shadows and stones - an original fiction series of gothic, horror, dark fantasy

Hiking alone through darkened fields, the young man never knew when death overtook him. Swarming like starving rats in a sewer, the pack struck, snapping his neck before he could make a sound. While his body still twitched they began feasting, each staking claim to its own portion of the corpse. Within minutes they had finished, though none had consumed enough to be full. Their leader, exercising caution, dragged the unused remains into the dark woods to dispose of them permanently. While waiting for their leader’s return the remaining pack members cleaned themselves meticulously as cats, their victim already forgotten.

“More?” one called out, a piteous whine. The rest took up the cry, raising the volume until it echoed off the trees. Large as the man had been, the single corpse had not contained enough nourishment to fill them all; they hungered desperately. Only the reappearance of their leader silenced them. It glared them down, demanding their silence. Groveling, they begged forgiveness.

“Soon. Soon you’ll eat as much as you want. Patience.” A soft voice, a sensuous voice caressing them all, calming them.

Motion alerted the pack. As one they turned towards the sound to watch the approach of another. Scent told them it was the new one, the one who was always late for feeding. Laughter cackled in the night. They despised this one as much as they worshiped their leader. The newcomer approached, but did not sink to its knees with them. It had pride still: it thought its life had value. They knew it would learn and they longed to witness its humiliation.

“You are late.” There was anger in the leader’s voice.

“There’s plenty of time.” Negligent, uncaring, its tone raised the hackles of the pack.

“Get going. And don’t come back without him.” Danger, menace, warning were in the command. The other merely shrugged, unimpressed, then walked away from the pack towards the nearby road. When it was far enough away the pack began laughing again, shaking with pleasure. They knew this one had not been prepared for its mission: this one would probably fail and pay for the failure with its existence. Just as well, it had never truly been one of them: it never joined in the feeding.

Reminded of their hunger, they whined again. A final demand for silence sent them all cowering before their leader. Only after forcing the pack to remain submissive for a full ten minutes did the leader allow them to slink away. It followed them slowly, returning to the lair and into hiding until it was time to come out and feed once more.

I’ve always been a firm believer that how you start your day will directly affect how you end it. Case in point: I spent my breakfast time today eating oatmeal and discussing the ramifications of a mutilated sheep’s corpse with Michael and Ursula, the cook. I need hardly add the discussion was far from pleasant, nor were the aftereffects, as they included Michael storming out to investigate and myself being commanded not to leave the grounds under any circumstances. A bizarre beginning.

I fail to see what the fuss is about. Granted, it sucks for the farmer who lost the sheep, but more than likely it was just some stray dogs or something. Michael, however, adores playing grand lord of the manor, protecting the innocent peasants from the evils around them. He acts like we’re under siege by an invading army. Whatever.

Since I don’t recall having vowed eternal obedience to him, I ignore Michael’s orders and go riding. My favorite horse is a little bay mare whose gentleness makes up for my lack of riding skill. I race her all the way to the edge of the woods which border Michael’s lands, enjoying the smoothness of her motion beneath me. When she turns abruptly at the edge of the woods, though, I nearly go flying, unprepared for the sudden change of direction. Luckily, I retain my hold on the reins, bringing the mare to a halt.

We ride here frequently and she has never shied like that before. Curious, I turn her back to the woods. The closer we get to the enclosing trees the more she slows, fighting my commands to move forward. At the point where the first trees meet the field the mare finally stops, refusing to proceed.

This particular stretch of trees is thick and overgrown, not much light reaches below the branches. I strain to see what might be affecting the horse, but I don’t even see a branch moving. Still, the longer I stare the more uneasy I become, the more I start feeling like there are eyes in the darkness, eyes watching us. Suddenly, I’m not curious anymore. Letting the horse have her head, I encourage her to speed back to the barn; I think I’ve had enough riding for today. Back at the house I decide to stay inside for the rest of the day, but not without silently cursing Michael for making me edgy.

As it grows darker outside the uneasiness seems to spread throughout the house. Melanie becomes unusually concerned whether any windows are unlocked. Despite the unlikelyhood of those on the uppermost stories being accessible, she even makes a point of checking and locking those. When she and Ursula leave for the night they remind me repeatedly to keep all of the doors locked tightly, yet neither tells me why they are so worried.

Since Michael hasn’t returned from his sheep investigations yet, I leave the front door unbolted for him while I attempt to relax in the nearby sitting room. Though I have a pleasant fire, a pot of warm tea and a good novel, my apprehension prevents me from settling down. I keep glancing towards the entryway, expecting the heavy door to suddenly swing open.

