Silencieux Oubliette (Silent Dungeon)

         A steady dripping and the sound of my rasping breath were the only sounds in the darkness. This, I remember, was the lowest point in my life.  This was my punishment for being what I am.  A rose cannot be any other flower but a rose...and I can be nothing other than a vampire. Though I would give anything to get my mortality back, I can never return to that way of life.

         If humans caught me and my crime was murdering one of their tribe, I can imagine my punishment being a long and trying ordeal finalized by death.  However, I was not being punished for killing a human. This punishment came from a banded trio of vampires who decided that I was a threat to them.  The details of what I had done to them are another story entirely, and spans centuries, but the torment I endured as reconciliation for those wrongs is the focus of this tale.

***

         My prison, my dungeon, was a deep, dark well.  The first night, I could only hope that top was covered; I did not want to imagine what would happen to me as dawn came and the sun climbed high into the sky and burned my naked body.  Being a creature of the night, I could see a little of my cell; only just a few feet above me. It was a mystery how deep I was because even with superior vision, the darkness was almost absolute.

         The walls of the well were going to present a major problem.  Approaching some of the smooth stones with my outstretched hand, I stopped well short of touching them.  Power radiated from them and repelled my hand like two complementary poles of a magnet.  Pressing forward, forcing my hand closer, I began to feel my skin turn hot and burn.  I could not believe what I was feeling.  Quickly I followed the wall in a tight circle and got the same sensation from every stone surrounding me.

         Blessed!  Each stone, as high as I could reach, had been blessed.  A common misconception about vampires implies crosses are poison to us.  We cannot look upon them or touch them without some sort of burning effect.  This is untrue.  What affect us are the holy blessings of God that have been placed upon the cross.  Anything can be blessed and used as protection against the undead.  Place a holy blessing on a baby rattle and I cannot touch it. Like the blessed stones around me, we have advance warning that allows us to detect the blessings within an object; that same force that repelled my hand from the stones is the same thing I would experience with any other object.

         There is another twist to this false theology.  Not just any holy man or priest can bless an object.  Only a person truly touched by God could issue such blessings on an inanimate object.  However, those "Touched of God" are rare; there is just too much unrepented sin in the heart of most men.  Knowing this, sitting at the bottom of my prison, I could not fathom how my accusers were able to find a man, touched by God, to bless every stone of that well.  Was it even their doing?  Did they stumble upon this place by accident?  Did they even know the predicament in which they had placed me?  It seemed clear to me that my death was not their ambition; otherwise, why would they put me here?  No, they wanted to show me they were stronger.  That they could hold their power over me and I was helpless to retaliate.

***

         The more familiar I became with my dark boundaries, new revelations began to surface.  Looking for confirmation, I stretched out my arms in opposite directions.  My elbows were still considerably bent yet my fingertips hovered mere inches from the walls.  To make a rough estimate, the well was five feet in circumference; if that.  Now, since I am six-foot-four inches in height, and I cannot touch the walls, how was I to rest?  I do have enhanced strength and more stamina than any human does, but even vampires have limits.  If I was going to be here for any lengthy duration I was eventually going to need to lie down.  In due course, lying in a fetal position would become uncomfortable.  Sitting up would also prove to be an unbearable task with no support for my back.

         It was then that I knew how much planning my foes must have made to make this the most unbearable experience a vampire could endure.  And I would endure!  I would not die here!  I would survive and exact my revenge.

         Another sad fact dawned on me then. What about sustenance?  By sustenance, I mean blood.  It was odd this question would pose itself only after so many others.  Blood is the basis for my existence, yet it was one of the last questioning needs to scramble through my mind.  While I would not necessarily die, the lack of blood would slowly bring the onset of insanity; in addition, my body would wither and dry.  Eternal sleep would set in and it would take the sacrifice of five humans to give me enough fresh blood to bring me back.

         I could not allow this. My sense of self-preservation was too great. For centuries I have existed and I was not about to let them take away my sense of existence in this world.

         I had to get out of here.

         Dawn was fast approaching; I turned my eyes upward to face my next problem.  Were my foes sympathetic enough to cover the mouth of the well before leaving?  Was my profile of their collective character on spot or was I about to be proven wrong? The rising sun would hold the answer.

