Lighthouse Horror Podcast - I've Spent My Life Hunting A Vampire. I Think I Finally Found Him | Scary Stories

Episode Date: September 2, 2023

This ends tonight. Story from TheJesseClark Make sure to check out more of their work at r/TheJesseClark                         Original Post: Sunlight : r/TheJesseClark  ��                            Original YouTube link: I've Spent My Life Hunting A Vampire. I Think I Finally Found Him      For more stories like this one, check out my YouTube channel: Lighthouse Horror | YouTube  Patreon: Lighthouse Horror | Patreon Merch: lighthousehorror.com  Sound Effects: Freesound Zapsplat  Music: Lucas King - YouTube Myuu - YouTube  Incompetech Thank you for listening to this scary story! If you enjoyed this new creepypasta story, please check out some of my other horror stories. We'll be uploading new episodes every day, featuring ghost stories, haunted encounters, mysteries, true stories, creepypasta, and anything supernatural and paranormal. Don't miss out on the thrill and suspense that await you in each episode!

It's morning now, but the town of Pillar Hill is only a bit more alive than it was last night. There are people on the sidewalks, not many, but they're there, all checking to see who survived the night. Some are scowling, at the one beat-up Cadillac rattling down the street, belching exhaust. The radio's on inside the car. First, though, folks, we got some more tragic news about what Pillar Hill locals are calling the vanishing crisis. Yet another man, Ronald de Luca, has been reported missing. The car's driver, Victor Ruth, is hardly listening. He's older, out of patience by default, matching scowls with those outside, taking note

of the garlic and crucifixes on the doors, of the missing posters that cover every telephone pole in overlapping layers. He sees and studies an old house. way, way up there on the hill, overlooking the town. Officials say they're doing everything they can, but would appreciate any information folks might have. So I guess that's cop talk for hell if we know, right? Truly unbelievable.

Worrying times, folks. Worrying times indeed. In the back seat of the car, Ruth has stashed a curious assortment of luggage, duffel bags on the floor, sharpened wooden stakes poking out of one, a crossbow. An actual crossbow leans up against the rear passenger's side door. On the seat, a shotgun rest against a few boxes of bullets, and the word of God. We'll obviously have a bit more for you as the story develops. For now, lock your doors and keep it here on 98-5 The Wolf. Your home for all things.

King's classic rack. Ruth's staring at missing posters on a light pole, thumbing through them, noting how many there are. Layer after layer. It's a wonder anyone's left in town at all. He brushes his white beard again while he thinks. Does that a lot. Somewhat of a habit.

Most of the real victims ain't even got missing posters, my man, says someone from behind him. Roof turns, sees a homeless man lying out on a park bench, fingers crossed against his stomach. Just saying. The man pulls his hood down over his eyes, as if he's going back to sleep. You know much about all this? Roof says. Enough.

I ain't saying a damn thing out in the open. Or for free. Roof smirks. He gets his drift. They're at a diner now. Hops is dragging two french fries across a puddle of a barbecue sauce and ketchup. That's the real deal right there, says Hops. Gotta mix em up good.

When he eats it, the stuff runs down his chin and drops back onto the plate. Ruth furrows his brow at this, subtly disgusted. He notes it resembles blood. So these vanishings have been going on to the plate. for what, two months? asks Ruth. At least. Sounds about right. He sips his coffee. Hopps takes a massive bite of his burger, drowned in the same mixed slop. With his mouthful, Hopps elaborates. Started off slow, right? Like they be picking the street urchins off first. But ain't nobody care much till they hit the white folks. Know how that is. Ain't a crick

crisis till it hits suburbia. Now everyone's all panicked and shit, doing the old crucifix on the door routine. I noticed. I can't tell you if all that works. Don't happen to own a door myself. Hopps takes another massive bite of burger. Ruth thinks he might have fit half the damn sandwich in his mouth at once. The waitress walks up. How y'all doin?

Good. Ruth begins. Yeah, we'll take the check when you... Let me get one of them cheesecake slices, sweetheart, says Hopps, cutting him off. With the strawberry drizzle. And off she goes. Roof doesn't protest. He smiles slightly, shakes his head, sips his drink.