When Michael finally returns, he does it so silently I’m unaware of him until I hear the bolts being drawn. Not a word is said about the dead sheep or it’s hypothetical killer. From the glowering expression he wears I gather he found nothing. Annoyance envelops me. His pointless paranoia this morning destroyed the mood of the entire day, for everyone. I glare at him as he settles silently in his own chair, but as usual he ignores me.

We read in silence for several hours, each of us engrossed in our own novel and taking turns adding another log to the fire. Periodically I doze off, thus periodically giving Michael the pleasure of getting to wake me. Normally I wouldn’t allow him the satisfaction, but learning to go without sleep is not an easy process. On this, my fifth night, I’m doing pretty well. Still, I am almost completely asleep when I am wakened, not by Michael jabbing my side or shaking my shoulders, but by someone knocking at the front door.

I look to Michael in surprise while he looks back at me rather blankly before turning back to his book. Not being a great socializer, Michael seldom has visitors arrive unannounced at the house during normal hours. Glancing at my watch I see it is currently around 4 a.m. There is another knock; still neither of us moves. I suppose, since we are the only persons in the house who are awake, one of us will have to answer. I drop my book and head for the door.

“Please, don’t bother to move,” I tell Michael in passing. “I wouldn’t want to disturb your obviously massive mental undertaking.” He has chosen what looks like some sort of trashy gothic to read this evening. There is no accounting for taste.

Since Michael had been thorough in bolting the door, a third knock is heard while I struggle to open the various locks. “Hold your ponies!” I shout. It’s not an urgent knock, only a persistent one, yet it makes me nervous and I fumble at the catches. Finally the locks are open, allowing me to pull back the massive oak door.

“Hello,” says the man outside. I can’t answer for a minute. I mean, I expected one of a few possibilities, a villager, or the husband of Ursula maybe. What I had definitely not expected was a sort of cute guy, about my age, to be standing there with a goofy looking grin on his face.

“Hello,” he repeats.

“I’m sorry,” I stammer, “I just wasn’t expecting…well, it’s four a.m. and no one…I mean…you aren’t a local, are you?” God, Eva, what a brilliant conversationalist you can be.

“No Ma’am, I’m from Glasgow.” Glasgow? That’s in Scotland I think, a hell of a long way from here.

“Got lost?”

“Aye Ma’am, my mates and I pulled over after a dram too many. I must’ve passed out, ‘cause when I looked up, they were gone, and I’m left walking alone for home. I wondered, seeing the lights on and all, if I might sleep a bit in your barn?”

God, he’s got a cute smile. “Don’t be silly, there are plenty of rooms in here, come….”

“NO!”

Shit, I didn’t hear Michael coming up behind me. His sudden shout almost rockets me out of my skin. Reflexively I swing my arm around, slugging him hard in the chest. It doesn’t faze him a bit, but it provides me with some satisfaction.

“God dammit don’t sneak up on me like that. And why the hell can’t he stay? There’s plenty of room.” I look at Michael’s face and stop. His eyes have turned so deep a black I can’t see even a hint of pupil, or maybe they’re all pupil, dilated like a cat’s when it’s scenting prey. A physical sensation of hatred exudes from his skin like flames. Unconsciously I back away, out of the door, closer to our visitor. Before I get all the way across the threshold, Michael grabs my arm, jerking me back in, his fingertips digging painfully into my arm.

“Stay inside,” he barks at me. “As for you,” he turns to the man outside, “your kind are not welcome in my house or on my lands. I suggest you leave. Quickly.” If Michael were a snake he’d be dripping venom with his words.

I pull my arm out of his grasp. Now I’m pissed. I don’t like being manhandled, and I don’t like being ordered around as if I was his faithful servant Melanie. Once more I step back, stopping with my feet directly on the threshold.

“You have a problem with drunken Scotsmen?” I ask sarcastically. Michael is shaking with the effort not to reach out for my arm again or maybe he’s just restraining himself from throttling me. One can never be sure with him. I hope I haven’t pushed him too far, I’ve never seen him like this before. Still, I don’t back down; it’s time Michael learned I am not an overawed servant.

“No Eva, I do not have a problem with drunken Scotsmen.” He moves closer to me, projecting menace at the visitor behind me. “I have a problem with vampires.”

I laugh, I have to, it’s so absurd. Granted, Michael is more than two thousand years old, but he’s also very well educated in the modern world. How can he cling to such nonsense superstition? Vampires are nothing but folktales and legends. I manage to say as much aloud between laughs. I shouldn’t have. If I had thought Michael enraged before, there is no word to describe what he is now. It is impossible to break free from the grip he has on me now. Pulling me back until I’m pressed against his side, Michael then spins me round to face our visitor.

