Chapter One

~Dark Celebrates~

            The townspeople knew of the strange activity taking place in their precious little settlement- they had known for quite some time, I imagine.  But what had they ever done to stop it from continuing? Next to nothing- for mortal humans are weak in mind and those who are strong there are weak in body.  I find them the most delicious, but I cannot succumb to my cravings just yet.

            I stand at the top of the Hill, the tallest of three and in the middle of the other two, and watch the nervous bustling about of those hurrying to finish their errands.  It is only mid-day; the sun is out with rays to penetrate the few wisps of cloud in an otherwise clear blue sky.  The sunlight does not bother me as most have come to believe by tales told over the years, though my eyes are just the slightest bit sensitive.  The hat atop my head, however, serves me enough protection.

            For three months I’ve lived in this town the people have so adoringly deemed Green Glen for its lush verge and the grassy hillocks surrounding it.  Green Glen was once a cheerful and quaint town, and now it is wary and timid. I’ve gained the trust of nearly all the townsfolk which is necessary before the first of my deeds was committed.  I waited three weeks, nay, nearly a month, before the initiation. 

First it was a chicken- a scrawny and noisy little bastard- right out of a lovely old lady’s chicken coop.  It was hardly enough to sate my hunger, but the hen had to do for the time being. My hunger got the best of me after only two days, after which I stole away a stray cat wandering past the Hill.  No one missed the bloody animal; it was a good riddance to a pest of the two farmers in Green Glen, and to everyone else who’d tired of feeding the bone-bag.  The feline sufficed for only a week, and, my stomach growling with blood lust, I gave in and stupidly lavished upon a hunting dog.  I usually do not need to feed so often, but then my throat and stomach are usually slaked only by mortal humans, not animals. Still, the pooch proved to be a well enough meal until last week, when I off-ed a young calf.

I decided that by somewhat spacing out my feedings and holding out ‘til I honestly couldn’t take it anymore, it would appear more randomized.  Though, while doing in all these unfortunate creatures, my head was not clear enough to think to kill them differently so to avoid appearing methodical.  Luckily no one had seemed to noticed puncture wounds- merely because they always are sealed the moment my lips part from the skin. And so dim-witted are these people that they failed to notice the lack of blood from the animals’ bodies. Moreover, I always offer to aid them in their search for the animal killer, dying down their suspicions of me.

Silly, simple humans; I laugh at them even now.  A cloud of mistrust hangs over their heads as they point fingers every which way but mine.  None suspect the stranger who is no longer so strange.  ‘He is friend, not foe’.  The one who stands out in the once thriving town of Green Glen with his dark, rich clothing, impeccable manners, lovely charm and devilish good looks can’t possibly be the predator we search for.  It is almost more than I can bear- not to jump from the shadows and give myself up- just for a challenge.

They would, I suppose, have a difficult tie understanding I am the victimizer.  More difficult it would be for them to attempt to punish, maim, or kill me.  While I am not one of a kind, I am one of only a handful that exists in this country, in these lands.  Sadly to say, I’ve not come across one of my sort for over four hundred years.  Since we are so sparse, there is hardly anything to refer me back to- I am only a legend in mortal minds, a myth- and their information collected upon stories is false and no good to them.

I tire of being alone.  One of me in the expanse of several thousand miles of land does not suffice any longer.  I search for one whom I can turn to share everything I have.  I’ve had my share of women before, all of whom lived in larger cities filled with pollution, bars, and saloons.  I only took them to settle my hunger- and I hungered in more ways than one.  Saloon girls, prostitutes, whores, wealthy wenches looking for a midnight fling- they all shared me and held few things in common: empty heads, inviting bodies, and an untimely demise. Though, I cannot blame them for being attracted- my kind always had enchanting allure as well as looks.

No…no, they simply would not do for me.  I let my azure gaze travel from the depths of my memory to the reality down the Hill.  My mind has cost me an hour of time on the hillocks, and I can see the Square has almost completely cleared out.

‘Perhaps she is here,’ I think, yet with false hope. I should not even bother in a place such as this one.

The people are stupid with fear; I’ve not met one person yet who isn’t blinded by it.  None are strong in both body and mind- none are free willed.  Yet…maybe some little inkling of hope remains.

A hint of the metallic smell of rain is brought to my nose with the soft breeze moving beneath the brim of my hat and across the hills. The next gust, much stronger, sweeps over the town and I can see dark clouds rolling across the sky in the far East. It shall be a grey afternoon and a black stormy night- I’d not say a word of it to anyone else, they’d never believe I could forecast the weather because they would only see sunny, blue skies. Their senses are not as keen as mine.

I start down the Hill, clutching a leather bound book in one hand.  They believe I am a writer, the townspeople do, who has come to Green Glen in search for quiet inspiration.  The ruse has worked thus far- many of them have come to me wondering if I am to write about the recent occurrences.  It would make for an interesting story, I suppose.  However, only a few pages are filled, no more than ten, only to satisfy their curiosity.

