This is my Halloween story. I have written things of this nature before. People seemed to have liked my werewolf piece from last year (A Pistol Full of Silver). I hope you like this one.
Also, on Monday, my short novellette "The Astonishing Tale of Dr. Thaddeus Quentin and the Colossus" will be going live as part of Michael Stackpole's Chain Story. You can learn more about it here. Be sure to come back Monday to read it and spread the word. It's a steampunk adventure and I think you'll all like it.
"Order! We will have order!" the town elder shouted over the din of his panicked townspeople. They had gathered at the town's hall, an immense room with high echoing ceilings, thick beams, and a thatched roof. In better times the town and it's people would have been celebrating their idyllic lifestyle, the kind a community of simple dairy farmers could do. But now, a darkness had descended over them.
"One at a time, one at a time," he shouted again.
He pointed to one man, giving him permission to speak, "She's dead already. Let's just finish it."
A woman stood up, babe in arms, "But he said he'd kill us if we hurt her!"
"All of us!"
"But what do we do?"
"What can we do?"
"If we do nothing, this will go on forever and we'll live under his thumb."
"He'll kill us all, one way or the other."
"Cowards!" came one young voice. It was full of steel and resolve and did a better job to silence the crowd than the elder could do.
All eyes were on him. The elder narrowed his gaze and invited the boy to explain further. "And what should we do, young man?"
"We fight. We fight him and make a stand. We fight him while there is still enough of us left to resist him."
He dodged a piece of fruit thrown at him, "You're the coward! You only say such things because it's still the day time and it's safe."
"When the sun goes down, none of us will be safe!"
The afflicted girls mother sobbed loudly and the hall broke out into shouting once again. The village elder raised his hands, requesting quiet from the crowd. A hush fell over the townsfolk as soon as they noticed their leader calling for that quiet.
Slowly, he lowered his arms, timing the utterance from his lips for maximum dramatic impact, hoping that his words would resonate with his flock like a tuning fork. "We will hire a vampire hunter."
A few of the old maids gasped, but by and large, the audience sat in stunned silence. A few more in the back muttered things like, "We can't," and, "No," and, "It'll be the death of us all!" But they al knew that the elders word was the law and a hunter would be hired from community funds and it would have to happen quickly. There were only two nights left before the girls turn would be complete and the villain would be back to collect her. And now that an aggressive course of action had been decided on, every one lived on the edge of fear.
It was never wise to draw the ire of a vampire, and the townsfolk didn't know if there were any familiars among their number loyal to the vampire, and they didn't know if they'd even be able to find a vampire hunter, let alone one knowledgeable enough to vanquish an immortal.
The town spent the next night unable to sleep for fear of attack. They were still uneasy from the last attack waged against them. The moon was full and the night was crisp and cool with the approaching autumn. It began as a low howling and a foul smell on the wind, and the howl turned into a shrill shriek through leafless tree branches. And on the wind came the sound of leather wings flapping toward them in the night.
The girl had been at the artesian well fetching water for her moth when the breeze turned foul. The vampire ran her down on the cobblestone of the town's single road. He ravaged and infected her, then deposited her at home, leaving his warning with her parents. Since then, a tangible fear had grown in the air of the town. It doubled itself with their commitment to fight. If you focused hard enough, you could almost taste it. It was coppery, like blood, almost enough to make one heave, but not quite.
The boy who insisted they fight was given the task of finding a man suitable for the job and rode out of town immediately in search of a champion. Half of the town thought he'd been sent on a fool's errand, the other half thought he'd really been sent to save them all.
Perhaps both were true.
Night fell once more on the village, and it was the night the girl would be ready, turned fully, and ready for the vampires inevitable and momentous return. When the sun fell, the low wind returned, and one by one, each and every door was barricaded shut and every window shuttered. Crosses were worn around as many necks as they had crucifixes for.
It was anyone's guess if they would find the salvation they asked for in the prayers they all made.
