They Come When You Sleep: 16 Tales of Horror and the Supernatural (Stories for Late at Night), page 5
“Her name was Priya.” Van der Sloot gave a sad, wistful smile. “She was the daughter of a pearl diver in Colombo. I know I am not handsome, but I could have any woman I wanted with my wealth except for Priya. We met at the governor’s estate during a dinner party to celebrate the Christmas holiday; she was a serving girl in the palace and one of the favorites of the governor’s wife. Her hair was long and black, and her dark eyes peered from a face of perfect, tan skin. I was smitten from the first time I met her.
“I began to court Priya immediately, bestowing lavish gifts upon her and her family. Her father was thrilled at the prospects of a union so high above his family’s station, but Priya only smiled politely and engaged in small talk. I arranged to have her moved from the governor’s home to work in my estate, which soured the governor’s wife toward me from that day forward. Priya initially protested until I offered to provide accommodations for her family on the estate, and even then, she only accepted to improve her family’s life.
“One evening, she approached me and asked to speak with me after the evening meal. I acquiesced enthusiastically, thinking I had finally made progress with her affections. That evening I cleaned under my fingernails and ate dinner in my finest coat and trousers. I dismissed the servants early and awaited her by the fireplace with a bottle of wine and two goblets.
“Priya smiled tentatively when she approached me, looking nervously from the bottle of wine to her feet. When she met my eyes, I felt my soul swooning in the darkness of her pupils.”
“Mr. Van der Sloot.” She immediately corrected herself when she saw me open my mouth to protest. “Hendrik. You have been very kind to me and my family.”
“I can do so much more for them… and you if you let me,” I told her as I placed her hands in mine.
Priya smiled and looked away for a moment, staring into the fire. When she faced me again, there were tears in her eyes. “Hendrik, I believe you are a good and kind man, but I am sorry; I need you to understand that I will never love you in the way you desire. I am going to go to my room and pack my possessions. Tomorrow I will return to the governor’s home; the governess will take care of all the arrangements.”
“She squeezed my hand and gave me a sad smile as she turned and left me standing agape.” Van der Sloot’s eyes had a far-off look, lost in memories. “My heart was racing, and my mind spiraled as a final desperate thought took hold.”
Daan looked up from his writing, studying Van der Sloot carefully as his voice hinted at madness.
“I grabbed Priya’s arm to stop her from going, and I could see the alarm in her eyes. I asked her, begged her, to allow me one indulgence before she left.”
“Hendrik.” Her deep brown eyes looked into my face, and I could see the discomfort this prolonged goodbye was causing her.
“Before you go, let me just show you something. I promise I will not hinder you further if you allow me this kindness.” I let go of her arm and held my hands up in a non-threatening act of contrition.
“Priya sighed deeply and gave me a slight nod of capitulation. I saw her concern and hesitation when I told her what I wanted to show her was in my bedroom; however, I assured her my intentions were only honorable. Even so, she entered the bedroom just beyond the threshold and watched me apprehensively as I worked the lock on the ornate chest on my nightstand.”
Van der Sloot looked at Daan with eyes alight with excitement. “I will never forget Priya’s reaction when she first looked upon the Heart of the Island. She gasped as her breath caught in her chest and looked incredulously from the stone to me.”
“May I touch it?” Priya reached a trembling hand toward the gem, and I nodded slowly.
Van der Sloot laughed bitterly and shook his head. “In all the time the Heart of the Island was in my possession, I never witnessed the cat’s-eye effect in the gem. However, the second it lay in Priya’s gentle hands, I saw that cat’s eye right through the center of the stone. I should have given it to her right there and then and been done with it. We all would have been better off.”
He fell silent after that, and Daan watched as he ran his tongue over his top teeth, lost in thought.
“Priya fell in love that evening. Not with me, of course, with the Heart of the Island. It was no superficial affection like the women of Amsterdam feel toward their beautiful trinkets and baubles; Priya detected some inner beauty in the stone that intoxicated and consumed her. When I withdrew it from her grasp, she had the desperate look of an opium fiend deprived of their smoke.