As I walk and reach the flat of the gentle decline, I spot a blue bonnet lying at the edge of the Square.  Picking it up my fingers brush across the fabric- it is made of soft velvet, a rare and expensive material to obtain in the South- whoever owns it shall seek it desperately. I lift the bonnet to my nose and the scent of sweet and spiced herbs fills me.  The woman to whom it belongs is young…no more than eighteen.  Grasping it in my other hand tightly, I infiltrate the small mass of people who remain in the Square.

My thoughts are now on finding her, this girl of the velvet blue bonnet, yet I cannot find a young woman without one already tied upon her head. The sky grows darker- the storm may come earlier than I perceived and more than likely last until late night or very early morning. It would be a perfect time for me to feed- though I am hardly hungry enough to borderline insanity. Still, the timing would be beneficial; everyone would remain locked up indoors and their animals left defenseless.

I am sick of animal blood…my lips need human flesh, my tongue craves the sweet nectar of a human. Despite popular belief and fairy tales, I am not a vile creature of the night, I am what I am. I cannot help myself if someone created me, turning me into a being who craves blood to live. It is not a matter of life and death- not feeding only makes me weak, it will not kill me, and I can eat the food of mortals- it is simply a way of life.  No one condemns the lion for preying on the antelope- I view myself no differently. And if I might ever find a mortal woman who can endure the process, she will come to see it the same way.

Already the marketplace has closed; the Square is empty of all lingering bodies but my own.  The sky has become a dark hue of grey-green, threatening rain.  My mind must be foggy or the wind must be swift for the storm to have arrived so quickly before I guessed it would. Just as my feet begin to stride towards home, heavy rain drops plummet from above and splash on the cobblestone.  Soon even my steps are muffled by the intense and erratic rainfall.

Stopping at the border of the lane that leads to my home, I stand and study Green Glen and recognize it only to be a very quaint town indeed.  The Square of course is the center of the town, bare now with only a few covered carts to decorate it. In the morning, particularly on Sundays, it is littered with merchandise, merchants, and market-goers. My eyes linger momentarily on the abandoned fruit cart on the west end of the square- ah, I’d forgotten the mule somewhere along the line- the stubborn creature came to a tragic end.

The Tailor and the Shoemaker shops are located on the north side, closest to the three hills I stood on and the Green Glen Tavern and Inn was beside the abandoned fruit cart. The Square was truly a desolate looking place with the absence of mid-morning clamor. Surrounding it was the houses- only seventeen in all- which could be accessed by three lanes and a thin alleyway. The only other road was the main one which led out of the east, over the Hill and into open country.

I turn and resume my way down the lane.  My home is humble from the outside; no different from the others in appearance, but it is inside where that changes.  I keep my more treasured possessions with me at all times.

The sweet scent of the bonnet begins to rise, an almost intoxicating smell, and I laugh shortly to my self.  I must fight the urge to knock on every door to find her for there is a simpler way.  I can have my privacy and lend her none at all.

Once inside my abode, I seat myself in my armchair- one made of crushed black velvet and velour, very expensive indeed- it is my favorite piece of furniture, claimed from my first victim.  The bonnet is laid in my lap, the book tossed onto a small gothic end table, and my fingers smooth down the wrinkles in the fabric. Lifting it, I touch it to my cheek, closing my eyes to feel the warmth and softness of it, very much like the touch of a gentle woman.  Within moments, the foresight comes to me, and I can see Her in the cloudy haze of my mind…

…She stands outside in the rain, near the Hill, obviously searching for something.  Her hair is dark and long, hanging in limp waves over her shoulders, slick from the downpour. The expression on Her face is quite frantic, eyes rounded, lips parted, brow furrowed.  She clenches tightly to an egg-basket, and she is no more than seventeen or eighteen as I suspected…strange how I managed to miss her…

…I awake moments later with a realization dawning upon me. I have never seen Her before, and I knew everyone in Green Glen.  She would no doubt be in the Square by the time I walked out the door- it was time we became acquainted.

*                                                           *                                                           *

The young woman spun on her heels at the first noise she heard.  I hide a smile, but not myself.  Her eyes follow my shined leather boots as I approach and then lift slowly up my form to my face.  Raindrops drip into her gaze as She stumbles back a few steps, holding the hem of her skirts from the cobblestone in one hand and her basket in the other.

“’Tis dangerous to be out alone, milady,” I say as kindly as I can. It will do me no good to frighten her off.

Her face shows her nervousness, though she fights to suppress it. Speaking at last, her gaze is never averted from me.

“I have heard of the dangers but I must find what I have come out for- I’m afraid if I wait too long it will be ruined.”

The bonnet is clutched still in my right hand, but she cannot see it. I smile. “This item you seek is that important that you cannot wait until it is light? Won’t your basket be ruined?”

“My bonnet shall be ruined before it is light again, and it isn’t as replaceable as a silly basket,” she replies with urgency, yet her tone is firm and her eyes sharp. She has strength.

I reach out my right hand. “A bonnet you say? Might it be this one?”

Her eyes light up as she snatches it away almost roughly.  “Yes! Oh, and it’s dry! How did you find it? Never mind it, it is found in any case. Thank you, sir.”

She begins to move past me, stuffing the bonnet away inside the bodice of her gown, and as she moves I can smell the herbs again.  My senses go wild with each breath of it.

