Death of a Vampyre
was many years ago, so many that I almost forget all the details
now. I was just a young boy when my grandfather told me the true
story, not the one you hear old women mutter in circles of gossip.
service the storm turned violent. Savage rains fell and lightning
scored the earth. The priest, in the middle of the service, not
wanting to stop, was struck with a savage blast of deadly lightning.
The crowd panicked and scattered leaving only the Viscountess Vanessa
Murony by her dead husband's grave. Lightning coursed throughout the
grounds and countryside but never did she leave his side. It was
later said that her blind will against the wrath of God was the cause
of the trouble to come.
The next morning the servants begged her to come inside the house but she dismissed them. Parishioners carried the remains of the priest to the church. The next morning came with the same summary dismissal. On the third day, they found her barely conscious and insanely muttering guttural tones. They carried her to the house to care for her. The gravesite was left unattended, the service never finished, the ground unconsecrated. Mud from the rains, mixed freely with the blood of the dead priest, filled the grave.
That very night saw a new type of plague beset the region, a plague
that would curse our family name forever. Night fell swiftly,
silently as a predator stalking it's prey. The storms had left the
night air with a chill. As the moon rose, shadows danced with life.
For Vanessa, the night was just a continuation of the torment she
felt, the heartbreak, the loss of her soul mate, lover and friend.
She was lost in despair, lost in an expanse of emptiness. She thought
that she too should die but then a change came over her. She felt the
touch of a gentle hand on her shoulder, a touch she had felt so many
times before. When she turned, there standing beside her bed was her
husband, no longer dead. Was his death just a fearful dream or was
this a waking nightmare. For a moment, she thought she had gone
crazy. Then he spoke and calmed her fears. In her heartfelt joy, she
pulled him closer to her, kissing him. Joy turned to passion as he
began kissing her lips, her cheek, and her neck. There was a warmth
in her embrace, and a reddening warmth on his lips. He pulled away as
he tasted the blood. Passion may diminish memory but repulsion
returns it with a torrent of emotion.
There were two more murders that night. Two more bodies drained of blood.
Vanessa dismissed the staff, only a young maiden, newly hired remained in the household. The estate was sold to Vanessa's cousin, Countess Karnstein. Wherever Vanessa and her handmaiden travelled, death followed, forever on.
Artwork, "Death of a Vampyre" is used with permission of
the artist, Dorian Cleavenger)