"Kingdom of the Damned" by Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara

I have no idea why I’m here.

Once again, I find myself in a strange place that I don’t remember going to, dressed in a way I cannot explain. I’m at a Victorian-era party of some kind, with music, dancing, and much to consume. I’m dressed lavishly in a kilt and matching cap, adorned with gold and bronze pieces at my wrists. I was clothed quite inappropriate for the Annual Harrington’s Ball, but no one seemed alarmed. If I had been here before, from a different perspective, of course, I’m sure I made an impression that allowed me to violate dress codes. A sudden TAM comes to me. This ball is popular with vampires, but I can’t stay too long. I have to work this morning at one a.m. on the fifth day beyond my natural life and three days before the duel with Trudy.

For a time, nobody talks to me. I just walk around, nodded to the people within my field of vision, and tried not to look lost, bored, or terrified. I wish I could hide among the servants working the ball. I would very much like to attend the horses and the carriages they pull, while the arriving guests dismount the cabs to begin their night of music and folly.

Gossip hits my ears. I keep forgetting I’m a vampire now, and my hearing, like most of the guests, is superhuman and just primed for spying. Somewhere far south and over my shoulder, I hear three youngish maidens giggling about Simons and his new child bride Bryony. Married slightly more than a year, and she was already his best friend’s mistress. One claimed she saw the dubious pair disappearing in the closet, for a quick bite no doubt.

I see her. She makes sure of it, but I’m trying to keep up with the conversation around me while feeling like the house is closing in on me, as if I was playing the French Defense against a player that knew it well and used my every move to narrow my options.

She was dark-haired and wore a red, corseted, low cut dress. Her hair and vampy eyes screamed what she was and the danger she posed. Why are the dangerous ones so alluring?

“You’ve new here,” she told me, practically purring. “You must be recently bitten.”

“Yes, very recently,” I responded, tying to look past her. “I’d say I was bitten about one hundred and fifty years from now.”

I couldn’t look away far enough to not notice her disapproving, calculated pout. Thank darkness, I learned well about women like her before, but this one was a vampire. Meaning asking her in a disgusted voice to just tell me what she wanted would not produce the closure I needed.

“Vampire protocol dictates you answer how long ago you were bitten by your own reckoning,” she informed me. “What time period you are from is a different question that needs only the vaguest of answers. To that question, say only that you’re a futuristic vampire. I ask again. How long were you bitten?”

“Days,” I tried to be dismissive, but unwillingly, I met her hungry eyes and could not break away.

“Like what you see?” she demanded. “Would you like to be bitten again?”

Her eyes promised devotion to bliss. Another vampire, even one my age would have fallen for her promise, but I had the advantage of being bought by old men as a youth. I knew how old men smelled to youthful noses. That disgust revisited itself when I became the old man doing the smelling.

“Do you like fossils, miss Vampy? I knew a girl like you with a fetish for such and an appetite she couldn’t control. Naturally, she was barred from every museum in the city. Perhaps you should think of an alternative payment method for whatever it is that you want from me.”

She nodded, more impressed than insulted.

“Bold,” she conceded. “For a vampire of only days, you know your way around women of the damned. I’ll tell you what I want. I want you. You don’t have to be an old man with a pot belly anymore. You can be as young and handsome as I require, and with the properly sized anatomy as might please me. Why if you’re so inclined, you could be my vixen.”

That gave me an idea.

“And you could then change into a form that I’d be more…well, interested in…in the carnal sense, I mean.”

Contempt was in her, which somehow made her more desirable.

“What, you want blond hair? Or do you prefer young boys?”

“I’ll pass on the blond hair. Could you do white and curly hair that covers your whole body and with four legs instead of two. I’ll also pass on the young boys. I prefer sheep. I’m Irish country at heart. Could you stand about four feet tall and make a sound like this when I …you know. Baaaaah.”

The next instant, she was not standing before me, but rather transported to the other side of the room in a huff.

“And you wonder why no one invites you to parties,” a deep menacing voice said in my ear.

I whirled around, alarmed. “John!”

“Shouldn’t you be working on something?”

“Shouldn’t you have no knowledge that I should be?”

I meant it as a real question. A TAM had come to me. From John’s perspective, this was years before John’s attempts to regain his soul began to fail.