I'm about that strawberry drizzle. Know what I mean? Roof doesn't answer. He glances out at the blue hatchback parked across the street. street with a clear view of the diner window. And then he pretends he didn't notice it at all. So what brings you to town? asks Hopps chewing. Business. Not staying long, Ruth says. He's still looking out the window, scanning the street. Yeah, man, no shit. Ain't nobody does. You either leave on your own, you wind up missing. Where you wind up missing? Where you are you?

It goes round pillar hill." When Ruth's confident the blue car isn't going anywhere, he turns back to Hopps. Any leads on who's responsible? For vanations? There ain't nobody know a dude's name, says Hopps. But the big man in charge has some guys running things for him in the street, seeing as how he can't screw with the sun and all that. Do you know how to find his guys?

Yeah. But I ain't telling you for a damn burger." The waitress drops off the cheesecake with a check, smiles, leaves, hops digs in without even looking up. Or cheesecake. He wolfs it down and three forkfuls. Tasty as hell, though. Damn.

He doesn't see Roo fish around for his wallet, but he does look up when there's a hundred and fifty in bills placed on the table in front of his plate. He grabs for that, says, That's more like it. Roof stops him. 50s for the check. Hops makes a face, pulls the 50 back out, slaps it back on the table, resumes eating. Okay, says Roof. These guys, enforcers or whatever.

Spill it. Hopps swallows his bite. We see these dudes eyeball and other dudes from car. cars, right? Making phone calls, following guys around. Whoever they was scoping out turned up missing the next day. Ain't sure how they work it with the houses, but that's how it went on the street. One of my buddies a few weeks back says he overheard someone talking about a fisherman or a fisherman or something. Ruth perks up. Is that a fact? Yeah. Next day, dude who said that and the guy they was

open out that day, turned up missing. He pauses, like he just realized something, and looks up, Why you want to know all this anyway? Like I said. Business. Hopps nods, frowns, eats more fries, looks around and back again, and then he says, You're him, ain't you? Ruth cocks an eyebrow. Victor Ruth, Vampire Hunter, that's you, isn't it? Now Ruth's impressed. He smiles the tiniest bit and puts a finger to his lips. Hopps is beaming, leans in and whispers, Man, I knew it was you.

Whole town been hoping you'd show up. And here you are, on Halloween, no less. Is it true what they say, you really almost? killed the... Roof cuts him off. Hopps shuts up, nods, smiles, resumes eating. I knew that was you. Roof drinks his coffee deeply, steals another quick glance at the blue hatchback across the street.

In it, the driver watches Ruth and Hopps part ways as they exit the diner. He pulls out his phone. Hey, it's Francis. Tell Sepp we got a problem. Little black dude from the park has a mouth on him. Bump him up the list. Cep says the man lost his appetite for street food, says the man on the other end. Well, throw him in the river, then.

Who was he talking to? Guess. There's a pause. The man on the other end gulps. In the flesh. How'd he track us this fast? I don't know, but those two were chatting it up in the diner on Maple. They still there?

Nah, left a minute ago. Little dudes heading back to the park. Ruth went the other way. Towards what? Uh... And that's as far as he got. Before a hand, reaching in through the passenger window, grab the phone. Francis spun around.

Hey, what? Ruth ended the call. You got a minute? Francis, nose-blooded, exhausted, slams up against an alleyway brick wall and slides down it. He's panting. Spent? Roof stands over him, decades older, but barely winded at all.

You know, for some reason, I get the impression I can keep this up longer than you, he says. Francis spits out of tooth. Okay, man, okay. I want Fisher. Now. Oh, I can't. Man, please. Kid, you got a lot of teeth left to lose.

Francis whimperes a bit, like he's accepting his fate. Then he fumbles around for his wallet, produces a business card, hands it to Ruth. Ruth frowns, satisfied, pockets the card. And then he says, Give me your wallet. Francis furrows his bloody brow a bit, blinks, and obeys. Whatever's him there, man, just take it. Ruth ignores him, pulls out the driver's license.

