Fiction: THE CURSE OF THE RIVEN

In a house by a river, three men sat in a small, darkened room wishing that they were somewhere else. The rain battered the shivering windowpanes and the condensation trickled around the fingertips of the man pressing his hand against the glass. Staring at his ghostly reflection, he parted his lips and drew in a breath.

"Have you ever thought what it's like to be a wanderer?" he said. "Have you? To be an exile?" He pulled his hand away and ran his damp fingers through his tousled hair. "I'm cut off from civilisation, without friends or protection. But one day, I shall get back. Yes, one day… one day."

 

A pale, round-faced young man sat at the table by the fireplace, a book in his left hand and a small crystal glass filled with Laudanum in his right. "Firstly, George, Geneva is hardly 'cut off from civilisation', and secondly I take issue with your saying that you are without friends. Are we not, all of us here, your friends?"

George hunched his shoulders in a sulky shrug. "I suppose so, Percy, I suppose so." He turned, and smiled. "Yes, of course, although I shan't deny that your… entourage is too numerous for my liking."

The other man at the table, the youngest of the three, raised a thick black eyebrow. "There are but three in Percy's party, sir."

Percy put down his glass. "He means, John, that he would rather I had not brought Claire, and he knows very well that Mary's father has cut us off completely. We know exactly what it's like to be exiles. We're all in the same boat."

"Boat! Ha!" exclaimed George. "Much more of this interminable squall and the whole villa will set sail across the lake."

John chuckled. "Like Noah and his Ark, eh?"

Percy snorted derisively at the young doctor. "Biblical claptrap, John. I'd sooner believe in George's curse."

John smiled wryly. "As your physician I should be privy to everything with which you have been cursed on your misadventures."

"Oh, very droll," sighed George. "Percy is referring to my grandfather. A Vice-Admiral, no less, but every time he took a ship out of docks it was tormented by the most disagreeable meteorological phenomena. Hence the nickname 'Foul Weather' Jack".

Percy nodded. "This is something of a Byron family tradition. Winter in June seems very worthy of old 'Foul Weather' Jack."

John frowned. "Wasn't your father a naval man, too?"

George smiled rather wistfully. "Captain 'Mad' Jack. More of a squanderer than a wanderer. A man of fine tastes but not so fine means."

John's dark eyes followed him from the window to the fireplace. "And was he? Mad?"

George's face hardened momentarily, then he shook his head and smiled. "Well let's just say that if his diaries are anything to go by he would have enjoyed our little competition. He was rather fond of ghost stories too."

The sombre atmosphere was suddenly pierced by a high-pitched scream. "What the hell was that?" exclaimed John, turning ashen-faced.

Percy brushed his shirt, down which he had spilt his tincture. "The ladies!"

George had already reached the door. "Don't just stand there, you fools, run!"

Percy, easily overtook his lame friend and burst through the door. "Mary! Claire! What is it? What's wrong?"

The two teenagers were crouched on the floor, and in front of them lay the corpse of an uniformed servant. A horrible gash in his neck was obvious at once, and his face was unnaturally white.

Percy crouched, putting an arm around Mary, and George leaned against the doorway. "You're the doctor, John, but he looks a bit… dead, and I don't think it was anything he ate."

The Doctor rolled the body over and began to examine the neck wound. "You could show a little concern for the ladies, George."

George shrugged. "Very well."

Percy stood, guiding Mary up with him. "What happened, Mary? Who did this?"

The young girl swallowed hard, regaining her composure before looking him in the eye. "We were attacked."

John frowned. "This man has lost all his blood."

George raised his eyebrows. "There's not a drop anywhere in the room."

Claire rose to her feet. "Percy, it was some kind of devil. It walked like a man, but it was… horrible. The servant hacked at it with a poker from the fireplace; its' arm was completely severed!"

George glanced around. "I don't see it."

Claire shook her head. "It re-attached itself, melted back onto the body." She put a hand to her mouth. "And then the thing bit his neck, and it… drank his blood. Oh, Percy, it was so horrible!"

George's face had turned an odd crimson shade. "I assume that you think this is funny, Miss Claremont," he hissed. "I expected you to make some play for my attention but this pathetic fantasy is most unkind. As for what you have done to this poor fellow…"

Mary was livid. "George!" she scolded, "How can you say such vile things! Do you seriously believe that either Claire or I could have done this?"