“I require a favor,” he told me in an odd voice that I believe he believed would compel me. “I require you to keep the young woman with me occupied while I conduct some ‘business.’”

“How will I know her?”

“She’ll be the girl at my side when the messenger comes for me.”

“I hear and obey.”

John gave me a strange look but what was I to say? Without further comment, he was gone. I was hoping my mission would not keep me here too late. Besides feeling bored and out of place, I had a down route to run in the morning.

I continued to wander form room to room, pretending to seek conversation and drain the contents of glasses handed to me, lest I offend the host. The true was that not a drop of liquor hit my system as I was wary. I finally found a coat man willing to imbibe my share, despite the chance it would create the impression that I had things of value in my outer garments and not the trust that they would be left when I departed.

I saw her first, and it did not please me.

John’s young woman was not Bryony. She was someone else who was pretending to be his child bride, but she did not have to pretend to be a child. Morals were different in this time, I knew, but that seemed too self-serving for an adult man wishing to exploit adolescent trust. John was not a man, but a vampire. Still, I played along.

“John! I don’t believe I’ve met your bride.” I told him, playing along but with a hint of disapproval and sarcasm.

Melissa almost dropped her glass. Did she know me? This woman who was playing the role of John’s wife Bryony in the Victorian era was, in my time, John’s bride and mother to John-Peter, but now she was still in high school. She stood before me, too innocent to know of her violation, as if asleep and tied to railroad tracks, while the storm of nefarious vampires rode the on-coming train,  dividing the helpless prey.

He introduced her as “Bryony,” and I pretended not to know her by any other name nor did she give me any impression that she knew me.

John’s cue came, and I acted, compelled to keep her in place. I asked her to marry me of course, but it didn’t help, as she changed the subject. I might have grabbed her, tossed her over my shoulder and ran for all I was worth, but what of John-Peter? And what of me? Would my motives remain pure with so much temptation and no soul to hold me to compassion?

I tried to charm her, which meant boring her with ancient lore and hints of my deliberate self-delusion. I told her of my mythical seduction of my lover, whom I likened to the famed Colpa. I expounded my virtues as a ruthless poet, whose exploits drove the De Dananns into such fear that they took to the underground and changed into leprechauns. Through all of this, she politely listened, but I don’t think she learned much.

Poor girl…how does one change the fate of a child that doesn’t accept a POMBEC? What did I mean by that? What is a POMBEC? Do you know?

I retreated when John finally came back. Who was more relieved, Melissa or me?

My plan was to call it a night, but I was unable to direct myself to claim my coat and be done with it. However, there was a glass in my hand. Perhaps the coat man needed refreshment.

“You are an odd bird.”

I spun around and nearly collided into a dashing young man holding his top hat and overcoat.

“Do you know what a POMBEC is?” The words flew out of my mouth without my mind to filter them.

“Of course,” he replied. “It’s a narrowly used acronym for ‘Proposal Of Marriage By Ed Calkins. You do know who Ed Calkins is, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“First you come in, wearing a dress. Then you refuse an offer of sex but replace it with an offer of marriage. One might think you play for the other side.”

As he said this, he placed two fingers on my shoulder and slowly walked them towards my neck. Smiling, I pushed his fingers away. By his voice and his manner, this dandy boy was advertising.

“Pay to play.” I answered. “I was a boy whore many years ago. Bet I’ve had more old men than you’ve had in a lifetime.”

“So direct with a complete stranger,” he teased. “Pity I didn’t bring more money. It might be fun to play with a newly bitten vampire. Less than a week, correct?”

“Play with me, indeed. I’m betting we’ve met before, from your perspective. I suspect we know each other quite well, or you wouldn’t be acting so…”

“Fabulous?”

“Ok. Tell me, are we close friends?”

“Friends,” he reflected theatrically. “Let me see. I find your company laborious, your delusion of grandeur unentertaining, your poetry insufferable, and your thinking misguided - at best.

“So, we are friends.” I concluded.

“Allies,” he corrected. “We are allies with a similar purpose on something important to me. I knew you’d be here less than a week of your new life as a vampire, so I decided:  why not give you a leg up? All vampires, well, any vampires that matter, can’t resist attending a Harrington ball. John has his reasons, and I have mine, which is to cause pain to the other one.”

