"Sire"



The wind was fierce, as I could hear the shutters banging off of the side of the house repeatedly, like machine gun fire. The small oil lamp sitting on the table next to me was flickering, the flame dancing to and fro like a gypsy possessed by the music. It was hypnotic to watch, and impossible to tear away from. But none of that mattered. There was work to be done. I picked the book up off of my lap where it had been resting like a well trained dog, and repositioned my glasses to the tip of my nose. Finding my place in the manuscript, I began to read again. I could feel the biting wind nibbling at my cheek. "Damn this drafty house," I said under my breath. With so many distractions, the work would surely never be finished.

Undaunted by this fact, I soldiered on through the text, the words and letters becoming no more decipherable than hieroglyphics as the night wore on. I concluded that it was futile to persist in the readings. I would wait until morning, when the storm had settled. Yes, that sounded right. In the morning, all would be different, and all would be well.

Resigned to this fact, I marked my place in the large volume, and took the small lamp in my hand. I ventured out of the great study, and found my way through the impenetrable darkness that covered every inch of my vision. The banister creaked and shook as I took hold of it, and used it to pull my weight up onto the first step. Each of the steps let out a creak of their own, all slightly different, so that a trained musician could make music from them. But this was not I, nor was I interested in such facts. The only thing that interested me at this moment was the unknown realm of the unconscious.

I reached the landing just as a gust of wind filtered through the sloppily installed window, and at once the darkness returned. Having only moved into the great home a few weeks prior, I knew well enough never to get caught at night without a lamp, for the floor plan resembled that of a maze that rats are trained to run through. But I was not a rat, and I was not able to adhere to the discipline it took to learn the escape route. I took the simple way out. Fumbling through my pockets, I found my box of matches. As I flipped it open, there were only two remaining. It would be my luck that the light would blow out two more times before reaching my goal. I lit one of the matches, and carefully lit the wick of the dusty lamp while shielding the wind with my free hand. I kept that hand in place as I stood up, and continued down the long, ominous hallway.

I passed the door to the guest bedroom, which was wide open, and granted me full view of its contents. I could make out the silhouettes of the furniture under the pale moonlight. They were grotesque in their nature, and would surely be the spawn of the devil, if I did not know what had created these images. A strange thing occurred as I was standing in front of the open door, staring in and passing judgment on the nature it presented to me. To this day I do not know why, but I felt compelled to enter the room, and get a closer inspection of those silhouettes that I found so repugnant. I circled the great canopy bed, with its red velvet side curtains drawn closed. "It almost looks like its alive," I quipped to myself as I chuckled slightly. I reached out for the soft touch of the velvet against my cold hand, and was awoken by a shocking revelation. It was alive. The curtains were damp, and sticky, and the residue had the consistency of honey. The dark red substance in my hand was warm, and I knew what it must have been immediately.

The lamp died out again as I dropped it on the floor, watching it shatter into hundreds of tiny shards, creating a mosaic on the floor. Unconcerned, I rushed out into the hallway, and frantically searched through the dark for my bedroom. It took some doing, and some stumbling, but I made it safely. I entered, and used my remaining match to light the lamp we kept on the nightstand by the bed. As the wick jumped to life, and the room illuminated, I saw nothing. It was the most terrifying sight any man has ever seen. The linens on the bed were ruffled, but there was no body presently confined within. I set the lamp back on the nightstand, and fell to the floor. I was trembling, and sweating despite the frigid conditions in the house. I pushed myself back into the corner, tucked my head between my knees, and waited for the morning light to rescue me.

After what seemed like an eternity, frozen in stone like a griffin guarding a grand palace, I could see the faint rays of sun forcing themselves through the curtains, and making their way into the room. I slowly tried to rise, but fell back to the floor after feeling the sharp stings of pain that now inhabited my muscles. More slowly did I try the next time, and I was able to get to my feet. Everything was exactly as I had left it the night before. It was no nightmare. It was real.

