Work Text:
[CLICK]
NOVELIST
Right. I’ve convinced another one of the poor souls here to provide me with a statement. Should be coming soon and I’m dying to hear what he has to say.
He was… an odd looking fellow. I don’t mean to be rude of course but he looked awfully pale. I hope he's in good health. Now what he told me about was th-
ANDREW
[DOOR CREAKS OPEN EXTREMELY SLOWLY]
…
NOVELIST
Ah! Mr. Kreiss, was it? Come on in.
ANDREW
…
NOVELIST
Mr. Kreiss? Are you… okay?
ANDREW
Yes.
NOVELIST
You can come in. Please, I insist. There's a seat right here for you.
ANDREW
You are sure?
NOVELIST
Yes, I am absolutely sure. Are you worried about your statement? If you are, we can talk about how to help you through it or push it off for a bit.
ANDREW
…
[DOOR IS CLOSED QUICKLY. HEAVY, SLOW FOOTSTEPS. A CHAIR SCRAPES AGAINST THE FLOOR AS THE FOOTSTEPS STOP]
No. I will speak.
[LOUD CLANGING]
Oh.
NOVELIST
Oh! You’ve brought your shove-
ANDREW
Yes. I have. [huff]
NOVELIST
Alright. Well. Shall we begin? Do you have anything to preface with before you make your statement?
ANDREW
…
I only did what was right.
NOVELIST
Understood. Right. Let me get the formalities out of the way now.
Statement of Andrew Kreiss, regarding…?
ANDREW
Corpses.
NOVELIST
Is that all?
ANDREW
[annoyed] You want me to speak right?
NOVELIST
I’m sorry, don’t mind me. I’m more used to people over-explaining things. Now, when would you say this happened? Don’t worry about being too specific.
ANDREW
I do not know. Maybe 1895. Maybe not.
NOVELIST
Completely fine. Now, I just need to say one more thing before you begin with your story.
Statement taken directly from subject. Recorded in the Oletus Manor at an indeterminate date and time.
Statement begins. Mr. Kreiss, your turn.
ANDREW (STATEMENT)
…
I must say this first. Not to you, sir, but to my Lord. I am sorry for what I have done. I know your commandments by heart, I know that you say “Thou shalt not kill.” But I have. And for that I am sorry. However, I am not sorry for who I have killed. That man was not deserving of your grace, my Lord. He was a devilish man and I had to put him where he was meant to be, in the depths of Hell where his own lord resides. It was the least I could do.
I had called him Landlord Marshall. At that time I at least knew to respect his name and his title for that's what he was, he was my landlord. To be more specific, he was my mothers landlord and my master. My poor, sweet mother. She doted on me like no other could have despite my wretched exterior. I doubt that I will ever find someone who would love me as much as she did while she still walked the earth. I miss her so. But…that damnable man. He ruined everything. He ruined not only my life but hers and to do so is such a heinous crime. I know it is sinful to wish death upon someone but in my heart I knew that it would be just. He cast us out of our place of safety and worship as if we were mere filth that need be disposed of all in the sake of coin. He had enough, he didn’t need ours. We were merely two simple people, a mother and her freakish son, who needed a bed to sleep in and a roof above us to keep us safe.
It was too soon when she passed on. As she lay sick and dying, I clasped the hand that was at her side. My claws felt so small in her weathered palm which was slick with the sweat of the dying. She turned her head to look at me and I looked back as all curious children do. She smiled but that didn't prevent the rot to seep through in her exposed cheek bones and bagged eyes. She opened her mouth, cracking lips sucked completely dry and began to speak in a voice as craggly as a rock:
“My dear boy… please… come closer.”
And so I did. If I wanted to be her dear boy as she suggested I might be then I should do as she asked of me.
“You know that I love you, right?”
She reached her hand over and caressed my face. At the time I was nearly as gaunt as she had been. Her finger traced by cheekbones and went down to my chin and her smile never waivered. I smiled back at her. Once she returned her hand back to the bed and croaked again.
“Even when I am in God's arms, I will always love you. You will always be my precious little Andrew.”
She gripped onto my smaller hand loosely and turned her head back to face the ceiling. I never got to see the life leave her eyes but when I think about it more I certainly prefer that to the alternative. What I did hear was her final breath. I don’t think describing it as a breath would provide a proper explanation. It sounded more like a content sigh. After that she didn’t move, the hand that I clasped in mine went limp. I may have been a child, but being a child of squalor I knew what death looked like. I do not doubt that you have seen or heard a babe cry but trust me when I say I wailed harder than any child that at least I had ever bore witness to. For days, I begged and prayed to the Lord for forgiveness, if He saw fit to take my mother away from me then I must have done something wrong.
Of course, we did not have the money for any sort of proper burial. She was cast aside like bowels from the butcher and I was sent into work.
Laz was a place for the wicked. They say that it is a place that connects those who are laid to rest within its walls directly to Heaven and the Lord. It is not a place that I am worthy for, not in this beastly form. The people that are laid here are as filthy as the very soil they are buried under. Hearts full of not love for the Lord but love of money. After all, Laz only accepts those who have paid their dues in advance, and it is most certainly a pretty penny's worth. There was money that people like me, those who live among the muck and disease, stuck in the pockets of those who simply crave it.
I was about to begin my night in the cemetery when I saw the poster. It was printed clearly and tacked to the gates of Laz. It read:
‘Bodies Needed for the Advancement of Medicine and Sciences. Will Pay Handsomely for Retrieval.’