“John? You’re friends with John Simons?”

“Yes, John and I are ‘friends,’ too, if a man who cheats with the other’s wife, stabs him to death, and then kills himself can be called ‘friends.’ Of course, we’re friends. We hate each other, and we became vampires together. And another thing,” he leaned quite close. “Stop resisting the urge to feed. The more you deny yourself, the sooner you’ll be compelled to commit atrocities.”

“Compelled?” I clung to the one word that interested me

“Yes.” He held out his hand. “Henry Matthews. Charmed to meet you, too, Ed Calkins.”

“I only asked about the compelled part because it seems to me that I’ve been compelled to be here, quite against my will.”

“Hmm, that sounds serious. Against your will, you say? That can only be the work of another vampire.” Henry looked around. “We should talk but not here. Someplace less visible. Follow me.”

I followed him out of the room and down the hall to a table just big enough for its four chairs. It was so close to the kitchen that I took it for the place where the house chef and his senior staff had their meals. With such a party, it seemed unlikely that they would dine while the demands of the ball required so much labor.

“Kellen Wechsler,” Henry said once we were seated and set his outerwear down. “Do you know him?”

“John’s manager, but I never met him.”

“That is unlikely an accident. When John Simons plays for vampires, all eyes turn to Kellen Wechsler.”

“I didn’t mean to say you didn’t see him, I meant I wasn’t introduced,” I defended.

Henry grinned. “You mean you might have seen him, but you wouldn’t know, because you couldn’t match a face to the name. I think you didn’t see him. If you had, you’d know him by another name and, thus, know of your peril.”

“A lot to assume, seeing this is my first time meeting vampires other than John Simons.”

“Oh, my dear Steward, quickly toss your sanity aside, or you’ll never achieve your destiny. The world depends on it.”

 I laughed until I realized he wasn’t joking. For a while, he just peered at me with a troubled expression. Then he sighed, stood up, and walked away. I just sat there, wondering if he’d taken offense. But he soon returned, carrying what appeared to be a wine bottle and two goblets. He uncorked the bottle and released the mouthwatering taste of blood. He poured two glasses and handed one to me.

“Welcome to the Kingdom of the Damned,” Henry said as he settled back into his chair. “Do you know the two ways to become a vampire? Live a corrupt life that ends in violence or become a vampire’s victim. In the first case, like mine, you’re free from any master other than your own evil appetite. In the second case, yours, the vampire that drained your blood has mastery over you and compels you as he or she pleases.”

He took a sip and waited for my reaction. I had none. So he continued.

“Now vampires have been around since the beginning of man, and it’s always been as I said, until the case of you and John. I killed John before I killed myself. Therefore, John should have no one compelling him. Yet Kellen has a hold on him that can’t be explained any other way than how I’m about to explain it. Even before his death, Kellen ‘compelled’ John to let the woman he loved die while giving birth. Kellen is a careful, calculating vampire. Vampires kill their masters or mistresses to achieve freedom, so Kellen is careful to hide his mastery of John, and makes John believe that, what he does at Kellen’s mandate, he does of his own free will. He has to be far more careful with you because you’re watching for him. You believe you can escape damnation if you free your soul from the deity that stole it. You’re motivated in ways he can’t predict and dangerous because of your own insanity. Do you know what Deep Time Psychosis is?”

I found it strange that I did.

“Not strange at all,” Henry insisted. “You are the first vampire to contract it. You’re also the first vampire to coin the term and try to treat it. It’s how I know John Simons is not compelling you. I asked you to do something for me, which involved you going into the future. If John compelled you, he wouldn’t have let you go.”

“Henry, I’m confused by your relationship with John,” I confessed. “This might be a sore subject, in that it ended in a murder/suicide, but I take it you and he were lovers.”

He sighed again, took another sip, and leaned back. “We were indeed ‘lovers,’ but that didn’t create our animosity. We were drifting apart before John started becoming famous for his music, and Kellen dominated his life. We stopped being lovers without ever…well, breaking it off. But then John met Bryony, and everything changed. I fell in love with her from the first moment I saw her, but I never pursued her.”

“Why not?”

Henry stared hard at me for a long moment.

