The Crypt Keepers Read online

  Regelus in particular wanted to forget wholly about the village below us. I know for certain that had Daphene been gone before our decision to keep records and inter the dead been made, the boys would have most certainly gotten their way. With the combined pleadings of Daphene and me we formulated a plan that pleased us all. Daphene and I would keep the records and Regelus and Rhys would clear the bodies from the streets. For years we have worked together in this way and for years the people have come and gone. The color of the room around me is far brighter than the colors of the castle. Though bits and pieces of the tapestries still hang, the color has drained from them and all that is left is a dull gray that washes over everything. The cool crème of the wall soothes me and brightens the feeling of the dismal task I am about.

  This building really was quite beautiful, nothing like the huts and garish churches in which I generally find my treasure. I decided then that this building should be spared. My brothers escorted me back to the castle as the sun began to set and the first section of the city smoldered. Rhys and Regelus would venture to the town on their own tomorrow, keeping a tally of the bodies as they moved for later checking against my records, and I would stay in the castle sorting through the records I’d collected. I made a point to ask that the hall be spared and they begrudgingly buckled to the request of their sweet baby sister. They tend to bend to my will much of the time, trying their best to keep my spirits afloat. They’ve always done whatever it takes to make sure that I do not go the way of Daphene.

  They slept while I worked, which was understandable considering the amount of work ahead of and behind them. I was content to log away the hours imagining the faces that may have belonged to the names I scrawled. The first day of the lagging is the hardest, but I eventually become numb to the names and they all blur together. The second day of cleaning saw the fall of the western half of the southern city and the internment of sixty people. The third and fourth days felled the middle portion of the city and the sixth and seventh days leveled what was left save for my one lonely town hall. Its existence shall be credited to unknown forces when the people of the next wave come and as such may inspire stories and legends the like of which I have yet to know. I kept it for its beauty and I wonder if it shall ever serve any other purpose. It is like a beacon in the midst of destruction and nothingness.

  The building shone against the dark of the night in the pale moon light that glinted off the stucco outer walls. I watched it stand resolutely there alone, prevailing against the destruction that the sickness brought. Had I known what the sparing of this building meant and what lurked there within the unsearched rooms I would have burned it to the ground myself. Had I known that the safety of our secret was at stake that building would be ash along with the rest of the town. The cleanup went quickly and soon my brothers were back about their everyday lives; sparring, hunting, and the like. I was also back to reading and journaling our lives, with the knowledge that I had gone against the code of five hundred years and kept intact a portion of a civilization that should not exist. Never have I felt the need to save anything but my books and papers from the village, but this time it was different.

  Much of the time I spend while I wait for the next wave of sickness to come is filled with chronicling. Though my brothers are finished with their duties as soon as the last body is neatly tucked away, my part of the bargain takes weeks without Daphene to aid me. In the time during which I am not reminiscing about the people that filled the most recent village, I write. I’ve written a detailed account of each outbreak of sickness, an account for the description of each town that develops. I have described the towns and included sketches so that I may compare the village that develops to its predecessor. I have also compiled the volume that you are reading, that is a book of our lives here.

  4: The Waiting

  The clock has reset on the time that we must wait for the next wave of sickness. Rhys and Regelus are lazing about the castle now, waiting for the trickle of people that shall decide our pleasant valley is perfect for building a town. The first rebuilding took nearly a decade, the subsequent settlements after that seemed to grow more quickly, virtually sprouting up over night. The trickle of settlers is always slow at first. A scout or group of scouts generally creeps up through the mountain pass and surveys the newly seeded area where the previous village once stood. They mill about for a bit, envisioning the town that they might build upon this prime piece of land. After initial surveys they begin to wonder why no village stands among the trees in the shadow of the castle. They wonder at the size of our imposing fortress and the size of the fence and padlock that secures it.