“Why don’t you ask him, if you think I am a liar,” he snarls. “Ask him to stand there until the morning sun rises. If he does it, I will gladly let him into the house, Eva, and I will even apologize. But he will not, will you, little vampire? Will you welcome the sun with my disbelieving sister?”

“Vampires do not exist Michael.” I feel as though I’m trying to explain the boogey man to a two-year-old.

However, the Scotsman outside isn’t smiling anymore. The goofy grin has faded, replaced by a worried expression. Glancing first down at a watch on his wrist, then back to the horizon, just beginning to pale at its very edge, he seems concerned. “Actually, I’d rather not,” he says simply. After a pause he smiles again, this time broadly, displaying a pair of canines almost as impressive as mine when I am a wolf.

Vampires do exist.

Falling back on Michael, I’m glad he is there supporting me when my knees go weak. Had I crossed the threshold, would the vampire outside have killed me? My face must show my sudden fear, for the vampire looks sad, backing away a few steps.

“Please, I really don’t mean any harm. There is no shelter nearby, nor any near enough to reach before sunrise. I promise on the Holy Book, I’ll not touch any of your folk, nor any of your animals. Just let me have a place to rest until night.”

“And I am to believe that you will honor a vow made upon a holy book? A pile of papers bound with string and glue? This will protect my family?” Michael snarls. I feel the rage building in Michael, I hear the howling just below the surface. It’s the animal trapped inside our skins; I’ve felt it in myself as well. As strongly as his animal tells him to kill though, mine tells me to believe, to give the man a chance. Squelching my own fear, I pull the cross from the chain at my throat, tossing it out to the vampire. It lands on the ground at his feet.

“Swear on that,” I challenge. If all the stories are true, a vampire will not touch a holy object without being burnt. Would he risk it, for a false vow?

“It won’t work Eva,” Michael hisses loudly in my ear. “Crosses, relics, stakes and holy water are useless against them. Useless as their vows, unless they truly believe in the strength of the God they are swearing by.” Another challenge, for Michael made sure he said it loud enough for the vampire to hear. He expects the vampire to fail, hopes it.

So we wait. For a minute, for an hour, I’m not certain, though I notice the horizon is now lighter than it was before. When the vampire finally reaches down and lifts my cross in his hand, closing his fist around it tightly, I’m almost relieved. Almost.

“I swear before Almighty God I shall harm no one, man nor animal under your, care so long as I am under your roof or on your lands. May God strike me dead should I break my word.” The vampire reaches out to me with his hand, so I cautiously extend my own, palm open. Into it he drops the cross. I drop it instantly, gasping at the sudden burning heat of it on my hand. Looking at his palm, I can see clearly where the shape of it has been burnt into the flesh.

Michael sees the mark as well, releasing me so suddenly I almost fall. “Enter this house at your own risk,” he snarls, then turns, stalking away. It isn’t an invitation, but then I can’t imagine him inviting an enemy into his home. Out of respect I don’t say anything either, only retreat to make way for our strange visitor.

I run to catch up with Michael while the vampire follows me silently. Michael has stopped at a small closet under the small front stairway. In it are stored brooms, mops and other cleaning apparatus used by the staff. All are being flung out with recklessness until the closet stands empty. Turning on us, he gestures to the vampire.

“Here, little vampire, here you may shelter from the sun.”

“My name is Iain,” the vampire says quietly. I’m surprised. He’s either damn brave or damn stupid to try asserting his humanity in the face of Michael’s anger. With dignity Iain walks towards the closet, not even flinching as he passes within inches of Michael. He should have been a bit smarter.

Before the vampire can move further, Michael’s hand shoots out, grabbing him by the throat, then slamming him hard against the back wall of the closet. Even though his face is pressed close to that of Iain’s, I can see Michael, too, has enormous fangs, as well as the dangerous eyes of a feline. Though I can’t be sure, I think I see claws instead of nails on the fingers of the hand around Iain’s throat.

“Remember your vow, little vampire, remember it well. For I swear my own, here and now, that if you harm any of my house or any on my lands, I will gut you like a squealing pig and hang your entrails on the eaves of my house for the crows to feast on. And you will need all the help of God if you touch my sister.” Michael drops Iain like a stone, slamming the closet shut in the vampire’s face before storming out of the room.

Alone, I remain still for a moment, stunned. Finally I give up trying to understand and retreat into banality, retrieving my cross from where it lies near the doorway, then closing the still open front door. Meticulously I lock each lock, push each bolt home, and then proceed to get very sick on the cold stone floor.

I don’t move again until I hear early birds singing outside. Morning will dawn fully soon, and with it Ursula and Melanie will be arriving to begin their day. Surveying the mess of cleaning supplies strewn about, I realize something must be done, not only to clean it up, but to prevent anyone else in the house from opening the closet door. Quickly I get supplies from my room and make a large sign stating “Do not open”. I post it on the closet door. I also tape a small box over the handle, to further discourage anyone trying it. Then, for good measure, I take an old rag towel and stuff it tightly into the crack at the base of the door; an extra guarantee to make sure no light can get in.

