Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S4 Ep149: Episode 149: Vampire Horror Stories

Episode Date: December 7, 2023

All of tonight’s podcast stories have been kindly shared with me via my subreddit for the express purpose of having me narrate them here for you all.  1 NosferatuNacht  https://www.reddit.com/user/Corpse_Child/  2 Greg against The Night  https://www.reddit.com/user/Stoic-Dreamventurer/  3 Rise of the Countess  https://www.reddit.com/user/Javelineer1957/  4 The Eternal Order  https://www.reddit.com/user/MaybeEyeAm/  5 You Said Forever  https://www.reddit.com/user/A_Vespertine/  6 Calley of the Damned, and Loving it  https://www.reddit.com/user/Stoic-Dreamventurer/  7 Young Girls Shouldn’t Wander the Woods Alone at Night  https://www.reddit.com/user/Dangerous_Ant_8377/  8 Bloody Bonfire  https://www.reddit.com/user/Javelineer1957/  9 I trusted him  https://www.reddit.com/user/TheShadyPear/  10 Because I love you  https://www.reddit.com/user/crypticwander/

Hey Ontario, come on down to BetMGM Casino and check out our newest exclusive. The Price is Right Fortune Pick. Don't miss out. Play exciting casino games based on the iconic game show. Only at BetMGM. Access to the Price is right fortune pick is only available at BetMGM Casino. BetMGM and GameSense remind you to play responsibly. 19 plus to wager, Ontario only. Please play responsibly. If you have questions or concerns about your gambling or someone close to you,

please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepen's Dungeon. Vampires captivate us by embodying a mysterious allure that straddles the boundary between life and death. Their eternal existence, supernatural powers and complex relationships with humanity tap into our primal fears and desires, weaving a timeless narrative that explores the profound and often dark facets of the human condition, as we will see in tonight's collection of short stories. hours ever before we begin a word of caution.

Tonight's tales may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violent and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. Then let's begin. Noshratunacht, my corpse child. For just over 15 years, Berkingshire, England, in its bright and wondrous splendor was the breeding ground for joy and cheer. Every year the denizens of the city gathered around the centre of the square

to share the tales of the otherworldly, tales of goblins and elves, of wizards and witches, tales of heroism and valor. This particular holiday was known to them as Law Night, the one time of the year where any patron young and old were invited to come from any and all countries and cultures around the world. Law Night always began upon the setting sun and would seldom end until the rising dawn.

Of course, food and the best of the freshly brewed ale were always anticipated on this night. fresh killed and deptly prepared game accompanied by what would be compared to at least two full-grown fields of delicious crops on select few occasions it was said that even be music played as the tales of the larger than life were being told the best aspect of law night according to most in burkingshire was when one storyteller would suddenly attempt to weave their tail in such a way that would attempt to outdo the other tales being told that night for example two years back a young lad captivated all in attendance, beyond all others with his tale of a fierce and virtuous warrior that would conquer beasts and dragons alike for the protection of his kingdom. Another tale that was applauded above all others from a particular law knight was spoken by a Norwegian sailor who regaled his own account of encountering and defending his vessel against the wrath of the damnable droga. Until tonight this tale was considered to be incontestable in its popularity among the commoners in Berkingshire. And this Law Night, however, would shift the very history of Berkingshire, forming an irreficable crimson stain on its otherwise joyous visage.

This year's Law Night began like every year before it. The excited and anxious storytellers began to amass in the centre of the city where at least three cords of dry logs lay neatly prepared for the token bonfire that would blaze bright through the night's festivities. Long tables of food and drink began being prepared. The market clerk, who always ran the meat and produce stands was, as had always been from the prior years on this night, at the forefront of preparing the holiday's feast. On this occasion, however, he was determined to make this year's law night feast bigger and more gluttonous than any before, and any to come. The timbermen of Berkingshire began to double the size of the festive pyre to ensure its continuous burning. It seemed that the commoners intended for this year's law night to be the biggest and boldest of them all, as if it may be their last, and, for many of them, this night would indeed be their very last.

The setting sun saw the lighting of the festive pyre in the centre of town, and he gasped in awe and excitement at the monumental height of the hungry scorching flames, easily tripling the height and overall size of the years before. At this the mass hastily flocked to the tables adorned with the gratuitous feast. Indeed, the market clerk and those in his assistance had outdone themselves, for even upon the setting sun's last glimmer, many were still preoccupied with gorgeing themselves on the delectable meal and were unable to tell their tales that they prepared all year for this night. Well, that is, except for one man. This man, in fact, declined silently to partake in the feast.

No one saw him touch so much as even a single crumb from the Bountiful buffet. One or two individuals approached him, attempting to extend warm invitations to join in the Bountiful banquets. The stranger answered these advances with only a cold, stoic and malignant stare. Upon witnessing this behaviour from the stranger, many in this congregated mass began to feel the slight chill crawl up their spines, as they observed the stranger lingering near the festive bonfire, whose heat began to grow so immense as to be felt by all in the nearby vicinity. Even as the heat of the blaze intensified, however, the stranger wouldn't remove the long dark ashen grey trench coat whose collar was erected upwards as to conceal its size. face, only exposing the eyes under the brim of his pitch-black, wide-rimmed hat. As he stood so close to the pyre that the congregation began to wonder what kept him from being

set ablaze himself, the features of the strangers, or rather, like thereof, became more pronounced. The muted stranger's eyes were covered in red, raging veins, giving them an appearance not wholly dissimilar to a rabid animal. The arices were as devoid of hue as the trench coat that concealed his features from view. In the centre, however, the stranger's pupils were somehow even darker than the light sky above, as if looking into them could cause one to be stripped of their soul in a matter of mere seconds. In spite of the stranger's foreboding presence, the attending mass gathered around the towering inferno that was the festive pyre as it was time for the night's tales to be told. However, despite the full years' time

spent preparing for this very moment, none in attendance could remember what stories they came to tell. none that is except for the stranger whose gaze still fixed on the dance of the large flames before all of them so you've gathered here for stories have you uttered a cracked hoarse voice as if the speech was performed under some sort of intense strain on the vocal cords though hoarse and strain the words were every individual ear had perceived them there was a clear stance of absolute certainty in everyone's minds that the voice was indeed that of the stranger who until that very moment had remained distantly cold and completely mute. The sudden shift in the stranger's behaviour caused the attending mass to take a back in shock. I will share a story with you, a story that will make you realise the mistake you've all made, and have been making for a generation. This statement, a dreadful chill overtook the wind's breeze, causing the patrons to shiver, despite the ever-blazing inferno before them. This abrupt change in temperature caused some to position themselves closer to the flames in a feeble attempt to find some semblance of warmth in the

midst of the suddenly chilling air, an attempt that proved futile as if the very essence of the flame's natural heat had been taken away, leaving them to dance wildly about to top the festive pire. This abrupt phenomena, coupled with them formerly mute and mysterious strangers threatening and rather ominous statement, forced an air of unease into jarring sense of dread to spread throughout the congregation. None of you believe in the entities in whose names you've forge these tales of fiction from, effectively desecrate him the respect and fear they were once due. Well, none of the patrons in the present mass knew how to comprehend the mystery strangers of brazenous claims. Surely, they optimistically thought, this facade is nothing except a mere

act as a tactic for captivating the audience's attention. This was law night, a light of fun and sheer in the regaling of folk legends of elder days and the toortails molded by the machinations of eager imaginations not the grim and macabre as was implied by the stranger the tale i will tell you now is the story of my land from which i hail take special care to listen for when penance comes upon you all you may then know in your beating hearts and your tortured souls the full extent of those whose you and your mockeries have disgraced. Ah, this tale, the stranger began, remaining stiff as if he were a statue cut from marble or granite,

with his unwaveringly menacing glare, eternally fixed within the fire's flames. This tale begins with the priest of my native land, Father Durkenshaw. You see, the father was a good man, a righteous man. Only as he was, the wills and righteous ways of the God most high-blinded the good father to the dangerous arrogance of closing his mind to the powers beyond the grasp of even the heavenly father's might to contest. As the stranger continued his

blasphemous macabre narrative, a stench of decay in formaldehyde laced the air, was breathed by the congregated audience, forcing more than many of them to begin to gag, whilst others attempted the banquet they'd enjoyed profusely from being emptied from their stomachs as the offensive odor continued to pollute the formerly fresh air. Father Dirkanshaw, the stranger continued, had no tolerance for any such aspect of life that was not deemed as being of God's will. Much like you all, Father Dirkanshaw is all too swift to brush away anything deemed not of holy merit, as but mere illusions of deluded and perverted minds.

Like all of you, the father conducted his life in this manner for many a generational cycles. blissfully ignorant of the forces that play beyond the sacred rites of the Christian faith. The flames began to shift colour from the bright orange to an infernal red. All at once the formerly lost heat returned twofold, forcing the patroness to profusely sweat. Beyond the mild physical discomfort, however, was an infernal terror that this, as well as the previous phenomena, must in some way or another be connected to the stranger. this collectively agreed upon conclusion was not voiced by any however so as to not draw any undesirable attention to themselves as well as to feed their equally growing sense of morbid curiosity in hearing exactly where the stranger's story would go next the stranger's eyes widened further pronouncing their disturbing appearance that is he continued his voice further distorting with each uttered word until the arrival of a conjurer whose very name

nature could and did challenge the will of the church. No one knows where he wandered from, as no one could remember any interaction with him. He hadn't even known of his name. The surrounding darkness outside of the immediate radius of the bonfire's light began to crawl inward, close to the towering blaze, engulfing nearly all of the congregated patrons, leaving only a select few to be spared from the shadows by the ever-raging fires light. Wimper's of terrified anxiety rose amongst them as they began to lose sight of each other in the encroaching void whilst the stranger still illuminated in the glow of the blaze continued regaling them of his ghostly statement the stranger began to finally undo the buttons of his trench coat and not quite yet enough to expose any of his

features apart from his corpse like eyes you see the conjurer wished to live in peace amongst the naflux the stranger continued his cold sinister gaze appearing to caused the flames to dance more viciously upon the festive pyre than before. But his hunger and conflicting practices forced him into a life of cold solaceed. He would spend his days in a blissful hibernation and would walk the land under the moon's glow. That alone, while trivial and mysterious to the commoners, was not what caused them to shun him. It was his unnatural palate for living blood.

