Stake & Garlic: Nov Contest: Prompt 3

October 31, 2006

Dear S&G,

Why the deep and abiding interest in the world of Nosferetu? Can you not leave us alone? We have existed from before the dawn of your creation, persisting through your history, and are found in every culture you pitiable humans have created. We are quiet peoples, loving our solitude and peace; yet you continue to rally interest in our being. We are never allowed to merely exist in our own happiness.

And now you are offering a contest involving fictional upyr tales? Oh the utter indignity!

Let me tell you something—you no-good trouble makers—this is a real vampire story. It is my story, my father’s story, and the story of my great lover.

I was not bitten by an older vampire, that ridiculous witch’s tale is just a silly urban myth designed by bored children during the tenth century prior to the birth of your Christ. Rather, a upyr is born a vampire, in the same manner you are born to your parents. I was born to a great upyr and his loving wife; unfortunately, my mother died less than two weeks after my birth—staked by some damned humans bent on eradicating the devil beasts thy thought my mother to be.

This grieved my father for the remainder of his life—his inability to protect my mother, his one great love. This made him a passive and inattentive father and I tried vainly to not let his indifference affect me. The lack of parental affection was the norm in the seventeenth century—his attitudes were far from unusual. When he looked at me, I knew he saw her—I had her dark eyes, you see. He could not bear to look into them for they reflected his every failure. As I child, of course, I did not understand this, and I did my very best to provoke him to wrath. Just wanting, for once, to have his attention upon me. I simply adored my father, he was all I had.

It was my eighteenth summer and, as custom, I would soon be wed to an upyr of my father’s choosing. This worried me for it would leave him alone and our village was lacking in males of our kind. This was quite understandable for, after the brutal murder of my mother, my sire had hidden our little family away in a village near a great river. We were never to let on that we were not human, for my father feared our human neighbors would slaughter us as ruthlessly as those monsters had decimated my dear mother.

Though I understand the need for such secrecy my young heart longed to be free, embracing the heritage I was so proud of. But I had grown into a dutiful daughter and I followed my father’s dictates to the best of my abilities—until that day by the great river.

Though it has been over three hundred years, that day will remain clear in my memory.

I was down by the river fetching water for bathing when a large shadow loomed above me. I hurried quickly to my feet, fear bringing my heart into my throat. Our cottage was set several miles away from the village, a protection my father felt was essential, and visitors were never welcomed. Not that it mattered; no one chose to visit our home anyway.

Turning to the towering creature, I was startled to see it was a man of indeterminate age. Younger than my father, he was still quite a bit older than I. I could not determine if he was of my race or yours. Was he there to stake me? Had my father already fallen victim? Could I defend myself against him?

I turned to flee, but he put out a staying hand “Vait.”

I did not know why, but a part of me felt compelled to follow his instruction. “Who are you?” I could see my own image reflected in the stranger’s dark eyes. It was quite disconcerting. “What do you want?”

“I vill not hurt you.” His voice held a quality I was not familiar with, an accent I did not know and I knew he was not of my land or any that was near to me. He stayed a respectable distance away and I felt myself begin to relax slightly. “Come.”

“Why?” I asked, unwilling to set aside the teachings of my father. How did I know this was not some sort of misdirection? Would he try to earn my trust before brutally slaughtering me? What else did he have in mind for me? Where was my father? Was he alive, and if so, why had he not come to investigate this visitor? Was he lying upon the dirt floor of our home, an oaken stake pinning him to the ground?

“Ve must go.” He stated baldly and with some trace urgency. I recoiled; suddenly convinced he was there to murder me.

“I do not know what you mean,” I looked away, trying to catch a glimpse of my father, praying vainly for his rescuing presence.

“Yes you do,” He stepped closer to me, taking my elbow in his large rough hand. “Come, Ve must find your pater.”

“Why?” I demanded to know, digging my sandals into the dirt. If he was a crazed human killer I was damned if I was going to let him get near my father. Though upyr, my father was not a young man. He had been several centuries into his life when meeting my mother, and the eighteen years since her death had aged him considerably. Even if this was a human assassin, my father would be at a disadvantage. This visitor was young, and even I could see that the body beneath his garments was well-honed.

“You are quite stubborn, aren’t you, daughter of Lilith?” There was a stern look in his eyes and I felt chastened suddenly, feeling as if he were berating me. “Ve do not have time for your villful resistance!”