“Inappropriate,” he finally said. “Inappropriate at the time. But John eventually fell in love with her and then married her, quite against Kellen’s wishes. But although John went against his manager in courtship and marriage, he obeyed Kellen like a dutiful boy whore throughout that marriage, which meant he neglected the only person John would ever love. Because he spent so little time with her, John recruited me as her chaperone, thinking he knew all about my ‘preferences.’ Bryony was so young, sad, lonely, and beautiful, that despite my other tastes, I could not resist her. Even so, I could have played understudy to him, but he was never around, being compelled like a monkey on a leash. When even Bryony realized that her husband’s relationship with his manager was more than just business, she was heartbroken and turned to me for comfort. Bryony’s pregnancy was unlikely to be the cause of his scant attentions, but our denials off set his suspicion. Bryony died giving birth. She would have survived if John had called for her doctor sooner. We didn’t know at the time that her infant survived. That seemed unlikely with an infant corpse beside the mother’s body…an early oakwood model unit, you told me later. You claim your wood sprite tore the child from the womb and replaced it with a decoy he had stolen from a leprechaun. Furthermore, you had a sample of that child’s DNA tested, and I came up as the father. I begged you before, and I’m begging you now: protect that infant from John, especially considering that, for a short time, John will be my son’s adopted father. Melissa, whom you recognize as the mother, the child who, in extreme irony, is playing the part of Bryony, will be my son’s stepmother, so I need you to protect her, too. You had to go into the deep future to get a device called an electronic womb that will let my son have a normal childhood by living his life remotely. When you did this, you got lost.”

“Hmmm, a love for a young woman and an interest in another…one might think that you are playing for the other team,” I teased.

“Melissa is my student in 1975!” he snapped quite unexpectedly.

I apologized, knowing the code of honor teachers have for their students. Then, trying to distract him, I asked, “So what are the perils of this mission that puts you so in my debt?”

He took another sip and smiled, but I couldn’t tell if it was a friendly smile or a seething smile.

“To understand the Kingdom of the Damned, you’ll need to know how to kill a vampire. Before your little invention, most living humans only knew one way to do it: discover the vampire’s coffin, lie in wait for that vampire to start reanimating, and then drive a wooden stake through its chest.”

“That’s the only way?”

“In theory, other methods exist, but the practice is tricky. A silver knife or bullet may disable a vampire. Here’s the problem. If a vampire bleeds and falls, the mortal may foolishly believe he extinguished the unholy threat. But in reality, the vampire will reanimate in the place it was put to rest. Only a decomposing corpse confirms that the undead has been destroyed. A beheaded vampire will expire the same as staked vampire, but most of the living lack that strength to accomplish it. Crosses, garlic, direct sunlight, or holy water are myths that serve the undead well.”

“Such myths have a vampire origin?”

“Yes.” He gave me strange look. “But don’t just fear being killed. There are many diseases that are fatal to vampires. Perhaps keep a thermometer with you.”

“You mentioned getting lost.”

“Yes. You see, my dear Calkins, the kingdom of the damned is a small community. You need only a party like this one to keep up with who’s been staked, removed by another vampire, or perished from disease. In vampire history, many simply went missing. Most were deep time traveling vampires, much like yourself. In the vast years, some of the missing turned up again. Some were just depressed and sealed themselves from all company…until they had to feed. Others turned up as victims of some unlikely adventure, such as the vampire that was frozen in a glacier in the height of the last ice age. He found himself in a museum. Most comical.”

“Except for the vampire.”

“Well, yes. My point is, even with these plausible explanations, too many vampires disappear. We only have one source to explain it.”

“Is that source credible?”

A strange look appeared once again on his face.

“No. Any credible vampire would stay completely away from deep time. When we visit the past, we’re careful not to enter the past as it was, but the past as it exists in our differing perspectives of ‘now.’ If, by some mistake or intention, we change the past, we’ve only changed events or happenstance that does not change humanity. The same with the future. Years go by, and any paradoxes are resolved by forgetfulness or misinterpretation.”

Henry’s countenance darkened, and he took another, more thoughtful, sip. “Deep time is different. If you go back in time to change your present, no problem. Eventually you will perish and no harm, or good, will result from your incursion. Not so when you go back to the future to change the course of human existence, even if the change seems trivial. That sort of incursion will drive you insane.”

