The Man Who Collected Machen and Other Weird Tales by Mark Samuels Page B

wife was staring after Kugel with a curious expression, albeit one that he did not have time to analyse. Her mouth was bloody, as if the thing had struck her across the face, seeking her silence and submission. But at least the two men had entered before the creature had done anything worse.
    Outside, he could just make out the crouched shape of his quarry scurrying across the blighted field. He ran after it, unable to get a clear shot due to the darkness and his own rapid motion. He felt an instinctive revulsion at the thing, a desire to blot out its unnatural existence, and it was this sense, rather than any noble motive, that drove him on. Something dead had no right to walk amongst the living. It was an abomination, a rupture in the sane universe that had to be sealed. It mocked the memory of his fallen comrades, gone to their final peace in death.
    Its destination became clear. It was heading in the direction of the steeple and, as Kugel approached the structure himself, in the creature’s wake, he now discerned the churchyard sheltering below. It was enclosed by railings and contained a jumble of gravestones and slabs. Kugel stopped, for he could make out the corpse scaling the railings, its shadowy outline high in the air. He took aim, fired, and saw it shudder again at the impact of the bullet in its neck. But he did not bring it down with his shot. In the next instant it had vanished amongst the gravestones and Kugel continued his pursuit.
    Once over the railings, Kugel saw a figure waiting for him. At first he feared it was the creature lying in ambush, but it was a middle-aged sexton clad in clerical black, and he carried a spade. His hatchet face was soaked with sweat.
    “ I heard the shot,” the man said, “but a bullet can’t stop the dead. I’ve dealt with two-dozen of these things. I’ve buried them and I’ve seen them come back. But if they do, I’ve made sure they stay in their graves thereafter. Now let’s finish this thing off. It crept down into that shallow grave over there.”
    “ Not before I have a few questions answered,” said Kugel, “or, I swear, I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
    “ Don’t be a fool. Shoot me if you will, but I’ll delay not a moment longer.”
    The sexton got to work at once with his spade, sparing scarcely a glance over at Kugel who stood there with his rifle half-raised, unsure of what to do. After a while he lowered his weapon and watched the sexton uncover the layer of soil beneath which the corpse had hastily hidden itself.
    The sexton positioned himself at the ready and then raised his spade. Kugel now had his rifle poised, as the sexton stood astride the thing within the shallow grave. Its eyelids flickered open. The sexton drove his spade into its already badly wounded neck, severing the head in one powerful stroke. Then he turned the body over, chest-down, and producing a hammer and iron spike from the bag slung across his back, impaled the thing.
    The two men sat down on a nearby slab and the sexton mopped his brow with a handkerchief.
    “ I tell you, soldier, this is a hellish place. All the life has been drained out of it, and only death remains. Thanks be to God that there are no more left for her to summon . . .”
    “ How many more of these graves contain vampyr?” Kugel said, laying his rifle across his knees with shaking hands.
    “ Vampyr? Why do you mention that word? Here there are no vampyr, only the restless dead. It is a mercy we have done, for we have ended its torment,” the sexton replied.
    “ But I saw the thing, it attacked Steinberger’s wife and tried to drink her blood...”
    “ She called it forth with her black magic. The same black magic she used to destroy our village. The evil in this village is not vampyr. I tried to put a stop to it, I smashed his precious wife’s legs so she could no longer come here, so that she could no longer take her unholy nourishment from those who should be at rest. Vampyr? Idiot!”
    Kugel