“Let me go!" I jerked my arm out of his grasp and he let me go. This was surprising; the males of our race, the Upyr, were considerably stronger than the females—a fact I found completely unfair. As an older upyr, he would be considerably stronger than I. I didn’t consider these facts until I had reached the door to our little home. Why had he let me be? Was he human? Had I led him straight to my father?

I began to panic, searching through the three room hut. My father was not to be found! Where was he? Was the man going to kill me, driving a two foot wooden weapon through my breast? Was I to die like my mother?

“Gianna, Gianna!” I collapsed to my knees, relief overwhelming me as I heard my father’s voice. He sounded frantic, calling me from outside the hut’s lone window. I rushed to my feet, anxious to tell him of the creature, panicked to discover why he sounded so frenzied. I had never heard such an unnerved resonance in his voice before.

“Papa, Papa, I’m here!” I called through the window. I saw him as he hurried around the cabin door, accompanied by the very being I had fled!

“Gianna, we must hurry! The humans are coming!” Papa grasped my arms, hugging me tightly. I understood his relief at find me, and I hugged him just as tightly in return. It was the only time in my life I could ever recall my father hugging me.

“Listen child. I am old, you must go with Rafaelo! I will only slow you down. Go, go and be safe!”

I didn’t want to; what would happen to my father if I left him? If those wicked, murderous men found him? My father wasn’t so old—he could protect me. Hadn’t he done so all my life?

“No Papa, no!” I whispered as the creature he’d called Rafaelo wrapped a strong arm around my waist. We flew off abruptly, and I kept my eyes on my father’s figure as he raced across the barren European land, growing smaller and smaller—the smoke from human torches trailing in his wake.

It was the last I of saw of my sire.

And here you are sponsoring a contest, celebrating my peoples’ horrific tragedies?
Shame on YOU!


With a sincere lack of respect,


Gianna
Daughter of Lilith and Lazaro




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November 23, 2006



To Those at the Stake and Garlic:

I have seen that your village is hosting a tourney for fictional tales of Upyric doings. Of course all that you receive in this tasteless endeavor will be complete and utter rubbish! How can a member of your pathetic race effectively give insight into the vonder that is mine? In your narrow view of this vorld ve are those monsters set to frighten children or eat the unvary creature foolish enough to invite us into there den.

What an utterly repulsive notion—I’ve not eaten one of you foul and loathsome beings in the five centuries I’ve lived upon this earth!

I am a scholar--a documenter of my peoples’ history—and have found no evidence that ANY of my brethren ever undertook the notion to suck a human dry! Vhy, your very blood is quite poisonous to us!

No, ve are not the monsters your legends and myths portray us (Legends and myths your tourney is helping to perpetuate)! Ve are kind peoples vho value our families and our mates more than a despicable human can ever hope to understand.

I myself possess such a mate, vhom I am thankful for every day. One found during a murderous frenzy perpetrated by your ignorant, misinformed, hot-blooded ancestors! She is a far better person than I—villing to forgive those who may unknowingly harm her. I must admit I possess the talent of developing and holding a grudge against mine enemies.

And, speaking honestly, I loathe and despise your kind for the hurts you have deliberately dealt my people—and my vife!

There vas an instance several hundred years ago that my vife refuses to speak about for it is bittersweet still. It vas the day I met her, yes, but also the day her pater was murdered. I nearly lost her, before ever having her. The thought still makes me shudder.

This day came about because an ignorant and drunken priest took exception to my vife and her pater not attending Mass. They vere the devil’s instruments, he raged, ve must slay these demons among us!

My vife, a demon? Fool!

I vas sitting at the vooden bar, drinking a cup of barley ale, veary from my travels. I had just recorded one of the bloodiest murders of my people in my career, a family of six, three of vhich were small children. It vas veighing heavily upon mine shoulders, and I listened vith half an ear to the conversations around me. The priest and his rapt listeners, ignorant farmers, crowded closer to my seat. The heat inside the hut vas rising, and the smell of unvashed humans was making me ill and I stood to return to my small room.

As I jostled my vay through the lumbering crowd, aiming for the room I had let, a chance comment enthralled my attention. They vere speaking of a name I had long known, Lazaro, my pater’s friend, vho had long been feared dead.

I listened as the priest, a man of your religions, described the brutal vay they vere set to slaughter this once brilliant man. And of the vay the man spoke of Lazaro’s young daughter—makes me ill to this day! The priest’s eyes gleamed with an unholy lust as he spoke of the girl.