I shuffled myself out into the hallway, still feeling the soreness from spending the night as I did. I stopped when I got to the guest room door. I didn't want to look inside. I knew what I would find, and I didn't want to find it. I drew several deep breaths, and forced myself inside in one motion. There, in front of me, was a sight not even blindness could erase. The guest room was painted white, as it was meant to not be intrusive to anyone who may occupy it. In the room I was standing, there was no white. The walls had a new color to them, a color that was all too familiar.

I don't know how much time had passed, but the next thing I was aware of was a sensation of pain in my head. I opened my eyes, and was curious to see how I had managed to migrate to the floor. As I sat up, the blood rushed back to my head, and temporarily blinded me. As the swirling patterns dissipated, they were replaced with that same vision I last remembered. I figure I must have fainted at the sight of it. I knew I wasn't unconscious for very long, as the sun was still low enough to be visible through the lower half of the window. As I made my way to my feet, again in pain (which has become too much of a constant), I closed my eyes so as not to have to look at that sight again. It didn't make a difference, as it's horror was burned into my eyelids so that it could haunt me for eternity. I turned, and walked, and as soon as I was sure I was out of the room I opened my eyes again.

I made my way down the stairs, giving no bother to the creaking, and headed straight for the kitchen. I needed nourishment for what I knew would be a long day, but I could not bear to eat. The mere sight of the food made my stomach quiver, and my knees weak. I grabbed my overcoat, and headed out the front door, and into the world again.

The rain and the wind had stopped, but you could still smell them in the air, lingering as if to remind you that they were still there. The rain was always vein like that. It had to leave a legacy, and could not just fade off into the horizon quietly. The road was mud, thick mud, and it caked my boots with every step I made. There was a sickening sound each time my boot left the mud, and the same motion created a jerking feeling that prevented a normal walking rhythm. It was another mile to his house. It would take another half hour to get there in these conditions I calculated. That gave me time to think.

I saw many things as I walked. I saw squirrels gathering nuts for the oncoming winter. I saw a hawk circling me overhead. It didn't know I wasn't food. I saw trees overturned, leaving holes in the earth that one would swear could lead you down to it's core. But the one thing that caught my fancy most of all was a small bird. It was a sparrow I presume, and it was pecking it's beak into the soft, moist ground. After repeated futile attempts, he managed to catch a worm. He held it in his beak, and I could see the worm convulsing, trying to escape the clutches of its capture. Its familiarity was not lost on me.

After a length of time, I could see his house rising triumphantly from the grey horizon, it's muscular wings set to each side of a massive facade. As I turned up the walkway, I wondered if even he would be able to help this time. This case was different, it was more deplorable than any I had ever seen. It might be even out of his scope.

I grabbed the massive knocker of the wooden door, and I gave it three hard thwacks. I could hear a rustling, then steps, and then the door opened.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He knew I would never be there at that time of the morning if there wasn't a problem.

"There's been another one. It got her."

His face blanched, and he had to grab hold of the door frame to keep from falling. "Dear lord. How did it happen? When? I..."

"It was last night. I was in the study, with the manuscript. The wind was howling. It must have smothered the screams."

"Give me a minute to get my gear, and we'll have a look"

"I should warn you. This one's different. It's worse."

He gave me the most solemn look I had ever seen from him. He had been through war, and countless battles, and had not shed a single tear. He was as hardened and as tough as they came, and yet, I could see a tear in the corner of his eye as he turned back into the house.

Moments later he returned, carrying the equipment he would need for the job. I could see two trails carved into his sunburned face. This one had even gotten to him. He was beginning to lose the war we had been fighting for so long.

Side by side we strode together through that mud filled road, neither of us daring to say a word. Pleasantries were over, and we needed to focus. The walk seemed to take hours, with the anticipation and dread of walking into that room again. It could not be put off long enough for my liking. But, to spite my wishes, my home appeared to us, looking strangely frail, like it were about to collapse in onto itself.