All right, Francis Schiff. If this card is no good, or if anything happens to the little black, dude in the park. I'm quite capable of finding you." Take care. He puts the license back in the wallet and tosses it at Francis. Then he heads out. Ice helps with the swelling, he says. Francis collapses on his back, eyes shut, breathing hard. Ruth's car rattles up the curb in front of a two-story club. He throws it in park, kills it in park, kills the engine, eyes the place, seedy, dirty, surrounded by other dives and out of the way. Ruth pulls up the business card, blinks as he tries to read it.

Christ, he mumbles. He fumbles for his reading glasses, puts those on, tries again. SEP Fisher says the card. Crossroads Pub. Propriter. Ruth gets out. Head's inside. Crossroads is about a third full.

It's still being afternoon, but not empty. Few guys at tables, pair playing pool. Girl on the pole in the back. Ruth stops roughly in front of the bar and looks around. The bartender spots him. What do you having, man? Ruth clears his throat. Um, looking for Sepp Fisher.

You know where he is? The bartender eyes him cautiously. Who's asking? Um, just an old friend. The bartender blinks. The old friend have a name? SEP has a lot of old friends. Ruth's not even looking at the man.

Instead, he follows the staircase with his eyes, traces it to the story above them. The bartender notices this. A, if you ain't drinking, you need to need to leave. But I'm being perfectly polite, says Ruth. And you need to leave. Sep ain't taken, visitors. Ruth nods, frowns, cocks an eyebrow. He removes his glasses and neatly puts them in his breast pocket. What are you doing? I'm taking my glasses off. Can I do that? The old man act is gone. You're going to need those to find the door.

I'm actually far-signed, so it shouldn't make much of a difference. The bartender isn't amused. Okay, okay, I'm giving you to the counter. Three options, says Roof. The bartender blinks. What? You have three options from this point forward, and I want you to consider them all very carefully. Can you do that for me?

What? I don't. Option one. You call the police. Tell them an old man wandered in and won't leave. They'll show up, ten, fifteen minutes from now. And when they do, they'll find you dead, and everyone else in here dead, except for me. Because I'll be gone. Do you want to go with option one? The nerve of this old dude. Man, what? I'm asking you. Where's the option where I blow your head off? The bar's silent.

Patrons turn and look. Even the dancer in the back stares on wide-eyed. Roof, however, is unimpressed. Well, now. That would be option, too, he says. I'm sure you've got knives back there. this being a culinary establishment. You're probably not too good at throwing those, but you can give it a shot if you feel up to it. And then I'll shoot you. The bartender gulps, freezes.

Roof continues, you come at me with a knife, I shoot you. You come at me with a pool cue or your fist, I shoot you. You keep reaching for that shotgun beneath the bar. Guess what happens? The bartender stops reaching for it, but doesn't answer. Oh, come on, guess. You, if you shoot me. I shoot you, that's right. You want to go with option two? It's your call.

The bartender shakes his head, still wide-eyed. Option three, you tell me where Sep is, and I let you walk. You want to go with that one? I'd recommend it." Without hesitation, the bartender shoots a finger to the floor above them. Ruth says, Thanks very much. Pulls a snub-nosed pistol from his pocket and strolls lazily for the stairs, checking

his weapon for shots. He pauses when he's halfway up the steps, turns to the folks below, all staring, whispering to each other, you're all gonna want to make your exits right about now. There's going to be some shooting. He snaps the wheel in place and resumes his slow, steady climb as casually as if he's heading to bed. Below him, the people quickly and quietly make for the door. From the upstairs room, D. John's watching them go.

They're in a hurry, he notes, walking briskly, throwing concerned glances over their shoulder, up at the second floor where he is. Wait, why is the bartender leaving? D turns back to the room, filled with a handful of other men, including a bed-ridden one with a breathing tube. They're having some kind of hushed conversation about what that phone call from Francis meant. Uh, guys, he says. Nobody seems to hear him. In the whole way outside, Ruth stops. Between him and the door is a slumbering 400-pound mammoth of an enforcer. Guys out like a light. Pistols on the floor, Ruth notices. Knocked over a big gulp when it fell. Pity. Ruth raises his weapon.

