops by with an offer. The poor fool doesn’t understand, or doesn’t really care, does she? And that’s been her whole problem, not counting the cost of things, or pausing to think about where her decisions will lead. She takes his offer, but she doesn’t go for the murderer. Why? I’m not sure. A trick played on her? I think he went on a trip—had promised to take her on the trip, I think—but she’s so hungry now; she doesn’t care. A son, a wife, an old man they were all trying to keep the secret from of just the sort of man his beloved son had become. Said son returns to find that not only has he gotten rid of his lover, but in that act set up the dominos which destroyed his home. Not even the servants have stayed but those who have gone to their own graves. The cruel man, though, is wise. He does just what you say. He travels far with that head and buries it far, far away.”
“That’s extraordinary,” said the strange man.
“If it’s any consolation,” I said to the skull, “he never made it back home.”
I heard the sounds of pencil scratches, and turned to see the strange man writing all this down.
“The unman who offered her this second life plays a deeper part in this story than she knows. Who do you think,” I asked the skull, “taught him how to deal with you? You were foolish and audacious. Your first crime came in the guise of love, and the next in justice. But it wasn’t love, and it wasn’t justice. You have been cheated every time, but if you will be audacious one more time, forgive. Let go. If not for him, for you. He is long, long dead, and the good that he had been put on this earth to do was ruined.”
I waited, and I could feel the stranger holding his breath beside me.
“I cannot tell you that, dear. I can only tell you about yourself. You can stay here in this box and be ogled by techno-idiots till doomsday, or you can repent. I know. It hurts. But be audacious this one last time. Risk it all. Trust me, he twisted up the best part of you there.”
I stood up.
“Is there anything else you’d like to show me?” I asked.
“Did she, did she…?” he spluttered.
“That’s between her and God, don’t you think? It doesn’t concern us.”
Psst! Hey kid, wanna buy a book?