I grabbed this poster and stuck it into my cloak. These people do not deserve to rest within such holy soil, they should experience rot as much as their subjects and servants have. The very same night, I dug up my first coffin. It was ornate, carved with a cross on the top closest to the dead's chest. Using the sharp edge of my spade I pried the coffin open. This was a somewhat recent victim of the reaper, so it was still ‘fresh’ enough for the enquirer, or at least I hoped it was. At the very least, if they saw that I had brought a full body they would see my dedication for the cause. Apparently, it was just fine for what they needed and, as promised, I was indeed paid handsomely. I had never had a bag of coin as hefty as this. I could support myself. I continued this work. I dug up grave after grave after grave of rich old men and women who were full to the brim of ornate jewelry and clothing, bagged them and dragged them to the doctors for my dues. I had a new job to do.
After one particular night, the doctors had told me: “Andrew, Andrew, we are very proud of you. The only problem is that these corpses do not always work. We need to get something… fresher.”
If it was fresh they wanted, it was fresh they were going to get.
Master Marshall was still a wicked man. He was the nightwatcher over Laz now. The perfect body.
I made sure to speak with him alone, in a secluded corner of Laz covered in shrubbery and forest. He was even harsher than I remembered him being when I was a mere boy.
“Did your mother do as I suggested, hm?”
I dare not reply. Only stare in my building rage.
“I told her to leave you. To find a new life away from a Godless beast like you.” At that point, he made a move toward me thinking me intimidated. My spade, sharp as his very tongue, made quick work of his skull. I planned ahead of time and had an open grave ready to receive his writhing, squirming mass. He rolled in with little problem at the behest of my boot. Business as usual the rest of that night, no one knew the wiser.
It was the next night that haunts me still to this very moment.
I was absolutely certain that he was dead. There is no way in the world of my God that this man should have still been able to breathe and speak a full day after he had been buried. And yet, as I approached the mock grave that I had placed him in, I heard a sickly voice.
In a voice as haggard as a corpses could have been, I heard it:
“Andrew,” it croaked, “Your God does not love you, Andrew.”
I stopped in my tracks, scanning the surrounding areas without a sign of life, yet plenty of the undeath.
I heard it again.
“Andrew,” it squelched, “You are truly the monster you feared yourself to be.”
That is when my gaze met his plot. I could feel the drops of sweat forming on my face. This couldn't have possibly been true. It was just the wind or some forest critter just playing a game in the creaking wood. Not the man in the ground. Certainly not. I hastily made my way out of the area of the cemetery he resided in to tend to the remainder of the dead. And yet, I heard it a third time.
“Andrew,” it moaned, “You will join us in the ground soon enough.”
I ran. I couldn’t take it anymore. He was dead. He. Was. Dead. Surely, He was dead. He should have been dead.
I was very glad that the doctors needed a fresh corpse, I needed him out of the ground and in their hands immediately. He needed to get away from me. But… if he truly was still alive among the worms and roots and I attempted to excavate he would surely be at my throat in a moment or less. I trusted in my Lord to protect me, the cross at my chest, and I plunged my spade into the earth.
He was cold. Stiff. Dead. Thank you, my Lord. Thank you.
I bagged him as quickly as I could and made my way to the doctors. They were extremely impressed and paid me even more. The coin glittered in my gloved palms but I didn’t care. I just cared that Mister Marshall would speak to me no more.
The very next night was when they discovered the truth. Their torches beamed down at me with the might of the very sun itself, burning my eggshell flesh further which each step they took. I ran. And now I am here.
There. That is my story.
NOVELIST
Statement ends.
Thank you, Mr. Kreiss. I am sorry that this has happened to you.
ANDREW
…
How.
NOVELIST
I… beg your pardon-?
ANDREW
How did you do that. I did not want to divulge that much.
[CHAIR SCRAPES AGAINST THE FLOOR AND A FEW QUICK FOOTSTEPS ARE HEARD, METAL BEING SCRAPED BRIEFLY AS IF PICKED OFF]
Get back, foul demon! I damn thee to the fiery bowels of Hell!
NOVELIST
Woah woah woah! Please, Andrew, I am no devil. Please… I do not know what you mean by th-
ANDREW
You claimed you wanted to hear what I had to say and yet you betrayed me. You forced my lips.
Get away from me!!
[QUICK, PANICKED BREATHING IS HEARD]
NOVELIST
I mean you no harm, friend. Please, if you need to leave, then you may leave. I am sorry, again, I truly mean it.
ANDREW
…
Do not approach me again, heretic.
[RAPID FOOTSTEPS. A DOOR IS QUICKLY OPENED AND CLOSED AGGRESSIVELY]
NOVELIST
…
Well. That… did not go as I anticipated. I hope he is alright… but what does he mean, “You forced my lips?” Hrm. I will have to do some research on all of this.
[CLICK]
…
[CLICK]
Supplemental.
I have done some research on this Laz Cemetery place that Mr. Kreiss is said to have worked for and that does appear to line up well.
This is especially the case since I have found a paper clipping about a ‘gravekeeper and night watch going missing on roughly the same night.’ This does give some credibility to his whole “steal bodies to use for medicine” argument.
I do not, however, know of this poster that he claimed to advertise for such a thing. Perhaps he still has it with him but I do not think he would be up for any further investigation.
That, and I am still unsure of what he means when he was claiming that I forced him to speak. All very odd. But I think that about does it.
End supplemental.
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