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A Dark Shadows Story: “Go Back To Your Grave”

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(Author’s Note: Technically, Jeremiah Collins is arguably some sort of zombie/ghost hybrid on Dark Shadows.

However, I decided to make him more specifically a ghost, because if the characters saw a zombie, they’d probably try to do something about it, like—at the very least—calling Professor Stokes. Since the show gave me enough wiggle room concerning Jeremiah’s corporeality, I chose to make him a wandering spirit who can no longer be seen by the living.)

~~~~~~~~~~

Jeremiah was in the drawing room, sitting dejectedly by the fire.

Roger Collins and Elizabeth Collins Stoddard were arguing about some business decision Roger wished to make. “Roger,” said Elizabeth, “I am the head of this household, as well as the head of the Collins business empire, so what I say goes. This discussion is at an end.”

This, thought Jeremiah, is what the Unhappy Dead call “karma.” When I was alive, Roger was Joshua Collins, my older brother. He treated his wife, Naomi, in a manner not unlike the way Elizabeth– who has a remarkable resemblance to Naomi– is now treating Roger.

The thought made Jeremiah smile just a little, just for a moment. After all, Joshua Collins had treated everyone– including Jeremiah himself– in the manner Joshua would have treated a servant.

However, Jeremiah grew bored with watching the argument that Roger was all-but-finished losing. Jeremiah got up from the chair by the fire—after all it didn’t warm him, not in the least—and he wandered out of the drawing room, into the foyer of Collinwood. The living didn’t notice him opening the double doors, nor closing them behind him—they never did.

The saddest thing about being a wandering spirit, Jeremiah thought, is that sooner or later, everyone forgets you exist. Back in 1795, when I first became a wandering spirit, everyone I appeared before saw me. Now, even Barnabas, the vampire, can’t see me. Even Angelique, the witch who came back from the grave to take revenge upon my nephew Barnabas, couldn’t see me.

Jeremiah opened the door to go outside onto the grounds of the great estate. One might have thought that Angelique, who cursed me to be one of the walking dead, would still have been able to see me, he thought. Yes, she was busy with her foolish “dream curse,” and then later with being cursed to be a vampire herself, but she could have at least undone her curse upon me before her soul was called back to wherever wicked souls go…

Jeremiah strolled slowly around the exterior of Collinwood, around the south lawn… when he got to the patio on the west side, however, he saw his niece, young Sarah Collins, sitting at a small table outside, playing tea party with a doll that sat in the chair to her right. “Oh, hello Uncle Jeremiah,” she said to him. “Would you like to play tea party with my doll and me?”

He smiled, out of politeness. His problems weren’t Sarah’s fault, after all. “I’d be honored to do so,” he said.

He sat down in the much-too-small chair across from Sarah. He remembered the wooden child-sized table and chairs—Ben Stokes had made them for Sarah long ago. Jeremiah didn’t really understand how Sarah was able to use them as a ghost in the 20th century, but Sarah seemed to instinctually understand a few rules about being a ghost that Jeremiah didn’t—except for what he most wanted to know. “I know,” Jeremiah said to his niece, attempting to make small talk, in a way, “that you have been sad about the idea that young David Collins no longer has a playmate.”

Sarah sniffed. “I will not talk to anyone in that house anymore,” said Sarah. “I am not happy with them…”

They will forget about you, Sarah, Jeremiah thought sadly, the way they have forgotten about me. Already it begins…

“…Why do you mention David, though?” she asked.

“I think he’ll have a new playmate, soon…”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“I borrowed David’s crystal ball,” Jeremiah said.

“Oh, that is clever!” said Sarah.

Jeremiah smiled, although one could not see the smile because of the bandages on his face.

“Did the crystal ball show who David’s new playmate will be?” Sarah asked.
“A child named Amy Jennings.  She is currently in a mental hospital. However, her brother Christopher…”

Sarah poured Jeremiah a cup of imaginary tea. “If she has a brother, then why is she going to stay at Collinwood?” Sarah asked. “Why can’t she stay wherever he lives?”

“She’s not pleased with her brother. He keeps disappearing,” Jeremiah said.

“Is he a ghost?” Sarah asked.

Jeremiah chuckled slightly.

Sarah looked a little hurt. “I simply asked a question,” Sarah said.

“Can you keep a secret?” Jeremiah asked.

“Oh, yes.  I love secrets!” Sarah said.

“…Unbeknownst to the Collins family, Chris Jennings has been cursed to be a werewolf,” Jeremiah told her.

“Oh. Well, that explains all the howling lately,” Sarah said. “I thought it sounded different from the usual dogs howling…”

Children have such a laisse faire attitude towards life and death, Jeremiah thought, not to mention an acceptance of the supernatural…

“…I know someone who would be interested to hear about this,” said Sarah.

“Oh? And whom might that be?”

“…Drink your tea before it gets cold,” Sarah said, not looking at him.

Seeing that Sarah was not inclined to speak more about the subject for the moment, Jeremiah tried a different tack. “…Have you talked to the Unhappy Dead?”

Sarah frowned. “Yes, I have.”

“Did you tell them everything you and I talked about the last time you and I spoke?” Jeremiah asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you tell them that Barnabas shot me in a duel?”

Sarah nodded.

“Did you tell them that the witch Angelique cursed me to become a wandering spirit, but that she was unable to put me back in my grave?”

Sarah nodded.

“Did you tell them that I have been wandering around the great estate since that time?”

Sarah nodded.

“Did you tell them that I wish to be one of the Unhappy Dead? That my wanderings have led me to desperation and despair?”

Sarah nodded.

Jeremiah finally lost his patience and raised his voice a little. “…Well, what did they say?!”

“…They said that ‘until you return to your grave, you cannot be part of the Unhappy Dead consortium,’” said Sarah.

“Blast it, Sarah, I do not know how to return to my grave!”

“…I know. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you better news…”

Jeremiah leaned forward and held his bandaged head in his hands. “The Unhappy Dead were my last hope for peace. What the deuce will I do now…?”

“Don’t despair, Jeremiah,” said Sarah. She sounded like she’d suddenly made up her mind about something. “I know someone who may be willing to help you.”

