The Vampire's Visit
The horse galloped along the stone-paved road winding slowly up the hill and increasing ever faster until, finally, Alistair arrived at his house. With a great leap he jumped off his horse and landed in a crouching position. The rain pattered down on his face…it was like a baptism
And he hated baptisms…
He stood up, slowly and wiped the water from his face. His sandy blonde hair draped down to his shoulders and was drenched with water, and his clothes clung to his skin…yet he was not cold. His frame was wiry yet strong, and he was quite a pale man. He made his way up the steps with remarkable speed, seeing only by way of two protected torches illuminated in the night.
It was at that moment, that Nat heard a rather loud rasping at the door. She swiftly made her way towards it and opened it apprehensively.
“Alistair!” Nat cried, embracing him tightly. Her body was curved like an hourglass, having a similar, yet more feminine build than him. Yet she shared the same paleness of the skin.
They embraced each other with a passionate kiss like lovers that had not seen each other in years. It was then, all at once, that Nat opened her eyes, realizing something amiss. She pulled herself away from him. “Alistair, where are the others? Where is the pack?” she cried.
At that moment, Alistair’s head sunk low, as he let the rainwater flow down his face and drip of his chin. “They’re dead.” he stated, simply.
Nat backed away, shocked. “What-what happened? she stuttered.
“The townspeople caught us in the middle of a feast. John Burns lead a revolt…I always told the pack to be wary of him…only I made it out alive.” he took a moment to pause and reflect. Images flickered across his mind like a slide show. He wanted to melt into the ground, as his brothers and sisters did. “My love,” he whimpered, “they caught us feasting…attacked us. Everyone is dead. My brother…the first of the pack…Ducard is dead.”
“NO!” cried Nat, who burst into tears. “NO! It can’t be!”
It was then that a loud commotion was heard, as a powerful pounding sounded at the door. With a third strike it flew off its hinges and dropped to the floor below with a thud.
“ALISTAIR!” cried a townsperson! “FACE ME AND ANSWER FOR YOUR CRIMES!”
Alistair put a finger to Nat’s lips, summoning her to be silent; never one to listen to reason, she charged out, sheering flesh from bone and gnawing away with teeth that could penetrate skin. Her rampage tore apart bodies as if they were made of cotton. Her rage could not be bottled or controlled. She was no longer of this world…she was rage.
“MURDERERS!” she cried to the heavens. Lightning stuck around the household as she threw her arms up to the sky! “ALL OF YOU ARE MURDERERS!” She continued her rampage, killing anyone she could get her hands on. Alistair watched from afar. Just then, he noticed a piece of jagged wood fly through her chest. Blood dripped from her mouth, spilling down her chin. Her body turned to flakes, and blew away in the wind, crumbling in the rain.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” cried Alistair, who grabbed a bookcase by the edges. With uncanny strength he lifted it over his head and threw it towards the killers as if it were weightless. Most were instantly crushed by it and others would suffocate; pinned underneath it. The sheer devastation from the throw knocked a chunk of the wall out, revealing a much larger army outside. Alistair let out a cry of agony and despair as if it had been he himself who had been impaled and hissed as if he were a snake, as he charged into the crowd with remarkable speed. He ripped men apart. He clawed at their faces and ate their very flesh. He tossed them aside like ragdolls. “BURRRNS!” he hissed. “JONATHAN BURNS!” he cried to the heavens, “REVEAL THYSELF, MURDERER!” He tore through the crowd, searching for his enemy. His eyes, filled with fury itself, had turned blood red from his rage. A simple stare set men on fire, as he killed and wounded the army that had dared to amass outside of his own home. Finally, he found his target.
Jonathan Burns was a fat old man who was graying at the temples, who had an outdated sense of righteousness from the Revolutionary War. He grabbed Burns by his neck and hoisted him up into the air. He squeezed slowly, choking him. Alistair said almost nothing, but simply asked,
Through choking sounds, Burns managed to get the words out “You were killing off this town! I won’t let you kill me too! You killed a young boy when we found you! He had only just turned twenty—.”
His accusations were interrupted as Alistair pulled him close, as he spoke, saliva spewed from his mouth onto Burns’ face. “And yet…” Alistair said, his words tiptoeing to the next, “Your family was killed by a murderer. You hunted him down and killed him.” Even closer, Alistair pulled him, until he could almost taste the flesh on Alistair’s breath. “Did you stop to think for a second?” Alistair asked him, his head tilting slightly to one side, “that if you killed me and my pack…do you think I would ever stop?”
“Go….die!” choked Burns.
“I have survived since the ides of March! The death of Julius Caesar was my birth! You do not think I can survive?” He paused for a moment. “Should I wish to?” he finished.
“You…have brought nothing but misery to this town.”
Alistair looked at him with catlike curiosity. He was a pet examining a new master. “I only do what I must to survive…as I do now.” Blood trickled down Burns’ forehead as Alistair squeezed from both sides. Burns let out a cry of agony as he began to push harder. “Do you feel that Burns?!” he howled into the night. “Do you feel the inevitability of death!? It’s the only thing in this world that you can count on.” Alistair finished, and let what was left of the limp body slump to the ground with all the others.
At that moment, Alistair’s attention turned to the East...He noticed his first glimpse of the sun rising beyond the horizon…his first glimpse of the sun in his entire life. He slowly began to crumble, as each layer of skin flaked off. He let out his last words of his long life…