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It is a guilt and a relief Thomas will carry in him through all his days that he decided they needed to leave Friedrich behind when he had vanished from his home, when he was not there at the planned meeting time.
He assured himself that he would either see his closest friend again after the dreadful work was finished, and ask from him his forgiveness, or Thomas would be dead and then it would truly not matter at all.
They did not need one more man. Or more so the amount of men would make little difference, Thomas had seen firsthand the strength and power the monster held. If anything they needed an army, but three or four, what did it matter? It only takes one man to drive cold iron into a monster, and if they failed one man could be killed by him just as easily as ten.
He had failed before.
Given the opportunity to kill the monster, to swing and guillotine his head from his neck, he had hesitated, had let his dreadful thoughts consume him before turning and picking the reaper up, and he had given the creature time to rise, and he had doomed the world and most horrendously he had brought doom so near to his wife.
His wife who had revealed to him all her life had been terror and pain, suffering that he had not known of, that he had dismissed, leaving her alone to it when he was with her, and then leaving her entirely alone.
It was all his fault. This was all his fault. He could not fail again.
Besides, night was drawing near. They had to stake him before he left his grave or else it would all be for naught.
The suspicion, the ominous feeling, had come swiftly upon him when Ellen kissed him on his way out to slay the beast. Something about her was wrong, her demeanor off.
Thomas’ mind had returned to that churning smiling expression she had plastered on her mouth in order to soothe him at the expense of herself, a month or so ago (had the time truly been so short? Not years of grief fit to age him a century?), on the lilacs in her trembling hands. The misery poorly hidden in her gaze, the determination overpowering it.
But he had dismissed it as fear for the time ahead, had dismissed it as the creature turning his thoughts away from bringing her safety —lowering his resolve from afar—through that molded filth, that hold, which had been left to grow in him since that first night in the castle.
And he had not trusted her judgment before. Was that not the cause of all this? He had to trust her now.
He pushed the feeling out of his mind, let his determination, dread, fury, temper it.
Then von Franz strongly insisted they stop their aims momentarily to find Friedrich, and all the suspicion had returned to crawl up his gut and through his mouth.
“Why?” He asked sharply, “We have no need for four people, it would only slow us down. "
“We require all the resources we can stand to gather, young Thomas! His power is great!” There was something off, there was something wrong. It was not right
And Thomas drew closer to him, loomed in a way he had never managed before, said “you told me we have to drive iron through him before he rises! More people, what does it matter? Time is more important! We cannot wait! We must go now!”
And the professor paled slightly, but regained his bearings. “My boy, I advise you against acting in such haste, we must be prepared!”
And Thomas recalled being misled by so many godforsaken men of advanced age, of vast experience, as of late, and he thought: Perhaps they have done it again. Perhaps he is in the midst of one more conspiracy, perhaps this professor’s words were not to be heeded.
He did not doubt Ellen, he would not doubt her again, but the motives of the professor, the doctor, could be in question. Were they like Herr Knock? Were they now in the pocket of the monster?
So he said, “fine, I will go to Grunewald, alone if I must. I have faced this monster alone before, and I will face him alone again,” making way as quickly as he could out the door with his injury and his cane, von Franz shouting his protests and Sievers trailing behind them.
By the time they reached Grunewald, the professor had given up in his attempts to stop him, following along nervously, the sun had not quite set, but it was coming. He did not, at the moment, know or see the departure of the monster.
(It was a moment he would one day hear of often, in brags and gloats, and feel a rage and despair he was forced to smother in his throat for fear of consequence. Knowing the monster would so appreciate the opportunity to enact them.)
They went inside, the lid was opened and the blood splattering from a mouth belonged to a monster, a tormentor, a devil of this world so unique to himself, but not the one he was meant to slay. Not the one whose aims were fully bent towards Ellen.
He did not stop to voice his discovery, the conspiracy revealed, he did not stop to berate the professor.
He ran.
It is a guilt Ellen will carry her through all her days that when her husband made it, panting and pained, through their bedroom door before her would be murderer arrived, before the crawling snake she was meant to kill passed through the window she had called him to, a little part of her felt relief, felt the safety of another’s presence, not alone.
