The Fear of the Vampire

Beware the vampire!
It walks the dark, Godless night to drink your blood and steal your soul.


Deep in the night the narrow cobbled back ways that twist through this Balkan town are cloaked in a mist that defeats vision but augments sounds. The smallest sound is heard long before anything comes into sight, a sight that startles by its sudden appearance in the mist. The cold, penetrating dampness in the air is like fear itself. It vies with the silent strength of the stone, coating even the stoic stone walls and cobbles with a cold, beading sweat of primeval fear.

Cloaked and hooded against the chilling wetness, he moved through the mist cautiously with mounting trepidation. Only a most urgent errand would bring him out to a strange part of town at this eerie time, known to all as the time of the vampire. But his trip to the apothecary was a life and death necessity.

He stopped at times to listen. This time there is distant clicking of heel cleats on the cobblestones. They quickly grow louder. From ahead? Behind? The echoing makes it impossible to tell. He stands back pressed against cold stone wall, stiff with heart-pounding fear. He looks left, then right, and then left again, not knowing which way to run. “Why must they fear us? Why must they kill us in ways most gruesome? We want not to hurt them. Indeed, we cannot hurt them. We can share The Blood with them, but we cannot accept theirs in return.”

Three dark shapes appeared and there was a shout, “There’s one! There!” The shapes suddenly became clear through the fog as they rushed at him. Their eyes were crimson with hate and fear and savagery and their breaths smelled heavily of ale and puke.

A hand swung and something hard and heavy hit the night walker high on the head. His vision went white with pain and he felt his body float down with strange slowness to the wet cobbles. Another blow filled his mouth with thick blood, which oozed out through his slack lips to cover his broken jaw.

“Now, boys! Stake him! Kill the creature of the night in the name of God and all that’s holy!” They tore back his cloak and blouse to bare his chest for their fervent purpose.

Pain and shock had shrunk his reality to some small corner of his conscious mind. He heard their words, but it was all rather distant, somehow detached from him. He felt the pressure on his chest. He felt the ribs snap on the first stroke. On the second, the dull wood stake thrust deeper into his chest. The stake missed his heart, but punctured the lung. His body spasmed and he made inhuman sounds as the blood filled his lung and gurgled out his throat.

The three heroes of the night left for home and bed. Nightmares would anneal away the guilt and bury its remnants deep in their devout subconscious to feed future hate and rage. The stories they would later tell in the Pub and at work would incite fear and admiration in their peers.

On the cold wet cobbles, the vampire took quite some time to die in silent loneliness. Finally his grip on the medicines for his child loosened and he was gone. His body would disappear by morning, eaten by rats, and pulled apart and dragged away by dogs.

By morning his wife would be crying bitter tears, having given up hope for his safe return. She will have to help their sick child understand why she will never see her father again.