It was at this very moment when the now captain, motivated mass began to perceive what they could only describe to be the chilling laughter of a pack of hyenas who lost themselves to some sort of state of hysteria. Hearing these cackles, certain individuals found themselves grateful in an odd sort of way, and the oppressive darkness that now nearly swallowed each and every individual had rendered them unable to see even so much as their hands in front of their faces, lest they be forced to envision whatever demonic beings that could produce such a noise. and despite the increasingly overwhelming urge to attempt flight from the morbid phenomenon occurring in the city centre,

and the congregation could find within them the strength of will even to flee in fear. The stranger's ghoulish narrative continued, despite the infectiously spreading dread amongst the mass, whom were now swallowed in entirety by the looming shadow. His taste, his lust for warm, fresh blood, could never be sated, for such is the existence of one such as he always craving never enough however in spite of his ravers nature he wished only peace to the village folk and for many years he would live off the blood of the livestock one night upon his awakening the country had spied upon a beautiful maiden the most beautiful of any in the long

recorded history of this lifetime to ever have and ever would walk these lands the love Love birth within him has not been felt since his conception into this earth. The manic howls from deep within the looming shadows became louder, growing closer and more pronounced, much in the same fashion as a flock of predators encircling their helpless victims, allowing the venomous fear to cripple mind and body before gorgeing themselves upon the fresh pound of flesh. Screams and shrieks of fright rang out into the ever-persisting darkness as glints of maliciously ravenous eyes shone as crimson as that of the rubies encrusted within the trinkets of the maidens present in the horrific scene of unholy events.

Having been left with no conceivable alternative for escaping the menacing darkness and whatever malevolent evils were within, the mass began to congregate as close to the blazing festive pyre as was physically possible, yet still taking great care to be away from the stranger, as if wandering too close to his presence may see them afflicted by some nature of unsame. faintly power that he may supposedly possess. What by thy lordly given name, sir, from the distant lands beyond?

She asked the mysterious cundra. The stranger's narrative continued, and to this the conjure spoke to her the very name that reigns the utmost supremacy in the land that I hail from. I, my sweet delicate blossom, am a lord, Vladimir, clavicular, of the Eastern Kingdom. The stranger roared the name aloud, causing the blaze to flare in an angry burst and the deranged howls and cackles within the consuming darkness to bark out into the open night, creeping ever closer to the centre. As swiftly as his eyes could entrap hers, her heart succumbed to his lustful whims. Many a night following the proud Lord Clavicus would call her from her tower to meet him, purely for the consumption of her precious blood from her beautifully porcelain neck. It was said that Lord Claviculus's bite filled the maiden's heart with further desire for him,

for each night she was sent to have grown restless, impatient for her consort's return. At this, many within the congregation began to feel cold, petite hands softly caressing their bare flesh, as the cackles within the consuming void continue to advance upon them. Soft, inane whispers were heard by each individual ear in the captive mass, almost appearing essential in nature. The stranger, of whose damning glare, never arrested from the ceaseless fury of furious flames within the festive pyre,

continued whilst his voice further stripped away into a malicious rattle, Pire hatred as his tale went on. Oh, her blood did he drink, drink and drink, until she no longer answered her master's siren call. From many a night he'd search for her, starving of the young mistress's blood when he discovered the truth of her absence. For after they last met, the natives spoke against her to the ever-righteous Father Dirkenshaw,

who, in all his holy practices, ruled her to the world and holy father above as a witch, a devil's familiar. With their faith unwavering and their blind convictions, the distraught Lord discovered that his maiden had been felt, like many a maiden caught victim to blind conviction by a raging fire like this before you all now. Screams of inhuman agony deafened the congregation now as the wild untamed flames began to shape and form themselves into the form of a young, delicate maiden. Just as soon as its fiery birth was complete, a blackened moor opened, it released an agonized wail that invoked an in utterable pain and sorrow that blended with the presently potently potentation.

fear within the mass that could not and would not waver as the flames returned to their former state unyielding in its enraged ferocity the stranger began again his ghastly vocals taking on an air of aggression vengeance his inhuman voice barked vengeance he swore to exact on those whose holy ways led them to commit this atrocity upon them in the cold night he came many a morn followed and a family would find more of their dear beloved gone in the night, only to be spies upon the succeeding dusk as one of the disciples of the Nosferatu, Lord Vladimir Claviculus. I condemn you all, you bleating sheep of the Lord, he wrought to them on full moon twilight. Damn you, damn you all, whose faith blinds you to the world's existence beyond God's law.

Your actions deemed righteous by your God because of your lack of vision and lack of control stripped me of what I held dear to me. For this I declare that as long as I am bound to walk these lands with earthly feet, the setting sun on this night for every generation to come, myself and my dwellers of the night will come. Any of whom we spy in their play, we shall strip away from you as you stripped her away from me. For this I swear to you and all whose faith and corrupted practice can dodge your lives. For this night will belong to us, the Nosferra. of the vampire. I christened this very gravely dusk, along with every such that recurs on every century to come, as the Nosferatu-Nacht. The Vampires' Night. And upon his declaration's conclusion,

the vampire, Vogue Loviculus, began his dark campaign with sating his feral ire, with blood he spilled from the great priest, Father Dirkanshaw. Many perished at the rough and burning ire for warm, innocent blood that night before the sun rose, warding him away until the next annual cycle awakened him, concluding in the same grotesque manner as before. The abysmal cacophony intensified to a deafening pitch, with only the stranger's ghoulishly rasping voice being able to be distinguished separately. From that night and every noisrak to nacht since, low clavicular has walked on this cold night, stating his desire for blood on those that foolishly neglect to pay credence to his words. Upon the conclusion of the stranger's horrifying anecdotes,

the mad cackles of malice abruptly died, shrouding the congregation in a jarring silence, save only for the crackling of the flames. As the stranger began to remove his trench coat and hat for the first time, revealing a gaunt and bony face bound with grey, clammy flesh pulled taut over his skull and long wispy strands of albino hair, his coal-blue, dead lips, began to part upwards into a deranged volpine grin

and exposed unnaturally long, thin canine molars as sharp as the nobleman's dagger. Upon sight of this, a young maiden from the terror-stricken audience squealed out. Who are you? The stranger, stealing his gaze away from the festive pyre for the first time, fixed his eyes to her. My dear, delicate blossom, I am Lord of Vladimir Clavikulus of the Eastern Kingdoms, and tonight is Nosferatu anacht, the Vampires' Night.

At this chilling revelation, the blazing fire burst skyward defiantly into the air to illuminate the horde of beasts that took residents in lurking darkness only moments before, each and every one of them bearing their vicious fangs, for indeed these were the disciples of the vampire clavikulis. no sooner than the first squeal of hysteria was let out, and the stranger the vampire Lord Clavaculous bared his own fangs, rolling his eyes back into his skull with pleasure as he clamped his jaw around the young maiden's neck, savouring every last amount of crimson he could take from her.

As he rose from her, now stripped of life, the once furious flames abruptly ceased, shrouding the helpless mass in complete darkness as the Nosferatu came upon them. Try as they might, none of the commoners could escape the inhuman and supernatural clutches of the scourging beasts as they were swept away and torn apart like a herd of lamb in the midst of a wolf's den from what must have been in every direction in the impossible looming darkness.

No cries for mercy were heard or heated when the sun rose that more. Silence had laid its claim to Berkingshire. All it remained of the events of the accursed nights, with the smoldering embers of the festive pyre, and the mutilated and exanguinated remains of the Lornaut mass, now set to become eternally bound to the tradition of the Nosferatu knock. Greg, against the night, my stoic dream venture. The time I defeated a master vampire, well, I survived anyway, sort of. I'm Greg, I'm young, full of life, and I just stumbled upon an honest-to-god vampire nest,

taking all that Hollywood had taught me I geared up for a late morning of vampire growing Using a rather large shrub for cover I ran through my checklist Goggles, holy water guns Blessed crosses Silverplated cross emblem brass knuckles It was a Sunday morning

Less likely for anyone to be around at this time After all I lived on the Bible belt in the States I proceeded by taping up The already blacked-out windows as silently as possible so as to catch the falling glass when breaking them. I attached a duct tape handle to assure the glass wouldn't just fall noisily. After all the windows were broken, I scaled the gutter to the master bedroom window. Garlic paste infused wholly water gun in hand and the sun at my back.

I burst through the window, anti-vampire water gun blasting away. Something or someone had me firmly by the throat, suspended in the air. "'What the hell, kid? "'Tines, eh?' "'It was the master vampire, "'but once more, "'she was standing in broad daylight. "'See,

"'don't you a bit old to be so pluckily charging into a vampire there? "'Do you think cooking spice in Jesus water would kill me? "'Don't tell me you actually thought the sun would do all the work for you. "'I'm not so young as to die by that.' "'She loosened her grip, and I slammed, the floor, looking up to notice she was terrifyingly beautiful and completely naked. Um, sorry, I, uh, she laughed and then abruptly stopped. Go ahead, get an eyeful, the master vampire said, bearing her fangs in a wicked grin.