The majority of what she felt was terror.
A scream of frustration left her mouth without her bidding it, and she fell to her knees. He was supposed to be distracted! He was supposed to be far away from danger! From her! What was he doing here?
Her husband went down with her and held her arms in his. She pushed him away. “Go! Go! It is supposed to be me! It is supposed to be me!”
“What do you mean?” Thomas said, quietly, as though if he asked any louder it would be spoken into existence. When it had already been spoken into existence long ago, “that it’s supposed to be you?”
“To draw him out, to lead him to the dawn,” she hissed at him, aware that this might now be their last time together but unable to gentle herself in the wake of her terror, “go, he’s going to kill you, go!”
“He’s going to kill you!” Thomas said, “I can’t leave you to die!”
“Just listen to me! Listen to me! Go! Please leave, please!” Her whole heart was thrown into her pleading.
The curtains at the window shifted, and Ellen felt blood pool from her face.
Shadow filled their bedroom before he did, choking out what little light was available to them. Then the shadows coagulated around a center force. They both turned, glanced up, and Orlok was above them, looking down on them.
It was not fury on his face, it was victory, and this was worse to behold. He was not a monster foiled, but a creature who had easily dodged a trap laid before him. One more challenge laid before the great master and overcome.
“You have gone back on our agreement,” he said, mildly, “I had warned you what I would do if you further refused, and now your husband's life is forfeit.” The shadows wrapped around Thomas, one part sharpening as if in preparation to slit his throat, one around his mouth, keeping him from speaking. Oh God.
Before she could consider any further she had thrown herself at his feet, grabbed onto the bottom of his cloak, started crying “I didn’t! I didn’t! I didn’t know—please, I will go with you, I will! Don’t kill him!” She would debase herself to this monster for Thomas’ life, she would not have for anyone else’s.
“Like you had planned to kill me?” The dread pooled further into her stomach. He had heard her speak aloud the plan. “I am to be merciful when you have made plans to kill me?”
She did not know how she might convince him, he had no heart. Still she had to try. What did he value? Her of course, her body, her soul, but he could simply take those by force. Pleasure he could take from anyone, from anywhere. Why did he want her?
Entertainment, amusement, intrigue.
“Not mercy, no, you need not be merciful, but I will feel nothing ever again if you do this. I will be a corpse, not afraid, not angered, not even saddened, I will be a lifeless doll to you.”
“You threaten?” He said, annoyance dripping into his tone, but he was also curious, and that was something she could yet use against him.
She swallowed, “I warn. I know myself well, if you kill him, kill me beside him, you will live without me regardless.” Thomas yelped at that, muffled. She squeezed her eyes tight, then opened them.
He was considering, thinking, examining her for falsehood. Good.
“You mean to say that without this boy you would be dulled?”
She nodded, eyes to the ground.
She heard Thomas yelp again as he was released, thrown almost, from the shadows. “Come, kneel beside your wife, Hutter.”
There was a pause before she could hear him moving on the floor, crawling, before she could feel his presence next to her. She did not dare to glance over at her husband.
She did dare to glance up at the monster. In his eyes was hunger, victory. Delighted in his conquering of them. Smug and awful, but he did not seem so ready to kill Thomas, and so some of the ice in her veins melted, while some embers of ire returned.
She would not risk everything by letting it show through.
They all heard the sounds of the professor and the doctor making their way up to them, his mouth twitched downward, wrath filling at the interruption, and Ellen felt herself rise up, felt a cold rope around her wrists, against her mouth, sensation she recognized well as his shadows, then she was wrapped up entirely, then it was entirely dark.
Her hands were still bound by his shadow, but he was gone. The darkness was not the result of him. She was somewhere underground, and she did not know how she knew this.
“Ellen?” She heard hesitantly, from close to her. Thomas was with her, thank God.
She scooted towards the direction of his voice, felt his warmth against her, the space must be very small. There was a clink as she leaned slightly back.
“Is this…our neighbor's wine cellar?” Thomas whispered.
Now that he mentioned it, she had been faintly smelling alcohol. “I think so,” she replied. Ellen recalled seeing these neighbors had been claimed by the plague. So convenient a place to be stored in by the monster, drinks among drinks.