“I will admit to you that all manner of chivalry left me at that moment as I spied her desperation for the stone. I told her that if she stayed, if she came to my bed chamber in the evenings and indulged my carnal desires, I would allow her to hold the Heart of the Island until morning. She, of course, agreed.”
Van der Sloot looked up and smiled at the look of distaste on Daan’s face. “I see you think I am a cad, and I cannot say that I disagree with you. However, there was little joy in my victory. I shared my bed with a woman who held no interest or affection for me yet lovingly curled her body around that damn stone like a woman suckling a newborn.
“The arrangement caused me far greater trouble than joy. Her father disapproved, so I had to ship him and her mother off to Mullaitivu to work on one of my lesser holdings. The governess was displeased that I had once again deprived her of Priya’s services and company, and I fell out of favor with the governor.
“Due to our nightly relations, Priya quickly became with child, and I had to arrange for a merchant acquaintance to take the wretched thing once it was born for fear she would neglect it unto death. She was like a wraith, haunting the halls of my home, devoid of all joy except when holding that damn stone. I soon became as disinterested in her as she was in me.”
“On the night that I told Priya she would be leaving in the morning to join her parents in Mullaitivu, she clutched the Heart of the Island close to her breast and begged to take it. She said the stone belonged to her, and she to it. When I told Priya I intended to sell the stone, she flew into a rage. The woman was like a person possessed by a demon. Clawing. Biting.”
Van der Sloot became suddenly quiet, his eyes downcast toward the floor.
“Sir?” Daan’s voice was hushed as he prodded the man to continue.
“We struggled.” Van der Sloot’s eyes looked hollow and haunted when they met the young lawyer’s gaze. “Priya fell. Her head struck the nightstand, and there was a loud snapping noise. Her neck, I think. She just lay there on the floor, hands locked around the stone. Priya’s eyes were wide open, and she stared at me unblinkingly. Her mouth hung open, emitting a horrible keening, a constant wailing sound, with no changes in pitch or pauses for breath—just that ceaseless wail.
“I tried to get her to stop. I begged her to stop. The sound was maddening; I couldn’t think straight. I just wanted her to stop making that terrible noise. I grabbed a pillow off the bed and put it over her face.”
Daan stopped writing and looked at Van der Sloot in shock and horror. The man stared at the floor as if seeing Priya lying there, his arms outstretched, chains and manacles rattling. Then his shoulders slumped in resignation, and his hands collapsed into his lap as he exhaled a long breath.
“I just wanted her to stop. When she finally did, and I removed the pillow, she was gone. Priya’s dark eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling; her mouth hung open in an eternal scream.
“I told everyone it was an accident; I said Priya slipped and fell getting out of bed. The incident would have passed quietly with my connections and money. However, the governess would not let it rest and insisted action be taken. My money and influence put me beyond even her reach; however, in the end, the company decided re-assigning me was in the best interest of everyone involved. I spent ten years in Bengal and another twelve in Golconda afterward.
“I had opportunities to sell the Heart of the Island a hundred times for incredible prices, but in the end, I could not. Maybe it was guilt over Priya’s death or a sense of the wrongness I committed by taking the gem from the island. I don’t know.” Van der Sloot’s voice trailed off.
“Mr. Van der Sloot,” Daan chose his words carefully, “this written account could be construed as your confession to the murder of the young lady.”
“I know.” Van der Sloot nodded. “I see her almost every night in my dreams. Sometimes I dream that she is in the room with me, or I spot her from very far off, but she is always staring at me with those unblinking eyes, that open mouth, and making that horrible keening noise. Often I wake screaming and covered in sweat. An Irish merchant said they call such a thing a Banshee in his country.
“I finally returned to Amsterdam last year for the first time in almost four decades, a very wealthy and eligible bachelor. Some friends introduced me to the dowager daughter of the Marquise van Eeden, a delightful creature. Emma was a kind and beautiful woman whose only misfortune in life was marrying a Dutch officer who got himself killed in the Transvaal.