Vampires die by sunlight. You're allergic to sunlight. Well, the order you are, the less severe the reaction. It only makes me sneeze now. Any last words before I drain you dry and make you my slave? Knowing I'd soon die anyway, I said what any say a 19-year-old would say. That's what she said. Well, in an instant, she latched onto my throat and began to practically vacuum my blood out. Within seconds, I began to lose consciousness. And then I heard something I hadn't expected.

Laughter. Sitting on the verge of unconsciousness, well, perhaps I imagined this, I heard it say, Ah, you've amused me just enough for me not to turn you into a mindless school. I don't want another simping idiot, drooling over my power or my body. Are you practically spat in the face of damnation?

Will you continue to surprise me? Maybe time will tell. And everything faded away. Nothing to feel, see or smell. Scratch that. I could smell something. Well, no, not something. Everything.

I could smell the damp earth, the old rotting wood of the box I light, and the freshly cut grass above the shallow grave I'd been thrown in. But more importantly, I could feel the sun setting as the cemetery's caretaker began his work of cleaning the graves nearby, as well as an unsettling sensation in my gut, building until I could feel the hunger gnawing at my insides. The last thing I remember before I burst forth from the grave that night was an unfamiliar voice inside my head. crying, screaming like a demonic baby. And simultaneously, our first words together as we shook off the gravedusters, well, as the last words the graveyard's caretaker would hear, Blood, Rise of the Countess by Javilleer 157.

Captain Fred Hogbehan watched in indifference as his cavalrymen laid waste to the defenseless village. Having removed everything of value and burned the rest, they now turn their attention on the insuffer. inhabitants. The grown men of the settlement were tied up and used for lance, sword, bow and matchlock practice. Most of their wives were enjoyed for a while, and then likewise dispatched. The stronger and younger men and boys would be taken back to fill the slave markets of the Eternal City, and the undefiled maidens would join the harems of its ruling class. It was a fairly typical affair as far as

Reziah's go. A gruesome business to be sure, but fresh blood was always needed for the the merchants at home, and an important lesson had to be taught here. The Imperial Army had easily conquered this barbarian backwater, but a few worthless hamlets would have to burn here and there before the local peasantry learned to accept their new rulers. Besides, thought Baham, his cut of the loot and the slaves would enrich him significantly. It was, he had to admit, not a bad way to end a campaign. May camp for the night and be merry, lads. Caravan leaves to tomorrow and then we travel home without spoils. Kroenig, the stonemason's eldest son,

had a wet cloth tight to the sick girl's head and made silent invocations to the gods for her well-being. He didn't dare do it loudly, not after the screaming fit she'd burst into when he'd first started praying. A sixteen-year-old's freckled, elfin face contorted in pain and a deep-set brown eyes lulled crazily in their sockets. Alcina was desperately ill,

and no one could guess what from. Bayhan had noticed her condition and had ordered herbs, a blanket, an extra ration of water, and he even had her ride in his personal surgeon's car. The petite little peasant girl was a beautiful specimen, and he knew that a high price would be paid for her at the markets if she could reach them alive. If she lived, he thought, he might even have to make a bid himself. He was glad that none of the other captives showed signs of illness, or at least not illness of the physical kind.

A few had frantically spoken of a strange old man who'd wandered the stockade last night, chanting in an unknown tongue and performing some horrid ritual on them. These he'd flogged, as he was uninterested in the superstitious ramblings of simple peasants who must be losing touch with reality. The journey was slowed by rain and mud, and Alcina's condition worsened over the next few days.

She could eat or drink nothing without vomiting. At night she would intermittently scream about the visions that tormented her. She spoke of flying iron monsters that blazed fire through the sky, about obsidian black castles and temples that rose into the clouds, about strange words and verses burned into the lightning. She also yelled defiant threats concerning the coming ruin of the Third Empire and the grisly deaths of those who served it. Eventually the soldiers who couldn't speak her language

and had tired of her ceaseless noise ordered that she'd be wrapped away in a blanket and gags. At the first light of the sixth day, she fell silent. Behan's surgeon told him that she was on the threshold of death and nothing more could be done. Some of his men insisted that they be allowed to enjoy the maiden while she still remained warm. Bayhan finally relented on the matter.

Two servants were called to retrieve her from the covered wagon to place her in one of the tents. The entire company buzzed with the key. excitement at the news, as men were caught up by the squad to await their turn. Captain Freytog, Behan, of course, will be at the very front of the line, rank, as they say, has its privileges. The sergeants roughly pulled away the blanket, expecting no trouble from the pitiful wretch wrapped inside it. They were rather surprised when two pale arms stretched up to grab them by each throat, squeezing so tight that their voice-boxes exploded into bloody strands of gall.

The thing that had been Alcena pulled two large daggers from the sheaths of the diemen as she let past them. One of these was flung into the eye-socket of a nearby enemy, another was repeatedly driven into the chest and belly of the nearest swordsman, whose downward stroke she easily dodged before seizing hold of his weapon. A spearman was her next victim. She parried his shaft with her new scimitar and then dove the dagger between the bottom of his helmet and the neckline of his chain mail cutting open arteries in a spray of blood no more threats were immediately incoming so she stopped to take in the crowd of raiders who gathered around her the men gasped in disbelief at what had previously been the object of their pure ill fantasies new muscles could be

seen rippling beneath her skin though not enough to logically explain the damage she could do to men three times her size. She wasn't just pale. She was as pired as the belly of a dead fish. Her breaths came hard and rapid, and her head was beset by occasional nervous twitching. There was no sign of panic on her face. On the contrary, her lips were pulled back into a grotesquely cheery rictus grin. Her brown eyes now glowed as red as burning coals, and her hair had likewise become as crimson as the blood that spattered her simple linen dress. The fact that her features still maintained much of their innocent-looking, elf in delicateness, only heightened the wrongness of what they were seeing.

Five down, and 95 to go, she thought. Alcena knew this was going to be a hard battle, in spite of her recent enhancements. It wasn't as bad as it looks. About one-fifth of those 95 were only support personnel, comparatively untrained, un-untrained, unarmed and unarmored, and thus very little threat to her. Many of the rest have been consistently helping themselves to merchandise looted from the village in,

and could be counting on for inebriation even at this early hour. Besides that, they had been taken by surprise, and many wouldn't reach their weapons and armor in time. The heavy rain of the last few days would hopefully dampen the powder of their firearms and also reduced the effectiveness of their infamous composite bows. and as a unit of mounted raiders and light lances they would hopefully be unused to fighting in the mud in close melland most importantly alcina had been suddenly tinkering the minds of all her campmates over the last few days she'd seen to it that at the time of action her captors would be as fearful and indecisive as possible the two hundred captives in contrast would be as enraged and aggressive as possible and while under the captives would be as fearful and indecisive as possible and while under the captives would be as fearful and in afts of possible and while unarmed peasants, many of them children, could do precious little against a host of professional killers. They would at least serve as a useful distraction. mere seconds passed before yells and shrieks broke out from the encampment.

Alcina gave her own wolfish howl before she strode into the nearest foe, shattering his thrusted lance and cleaving him from crown to sternum. Her blades and body worked in a blinding fury as the others came at her. she gave ground when she needed struck back when she could and focused on positioning herself to where a minimum of enemies could approach her at once her heart skipped a beat a few minutes later when a sound like thunder rang out and she heard the crack of a musketball passing near her head she looked up at one of the ox-cars to see a cloud of smoke from where a teamster had fired at her damn nation the horsemen might all be washed up but the men in the carts must have thought to keep their powder and matches safely stored in oaken chests and gut-skin pouches. She hadn't considered that, and it could become a problem. She could take a few sword strikes or arrows without too much inconvenience, but she really didn't know what these gunpowder weapons would do to her, nor was she overly eager to find out. Good thing the gunner must have not been a very good shot.

Following his lead, a more skillful-looking javeline ear, something else she had suspected posed an in inordinate danger to her, joined him on the vantage point and prepared to lose his missiles at her. One of the village children ran up and bit him on the ankle. He squealed in pain, turned around and repeatedly stomped the child's skull with his heavy boot. Then he jerked spasmodically and suddenly went rigid. Surprised, Alcina looked closely to see that he'd been impaled on a lance point and now stood impaled upon the car. Cruny emerged from behind the Oskirts and nodded to her, clothing soaked in blood and eyes burning with a craze fury to almost match her own. When the village is found Captain Freitog Behan, cowering beneath his bedroll,

Alcina declared that such a worm did not deserve to die a man's death. With a hot knife and a pair of fleecing shears, she proceeded to deprive him of absolutely everything not essential to living, and then bade his surgeon to keep him breathing at least until he reached the eternal city. She ordered the slain enemies disembodied and their heads sent back along with him. Two other men who had, for whatever reason, not been such eager participants in the violation of her people, were also allowed to keep their lives, as she needed a second car to hold all the severed heads. She considered blinding at least one of them, but realized it might be better to show kindness now, at least in the presence of her new subjects. "'Crunny looked unsure of himself "'as he ventured outside the main encampment,

"'clutching his partisan in hand "'and wearing a fine surcoat and chain-mell suit "'that didn't quite fit. "'Alcina had separated from the others, "'taking several of the horses and refitting them as pack animals. "'What she intended to pack was a mystery, "'as they were leaving absolutely nothing "'in this featureless wilderness except for a bunch of headless corpses.