Up the front steps we went, and we didn't stop until we had reached the landing at the top of the staircase.

"I should warn you. This isn't going to be easy."

I know," he replied, and I could hear the gravity of the situation in his voice. No longer did it instill the confidence that I had grown accustomed to. If anything, it made me more afraid than I already was.

He went in first, and before I could get my head in the door I heard him gasp. I knew this would happen, as neither he nor I had seen such a sight before. I doubt that any man ever has. I peered around the corner, and I saw him standing, slack-jawed, frozen in the middle of the room.

"I told you this was different."

"You were right. But.....I never could have imagined."

"I think it's obvious that we both know the cause of this. We need to formulate a plan for what we're going to do."

On these words we both crept out of the room, silently, and without looking back. No words were exchanged until we made it to the study, and we had the manuscript to analyze. I poured two drinks, one a scotch and the other a brandy. It was early in the morning, but we had earned them. It was about the only thing that could make us forget.

He was flipping through the pages of the manuscript ferociously. When he would come upon a passage he thought was promising, his eyes would flare, and a slight smile would form on his lips. But it would always vanish seconds later, before I could ever ask him what he had found.

"This is hopeless", I said. "We've been after this for years now, and we haven't made any more progress than a child could have."

"That's not true."

"What have we done here? What?"

"We're close. I can feel it."

"You're deranged."

He was convinced that we were only seconds away from finding the key to unlock this Pandora's Box. For all we knew, it was under our own doormats, doormats too thick to feel it under as we walked in and out of our houses, unaware that the secret of life could be right under us.

He slammed the book down on the desk, the thump of it's leather exterior on the solid wood echoing throughout the cavernous study. He slumped into the wing chair, facing the fire, running his hands manically through his hair. He was at his wit's end, and it showed. Never before had I seen him in such a state. He was always the rock, and I was always the moss, and it pained me to see him crack and cleave under the pressure of the situation.

"Well....there is one thing we haven't tried," I mentioned, half under my breath.

"What?" His eyes lit up at the mention of this.

"I didn't want to have to suggest it, but I don't think there is any other alternative."

"Out with it already."

"Alright. We could always set a trap, one where we would be the bait."

I saw his pupils dilate, and he struggled to swallow, attempting to gather the strength to speak.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that would be? One of us could die. Hell, both of us could."

"I'm ready to take that risk. Drastic action needs to be taken, and this is the only means left. There is no other choice."

"I hate to admit it, but I think you're right."

"Than we know what we have to do."

We did know, and we knew that it was both dangerous and insane. But we didn't care anymore. We knew that if we didn't go through with it there would be repercussions that we couldn't live with. We were both exhausted of the chase, and we were ready to set up one last road block, and if it failed, he would go free into night. Our consciences would be clear either way, as we would have done everything within our power to stop the monster. But my conscience wasn't clear yet. I had a feeling that neither one of us would make it out of this alive.

The sun was high in the crystal that covered the earth, with rays of light raining down like a warm shower. It was one of those days where the children would play hooky, and spend the entire day laying in the waist high grass, and picking out the shape of the odd cloud that floated and wafted across the otherwise perfect view. It was that kind of day, and that made it all the worse.

Out training was hard, as we had to keep indoors, in the shadows of the griffins guarding the entrances of the great hall. The children were keeping us from scouting locations for our road block, as any activity that we would partake in would be met with suspicious glances from the most piercing of eyes. It was only noon, and we were already at a disadvantage. We needed everything to work perfectly, and the first attempt was thwarted.

The sun was falling quickly over the horizon, like a gold coin flipped into the midday sun to settle a bet. Sweat beaded up on our foreheads, dripped down, and soaked our once dry shirts. He would be able to smell our fear. I knew that. He seemed to be oblivious, locked in a state of meditative trance. I didn't believe in that stuff, but if it could make him himself again, than it was a miracle. The darkness began to creep over the hills and settle in the valleys like a thick fog. We saw it approach, circle around our feet, and move on without incident. The time was upon us, and we set out.