  It has of course been at least a dozen years since the last village was destroyed and the ashes of the last settlement help protect the tender new grass that eventually covers the area. For weeks the families seeking to expand their holdings come to the plain, working day in and day out on small lean-tos that will serve as shelter until more permanent residences are framed. The settlers always look waywardly at our castle, wondering silently to themselves if there is life within our walls. Little do they know of the life that lurks within. All they see are the deteriorating walls, the sagging roofs, and the unkempt grounds. The mystery of the place drives some away while others are drawn to imposing figure of a medieval castle unleveled by the ages. I can see them as they come to scout the location, looking to the castle towers, trying with all their strength to see into the depths of the darkness that fills the windows and doorways.

  Though they wonder, they never come to investigate, never try to pry the heavy iron gates at the base of the hill open or climb to the top of the sharpened fence posts. It is all for the better I suppose, better for them, better for us. I’ve been watching the clearing with an eagerness that is unbecoming of my nature. With each week that passes I grow less sure that the clearing will ever support the life that it once did. The hall still stands lonely in the center of the town. When contrasted to the forests that surround the clearing and the mountains that surround them, the hall looks out of place. I wonder if I made the right decision in keeping it intact, having let my emotions get the best of me. I know when I think of its burning that my heart aches and I suppose that is enough to assure me that my decision was the right one.

  The animals have returned and with them brought the promise of life. By their coming we can tell that the land is once again safe to live off of and that soon man will follow. The sun glints lightly off the walls of the hall even as I write. When the light comes in just right I think of Daphene. Her hair was much fairer than mine, her eyes like the ocean in the afternoon sun. I still remember her face the day that our fate dawned upon all of us. As we sat around the bed of the last servant, our nanny Liza, her eyes filled with tears and her smooth brow furrowed. We knew that with the death of Liza came not only the death of the last that would succumb to the illness, but also of our lives before that moment. We were now suspended between life and death and made to choose which path we would follow.

  In the weeks that followed the burial of the people of the village, Daphene grew more distant. Her eyes no longer held the sparkle that had so complimented their vibrant hue, her cheeks grew sunken and her happiness dropped dramatically. Seldom did she speak to any of us. For years she went on in this fashion, knowing that though her outer self never changed, her mind was slowly warping and her inner strength slipping away. We knew, Regelus and I, that she would never make it to the second wave of sickness. When the clouds first shifted her eyes grew wide and tears stained her delicate cheeks. The life fled from her so quickly that it was a wonder she held on as long as she did. For months she hid from the world, from a life without death, from her siblings.

  Before she died, she holed herself up in one of the bedrooms. No matter how hard we pounded or pleaded or how determined we were to take the door from its hinges, Daphene refused to cede to our requests. As our pleading grew frantic, her cooperation dried up completely. Her refusal to answer their questions or bid t
hem entrance meant to Rhys and Regelus that she no longer cared for their company. Two nights before she left us, she came to me. I’ve never told my brothers of her visit nor do I intend to unless they find out. Looking back now I know that I could have stopped her. I truly believe that had I said anything she would have held on, if not for herself, then for me. I was selfish enough to believe that my presence in the world was enough to keep her here, so I kept silent.

  It was late and Rhys and Regelus were readying for the cleaning. I, as always, was working quietly in the library. My volumes piled high around me, covering the desks and chairs so that I nearly missed her when she entered. The door to my sanctuary creaked ever so lightly and the soft patter of silk padded feet found its way to my ears. I thought nothing of it at first, as in the days before her self entombment Daphene spent many days and nights with me in the library. I waited for my guest to announce herself, waited for a proclamation of self, but none came. My mind whirred with possibilities as to who may be standing at my door; the image of Rhys came first to mind. My eyes wandered slowly from the book splayed across the desk in front of me. I wanted to pretend that I hadn’t heard the door open in the hopes that my intense concentration would deter my visitor.