“Our courtship became quite the topic of conversation among the nobility, even in the court of William the Fifth. The wealthy bachelor from the Far East and the even wealthier widow from one of the most powerful families in the Republic of the Seven United Netherlands, we had all the gossiping tongues wagging.”
Van der Sloot pursed his lips and looked at Daan with an expression that the young lawyer took for genuine earnestness. “I loved Emma; I loved her very much. With all I have accomplished across the empire, winning her hand was my most outstanding achievement. She made my waking hours pure paradise.”
“However, once I was alone in the dark,” Van der Sloot’s face was a tumult of storming emotions that Daan could not read, “my nightmares had gotten worse since I arrived back in Amsterdam. It was as if the further I traveled from Sri Lanka, the more my dreams intensified. Priya haunted my dreams every night, making that continuous horrific wailing noise as she clawed at my sheets, chased me through the corridors of my home, or ransacked my room, searching for the Heart of the Island, I presume. I would awaken in the night shrieking so loud that my throat became sore and hoarse the next morning. I feared explaining my constant night terrors to Emma once we married and shared a bed.”
Van der Sloot sighed and looked sidelong at Daan. “When the day came, our wedding was a spectacle to behold. I spared no expense to ensure that Emma’s every wish was satisfied. It cost a small fortune, but it was worth it to see her radiant smile. The Netherlands had never seen a bride so beautiful, nor will it ever again.
“She delighted at the gasps and envy of the ladies of the court when I presented her with my gift at the reception—the Heart of the Island embedded as the center stone on a necklace of flawless Sri Lankan diamonds. The stone glowed a vibrant violet in the lights of the ballroom as we danced the night away.
“That night, as we slept in our marital bed, I had a terrifying nightmare of Priya’s hands, ice cold and boney, clasped around my ankles, pulling me down into the grave. My hands sought purchase but found only loose dirt, which ran through my fingers as she pulled me inexorably downward.
“I awoke with an overwhelming feeling of dread. As my beloved slumbered next to me, my eyes searched the room in vain for the source of my unease.
“Priya, I know you are here,” I called out. “Leave me be; go back to whatever dark hell births you every night and trouble my dreams no more.”
“My shouting awoke Emma, who sat up in our bed. I turned to comfort her but found myself staring into the milk-white eyes of Priya, her mouth wide open, clutching the Heart of the Island necklace to her breast. She began that terrible keening noise.
“I screamed in terror and covered my ears with my hands, but nothing diminished that horrible sound. I begged Priya to stop; however, when I opened my mouth to speak, I heard that horrendous wailing noise coming from my mouth as well. We sat there in bed, mouths open, wailing—the sound was maddening.
“I forced my mouth closed, grabbed Priya by the shoulders, and began shaking her. She fell back onto the bed, and I climbed atop her and grasped her jaw in my hands to force that fiendish mouth closed. The wailing continued unabated as I felt the bones of her jaws crack and shatter, her teeth tearing the flesh of my fingers as the broken jaw slammed shut. However, that horrible sound rose from her throat like a howl deep within a well. I clamped my fingers around her neck and squeezed with all my might until I felt her windpipe crush inward. The keening turned into a gasping hiss, and I pressed my fingers to her throat until Priya lay deathly still. Exhausted from the nightmare, I collapsed onto the bed and remembered no more.
“The following day, I awoke to a woman’s screams and sat bolt upright in bed to see our chambermaid run shrieking from the room. I looked in shock at my beloved and found my scream joined with the chambermaid’s. Emma lay there with sightless eyes staring at the ceiling, her sweet lips blue, her jaw broken and misshapen. Dark purple bruises ringed her neck where my hands squeezed her breath from her body, and dried streaks of tears ran down her face.”
Van der Sloot fell silent, his tale complete. Daan stared at the words on the page in horrified disbelief. It was a tale of madness.
“You believe this was the doing of the stone’s curse?” Daan did not look up from the parchment.