Impulsively I put my ear to the closet door, listening. Either the wood is too thick or Iain is already resting, for I can detect no sounds within. Do vampires really sleep during the daylight? Shuddering I back away, grabbing up a handful of cleaning supplies. Straightening the mess will help me not to think, not now at least. I’ll save thinking for later.

When Ursula finally arrives I’m finished putting things away. Without explaining, I reiterate that no one is to open the closet for any reason. The look in her eyes tells me she will ask Michael as soon as she sees him. Fine with me, let him bear the responsibility of explaining the peril living in the house. I try not to dwell on the reality that it is my fault the vampire was allowed in. Michael would have let it die in the morning sunlight without even flinching.

Why did I try to save the vampire?

Declining breakfast, I flee to my rooms upstairs. I need to think, and I need to be alone. Curling up in an overstuffed chair, I find myself wishing for my favorite stuffed toy, Roybear. He’s just the right size for cuddling when I am upset, but he’s back in Denver, sitting on my bed waiting for my return. For the umpteenth time I wish he hadn’t been too big to fit in a suitcase. I settle for hugging a pillow instead.

Why did I try to save the vampire?

Closing my eyes, I see Iain’s face when I first opened the door, eyes shining in the porch light and that goofy grin. Harmless. He seemed so harmless. Even when I finally saw his fangs, I didn’t feel threatened. Hell, Michael had been more menacing at that moment. What would have happened had the sun touched him? Would he have been destroyed in an instant, or slowly like they are in the movies? Would he have been in pain? My stomach clenches, I have my answer now. I’ve never been able to hurt someone, not willingly, not consciously. If he had died of his own carelessness I might not have cried, but I can’t bring myself to allow someone to die if I can help them – not even such a thing as a vampire.

What is a vampire anyway?

Tossing the pillow to the floor, I run from my room. The library is on the lower level of the house in the opposite wing, so I fly myself there rather than waste time on the stairs. Michael has an incredible collection, but I really don’t expect to find what I’m looking for. After all, would a man who so obviously hates vampires have any books on them? Surprisingly, he has several – even a good selection of vampire fiction including the most popular series currently in print. I only take the non-fiction. I’ve read enough of the others to know they won’t be any help.

Hours later I feel discouraged. There is little fact with so much hypothesizing and hearsay, legend and myth, yet nothing that reminds me of the man sleeping beneath the stairs; nothing that seems to apply to him. When Michael enters the library hours later, pulls up a chair and sits across from me at the table, I’m relieved.

“Is any of this true?” I ask in exasperation, pointing to the various books.

“Some of it,” he answers, “but not much. Most vampire lore is like most mythology and legend, a grain of truth buried beneath a mountain of fiction.”

“You didn’t invite him in.”

“No.”

“Would that really give him power over us?” I think I heard that in a movie once, or maybe it was in one of the books. I’ve read too much today.

Michael smiles, chuckling a bit. “No. That is pure fiction, Eva. I did not invite him in, because if I had I would have to treat him properly, as a guest in my house. As a matter of honor, I don’t harm guests, no matter what they might do. By allowing him in as an intruder, I free myself from restriction.” Reaching across the table, Michael takes my hand gently. “This way Eva, should he so much as remove a single hair from your head, I will be able to kill him. Something I could not do had I invited him in.”

He mentions murdering someone so easily. I feel chilled.

“What about Ursula and Melanie, or Brigid and Hannah, aren’t you worried about them?”

“Ursula and Melanie are far less trusting than you, my dear, and well able to spot a vampire when they see one. As for Brigid and Hannah, I moved them to a safe place in the village until this is over.”

So that’s where he’s been all day. I resent the implication that I am too trusting, and tell him so. He just laughs at me.

“Be that as it may, you are less used to dealing with this sort of thing.”

Condescending prick. “Will you throw him out tonight?”

“Do you want me to?”

Taken by surprise, I don’t answer at first. After last night’s display, I’d thought the sooner Iain was gone, the better Michael would feel. Yet Michael is giving me a voice in the decision. I would like a chance to learn more about Iain, and more of the truth about vampires.

“Actually, no. I’d like to talk to him, if I could.”

Letting go of my hand, Michael rises, walking around the table to stand at my side. Gently he closes the book which lies open before me. Returning it to a pile next to my arm, he then puts his hand beneath my chin, turning my face to look up at him.