Inside the room, Antoine and Key converse. No way Ruth is here this fast. Antoine insists. No way. Key nods, then says, Ain't nothing from Francis? You think his phone died? I don't know. Guys, seriously, everyone's leaving the bar, yo. Antoine shoots him a look, and then there's a gunshot from outside the door.

D, Antoine, and Key. After a brief, panicked pause, kneel and aim their pistols at the door. There's silence. D breaks it. Yo, Trevor, you good? His voice is shaking. There's silence from the other side of the wall. Trevor?

Yeah, Trevor's no longer with us, I'm afraid, says Roof. The men inside tense up. Key wipes a beat of sweat from his brow. It's him. It's really him. He turns to the man on the bed, breathing heavily through his tube. SEP, he says.

How the hell did he find us so fast, man? Your friend Francis had a mouth on him, says Ruth. Antoine looks at the other men. Ruth continues. Now, I'm assuming you're all aiming pistols at the door. I'd very much prefer it if he didn't make me kill you all. But I will leave that up to you. Key speaks up now.

Whoa, what do you are, man? Big man ain't here. Just a word with Mr. Fisher, if you please. On the bed, Sep Fisher stares at the door, silently, breathing heavy, scared as hell. That machine is working overtime. I'm going to count to three, says Roof. One. Outside, he's got his shoulder against the wall and his pistol aimed down at Trevor,

who's now covered in blood and seven up. One and a half. You'll notice I'm counting very slowly as to give you gentlemen enough time to make a wise decision. Two. He hears a whisper from inside the room. Screw this! He frowns and cocks his eyebrows as if to say, Suit yourself, then steps to the side of the door and plants his back against the wall.

He holds the gun casually at his waist. And then the men inside empty their clips through the door. Ruth watches. Casually, as bullets whizzed past where he'd been and smack harmlessly into the wall at the other end of the hallway above the stairs. The sound is deafening. He doesn't seem to mind. And then all at once, the volley ceases.

There's silence. He certainly doesn't feel the need to break it. We get him? I don't know. Go check. Why do I always gotta go check? You go check. No way.

All right. Together. Ruth waits patiently, and then the door opens. Slowly. Oh, so very, very slowly, and the three men step out into the hall. They're aiming pistols up and down and around. Surely they would have said, Where'd he go? If he hadn't deposited a bullet into each of their heads with expert precision, all three

are dead before they hit the ground. Roof steps into the room casually, but not uncautiously. scans it with his weapon, then safeties and holsters it when he's satisfied. He approaches Sepp's bedside. Hello, Sep. The man on the bed doesn't say anything at all. Ruth continues. Do you know who I am?

I do. Says Sep. Then you know why I'm here. I do. Are you going to tell me where Basarab is? is. Sep looks up at him, trembling. You know, I can't do that.

Ruth sighs, purses his lips. Well, that's a shame, Sepp, because that means I'll have to kill you. Another pause. Then... Do what you must do, Victor. Ruth almost admires that. I'm going to do it slowly, okay? He says.

Give you a chance to change your mind. Sep says nothing. Then Ruth reaches for his breathing tube, and before Sep can stop him, slip, it's out. Ruth takes a step back and holds the breathing tube just out of reach. You know, this isn't a pleasant way to go. go and it's going to take some time. Are you sure you don't just want to tell me where he is? Sep is defiant. Barely. The way I see it. You die if he does. But you also die if you hide him. Come on, Sep. Maybe he'll get the better of me this time. Take your chances.

Sips about to crack, gasping, wheezing. Ruth then draws a great, slow breath, and releases it within... Ah, that's the stuff. You're missing out. Okay. Okay, please. Okay, what? Oh, that was on the hill.

Ruth, after a moment, hands him the tube. Sep stuffs it in his nose and breathes deeply. Eyes closed. Life. Why there? Ruth asks. Empty. Quiet.

Says Sep. He breathes some more, really drinking it in. Shouldn't be bothered much there, I wouldn't think. He stays, he bides his time, feeds, recovers his strength, waits for you. Ruth cocks an eyebrow. Sep smiles a bit. Oh yes, Victor. He knows you're coming for him.

He's had little else to do since your last encounter, but wait. Dream of all the ways in which he'll devour you whole. Ruth says nothing. You should have killed him when you had the chance, says Sep. But you did. Ruth nods and frowns. Yeah, I came close though. He unplugs the breathing machine.

