It runs in the family

TW: Substance abuse, violence, mention of suicide

“So, Jack, how`s it going for you?” mr Gilbert, the very acclaimed and famous chief editor of The Voices of the Nation, leant back in his leather chair, lit up a cigarette and crossed his hands on his belly watching Jack`s desperate attempts to hit his waste bin with at least one paper ball.

“Boring,” Jack sounded unmotivated. He was no more than thirty five, five eleven, athletic and quite handsome. His piercing blue eyes were focused on the bin. The editor was patiently studying him. He was a stark contrast to Jack. Unlike him, mr Gilbert was small, obese, with crooked teeth and bulging eyes. If it wasn’t` for his cunning and ambitious nature, he would`ve ended somewhere in the slums.

“Boring, huh? You haven`t come up with any decent ideas in months! What`s up with you? Are you drinking again?”

Jack shrug his shoulders indifferently.

“What`s the point in writing about something important if no one needs it? I`ve seen my stories in fruit boxes, lying on shop floors, discarded and torn apart pieces of paper that had been my time and my sweat. What`s the point if blindness is the preferred state of a human being?”

With a dull sound another paper ball hit the bin`s rim and fell on the floor.

Mr Gilbert was studying him silently.

“Maybe a change of scenery might do you good,” he said finally, “You are too young to be that harsh on yourself. You will have time for that nonsense when you are old and dying,” he glanced at Jack, “There`s a small town up in Maine.”

Jack pulled a face, “I`m done with tiny towns` adultery mysteries. It`s always the baker and the doctor`s wife. Been there, done that. Who killed a cat, who stole a goose…”

“Nah, listen! It`s not that simple. This town`s special.”

“How so? No cats, geese or cheating wives?”

“Drop this nonsense, will you!”

“You`ve assigned that nonsense to me for years and now I`m somehow better than that?”

Gilbert laughed, “I love your sarcasm, but this time you gotta be serious. I`m giving you a chance of your life.”

Jack reluctantly turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

His chief stood up, proceeded to a small cabinet where he stored his alcohol stash.

“So this small town is pretty old, dating back to 1606,” he started to pour alcohol in one of his fancy glasses. All of them were heavy and decorated with a golden line encircling the rim and had an intricate ornament on them.

“The first settlers had it tough with the natives… But I see I`m boring you.”

Jack stifled a yawn, “Ah, no, I just, I was out late yesterday and didn`t sleep much. Go on, please.”

Gilbert smiled slyly and offered Jack a glass.

“I wouldn`t have believed it myself, but,” he heavily lowered his body into his chair, “I`ve checked the records and this town seems to have defied all laws of nature.”

“How so?”

“No one has died there ever since 1606! Can you imagine that?” he paused, waiting for a gasp of surprise, but a pair of blue eyes was staring at him without emotion.

“No, I can`t. It`s a well-known trick how to lure tourists. Seen it many times myself.”

Gilbert`s eyes narrowed.

“I must admit, I did think so myself…”

“But?..” Jack was tracing the ornament on his glass with the pad of his thumb.

“But then I went there myself and trust me, Jackie, it`s all true!”

“Are you telling me that there`s a bunch of four-hundred-year olds and no babies?”

“Oh no, they do have children but all of them grow up and when they are seventy, they stop aging and never die. There`s no cemetery, no crematorium there.”

Jack`s face stayed unimpressed, “They`re hiding their burial grounds, that`s all. I swear, their authentic outfits all have ‘Made in China’ tags. Either they are Mormons or they are an incredibly creative bunch. Anyways, thanks for the tip,” he downed his glass and stood up.

If Gilbert looked annoyed, he did a great job at hiding that.

“Jack. Either you take this story or you are fired. I`m tired of seeing you sleeping in the office. Have you seen yourself? When was the last time you showered or had a haircut? I love you but you`ve turned yourself into a joke. I want my best journalist back.”

Jack didn`t seem to be listening. He carefully placed the glass on the table, fixing his gaze on the scattered paper balls.

“Is this your last word?”

“I`m afraid it is.”

The journalist was towering over the table in silence. He was slouching, hiding his broad shoulders, big hands stuffed into pockets, waves of unruly black hair falling onto his forehead.

“Fine, I`ll go,” he said blandly.

“Good boy! Your train is on Monday. And take a shower, for God`s sake!”

***

Monday hangover morning met Jack with honking cars and endless crowds of people. Jack hated Mondays with passion. Frankly, he hated everything those days. Since Maggie left, he hadn`t had a sober day but nights were even more dreadful for Jack Collins, a seasoned journalist with more than ten years of experience and lots of prestigious awards and nominations. He used to dream, he used to be that untamed force of nature that women found so sexually attractive. Well, he hardly could turn any heads anymore… He bought cigarettes at a corner shop and readjusted his duffel back on the shoulder.