"'She was now tending to her, fire and doing something very weird with the meat she collected, removing all the fat and cutting it almost parchment thin before hanging it to dry over the flames. He idly wondered what she'd expected to accomplish in the absence of salt, but was in no mood to ask. She stood up and more glided than walked towards him, and he resisted the urge to shrink back in terror. You're ready? she asked. Yes, we head back the way we came until you can catch up. with us, just like you said. I still wish you would accompany us. She shook her head. I'm different now. I need meat, and it will be foolish to leave so much of it for the vultures. You can handle

things until I come back. You're my marshal, and you'll see to it that my subjects are protected, at least from anything that isn't me. I'm no marshal. I'm a simple peasant who happens to be a bit stronger the most. You are, whatever your countess says you are, and you'll never again suggest otherwise, boomed Alcina, fire briefly flashing in her red eyes. Now he really did shrink back in terror. Kroenig was so shot by the sudden outbursts that he actually let out a frantic

chuckle. Alcina chuckled as well, and then she smiled at him. Look, if I can't be a simple peasant anymore, then neither can you. it will work out a better arrangement at her later dates. Until then, this is your duty to me, Marshall Creek. Fail me, you'll be punished. Please me and, well. She closed the distance and placed a hand on his cheek,

gently caressing it. You'll be rewarded. The eternal order by maybe I am. Sweat. The amount of sweat dripping down my face was unbearable. entirely I was drenched my face was as hot as a summer morning my clothes clung to my body oh god I hated the stickiness of the sweat it felt like I had the worst fever of my life but rest assured this was no fever the discomfort I endured was a punishment punishment from God a punishment for what I'd done for the evil acts I'd committed

but I'm writing in this journal as an act of repentance. As be it a sweat dropped from my brow onto the pages below, I shall illustrate just what I've done. Have mercy on me, please. My parents had left three days earlier. They were to attend my father's uncle's funeral. I don't know what to call my relationship to the deceased. Great uncle, possibly.

Regardless, they'd left my younger brother. and I to fend for ourselves while they were gone. My brother just started high school. It's not the brightest of the bunch. He grates away at the fibre of my being. He's annoying and self-centred. To put it short, he's an asshole. An asshole, but still my brother.

And I had to take care of him. Everything went without a hitch until last night. Last night when we watched a movie in the living room. A vampire movie. A vampire movie were a vampirian. expel his cast onto the town, transforming the residence into bloodthirsty hounds. What ended, and we joked about how little we were scared, and we went to sleep. The unrelenting sounds of the clock eroded away at me. It was 3 a.m., but I wasn't asleep. Why was I not

asleep? Why the hell was I so full of energy? Why was I so nervous? Well, my mind began racing, my breathing sped to a rapid pace. My heart was beating a thousand times a minute. My heart was beating a thousand times a minute and the walls were closing in on me. Darkness filled in my vision and I was struggling to breathe. I thought I was having a panic attack. I mean, I'd never had one before but I assume this is what it felt like. I was sure this sensation would never end, but then it did. The episode ended and I was left with a sense of overwhelming clarity.

My mind was so clear that I became terrified. That vampiric spell cast in the movie, it had gotten to me. It grasped me, and now it won't release me from its clutches. It wanted blood. It wanted blood, and it wanted it now. Well, I had no choice but to obey. I couldn't force myself to act in any other way.

Even though I knew I wanted to stop, I couldn't. My bed creaked as I got up. With an old bed, and I always complained about it, but my parents didn't care. The floorboards creaked as I slowly stepped on them. We lived in an old house and I always complained about it but my parents did not care. I stepped into the kitchen, a knife creaked as I pulled it out of its block. It was an old knife and I loved it because of that.

All the history it had, being passed down from generation to generation. It had a beautiful and ornate golden handle carved into the shape of the light. I stayed there instead at it for what must have been an hour. I could feel myself stalling. I knew what had to be done. Swiftly, I ran into his room. One slice was all it took for his red gold to flow at a continuous pace. He felt nothing, but I felt everything.

A sense of euphoria was overwhelming. It was the best feeling of my life. I didn't stop until the lifeblood was entirely drained from his body. I wasn't done yet, as there was a substantial amount that spilled onto the floor. I cleaned it as fast as I could. the floor was spotless every trace of the deed erased no evidence of the crime remained except for my guilty conscience all this done with the most versatile tool of them all the town now we're back to the present tense i'm sitting here drenched in regret contemplating what

occurred and documenting the events in my journal well i know this journal is dangerous i know any jury in the world would convict me after reading it didn't even dispose of the body it's still there laying on its bed but i don't care because i serve a higher purpose now an eternal order today is the day my parents arrive all i can think of is how they'll feel i wonder how they'll react i wonder if they'll still love me i wonder if they'll understand um oh the door open And I wonder what they will taste like. You said forever by A Vespitee. Annabella woke to complete the impenetrable darkness, as she did every evening,

although that was perfectly normal for a vampire lady of the forsaken coast. The hematocrats, as they were affectionately known, did not hide from the sun in coffins, but in ornate inner sanctums hidden deep within their fortified castle. As all slave societies do, the hematocrats lived in eternal fear of a slave revolt and went to great lengths to safeguard themselves from such an event. They built their castles in the shadowed mountains, which were perpetually and supernaturally overcast by dark clouds at all times, though the hematocrats themselves still rarely dared to go outside in the day or even linger in the rooms with windows. Each castle was accessible like only a single narrow path, and from their high-watched house, and from their high-washed house, the keen night vision of the damned was capable of spotting advancing armies fumbling in the dark from miles away.

For all overseers were brutal, armed with the cult weaponry and richly rewarded. Castle servants and guards were all devout members of the cult of the night-born, and their courtiers, well, not vampires, were all undead revenants of some sort, who had no need to fear ending up his midnight sacks themselves. No, this was of any concern to Annabel, however. Though she bore the title of lady, she was no more than a consort to Lord Luciano, with no sovereign, authority, or responsibilities over his thraldom. She had once been a mortal girl, living in poverty, nearly starving,

and under the constant threat of becoming vampire food, should she become unwilling or unable to do her lord's bidding. Too terrified to dare resist him, she instead dedicated herself fully to him as a member of the night-born cult, in the hopes of appeasing him and receiving his blessing. It had worked as he had taken a fancy to her, made her his consort after his previous bridehood, unsuccessfully tried to usurp his position.

Now Annabel was a pampered, if undead, princess, who had never even needed to hunt for her own prey. With a flick of her finger, Annabelle telekinetically lit all of the crimson candles, within the sanctum of lacquered ebony, a warm glow reflecting off her porcelain white skin as she shrugged off the furs and rose from her slumber. She luxuriously stretched her lithe form before climbing onto Luciano's muscular frame and lowering herself onto his blood-engorged organ. Her vampiric body could sense his pulsing, supernatural blood as she took him into herself,

which had added an ecstatic new dimension to sex for her. "'Good morning, Master.' She smiled, she swept back her raven-black hair and bent down to kiss him. His response was little more than a pleased grunt. He was always horny when he first woke up, but groggy, which meant that Annabel got to be on top. Going to bed was a different matter, however,

as he would ravish her until they'd both collapsed from exhaustion. As usual, when Luciana was satisfied with Annabelle, he gently pushed her off and went to open the chamber door. as she laid there to collect herself the door was by design too heavy for anyone but Luciano to open easily and no mortal could force their way in without making enough of a racket to awaken the chamber's occupants Annabel while superhumanly strong herself didn't know if she could open the door on her own as she'd never felt the need to try Luciano however was able to push it open with a single one-handed shove

he then pulled upon a cord to ring a loud bell and within second the chamber was flooded with satin-clad handmaidens to help them both prepare for court. Have we received any sacrifices for tonight's court, Obrana? Annabelle asked hopefully, as her maid combed her hair at her vanity. Yes, mistress, a wagon arrived earlier with at least several prisoners. Both you and Master Luciano will be able to have your pick. Obrana smiled at her, showing no aversion to the casual question of whether or not her mistress would have the opportunity to commit murder that night soon the lord and lady were dressed in their silk and velvet robes

and with their entourage of attendance proceeded to their throne room braziers of heavy cast iron hung on the walls of dark and ancient stone kept lit day and night for the sake of the mortals who worked and lived there nearly every stone surface had been carved with a relief depicting hideous demons triumph and victories over rebellious thrills or bloody and barbaric rituals tapestries, paintings and statues portrayed similar themes as well, and there would have been no point in filling up the castle with such magnificent propaganda if their subjects couldn't even see it properly. When they reached the throne room, it was filled with silent, vigilant guards

and pretentiously dressed, undead courtiers, having lively and spirited conversations with one another. When the master of ceremonies banged his gong to announce the arrival of the Lord and Lady, everyone immediately stopped what they were doing and bowed. in reverence to Louisiana until he'd taken his seat upon his tall marble throne. Annabelle's seat was much smaller and more feminine, but every bit as ostentatious as her lords. They weren't side by side either, being spaced far enough apart that each of them could have a handmaiden standing on either side of them, the result being that she was far enough off-center

that no one could ever accidentally mistake her for being a corrigent with her husband. when both were seated the gong was rung again and court was in session as usual the courtiers apprised luciano of happenings affecting his thraldom then bickered with each other over the best course of action until sycophantically nodding in acquiescence when their lord declared his decision none of them ever really spoke to annabel directly which was fine with her she was bored to tears by politics and was grateful that luciano never objected to her chatting quietly with her hand maidens during court. The only thing that was of any interest to her at all was brought up by their archmage, a charismatic old lich by the name of Galacar. He was as ugly as his lord and lady were beautiful, with grey and withered skin, sparse white hair and a complete absence of a nose, lips or eyelids. Another had ever held him back or got him down, though, and with his charm, wit, and a jaude-de-viv that many living people would envy, he had successfully carved out a powerful

position for himself in Luciano's course. At the moment he was briefing his lord on information he'd received from some of his foreign correspondence. The witches of Whittaker had recently lost the region of the howling woods to a Lycan revolt, greatly reducing their timber supplies and forestalling their attempts to build a war fleet and attempt an invasion. He began to suggest ways that Luciano and his allies could support the Lycan revolt to further destabilize the country and prevent an invasion indefinitely, when he began to be able to beapeutic,

when his lord firmly rose his hand in a plea for silence. Galacar, while I appreciate your vigilance in safeguarding my throndom, this hardly seems like a matter that can be decided in one conversation, and my bride and I both first, he announced, opening his mouth wide and letting his glistening fangs descend. Annabel smiled at Gallagher, letting her fangs descend as well. I suggest we discuss this issue later in a special session and move on to tonight's sacrifice.

