The Whitehorse Curse

This is a story I did for Writer's Guild.  It was for the topic of Victorian horror story.  At the time I wrote it, it seemed like a fantasy.  Now...not so much.  WARNING: The writing is a bit more mature than what I usually have on my blog.

The Whitehorse Curse

By T. M. Strait

Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, February 1901

The blood-curdling scream was loud enough that it disturbed the gamblers in The Arctic’s casino, those playing the games of chance, rigged just enough to give encouragement to the hard-working roughnecks that frequented his establishment, just enough to keep them coming back for more, as they drank his watered-down booze, and visited his ladies of the night.  Despite his best efforts, sounds coming from his “Rooms for Ladies” still occasionally came through, but he prefers they be sounds of pleasure and ecstasy, something to fire up the base instincts of his patrons, when they had spent their fill on booze and gambling.  His goal was for every man who came into The Arctic to leave with empty pockets.  Where most of the men were still hoping to find gold in the dying gasps of the Yukon gold rush, Friedrich knew better.  He knew true gold lay in the hands of fools, and that he was expert at conning them out of it.

“No need to interrupt your fun, gentleman,” urged Friedrich, “Ernest and I will go and make sure everything is all right.” He motioned Ernest to follow.

Opening the door to the room where the scream had come from, Friedrich saw a sight that would curdle most men’s blood, but not Friedrich. No, not him.  Inside he saw a man, a tall thin man, almost skeletal, hunched over his best Inuit whore, slurping sounds coming from him as this vile creature, this vampire, sucked the blood out of the woman’s neck.

Damn!  The Far North had its benefits, but also its drawbacks, not the least of which was how the months long winter’s night drew out the vampires. “I thought we had an agreement,” said Friedrich coldly. “Hands off my best whores.  If you want that sort of thing, I can bring you some natives who aren’t fit for anything else.”

The vampire broke off his feeding and looked up at Friedrich, a deep-throated cackle coming from his lips.  “You are a fool, innkeeper.  You know nothing of what goes on here.”

The Inuit woman propped herself up.  “Friedrich, he’s right!  You don’t understand!  I love him!  His feeding on me was an act of love.”

“Love?” scoffed Friedrich. “What do you know of love?  You’re a whore!  You’re not supposed to love anybody!  You’re just supposed to screw them and take their money. And look at this monstrosity!  He’s nothing but a bottom feeder on the blood of humanity!’

The vampire laughed heartily.  “And what do you think you are, innkeeper? I suck blood and you suck money.  I leave my victims alive and ecstatic, tingling with renewed vitality.  You drain them of all hope and soul.  And when I find the right one, like Ahnah, I can bring them eternal life and youth.  You offer nothing in return.”

“If this was such a mutual love fest, why was there such a terrible scream?” asked Friedrich.

“That wasn’t me,” answered Ahnah, covering her exposed body with a bed sheet, “that was Chena. She came in on us and screamed before I could explain.”

“Where is she now?” asked Friedrich.

“S-she’s gone.  She’s not here.”  But Friedrich could tell by her tone and eyes that she was lying.  “Check the closet, Ernest.”

Ernest obediently opened the closet door, and there was Chena, a heavy-set cleaning girl whom Friedrich considered of inferior looks. She cowered in the closet, trying to hide behind some hung clothing.  Ernest pulled her out and held her harshly by the arm.

“Why not her?  I would have let you have her.  You could have drunk from her until the point of death for all I care,” said Friedrich.

“She is Hannah’s friend.  I would not do that to her,” replied the vampire.

“You wouldn’t?  Well, I would.  You both need a lesson taught here, of who’s really in charge.”  He tilted his head to Ernest.  “Kill her.”

The vampire roared and moved like lightning to stop Ernest.  Ernest just managed to get his pistol out when the vampire was almost on top of him.  But Friedrich was not standing still.  He had unsheathed a sharpened stake from his cane, and before the vampire could turn to stop him, he had plunged it through the vampire’s heart.  The vampire could only hiss at him, turn to his love, and say one last time, “Ahnah, my love!” and then disintegrated to dust.

“Are you all right, Ernest?” Friedrich asked.

Ernest felt his neck and nodded that he was okay.

Friedrich took the pistol and shot Chena, right through the head, causing her death instantaneously.

Ahnah screamed and rushed at Friedrich, her bed sheet falling, her naked body lunging towards him.  “NOOOOO!” she cried.

His wooden stick plunged deep into her, missing her heart by inches.  She looked at him with a withering hatred capable of melting a universe.  She reached out and touched Ernest and said one word, “Drink!”

She grabbed Friedrich’s arm, the one that held the wooden impaler, and for some reason Friedrich couldn’t free himself of her.  She spoke hauntingly, directly to his soul.  “You will pay.  You will pay unto generations.  Your first born’s first born will be an instrument of destruction, not just for your family, but for your entire country.  All your land will suffer.  Your name will be known forever as the bringer of destruction.  I curse you, Friedrich Trump, I curse you and your family for eternity.”

And then she died.  What an insane woman.  He was glad to be rid of her.

Ernest would remain his partner for only a short while longer.  He became increasingly irresponsible, intoxicated virtually all the time.

As for the Inuit woman’s silly curses, what did he care?  He was a self-centered con man, satisfied with taking from others and exploiting their weaknesses.  What did he care what his fist born’s first born did?  It wasn’t his problem.

That was a price for other generations to pay.

This was loosely based on Trump's Grandfather.  He really ran establishments like this, including one in Whitehorse, Yukon territories.  He did have a partner named Ernest, whom soon after the time of this story, Friedrich abandoned because of Ernest's drinking problem.  Shortly after I wrote this, the "grabbing" incident took place and I thought, well, this story is a fantasy and we'll never have to worry about the American people electing someone that scummy.  I was wrong.

The curse was stronger than I thought.

God help us all.