Light Against My Darkness
by Joanna K. Blaidd
1795. A re-imagining of the events that brought Josette Du Pres to make her fateful decision on Widows’ Hill. What if the tale Barnabas told to Vicki and Carolyn in episode 233 was closer to the truth than we thought? Barnabas/Josette, Ben Stokes.
Warnings: non-explicit sexual situation; vampire attacks.
Ben Stokes stepped back from the coffin he was building and glanced nervously at Barnabas. He chewed his lip for a moment before he dared to speak.
"Mr. Barnabas, I've gone along with everything up till now, 'cause I knew you couldn't help yourself." Ben gulped but pushed on. "But this is goin' too far. If you destroy Miss Josette—"
"That is not what I am doing," Barnabas declared. "For us to be parted would destroy us both. We are meant to be together. This way we can be—forever."
"But Miss Josette is a good woman, a lady. You can't turn her into—into a—" Ben gestured helplessly."A creature such as I am?" Barnabas supplied, a hint of menace in his voice.
Ben planted his feet. "Aye. Beggin' your pardon, that's what I mean. You can't do it to her, Mr. Barnabas, you just can't. How could you live with yourself after?"
"It's not entirely clear that I'm living right now," Barnabas said sardonically.
"Maybe if you were, you'd have a heart, some feelings—"
"Do not presume to tell me about feelings," Barnabas interrupted. The threat in his voice was now unmistakable. "I feel just as I did before what happened to me. I feel that she is the one I am destined to love, just as she is destined to love me. She has told me herself that she does not wish to live without me. Now we need never be parted."
He looked down at the coffin, nearly finished. He had to look away as a sudden pang struck him. The images that came unbidden to his mind were almost unbearable—Josette in all her loveliness, full of light and life. He had had such hopes for their life together, the home they would create together—so different from what he could offer her now. He pushed the thought aside with an effort.
"I will give her more than I had hoped," he said with renewed determination. "I will give her eternity."
"An eternity of—" Ben couldn't bring himself to say it. He took a breath and tried again. "Of doing what you do? You think Miss Josette is going to be skulkin' around the village, acting—beggin' your pardon, but acting like an animal?"
Barnabas felt his back stiffen. "She will not have to do that."
"Well, why not? You can't help yourself. Why would it be any different for her?"
"I will...provide for her."
"What?! You mean you'll bring 'em back for her to—"
"No, that is not what I mean," Barnabas cut in. "Now, I do not wish to discuss it." He turned away decisively. Though if the truth were told, he wasn't completely certain his plan would work. There was still much he did not know about being a vampire. He frequently made new discoveries of unknown powers—and unknown vulnerabilities.
But his heart told him that it had to work. He would do the...hunting; the word came to him after a moment's hesitation. Yes, he would take care of that. Josette would sustain herself by feeding on him, taking the blood she needed from his veins. She need never be exposed to the sordid details. Not that he would lie to her about it. But she need never face the dangers nor the messy reality. She would know just enough to understand and let him do what must be done.
"How soon will the coffin be ready?" he demanded.
"Just a few more hours' work. You want it to be nice inside. I've got to do some more sanding, lay in the satin. It'll be done by tomorrow night."
"Very well. Now I have things I must attend to." Barnabas pushed open the door of the shed and went out into the night.
He could never explain his full plan to Ben. Ben might spot a flaw that he had not considered. More than that, there was an element of intimacy that he was loath to expose to anyone. He secretly relished the thought of the moment when he would bare his throat for Josette. In his imagination, he could feel her soft breath on his neck, followed by the sweet sting of the bite. She would be timid at first, but she would become bolder as the warm liquid flowed across her tongue. He felt her lips caressing his neck as he gave himself to her, his life's fluid flowing into her. It would be a moment of exquisite intimacy, shared only between the two of them. A sacred communion that no one could be allowed to taint with mockery or disgust.
He couldn't yet tell Josette either; she wasn't ready to understand. Only the night before, as they lay together in the Old House, she had nuzzled his neck, kissed his throat insistently as if drawn by a hunger she was only beginning to feel—but all too soon she stopped and pulled away slightly, her look of puzzlement unmistakable even in the dim candlelight. No, she wasn't ready yet. But when the time came, she would find his blood sweet, as sweet as hers was in his mouth, and he would know the ecstasy of surrender.