Her wedding dress was going to be stained. She felt some ridiculous pain at that. Really, after everything else.
“I love you,” Thomas softly spilled out.
“I love you too,” she was so glad she had the opportunity to say so.
Neither of them apologized. They were not sorry for what they had done that night, and they would never be.
She leaned against him, an offering of peace regardless.
Tension returned to them fully when they heard the creaking of the cellar door, and they tensed further as a third body entered the space, blocking their exit.
Blood and rot quickly overcame sweet wine. She pressed her face against Thomas blindly in the dark, but was quickly pulled away and towards the rotting. They knew better than to protest.
A hand tight against her jaw, nails in her cheeks, a hiss, “it is almost dawn, I am enclosed under the Earth. You are bound. You have lost. Tomorrow as the sun sets you will repledge your oath to me, or I will finish the destruction I started.”
Then he let go of her jaw. She was still tied in shadow, there was nothing she could do beyond lay there. They did not dare to struggle, attempt escape, or speak.
Soon sleep pulled her down into its embrace. It was not natural, it was not her own.
Thomas woke from that pulling slumber in a gasp of fear. They were still in the cellar, he opened his eyes to nothing. Pure darkness, not even the castle had been so dark.
But there was breathing, regular, Ellen. Breathing, pained and difficult, Orlok. He has not been abandoned, she had not been yanked away from him. Not yet, at least.
“Come” the monster said, Thomas felt the binds return, felt the shadows pushing against him. Light filtered through the cellar door opening, a moment of suffocating power and they were all above ground again. The sun must have just set, it was not fully dark.
They crept back to their home, in the chains of the monster. The people in the street's eyes glanced off them, as if they could not focus their vision. It made the world feel fragile, unreal. Like nothing really existed beyond the three of them. There was blood on the floor of their parlor, twin staining puddles, that trailed down from the stairs, Thomas could hazard a guess as to where all of it had come from, and felt nausea well up in him.
Ellen didn’t look much better, eyes wide and filled with grief as she stared down at it, before she gathered up her strength, before she was forced to let herself be tugged up the stairs and Thomas followed behind.
It was a sick reflection of their wedding night, when he brought her to his home in her white dress, when the neighbors noticed the flowers in her hair, their nice attire, and cheered for them.
Her dress was now coated in a layer of brown dust, many of her flowers had fallen off, wilted.
They had frisked and kissed on their way up to their bedroom, then, now they walked solemnly, as prisoners to the gallows. Now the monster had joined them.
He might have seen them even then, Thomas realized, the monster might have watched him become entirely one with her for the first time. Orlok had probably been lurking over them since they had said their vows. He shivered. So much he wished he had known. Yet it probably would have done nothing to change things in the end.
The bedroom was exactly the same as it had been left the night before. That was more unsettling than the drying blood puddles in their parlor.
Once more the shadows released them. They did not try to flee. Why would they, when it would be no use, when it could bring potential harm to each other?
Besides, he was following Ellen now. He would do anything to stay by her side, and she was determined to see this through, to save him and everyone else, to give herself to the monster. He could not let her do it alone, and he could not stop her.
“Remove your clothes and kneel,” the count said, towards him, Thomas felt himself follow the command, baring himself and falling down onto his knees beside the bed, slightly detached from his body.
Ellen closed her eyes, he watched her set her face into solemn determination.
Another perversion of their wedding, he could not understand the question Orlok asked her, but he could guess at it from her “I do,” and the quick smug glance his way, the pleasure in his defeat and pain, before he turned back to speak more to her in that unknown language.
Thomas had watched her marry death, watched the cementation through a biting kiss.
Then she had pulled off her gown, tossed it away from her, laid herself down onto the bed. She was beautiful and ethereal as always. He wanted to reach out and touch her, wanted to please her, but he could not risk the ire of Orlok, and he gasped slightly as the monster began to suckle at her like he had suckled at Thomas in the castle.
She was moaning and gasping and pulling Orlok’s head closer to her, and he had made to enter her as well, drawing in and out of her as he drew from her blood. A wedding night consummation.
