The Midnight Circus, стр. 17

might have prayed for the curse to be lifted.I might have sheltered in a church and begged forgiveness from apriest. As it was, I had nothing but my own will with which to resistthe dreadful craving. I put great store by my own powers. I shouldnot have been so self-satisfied.

Isucceeded for five days in resisting the thirst, much of those daysspent in a state of isolation. I explained that I had a fever I did notwish to pass on to the other members of my household, especially toKathleen in her delicate condition. Kathleen wanted to call a doctor,but I persuaded her that none was required.

Iwrestled with my affliction, feeling it burn in my veins like hotmercury. My throat was parched beyond endurance and no amount ofwater or other liquid seemed to bring any relief. Brandy, port, tea,even sweet possets that cook sent up to me only made the thirstgreater. I suffered alone, constantly pacing my room, and wearing out apair of bedroom slippers in the five days of my torment.

Inow believe that I might have cured myself had I been committed then toa cell. If I had allowed myself to be locked away before I took asecond draught of that unnaturaldrink, the thirst—like a fever—might have burned itself out. But it wasnot to be. I relied on my will—and my will failed me.

Whenon the fifth evening I found myself standing over my dear Kathleen asshe slept in her own room, my gaze lingering upon the vein that pulsedin her neck, my will at last broke. I rushed into the street, still inmy dressing gown and second-best pair of slippers, and ran off intothe night. I sought out once again those disreputable quarters of thecity where I might pass unnoticed at that benighted hour, even dressedas I was.

Icame upon a stray dog sniffing in the gutter and, in a vain hope, Igrabbed hold of it and sank my teeth into its scrawny neck. With achoke of horror and distaste I flung the animal aside. Its blood waslike bile, burning and bitter, but more bitter still was therevelation that only another human being could provide me with thesustenance I craved.

Istaggered into a darkened alleyway, pale and trembling as the thirstracked my body. The sound of footsteps made me suddenly alert and—morelike a wild animal than a man—I concealed myself in the shadows.

ALondon bobby passed by on his nocturnal beat. It was a mark of mydesperate state of mind that the presence of the law did not frightenme in the least. I rushed upon him from behind and struck him down withone frenzied blow. He did not rise again.

Suchwas the extremity of my thirst by this time that it was all I could doto restrain myself from draining him utterly. I left him unconsciousbut alive and skulked off into the darkness, shamed by the bestialsatisfaction I felt.

AlthoughI had heard of men behaving as I did, it had only been in thosehorrific myths and legends and novels by hack writers who pandered tothe basest tastes. And those stories were all vastly inconsistent withmy own circumstances. I suffered no discomfort in the full light ofday nor did I experience any of the other symptoms the popularimagination attributes to such a condition. My incisors did not growlong and pointed. My appetite for garlic was undiminished. I needed nohome soil for comfort. There was only this awful, damnable thirstthat only one horrid wine slaked.

Pleaseunderstand, Atkinson, that I was entirely possessed by this curseddisease. Only when the thirst was satisfied, could I then act like anyother man—eating and drinking and, to my shame, making love with thepassion of a boy. But the thirst grew, and I had to satisfy it moreoften. Still, I took great care only to prey in the dark alleys androokeries of London, where the unwashed and unwanted lived. I did notever again drink from those folk whose lives were productive andregular. In this way, for a while, I excused myself as some sort ofGrim Reaper, inflicting fear and pain only on those who deserved it.But in my saner moments I knew this to be untrue.

Atlast I understood that there was but a single course of action open tome if I was to preserve the honor of my family. So I filled a bathtubwith hot water, and still in my dressing gown, climbed in. With twoquick strokes of my shaving razor, I sliced open my veins at thewrists. The painwas but a moment, and then I slipped down under the water, the front ofmy gown rising and opening like the petals of a dark flower in thespreading red rain.

“Comedeath,” I thought, and for the first time in months was at peace.

Nothingyou have ever experienced can give you any inkling of the terror thatpossessed me when I awoke some time later, awash with my own blood, tofind that I yet lived. I glanced down at my wrists, and saw that thewounds had healed themselves to such an extent that there was not evena visible scar.

Igripped the sides of the bath and clenched my teeth tight against thescream of anguish that tried to rip itself from my throat. But nosooner had my initial shock subsided than I became aware that thedread thirst was flaring up in me worse than I had ever felt it before,due—I had to believe—to the massive exsanguinations I had forced uponmyself.

Ihauled myself out of the bath, left the ruined gown on the floor, andhurriedly washed off all traces of the crimson which stained my body.Dressing with haste, I ran from the house leaving all goodness,morality, and will behind.

Therest of that night remains a blank to me, a merciful veil having beendrawn across my memory by the bestial craving that had me in its grip.All I know is that by morning my thirst had been assuaged. I camehome unseen, cleaned up the bathroom, and washed my own dressing gown.But for the curse itself there appeared no possibility of a cure. Evendeath—it seemed—would not have me.

Whatfate could I possibly subject myself to? It had tobe