In an old notebook in his pocket there were all the notes he`d scratched down doing his research… Blah-blah-blah that`s what it was. Some trickery for tourists. What`s the name of that nowheretown, state of nothingness? He looked at the ticket. Lorvoville. Or course, the sillier the name, the more tourists to rob blind. For a brief moment of weakness he considered jumping in front of a train but then he imagined how miserable his obituary would be. Mr Gilbert would definitely make a point in doing a full-on no show and Maggie… She wouldn`t even know. Pensively he looked at the silvery glistening of the railways and boarded the train. He had a small flask stashed in his bag and two hours in he was snoring in his seat. His notes were totally forgotten.

***

To Jack`s big surprise the locals were waiting for him. At the station a nice little car was parked and a tall middle-aged man with a weirdly shaped head and bulging eyes was smoking leaning against the car`s trunk.

“Mr Collins, I suppose?” he greeted Jack waving at him, “It`s such an honour to welcome you to our town.”

Poor Jack, hardly awake, nodded and propped himself against the car tightening his grip on the strap of his bag as it was helping him to stand straight. Somehow he skipped the getting in the car part and remembered only the soft leather of the back seat. He was still too drunk to fully process anything. He felt hot and sweaty. It was unusually warm for November up in Maine. Flowerbeds were overflowing with colours, trees were so full of fruit that their exhausted branches reached the ground. All this was left unregistered by his swollen brain.

“How was your trip, mr Collins?”

“The usual,” he spat out. Words came out like lumps of sounds. He closed his eyes. If only he was listened to from the start. It was a regular town with zero supernatural elements. The only supernatural thing was the task to leave as soon as he could which was proving to be difficult considering he was too drunk to operate effectively.

The car stopped in front of a gorgeous old manor nested in the middle of a garden with centuries old trees. No birds were chirping, no bugs buzzing, even the gravel seemed to lack any sound. There was thick and hot silence everywhere.

“Here, mr Collins,” the driver appeared outside his door swiftly opening it, “You are staying at our mayor`s house. We hope it`s not too inconvenient for you.”

“How can it be inconfet… enconiv… Sorry I didn`t catch your name.”

“Barley, sir.”

Jack sighed. He just wanted to plant his face into a pillow and doze off.

“Let me help you,” Barley softly tugged at his sleeve, “The lady of the house is waiting for you.”

An earlier sober version of Jack Collins would`ve killed for such a chance to write a sarcastic tell-all story, highlighting all the tricks and primitive drive towards being fooled while paying full price for the first row ticket. He would`ve clawed into his prey, hold onto each smallest detail but that Jack had perished a long time ago.

He shuffled across a large foyer decorated with flowers and gilded ornaments all the way through an enfilade of rooms. The manor looked like one of the best Georgian houses he`d seen. Sure it was old but not “Oh my God, it`s a mystery!” old.

The walls of the dining room were covered with dark old portraits. There were so many indistinct faces that Jack`s brain took a good few seconds to notice a massive dining table and two people sitting at it. A lady and a gentleman were having lunch. Both were well into their late seventies but were dressed in expensive clothes. As they noticed Jack and Barley, they immediately stood up with ease surprising for their age.

“You must be our dear Jack Collins!” exclaimed the lady.

“We are delighted to see you,” said the gentleman, offering his hand for a shake, “I`m Martin O`Donnell, this beauty is Martha O`Donnell, my wife.”

Mrs O`Donnell followed her husband`s suit and shook Jack`s sweaty trembling hand, “We are thrilled to have you here with us! You`d be a lovely addition to our company.”

“Nice to meet you."

How did it go? To die, to sleep… He desperately needed a drink. The couple seemed lovely but they smelled strange, too sweet for his liking, and their faces… there was something off about them but his foggy brain was struggling with intricacies. He would come to regret his inability to think faster but that would happen later.

He found himself at the table next to Martha who was smiling at him as if he happened to be her dear son. A steaming cup of coffee paired with a sweating whiskey glass was too tempting. A familiar golden circle and an ornament caught Jack`s eye for a moment but the next thing he remembered was whiskey being poured into his coffee.

“Oh dear, just look at this! How clever that is! So, my darling, what brought you here? What kind of story are you writing?”

“Well,” Jack hesitated, “It`s just about… people.”

“Oh how interesting! You will have plenty of material, my dear. Tonight`s the great night, everybody will be here! And of course you are our special guest,” her smile was brighter than the sun. Jack was fighting sleep with all the willpower he had left. With shaky hands he took his cup and the beastly thing slipped out of his fingers and fell to the floor.

“Oh my God, I`m so sorry!”

“No need to be. Honey, you are tiring your guest,” Martin said reassuringly, “Barley, show mr Collins to his room and make sure he has a good rest. He must be in his best shape this evening.”

“I`m so sorry,” words kept leaving his mouth all the way to his bedroom. Barley`s soft hands were directing him towards a giant staircase. Jack fell quite a few times but finally Barley`s hands pulled his boots and coat off and Jack was asleep before his head reached the pillow.

***

He jerked awake troubled by his phone ringing somewhere in his jeans. His body felt out of order and any proportions whatsoever. He wasn`t sure it would listen to him. Somehow he fished out his phone and tried to focus his reddish eyes on the display. That bastard Gilbert. He just didn`t have it in him to answer the call.