“I will give you one more night. Talk all you wish, just be careful. Within reason you may show him the house; however, do not go outside with him, nor allow him near any other living thing. While he remains in the house he remains in your sight. If he crosses the threshold, he may not return again. Understand?” I nod, surprised at this generosity.

“Don’t be so surprised, Eva, I prefer to have the devil in plain sight, rather than behind me.” Letting go of my face Michael walks to the hallway then stops. “Two things more, Eva. Don’t look into his eyes, they are a vampire’s most powerful weapons, and remember, no vampire would ever come to my house without a purpose. There is something he wants, try not to be the one to help him find it.”

Before he can leave I call out, “Why do you hate them?” I hadn’t really planned on asking, but I learned a while back to take advantage of his expansive moods.

With his back to me I can’t see his face, though I hear his answer. “Once upon a time, Eva, I, like you, discovered they were real and not a myth. At the same time I learned that reality can be worse, much worse.”

I don’t go after Michael for more, it isn’t worth it when he decides to be cryptic. The answer does give me a lot to think about though while I wait for sunset and my chance to talk to Iain.

“I suppose I should be leaving now,” are Iain’s first words when I open the closet door. He looks a little rumpled, but you’d expect that from someone who has slept in his clothes, in a closet.

“Actually Michael promised not to chase you away for tonight. He prefers the devil be in front of him, it seems.” I try to be flippant, but it’s hard, I’m nervous despite Iain’s disarming smile.

“I’m hardly the devil, Ma’am.”

“Don’t call me that, my name is Eva. And you can come out. Michael isn’t around and he’s promised not to do anything to you.”

“Thank you.” Iain says with perfect manners, stepping out into the sitting room where I’ve had a light fire laid. I really don’t feel cold anymore nor, do I think, will Iain, but it looks cheerful and homey. Accepting the chair, I invite him, he reaches out to feel the fire.

“Ah, that’s nice.”

“You’re cold?”

“Well, as a bit of fact, yes. We generally are, unless…well, unless we’ve just um…” Since he hesitates I finish it for him.

“Fed?”

“Aye, Eva, fed. You aren’t too squeamish about it are you? I promised I’d not do it around here, so you needn’t feel uneasy. Not even the hair of a rat will be disturbed.”

God, why did he have to mention rats. He could eat every one in the house for all I care, and good riddance to them, too. I still have nightmares occasionally where I can’t pick all the fur out of my teeth.

“Can you…that is…um, would you like anything else?”

“Well, lass, I’d love a hot scone dripping with melted butter, only the taste buds are gone you see. Anything I eat will just come back on me rather unpleasantly. I’ll just watch you have your tea and remember when I had my own.”

He seems so nice, but I remember Michael’s warning and don’t look at his eyes, not directly at least. They are the softest hazel color, I notice when I risk a glance, warm and gentle. Still, there is something I don’t trust in his manner, something he seems to be holding back. As I pour tea for myself I form my next question, hoping he will agree to talk. He beats me to the questions though.

“You’re a Yank, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” I answer, surprised. I forget how my lack of accent sticks out here. I don’t want to talk about myself though, so I quickly turn the tables before he can go on.

“Could I ask you, Iain, how long have you been a vampire, and why?”

“Ah, lass, you don’t ask a small price do you?” He shifts a bit in the chair, then settles back comfortably. “Truth be told I’ve not been one long, only about a year, give or take the odd month. As for why, well, the choice wasn’t mine. I was out walking a bit late and a bit drunk when I spotted a fine looking lass out for a stroll. She comes to me like a bad girl wanting a bit, if you’ll pardon the expression.” I nod, I’ve heard worse, and I’ve no illusions about men living the lives of saints.

“Well, I actually had no interest in her and walked away, but she grabs my arm and won’t let go. Strong as a bricklayer this girl is, and now I’m more than a wee worried. I’m not weak, but I couldn’t pull my arm loose. She starts dragging me into a dark alley. Now, I’m not one to strike a lady, but I’m thinking this lass isn’t one, so I put my foot square in her gut and run for hell when she lets go. Three steps is as far as I got when next thing I know I’m on my back and she’s on top of me with a rare wicked grin on her face. ‘You’ll be paying for that forever, lad,’ she says to me. Then I feel her teeth in my neck and everything goes black.

“Next morning I wake in my own bed, with the land’s biggest love bite on my throat. Mum gives me a right bit of hell, but I get away quick enough figuring I’ll go meet my mates at the dole. As soon as I’m outside, though, I start feeling dizzy. Only when I’m in shadows can I see straight and walk all right. Somehow I make it to my mates, just to get a rasher from them when they see the bite. Well, this goes on for a few more days, each day it gets worse and worse, being out in the light, and keeping down food is harder and harder. Eventually I can’t eat anything anymore, yet my hunger is fierce.