The path that led past the cemetery was empty except for Barnabas. If anyone had been there, they would have seen a striking figure, cloaked in black, stop beneath an oak tree to gaze out at the moonlit hillside and the sliver of ocean just visible below. He stood long in thought before he spoke, addressing nothing but the night:
"I cannot let her beauty fade away
beneath the sun that measures out our days
and gives us years, but all too few—so swift
and pitiless their passing. No—I'll not
abandon her to time's uncaring grasp.
Nor turn away from this, our fated path.
Beneath the moon, the night is soft and gentle.
And so shall she be, my Josette, forever.
Adorned in moonlight, light against my darkness,
she shall live -- and make darkness bearable."
He turned and strode toward the village.
At first, when everyone but Ben thought him dead, Barnabas had thought he could content himself with watching Josette from afar. Then she discovered him in the mausoleum, and after their passionate reunion, he knew they could not bear to be parted again.
"I'm yours. There is no ceremony that could make me more your wife," she declared when she accepted is ring.
"You are my wife," he affirmed, and so they had not hesitated to celebrate clandestine nuptials in the room that had been her bedroom at the Old House.
Soon after, he had sent Ben to Boston to buy every book he could find that contained lore about vampires.
Much of what he read was contradictory; more of it was nonsense. Vampires are afraid of salt, or garlic, or mustard seeds, he read, and surprised himself by laughing aloud. He couldn't imagine himself cowering in fear of condiments.
A vampire attack is immediately fatal, said some, or eventually fatal, said others, or perhaps just mildly debilitating and unflattering to the complexion, according to one. This last did not in any way accord with his experience, but perhaps there was room to hope that he could learn to feed in a way that would be less injurious to his victims. More likely, the author simply didn't know what he was talking about.
​
On the question of how one became a vampire, the sources gave wildly different answers. Everyone who dies of a vampire bite arises as a vampire, according to one tome—but if that were true, the Collinsport docks should be crowded with vampires by now.
Another book averred that a vampire's victim would be transformed into a vampire if, after losing enough blood to be at the very edge of death, the victim partook of the vampire's own blood. Barnabas wasn't sure he could put all his faith in this legend either. He was afraid to take too much of Josette's blood before he was sure.
In his nightly trysts with Josette, he had somehow managed to restrain himself, taking only a moderate amount of blood each time—just enough to satiate his hunger so that he could turn his attention to other pleasures that gave her delight as well.
​
For how many nights could he continue this cautious, delicate feeding before she succumbed like any of his victims on the docks? He didn't know. But neither could he risk bringing her to the point of death on the strength of a legend.
On their fourth night together, he carefully pricked his thumb just as she was drifting off to sleep. He roused her gently and asked her to kiss it better. He was gratified to see that she licked the blood away. Though he hadn't drained all of her own blood first, perhaps this would give some indication of whether the blood of a vampire could, in fact, make another vampire. He smiled as she drifted back to sleep in his arms.
"I had the most unusual dream," Josette said when she awoke not long after. She had grown accustomed to rising long before dawn, so that she could return to her room at Collinwood before anyone noticed her gone. "I was in the village, and for some reason I was waiting for someone. But not anyone in particular -- just someone. I saw a man pass by, not anyone I knew, and suddenly I felt the most curious urge come upon me. If I hadn't awoken just now, I'm quite certain that I was about to leap upon him and bite him on the neck! There was some reason I thought I must do that, but I can't remember. How very odd."
​
Catching a look on Barnabas's face, she laughed and hastened to reassure him. "I know what you're thinking, and you needn't fear. You like to give me your love bites, as you call them, each night before we are joined as man and wife. But I had no interest in amorous congress with the man in my dream, whoever he was. I want nothing of the sort with any man but you."
"I'm glad to hear it," Barnabas said. His thoughts were racing. Perhaps this was the way it could be done after all. Little by little, rather than risking all at once.