Gallagher cleared his throat and nodded humbly. Of course, my lord, as you wish. My apologies. You're right, this isn't the most pressing issue, and your vampires of the blood-drinking thing is non-negotiable. Let's make with the blood, then, shall we? Gallagher said, eagerly clasping his hands together. "'Gaards, guards, bring forth their sacrifices.'

The master of ceremonies began to rhythmically beat the gong, and the courtiers all formed a large circle. The guards brought in a procession of chained prisoners, each of whom had been sentenced to death by their local overseer. Though they'd all been charged with heresy against their lord, that was an extremely broad term that covered everything from actively trying to raise a revolt against him to falling behind in their quotas for reasons,

utterly beyond their control. They'd all been clad in pristine white robes as if they were there for a baptism, or a couple of them shook in terror at their imminent violent deaths, most appeared to be numb to their inevitable fate, too beaten and dejected to care or fight any more. Annabella rose from her seat first and moved in to inspect them, as was her custom. You're all pathetic and ungrateful, she sneered as she circled around them, licking her fangs as she did so. and worst of all, selfish. How dare you not offer yourselves freely to us? How dare you think you have any right or reason to survive?

You are all mortal, and as such, your deaths are inevitable, and your lives meaningless. If you did not die tonight, then you would at most live a portly handful of years more before inevitably succumbing to any number of painful maladies, and within another poetry handful of years, you'll be utterly forgotten. Regardless of exactly when it happens, this fate will be able to be able to be able to beckonel of this fate awaits you all so i ask you how then is it reasonable for you to delay it or immoral for us to hasten it since the dawn of your kind you've known that your finite lives can only be given purpose and meaning through serving something eternal something that will persist once you're dead and forgotten

those mortals lucky enough to be held in thraldom under a hematocratic lord are exorbitantly fortunate to have such an intimate relationship with their gods, to spend your lives in direct service to us. We grant you the privilege of dedicating your brief lives to us, lives that would otherwise be wasted searching for purpose, where none is to be found. You have all failed to recognize this for the gift that it is, and have chosen either to squander it or forsake it altogether. And for this insolence, this sacrilege, you've been offered to us as sacrifices, and we, will. We, willingly accept. Take solace in the fact that, well, you may die tonight, my husband and I will live forever.

Your ephemeral lives mean nothing, and our eternal lives mean everything, and your minuscule contribution in maintaining our lives is the greatest thing any mortal could ever hope to achieve. She lunged in for her first kill now. A girl who'd been trembling constantly, and looked like the only reason she wasn't weeping was that she'd already wept herself to the point of dehydration. Annabel had nothing but contempt for such weakness, and took great pride in her sacred duty as a predator

to coal weakness and improve the fitness of her prey species. The girl tried to scream as Annabel's fang sunk into her neck, but her jaws clamped down with such force that she couldn't even breathe. The blood gushed out of her punctured jugular into Annabel's mouth, with each racing heartbeat, with Annabel hastily gulping down each mouthful as it was squirted down her throat. It took only a moment for the girl's body to be completely exanguinated, and, just as the heart gave out,

Annabel, at the pale and already cold corpse, fought the floor. One of the sacrifices attempted to flee, only for her bewitched manacles to send her writhing to the ground in pain, which was enough to douse anyone else's hopes of escape. Annabel smiled serenely as she felt the blood's warmth radiate outwards from inside her, her teeth glistening and bright red in the effervescent torchlights. While the blood itself was necessary to maintain her physical body,

it was much more vitally a ritual that sustained her connection to the primordial blood god that empowered her. With his bride fully fed, it was now Lord Luciano's turn to take his pick of the offerings. It was a full foot taller than she, and a hundred pounds heavier. It was unlikely to be satisfied by only one sacrifice, but still liked to start with the largest victim before him in hopes of saving some for later. Telekinetically brushed both the living and dead girl on the floor out of his path,

grabbed hold of the second tallest and most robust man among the prisoners. He was bearded and bawding, and despite the harsh conditions he would have endured recently, while still quite plump. He'd likely been a merchant or a cleric or a bureaucrat, some privilege position that would have kept him both well-fed and sedentary. While Annabel preferred peasant girls, either for their ease of consumption or out of some self-loathing over her own past, Luciano thought it was important to regularly feed on mortals from higher up on the pecking order as well. He didn't want them getting complacent or forget that they were still merely food to him just like everyone else.

Luciano's fangs pierced the man's neck and he began to griddily gulp down the precious sanguine liquids It was warm at first Which is exactly what Luciano had been expecting But then it was hotter than usual But he still didn't stop drinking It wasn't until it started to burn That he actually dropped the man to the ground

Everyone stared in confusion at first Then gasped in horror The sight of smoke pouring out of his mouth "'Master!' Anabel whimpered, her voice laden with fear that she had not felt since she was immortal. Before Luciano could respond, he fell to the ground. "'Master!' Annabel rushed to his side, while Gallagher grabbed the man he'd been feeding from, who was now laughing hysterically.

"'What the hell did you do?' he demanded. "'I've been drinking nothing but holy water that I consecrated myself a month.' He beamed, completely indifferent to his profusely bleeding neck injury. I took care not to sin once all the time, too. My balls are as blue as sapphires, but there's not a drop in me that is not sanctified. Galacar released the man at once, furiously wiping off the corrosive blood that had spilled onto him. The man was seized by the mortal guards, who, likeing any other clear instruction, took him to the dungeon. "'Annebel, back away. Don't get the blood on you,' Gallagher warned, turning to see that a weeping Annabel had already thrown the unconscious and possibly already dead Luciano over a shoulder and was rushing out of the throne room at her full superhuman speed.

"'Annebel!' Gallagher, Annabelle's handmaidens and multiple guards and courtiers chased after her. When they caught up to her, they found her at the door to the inner sanctum, weeping in despair and, screaming in agonies, her skin burned from the consecrated blood that Luciano had vomited on her. She pushed at the door with all her strength. Slowly, but surely, inch by inch, he barged open. When it was just wide enough to squeeze through, Annabel dashed inside and tossed Luciano upon the bed. He weased haughtingly as he still fumed smoke from his burning insides, but he wasn't dead yet.

Annabel pulled loose a seemingly random wooden plank from the wall and let it drop to the floor, reaching into a concealed compartment. She grabbed a small square vial from within it and poured out its cork with her teeth. Taking her husband's head in her hand, she gently poured the contents of the vial down his throat as she incoherently pleaded for it to work. She and everyone else in the room watched an excruciating anticipation as the smoke slowly died and Luciano's wheezing turned into a hearty cough as he expelled the remaining remnants of holy water from his sister.

Annabelle's weeping turned into joyful sobs and ramblings as she wrapped her arms around him and everyone else sighed a relief at their lord's recovery. My lord, thanks a full responsibility for this attempt on your life, Galakar said as some of the handmaidens began cleaning the blood off their lord and lady. I'm responsible for screening and preparing procedures for sacrifice, and making sure they're followed. He should never have gotten anywhere close to you, and I'll make sure nothing like this ever happens again. It wasn't your fault, Gallagher.

Luciano coughed in a hoarse voice, pondering over the vial that Annabella given him. Send a new overseer to wherever he came from, and tell them to put the old overseer in a gibbet. At once, my lord, Gallagher nodded, immediately spinning around and fleeing the sanctum, as quickly as his undead legs would carry him. just in case Annabel felt differently about it not being his fault. The rest of you leave us well. I need to speak to Lady Annabelle in private for a moment, he announced. All the guards and handmaidens obeyed without question,

leaving Annabelle staring at her husband in confusion. Did I do something wrong, Master? She asked softly. You knew that this was here and what it was, he asked with a raised eyebrow as he held up the vial. Yes, she nodded. It's Icho from Moloch incarnate, a single ounce of his primordial being given in exchange for a thousand ounces of virgin blood from severance sacrifices. I thought it might neutralize the holy water and reinvigorate your healing ability.

And it did, didn't it? It did, Lucianoid. But why didn't you drink it yourself? What are you talking about? You were the one who was dying. I mean before, as soon as you found it. Surely you realise what this is capable of. If you drunk this, you would have gained at least a century's worth of vampiric power,

probably becoming even more powerful than I am. You could have let me die just now, and my castle, my thraldom, everything, would have been yours. Annabel stared quietly at him for a moment, looking both baffled and heard by his questions. Master, I love you, she said simply. do you really think those things are all I care about that I would hurt you or steal from you or let you die when I could have saved you just to take control of your chateau?

I mean what I say to the sacrifices you know about mortal life being meaningless you saved me from that you chose me from all the girls in your conference to be your bride granted me eternal life and I love you for that I swore to be yours forever

not for so long as our love shall last not until death has due part. Forever. I swore to love you forever. You said forever. She hung her head sadly, having nothing more to say. Luciano sighed guiltily, gently tilting her chin and meeting her gaze.