“What is this not credible source claiming?”

“Deep time travel involves going through portals where you don’t know the space or time on the other end, but it’s a continuum. Think of it as a train ride with changing directions. You travel very rapidly but can only get off when a train reaches a station. Since you’ve never taken this train, you can only assume the next stop is the place you want. According to rumor, our ‘source’ fell asleep while riding this time train. When he did get off, he encountered a time and place where no life existed. Molten metals shot up from the burning, melting, hell-scape. Maybe it was the distant past, maybe the distant future, it’s impossible to tell. Some claim he’d entered hell itself.”

              “Why didn’t this source just get back on the train?”

              “Rumor says he did…millions of times for as many years, but the other side of every portal looked the same as the last. H couldn’t determine which direction; past, future, or maybe something sideways, was the way back to where plants and animals existed. But the source did find other vampires. Apparently, they couldn’t be starved out of existence, but they were too weak to move. Liken them to someone walking the tracks in the way that we walk along the ‘tracks’ of our future, one day at a time. Except in that case, they know they’re heading to their future. Many of these vampires were clumped together, as if they’d wandered and found each other, one by one, while they still had the strength to change their position. This ‘source’ kept getting weaker and weaker as he was unable to feed.”

              “Until he jumped into the right portal?”

              “Yes – and most likely with help from a supernatural deity. Some say Satan helped him. Or perhaps it was some other fallen agent. In either case, this supernatural being found it difficult to provide help and spent a great deal of effort giving it. The deity was omni-present and had no need for space/time. It could not direct the source because it didn’t know the victim’s origin, except from its perspective of ‘here/now.’ So to direct this source, the deity reanimated a Mayan Magi and transmitted the location of the stars. This took many attempts as the source was a poor and inaccurate communicator. After much effort, and with this source barely able to wiggle for lack of sustenance, the source finally went through a portal that allowed him to feed. Once within the timeline of existing life, the source navigated his way back to his own space/time.”

              “And so he lived to tell the tale,” I concluded.

              “He did, but he didn’t. I haven’t finished the story. Something more needed to be done, though I doubt any sane vampire would have attempted it. The other starved vampires, given that ‘forever’ allows all things possible, would eventually find their way back to their own times and want revenge for being abandoned in hell. Instead of learning his lesson, this source reversed course and returned to the space/time of that hellish landscape. But what he found there, what he brought with him to use on the other vampires, and if he needed the same supernatural help to get in and out the portal, is unknown. We should assume he brought a wooden stake and mallet, ending any threat, but this is a crazy vampire. If he brought blood with him, he might have brought those vampires back. They would be in debt to him, and vampires do not like to be in debt. One might say this crazy vampire painted a very large target on his back…a back he should watch.”

              “I would think that any vampire who has the favor of a supernatural deity would be too dangerous to mess with.”

            Henry snickered. “Well, there’s the rub. Not everyone agrees that a supernatural deity fueled his escape. They think he was simply Irish.”

              “The luck of the Irish,” I mused…until realizing I’m the only known Irish vampire. “Wait. Am I the unreliable source?”

              “You never said you were.”

              “Then what are you saying?” I asked impatiently.

              “No. I said YOU never said that…any of it. If you had, anyone could easily dismiss it.” Henry leaned close and dropped his voice. “John Simons is a powerful vampire and since you became one, he’s kept a close eye on you. But one day, for a few hours, he was frantic to find you. The link between a master vampire and his slave is such that he’d know if you’d been staked. And if that wasn’t enough, Kellen Wechsler was even more than frantic. He was actually n a rage, screaming to all around him that no one gets away from his power. During that hour, or two, it was very clear that you were missing and that the pair had plans, opposing plans, with you being critical to those plans. For his part, Kellen organized a vampire search party from every time in every part of the globe. If you were on the earth during the time of men, they’d have found you, but they didn’t.”

              “So what happened next?”

