the opening to the book

South Ireland, 15th century
10:00 PM

Returning to my lord’s manor from the field, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being pursued. The sun had gone down some hours ago. With every breath I took I could see figures formed in the steam. The orange light of the torches caused a circle of flames on the ground, engulfing me every few steps. Despite the lamps, I am still afraid of the dark. Not quite afraid of the dark, afraid of what I am sure is in it. I quicken my pace, seeing the top of the manor coming over the horizon. My own footsteps echo, making me think I am being chased. I cast a glance over my shoulder and see a figure coming just outside a circle of orange light. This mysterious figure doesn’t bob in the manner of one running or even walking. It seems to float not touching the ground. In that split-second of a glance, I break into a full run. As I throw open the door to the house, I hear a voice right next to my ear whisper my name.
Once in the safety of the castle, I trip over something. I look down; it appears to be one of the guards, seemingly passed out. Still in the grips of terror, I hurry to my room, and look out my window. Out on the road there is nothing except some leaves blown across. It is not a very large building. At least, not compared to those of kings. There are velvet hangings covering the stone walls displaying the coat of arms. There are many generations of weaponry hanging on the walls, for decoration, though they are kept fairly sharp. There isn’t a single sound apart from the wind whipping through the halls. Everyone must already have gone down for the night. It is strange that there is no one standing guard, or walking the halls. I choose not to worry about, possibly imagining this odd silence. Sure now that it was my imagination, I give myself a little shake. I have always been paranoid and frightened very easily. I am finally sure that I imagined the voice, as well. Despite continually reassuring myself that it wasn’t real, I still feel very cold. Not the kind of cold that happens when you go out in the winter without enough clothing. This was the kind of cold that happens when you lay in your bed unable to sleep. It is the cold of a dead man’s hand, with all the blood stopped flowing.
I lay in bed that unable to sleep, and jumping at shadows. Whenever a bird flies by, it launches a shadow against my wall, that when I look at it matches that of the figure perfectly. I crawl slowly out of bed. I creep along the wall to my window. Leaning very slightly, I look through the mist out onto the small road between the small shacks of the tiny village. There, beyond any doubt, is the figure, still staying out of the light. But, from his silhouette I can see that it is a man, very tall, with long hair. The only part that stuck out of the black, that even from my window I can see, were his piercing, ice blue eyes. “Well, maybe it’s a coincidence. He could be lost. I suppose the guards will probably help him, if they get back to where they should be.” With that thought I go back to bed.
I roll over, having gotten some sleep. Groggily I look at the sky, the moon nearly going down through the many trees. As I roll back to try to sleep, I realize my thirst. When I walk by the frost-covered window, I get that strange feeling. On a whim I take a peek, and my heart skips a beat. In the same exact spot, completely unmoving, that figure is there, still just outside the light. Then, very slowly, he takes a step…toward the manor house. I bolt down the stairs, lock the door, grab the largest sword from off the wall, it at first feeling very awkward and heavy, I balance myself out, having no formal weapon training, this is hard. I head as swiftly as possible with this blade up to my room. Once at the top of the stairs, there is a slight draft blowing and I see my curtain flapping in my room. There is still no sound from the other rooms.
“Hello”, says the young man sitting on my bed.
I stare in shock for a solid minute, taking every aspect of this character in my bedroom. I first wonder how he got to my window. This is a third floor room. Then I take in his physical appearance. A thick fall of black hair lays upon his head, framing a perfectly smooth, porcelain white face. His clothing is very different from my dark brown pants and simple green tunic. A black shirt with ruffles, and intricate lace work all the way down to the loose, ruffled sleeves hangs over his tautly muscled physique. A dark red velvet vest is over this, unbuttoned. There is a long, black cape with a high collar cast over my chair. He looks as if he is much richer than even the king. He speaks with a light French accent, and the manner of one used to better surroundings then my humble home.
“Are you quite finished staring?” says he, sounding affronted.
“Who are you?” is all I can bring myself to say.
“We’ll get to that later,” says he dismissively “We have more important things to deal with.”
Oddly enough, this did not frighten me. Something about him made me feel unthreatened, a bit belittled, but not threatened.
“How did you get in here?” with that, his eyes lit up, and I realized that that guard hadn’t been sleeping.
“We have a problem.”
“What do you mean, what’s the problem?”
“You are.” Says he, verbally lashing out.
“I’ve never seen you before!” cringing and terrified, I get that cold feeling again.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, but I’ve never been asked to do anything like this before.” He straightens the ruffles on his shirt in a very business-like manner.
Slowly realizing I am not going to be killed, I feel safe enough to ask another question.
“What is this concerning” trying to sound as professional as my strange new friend.
“No, you are not going to be killed,” (I jump a little) “you are far too important for that.”
“How did you…?”
“It will all be explained in due time, but now is not that time.” He flashes me a toothy smile. In that instant I realize what was so strange about him…and my heart nearly stopped. There, between his molars and incisors were not normal teeth. His were more than half-an-inch long and looked like they could pierce bone. I had no idea what I had gotten myself into. This was a vampire, those damned creatures that are written about in the books in the manor library. The books about monsters and demons.
“Yes, I Am.” Says he, displaying that uncanny ability to know what I’m thinking “and that’s why I’m here. We need you to be.”
With my whole world spinning, I say, “Who are you?”
“Me?” says he, amused “I am the bogey man.” With that he jumps at me, sinks his teeth, and everything goes black.