Something about it all nearly clicked for Moorecourt as he trembled on the bottom shelf. Makeup, clothes, groceries. But the answer was just beyond his grasp. The answer was something that he could never have imagined, even if he had lived many, many more years, which wasn't going to happen either.
4
The House in the Swamp
It was a three-story manor fashioned from stone, a stately Victorian nestled in the overgrowth of the thick, dark green swamp. Contained within an ivy-thronged iron fence, it barely stood above the heads of the encroaching trees. Some of the manor's outermost extremities had fallen into disarray; the greenhouse adjoining the north wing had lost its roof in a storm years ago. Some of the ground floor's grime-streaked windows were broken. Errant stones loosed from the wall lay in the spongy grass. The south end of the manor had sunk slightly into the mud, and moss crawled skyward over its surface. And for all its grandeur, even in such a condition — there was an air of rot that hung over the house. Even the clouds overheard seemed to be stained gray. Things moved in the tall grass, in the remains of a once-beautiful garden and in the swamp beyond the gates.
The gates opened. Four afterdead entered, the first holding a key. He waited to lock up behind the others. They were the ones from the Kagen's of Louisiana warehouse and they'd brought back several boxes filled to the brim with groceries. The young woman in the spring dress led the procession through the manor's front doors.
It was dim inside. Their vision, poor as it was, failed completely inside the foyer. But they knew the halls and rooms of the house by heart and walked, single-file, past the grand staircase and through the dining room.
"Stop."
The voice came from behind them. The woman in the spring dress halted in the doorway leading into the kitchen.
A man entered the dining room and stared hard at the four undead. They each looked straight ahead, clutching their boxes.
He was in his late twenties, perhaps, younger in appearance than the dead ones; tousled hair fell in front of bright green eyes as he knelt to scrutinize the carpeted floor. He dragged a fingertip along the fibers, pulled up a glob of mud. The man rose to show the mud to the zombies.
"I told you," he said in a calm-before-the-storm tone, "to bring things into the kitchen through the rear entrance. I also told you to remove your shoes when you entered the house. Even in the foyer. It doesn't matter if the floor is stone." As he lectured them, the man seemed to be speaking more to himself, realizing that the dead felt no shame or remorse for disobedience. But there were still consequences, ones that they could understand.
"You won't eat today. Put those things in the kitchen and go outside. Aidan, Harry — trim the grass and maybe you'll eat tomorrow."
The afterdead shuffled out of the room. The man sighed and looked at the filthy carpet. "Prudence!"
A female undead in a maid's uniform loped into the room. One of her legs had been gouged by something and hindered her movement. The man pointed to the mess. "Clean it. Dust this entire room in fact." He left her and went into the foyer, up the staircase.
Baron Tetch had lived here for as long as he could remember, but things still weren't to his satisfaction. Maybe they never would be. Not only was he a savage perfectionist, but he was suffering from a growing misanthropy and a bitter contempt for this whole earthly plane. There was very little to keep him grounded here. Entering his second-floor study, he locked the door behind him and kicked off his loafers.
A corpse lay on the floor. It had been some intruder from the previous week who'd climbed the fence, probably fleeing from undead. But the feral zombies that occasionally penetrated Jefferson Harbor were nothing compared to Tetch's. They'd made short work of the man. Tetch had rewarded them with his internal organs before having the rest of him brought upstairs.
Swathed in moist rags scented with spices, the body lay spread out in the middle of the room. The face was caved in, gray flesh like paper peeling away from the wound. Tetch spread a blanket over the open cavity of the corpse's torso.
Even those who died under normal circumstances had dormant energy lying in their husks, of that Tetch was certain. Pulling a tattered shroud over his bony shoulders, he straddled the corpse's body and closed his eyes. The wasted energy inside the eviscerated man was drawn through Tetch's flesh, saturating his bones, travelling like a lightning bolt to his head. He plunged his fingers through the blanket and into the corpse's body. Tetch spread crimson grit across his forehead, throwing open the conduits throughout his self. A throbbing erection grew between his legs.
He heard the study door open. Tetch yanked the shroud around his body and glared.
It was Lilith. Her frail little body looked as if it could be torn asunder by the rage from Tetch's eyes; he quickly softened his face, clutching the shroud over his groin, and stood up. "Why didn't you knock?"
In response, she held out her pale arms. She'd cut her wrists. Tetch rushed to her, pushing back the sleeves of her dress and catching droplets of blood in his hands. "Lily, why?? Oh, God!" She'd cut across rather than down, and not very deeply thanks to her child's strength. Still the sight was horrifying, her perfect ivory flesh marred and her bright blue eyes devoid of reason. "They don't bleed like I do," she mumbled. "Of course they don't. You're not like them. You know that!" Tetch grabbed the shoulder of her dress and tore its sleeve free. Lily squealed, but he silenced her with a stern look, tying the fabric over one of the wounds. She didn't say anything when he pulled the other sleeve off. "This is why we can't have nice things." He snapped. She caught herself before rolling her eyes.
There. She was patched up, for now. "Do NOT remove these. Now tell me what you used." He rose over her, arms crossed. She stared at the corpse behind him. He stepped over to block her view. "Lily. Look at me."
She complied. Her lip was trembling slightly. In fear? Of him? It was hard to resist the urge to take her into his arms. Her ripening breasts, almost visible through the thin fabric of the dress, reminded Tetch of his erection, and he realized he was idly nudging it with his fist. Turning from her, he went to his desk and fumbled through the drawers until he found his camera.
"Oh no, not like this!" Lily raised her bandaged wrists and frowned at the ruined dress. "This picture will be a reminder to you," Tetch shot back. He loaded a fresh roll of film. It was a precious commodity and he only used it to mark the days of Lilith's life. "You're not like your brothers and sisters. You can get hurt, you can bleed, and you can die." A thought struck him: was she bleeding herself to take away the power of his threats? His power? He studied her glassy eyes. She could never… "You don't want to be like them, Lily. It's not real. Your beauty could never be preserved in death, do you understand? Your soul would be lost." He raised the camera to his face. She forced a smile. "Don't." He ordered. Snap. Snap. Snap.
"Now I want you to stay inside, up here. Don't go downstairs. I don't want to risk anything happening, should they smell your blood." They were animals after all, despite the facade of sophistication he'd crafted. Lilith nodded and left the room.
Of course, she went straight downstairs and out the front doors.
Lily saw her brother Aidan pushing an old-style lawn mower through the grass. She wondered how sharp its rusted blades were. "Hello Aidan!" She waved. He paused, looking blankly at her, then raised his hand as he'd been taught. He then resumed his task and forgot about her.