Mary's Return
by Matt Orcsbane

'The troll killed her, he did,' thought Xavier Shelly madly. 'Thought that death could pluck her from my arms... NEVER.' He threw back his head and screamed toward the sky, "NEVER, DO YOU HEAR ME?!" Lightening flashed and thunder boomed, giving off the impression, if one were staring toward the horizon, that the sky itself was breaking apart.

He grabbed the needle and began the stitch. The sickening sounds emitting from the flesh being impaled upon the thin needle was enough to make one nauseous; the added sound of the thick string being pulled through the freshly made hole was a sound maddening to the extent of making a grown man weep. But weep Xavier did not; he continued his work. The thunder continued to shatter the sky. Rain began to pour down, soaking both the man and the cadaver he so diligently sewed. She had been dead for quite a while, that much was certain; the exact time is incalcuable. Her flesh was beginning to gray and decay; the young girl's eyes had rolled into the back of her head, leaving blank white optics scattered with red vains exposed. Black stitching cut down the middle of her face from her hairline to her neck, which was disconnected from her body. For the moment.

Xavier's eyes were dominated by an insanity equalled only by the troll whom killed his daughter. He pulled the stitch tighter,slightly tearing it, but still re-fastening her right hand to her wrist. He turned, grabbed a beaker of formaldehyde and threw it over the corpse, keeping the rotting at a minimum, then continued his tailoring. Loop, pull. Loop, pull. He continued his work, piercing flesh and occasionally hitting bone.

The lab was run-of-the-mill mad wizard's lab. Stone monuments and altars, mostly arcane in nature, stood all about, giving a mystic, eldritch look to the already gothic laboratory. The ceiling was nonexistant, allowing rain to freely pour in between the four gargantuan black spires. In the middle of the lab sat an operating table, on which the corpse of a young girl lay.

The front of his robe stained with blood, the doctor cautiously stitched the head back on, lifted the table to a vertical angle, then took a few steps back admire his handiwork.

"She's nearly as beautiful as she used to be," he said, his vision of the world apparently skewed. The corpse leaned lifeless, its jaw hanging open. Xavier's lower lip trembled; his eyes filled with tears.

"Oh, Mary," he said. "Why did you have to go? Why did you leave me? Your mother died so many years ago... and just when I thought I could go on..."

He broke down and cried into his deceased daughter's shoulder. Then, just as abruptly, reared back and began pounding on his taughter's torso.

"LIVE! LIVE! COME BAAAAAAAACK!"

The corpse, unsurprisingly, remained lifeless.

His eyes still blazing with insanity, Xavier approached one of the bowl-shaped altars and proclaimed toward the sky:

"VECNA, GOD OF SECRETS, HEED MY CALL,

SHE WHO HATH UNRIGHTFULLY FALLEN MUST RISE ONCE MORE

Vecna, Maimed Lord, hear my prayer...

Bring my daughter... back to me..."

With that, Xavier clutched a ritualistic Dagger of Vecna and slit his left wrist wide open. He cringed, suffering and holding back his cries of agony, as thick, warm blood flowed from his wrist and into the altar. Becoming slightly weak, he reached down, his functional arm stretching, clasped a torch, and lit the fire beneath. The blood began to boil, and a thick red steam ascended toward the sky. Soon after, the thunderclouds took on a deep, horrible crimson color. Up from the bubbling soup rose a pale, fleshy left hand, atop which sat a bulbous, green eye. It spoke telekenetically:

"Do you really wish your daughter back?"

Too terrified and weak to speak, yet more tears still forming in his eyes, Xavier nodded.

"A sacrifice must be made."

The eye rolled backward onto the altar. The hand reached up and tightly grasped Xavier's throat. He jerked back in surprise, but was not swift nor strong enough; the hand pulled him down into the altar bowl, the blood slowly consuming him. The eye followed.

Mary's eyes fluttered open. Her head was pounding, her eyes throbbed, and her stomach was lurching. She looked around... a horrible, dark place. Rain pelted down on her, she noticed, but she did not feel it. She turned her head, her neck producing several cracking noises, to look at a blood filled altar, on which a left hand and an eye was carved into the stone. She then looked down upon herself and shrieked. Raising her grey, rotted, thickly stitched hands to look at them, she shakily uttered the words, "W-What have I b-become?"

©2002 Matt Orcsbane