Annabel, beloved, I'm sorry, you're right. You've never been anything other than a dutiful and loving wife, and have never given me any reason to doubt your loyalty, he acknowledged. You are in fact uncommonly and surprisingly loyal for one of our kind, and I guess sometimes I forget that, but I won't forget tonight, or that you save my life. He kissed her affectionately on the lips and swept back her hair. Thank you, Master, she said through a warm smile as she caressed his hand. And I guess it's understandable that you'd be a little paranoid.

Your last wife did try to kill you after all. That she did, and you are unquestionable. more loving and devoted to me than she was. Luciano assured her. Prettyer too? Absolutely. Better in bed. Well, he teased.

She grabbed a pillow and started beating him over the head with it, heedless of his laughing protests. The prisoners squinted as the door to the dungeon creaked open, letting in a rare crack of light. As expected, the servant girls came down with buckets of water and broth, handing it out with a ladle to the enchained inmates. Though some were already too anemic to pay much notice of what was going on around them, those who still had enough presence of mine left to them,

took notice that Galakar had come down to visit them as well, along with the Lord and Lady of the castle. Stay out of spitting distance, your graces. I haven't been able to do anything about his holy bodily fluids yet. Galacar advised, as he gestured to the would-be vampire-slayer, chained up on the wall furthest from them. The wound around his neck was wrapped in a cloth, soaked in dry blood, but he otherwise appeared to be in good health.

He slowly raised his head at the sound of Galachar's voice, his expression darting at the sight of Annabel and Luciano smiling smugly at him. "'San of a bitch,' he croaked. As expected, he spat at them, but the ball of sanctified saliva fell short of its mark. "'Come over here and finish what you started, you cowards.' No. You tried to make me a widow. You're not getting a quick death. Annabel snarled at him. Tell me, blue balls. Have you realized what we keep these prisoners for? Did you perhaps ever before realize that the number of sacrifices was nowhere near enough to sustain the vampire population

if we killed every night? This is our blood farm. You take no more than a pint or so from each of them at a time and rotate the feeding so that they have enough time to replenish the blood volume, if not all the iron and other nutrients. Their health and quality of blood declines over time, of course, but it increases the total amount of blood we get from each sacrifice by more than tenfold. She snapped her fingers and a pair of guards moved in to force a tube and funnel down his throat. We'll be getting every drop of holy water out of you. We'll force feed you water and diuretics until it's all flushed out and then you get to be a blood bag for us like the rest of these miserable wretches your sacrifice which could have been over for you in a moment will now

be stretched out over months and years of agonizing disease torture and deprivation he tried to object or curse her or beg for mercy no one knew what he was trying to say as the hose made intelligible speech impossible and had us smirked as the guards began pouring the icy cold water down his throat. Some of it gurgled back up as he struggled, but most of it he had no choice but to swallow if he still wanted to breathe. Be careful with him now, boys. I'm looking forward to having a failed slayer as a blood front. She proclaimed as she tenderly took her husband by the hand and led him back up the dungeon steps. Come now, Master. It's nearly dawn, and I can sense that the Icour has you even more amorous than you,

usual. Gallagher moved to follow them, albeit with a lingering look of concern towards their newest prisoner. Try to collect as much of his urine as you can, he added. Oh, if it's sterile and wholly, I'll likely be able to find some use for it. Kelly, of the dams, and loving it, by Stoic Dream Venture. Vengeance is bitter sweet. Well, for me, vengeance has a coppery taste, and it's just a bit meaty. On the eve of this God-forsaken night, thoughts and memories of my past came flooding into the forefront of my mind

like the biblical fucking deluge from the Old Testament. Reminders of a more difficult time in my life where everything just seemed like such a challenge. I overcame those challenges, not at first, of course. Some might say I sucked at almost everything I did. But nowadays, I'm sure I know I suck. but I've become perfectly accepting of that fact. Echoes of tumultuous feelings, all but washed away by my rightful feeling.

No, not feeling, washed away by the knowledge of my superiority. Still, remembering a time where all my enemies seem so pretty, so beautiful even in their cruelest moments, and how it all made the pain of their kicks and slaps sink just that much deeper. It all seems so sublime now, almost beautiful. but they're not not anymore but i am now let me take that gag out have you anything interesting to say am she's hung upside down hold tired to the support beams in my cellar just like the socialite hog i knew her to be please please don't do this listen listen callie you don't have to do this oh god oh i don't i don't

Oh, thank you for your permission. Wow. I didn't know I could just stop. You've really opened my eyes. Almost wide enough anyway. Don't worry. Your carotid artery is about to be open wide enough to make up for everything you and your precious plastic cleek did to me 20 years ago.

The faint metallic scent of my previous prey mingle with a slightly musty smell of my cellar. not enough to truly distract from the bodied aroma of panic and desperation rolling like waves off of Amy the building sensation of anticipation was nearly ruined by the ghosts of the seemingly endless days of school hell she and her clique subjected me to stealing crushes they didn't even like taking their virginity for sports breaking the freaking law they were seniors but me and all my crushes were freshmen and sophomoress never mind i'm going to enjoy this The sound of muffled sobbing and pathetic thrashing can be heard. Amy, oh Amy, before your blood's mine,

before I greedily suck away all of your sweet, thick vitality, and use you like a vanilla-flavored $4-dollar gas station protein shake. I'll let you in on a secret. All five of your besties gave up your name and location first. I lied to each of them, saying I'd spare them if they told me who to drain first. And they all said you, Amy. Oh, and Amy, all of their husbands and yours, they have me as number one on their speed dials now.

I knelt down, gripping her by the hair, purposely let her get one last eyeful of my eternal peak condition body. Nobody would ever look at me and assume I wasn't a pre-graduation university student, let alone that I was pushing 40. I looked you in the eyes and willed her to, be still. Of course, her inferior human nervous system complied, well, less complied and more like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck. When I began speaking to her, it started like a lover's whisper, but grew steadily to nearly ear-shattering volume. You know the real reason I'm doing this?

You know, I mean, besides the fact of the resulting state of mind I was in which led me on a self-destructive streak after high school. Thanks for that, by the way. No, no, no, you did the same thing to me that you did to Sarabelle. Do you even remember Sarabel? That year she lost her mother to cancer and all you and your plastic gleeck had to say to her when she begged for your sympathy for your mercy was good for her. She's probably in a hurry to die just so she didn't have to look at your pimply freckled covered pig face. Now, Amy, let me help you choke and die on your words.

I faced her roughly towards my great-grandmother's silver-backed, full-size mirror, where Amy could get a full view of her own condition and fate, and my clear lack of reflection. I unhinged my jaw, just within view of her peripheral vision. I sank my fangs into her throat as my snake-like jaws gripped halfway around her neck. We both watched the mirror in those moments. One of us in the throes of death and terror, the other in the throes of ecstasy and victory.

before the light left her eyes she witnessed her blood fill my stomach my veins and arteries before my image slowly materialised her last sight was her blood turning my cheeks rosy my lips red and a smile in my eye

before throwing all her clothes into my manor's hearth-fire I set her designer brand shoes aside after all of her earthly remains were destroyed I slipped on her shoes so they were a perfect fit I couldn't resist a good pair of stilettos.

Now one of my few weaknesses now. Now that Sarabelle's revenge business is out of the way, I'll swing by my best friend's grave, see if maybe her ghost wants to hang out for a while. I'll just take a pinky bond if she does want to come with, and we'll have a great road trip. Besides, though, her revenge is now complete. I have more than a bone to pick with the demons aiming

in her five friends made deals with. Good news, Sarabelle's delighted to come along with me. Now my best friend, let's see what the husbands are up to. They made deals with the same demons as they're now expired wives. One of them is bound to steer me in the right direction. Young girl shouldn't wander the woods alone at night. It gets dark very early this time of year, this far north. By 4 p.m., the sun's already set, and dusk is upon us.

definitely not the ideal conditions for a girl who looks as young as I do to be walking home alone. The route that I'd chosen from the junior high school to the house was particularly off the beaten track and took me through several tranquil and deserted areas of town. No parent with even a shred of love in their heart for their child would allow them to make this walk at any time of the year, let alone in the depths of winter. It was just after I'd passed the cemetery and I was about to turn onto the path through the woods that I became aware of his presence. At this point, he was what you would consider a safe distance behind me.

I didn't want to turn around and look directly at him. Still, I could tell from the heavy footfall of his steps and the excited nature of his breathing that he was about 30 or 40 feet away. There were no other people around, and this road was a dead end with no houses on it, meaning that the chances of someone driving by were minimal. I was acutely aware that it was just him and me. Despite many thoughts running through my mind at that moment,

one above all was controlling me. If this situation is going to go down the way that I think it will, I'll need to make a move right now. I started to increase my pace, not so much that it would be immediately apparent, but enough that I would significantly increase the distance between him and me, unless that is. he really was following me and altered his speed to keep up.

Sure enough, within a couple of seconds, I sensed him breaking into a slow jog in order to catch up and close the distance between us. Okay, Conradle, time to make a choice. Do I run or do I turn and confront this man? I was right at the head of the Woodland Park at this point, so I decided to turn around. Hello, mister.

Can I help you with something? Are you last? I detected the slightest hint of surprise that I'd acted in this way. Still, he quickly regained his composure and continued his slow approach. Hey there, little girl. I was just out here looking for my dog. I think he went into these woods. Do you want to help me find him?

He was smiling at me now. What's your dog's name? I asked. What? Your dog's name? What is it? if I'm going to help you find him, I need to shout his name. Oh, yeah, his name's friend.