I had to varn my pater’s old friend, and I journeyed to my room careful to keep the appearance of exhaustion. My room had a small vindow that I struggled to squeeze through. I had gleaned enough from the priest’s violent ranting to know that my query lived east of the village along a great river.

Upon reaching the edge of the village I took to the sky—a feat few of my race could lay claim. Though the fear of discovery was great, it vas the quickest way to find Lazaro.

It vas but a few moments later that I found the small cottage. Lazaro vas surprised vhen I burst into his home, but the man I vonce considered Uncle, he did recognize me.

‘Come quickly,’ I told him, urging him to the door. He had aged considerably, though I knew he had still six hundred or more years left of his life. Of course, losing one’s mate in the manner he had must have left an impression. Visions of the murdered family I had just helped bury flashed through my mind as I realized the girl was not present. ‘The humans are coming!’

‘My daughter!’ Lazaro rushed out the door, moving vith the speed of a far younger upyr. I followed quickly, and as he turned to the north, I turned to the south, heading for the great river that I could hear rushing nearby.

‘Ve must find her!’ I shouted, rushing down a path that had obviously been used many a time.

That vas vhen I saw her, kneeling by the vater.

Still clothed in a faded nightdress, she appeared so young, so untouched, and I made myself a vow. I vould do all in my power to ensure no von, especially not von of you vile humans, bruised that unmarked innocence in any vay.

I knew I frightened her, her actions made that evident. Her refusal to take me to her pater was honorable, I vould not lead a foreigner to my own if the situation vas reversed. But ve had little time for explanations—ve had to find Lazaro and flee. I did not know if the older Upyr could fly—it had been so long since I had known him that I didn’t recall. How vas I to get them avay from the villagers?

Ve must hurry, I tried to explain to her. She vas quite villful, spirited for a girl of that age, and at any other time I vould have admired that. She ran from me, back toward the only home she had known, and I followed quickly. As we cleared the small band of trees I vonce more took the skies, leaving her to search out her pater from above.

‘Lazaro, come, she awaits.’ I told him as I landed, once again saddened to see an Upyr still in his prime look so broken, so lost.

‘No.’ He told me, straightening to his full height. He was equal to my build and still possessing of a strong Upyric body. It vas a shame how he had suffered ‘You must go, take her. I will go another way.’

Though I did not vant to agree, his planning made sense. The girl vas vho that vile holy man vanted, the girl vas young vith a long life ahead, but vould she ever see her pater again? Vould our plan succeed? I did not know. But ve did not have time to hesitate.

Ve ran back to the cottage, my companion calling vildly for his daughter. She rushed to meet him, embracing him tightly. He told her, go child, go with Rafaelo, for I am old, and he vill keep you safe! It vas a large task he vas giving to me, and I knew it! I vowed again to care for her.

I knew it vas breaking her heart, leaving the only parent she had ever known, fleeing for her life. I vrapped my arm around her vaist and took to the sky for one final time, leaving Lazaro to draw our pursuers in another direction.

The pater of the girl vas never found again, though I have searched throughout the years. Every von of my peoples vith vhom I speak I ask for vord of Lazaro. To this day, nothing. It pains her still.


I hope you feel just some of the grief my vife has felt, all at the hands of you—the sons and daughters of Adam.


With no Regards,


Rafaelo,
Historian and Scholar
Upyric Race
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December 25, 2006


Stake and Garlic Peoples:

On this, the one thousand one hundred and sixth Christmas holiday I have experienced, I wanted to thank you for running your somewhat morbid contests on writing.com.

As an older upyr I have been present through most of the centuries in which legends and tales of my people have grown. Though I no longer am possessing of my family—murdered many many years before your births, I have continued to suffer in existence with no bright spot on my life until today.

Saddened byyet another lonely Christmas without my dear wife and my daughter, I had turned to this new-fangled piece of technology called the computer. Out of some detached curiosity I had decided to search (Is this the right term?) the internet for tales of my people, hoping to at least experience written correspondence with someone of my own kind.

I found your contest after many hours of whiling away the time. I was shocked to see two letters among your contest postings. If these letters are authentic, I have found untold joy.

Gianna is my daughter, long though I presumed her dead. I never imagined young Rafaelo had married her, though from both of their letters I can glean that it is a strong and loving match—all that a upyr can hope for in regards to his child.

