You might consider me mad or raving, and, as the story progresses, you might even fancy me as wicked and perverse. But what you will read is simply a series of events, which, when entangled together, brought out the worst of me. The mark of this crime is eternal - but I am not to be judged for it! Any would have acted as I had, and with my story, you will understand why.
Names, descriptions, dates and places have been erased, so the mystery shall envelop my being forevermore. No one shall ever prove that I have done it, and may even dismiss this as the ravings of a mad and dying man. Well, I certainly am not mad, and I am not dying!
I am Morbid. Obviously, that is not my true name, but I need a name to be recognised, that, should someone whisper my name in horror of what I did, my soul may find delight in it - a delight some may find as cruel. Yet I am not cruel, merely human.
Since my youth I have had a fascination with certain animals, superstitiously linked to the realm of the occult and the dark, such as cats, bats, crows, and the like. This interest worried my progenitors, causing them to send me to attend to church every Sunday. Yet my love for such animals would not perish.
When I grew older - and had purchased my own domain - I began to collect specimens of the animals I so adored in my youth. I had a black cat, henceforth known as Vrolok; I had also a cellar with two bats, whose gender I could never well determine, whose names shall be (for the sheer fun of naming my beloved winged shadows, as I had never before worried in naming them, since I could not tell them apart, so alike they were) Monos and Una.
Besides these pets I kept in my domain, flights of crows and ravens also nestled themselves upon the trees of my garden. Extremely happy was I, when I sat on my chair reading many a book of lore, science or philosophy, with Vrolok sleeping in my bosom, while outside the black birds sat on the trees and sang their dissonant napes; even when cleaning the mess that my bats always arranged to make in my cellar.
But, as happy as I could be with these companions, I felt myself quite alone. I had no one to share a house with; no friend to invite over to my house, as all others always fancied me (on account of my strange taste for animals and art in general) as strange - and sometimes, evil!
The realization of this descended upon me like a fog on the forest, and filled me with an immense depression, which my animals could but sooth for a few moments.
My bats cared not about me, as expected, and so did the birds in my garden, but still their chants and eerie sounds would bring to me some peace of mind. Vrolok was the only one to care about my welfare, as he seemed to sense well when I needed his company at my side the most.
One night, as I sat at a desk on my study, writing a poem for my yet-to-come love, Vrolok, who sat on the desk near a few books. My window was half-opened, as it was a very hot night. Half-way through the poem, Vrolok suddenly lifted him self and jumped through the window into the garden, and from the garden he ran to the street. Puzzled, but fearful of losing my closest companion, I immediately ran after him. As I reached the street, I could find him nowhere, and I was afraid to leave the house unattended. In doubt I stood at the gate of my house, when I heard Vrolok's distinct meowing from the corner. Delighted, I ran to him.
He sat near a lady that lay on the floor, gently licking her face.
Now, this lady shall not be named anywhere in this confession of sorts, for it was she - it was she! Oh, Fate and your decadent ways!
She was still breathing, yet unconscious. I could not let her stay on the street at that hour, as surely some brute would pass and lavish upon her his primal desires of carnal lust; besides, Vrolok himself had come to her, for some reason, which I myself have yet not discovered.
So I picked her up, and took her to my house. In my house, I laid her upon my bed, and left her, that only at the morrow might she wake, not before. It surprised me that Vrolok did not follow me, and decided instead to remain in the room with her, yet I paid it no notice beyond the initial shock and puzzlement; so, alone, I returned to my study, to finish my poem. While I wrote it, it came to my mind that this young lady herself could become my bride. I shook my head - she would probably leave in the morning, and I would never set my eyes upon her figure again.
Up came the morning when I noticed it, having fallen asleep at a time I could not recall. At my awake, I directed myself into my room, wherein lay the lady I had saved. Upon entering, I found her quite awake, playing with Vrolok, something quite unusual. A conversation ensued; formal introductions from both parts, and here I shall not name that maiden, that she alone is the sole cause of my sins!
To shorten the meaningless story, she and I married a year after that morning. We were happy together.
It delighted me to see that she loved to play with Vrolok. However, I, as a writer, was experiencing poverty, and thus unable to take care of my family of sorts, I went down into a stupor of alcohol. I drank what I could, when I could.
Now, amid this new addiction of mine, I lost the pleasure I had found in seeing my wife playing with my cat, as it seemed to me that they took no notice of me, and only of each other. I did not exist in their eyes. Happiness turned to melancholy, and with time - and alcohol - to silent rage. Thus, I too neglected them, and delighted myself in the cellar, with my bats, which had in the mean time bred, meaning one was female, or that another female bat had taken hold of that cellar - which was not too impossible, as I kept a small hole for Monos and Una to fly in and out as they wished. The mess was bigger and harder to clean, but the sounds were more beautiful than ever.