Over the soft howling of the wind came the evenly-paced clippity-clop of a shoed horse, alongside the slow shuffle of a man who's walked a long way.
Curious eyes peered through blinds and curtains, hoping to catch a glimpse of the arriving stranger. They recognized the boy leading the horse right off, he must have accomplished his mission, because atop his horse rode a man. He was dressed in all manner of straps and buckles with a striking red scarf that fluttered behind him.
The instinct was to run out and greet the man who could be their saviour, but the uncertainty of their tormentor's time of arrival kept them all indoors. The fear was understandable to the stranger. He felt that way once, too. Long ago, he didn't hold their ingratitude against them.
The boy led him straight to the village elder's house so that he might palaver with their leader. Tea and biscuits were laid out, but the stranger paid them no mind. He seemed to ask for the situation without speaking. He meant business and you could tell from the resolve in his eyes and the slow, deliberate nature of his movement and posture. He was like a great stonewall, which was somehow comforting and unsettling all at once.
"A fortnight ago it first appeared. It killed a boy, herding goats in the pastures. Even though he was drained of blood, we thought for a while it was a wolf. We assembled our brute squad and hounds, looking for it high and low, but we found no trace. That's when we noticed the lights on the mountain. We approached, but something attacked us. We lost two men there. Then three nights ago, he came for the girl, to turn her.
"He left her with her parents, we don't know why. He said he'd be back for her three days hence, tonight."
The stranger broke his silence in a deep voice that commanded respect, but had a soft empathy to it that could only come from pain. "He left her here to feed. He'll not be able to feed her enough when the thirst hits her."
"My god. She could kill us all."
"Mayhap. Take me to her."
They took him to the girls house by torchlight. The village elder beat heavily on the door three times upon the door. Her father, the cobbler, unbolted and opened the door, wary of the stranger and the looming threat in the dark beyond. His somber countenance kept him from speaking as he led the three men to the slumbering corpse that was once his daughter.
He opened the thick oaken door that led to her room. Her mother hunched over her, crying. The flickering gaslight gave the small room all the appearance of a haunted house, casting long, distorted shadows that moved in unnatural ways across the dark wood walls.
The stranger put a firm but gentle hand on the mother's shoulder and spoke calmly. "You should go."
"I'm not leaving my little girl."
"You don't want to see what happens next."
"She's my baby," she sobbed, "I'm not going anywhere."
"Suit yourself."
The stranger startled everyone with the speed of his reaction. In the space of a breath, he'd withdrawn a wooden dagger and plunged it deep and true into the young girls heart.
Thick, mostly congealed blood splashed across them all upon the force of impact, what was left oozed out of the gaping wound.
The girl was making a gurgling noise that was something like an angry cat under water. That unsettling sound was barely audible though, over the wailing screams of the mother. With great effort, the mother stood and beat her fists in the side of the stranger with all the force of a wooden arrow shot into a stone block.
It was at that moment that a concussive force blew through the room, shattering the windows into tiny particles of glass, blasting the shutters off their hinges, and tearing the curtains down, blowing them across the room. Everyone was knocked to the ground, save the stranger, who looked up, out the window, slowly and defiantly. The sound of beating leather wings grew louder and louder until the vampire himself descended through the window. He raised his hand symbolically, ending the torrent of wind and glass.
Silence.
A deep, unnatural silence.
The vampire, pale in complexion, dark in the eyes, and long in the tooth stood over the now completely dead girl.
The stranger made no move or sound, giving the beast ample time to inspect his handiwork. The vampire sniffed once sharply in the air and fingered the pinewood stake with a gnarled claw.
Finally, filled with pain, he broke the silence. "She was to have been my Queen."
The stranger said nothing.
"I was quite clear with her parents what the consequences were for such insolence."
Again, the stranger said nothing. The vampire looked up with his black eyes. They sparkled in the gaslight, giving the monster an unnatural charisma that felt unnerving. Nothing that lethal should seem so reasonable, calm, and hurt.