“…You do? Whom do you know?”

“Come with me,” she said, and she got up from the little table. She opened the French windows that led from the patio into the drawing room. She turned and motioned to Jeremiah, and he followed her back inside. Elizabeth and Roger were no longer there—the room was empty except for themselves.

Sarah led Jeremiah through the drawing room, into the foyer, and up the stairs. “You died before the family moved into this house. And then you weren’t around here again until that witch showed up in this time. Since then… have you explored the West Wing of this house very much?”

“Every single room, except the bricked-up room,” said Jeremiah.

“I know how to get into that room. There are two ways—for you and me, I mean. One will only work if you’re with me.”

Upstairs, they headed for the West Wing. Jeremiah thought back on what he’d been talking about with Sarah, and what she’d said. “…I don’t see how it could, but… does the bricked-up room have something to do with Chris and Amy Jennings?” Jeremiah guessed.

“They are closer to our family than you might think,” said Sarah.

“We didn’t have any werewolves in our family tree the last time I checked, unless our family tree is made out of dogwood,” Jeremiah jested.

Sarah didn’t laugh—she just kept walking.

When they got to the door that Jeremiah knew was bricked-up, Sarah said: “Take my hand. I can get us both into the room behind the bricks.”

Jeremiah took Sarah’s hand… and together, that way, they apparated into the room.

It was a bedroom, with a fireplace, a strange device like a giant flower sitting on an end-table, and a writing desk– Jeremiah was taken aback by the skeleton sitting in a chair by the desk. “Who is that?” Jeremiah asked.

Sarah let go of Jeremiah’s hand. Then she went over to the strange-looking floral device. “He likes this song,” Sarah said. She turned a sort of crank set in a box under the flower, and—much to Jeremiah’s surprise, music started coming out of the—yes, the flower-shaped arrangement was like an old person’s ear-trumpet, but in reverse—to amplify sounds for everyone in the room, instead of to catch sounds for the ear of just one person. So it was like a sort of music box… It was fairly quiet, really… it was a sure bet that no one downstairs would be able to hear it at its current volume, even if they were the sort of living humans who were sensitive to ghostly activity…

“I told you,” said a man’s voice that was not Jeremiah’s own, “not to touch my Victrola…” The voice was lower than Jeremiah’s, but what was more noticeable was the strong tinge of fury inherent in it.

“How else can I contact you, Quentin?” Sarah asked the darkness.

The fury subsided, replaced by a sort of smirking resignation: “…I see your point,” said the man, whomever he was.

From out of the deep shadows on the far side of the room stepped a man—dressed in a charcoal-gray suit—although in this almost-nonexistent light it might as well be black. He was handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed… yes, and there was quite a lot of wildness in those eyes, too. This man could be dangerous if he wanted to—but he didn’t seem to want to be right at that moment.

Just as Jeremiah was taking in the man, the man had been doing the same with Jeremiah. “Who is your bandaged friend, Sarah?” the man asked—Quentin, she’d called him earlier…

“This is my Uncle Jeremiah,” Sarah told Quentin. “He’s a wandering spirit who needs to return to his grave, but he doesn’t know how.”

Quentin arched one eyebrow in angry jealousy. “You are more fortunate than me, my friend,” he said to Jeremiah. “I don’t even have a grave to return to, only this room that I was sealed into a long, long time ago…”

“Quentin, you know about magic and things,” said Sarah. “Please help my uncle.”

“Oh? And just why should I, my dear?” said Quentin. “What the devil would be in it for me?”

Jeremiah opened his mouth to speak, but Sarah spoke first— “—Jeremiah has some news that may be of interest to you,” said Sarah.

“News?” Quentin wasn’t interested—no, actually, he was, Jeremiah realized. Very interested. He was just trying to hide it. “What sort of news could your uncle possibly have that would interest me, Sarah?”

Sarah gave Jeremiah a look, a sort of go ahead look. “There is a young girl named Amy Jennings,” said Jeremiah, “who will soon be coming and living here at Collinwood.”

“And why should I care?” Quentin asked.

“Her brother Chris is a werewolf,” Sarah said.

Quentin’s handsome face looked both sad and angry at the same time. “Truly, the sins of the father have been passed onto the third and fourth generations…” he said.

“I—do not understand,” Jeremiah said.

“Quentin’s children, grandchildren, and so on have been cursed to become werewolves,” Sarah explained to Jeremiah.

“The sons, at least,” Quentin clarified. “The daughters have the ability to see the curse, which is more complicated than I feel like explaining for you…”

“But the daughters still carry the curse onto their children,” Sarah said.

Quentin just nodded bitterly. Nothing more was said for almost a full minute.

“…So…” Jeremiah finally asked, “…how did your corpse end up in this room?”

“My blasted family put me here…” Quentin said, his face clearly enraged, “and then they wrote me out of the family history, pretended that I’d never existed…!”

“I am truly sorry that happened to you,” Jeremiah said.

“My spirit has been trapped in this room since the day that my corpse was sealed in here,” Quentin said. “I was meant to be the head of this family. Instead, I ended up here. I have sworn to drive the Collins family out of this house. I will be the master of this house, though perdition bar my way…”

“…That will be difficult to do if you’re stuck in this room for eternity,” Jeremiah observed.

“You truly are a Collins, sir,” Quentin slowly said to Jeremiah, “for each member of our family has the ability to pour salt in other family members’ wounds…”

“He didn’t mean to hurt you, Quentin,” Sarah said.

“…Please leave this room,” said Quentin. “I need time to think.”

“We’ll wait in the next room,” said Sarah.

Jeremiah took Sarah’s hand.

When they appeared in the previous room, which was being used as a sort of junk room—there were many such rooms in the West Wing—Sarah said: “…Do you hear a commotion downstairs?”

“As a matter of fact, I think I do,” Jeremiah said. He didn’t really hear it—it was more of a feeling, like a sort of vibration… but he knew immediately what Sarah was referring to…

“I’m going to see what is happening.  I will be back soon,” Sarah said, and she disappeared.

A minute later, Sarah reappeared, and announced: “Amy is here! Right now! She’s talking to David…”

“We should tell Quentin,” Jeremiah said. “This may hasten his… considerations.”

“Take my hand,” Sarah said.