To be honest I have not tried to find Rafaelo and Gianna through the three hundred or so years since I last saw the them. I feared it would be a wasted search. I thought him and my daughter slaughtered. Oh, you cannot imagine the joy I am feeling now, knowing my daughter is out there somewhere! And Rafaelo, I had once loved him fiercely as well! His father, dear to me as a brother, was my closest friend. I had lost contact with my foreign-born comrade, unable to let anyone close in my grief over Lilith, and had not seen the boy in the eighteen years since my wife's murder.

But what had happened to me, you ask. Why had I believed the young couple dead?

I will tell you of those horrific events many many years ago.

After my daughter flew off, held in the arms of the young man I had once considered a ‘god-son’ if you will, I knew I must act quickly to keep that disgusting priest—Father Julius—from getting his fat hands on Gianna. I waited until I could just see the torches’ glow cresting the hill near my home. Those torches were merely weapons—for it was early morning and there was no need of added light. I knew what they meant to do with those flames. They would set me afire, a practice common in that century for those whose behavior or learning was different, as they tortured and violated my dear child.

I ran toward them, acting as a man demented might do—or a man possessed of demons. At first they—the ignorant fools—were so frightened, they moved aside, letting me pass!

Then they gave chase, yelling and charging much like a heard of oxen when spooked. I knew they were close on my heels, and I deliberately kept my pace slow—just fast enough to elude them. I wanted them all to come for me, letting my daughter escape.

I misjudged their speed and their hatred slightly and felt the piercing of a wooden arrow dangerously close to my heart. This is one myth that has its basis in fact. A wooden weapon through Upyric chests will end our lives. Luckily the arrow was too small, and pierced not my heart. I was able to pull it free as I ran, but the bleeding slowed me considerably and I was unable to take the sky. At the time I was uncertain if I still possessed that skill for I had not made an attempt since the night my wife was brutally murdered, still lying upon the bed where my daughter had been born just two weeks earlier. I had carried my daughter, small and defenseless in my arms, through the night sky to this new home. Now we were fleeing from it as well.

I ran north, staying in the open fields I had plowed diligently for the past eighteen years, careful to keep myself within sight of the dangerous mob pursuing me. I didn’t want them to give up and perhaps return to search for the younger upyr. This worked for most of the villagers, for I had been careful to keep Gianna out of their prying eyes, and they did not know what the girl looked like. They had no desire to catch this unseen girl. The holy man was different—he had seen her, and had wanted her.

She was such a beautiful girl, her eyes and smile echoing those of her departed mother. I had known once she reached maturity I would be expected to marry her with due haste to some local farmer’s son. That was unacceptable. I could not entirely isolate my child—the man of your God insisted upon visiting us once every three years or so. When my daughter was nearing her fifteenth birthday, he began to visit nearly twice a year. I knew what he wanted, for this man was not a true leader of your people. He did not embody the preachings of your Christ. He was lustful of my daughter and I knew the time would come when we would be forced to flee. I just didn’t know it would be quite that soon. I should have been prepared, and I have long been feeling the weight of my failure.

As I led the pack with most of the villagers, I could smell the smoke as my home was burning—most likely set ablaze by that ‘godly’ man, Julius. I trusted in Rafaelo, for he had always been a clever boy much like his father, to see to Gianna’s safety.

It was several weeks later that I returned to the skeleton that had been my daughter’s only sanctuary. Found within were two bodies, charred and near ash. From the size and build I assumed they were those of my daughter and Rafaelo—caught as I was running the other way.

This grieved me greatly, and I must admit I took what little revenge I could. I set fire that night to the home of every villager whom I remembered seeing in that mob—sparing only the wives and children of those evil men. This, even, could not lesson my pain—for Father Julius had vanished, hiding from my wrath. I never found him either, though I searched for several years until I could be certain he was long past dead.

Only then did I go about living once again, somewhat content in my home hear in the countryside of what is now the beautiful Ukraine. Ironically, my home stands not ten feet from the sight of the small hut where I had raised my daughter and where I had thought she and Rafaelo perished.

Why am I writing you this letter, you ask? Because you were the last known contacts of my daughter and Rafaelo, and I wished for you to tell me how to contact my child.

Can you do this? Your people owe me something for the death of my wife at the hands of your ancestors, do you not? For the years I have subsisted with no family? Tell me, so that I may contact my daughter.


Waiting Impatiently,


Lazaro
father of Gianna
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