Our strides were narrower, and less confident than they were just hours earlier, before we resigned ourselves to this fact. The darkness was all around us, pushing in and trying to push us out of the way. We were invaders to it's serene existence. We ventured on, undaunted, and ready to make the necessary sacrifices. We could only see a few feet in front of our faces, the darkness acting like a thick lace veil, but we could see the outline of the great iron fence. We had arrived.

The fence was the last obstacle separating us from fate. The gate hung limply from its hinges, decayed and corroded, and offered no visage of resistance. We crept through, and went our separate ways. I took to the north, heading along the fence line to the great oak tree that stood overhanging the stone mausoleum. The grass was wet, and I could feel the dew flying into the air with every brushing step that I made. I was one of those blades of grass, sweating under the weight of what was about to occur. I reached the tree, and clung to its bark like a child newly reunited with its mother.

I crouched on the ground, in the silence, the thick and impossibly horrid silence, waiting for his signal. Each second passed in what seemed to be an eternity, my mind beginning to collapse onto itself under the weight and stress it was bearing. The darkness we were standing in was working its way into my brain, replacing the light of hope with its own hope of failure. I hated the darkness. I hated everything that it stood for, and everything it did to achieve its goals.

As I was slowly drifting into the unconscious, I heard the high pitched hooting of an owl. That was the signal. I peered into the black night, straining to see any form there might be. Near the door of the mausoleum I could see a figure. It was creeping out and around towards me. I could see its eyes, glaring, full of hate, and red. It must have been able to smell my fear, as I was drowning in it by this point. Hunched slightly, he crept closer, unaware that I perceived his progress.

I leapt up and let out a yell the likes of which had never escaped my lungs. He was startled, and stopped in his place. His eyes darted from side to side trying to find the source of my madness. I waited, as he became sure that it was nothing, and returned to stalking me. He took his time, and I was thankful, as he was overtaken before he could reach me. My partner had jumped him from behind, and the two of them were engaged in a struggle. I saw fists flying, heard the pounding thud of the blows, and could smell the fresh blood being exposed to the cold night.

My hand fell to my side, and gripped the revolver that I had strapped to my thigh. He was unaware that I had it with me, but when he saw me slowly expose it, and raise it, glinting in the moonlight, I could see a smile cross his lips. I cocked the gun, my hand no longer shaking, assured of every movement I made. The figure turned it's head towards me, and I could see the devil in his eyes. I held the gun without hesitation as he got up and slowly took a step closer. My partner was also to his feet, and was motioning for me to shoot.

I knew what I was doing. I knew that the bullets would have no effect on the figure. They weren't for him. When the smoke cleared, and the commotion stopped, I could see one figure standing tall. The other was laying on the ground, bloodied, in a heap. I stood over him, and looked down at him with contempt. We had fought together for so long, but he could not see the light. What we were fighting was not evil, it was our own immortality. I had a revelation, I knew that I could live forever if I gave up the fight. So did she. It was never an accident, it was planned.

The next step was for me to join. She stepped out of the mausoleum, looking exactly the way she did the last time I saw her, only a little more pale. It would be that way forever, and I couldn't be happier. She took her time, savoring the fact that she would sire me into the realm of immortality. As I felt the prick on my neck, and felt my blood pumping into her jaws, I had a strange feeling of contentment. I never knew it would be this sweet.

His bloody corpse lay on the ground, in the moonlit shadow of the tree. He was the only one who could have stopped this, and I could never let that happen. It is better for all of us this way. She and I will live forever, and he will know that he died doing his destined work. He would have a clear conscience, and I wouldn't have to worry about having one anymore. I was right when I said neither one of us would make it out alive. My hunches are always right.