         My nocturnal instincts alerted me that the darkness of night was finally succumbing to the coming dawn.  From my blessed hole, I could not see the coming daylight, and with each passing moment, I breathed a sigh of relief knowing something protected me from those deadly, burning rays of sunshine. My analysis of my foes seemed to be correct.

         Distrusting my captors to save me from the sun's torturous rays, my eyes stayed fixed on the mouth of the well. As the sun began to rise, I noticed a small hole in the cover. Through it, I could see a bright spot of sunlight shining on the damp stones.  As the sun crept higher into the sky, the burning ray made a slow trek down toward me.  I watched for agonizing hours, hoping that the sunlight would reach an apex then retreat up the opposite wall.

         I was not so fortunate.  The death ray came straight down the wall and crossed the floor mere inches from my feet.  For almost two hours I struggled to stay out of its path while, at the same time, avoid touching the blessed stones.  The touch of either would be more pain than I wanted to endure.

***

         Day in and day out, I sat hunched over, resting, then standing, avoiding the circle of sunlight and the walls of the well.  On the sixth day, standing inches from the wall while the beam of light made its journey downward, I felt time was slowing down.  It seemed that eons passed before the ray of light finally retreated up the opposite wall.  My resolve to endure was wavering.  My knees quivered and threatened to buckle.  My back ached with the exhaustion of a thousand slaves building the pyramids. I just wanted to lean back against those blessed stones and wrap my arms around the pain as if it were my next lover.

         I lifted my jaundiced eyes to the mouth of my prison and screamed at the top of my lungs; but was horrified at what I heard. My voice, once bold and sure and unwavering, was nothing but a dry croak, a reflection of the starved, sleep-deprived vampire that owned it.

         When the sunlight was safely up the opposite wall, I collapsed into a ball in the center of the floor.  Panting and sweating, everything around me became a fuzzy blur. My eyesight was failing. I needed blood badly.

         On the night of the seventh day, I heard a scrapping from above me.  The well cover slid aside and I could see the dark tapestry of a starry sky.  Shadowed against the black expanse of stars were the dark silhouettes of three men.

         "Dinner time," one of them said with a voice as glass against stone, and something fell into the well with me, bounced off my shoulder, and hit the floor with a squeak.

         Rats!  As my first meal in a week, did my captors feel they honored me with rats? Believe me, at this point, if it took the blood of rats to keep me alive and sane, I was not above it.

         Reaching down, I snatched the nearest rat and sank my fangs through the short, mangy fur and into its squirming little body.  I drank deeply, feeling a brief warm rush of energy spread through my body.  I drank until the little creature's heart quit beating. Then, greedily, I snatched up the next rat. Then the next. There were four in all but I left the fourth one alive.  I had need of more blood, much more blood; what little the three rats had provided would only sustain me for a short time. Why did I save the fourth rat? To this day, I cannot tell you. It must have been instinctual inside me, something telling me to wait, save it, save it for later. Oh how I wanted to taste the warm, coppery nectar of that fourth rat. Looking back, my instincts were correct because the fourth rat fed off the carcasses of the other three and disposed of their rotting bodies that would only otherwise begin to rot and attract flies and other undesirable insect into my already cramped living space.

***

         As the mental calendar in my mind discarded one day for another, the days piled upon days and weeks upon weeks and still I waited in my silent dungeon.  My legs were barely usable, but somehow, despite the cramped confines of my living quarters, I found the willpower to move away from that killing spot of daylight as it crept, first down one wall, then up the other. On one occasion, overcome with fatigue, I brushed against one of the stones and my shoulder burst into flames.  Using a pile of rotting rat carcasses, I was able to sop out the flames.  Most injuries obtained by a vampire heal quickly and leave no trace, but such was not the case with holy burns.  I would have a scar for the rest of my immortal life, a constant reminder of what I had endured in my prison well.

         My captors proved to be predictable; every seventh night, they brought me rats.  I could not understand or reason why they continued to do this?  Why didn't they just kill me?  They could leave the cover off the well and I would be nothing but ash on the morning of the following day.  They could pull me from my prison and behead me; I would be powerless to stop them in my weakened condition.