“Then comes the day I try to go out and I actually see my skin start to boil where the light touches it. I jump back into the house and lock myself in my closet for the whole day and only come out when night is real deep. When I do, outside my window, I see that bird who bit me. She’s laughing at me and gesturing for me to follow. I’m so desperately hungry by then I do it without thinking. Leading me around a corner, we end up in another an alley. There on the ground is laid out one of my mates, holes in his neck and his breath coming out all funny. For a second I think I’m going to puke, then I see the blood at his throat and I go all funny inside, just starving to have a bite myself.”

During most of the narrative Iain has been looking at me while speaking; now, however, he looks towards the fire. I can tell that remembering this is painful for him.

“I grew up with Keith. His Mum always treated me like a second son.” Once again he pauses. “Then the bitch was beside me, whispering in my ear that if I don’t finish him he’ll end up like me. She’s put the bite in him and the only way to cure it is death.”

Iain stops. I realize he is shaking, but then so am I, sloshing tea all over myself as well as my chair. Setting the cup down quickly, I move to reassure him, but he shies away from my touch.

“No offense, Eva, but I’d rather not have that brother of yours kill me for allowing the liberty of a touch.” Damn Michael and his posturing threats.

“It’s ok, Iain. I’m sorry I asked, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“That’s alright, lass, memory’s just not so old yet as I thought it was.”

For a while we just sit in companionable silence. I try to imagine what it had been like turning into a vampire. From what Iain said it must have been far worse than my experience Becoming. It’s Iain who finally breaks the silence, and his words show that he was calculating while I was thinking.

“Would that brother of yours care if I ask to see a bit of the house. I’ve never been in one of these old stately homes before, nor am I likely to again.” I don’t for a minute believe his explanation. Despite my sympathy, I can see he wants something. It pisses me off knowing that Michael was right, but at the same time my curiosity is aroused. What could a vampire possibly want from this house?

Hiding my suspicions, I agree to show him around. I don’t bother to tell Iain I’ve already been given permission to do so. Rising, we head for the main staircase; only a little ill at ease I wonder where Michael has laid his trap.

The house really is a gorgeous one. Each room has antique furnishings, tapestries and art pieces, yet the rooms are all very simple and elegant, not ostentatious, like a lot of stately homes. As we walk down the formal gallery, filled with portraits Michael either bought to make the house look legitimate or had painted of himself in his different incarnations, I can tell Iain is not really interested in what he sees. I feel his growing impatience. Only when I pass by some rooms without showing them does he take interest in what may lie beyond.

“The left room belongs to another sister of Michael’s, the right is his suite of rooms. Even I have never been in there.” Iain nods thoughtfully, but doesn’t argue as I move back to the ground level. I finish the tour in Michael’s office. Immediately Iain asks about a small door at the back corner of the room. I know, of course, that it leads to a cellar. Michael has always kept it locked, and since cellars are not my idea of an entertaining time, I’ve never ventured to find the key. Iain, however, seems uncommonly interested in exploring it.

“Vampires like cold dark places, you know.” he says as an excuse. Since I believe the door to be locked, I allow him to try it. Surprisingly, it opens easily, revealing a curved stairway lit by a single burning torch. Grinning mischievously, Iain waves me to join him as he takes the torch from its socket and heads down. I wonder that he doesn’t realize Michael meant us to find this. Why else is the door unlocked, why else would there be a lit torch? Iain must be desperate to not realize he is walking into a trap.

I follow him carefully: the torch doesn’t provide nearly enough light and the steps are old stone, worn and slippery. Fortunately, we find other torches, spaced evenly in sockets along the wall. Iain lights each in passing, handing me one for myself. When we reach the bottom I see it is not one cellar, but a maze of rooms beneath the house. A musty smell pervades the air, while a thick layer of dust coats the floor. A clear path through the dust proves that Michael must come down here occasionally. Immediately Iain follows it.

After a few feet, we reach a doorway which leads onto two more rooms, one small in size and apparently empty, the other a larger one with what looks like a stone sarcophagus in the center. Wall shelves from floor to ceiling are filled with row upon row of wooden boxes. I can’t imagine what Michael might be keeping in them.

Iain, however, must have some idea. He groans, dropping his torch upon the sarcophagus, then grabbing the nearest box from the shelf. Tearing it open, he looks inside and curses, throwing it to the floor where it shatters. As near as I can see it was empty. The next box also elicits a curse from Iain, but when it breaks on the floor a fleshless skull rolls in the debris. Three more boxes and two more skulls litter the floor before Iain gives up, turning on me. I realize I should have fled right away, but I’ve been mesmerized by his actions and the unexpected sight of bones.