Shane on his way out, SEP scrambles for it, gasping again, wide-eyed, and plugs it back in. Take care of yourself, SEP. And Victor's gone. SEP leans back. Breathe. And then after a moment, he becomes aware of a presence. He turns towards the window.

There's a crow there, barely visible in the fading light. turns a scarlet eye to him. Sep gulps, Tell our master, The hunter is coming. The crow lifts up, flies away. Victor's flying down the road. Up ahead, the house on the hill looms.

Old dark place. Just the spot for a vampire, Ruth muses. may be too obvious. He looks to the west. The sun is slipping below the horizon, painting the sky all different kinds of deep red. Nightfall. Yet even in the darkest, if you know where to look, you can see a shadow across the street from Crossroads Pub. It's a human form, black and featureless. It seems to ooze darkness back out into the night. strengthening it. The shadow scans the scene, notes the abundance of police officers, investigating a shooting that had taken place here earlier. The shadow approaches a patrol car,

a hand, icy and old and pale, reaches for the windshield of a cruiser. Inside Sepp's room, officers take notes, take photos, do their duty, white chalk outlines where the enforcers had been found. SEP breathes in the corner silently. And then from the outside a crash, the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. A patrol car's alarm fires off. Even from in here, it's quite deafening. The officers look at each other, then sprint outside. SEP, now alone on his bed, looks scared but unsurprised. Unlike the last visitor, he'd invited lighted this one. At the end of the hallway, the shadows form into the towering human figure again. It strides to the door, regal like an old king, and stops. The blackness peels

back just a bit. A pair of red eyes spot Sep on his bed. Sep leans up on his elbows. Bossarab, he says, Master, how grand have you to join me? The shadow speaks in Latin, as he prefers. I assume. I am here. His voice is deep and wicked and slow. Yes, says Sep.

I. I trust the crow delivered my message in good order. You have something of mine, says the shadow. Sep gulps. Master, if you permit me, I gave you due warning. It was Francis, Francis, that foolish agent. He is the one fault, you see. You told the hunter what he wished to know. Cep gulps again, searches for the words.

Only to draw him into your trap, master. Acta, deus, num quam, mortala, fall. Mortal actions never deceive the gods. Cep begins to sweat. You misunderstand me, my lord. Truly, I do not wish to deceive you, only to explain. The shadow approaches the bedside. There is nothing to explain, my old friend, says Basarab from within.

He places his icy, pale hand on Sep's heart. Sep stares in shock as energy leaves him. I'm afraid I have need of the life I lent you. Weekly, Sep manages. You, you said that to me once. I was what you are. You will be what I am. Yes.

Says the shadow. Long. Sep withers. Gasps. Passes away like the wind. Instantly his body decays like an old corpse. A natural state for a man of so many centuries. The shadow grows stronger, and then it vanishes into the darkness outside, through the window.

Just as the police returned to the room, they spot the corpse on the bed at a loss for words. Ruth gathers his gear from the back of the car, the duffel bags, the weapons. He then turns towards the house on the hill, now towering over him and the town it large. charge, heads towards it. He searches the exterior of the old place, withered and worn and decayed. He tries the doors and windows. Locked. All of them. In the back, he finds a cellar door, gives it a test. It's open. Good. He opens it, holds his nose as the scent of death rushes out and past him. Then he takes a breath, and in he goes, into the tunnels here, filled with bones and spiders webs. He steps lightly through it all, trying not to make a sound.

Some skeletons are still in clothes. A small one wears a green dress. Ruth passes by, enters the house proper through the stairs. He finds himself in a dilapidated liver. room, stepping softly, crossbow out, scanning the shadows. No movement. The vampire must be on a hunt. Good. Ruth drops his gear, unzips the first bag, revealing wooden stakes. He digs through them, pulls a smaller one out with straps. He fits this on his forearm, fastens it. When it's secure, he bends his wrist back, a small steak shoots out blindingly fast with a distinctive snap. He moves his wrist back, and the stake is resheaved into the brace. The shadow drinks life from a corpse, then drops it with a wet smack, back onto the alleyway

floor. It's Francis, a weak agent, unworthy, stronger still, the shawl. The shadow looks out at the park. Beneath a light post filled with missing posters, a man sleeps on a bench. The shadow glides towards it. The shadows peel back. Within them, Basarab observes the posters of his victims. Last seen in March, on Madison Street, in a green dress.