~~~~~~~~~~

To their surprise, once Sarah told Quentin what she’d seen, Quentin seemed even more interested in young David Collins than he was in Amy Jennings. “…So, there is a young Collins boy living in Collinwood,” Quentin said.

“Yes.  As I just told you, his name is David,” Sarah said.

“Tell me more about David, Sarah,” Quentin said. “Describe him. What does he look like—what sort of a boy is he…?”

“Oh, I can tell you those things,” said Sarah, “I used to visit David and play with him… we’d play catch, and…” Sarah described David for Quentin, including details of what David looked like.

“…Jamison,” Quentin muttered to himself when she was done, but not so quietly that Jeremiah did not also hear.

“Who is Jamison?” Jeremiah asked.

“Never mind.  Forget I mentioned him. Would you two please leave again?  I have a lot of thinking to do,” Quentin said.

“No,” said Sarah. “Not this time. We’re going to stay here until you help my uncle,” Sarah said.

Quentin sighed.  “As you will—leave, stay, do what thou wilt…” he said… He started to pace back and forth… The song on the Victrola played, quietly, several times… finally, Quentin stopped pacing, and he slowly turned to them. “I have a plan,” Quentin said with a rather lupine smile. Jeremiah did not like that smile at all.

“What sort of a plan?” Sarah asked.

“I need to contact my descendant, Amy Jennings,” Quentin said.

“How do you intend to contact her?” Sarah asked.

