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Undertaker 15: The Choice

Undertaker hasn’t died yet and once again you can influence the story in this chapter. Choose wisely in th 15th chapter of the series about The Undertaker from Mokvas. If you haven’t done it yet, read the previous chapters first:

    Exhausted as he was, the Undertaker crawled out of the tub, half-heartedly toweled himself and dressed his holed stinking blood-soaked rags. Without spilling a word he grasped the basket with his daughter and departed Madame’s brothel.

    On the way back home he stopped by a nearby chandler and battered on his door. After a while the angry wife leaned from the window and furiously yelled at the nocturnal intruder:

    “You shit vomiting pig! How dare you to wake ordinary people in the middle of the night? If you don’t leave at once, I’ll call the guards and pay to watch them beating the crap out of your puny arse! You, you… suppurating pubic pustule!”

    The gravedigger patiently waited until her outburst ceased and calmly stated:

    “The man with the shovel is here. I need fresh milk. I’ll pay.”

    The woman promptly disappeared and after a short while the chandler himself stood at the door in his bedgown and sleep cap, still partially dozing, and handed the gravedigger a bottle of milk. He even refused the offered coins and wobbled back to his bed.

    Upon their return the Undertaker lit the fireplace, put the milk on the stove and carefully took the sobbing girl out of her basket. The little creature wriggled restlessly in his palms, waving her finally freed tiny limbs. Her father embarked on the uneasy quest of changing the diaper. Fortunately the Madame had packed him some clean spares. His fingers nervously fiddled, the rag slipped, the kid erupted into a heartbreaking cry and from the gravedigger’s forehead steadily dripped sweat. Eventually the milk overboiled.

    “Whacking a horde of demons would be easier,” he mumbled preoccupied and attempted to focus on the task which verged on sheer impossibility.

    Less than ten minutes later, which seemed to him like a thick slice of eternity, he sat on his bed, proudly held his daughter in his arms and watched her sucking on a shred he repeatedly drowned in cow milk. Until the little girl pulled away her lips and explored him contently with her big blue eyes. They watched each other, both serenely enjoying the moment.

    First she closed her eyes and devoted herself to an untroubled sleep for she felt she was resting in the safest and coziest place in the world. Soon after his own eyelids dropped and while his body remained in an emergency stand-by mode, his mind submerged into a shallow slumber full of bizarre daydreams.

    The Undertaker sensed that someone gently caressed his shoulder.

    “Shhhhh,” Kerbera whispered in his ear. With caution she took the wrapped baby into her hands and slowly laid it on the eiderdown. Then she took his hand and helped him get up. Out of the corner of his eye his caught the glimpse of a near empty bottle of Razor’s Edge on the table.

    “Outside,” she whispered again.

    They slipped out into the autumn night which still fell pleasantly warm. Together they strolled through the cemetery and between the graves without a word.

    “I feel slightly dizzy,” finally the succuba dared to break the silence. “In the near past I could gulp this booze from barrels, now I’m done after a sad tankard.”

    “Golden Goose? Again?” the Undertaker grumbled.

    “Always,” she replied hastily. “Imagine, they quit to distil the Edge. ´Cause of some revolution. Bastards. What is going on in this shitty city?”

    “Not only this city,” the gravedigger noted. “The whole of mankind is going insane.”

    “Again?” she wrinkled her forehead.

    “Always,” he nodded.

    Another veil of quietness spread throughout the yard. They kept walking in the shade, listening to the first shy birds chirping, and inhaling the moisture of the dawn weaning dew.

    “Actually…,” Kerbera spoke out with a slightly dry throat. “Concerning your request, I’ve thought about it.”

    The gravedigger remained silent and allowed her to choose her words.

    “I decided. I decided to stay. I’ll be the mother of your child.”

    He anticipated this. In fact he had granted her the illusion of a choice. In case of refusal he’d invoke the oath she once gave him. Now she could at least relish the mirage of free will.

    “But there is a catch,” she added calmly.

    “What catch?” The Undertaker sprang to attention.

    “When I will feed her with the milk from my breasts, it will change her.”

    “I know,” the man with the shovel acknowledged. “She’ll become resilient, strong, agile, immune to all diseases and poisons, her body will regenerate very quickly and she’ll live several centuries.”

    “Yes… But besides all that…,” the succuba remarked, “she’ll grow enormously fast. In one year she’ll be like uh… ten. And she’ll be cursed to remember everything. Every spoken word, every tone of a spoken word, every picture, every emotion… Especially all the fears, sadness, sorrows. All pain will be forever fresh. My milk will strengthen her body, but will expose her mind and her very soul. She’ll become extremely vulnerable. More than any other human being.”

    Moments of burdensome silence conquered the graveyard. The couple rambled through the funerary grounds with downcast eyes. The Undertaker exhaled uneasily.

    “Listen,” Kerbera took him by the hand. “Howsoever you decide, I’ll be with you, by your side. I’ll be the mother you wish me to.”

    Then she intensified the grip and nestled against his side. Her nimble fingers slipped under his rags and stroke his naked skin. A jolt of goose bumps overran his body.

    “What are you doing?”

    She turned her face towards him and the silver in her eyes began to melt.

    A jolt of goose bumps overran his body.

    “Remember what I told you earlier? That I’m going to get drunk, break some jaws and get laid. Now I’m drunk and jaws are broken. All I need is the latter.”

    The Undertaker raised his eyebrows.

    “Here? Now?”

    “Exactly,” she replied. “I want you to fuck me on our favorite tombstone.”

    She pulled him towards a small marble sepulcher. There she started to undress him and herself as well.

    “Thus,” the gravedigger dropped lewdly, “try not to wake the whole city.”

    Dear reader, now it is up to you again to decide. Shall the succuba feed the Undertaker’s daughter with her milk or not?

    Should Undertaker let the succuba feed the baby with her milk?Your choice will influence the next chapters of the story. Choose wisely.

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