         But, like a kiss long remembered, the taste of revenge, of vengeance, lingered on my mouth like the blood of my first feeding, so long ago. I endured for so long in that well that I could not begin to dream that I would ever be free again; day after day of avoiding the spot of sunlight and the stones around me, I began to forget what it was like to be free. The monotony of those days was my only reality and the past, forgotten in the cloud of relentless pain in my legs, feet, and back.

         Then, when I could not imagine surviving another day, came my escape.

***

         They came while the moon was full and high in the sky; mortal lovers searching for some hidden spot to fulfill their lusting desires.  Lucky for me they found my prison.  I could hear their conversation as I desperately tried to get my voice to work.

         "Hey Emily, look at this," said the young man as he banged on the lid, the echo pounding against my eardrums like an invisible sledgehammer. Then I heard the sound of the cover sliding slowly off the lip of the well.

         I could see their dark forms against the starry sky above them as they peered into the well.

         "Help me," I managed to whisper.

         "Did you hear something?" asked the female.  I could hear fear in her voice; oh so sweet to my ears.

         A light flicked on and shone down at me, hurting my eyes.  I shielded them with my forearm, taking care not to stumble against the wall.

         "Please, help me," I croaked again.  I saw nothing but the blinding light, but I could hear the young man tell his lover to go and fetch a rope.

         As she ran off into the darkness the young man leaned over and asked, "Are you all right, mister?  How long have you been down there?"

         A puff of breeze stirred his hair and helped pull the stagnant air from my prison. The smell struck him full force and he pulled himself away from the edge of the well and retched.

         He forced himself to look back over the edge and asked, "What's that smell?"

         "Rats."

         "Are you ok?  Are you hurt?"

         "I'll be all right real soon," I said, hoping that he did not hear the menacing tone in my voice.  "I just need your shoes."

         "M-My shoes?" he asked.  "Why?"

         I explained, and I hoped that it did not sound too lame.  "If you are going to pull me up with a rope, I will need some shoes to use against the wall.  The stones are very sharp and I'm already weak from blood loss."

***

         My muscles screamed in protest as I slowly rose from my silent dungeon.  I feigned relief as I fell against the young man, my arm about his shoulder, my face resting in the curve of his neck.  Excitement pulsed through his veins as his heart beat fast.  I could hear that beating call me. Without thinking, I sank my fangs into his neck and relished the gush of life as it flooded over my lips and chin.  He gasped and then fell silent in my arms.  The woman, Emily, was unaware of her lover's fate, and her own, until it was too late.

         I drained their bodies and dumped them into the very well that had held me captive. To cover my nakedness, I took the young man's clothing and fled south. I stumbled upon a small farmhouse just as the sun began to rise.  I hid myself away in the storm cellar and fantasized about the elderly widower who occupied the house. His blood would make a fine meal once the sun set.  Stretching out on a stack of old clothes I found in a box, I relished my newfound freedom.  The blood from the young couple at the well had been enough to rejuvenate my weakness and pains, but I was still far from healthy.  As the sun rose, I slept the sleep of the dead for the first time in almost a year and dreamt dreams of satisfying revenge.

         Waking as the sun set the last whispers of light fading from the sky, I arose.  The old man went to bed with the setting sun and I took his blood as he slept.

         Now, I had an appointment to keep.

         I had escaped my prison the night before my captors were to return to feed me. With the patience of the dead, I waited high in an old cedar tree about a hundred feet away from the small clearing that hid the well.

         I did not intend to exact my revenge with haste.  On this night, I wanted to see their faces as they looked deep into that well and realized that I was no longer there.  They would know that I was out there somewhere, watching.  I would relish in the fact that as they fled, they would become overconfident in their escape.  They would try to disappear into a bustling, rat race world and hope against hope that I would never find them.

         Then, as time wears on, they will begin to relax.  Their thoughts will turn from me and that is when I will strike.  I will maim them. I will scar them. Death is too good for them. I will torment them day in and day out; their torture will be the knowledge that at any given moment, I could end them.  Their lives, their sanity, will be in my hands and I will have my revenge.

         They managed to confine me to a silent dungeon with dripping stone walls and rats as my only company.  Knowing I am still alive, that I survived, my three abductors will forever be confined to a prison of constant paranoia.  Just when they begin to forget, I will tease them with a glimpse of the one they imprisoned, and they will know, fresh and anew, that death is never too far away.