Basarab turns to the sleeping man, stands over him. Senses something a presence he stirs looks up opens his mouth to scream but an icy hand touches his head Dormi Tarbys Says the shadow slumber and hops falls limp like the dead Bacera pulls old power from deep within breathes it into his victim scoops him up and hops falls limp like the dead Bacereb pulls old power from deep within breathes it into his victim scoops him up up and turns to the house on the hill. Ruth drapes a crucifix necklace around his shoulders, then gets on his stomach at the top of the stairs. He pulls the crossbow string back, loads a silver bolt, aims it at the basement door. Outside the shadow, cradling a sleeping hops, observes the house.

It's cold, dark and dead. Looks are often so deceiving. The shadow glides around to the back, silently, gracefully. Victor listens inside. Footsteps. A rattling of bones. The air grows heavier, denser. He is not alone.

The knob on the basement door creaks, and the door opens, ever so slowly. And then click. A silver bolt is released and sails into the shadows behind the open door. Basserab howls. For a moment, the shadows concealing him peel back, revealing the old living corpse within. Then they wrap themselves around him again, and he becomes one with the darkness of the rest of the house. Roof stands, reloading his crossbow. Hello, Basarab. He says, he descends the stairs casually. From somewhere deep in the shadows, Basarab speaks,

You enter my home. Tanta, stuartite, mortium is. Such is the foolishness of mortals, roofs aiming his weapon, looking this way and that for a tartaryon is. target in which to sink his next bolt. He says, not as foolish as leaving your door unlocked. Clothed in darkness. Basarab prowls.

He simply can't rush this prey. No. This one is quick. This one is clever. It wounded him before. He won't make the same mistake twice. Intormartu, sleeper. He says, when he's elsewhere in the shadows, the living among the dead, roof spins around,

aims at the empty, dark corner that's spoken. I suppose so. He says, he spots a moving shadow, traces it with his bow. Ah, Fronte, says the shadow. the shadow, a precipice in front. It steals into the darkness behind a roof. The prey's back is turned. Ah, to a go, loopy. It says, and lunges. Wolves behind. Roof spins and fires, misses, falls underneath a beast, which grabs and tosses the crossbow across the rum. The shadows

peel back to reveal the face of Basarab, bearing hundreds of years of age, unnaturally alive, red-eyed, utterly demonic. The vampire snaps at him. Ruth reaches beneath his collar and produces the crucifix. Basarab shrieks and melts into the shadows, clothed in them. Ruth stands, accounting for his wounded hip stumbles around still holding out the cross searching for his weapon there it is he reaches for it but the shadow kicks it away to the far end of the room a cross of god it says it resumes its prowling ruth backs up towards the stairs crucifix held out yeah i thought it'd make a wise investment he ascends them slow Facing the bottom of the steps, where the shadow re-forms into Basarab. It follows him up, cautiously, keeping its distance from the cross.

Where now will you run, friend? He says. His eyes are red now, fully red. Fresh blood is near. Ruth backs up to the railing and reaches behind the chair there. His hand finds the shotgun. Basarab doesn't seem to notice until it's too late. His eyes snap back to black.

He hisses. Silver-coated slugs rip into him. He howls again, truly wounded. Ruth rushes in, limping a bit, and buries the crucifix and the shadows. Basarab screams and lunges out with a sweeping backhand, knocking the cross and shotgun from Ruth's grip, and the old man falls down the stairs, tumbling unceremoniously. Ruth staggers to his feet at the bottom, nearly collapses from pain, but stands, breathing heavily.

He touches his hand to his lip. Blood. At the top of the stairs, Basarab stumbles around, howling in rage and pain, cursing in an ancient tongue. His icy hands grip the banister and the form stands. Slowly it gathers the darkness to it again and seals itself inside. Ruth stumbles slowly to the crossbow. Graviora, says the vampire.