“Through the medium of the telephone…” Quentin said triumphantly.

“What the blazes is a telephone?” Jeremiah asked.

“In the next room, there is a brass object that looks– well, it looks a bit like a candlestick, with a very small little trumpet on the side, a bit like this,” said Quentin, gesturing at the flower on top of his “Victrola,” “attached for listening. Sarah, I need you to tell David and Amy that they need to explore the West Wing.  You need to tell each of them to look for the candlestick telephone… I feel certain that at least one of them will sense what you tell them…”

“I vowed to never talk to the Collins family again,” Sarah said, “until they learn some lessons and start being good.”

“Oh?” said Quentin, “And here I thought that you wanted me to help Jeremiah. Oh, well…” Quentin turned his back to Sarah, starting to fidget with to his Victrola…

“Sarah, please do as Quentin asks,” Jeremiah said.

She went and stood in front of Quentin. “…Can you make it so David and Amy won’t remember me talking to them?” she asked.

“Of course,” said Quentin.

“…Then I will do as you ask,” Sarah said.

“Your uncle and I will wait here… Don’t dawdle, now…” said Quentin eagerly…

Sarah disappeared.

After several more repetitions of the song Quentin laughingly called, “my theme,” Sarah reappeared in Quentin’s room. “I did as you asked,” Sarah said. “I tried not to let them actually see me, but I think I put the idea into their heads… I feel sure that they’ll be up here soon…”

“Thank you, my dear…” Quentin smiled. “You may both go, now…”

Sarah and Jeremiah glanced at each other, aghast. Then Sarah turned back to Quentin. “I… I did as you said…!”

“Yes, you did. Thank you,” said Quentin, giving her a mocking little bow of gratitude.

“You promised to help Jeremiah,” Sarah said.

“I did no such thing!” Quentin told her sharply. “You merely made an assumption that I would help you if you did what I asked—I never agreed that I would.”

“You are a mean, cruel, snake in the grass!” Sarah told Quentin angrily. “You are a liar and a cheat and a…!”

“You are not the first woman who has called me such things,” said Quentin.

“I hate you!” said Sarah.

“…Again, you are not the first woman who has said such a thing to me,” said Quentin.

“Why do you refuse to help me?” Jeremiah asked Quentin.

“Because, good sir, I am a supernatural being with a burning need for revenge,” said Quentin. “As such, I do not have the spare energy to send you back to your grave. Nothing personal, but…”

“Quentin Collins,” said a woman’s voice from over by the window, “you will do as Sarah Collins has asked.”

Quentin cursed silently under his breath.

A pretty blonde woman in a very pale blue dress—but in the dimness of the room, it might as well be white—appeared in the room, over by the window. Her face was unutterably sad—as sad, Jeremiah thought, as Quentin was naturally sly. No wonder she’s sad, he thought, if she’s some former love of Quentin’s…

“Beth,” said Quentin to this new ghost, “I cannot possibly spare an ounce of magical energy. I am not a charity concern…!”

“Quentin Collins, your scheme cannot move forward without my help, not to mention, without my ghostly energy,” “Beth” told him. “I will not help you with your plans unless you help Jeremiah Collins first.”

“Damn and blast!” snarled Quentin.

Jeremiah put his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Sir, do not say such words in front of a child,” Jeremiah admonished Quentin.

Quentin ignored him. “Beth, darling, please listen to reason…” Quentin said to Beth.

“No,” said Beth, “Sarah is right. You are a liar and a cheat.” She slowly and dramatically lifted her right arm and pointed at Quentin. “You will either do this thing now, or you will remain in this room until the Archangel Gabriel blows his horn to raise all the dead for their final judgement.”

Quentin looked defeated. He sighed, and then: “All right, fine—fine! I couldn’t do such a thing anywhere else, but since he’s in this room, yes, all right, I can and will send Jeremiah back to his grave.”

Sarah hugged Jeremiah. Jeremiah had a hard time not crying.

“Oh, please—stop it, both of you,” sneered Quentin. “Such sentimental scenes make me bilious…”

Jeremiah and Sarah stopped hugging.

“Stand over there, please, Jeremiah,” Quentin said, pointing, “over there to the left of the hearth.”

Jeremiah walked over and saw that someone had marked some sort of pentagram in chalk on the floor. Jeremiah hadn’t noticed it before, but at this point, he didn’t care about the details of why it was there.

Quentin gestured at Jeremiah with his right hand in a commanding pose: “Go back to your grave, Jeremiah Collins,” said Quentin, “and never bother me again.”

Jeremiah could feel himself beginning to slowly fade away. Finally, he thought, after all this time, I shall rest in peace…