“I believe it does not matter if it was the stone’s curse or my insanity.” Van der Sloot’s voice came out as a harsh whisper. “I have killed them both, poor Priya and my beautiful Emma; for that, I welcome the gallows.”
“Why me?” Daan looked up at the man. “Why have you chosen me to record this terrible tale?”
“I desire for you to be the one who confesses my guilt to the magistrate.” Van der Sloot smiled faintly. “I wanted to give you that satisfaction.”
Daan’s face was a mask of confusion as he stared at the disgraced nobleman.
“Come now, Heppostall, do you truly not know?” Van der Sloot narrowed his eyes at the lawyer. “You are the child I gave away. I gave you to Lars Heppostall and paid him handsomely for his discretion.”
“No.” Daan shook his head. “My mother died giving birth to me. Lars Heppostall is my father; you are a monster and a murderer.”
“I am that.” Van der Sloot nodded. “And in truth, Lars is more your father than I ever was or would have been. However, Priya was truly your mother, and it is only fitting that I give you the gift of seeing her killer brought to the gallows.”
“What you ask of me—” Daan began, but Van der Sloot cut him off.
“What I ask of you is for you to write up my confession to both the murder of Priya and Emma, I will sign it, and you will bring it to the magistrate. Make no mention of the Heart of the Island. When the deed is done, and my neck is stretched on the gallows, bring the stone back to Rathnapura and bury it deep so the curse may end before it brings even greater ruin.”
The rain fell steadily on the cobblestones as Daan watched the guards walk Van der Sloot up the wooden steps of the gallows and place a black hood over the man’s head. A horse-drawn carriage containing the Marquise van Eeden and his wife sat as the only other witness to the execution. Daan caught glimpses of the grieving parents through the carriage’s curtained windows as the hangman slipped the thick rope noose over Van der Sloot’s neck.
The hangman drew back the lever, and a trap door beneath Van der Sloot’s feet fell away, and the man dropped two feet to dangle in the air. Whether by incompetence or intent, the noose was not sufficiently tight to break Van Der Sloot’s neck when the weight of his body pulled the rope taut. He dangled in midair, manacled feet kicking, as a gruesome gurgling noise called forth from beneath the black hood. The man’s bladder and bowels emptied as his body gyrated, the gurgles lessening and kicks slowing until he hung still.
One of the guards casually released the rope, and Van der Sloot’s body crashed unceremoniously to the ground as the coachman slowly guided the Van Eeden’s carriage from the courtyard. Daan watched as the guards loaded the body onto a gurney and carried it back into the Rasphuis.
He knew that in the days to come, they would bury the body in a potter’s field in an unmarked grave and without the final sacraments of the church, as was befitting a murderer. Daan’s hand ran over the inside pocket of his coat, reassuring himself that the plum-sized gem remained secreted within as he left the courtyard and the prison behind.
Excerpt of a letter from Daan Heppostall to Lars Heppostall, 1795
Father, having now witnessed the unmatched beauty of Sri Lanka, I am certain Van der Sloot was wrong about the nature of the gemstone. He thought the stone possessed great power but bore a curse of equal strength with it.
The very nature of the stone is intertwined with the island of Sri Lanka. It is, in fact, the Heart of the Island and the magical wellspring of this land’s beauty and majesty. The stone freely bestows great fortune upon all who encounter it. However, the stone expects reciprocity for its gifts, asking only to be restored to the earth to continue its nurturing of Sri Lanka.
Like Kasyapa before him, Van der Sloot became enriched by the stone but reneged in his sacred duty to return it to the land and thus brought about his ruin. If they had freely given the stone back to Sri Lanka, they would have lived out a lifetime of prosperity.
I will endeavor to right the wrongs of these men and restore balance and harmony to the magic that makes this land so unique.
Author’s Note
According to historical records, Daan Heppostall died in Mullaitivu in 1795; there is no accounting of whether this was by misfortune or misdeed. He likely traveled to Mullaitivu to bury the Heart of the Island with Priya rather than in the mines of Rathnapura. Did he succeed before his untimely demise? I offer two bits of circumstantial evidence that he did not.
