Page 3 of A Kiss From a Revenant
Hopelessness buckles my knees and nearly sends me to the ground. My life flashes before me. All of it was for nothing. I knew agreeing to be Gunnar’s wife would kill me. Yet, it seems he’s found a way of ending my life despite my best efforts. If I had left all those years ago like I had dreamed, this wouldn’t have been my fate. Twenty-four years and I have nothing to show for it but a pair of scarred thumbs and a crumbling cottage.
Scenes from over the years play before my eyes in a pathetic montage. I am going to die before experiencing anything. Adventure, excitement, love—how am I to perish without knowing love? Without giving myself to a man and calling him my own? How?—
There is a soft rustling sound, as if something is moving through the trees at a fast pace. Faster than any animal or human is capable of. I’m unable to turn my head, as Gunnar’s finger is still tight on the trigger.
Maybe that’s how I miss it—or I am already dead and this is all a hallucination because one moment I am staring at a loaded gun and the next Lord Gunnar is nowhere to be seen.
The spot he left behind in the grass is barren save for the two large footprints his boots disturbed. I let out a breath as my heart jams itself in my throat. Had I envisioned the whole thing? Was this some trick conjured up by my own mind as a manifestation of why it was unwise to come out here?
Slowly, I lift my hand and find the front of my gown. The laces of my dress are still untied, meaning…meaning it wasn’t a delusion. Gunnar was here—he planned to do unspeakable things to me, and then he was gone. But how?
The graveyard is eerily quiet. The sounds of animals and rustling leaves are missing. There is only one low sound that cuts through the silence. It is out of place. It sounds wet—suctioning—the sound a mouth makes drinking the last dregs from a soup bowl.
Licking my dry lips, I survey the empty graveyard again. My heart pounds when I see them, nearly hidden by a fallen tombstone. There, amongst the broken stones, is a pair of polished hunting boots. Soft keening noises greet my ears as I approach.
I don’t know why I’m heading that way—I should be running from this place while I still have a chance. Instead, I pad over, and what greets me is a gruesome sight.
Lord Gunnar is dead.
Or at least he will be very soon. His skin is pale, and his lips have turned blue. Those dark eyes that have looked at me with unbridled lust have turned milky and unseeing. His arms fall limply at his sides as one last wheezing gasp tumbles through his mouth. The only dead body I’ve seen was my mother’s, and it was merely a glimpse before the doctor covered her in sheets.
I should be more transfixed by the sight, yet Lord Gunnar is not what my eyes land on. They are fixated on the bony hand holding his jaw and thrusting his face away. Pale skin stretchesthin, highlighting each skinny bone and bumpy knuckle. I follow it until it disappears at the wrist under a dark cloak. The hood is up, and the head is buried at the juncture of Gunnar’s neck and shoulder. Its body trembles, and the slurping sounds from its mouth reach me.
The sound makes my stomach roll as the creature pauses. Dropping his hand, Gunnar’s body slumps over with a heavy thud and lies prone on the cold ground. My eyes return to the figure who stands, rising to its full impressive height.
Dull metallic clanks follow each of his stilted motions. A long, dark, tattered cloak slips down his back and drags along the dark grass. Before I can move, the creature whirls on me, and my whole world shifts.
The hood has fallen back, revealing a completely skeletal face. Hollowed cheeks and eyes are covered in the same waxy, pale skin as the hand. Inside the empty sockets, a fire roars; the light at the center is stark white. Rusty armor covers the rest of its body. The creature is massive—a foot taller than any man I have ever seen—and lean. Those blazing eyes stare at me, their color turning to a burning red with each passing second.
Blood covers his mouth and jaw. The scarlet liquid drips onto his cloak in a steady stream. Realization shocks me to my core. This is the creature that’s been attacking the village. A creature my mother used to tell me stories of—how they lived between the world of the living and the dead. How they were infernal creations of dark magic that would devour you whole in the blink of an eye.
A demon, a monster—a revenant. An omen of death.
I watch in horror as its bony jaw unhinges and a pointed, dark purple tongue slips from between its sharp teeth. In one long salacious lick, it cleans the blood from its face. Its eyes burn as it stares at me, dipping towards my throat.
That breaks whatever strange spell I was under. With a bloodcurdling scream, I turn on booted feet from the horrorsbefore me and run faster than I ever have from the graveyard—the gravel path I usually take echoes under my thunderous footsteps. More than once, I nearly lost my footing—slipping on uneven ground and my dress.
I pump my arms as my cloak and braid fly behind me. I don’t dare slow down even as my legs and lungs begin to burn. I can feel his eyes on me—searing into my flesh even as I put distance between us. However, I don’t dare look back, afraid I’ll see him right on my heels. I speed up even as my body screams at me to stop.
It’s not long until my cottage comes into sight. With one last yell, I power forward. Tearing open the front door, I slam it open and bolt it shut behind me. Throwing myself against it, I expect to hear the creature’s footsteps pounding up the porch after me. Pressing my ear to the old wood, there is only silence save for my racing heart. My breathing is chaotic, and I’m left with no choice but to place my head between my knees and take some deep breaths.
Once I have calmed down enough to think straight, I slowly crawl to the front window and peer out. Nothing is amiss. The trees in the front yard blow in a gentle breeze. A bird lands on the railing of the porch before flying off on white wings. Everything is still and calm.
That doesn’t stop me from bolting all the windows shut and sprinkling salt in front of them like my mother always did. I never thought I’d be so grateful for her superstitions. Once I am secure that the creature cannot gain entrance into my house, I let the evening play out in my mind.
I know what I saw. There is no denying that I crossed paths with a revenant tonight. He had been just as my mother described in her stories. Bloodthirsty—starving—wandering our world endlessly to satisfy itself. Pulling the curtains shut, I walk into the back bedroom and kick off my boots.
It makes no sense as to why the creature let me escape. I’mnot foolish enough to think I outran it. Had it wanted to capture me, it could’ve. Considering how quickly it took Gunnar, I have no doubt it could’ve snatched me up and drained me just as fast.
Yanking off my gown, I slide into bed in my simple shift and wool stockings. Exhaustion suddenly weighs me down. Regardless of the creature's motives, one good thing did come out of tonight. Gunnar is dead.
I no longer have to fear his demands or wandering hands. The constant need to look over my shoulder is gone. I feel a strange sense of peace. Even though it could not have possibly been his intention, the revenant had been the one to save me from Gunnar’s torment. I am not foolish enough to think that he went after Gunnar for any other reason than that he smelled his blood and attacked.
Yet why had he not come for me? Surely leaving witnesses is unwise. I could’ve alerted the whole town to his whereabouts. So why didn’t I?
I don’t know, and even though it feels a bit silly, I say a silent thank you to the revenant. Intended or not, he did free me, and for that I am grateful.
Besides, it would’ve been very rude to repay my savior with an angry mob.
