Write Side Down

I can still remember my first time. Its still vivid and cruel, lingering in my mind even though its been more than eleven years since it happened.

Seeing my first real vampire up close, I had been terrified and unable to move. Uncle Jasper had it subdued before it could do any damage or cause any real harm, but I remember the vampire’s cold eyes and I remember the way he stared at me.

Like he could already taste me.

A stir in the shadows. I had no time to dwell on the past.

“So, you actually appear before me,” the dark voice seemed to chill the very air I breathed, “A brave human, if not foolish.”

“Of course I came,”  my voice was quiet, but I knew he could hear me, “Why would I rob you of the opportunity to take revenge for what I did to your lover, Thomas Hendry.”

The man–no, he couldn’t be considered a man anymore–the thing int he shadows released a shallow growl.

“So the rumors of Thomas’s death,” he paused, his voice cold; I could hear the malicious intent in them, “Its true…”

This one was easier than most to taunt. Perhaps it was the fact that we were speaking of his ‘lover’.

“You vile woman!” The chilled voice was now burning, showing emotions that should have died with his body.

“Right,” I murmured, “You’re the dead body in the room, but I’m the vile one; I get it. Tell me your name, vampire.”

“Darnin,” The voice now sounded exhausted.

My eyes scanned the shadows and a movement caught my eye. In the corner sat the vampire, Darnin, his shoulders hunched. I could tell he had not fed recently because his body was showing signs that he had started to decay.

I felt the snide remark leave me before I could stop it, “Holding a fast in honor of your lover’s second death? How touching,” I could sense his power, and sense it’s decline even as we spoke, “I’m always surprised by you rotting ticks and the kinds of loyalty you’re still capable of.”

“Save your insults,” Darnin’s fangs were the only teeth not yellowed by age, “You’ll need them in hell, when you become Lucifer’s mistress.”

“One as young as you could not kill me,” I couldn’t hide my sneer.

“I will try nonetheless,” his form melted into the wall, the shadows consuming him. The illusion would have tricked a more naive hunter, but I was not one to be taken off guard.

Inexperienced corpses such as Darnin always did the same thing: try and attack me at my weakest point. It wasn’t such a foolish plan on normal foes. We hunters are not normal foes.

Turning around, I could see his surprised eyes as I pulled a metal charm from my pocket. The charm had on it a spell, carved into the metal and it was special in that it only worked on vampires. On it was a spell of sealing, meant to immobilize, meant to make a victim out of the culprit.

He was in my grasp.

The house was as old as the town, its owner long dead. Stories had already cropped up about it–the house was alive and devoured its previous master; it was a meeting place for demons; a thief had buried his wealth in gold, jewels and ancient magical treasures that left the house cursed; the usual and unusual stories that would arrive with a mysterious house in an otherwise boring towns–and while most of the stories rang with their usual fiction, there was one that interested me the most.

The previous owner had left the house to his son; the son being a stand-offish and cold man. When the son finally married, rumors had abounded of secret affairs and meetings between the son and his new wife’s brother. The son, never seeming to age as years passed finally disappeared, supposedly from his untimely death, and left the house not to his wife, but to her brother. The brother and sister never left the house and soon the house fell into disrepair, their bodies never receiving a proper burial and thus haunted the old house.

The haunting part had no meaning to me. You can sense when a house is haunted the same way you can sense when a man is dangerous–its instinctual, like the twist in your belly or the slow chill that climbs your spine. The interesting part is that I found the son: a man by the name of Thomas Hendry, alive and well all these years later. He, of course, had been a vampire, probably since before his father’s death (he well may have been the cause of his father’s death, but who could know now?). I killed Thomas three days ago, and tracked his lineage to this house.

If I am particularly lucky, I will find nothing but mold and dust in that house. If I am not particularly lucky, I will find one, or more, vampires living in this dwelling. Either way, I was doing this job for free, thanks to my ill-luck at running across old Thomas. No one had hired me to get rid of a nest of ticks, I was doing it out of my old sense of duty. A sense that I wish had died with my mentor and uncle, Jasper.

Well, this nest of ticks wasn’t going to kill itself…