Iain’s fingers dig deep into my arms as he grabs me, pushing me until the sarcophagus gets in the way. Fearfully I realize his grip is even stronger than that of Michael; no matter how I squirm I can’t break free. As my right arm begins to go numb, I lose my grip on the torch, letting it slip to the floor. Violently Iain spins me to face the wall of boxes. I brace my hands on the sarcophagus as he forces me to lean forward. The flames of his torch, still burning where it lies on the stone, are dangerously close to my face.

“Which one is it?” he snarls in my ear.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I cry. Iain’s grip is growing tighter and my arms feel as though they may break.

“Where is he? I have to find him or they won’t…I have to find him!” Dragging me to the wall he releases one of my arms, pointing at the boxes. “Where is he?” Iain screams.

“Perhaps you should ask me, little vampire.” The voice comes from above, and in tandem we look up. My blood runs cold.

It’s Michael, of course, but in a form not remotely human. Half man, half panther he is black as the shadows he has been hiding in, his eyes glowing with menace in the torchlight. Long razor claws secure him to the wood of the beams above where he crouches, ready to spring. Iain pushes me away, a stupid move since Michael would not attack him while he holds me as a hostage.

I land hard near the doorway. Bruises left by Iain’s grip are joined by new ones from my impact. My arms hurt but I manage to pull myself to my knees. Surveying the situation from where I cower in the doorway, I realize I’m out of my depth here.

Michael spares a glance in my direction. “Leave now, Eva.”

Even if I wanted to I couldn’t obey his command. My legs have turned to water, there is no way I can move to escape. Unwillingly I keep watching. Meanwhile, Michael’s attention returns to the vampire: he doesn’t seem to notice I’ve remained.

“Shall I show you what you are looking for, little vampire? Shall I show you where he is?” Michael circles gracefully, slipping from beam to beam above Iain’s head, forcing the vampire to turn around and around or lose sight of his adversary. “You should have asked me in the very beginning, little vampire, you should have asked me where Simon is hiding.” Turning and turning, Iain must be growing dizzy by now, as I’m certain Michael has planned. “Why all these foolish games, why drag my sister into such unpleasantness? Shall I tell you now where he is lying little vampire, show you where he has been sleeping all of these years?”

Michael stops. Iain sways, struggling to remain standing, still staring upwards, fear naked on his face: he knows now that he has lost. I see the muscles in Michael’s haunches bunch up preparatory to leaping.

“You should not have touched my sister, little vampire. I might have let you leave here, if you had left her alone. I told you what I would do if you touched her.” His eyes narrow, glowing yellow from within. “I told you, didn’t I?”

Michael’s leap is powerful, hitting Iain so hard I feel the impact through the ground and into my legs. Struggling, Iain tries to get leverage, fighting to push his assailant off, but as a half-animal, Michael has the upper hand, or more precisely claw. Powerful back legs press into the vampire’s abdomen; claws embed themselves firmly into soft flesh. Pushing down and backwards Michael fulfills his promise to disembowel the vampire, ripping Iain’s gut open.

Never have I heard a scream so terrible. I pray it means Iain is dead so this insanity can end, but I’m disappointed. Somehow Iain is still moving. Gathering strength from somewhere, Iain manages to shove Michael off before those powerful legs can find purchase again. Scrambling backwards along the ground his hand comes in contact with my fallen torch, still burning where it fell. Grabbing it he leaps to his feet, waving the flames at Michael’s face.

Mercifully Iain’s back faces me so I can’t see any more of what has happened to his insides, although a thin stream of blood is forming a puddle on the floor by his feet. Irrelevantly, I wonder if it his own blood or that of something he has eaten. Michael, meanwhile, is crouching on his panther legs a few feet away from the vampire. Slowly he takes the other torch off of the sarcophagus, where it has been lying. Grinning evilly he gestures towards Iain with it.

“You cannot scare me with fire, little vampire, I will not burn. But you will, I think. Would you like to find out, little vampire? Would you like to feel the kiss of flames end your miserable existence?” Michael thrusts forward with the torch, aiming it at Iain’s torn innards, forcing him to move backwards. Like wrestlers they circle the stone in the center of the room. As Iain backs away, my view of him shifts – now I can see his front clearly. The dragging organs don’t quite reach the ground and the thin seeping blood stains the skin. My stomach heaves violently.

“Come, little vampire, shall we end it now? You don’t really want to live like this, do you?” Pushing him backwards, Michael is relentless. Sooner or later one of them must give in, but neither does. Iain trips as he retreats, his foot slipping on one of the skulls he had dropped earlier. Wasting no time, Michael thrusts his burning torch directly into Iain’s open gut.