              “Nothing. It was as if everyone simply forgot anything that happened and that hour or two became the smallest part of a second. I forgot, too but since I’m a writer, I keep a journal. Imagine my surprise when I read about your disappearance and Kellen’s rage regarding it. As I was reading it, the same thing happened a second time. Ed Calkins was missing, and every vampire with any connection to Kellen had to search or else. In much less than an hour, which became less than a second, the entire incident was forgotten again. Of course, I knew about it because of my journal, but I’m not the only vampire who keeps one. That is our first clue. Our second clue came with invitations to some wild parties from vampires no one knew. Do you know what the IVA is?”

              “Irish Republican Army…the Catholic resistance through the Trouble.”

              “No. The I.V.A. stands for Irish Vampire Association. You’re considered to be the only known member, except you’ve never admitted it. You’ve told people how to join. You’ve told me how to join. Most of us just think you’re just crazy, except these vampires no one seems to know, but you, crash our parties, one at a time. Always inexplicably, his name winds up on the guest list. The unknown vampire always introduces himself with, “Hi, good to finally meet you…I don’t know how we’ve never met before…strange, huh?’ Always, the stranger appeared to know us, but only one vampire seemed to know the stranger…you. Furthermore, none of these new vampires are ever seen together. Then after every unknown vampire was introduced, they invited us to rather extreme events thrown in their honor. One was the dedication to an Aztec temple, complete with the sacrifices of fifty warriors, each having their living hearts torn out of their chests. Or the day at a Roman colosseum where the vampire’s guests were seated with the Emperor. Every blood sacrifice you can imagine, these new vampires hosted.”

              “How is it thought that these new vampires relate to me?”

              “The rumor is that you, ‘the source,’ took two items back with you: stakes and blood in gallon containers. You forced each vampire to swear alliance to you, the Irish Empire, and the IVA before you let them drink. You never implied a direction back to modern time, but you have all kinds of ridiculous stories about Neanderthal men and the ancient times. You even implied once that you were in Portugal, trying to make it to India, and that you hitched a ride with Christopher Columbus on his famous voyage. Although no one believes you or finds your pathetic attempt at humor charming, no one completely discounts what’s not told directly. For example how many vampires did you encounter on your ride to the present?”

              “You don’t believe any of this, do you? It certainly seems unlikely.”

              He grabbed me by the collar with frightening speed. Henry’s expression was a mix of fear, rage, and desperation.

              “Fall apart, man! Quit being rational! Your enemies can read your mind! You must scatter your wits and believe the unbelievable or you’ll never survive!”

              I shook with fright and tried to compose myself.

              “Not surviving hardly worries me,” I told him. “I’m already dead.”

              He stared at me long and hard and then released his grip.

              “Maybe this will unhinge you,” Henry said as he reached into his pocket. “You gave me this gift with one condition: that upon my passing, I would leave it to one of your living family.”

              He held out a strange black rock. Funny, but when I say “black” and “strange,” I mean like a small piece of reality that had become a black hole…a missing piece of the natural world. The rock was flat in dimension and heavier than it should have been for how thin it was, which was perhaps slightly thicker than paper.

“Open your hand,” Henry said.

I did, and Henry placed the rock on my palm.

“It’s a mirror,” he said, watching my reaction intently. “It’s made from a substance not found in the time of life.”

I pointed the rock at other objects. Nothing changed in its blackness.

              “It reflects reality the way non-living things see it. If you had a powerful enough microscope, you might see the unchanging particles in random motion the way they were since the beginning of creations. What you’ll never see is life or the living.”

              I looked at him, bewildered. “It’s just a dark, flat, rock.”

              “Gaze into it and see.”

              I did and saw something I had not seen since I’d become undead. My reflection! It was as clear as the day before my death when I could see myself in a mirror!

              “Do you believe you now?” Henry sneered. “This was my last chance to convince you to take yourself with a dose of pompous grandeur. A sane vampire can’t do what you must. A sane vampire will never kill Kellen to save Melissa, create a normal life for my unborn son, or make a three-day holiday, complete with a parade, to commemorate his birthday.”

              “Calkins Day,” I brightened. “I like the ring to that…celebrated on the thirteenth of February…right between Lincoln’s birthday and Valentine’s day. There could be a big parade with candy, balloons, and leprechauns. It seems meant to be.”

              Henry smiled softly and raised his glass. “Ah, there’s my delusional fool.”

Illustration by Nancy Calkins for "Ruthless." Excerpt is from the same book.