I sleep but do not rest. I sleep but I fear to dream, for when I dream I see those whom I’ve killed, those I’ve killed with my own hands and by the word of my command.
The first of the dead to come to me were Aristobolus and
Kostobar, my conniving brothers-in-law.
Aristobolus, who was drowned, appeared with runny eyes, red with
petechiae and his open mouth spilling watery bile down his chin. Then came their beautiful sister, my precious
Mariamne, who betrayed me. Her long dark
hair trailed behind her as she walked calmly to her execution. Behind her, our
two sons, treasonous wretches, executed before they could put their plans into
effect.
But it’s not the molding corpses
of my murdered family that haunt me now.
No. Their ghosts I could
tolerate; those I loved, and despised, and feared.
I could see their shades and laugh because they all wanted me dead and I
have survived them all. No. The ones who
haunt me now are far more disturbing and much more demanding.
They defecated as they died. Their swaddling clothes are stained with the
excrement and blood that flowed as they were ripped from their mothers’ arms
and run through with soldiers’ swords.
My soldiers. My orders.
They’ve crawled up the six dusty
miles from Bethlehem
to torment me, toddling on their fat rotting baby legs. No one sees them. No one smells the stink of
their decay. No one but me, King Herod
the Great, hears them crying for the comfort of their mothers’ breasts.
I sleep but I do not rest for the
slaughtered innocents haunt me and, what is more, another slaughtered innocent
is yet to come. I fear him most of all.
I wrote this a few years ago. It was published in the British horror magazine Twisted Tongue (Vol. 12) in 2008.
The music was newly created specifically to accompany the reading of this short story. I used a couple of sounds from the Freesound Project:
Ghost of Tilly Whim
The music was newly created specifically to accompany the reading of this short story. I used a couple of sounds from the Freesound Project:
Ghost of Tilly Whim
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