As Iain’s body explodes in flames, engulfing both of them momentarily in a massive inferno, I scream. I continue screaming until the flames stop, ending almost as suddenly as they began. Michael stands alone in the glowing embers, still wearing the half panther form. Grasped firmly in his left hand Iain’s head dangles, the skin and muscle of the neck ragged, clearly torn from the burning body and only slightly singed by the fire.

Somehow I manage not to faint, though I have slid closer to the floor, my hands joining my knees, clinging to the stones as if they held the key to life. I dare not tear my eyes away from Michael. No, not Michael – Rath. Michael is a human name, and for the first time I truly understand that he is anything but. His real name suits him so very well. Still unaware of my presence, he places Iain’s head, frozen in a look of absolute horror, upon the stone sarcophagus.

“There now, little vampire, that’s better. Shall I show you what you were sent to find? Would you like to meet Simon now?” Can he really be conversing with a dead man’s head? I feel sick again, yet I watch fascinated as Rath approaches the wall, shifting as he does from animal form to something more human. Seemingly at random, he pulls a box from the wall. It looks identical to all the others, yet he sets it softly next to Iain’s head on the stone. Touching something at the box’s edge he causes it to unfold until its sides lie flat, revealing its contents clearly.

It is a head. Not a skull. Not white bone devoid of flesh. This is a real head, with all its features perfectly intact, including a luxuriant crop of reddish brown hair spilling loose onto the stone. It actually looks fresher than Iain’s head, though I can only imagine it has been in here for some time, resting upon the velvet pedestal inside the box.

Rath lifts Iain’s head by the hair aiming the face towards the one in the box. “Here he is, little vampire. Here is what they tricked you into looking for. It was a trick, you know, they didn’t really believe you would succeed. None of them has yet, and many have tried. Say hello to their master, little vampire, say hello to Simon.” This time I do vomit, overcome by the macabre dialogue. When I can again listen, Rath is talking to the head in the box.

“Come now, Simon, don’t be rude. This poor, innocent little vampire just gave up his life to try and rescue you, can you not spare him a word of thanks?” Rath sets Iain’s head carefully on the velvet next to the first one. Unfortunately this means I am looking at the one called Simon when its eyes suddenly open. They focus for a moment on Iain’s head, then look at Rath with more hatred than I have ever seen before.

“Go to hell, you fucking bastard,” the head says.

The last thing I hear before I hit the floor is Rath’s laughter in response.

Rath has been staying out of my sight for several days now. I made it plain, after recovering from my faint, that I needed time to get over what I had seen. To be precise, I told him if I never saw him again it would be too soon. For a change he respects my wishes; I think he is even genuinely contrite. He swears he thought I had left the room, reminding me I had been told to go. He promises to explain everything if I wish. For once I believe he is telling me the truth, and for once I don’t want to hear it.

Instead, I hide in his library and do some reading. Some of it is about vampires, which is where I learn that, according to popular theory, you have to destroy their entire body to kill one of them. I suppose that explains Simon. The rest of my reading is about Celts, which is where I learn that they often kept the heads of slain enemies, sometimes as trophies, sometimes as tributes. Occasionally they even made drinking cups from the skulls. I don’t want to know for what purpose Rath keeps the ones in the boxes.

When I finally finish my studies, I’ve decided I want nothing more than to go back home and see the mountains of Denver again. I need the snow to fall and wash all of this horror away. I need to see Mama and believe, even if only for a little while, that I am normal again. I need to forget the look in Iain’s eyes when his head was hanging in Rath’s hands.

They knew it had failed; had it succeeded, it would have returned days earlier. The demon had destroyed another of their kind. Whining, they crouched at the feet of their current leader while it fumed in anger.

Now it would have to make another young one. Another, innocent, unlearned one to try and regain the head of their true leader, Simon. Meanwhile they would have to feed farther afield, the demon would be hunting them after this newest attempt, he always did and he always succeeded in eliminating more of their number. If he continued whittling away at the pack, it would cease to exist.

Ordering the pack into hiding, the leader tried to decide where to go next in search of fresh “converts”. Scotland had been a failure. Ireland perhaps, or maybe the continent, if the trip could be done quickly? Moving swiftly, it headed off. The sooner a new young one was made, the sooner the pack could try again.

�

episode i: journey into darkness - episode ii: tea party - episode iii: awakening
episode iv: the book of grief - episode v: paterfamilias - episode vi: breaking points
episode vii: the dark of the mind - episode viii: decisions
episode ix: momentary distractions - episode x: exorcising demons i
episode xi: porcelain visions - episode xii: the nature of jackals
episode xiii: exorcising demons ii - episode xiv: the invitation
episode xv: body & soul - episode xvi: mothering sunday
episode xvii: imbalance of power - episode xviii: interlude
episode xix: between life and death

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