  My line of sight traveled up the length of her legs slowly, not sure at all if it was in fact my sister in front of me. Her nightgown, torn at the hem and falling loosely around her shoulders, stood starkly out against the darkness of the hall and the mahogany of the walls. Her face was paler than usual, in her life she was praised for her porcelain skin, but now it was almost ghostly. Her hair fell in tangled bunches around her ears and her eyes looked as if they might burst forth from the sockets. My heart broke when the first tears tipped across her lids and her arms stretched out to me. She looked like a child only recently reunited with a mother she believed to be lost forever. I wondered first if I might not be imagining her presence there before me, it was not until the delicate line of her foot struck the coroner of the globe stand at the door that I knew she was truly there.

  I stood, the swish of my dress startling her, and walked toward the sofa on the far wall of the room. She came to me, laced her arms around my neck, and sobbed heavily into my shoulder. I couldn’t understand many of the words that tumbled out between muffled sobs, but I believe the first few outbursts were proclamations of lament. Her solitude had given her a chance to understand the depths of the sorrow that would build upon itself until the day when our services were no longer needed. Her sobs shook my body as well as her own and for one split second I understood why the prospect of forever seemed so wholly unthinkable. The sobs that came forth from her were not the superficial cries of someone pleading for comfort; they were a cry from the depths of a heart at its very breaking.

  She pulled my hands close in her own and gazed intently into my eyes through a glassy window of tears. Her lip quivered ever so slightly. As she parted them to speak , the sobs that had incapacitated her moments before returned and her head fell onto my shoulder once more. For nearly an hour I sat, listening to her tears and holding her close. Rhys and Regelus were safely away in the turrets, watching the movement of the people in the village below. When it seemed as if all the water in the world had somehow gone into Daphene and then promptly exited her via her tear ducts onto my shoulder, she spoke, quietly and with such a sadness that I nearly mistook it for gentle humming. When I think of her I sing, I’ve no idea why the thought of her brings music to my lips, it simply does.

  Her words were soft and melodic; a hint of sadness tinged each one. ‘Sabine,’ she whispered ‘I cannot go on like this.’ Her eyes fell again on my face and as I watched the rise and fall of her chest, I knew what she meant. She waited for a moment longer before standing, my hands still clasped within her own. I stood alongside her, watching the path of her eyes sweep across my face. She pulled me close then, and whispered her farewell. Had I acted upon the moment that she gave me to respond to her declaration, I could have changed it. Sadly I did not and the last time that I saw my sister was that night in the library when she so sweetly said goodbye. Perhaps she then went to Rhys and Regelus to say farewell, but if in fact she did, neither of them ever uttered a word. I’ve kept this to myself for all these years and so I shall until either Rhys or Regelus comes forward with questions.

  And so I kept our meeting to myself, and when Regelus found her swinging from one of the exposed beams in her bedchamber, I was saddened but not wholly surprised. I loved her immensely when she was alive and as a result that love carries over, but I can never forgive her for placing this burden on my soul, and I can never forgive myself for not taking charge of that night. She was buried in the family vault just behind the castle two days later alongside our mother and grandparents. The day was cold, far colder by measure than any of the days before, and a light rain speckled the lid of the rosewood coffin Rhys and Regelus had been making well into the night. I tended to her, dressing her frail form in the gown that she had favored in life, combing her hair into neat curls, dusting the soot from the hollows of her cheeks, and readying her for her final show.

  As the marble slab emblazoned with her name from the time of her birth, just as ours were, the façade that had carried me thus far cracked and sobs comparable to those of Daphene just a night ago burst from me. Our empty drawers that were labeled with our names still lay empty in the vault beside our sister. As per tradition in aristocratic households, our family began preparing for our deaths from the beginning of our lives. I’ve gone down to the vault ever so often, replacing flowers that have wilted, repairing cracks that have crawled their way across that slabs that hold in the death. Now, as the days drag on and I am left to think about the times before when the sickness was not upon us, something stirs in the village below, and I have seen its moving.