Her hand clenched and unclenched at his side. Thomas grabbed it and kissed it, for he could not resist his urge to. He was not stopped, the monster too consumed with his own devouring to care or notice. Some shameful part of him was mesmerized by the scene, pulled in by it, enjoyed it. That awful seed which had been planted in him in the castle, or perhaps had existed in him all along.
Yet he noticed her growing faint, noticed her eyes starting to roll, and the creature had not yet stopped. Panic flooded into him, and on instinct he rose to push the monster off. His arm was grabbed painfully, he was pulled roughly to the other side of her.
Some clarity had been regained though, in his interruption, Orlok paused to cut a line into his arm and feed his blood to Ellen, and at first it dripped slowly into her mouth, and she licked it softly up like a kitten, but then as more blood poured all her strength seemingly returned and she moved to latch onto it fully, just as Orlok pulled Thomas’ neck into his jaws.
Soon it was him that began to feel faint, and close to dying, and it was Ellen who interrupted, pulling Orlok’s head away with a newfound strength, and then pushing his arm at Thomas, to drink alongside her. Orlok cut a new line across his chest, that they sunk sharp fangs into, feral and ravenous.
His own head was pulled away and he groaned. That language he didn’t understand before—he still could not decipher it, but the intent rang through. His wife had married to death, if he wanted to keep her he had to as well. “I do,” Thomas said, easily, and then returned to his drinking.
They continued like that, exchanging blood back and forth between the three of them, until something Thomas could not name, some exhaustive force, began pulling, pulling pulling, them down into it’s clutches.
Ellen woke in the darkness of the cellar again. The third night since her plan had been interrupted and she was a ravenous, starving beast. She began crawling, unrestrained upwards, bumping into a soft body on her way out. Thomas.
“Wake up, love,” she said, it took a second, but soon he moaned groggily.
“Let’s go up, I’m starving,” she continued, with a giggle. Some part of her knew this was an inappropriate response, the rest did not care. She could feel sharp teeth in her mouth that weren’t there before. Her veins called out for more, more, more.
This time she crawled out of the Earth all on her own, a shambling corpse. Her wedding dress was back on, fully coated in dirt, she had been dressed like a doll by the monster who greeted her upon her arrival.
It was not as dark as it had been the night before. It looked normal, the night was as day, except the coloring had dulled. She wanted to scream, and scream, and keep screaming.
Thomas crawled up after her, looking just as haggard and unsettled as she felt.
There was some relief hidden on their creators face, kept away in shadow. Had he worried they would not wake up? That they had escaped into death? She wanted to laugh at him.
Instead she started sobbing. It was red. Her tears were red. She could not even keep her clear watery tears.
Everything was so loud, and bright, and she was starving.
Thomas looked nervously at their master, before going over to wrap his arms around her.
Their new husband looked so uncomfortable, after all he had wrought and now he was disquieted. It was kind of funny, she laughed again. Would she be this out of sorts forever?
“Go,” their monster said, falling behind them watching that they did not try to flee, “you are hungry, go, find a meal for yourself.”
“I can hear everything,” Thomas whispered, looking around with slightly unclear eyes. She heard a scoff behind herself, and felt wrath return. There it was.
She marched them forward. She would enjoy ripping into someone and imagining it was her monster.
Where had that come from? Was she so ready to kill now?
It seemed so, the first person she crossed paths with immediately ended up in her mouth, and her husband, transformed alongside her, shared in her suckling.
It was not enough, in the end it took six people before she returned to some level of functionality, before she was actually able to think.
“Where are we going?” She asked. What were they going to do? Would they continue returning to that cellar forever? Become the anonymous beasts of her city?
“I am taking you to my homeland, we will set off unto the sea,” he said, as though daring her to protest.
Without thinking she drew closer to Thomas, and their monster rolled his eyes “yes, Hutter will come along as well, I did not make him as us just to set him loose. Bah. You will not be able to gather strength against me so easily.”
“Can we pack?” Thomas said, hesitantly, nervously. Oh yes, she hadn’t even considered that they might pack and—Greta!
“Greta,” Ellen said, “we have to bring Greta.”
Their sire frowned, “who?”