They sat up together a while longer, speaking of poetry. Josette had just received a new book of verse from her aunt. Barnabas read aloud to her and she gave her thoughts on the poet's sentiments. Barnabas could never tire of the way her mind responded to artistic beauty. She knew her likes and dislikes, and would not gladly suffer a foolish or poorly written thought. Yet she also had great sensitivity to the feelings of another, even of a poet who was not present to hear, and a way of speaking of those feelings with such gentleness and insight that Barnabas felt she fairly unfolded the poet's heart before him.
"Even things that were already beautiful are made more beautiful by your speaking of them," he told her and kissed her forehead.
The next night, at Collinwood, Josette heard something that alarmed her: news from the village. A woman had been found dead, her throat cut, or so she gathered—the men had fallen silent when she entered the drawing room, judging the topic too gruesome for mixed company. They at last gave her such intelligence as they deemed appropriate for a lady's ears, sufficient to encourage her to be especially careful of strange men.
​
"Though these were not precisely respectable women, nor did this occur in a respectable part of town, nevertheless—" Joshua began.
​
"Women?" Josette interrupted. "I thought it was one woman."
After some hemming and hawing, she was informed that this was in fact the fourth such victim who had been found. So far as they knew. Joshua urged her not to set foot near the docks, and not to go out alone at night.
Not that she would anyway. Barnabas always escorted her through the secret panel and out into the night. "Though tonight, when you were late, I felt suddenly certain that if I looked for you, my woman's intuition would take me to you directly," she told him as they made their way through the woods to the Old House.
​
"Oh? Where did you think you would find me?" he asked, greatly intrigued. He had begun to sense a special kind of link developing between them. One of the books had even mentioned it as a possibility, though with the implication that this unique kind of intimacy could not be enjoyed for long, as the vampire's victim would soon be destroyed. Not in this case, he told himself.
Josette thought for a moment. "I don't know. I only knew that if I went through the secret passageway and out into the world, I could trust my feet to bring me to you. If you ever keep me waiting too long, perhaps I will put this notion to the test," she laughed.
​
"Please don't," Barnabas said. "It isn't safe."
"On a beautiful night like this, that's hard to imagine." Josette cast a glance upward. Moonlight broke between the dark clouds and edged them in silver. "Somehow, I feel as if I belong to the night," she mused.
Barnabas smiled. "Nevertheless, I entreat you. You don't know what sort of monster may be lurking out there."
The woman in his arms struggled for a moment, then surrendered as his fangs sliced into her throat. The small voice of conscience within him surrendered at the same moment, self-recrimination and shame washed away in the unspeakable ecstasy of feeding. In that moment, blood was all that mattered—the intoxicating taste and smell of it, the life force flooding his body, bringing all his senses alive. Drinking blood was like drinking liquid light.
Enraptured, he scarcely registered the delicate sound of footfalls at the entrance to the alley. A sudden gasp from behind him broke into his reverie. He jerked his head up, reflexively baring his fangs at the intruder.
"Josette!" Recognition brought with it a sickening wave of fear. Her expression was one of sheer horror, and suddenly he could see the scene through her eyes—Barnabas crouched down like some animal, the unconscious victim sprawled half across his lap, blood streaming from the holes in her neck. Too late he realized his mouth was dripping blood as well. A scene from a nightmare—incomprehensible, disgusting.
"Barnabas!" She stumbled back a step, shaking her head as if she could will the vision away. "My God! What are you doing?! What is this?"
"Josette, no! It's not—let me explain—" he stammered, wiping at his mouth. He jerked to his feet, the woman abruptly sliding to the cobblestones, almost forgotten.
"Is she—is she dead?" Josette asked, her voice high and thin, on the edge of hysteria.
"No," Barnabas said, averting his eyes as he took refuge in a half-truth. The woman wasn't quite dead yet. He looked around helplessly. "Josette, please, listen to me. Then you'll understand."
"I don't want to understand!"
"You must!" He took a step toward her.
"No! Don't come near me! My God—all those women who have been attacked—that was you, wasn't it!" Her hand went to the marks on her own neck. "What have you been doing to me? Were you going to kill me too?"