Was he surprised by my question, or had he hesitated because he needed to make up a name? Well, I'm kind of scared at Docs. I think I'm just going to go home. I'm sorry I can't help you. Oh, can I at least walk you home? Which were you headed? It's dark out here and not safe for little girls like you. He was edging ever closer to me now and had a big, creepy smile plastered across his face.

Oh, I live just on the other side of these woods. Trust me, I can make it home just fine. I still like to walk with you, if that's okay. I mean, I'm sure my dog is in there somewhere. His icy blue eyes were laser-focused on mine now. It almost felt like he was trying to hypnotically control me with his gaze. well um if you really think fido's in there i guess you should look for him fido's a crazy old mud he said i'm sure i'll find him in there there is no dog this man definitely means trouble time to take action

i turned and started running into the woods while i had a couple of seconds head start on him the fact is that the body of a thirteen-year-old girl can't run as fast as a fully grown man. He caught up with me ridiculously fast, so quickly, in fact, that we were still within the view of the road. The street lamp gave off enough light for us to be seen by a passerby if one were to approach. What did you run off for? He asked. I'm not going to hurt you. Sorry, Mr. I just got scared at the thought of your dog running around in here. I got bitten by something pretty nasty when I was younger, and I thought of it happening again freaks me out. Okay, I understand. Let's keep walking, and I'll keep you safe from any stray dogs.

Hey, are you hungry? I have some food I could share with you. Let's find a nice place to sit down and eat. What do you have? I was kind of hungry as it happened. Mmm, delicious homemade spaghetti and bolognese sauce. Let's go a bit further into the woods, and then I'll share it with you. He didn't have a bag with him, and there was no way he was hiding some container full of food in his pockets. This was bullshit. No thanks, mister. My elders say I'm allergic to garlic, so I shouldn't eat Italian food. Okay, then, let's just keep walking.

His heart rate was increasing, and the adrenaline was kicking in. I could smell the excitement oozing from his paws. Here, let me hold your hands. You'll be safer that way. He didn't wait for me to respond, grabbing my hand in his clammy grip. He was a strong one. It was apparent.

There was no way a regular girl of my heightened frame would be out to escape this bastard. We walked on and were soon far away from any streetlights and any semblance of safety. As soon things were going to take a turn very much for the works. He clearly sensed this too, letting go of my hand and standing in front of me to block the path.

The disingenuous smile had now gone. Okay, little lady, fun time is over. Well, for you anyway, my fun is just about to begin. He withdrew a set of handcuffs from his pocket and dangled them in front of my face. I seriously fucking doubt that Johnny

This was the part that I always loved the most A look of utter shock on these asshole's faces When I first called them by their name I'd seen it dozens of times before And it never grew old Now for the next part Or he'll be rocked back for a few seconds Before trying to reassert his authority

Wait, wait, what? How did you know? I didn't let him finish his question. Johnny Muddin, paedophile, rapist and child killer. We've been tracking you for a while. Dammy looks stupid, still dangling those cuffs in front of him. Guess what? We found you. Just watching the cogs of a regular human's brain. slowly turned was not my favorite part of this whole game though.

Come on, work it out already. Then you can pretend it doesn't matter that you're the boss here and we can get down to business. I don't give a fuck what you think you know. Oh, good. The bravada would return. It was always more fun when they still thought they had the upper hand. I'm still going to torture you,

rape you and then leave little pieces of you scattered all over this forest. Again with the dangling handcuffs. What was wrong with this shit head? Oh, which hand should we start with? You want my left? The fucking schmuck had a look on his face like it was Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one. He advanced and roughly placed the handcuff around my left wrist.

Things are going to get real ugly now, little lady. He was smirking. He genuinely believed he was still in control. At least we can agree on something. Okay, Jackass, let's get this over with. I was going to make this quick. This piece of shit wasn't even worth twying with. I grabbed the other end of the cuffs and clasped it around his wrist.

There was no way he was going to escape me now. What are you doing, kid? What, you think that's... I jumped up and sank my fangs deep into his neck. Oh, I would feast on him later, but for now, ripping out half of his jugular would lead to a suitably painful death. I climbed off of him and spat out the chunk of flesh under the ground in front of him. In his shock state, he actually bent down and tried to pick it up, as though that would fix his lethal wound. I wasn't going to allow this sick bastard even that tiny crumb of false hope, though,

and dragged him away into the middle of the close. any last words johnny this was a little crude of me what with the fact that this asshole was choking to death on his own blood i didn't have much sympathy though you know out of pathetic gurgling sound looking up at me pleadingly sorry didn't catch that he was as wide as a sheet now and not long for this world time to monologue you guys just don't put in the effort anymore i mean for fuck's sake i only got into town last night i was obviously indisposed during the daylight hours meaning i know you had zero time to prep this damn i remember the old days when sick fucks like you would at least put in the effort you know a couple weeks of following your victim regular drive-bys watching the home through binoculars learning the names of friends but you you just spotted me and decided there and then to act on your impulses. Fucking pathetic.

It didn't even occur to you how dumb it would be for a girl to be walking through the woods on her own. God, it took me less than two minutes to lure you in here. His breathing was extremely laboured now. He had moments left. Okay, fair enough. Nobody expects one of our kind to look the way I do. Hey, like I said, You should have put in the legwork.

Goodbye, Johnny. And with that, I decided to feast. It always tastes better when they're still alive. Even if only jazz. Bloody bonfire. By Javelineer, 1957. The following document was recovered from a hard drive that was once property of the US government.

It seems to have been part of an email exchange between two FBI agents. 2. S-A-C-J-T-F Charlotte Re-Sealed team murders Investigation updates Yeah, no luck at the Sheriff's Office either. Socom and Northcom

I was stonewalling them too. I was able to listen to parts of petty officer L's debriefing but there's still no word on when, if or to what extent they'll share it with other agencies. They keep saying this is purely a military matter. never mind that one of our guys is also among the dead thanks for your suggestions though i'll keep trying and here's a summary of the events as we know him special agent jay was a liegean to a seal team operating in the foothills of eastern north carolina the team members seemed to like him more

than they did most embedded agents probably due to his own prior military experience which they saw as making him more useful in raids and recomm missions against domestic terrorists Thursday night, May 7th. Special Agent Jay, petty officer L, and three other Navy SEALs were exfiltrating through the forests in conclusion of an intelligent gathering mission to learn more about several gruesome murders of terrorist personnel that appeared to be red-on-red in nature. Factional rivalry had been the suspected cause for the killings, and we're hoping to exploit any dissension in their ranks to our benefit. Coming to a small campsite along a stretch of river, they found that they've been spotted

by local civilians. Hell describes him as four of the most incredible women he'd ever seen, tall, powerfully built and attractive, wearing long green dresses of simple and possibly homemade design. They didn't look or sound like the kind of people you typically see in the zone of insurrection. He stayed. For a while there, we thought they might have been Wiccan types or something.

Let me tell you, at the time, I think we were all being pretty happy to see them sky-clad. They claimed to have been out fishing and asked if the seals could help them build a fire for the night. They claimed they did not like guns and asked the men to put them aside before entering the camp. In spite of their strict protocols, the entire seal team immediately laid down their weapons, rifles, ammunition, grenades, even pocket knives and car keys. They statt them up in neat little piles without a second thought as to what they were doing, as if they were about to step through metal detectors. I have to wonder if these beings are actually skilled enough to intentionally use that bit of Pavlovian conditioning against us.

They automatically moved on to the task of gathering Tinder and kindling them, lighting a warm, crackling fire for the ladies. The night was spent in merriment. They were singing a strange foreign song that made the men almost completely forget that they were combatants in a counter-insurgency cooperation, not weekend campers out enjoying a bonfire with their girlfriends. There were flasks of whiskey on hand. and they happily passed them around.

No one noticed anything unusual about the women, as they seemed to glide from one man to another, finally picking one each and settling down on a log or blanket beside him. The first thing I noticed was the trickle of blood coming off my nearest teammate's neck. Then I could see that the girl he was with was, God, she was tearing into him, like literally cutting him apart. In the firelight, I got a quick glimpse of her feet. They...

They weren't human. She wasn't wearing shoes. She had hooves on her feet like a deer, like those things from Greek mythology. Satyrs, the interviewer asked. Yeah, satyrs. Though I couldn't tell if she had fur on her legs like they do. So, dear hooves and bear talons,

any other notable abnormalities. Now that I can think of, said Petty Officer L, either missing or ignoring the slight sock. has him in the question. No sign of fangs either, if that's what you're getting at. He then described how he got away. His weapons were well out of reach, and he doubted he could reach them in time. So he simply spun around and bolted. He ran down the Pebbly River back towards where he knew a bridge crossed over the river, and he helped to find some rescue from his horrors there. The four women pursued him, and managed to keep pace the entire time. It was three miles to the bridge, in the

dark of uneven ground, but they never fell far behind. There's no hope of hiding, hunter. We can smell the blood on you, they would yell. They even loudly joked amongst themselves about how they were not their mothers at their age, and how out of shape they must have become to let their food flee so easily from them. Reaching the road over the bridge, he continued to run, and they continued to follow. I guess that means that they can indeed cross-flowing water, or at least this subspecies can. Al knew that they would run him to the ground eventually

and they were probably just trying to weaken him to the point where he couldn't even try to resist him. In the thin moonlight he could see the boxy outline of an old moving truck parked in the side shed of an abandoned barn one of its back doors hanging open. He made a beeline for it and it didn't matter that all four tires were gone

or that Kuzu was sprouting from the engine blocks. He didn't expect to escape. He just wanted to make a last stand where his enemies would have. to step up to approach him and only from one direction. He knew that he wasn't going to survive in hand to claw combat against them, but he did hope to hurt them a little. The women never attacked.