Percy was at her side. "She's right, George. What is the meaning of this?"

George shook himself. "I apologise. Of course, you're quite right, but if this is no trick, no elaborately staged test, then the truth is just too incredible to contemplate."

John had taken down one of the thick velvet curtains and draped it over the body. "You had better explain yourself, George. I'm now certain that whatever did this cannot have been human."

George fixed his friends with a stare. "You recall that I said my late father enjoyed a ghost story? What has happened here closely mirrors an event in his diaries that I had until now to be nothing more than a sick and twisted imagining." He sighed. "I was but three years old when my father died, so years later, when I discovered a set of diaries amongst the meagre effects sent to my mother from France, I devoured them, eager to know for the first time the father I did not remember."

Mary nodded. "So you believed that Claire had read those diaries."

Claire shook her head fiercely. "I had no idea that such devilry could exist in reality."

George sighed. "I know that neither of you is capable of inflicting such evil on another human being. Unfortunately, I know who – or rather what – is."

It was Percy's turn to nervously look over his shoulder at the window. "Your father encountered this thing? Did… did it kill him?"

"The other way around, or so he thought." George guided them to the chairs and began the tale.

"It was in the year of my birth, 1788, that the redoubtable Captain encountered the beast. Men had been lost at sea and it was assumed they had been swept overboard in a storm, but my father found the bodies in the hold, completely drained of blood. Having found its larder, he was confronted by the perpetrator. The creature was called 'the Riven'."

Percy nodded. "An apt name. This fellow tore it apart, and yet it lives."

George managed a small grin. "Ah, well, there the Captain was not so mad. Having fought with the creature and torn it literally limb from limb, he weighted down the separated body parts and threw them overboard. The creature could not become whole again."

John shook his head in amazement. "And we thought that the weather was your family curse, George. Now the sins of the father are to be revisited upon the son. Not to mention anyone else in the immediate vicinity."

George was about to reply when a crash of illuminated a hideous silhouette at the window. Claire let out a scream and immediately cursed herself. The shape approached, and a hand reached out to knock loudly on the glass. The window flew open, and the terrible shadow resolved itself into something altogether unexpected.

The creature before them had an inordinate amount of teeth, bulging eyes, protruding lips and a mass of wild, curling hair, beneath the brim of a felt hat. "Good evening," boomed a sonorous voice. "Lovely weather for ducks!"

The stranger wore a long grey overcoat that was dark with wet, and an even longer scarf of many colours, that dripped onto his feet. Stood behind him was a young woman with shoulder length chestnut hair, wearing a large furry coat and clutching an inside-out umbrella. "Ahem." She cleared her throat pointedly.

"Yes, of course," said the tall man, "where are my manners? I'm the Doctor, and this is Sarah Jane Smith."

"Hello," ventured the young woman, putting down the umbrella. "Having a party?"

"Hello there!" said the Doctor, dropping to his knees, and crouching by the covered corpse. "Murder, is it? We got here just in time, Sarah Jane," he said, tipping water out of his hat.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Business as usual, then."

George finally recovered his voice. "Who the devil are you people? And what are you doing here?"

"Ah, well," said the Doctor, dusting his hands off and rising to his feet. "We got a little bit lost."

Sarah chuckled. "A little?"

"Do you mean in the storm?" asked Mary.

The Doctor didn't look up. "Something like that, yes." Suddenly his head jerked up and his eyes almost popped out of his head. "A storm? I knew something was wrong! The TARDIS instruments said that it's June!" He looked suspiciously at the group, as if it were somehow their fault. "What year is this?"

John snored. "Are you serious, man?"

"I'm very serious," the Doctor assured him. "It's 1816, isn't it? I'm right, aren't I? The year with no summer?"

Sarah frowned at him. "No summer?"

"Yes," said the Doctor. "There was a volcanic eruption last year that affected most of the northern hemisphere of your planet."

"Your planet?" exclaimed Percy.

The Doctor raised a hand suddenly. "Oh! This is the Villa Diodati, isn't it? Then the lake I'm wearing is lake Geneva!"