"No, Josette, my love. You must believe me! I am going to give you life."
"How can you give me life? What are you talking about? You've gone mad!" She stepped back and looked around wildly, searching for help, but the street was empty. The decent folk of Collinsport were all abed.
"But we've spoken of this new way of living—the world we must enter together," Barnabas reminded her. "I haven't told you everything, but much of what you do not know yet is wonderful, more wonderful than you can imagine. I swear to you, if you trust me, you can live forever."
"By doing things like that?!" she cried, flinging her hand in the direction of the unconscious woman. "I will never do such a thing!"
"Josette, believe me, dearest, I know." He stepped forward, attempted to embrace her. She struggled out of his grasp.
"Barnabas, you've become some sort of a monster! And now you want to make me a monster—but I won't let you!"
She turned and ran.
Barnabas hesitated, torn between pursuing Josette and doing—something, he knew not what, to finish what he had started. Help the woman somehow? Finish her off? After a moment he shook off his confusion and started after Josette.
A rumble of thunder warned of an approaching storm. He thought Josette would seek safety at Collinwood, but when he reached the fork in the path, he hesitated. Some instinct told him that that was the wrong direction. A moment later, a flash of lightning revealed that she had taken the other path. She was a figure in white making her way up the hill, past the cemetery. He ran after her, calling out. The rising wind carried his voice away. Rain began to fall.
As he drew closer to her, he could see that she was sobbing as she ran. The branches along the path caught at her gown, tearing it, but she stumbled onward. Once she turned and, seeing him, screamed, but he could barely hear her voice above the wind. At last she reached the summit—Widows’ Hill, the promontory overlooking the ocean. There was nowhere left to run. She stumbled against a large rock and almost fell. One white slipper came off, but she staggered to her feet and turned to face him.
"Stay away from me!" she said, half screaming and half sobbing. "If you come any closer, I swear I will hurl myself from this cliff."
"Josette," Barnabas said, spreading his hands in a gesture of surrender. "My only love. Please don't be afraid. I won't come any closer. Please, just let me speak to you."
For a long moment she stared at him in uncertainty and confusion. The wind became more gentle, the rain subsiding.
"What can you possibly say to me?" Josette said at last, the last word caught in a sob as she began to cry again. After a moment she stopped crying, with an effort. "What can you possibly say that will make a difference?" she asked more calmly.
"Only that I love you, and I would never harm you," he said. "I know I didn't tell you everything, but that was to protect you."
"To protect me?!" Josette repeated, incredulous. The clouds were dissipating now. Her gown seemed to glow in the moonlight.
She is like an angel, Barnabas thought. If only she could see things as he did.
"Josette, you mean everything to me. These last few days have been like a dream. We have been so happy together. Think of it! It can be like that forever. We will live in a world full of moonlight. And the night will hold no terror for you ever again."
"But it will hold terror for others! Those women in the village—that poor woman down there—what you were doing to her—I could never do such things!"
"It will not be that way for you. I swear it. You will not need to prey upon the innocent." He could see in her face that she was not convinced. "There is a way for you to..." he hesitated, afraid to repel her by speaking too plainly before she was ready. "You can receive the life force from me."
"But I will still be a part of this! Barnabas, it's evil!"
Barnabas cast his eyes down. He couldn't stand the way she looked at him. "I never asked to become what I am. I detest it," he admitted. "But if you are with me, your love will make everything different. We will find a way."
Josette stood her ground. "If you hate what you've become, you'll hate what you have made me."
"No. Never. My love, do you hate me? I cannot bear it if you no longer love me."
At the anguish in his voice, her stance softened. "Oh, Barnabas," she said softly. "No, I could never hate you. I cannot help but love you."
He dared to take a step toward her, then another. At last he caught her in his arms. He held her as she sobbed. "It will be all right, my love," he murmured.
"I don't see how it ever can be," she said, but she leaned her head against his shoulder, trusting him at least that much.
He pressed his lips to her neck. "Forgive me, Josette," he whispered. His fangs drove into her soft skin.