He tried to sit down. He was supposed to be writing. The first words were slithering in his sick brain trying to assemble a coherent sentence. On the subject of immortality… Words hurt, bouncing off of his skull bones. Surprisingly words that he chose to be his passion hurt him the most. They`d cost him Maggie. And if he failed, they`d cost him his life.

He took a shower, holding onto the wall for balance. Shower gel had the same distinct sweet smell but Jack didn`t have a choice. Disheveled but less stinky he stared at himself in the mirror. He was looking at a sick, exhausted person. He started to look gaunt. His beautiful blue eyes had turned red and emotionless. Jack took a deep breath and swung at the reflection, shattering the mirror. Blood was trickling down his fingers but he didn`t notice the tingly sensation. His pale face was replaced with nothingness.

***

The O`Donnells didn`t lie. The whole town came to a festive dinner at the mayor`s house. The lights were dim, some nice old melodies were playing in the background and all the happy chatter filled the rooms. There were people of different ages, a few kids running and playing tug but everyone was dressed up for occasion.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Martha caught Jack`s elbow, “Let me introduce mr Jack Collins! He`s our dear guest tonight. Jack is a journalist and he`s going to write about us!”

Jack felt everybody`s stare at him. Like an animal at a zoo, he was looking at them sullenly but there was the vast sea of bare teeth shining between the corners of endless mouths.

“Cheers!” someone shouted and Jack`s thoughts drowned in silver tinkling of glasses. Ornamented glasses with a golden circle. Martha`s thin fingers were still clutching at his elbow, hurting him, and suddenly looking at all those people he saw it. He saw that thing that he hadn`t been able to pinpoint. All of them looked the same like parents and siblings, like cousins so closely related that it promised trouble. Pierced with sudden fear, he tried to get loose and ran to get himself a drink. With shaking hands he managed to pour himself a glass but as he lifted his eyes he stifled a scream. Now that he wasn`t that intoxicated, he saw the same faces on the walls. The human sea was moving around him, drinking, joking, laughing and he was standing there paralyzed with fear.

“I told you, Jack, it`s a real deal,” Gilbert`s voice whispered in his ear, “You shouldn`t have skipped your Latin classes, boy, for larva are coming for you.”

Jack jumped and threw away his glass. That`s where he`d seen it – in Gilbert`s office. He pushed away people, making his way outside. He was being grabbed and pulled and voices were getting louder and louder and music was losing its harmony but finally Jack was outside. He was running for his life across a manicured lawn when he tripped and fell. He immediately rolled onto his back and saw Barley.

“Barley, help me,” he croaked, reaching out his hand.

“Of course, sir,” smiling Barley helped Jack up and that`s when he saw a few headstones scattered across the lawn. No names were carved into the stone, only unknown words. Jack blinked trying to read them.

“It`s not a human language, sir,” Barley was clawing into Jack`s shoulder. “A long time ago these lands belonged to spirits and humans fought them to rule the land. As you can see feeble flesh doesn`t stand a chance against… us,” his smile widened.

“Let me go,” Jack didn`t recognize his voice, “Please.”

“No rush, my boy!” Gilbert was walking towards them followed by the mayor, his wife and their guests. The air was stiflingly sweet.

“This is a special night and you are meant to be a part of a very special story. You see, it`s true, we marry each other, we have children, we don`t die but sometimes we need fresh blood to appease the powers beyond your comprehension. Lord mayor, please.”

“Barley, take him to the circle. That`s perfect, thank you,” he said when Barley dragged screaming Jack towards the mysterious headstones.

“No, no, I beg you,” Jack was shaking, sweat was running down his spine, “Please, let me go, I won`t tell anyone. Please!”

Tears rolled down his face. The guests started to laugh, pointing at Jack. He was looking at them helplessly, crying. Barley was holding him still.

“Martha, dear, would you do the honours this time?”

Martha stepped forward. Old and wrinkly she still looked mesmerizingly captivating in her ivory gown. She kissed her husband and accepted a dagger from his hands. Jack screamed and started to writhe, trying to escape. Two other guests following a nod from the mayor rushed to help. Gilbert was shaking his head in disbelief.

“My best journalist… Jack, be a man for once!”

“You betrayed me! You pig! You bastard! This is fucked up, sick! Let me go!”

“But what`s there for you?” Martha appeared behind Jack, “Maggie`s left you, no one reads your stories anymore. When was the last time you felt human?”

Sobbing Jack was shaking with his whole body.

“The world outside doesn`t need losers, Jack. But you still can serve a beautiful purpose. You can still be worthy, I see it in you, Jack…”

Cold silver touched his neck.

“Welcome to the family, my boy.”

***

“What if he sues us?” asked mr Gilbert.

A fat producer was sitting in his office skimming through papers.

“I highly doubt that, Jim. I bet my last dollar he wouldn`t leave his padded cell for quite some time. Our show is going to change history, the rich ones are loving us, they want more stories to participate in! Now on to episode two. Who was that girl again, brother?..”