  5: The Stirring

  As I sit here in the comfort of the library, scratching away at the last bits of parchment I collected from the previous sickness, something stirs below me. I’ve heard rustling in the clearing below us for the past few nights. I walked with my brothers to the hall in the clearing below yesterday. Together we searched the hall, making sure to open each drawer, each cupboard. As we began our slow descent to the hall, Rhys voiced his worry, his concern was not for what we would find in the hall below us, but what valuable time was being lost in this fruitless endeavor. Regelus, was as always, resolutely silent, listening intently to Rhys’ babble. He talks much of the time while Regelus listens. I suppose it makes him feel better knowing that even if the rest of the world falls in around us, he will always have Regelus to listen.

  As the form before us grew in size and impressiveness; the dark wood of the door and window frames stood in stark contrast to the white walls, which by now were darkened slightly by the soot from the burnt land surrounding it. The burnt out hulls of the village around the hall lent themselves to the general chosen air of the place. Rhys and Regelus, though they had searched the building for bodies, had never really taken in the inner décor of the building, but then again neither had I. One by one, Rhys and Regelus scoured the rooms for life; I on the other hand stood patiently waiting for their inspection to quiet. I knew from the amount of noise that the destruction awaiting me would be great and also that they were coming to a close in their searching. They still insist on protecting me, even though each of us knows there is no force stronger than us.

  At the head of the hall I could hear their rummaging, the turning on end of drawers and the slamming of cupboard doors. When they pronounced it free of life to their satisfaction and safe enough for my investigation to proceed, they positioned themselves at both the front and back entrances of the building. Peeking through the first door way on the right, I saw the damage that had amassed through both Rhys and Regelus’ inspections. Bending low as I walked through the arch, I gathered up the papers that were strewn about and righted one of the cabinets that had only moments before been so rudely toppled. The papers I held in my hand were something not present in my f
irst days of coming to the hall. These were not the records of town that was now nothing more than a memory in the minds of beings that would live forever, but the thoughts of phantom that survived the illness.

  I’ve tucked those pages in among the things that I have yet to catalogue. I tidied the room quickly, gathering every book and scrap of paper, used or not, that filled the room and desks. With the first room cleared I traveled to the next, again taking with me anything that may provide an outlet for the being that none of us could find. With each and every room searched by each of us, my brothers and I began our trek back to the castle. The path we traveled was well beaten, the brush and trees long since cleared away and the stones that once paved it soundly embedded in dirt so heavily that if we had not known they were there, this would seem like a dirt path. The trees grow close around it, shading it from the eyes of any passer by that may not already know of its existence.

  My satchel full and heavy at my side swung mercilessly against my leg, reminding me of its contents. My brothers are also weighted down with texts and papers. I am sure now that if my phantom wishes to make itself known, there will be no mode by which to record thoughts. I sit now, the candle beside me sputtering wildly, watching the hall below me. I can feel the eyes of the phantom peering up at the castle and the beings inside that brought an end to both the village that sustained life and the only mode of communication left. I am alone now I know, but I can feel the presence of my phantom here with me as I unpack the pages from their binding. I feel eyes watching, accusing, demanding repayment for the destruction that my brothers and I wreaked on the life that was made after the sickness.

  I’ve waited for my brothers to retreat to the inner rooms of the castle, until only moments ago they sat here with me, talking, silently thinking to themselves, while I toiled away at the remaining pages of records that needed to be kept. Begrudgingly they left me around midnight, moving slowly down the hall to their room so that they might plan the morrow. In my solace I sit, fingering the thin sheets strewn out before me. As I stare at them, the print goes blurry and I wonder if I might find the answer to our fate within them. In all the years that we’ve kept the crypts, never once has a soul save us survived. Never once have we missed the life of an individual. It is not in the tradition of our cleaning to suppose that someone may have lived where all others did not. I wonder as I think about the man that I know still exists in the village, if perhaps he is something other than human.