“Our cat,” Ellen said, “we have to go pick up Greta,” then she turned to go back towards their home, forgetting the blood covering her from the messy eating. It was alright, whatever he had done the night before to keep the glances away was still in effect.
“Cats,” her sire muttered, “she is but a witch of old.”
She heeded no mind to that statement, or the presences behind her.
She did not look at the blood fully dried on their floors when she arrived. She couldn’t handle fully processing that at the moment. Instead she drew quickly up to the bedroom.
“I give you a quarter of an hour, whatever you might fit inside a chest is yours to bring, as your lord I will provide all else,” he said, magnimoniously. She could rip his teeth out.
“Greta would suffocate in a trunk,” Thomas replied. Ellen had already begun calling out for her.
“Your familiar may wander the ship,” he growled out at the mild push back.
Familiar?
There she found her, at the top of a shelf. She called Greta down to place her in her carrier.
Thomas had already started quickly throwing clothing items into their chest, replacing the other items littered inside, along with a few functional items, a hairbrush, Ellen threw in some books at random.
They glanced towards each other, at the window, but then their sire was in front of their door. A suspicious, impatient jailor. A quarter hour, done.
He did not stop her changing from her blood stained wedding dress into more practical clothing though, did not stop Thomas following suit. He just stared hungrily at their bodies, as always.
This could be their lives forever more.
Again they had thought, when they were by the docks could they run now? But he was near to them, it was not the time. And she did not know if they could make it alone in these new forms just yet.
They held the carrier and trunk together as they had when they were mortal, the time which felt like seconds and also years ago. They set the trunk alongside the luggage which had meant to make its way onto the ship, as she let open the carrier for Greta to find a spot for hiding, there would be plenty of mice on board for her to find her sustenance.
One of the ship workers whispered something to another, Friedrich, their employer found passed away in his dead wife's arms, driven mad, and Ellen had not liked him, but still she felt the news swallow her up. Another loss. All gone, all dead. Anna, the girls, Friedrich, Professor von Franz, Doctor Sievers .
This was all her fault. Why had she called out those years ago? Why?
Thomas stared blankly at the sailor who’d said it. Tears fell silently down his face, red, and Ellen suddenly realized she was mirroring him, her own cheeks wet.
What ridiculous moping, Orlok had thought, after he’d locked them away in their coffins for transport, still crying softly, after they had set off on the way back to his homeland. Not entirely unexpected a response, however.
Legends, the tales of ancient, powerful civilizations, spoke of the captured brides of battles in foreign lands as weepy homesick things, so they would be as well. He was not concerned, it did not last in those texts and it would not last for them. He would wait this out, as he had waited out many other circumstances, for they had an eternity to bear it through.
Still she had vowed to him she would not fall into a dull despair if she had the boy, and he expected her to keep to this oath at the very least. It was his due, she had broken their agreement, forced him to wait an additional night, had planned to murder him, and in return he had granted her little lover an eternity alongside her.
If the vision of his bride kneeling in her wedding gown, the boy kneeling alongside her, awash in their defeat, a thrilling mosaic of her little marriage plot ruined and set before him, had goaded this decision, then that was simply his due as well. Should he not keep to himself a reminder of his victory over her? Vows in churches with legislating priests, so small in the face of his own might.
Another thrilling mosaic—to take her back to himself in front of the boy. The weak little thief, forced to witness her return to her oaths, that which she had tried to break. The ire in his bride's eyes, the shame to do so in front of her husband, before all had become her flesh, and her blood, surrendering to him, as it should be. Her becoming one with him, ordained, resisted but ultimately futile.
And he had taken the boy to his consumption as well. Wrought his vow. He had so wanted to be her husband! An ordinary little husband to the real lord’s powerful enchantress! And instead a fainting maiden he was, and a bride he became alongside her. Conquered, both of them conquered and taken. A drawn out battle, a challenge, but look, victory all his own!
He did not expect this to be the end, their defeat forever. They were tricky things, he had learned. Darting, and determined, but he did not necessarily want it to be. They would attempt their escapes, make protests, and he would clutch them back, deny them. Entertainment, amusement, owed to him after so many years going without.
He would not be so bored, so forsaken, again.