"Wait a minute," said Sarah. "If this is the Villa Diodati in the year 1816, then you people… well, you're…"

Mary smoothed down her dress and held out her hand for Sarah to shake. "My name is Mary Godwin, and this is my sister, Claire. These gentlemen are Percy, George and doctor Polidori."

Sarah's jaw dropped ever so slightly. "Percy Shelley? And… George Byron?"

Byron puffed out his chest defensively. "My reputation precedes me everywhere thanks to lady Caroline Lamb. Whilst I can refute that I am mad, and my friends can testify that I am really not all bad, it certainly seems tonight that I am dangerous to know."

The Doctor turned to face him. "I take it that you're acquainted with the creature that did this, hmm? What makes you think that it's you it's after?"

One 'tale of Captain Mad Jack Byron' later, and the Doctor exhaled with a flap of the lips. "A Riven, eh? Long way from home…"

"The Captain came across it near Indonesia. Do you think the eruption of Mount Tambora brought it to the surface?"

"Oh, undoubtedly," the Doctor said, airily, "but it's from much further away than Indonesia."

The sound of breaking glass echoed down the hallway beyond the door.

"What was that?" said John, almost jumping out of his skin.

"I presume it's our severed friend, the Riven," drawled Byron.

Sarah tugged at the Doctor's wet sleeve. "What are we going to do?"

"Hmm?" The Doctor was digging in his pockets. "Do?"

"About the Riven?"

"Oh, that old thing." He looked across at John. "Tell me, do you have a thermometer, or possibly thermometers?"

Sarah chuckled. "What are you going to do, take its temperature?"

"You want to see just how hot it is in hell, eh?" said Byron.

"Nothing so lurid," said the Doctor. "You, Percy and doctor Polidori – out into the corridor and bring those thermometers, but be careful! Sarah…"

"Stay here, by any chance?" she said, a slight growl in her tone.

The Doctor grinned. "Claire mustn't see anything, but I don't think it would do too much harm for Mary to get a glimpse of the Riven."

There was a shout from the corridor, and an inhuman roar. Sarah gasped. "Go on!" she said, "get your thermometers!"

The Doctor chuckled and dashed off, scarf trailing behind him. "Back in a tick!"

Mary started after him, but Sarah pulled her back. "No, don't! The Doctor knows what he's doing!"

There was a crash, and shouts from the hall and Mary pulled away from her. Sarah followed her into the darkness as fast as she could, but stopped almost as soon as she got past the doorway.

At the end of the hallway, bathed in the moonlight, Polidori knelt over the bloody torso of the Riven. Mary let out a yelp, and ran to help Percy. Sarah took a few more steps and saw that a little further along, Byron was pinned to the wall, struggling comically with one disembodied arm, whilst standing on the other. Percy was clutching the legs, each at arms length, and the Doctor… the Doctor was darting between them all, clutching a couple of broken thermometers, and holding the sonic screwdriver in between his teeth.

She called out to him. "Doctor! How's it going?"

He flung the thermometers to the ground and started fiddling with the sonic screwdriver. "Let's see, shall we?" he grinned.

Suddenly Byron flung the arm from his throat and it flew in the direction of the torso, smacking Polidori on the back of the head. The other arm wrenched itself from beneath his shoe, causing him to lose his balance and stumble. Similarly, Percy lost his struggle with the legs, and slowly the Riven began to reform.

"Stop it!" shouted Mary.

The Doctor pressed his switch and the familiar hum of the sonic screwdriver spiralled down the hallway.

Suddenly the creature convulsed, and it's limbs wrenched away from the body once again. A stunned expression came over the creature's features, as the limbs tried, and again failed, to reattach themselves.

Sarah smiled. "What did you do?" she said.

The Doctor beamed at her. "What I usually do, Sarah Jane. I reversed the polarity!"

"Oh, the magnetic polarity! You tipped the mercury from the thermometers into the open wounds," she said wrinkling her nose. "That's rather disgusting."

"Is it?" said the Doctor, hauling the torso over his shoulder, and marching out of the front door. He raised his voice to the bewildered Byron. "Well, we'll be off, lovely to have met you all! Come along, Sarah!"

Percy shook his head in disbelief as the pair vanished. "What happened here tonight?"

Mary shrugged. "I don't know... but I think I have a rather good idea for my story."

THE END