When he finished, she was almost swooning. Still on her feet, but only because he held her tightly. She had barely enough blood to sustain life. There was just one more thing to do. His fangs were razor sharp; it took no effort to cut his lip deeply enough that the blood welled up. He tilted her head to face him and kissed her.
And now she was changing. He could feel it as surely as he felt her gently lick away the last drops of blood. Soon she would fall into a deep sleep—he couldn't bring himself even to think the word "die." And when she awoke, at dusk, they would be together. He would have to carry her down the mountain. She was too weak to make the descent herself, and she must be in the safety of her coffin before daybreak.
"What is it like?" Her voice was low and sweet. "To drink blood. Tell me, Barnabas, what is it like?"
"Beautiful. Indescribable. To be able to taste the life force flowing into you can't imagine."
"Yes, yes I can." Her fingers drifted to his neck, gently stroked where the pulse should be. "I can imagine—wanting. And taking." She pressed a kiss to his throat.
He wrapped his arms around her more tightly. "Yes. It's as I thought. There is no turning back now; the change has already begun."
He felt her stiffen slightly, then relax again. She leaned back in his arms and looked around. A gust of wind brought the warm scent of pine to mingle with the ocean air. "There's a whole world out there," she said dreamily. "So much life to taste. So many victims—"
She broke off, startled and confused. Barnabas loosened his embrace and stared at her, horrified. "Barnabas, don't look at me like that!"
"No, no, I didn't mean it," he said, forcing down the knot of fear in his throat. The wind from the ocean felt suddenly cold.
"I saw how you looked at me," she said, anguished. "You're afraid of me—of what I'm turning into!"
"Never." He took hold of her arms, willing himself to feel only his love for her. "Josette, I cannot live without you. You must know that. You are a beacon for me, the only light I have. Without your love, your goodness, the darkness will consume me."
"I know, Barnabas. I do know." He felt her soften. She looked up at him and smiled, her eyes shining with love. Perhaps he saw a shadow of sadness as well. "That's why I've decided, for both our sakes, I must stay with you always." Relief flooded him; he loosened his grip on her arms. Her hands went up to stroke his chest beneath his open cloak.
"Not as you would make me," she continued, "but as I am now—your Josette—who loves you more than life itself. Hold fast to my memory, and live."
​
​With the last of her strength, she pushed against him. He stumbled back. Before he could move to stop her, she leapt.
Ben was waiting anxiously at the mausoleum door. "Mr. Barnabas, I thought you weren't going to make it! The sun's almost up!"
"I know, Ben," he said wearily. "I was on the beach, near the rocks." He stopped, unable to say out loud what he had found there. A century and more may pass before I can speak of it.
"All this time? With the sun coming up?"
"I thought to end all of this—to wait there until dawn. I thought that if I were far enough away from here, even if my courage failed me it would be too late to escape the burning light of the sun. At the last possible moment, I changed my mind."
"And where's Miss Josette?"
"Josette will not be traveling with me. Later today you will hear news that will tell you why. I can't speak of it now, Ben."
He pulled the chain to open the secret room. At the sight of the coffin, he swayed with exhaustion and grief. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. All the thousands of dawns that lay ahead, when he must return to this lonely refuge. The thousands of nights when he would arise alone. I must be strong, he told himself. As long as I carry her memory, she lives.
"It was because of her that I decided to come back here before it was too late," he said, speaking both to Ben and to himself.
"For her sake, I must live."
He raised the lid of his coffin.
Joanna K. Blaidd fell in love with Barnabas Collins at the age of 8, but stopped watching one day when the show suddenly got too frightening to bear. She came back to Dark Shadows as an adult only last year, and is reveling in discovering Barnabas and the show all over again. She's also become a devoted fan of Jonathan Frid's storytelling and audio performances of Shakespeare, and wishes that the show's writers had given him more Shakespearean-style speeches like the one in episode 416. One of her cherished hopes as a writer is that if we fans write such things ourselves, readers can at least experience them through imagination. This is her first Dark Shadows story. She previously wrote in Star Wars fandom and was one of the editors of the zine Sanctuary Moon. (joannablaidd@yahoo.com)