Greater dangers await. Oh yeah? Says Roof. He's out of breath but tries to hide it. And what might those be? Slowly. Still stumbling a bit, but gradually regaining strength, Basarab descends the stairs. I was in need of a new familiar. What?

Sep not up for the job? says Ruth. Sep was weak. In body and spirit. Yeah, I may have had something to do with both. Basarab ignores this. When first you were. wounded me. Fisher arranged for my hiding here, even though he too was wounded by my loss of power. He was useful to me then, no longer. Ruth backs up as Basarab reaches the bottom of the stairs, closer to the crossbow. So, continues the vampire, I found myself in me.

need of another. That effect, Ruth says. He finds the crossbow at last, bends and grabs it, aims it out. Familiar, come forth. You are summoned. Ruth doesn't fire. He turns to the footsteps behind the basement door and watches as hops. In a demonic trance enters the rum.

His eyes are like the blind. hidden behind glass. Oh, shit. Victor hesitates, but trains the crossbow at hops, maybe a quick shot, put him out of his misery. Kill him, Victor, and I reabsorb the investment of power I put into him, and grow stronger. Victor grimaces, trains the weapon on the vampire.

Kill me. He dies. Victor steals a look at hops. He's alive in there, trapped in the deep, enslaved by some ancient venom. Basarab approaches slowly. Despair. Victor trains his weapon back and forth, weighing his options. The vampire becomes one with the shadows again, circles like a lion. It had him. Now for an offer.

Or join me. Abysum, abysum, invocat. Deep calls to deep. Victor watches the shadow prowl. It continues. Omnes vulnerable, ultimate, ne'clock. All ours wound. The last one kills.

The shadow forms into a figure right before Victor, arms spread, inviting a shot. But I will give you life everlasting. You should have given me this pitch 20 years ago, Basarab. Might have taken you up on the offer. Come, Facilus des censors. Soverno. The descent into hell is easy. It moves to another corner of the room, reforms, continues.

Puvies at Umbra sumus. We are but dust and shadow. Basarab materializes before Victor, takes his shoulders in his hands. They both watch hops. He's terrified. Spare your friend, Victor, says the vampire feigning concern. His voice is thick with it. Soon he will be my servant.

He thirst for release. Ruth says nothing. Not yet. Into his ear, Basarab whispers, There is but one way. RELENT, Teeth grit. You take me. You let him go. Yes, old friend.

Show me. No at once. Victor understands. Drop the weapons. Roof tosses the crossbow. And the cross. Away with it. He drops that too.

Keep our arrangement, Basarab. Let him go after. Basarab smiles. But he doesn't agree. Instead, he bears his teeth, parts from the shadows, moves in. Ruth sees him twirl his wrist as he does. Hopes, now free, collapses just as the vampire and Ruth embrace. Basarab goes for Ruth's throat. There's a snap. But he stops cold, looks down, eyes human again,

wide with terror and grief. Ruth pulls back his hand, and the retractable stake there pulls out of the vampire's chest back into its brace. The vampire stumbles back, shocked, at a loss for words. Except these, which he says weekly. Consumatum is. It is finished. And Basarab Alexandru collapses into dust. Ruth stumbles back, feels something wet on his throat. He presses his fingers there, pulls them away.

Blood. Ruth nods. accepting this, and then he collapses into a sitting position. Hops is crying in terror. Ruth digs in his pocket, pulls out his phone, tosses it to his friend. Go, Hopps, he says. Call the police. Hops grabs the phone, nods, runs through the basement.

He screams when he sees the bones, but reaches the door and flees. Roof, after a time stands up, leaves the same way, approaches his car. He opens the trunk, pulls out a new wooden stake. This one has a single handcuff bolted to it, and he saved it for just such an occasion. He leaves with it and walks for some time, up the hill into a field laid out in front of the house. It overlooks town. He jams the stake into the ground, pushes it in with his boot, then steps next to it, panting

and spent. Behind him, the sound of sirens. They'd find him here later, he supposes, as he locks his wrist into the stake and flicks away the key. It lands somewhere in the grass, far enough away. Then he closes his eyes over the hill the first rays of sunlight.