[qlipothica]

The Black Rose
by A Sethran


The waxing moon hung hideously in the black star specked sky, its light partly obscured by large ominous looking clouds that slowly sailed through the ebony ocean.

The winds were rocking every branch, sending a shower of golden leaves down upon the earth. They made their way through rows of lonely tombstones and passed over the slumbering dead.

Alone, beneath one of the large oaks, James Lowel sat and waited. Among the myriad legions of headstones, his eyes were fixed upon the one which bore the name of his betrothed, Angela Thompson.

#

On the eve before they were to wed, she had fallen ill. Angela's condition deteriorated so rapidly that by the time James had arrived at her parents home, she was already near death.

He entered the dimly lit room where her mother looked at him with swollen red eyes. Her father's face was stone and the doctor's expression foreboding.
"James...James!" she called out as pitiful moans rose up from her.

"I'm here, darling. I'm here..." he said.
Even by the faint light of the candles, he could see the ravages of the sudden illness on her beautiful face.
She lay on her death bed like a fallen angel. He knelt down by her and put his hand on her cold cheek. Her crystal blue eyes opened at once as a smile spread across her face as he brushed back her wavy blond hair.
"James.." her weak voice cracked.

"Don't try to talk," he told her, "Just rest. You will be fine, I promise," James added as he squeezed her cold delicate hand.

"I am so sorry," she told him, "I've ruined everything."

He replied, "No, don't say such things. We have our whole lives ahead of us. The wedding can wait. You must rest."

But the coming hours brought little comfort to anyone, as her condition only worsened. Her agonized moans filled the room as she tossed about covered in sweat.

The doctor motioned Angela's father outside the room. "I have done all that is in my power, Mr.Thompson. I believe it is up to the Lord, now. You may want to begin preparing..." he added sadly.

"I understand," he turned to one of the servants and ordered "Send for the priest now, and be quick."

Angela awoke one last time and called James to her deathbed. "James, I know that I am going to die," she told him as his eyes filled with stinging tears. "Promise me, my love, that you will never forget me?"

"Angela..," he choked out, tears streaming down his face, " I promise.." He took her hand once again.

"I'm so cold, James. So......" And a shadow fell across James' heart as he held onto her lifeless hand. He buried his head in her breasts and sobbed like a child.

On the day that was to be their wedding, James found himself looking at her lifeless shell, a perverse wooden cenotaph of the soul that had once inhabited it. He would carry her across the threshold, not into marriage but as a pallbearer. She would lay abandoned in the cold bowels of the earth.

"Ashes to ashes...dust to dust..The Lord giveth..and he taketh away.." As James listened to the priest, his fists began to clinch.The words had no meaning for him any longer. He looked contemptuously at her parents, who seemed able to lessen their pain by the priest's meaningless talk.Yes God took her, that much was clear.

#

James heard a sound which brought him back into the present.
He looked about the shadowy necropolis. Over the rustling leaves and hissing wind he could hear voices. The men he had met the evening before had come.

"There he is," one of them said, pointing to James. Two of them were shoddily clothed ruffians bearing shovels. The third man stood off from the other two. They approached him.

"There! It is that one," James said pointing to Angela's stone. One of them nodded.
Soon there was the sound of shovels stabbing into the earth and pitching up the freshly packed soil over Angela's grave.

The third man, who's name was Edward stood facing James, not saying a word. He wore a black hooded cloak that concealed all but his austere mouth. There was an uneasy silence between the two of them. He had met the three men the prior night.

#

After Angela's funeral James had begun to drink heavily. It was a practice that he was not at all accustomed to. "Why?!" he would demand as he slammed his fist upon the table drunkenly. "Why God? I prayed to you, but you didn't listen. She was everything to me and you took her away.. Damn you!"

He was inconsolable. After a while, even the people who knew him had given up, shuddering at his blasphemies.

One night there were three strange men who were passing through town. Two of them, solidly built and very ruff looking began eying James as he slumped over the table. He stared back at them suspiciously.
They talked very quietly amongst themselves as they drank their ale. The third man, of slender build with a very sickly complexion remained silent, nursing several glasses of whiskey with pale shaking hands.His light green eyes scanned the tavern craftily.
James felt a certain sense of dread in his stomach as their eyes met.

Perhaps the man had learned to recognize the look of a man who had lost everything dear to him. Maybe he had heard some of the other patron's conversations about James.

The man quickly sized up the situation and he motioned for a drink to be sent to James' table.
As a shot of whiskey was set in front of him James looked up at the man who said not a word, but sat motionless like a statue peering at him.
James, in no mood for anyones hospitality, emptied the shot glass and staggered to his feet. He passed the table with the three men and he slapped several coins on the table.

As he was leaving one of the men grabbed his arm firmly. "Hey mate, that's not very friendly of you, now is it?" he said with a scowl.
James' brow lowered as he jerked his arm away.

He clinched his fists as he said in a low voice, "You want something?" The two were just about to come to blows when the third man spoke.

His voice was slow and deliberate, it had an otherworldly tone to it. "The question is, my good man, what is it that you want?" he said. James looked at him in silence for several seconds, not sure of what was going to happen next.

James stared into his reptilian emerald eyes and said "You can't give me what I want."

"Perhaps... I can." He put out his white hand. "My name is Edward Kelly..."

The man looked out of place with the other two. He was well dressed, probably about 25 years of age, like James. But his face was ghastly pale, and his eyes had a very dim far away look in them. His morbid countenance made him look much older, like someone who has seen too many of life's horror at a young age and been left spiritually withered.
James took his hand nervously. That is how he met them.

At first, James could not decide if the man was a charlatan or a lunatic. Upon hearing James' sarcastic challenge "Can you return the dead to life?" his rigid mouth curved up into what could almost pass for a smile. One of his men ordered another round.
"Many things are possible, if one only has the will," Edward told his new bibulous friend.

"Your insane!" James barked out.
"Am I? Maybe you just lack the nerve, Mr.Lowel. Maybe I am insane," he taunted, "But if you walk out that door you will never know."

James could already hear the whispers in the tavern. The people seemed genuinely afraid of Mr. Kelly. It seemed his reputation had preceded him, even in this small town. The conversation grew much quieter as James decided to hear him out.

It soon became clear that Edward was not a lunatic in the common sense of the word. He was in fact an eccentric scholar of the esoteric. In that bone chilling, quiet voice, he claimed to have the knowledge needed. "But there is the small matter of payment for my services," he added, as he emptied another shot glass.

James could hardly believe that he was actually listening to this rouge. His wild talk both fascinated and repulsed at the same time. James had been left a sizable inheritance and the required amount was no obstacle to him. Angela's grave was deep in the cemetery, far from anyones view. He could easily bribe the man there and they would have all the time they needed.

"Then it is settled," Edward spoke, "Two o'clock".

"Two o'clock," James agreed.

#

As James lay in his bed, the stupor of alcohol faded into the numbing merciful embrace of sleep.
When he awoke the next day he contemplated what he had agreed to the prior night with the three strange men.

He had heard tales of such men as Edward, who were capable of necromancy, the reanimation of the dead. He had also been told the horrible spiritual price for it, for trying to take a soul back from God.
He sat alone in his quiet house, his head throbbing. He thought of all the lonely years ahead. He decided that come what may, he would look upon her one last time.

Maybe...there was a chance that Edward could do as he promised, and he could hear her voice, look into her eyes one last time.

#