One night, as I had come back from the pub, drunk, I saw Vrolok alone, since my wife was away for that night, tending to her sick sister, who lived not too far away. Happy to at last be able to spend some time with Vrolok, something I had not done in over a year, I approached him and proceeded to caress him, as I used to; yet he rejected my hand, slashing it with his sharp claws, then turning his back on me. There my silent rage could take it no more. With a fierce movement, I grabbed him hardly by the neck and threw him to the fire that was ablaze on the hearth. The cat bellowed a sound that seemed to come from the deepest of hells, yet he would not leave the hearth, as I impeded him to do so.
The next morning, the police and the neighbours asked about the noise - "Merely the cat" said I "who went berserk for reasons unknown to me. See! The marks upon my arm, where he slashed me!" - And my wife asked about Vrolok. I told her that he had fled, and I had lost him. The tears in her eyes almost made me strangle her in the spot, but I controlled myself. Vrolok was gone, and she was now mine and only mine.
Yet one night, as I had fallen asleep on my study again, amidst the bottles of wine and the papers and the ink, I woke up to the sound of a surprised cry, which seemed to come from the cellar. I immediately ran to there, where I discovered that my wife had found my colony of bats, which now surrounded her, as she screamed, stricken with fear. Whether it was the alcohol, or simply the wrath I now felt of her, or possibly both combined, I do not know, but my rage grew fierce when I saw her in the middle of my (oh so dearest!) bats; for her, I had already lost Vrolok, and my heart began to race when - oh, how so discretely that idea penetrated my mind and turned the blood on my veins into pure cold venom - I thought that I would lose my bats for her. Already they searched for the exit, panicked at her shouting. She would - was! - drive them away from me, from the house!
"I will not allow you!" I shouted; gripping a shovel that was at hand, I branded it in her direction, screaming "No! You shall not take them too away from me, witch!" burying the shovel deeply in her head, with a grisly sound as it cracked her (so fragile) skull.
Dead she fell to the floor, the blood painting it red. Alone I stood in the cellar, as the bats had all fled through the window, causing the crowd outside to cry in horror. To the gallows I would surely go, if I did not act accordingly and quickly - and swiftly I acted, and with cunning, though some shall call it, madly, madness! Therefore, I proceeded to the upper floor, where the fire burned on the hearth, and taking burning cinders from there, proceeded to burn my whole house. The blow on my wife's head would be the cause of the building falling on her. Yes, geniality had descended upon me, and granted me the foresight to save myself!
When all had been done, I exited the house, taking care to partially burn myself to make my story creditable. Outside, the neighbours and passers stood, aghast with the vision of (my beloved!) bats. They rushed to me, and aided me to security, while I wept, wept for my beloved spouse, who I could not save from such a terrible and disastrous fire - and my soul grinned at how they began to weep and mourn for me!
The flames now engulfed the whole of the house. Suddenly, a high cry was heard amongst the crowds. Pointing to an open window on the upper floor - I recognised it as the window of my study - a woman screamed and seemed to faint. I took no notice of it, for I was aghast at the vision that appeared in the window - my wife, or so it seemed, the blood dripping from the blow in her head; and in her arms, a shadow whose end seemed to wave maliciously - Vrolok! All outside looked in horror, and I trembled, and nearly swooned, as my two crimes came back from the grave - and beyond! - to haunt me still!
The figure then let out a huge shriek, like that of a tortured soul in the deepest torturous recesses of
Hades, and raising an arm, pointed at me! She pointed at me, though none around me could be sure to where she pointed - but I knew! She tried to sentence
me to justice; Vrolok, in her arms, let out a ghoulish cry, a cry that merged itself with the howl my wife gave, and seemed to clasp my soul and drag it
down into the eternal fiery pits. After that, the house fell on them. And all that was left for me was the darkness that covered my eyes when I, at last,
swooned.
What happened next, many may guess. I shall not tell; it is further irrelevant to this point. You have thus read my story, and know now that I, Morbid, am
free of the ghoulish atrocity committed on that miserable house!
But you have not seen the last of me. This event is merely the beginning of a painting, being myself the tormented, yet lucid, painter, inked in blood on human skin. Many, many tragedies befell me after that. Out there, much bears the Morbid mark - and are thus condemned.
It has made my day. Thanks!