They stood at the back of the truck and tried enticing him to come out on his own. They tried to lure him with promises of wealth, love and pleasure. They tried to enrage him into attacking by mocking his comrades and telling him how delicious they tasted. They warned him of the horrible tortures that would have to be. to wait him in this world and the next if he didn't come out and cease wasting their time. They kept at it until the first light of morning began to bathe the land, when the women finally retreated from the scene.

When he made his way to the extraction point, he demanded that they returned to the side of the massacre. Special Agent Jay and the others were found. Their throats are being cut, their chests cut open, their hearts were missing, and most of their blood was gone. But no sign of the women remained. If they were related to whatever US army personnel had encountered during Operation Mamba, and it seems very likely that the steel frame of the vehicle is what protected L during those pre-dawn hours.

Professor McKenzie is flying in from Edinburgh tomorrow, and we're hoping he can help us understand what the hell we're dealing with. That's all we have for now. I'll send more information as soon as it's available. I trusted him by the shady pair. I thought I could trust him Call me naive or stupid all you want And maybe I was

But I trusted him That's just how it went We'd known each other all our lives We were close in age Or I thought so at the time I'm not sure anymore Our homes were close to the woods And I remember playing together so often

Inviting each other over Running through the trees Tag and hide and see Our shadow stretching from sunset till dawn well i should have known but hindsight is 2020 you can probably guess what happened to me i got turned but i still remember it the last night i still thought of him as my friend he called me for dinner an open invitation i reached his doorstep and knocked he greeted me with a smile took my coat and ushered me in always so charming and courteous

He sat down and chatted until late. He offered me a meal, a smile and a blush, scooting closer together. And cordiality turned to hunger. It was supposed to be sweet. And then it was too late. Now there's red all over the carpet, an ever-growing puddle of blood and food crumbs while I heave on the floor. I regret it every day. My oversight in not realizing his blood would still count to...

fay food and as if this weird stance of being each other's servant wasn't bad enough now he's tried to kill me with breakfast that bastard he's gonna pay as soon as i get all this poison off my stomach i'll pluck his entire fairy ring and make him into mushroom soup and see if he can bake any more garlic buns without having a kitchen because i love you by cryptic wander only a couple of centuries had past and feels like a lifetime ago i was only eight when my mother took me away from my home in ireland my father worked hard at the docks unloading fish throughout the day always stinking of it my mother being a conservative woman rarely complained i think it may have been an offence to her deep down though a wound that festered over the years finally bubbling to the surface making itself known in all its fetid glory my father was the same holding all these emotions in until they boiled over. I'd probably be lying if I said I didn't deserve it, but if I was foolish enough to cross his path while he was deep in the jug, I'd usually end up with a pretty good shiner. As I stated, it wasn't me who set the wheels into motion. I swear my mother goaded the

man on purpose, and the beatings on her were as regular as you like. A usual complaint would be his drinking. I didn't see anything wrong with it myself as a boy, and over the years I can see the desire to escape the troubles of life, if only for a little while. I can't remember it so well anymore, but I do recall the wooden mug exploding against the wall, having just missed my mother's head. She'd been going off on him again as soon as he came through the door about wasting good coin on that poison. I used to get so angry, yelling at her in my head as to why she would be stupid enough to instigate him. That night was different, however. That night he beat her every colour but flesh. I just sat myself in the kitchen corner, praying to God and all the saints listening

that it would end soon. After a bit, it did. Worked up enough courage to tiptoe to my bedroom, making my work carefully around broken furniture. My poor mother was a sight, having crawled her bloody mess of herself underneath the table. It almost made it too until I stumbled over a busted stool. He turned his head and I swear the fires of all hell burned in those eyes. I can't recall what he said, but within seconds he was on top of me, smacking me around. I begged him to stop and cried so loud I didn't even hear the fire poke and knock him in the head. I just remember that it did stop and a great weight fell on top of me, threatening to push the very life out of my lungs. I looked up and to my mother, bloodied and swollen all over.

pulling him off, without so much as cloth nor coin, we left. It was a miserable time after that. The weather was late fall, and friends were scarce. We'd made it halfway across the country to the town of Gawway. It wasn't nearly as big in those days, however it was plenty big for what I was used to. We made her home in a small shelter that was neither warm nor clean. It was no more than a street urchin, and my mother was now a whore. I didn't see her much. She spent most of her time in a warm bedroom with plenty of men. That made me hate her even more. The days grew shorter,

and soon snow covered the tent. It was rare to see my mother, and never during the day. She'd come by and bring me crusts of bread and cold broth. I ate. It was nothing like the hot stews we would have in our child at home. It always seemed I was hungry now. I didn't bathe,

and when the itch of my woolcoats was compounded with the bites of lice and other little bugs, I began to cough. just an irritation at first and of course I'd been sick before but turned into something much worse day by day I could feel my windpipe tighten I tried to cough up the swollen skin but only blood would produce I slept a lot more as it was preferable to the agony of consciousness but even then I could still feel the choking metallic heat that burned inside of me I fell asleep once more I dreamt of my aunts and uncles and every relative that had loved

long since past, and even met a brother I didn't know I'd had. That was the last time we'd ever know of such peace and happiness. All at once I felt myself being yanked back, hard, like someone pulling me by the scruff of the neck. There was a great gasp as my eyes shot open, and the pain in my body was incredible. The closest I can describe it is the feeling of all my muscles, joints and tendons, cramping together in one great squeeze. Strangle gurgles escape my throat, and my internal screams were much louder.

I felt the muscle in my chest give one final thump, and then nothing. The muscles in my body released at much the same rate as the heat from inside me. I opened my eyes and everything was as sharp as a bell. In fact, all the pain from my sickness was gone. I could smell and hear things I had no business smelling and hearing, and I found I was incredibly thirsty. My mother was lying next to me, and her smile went wide, showing teeth that were entirely too sharp.

In fact, I felt my own, and now they were indeed long and serrated. I put my mouth to speak the first time in weeks, I would assume, and told her I needed water. She quickly got up and ran over to a sack on the floor. I sat up into my horror, saw that it was moving. She carried it back over and reached in. All my uneas quickly stopped when the scent of something hot filled my nose. My thoughts of water vanished as she poured a large rat out of the sack.

Without even so much as a beat of hesitation, I launched myself at it. My hands squeezed the animal tightly, popping bones as the creature struggled. I sank my teeth into it. The blood was more feeling than any food I'd ever known. I drained it completely as my mother was. completely as my mother held me in her lap gently rocking me this went on for about a year and it gave me time to ponder my new existence i was disgusted especially with the fact that i had to stick only to animals as my mother instructed what she did to me was unforgivable and my hatred for her grew to new heights

after so long of feeding on vermin and farminals the smell of living humans was growing overpowering a I finally said to hell with it. It was a stupid cow's fault I lived such a cursed life anyway. I waited until the even tide came upon the land. My mother still hadn't risen yet. I wouldn't for a while longer. I stork the county road as a heavy fog rolled in, threatening a large storm nearby,

and indeed the sounds of thunder weren't far off in the distance. A wagon coming toward the direction of town, announcing itself with little endeavour to be silent. When I was sure there was no one else nearby, I leapt for the driver. The horses whinnied, and the wagon crashed to a stop. Before the man knew what was happening, half his blood was down my throat. The taste, this feeling of raw power.

I felt strength that I never before knew existed, and I wanted more. My desires were met with the shrill screams coming from inside the cab, and I ripped the door off in my euphoric state. The screams reached new heights As I drained the women of their delicious life It was spicy and rich And had I the ability I would surely have wet I was too inebriated at the time

To truly know what I'd done As the feelings of absolute bliss subsided I looked down to see the mother And two young daughters I had just murdered This was horrid enough However to my antipathy I saw the small shape

Underneath a slightly red-stained blanket motionless. I cried out in anguish. What had I become? I knelt to the ground screaming, and for too long, a small company of men that rode on horseback from Galway came upon me. They saw the mess of carnage and a chase had begun. As impressive as my new speed was, the horses gained quickly. I ran into the empty fog-filled streets, and my mother grabbed a hold of me. We raced to the graveyard that had served as our home. I began to feel safe, but, well, I was a fool. There was no place to hide, and little time. My mother pulled me over to a small tomb, pushed the heavy slab over and hired me inside. An age of decay overtook me, and the bones

rattled beneath my form. I would have resisted had I known what was coming, but in the jumble of confusion, I watched my mother whisper, I love you, and she poured the lid back over me. It was hard to hear, even with my heightened senses. However, I could make out mother's screams. They were relentless, and then, after that, nothing. Two hundred years or so have gone by. I lose track. I write novels to pass the time, but not a night goes by when I don't regret the way I squanded my time with my mother. I am, however, thankful for all that she sacrifice for me for all the times I have to ask why the answer is always the same i do my best to feed upon animals though i do slip from time to time the one thing that keeps me on track is the letter

she slipped in with me that horrid night my dearest bram i feared this day would eventually come so i wanted to have some sort of closure should you ever lose me i know you hate me for all the things you've had to go through in life and if i could change them all i would You were the only important thing in my life. I couldn't stand by and watch father abuse you. I gladly sold my body in return for a safe place for you to stay, as I had nothing else to offer for coin. When I saw you grow sick and almost die,

I had a friend turn you into something else. It was heartbreaking for me to do, however, I couldn't lose you. I changed myself, so you wouldn't have to be alone. I also know your anguish of having to feed on animals, but I didn't want you to harm another soul. I can't say how it will end. Just know that I will always be there for you in any way possible. If you ever have to ask why,

just know that it's because I love you. Please forgive me, son. Love always, your mum, Charlotte Matilda. And so once again, we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those ones. wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from,

please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.