It was frightening to everyone.
Everyone save the stranger.
In his arrogance, the vampire turned from the stranger and their audience and looked down sadly to regard the girl. "Such a pity. You could have all been my slaves, the entire village. Instead, you'll all have to die."
"Think again."
To all in the room, it seemed merely like the vampire had grabbed his face in agony apropos of nothing. The stranger had made his move and no one had even noticed, least of all the vampire, too busy coddling his own hubris. It was a vial of holy water and garlic cloves that smashed into the face of the vampire at incredible velocity. It smashed into his face and had all the effect of an acid. The vampire let out a deep roar of pain and revealed his true form.
Long claws grew from his fingers and great leathery wings stretched and pulled through the fabric of his cloak. His face, disfigured from the acid, transformed into something terrifying. His brow swelled into an angry furrow, his eyes turned the yellow of a rotten egg yolk, his nose and teeth sharpened, and his skin took on all the pallor of the undead. Sores and dripping pustules of mucous and liquid molted from his face, leftover from the sneak attack of the stranger.
He howled a sick scream that had a reverberation to it that shook the very souls of those watching. And with that, he lunged for the stranger.
The stranger sidestepped and planted an elbow into the side of the vampires head, but it did little to deter his attack. The vampire planted his palm into the stranger's chest, knocking the wind from him and sending him reeling against the back wall.
It was the first time the townsfolk had seen him falter. If their hearts hadn't been filled with so much fright from the true form of the vampire, they'd be filled with despair. If the stranger lost, the ramifications for their little village would be enormous. They would all die in agony, torn apart limb from limb, their blood used as fuel and fodder for their tormenter. It was not a happy prospect.
The stranger stood, turning the situation to his advantage, smashing another vial of holy water into the vampire's face, obscuring his vision. With one graceful movement, he got his footing back and swung his first hard into the vampire's left temple.
"Arrogant knave! You think you can stand against an immortal?"
Ignoring the taunts, the stranger flicked garlic soaked, wooden shards at the beast to no effect.
"I've stood against better."
And with that, the stranger charged. He and the beast met in the center of the room, over the corpse of the girl.
They were locked together. None of the spectators knew who would come out on top. With the cloaks and folded wings, no one could see the damage they'd done to each other. Had the stranger vanquished their unholy bane? Or had the vampire came out on top, ending the life of their would-be protector?
It was the gurgling sound of congealed blood dripping down to the floor that tipped them off that the monster might have been bested.
The vampire held the face of the stranger tightly, digging his claws into his face, drawing blood. "It's not over for you."
With great strain, fighting it every step of the way, life escaped the vampire. Slowly, the stranger lowered the miscreation to the floor so they could all see the wooden blade buried deeply in the monster's heart.
A collective sigh of relief could be felt throughout the spectators in the room. "You've done it," the boy exclaimed in disbelief.
"Aye."
It was then that he faltered to his knees.
"What's wrong?" The boy leapt to the stranger's side. "What did he mean it wasn't over?"
The stranger revealed a deep gash across his neck, already infected with a necrotic blackness. "It is finished."
And he collapsed into the boy's arms.
The dead girl's mother found her way into her husband's arms. The village elder placed his hands on the boy's shoulder, deeply wounded emotionally by the loss of their hero. If it hadn't been for all the bloodshed and loss, the scene might have been an idyllic painting in a museum.
At first light, the villagers burned in a massive pyre the corpses of the vampire and his hunter. After the fires died, the townsfolk went back to their lives, trying as hard as they could to forget this episode in their towns history.
But one of their number couldn't forget.
Forged over the coals and embers of the funeral pyre of their hero and tormentor was the resolve of the boy. Then and there he made a solemn vow to carry on the work of a vampire hunter. Never would a village or town fall prey to the fancies of the unholy undead where he could help it.
The village didn't understand his desire to fight in the first place, they certainly would not understand his desire to fight now. And so he left the village without a single goodbye.
His work was just beginning.
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