“Your name, milady, may I have it?” I half turn to look at Her.

She contemplates telling me, though I know I shall learn it if I ask again. “Serenity Goode, sir.”

I nod with and smile in my mind.  Her name is pure as driven snow, peaceful as a Spring day in the fields, and strong.  While she does not ask of my name in return, perhaps thinking more of getting inside dry walls, politeness calls for me to comply with my own request.

“I am called Alexander Dark, lovely to have made your acquaintance Miss Goode. Shall I escort you home? As I said before, it is dangerous to be out and about alone.”

Serenity eyes me warily.  She is right to have suspicion, but I shan’t have the pleasure or disappointment in letting her confirm those thoughts.

“I would feel better knowing you were home safely, Miss Goode. Please, allow me to escort you.” I press on kindly, offering an arm to her.

Finally, she accepts and we walk swiftly across the Square towards her lane in an attempt to escape the bleak weather.  I am overcome by the sweetness of her scent which overpowers the almost acrid tint of rainwater.  I say not a word, however, and we are silent along the way while the wind howls noisily at our backs- a piercing scream through the darkness.

A bolt of lightning illuminates the sky and briefly I am allowed a glance at Serenity’s features. Her dark hair clings to her pale face, green eyes are focused straight ahead, and her full lips are slightly pursed. The sky darkens again and following the lightning is a very loud thunderclap which causes Serenity to reflexively tighten her grip around my arm. I smile as she loosens her hand and we slow to a halt in front of the third house on the lane.

I recognize it as the home of Green Glen’s clergyman from the religious symbol nailed to the doorframe.  I do not shy away and hiss at it in contempt, nor do I shriek and burst into horrible flames.  I attend the Square’s Sunday Service regularly and none have spited me on the chance occasion that I do not show up. ‘He must have come up with a wonderful story idea,’ I imagine is what they think. Of course they haven’t thought of what I am as reason to not attend- none of them know, and those who found out never lived long enough to tell the tale. What a pity.

“Thank you for escorting me, Mister Dark, and for finding my bonnet…” her mouth forms more words that I do not comprehend- I was fixated on studying her face, her beautiful face- and only the change in tone told me she’d asked me a question.

“My apologies, I did not hear the last part.” I lean a little closer to hear over the thundering of her heart, a healthy and steady thump behind her ribs.

Serenity meets my gaze easily, a task many find difficult to do whether I am amiable or not.  “I wondered why you were out in the Square. I was searching for something, and you yourself had said it was a danger to be out alone. So why were you?”

This mortal is not a blithering idiot and for that I admire her. I gesture to the bonnet. “Merely returning a lost item.” I shall be honest- I do not lie, only simply avoid speaking the whole truth at times.

She walks to the door, yet my answer has not fully satisfied her curiosity. “How did you know someone was searching for it, Mister Dark?”

I only smile at her and bow my head. “Best get inside, Miss Goode, before you catch cold from the rain. Good evening.”

Serenity stares at me for half a moment before vanishing inside the clergyman’s home. I glance at my pocket watch, a lovely gold plated trinket on a silver chain, only to see it has stopped.  Water drips down from the inside and I frown.  The bloody rain killed my watch.  Until now I had nearly forgotten the current weather conditions.

I turn on my heels and cross the lane towards the alley.  My home is a minute’s walk from Clergyman Goode’s, something that might work out to my benefit. As I walk a pang of hunger alerts me and my parched throat, reminding me of what I’ve craved for some time. My hearing escalates and I hear a tiny squeak echoing in my ears. A fat rat is scurrying into a knothole at the base of my house. I chuckle- delivery.

My boot soles thunk against the floorboards once I re-enter my house, my fingers run over the edge of the end table.  The rodent does not emerge, and I am not about to play the role of a cat and chase it.  There is no need- it will come out soon enough.  After lighting the candelabra which sits on the mahogany dining table, I stare blankly down at the wood.  My thoughts are still with Serenity Goode, not on the dwellings of dinner.  I find myself already quite taken with the young woman- she has made a fine impression.

As I move into my bedroom quarter, I decide that Serenity is perhaps the most breath-taking mortal woman I’ve met who also has her wits about her.  Then, remembering my sopping clothes, I undress rather slowly, staying my mind on her.  I begin to formulate a simple plan which may or may not take much persistence on my behalf.  I laugh at its simplicity and its complicatedness both.  I shall make myself present wherever Serenity appears in town and strike up conversation.  I will earn her trust, befriend her, and then ask to court her.  Once the appropriate time has come to pass, I shall ask for her hand and Serenity shall become my bride.

I am near giddy with the thought.  Tugging on my dry night clothes, I leave my room and cross to my armchair, sinking into its comforts.  The rat, I see, has emerged and wobbles to me as I watch it as though drawn by force.

“Have you come to dinner, my friend?” I speak softly to it with a chuckle.  “I must admit, I did not expect a guest.”

Reaching down, I stroke the rat's back lightly with my forefinger, watching it nervously twitch its tiny pink nose.  It trembles so, frightened, knowingly.  Another squeak emits from its mouth as I lift it into my hand and sit back, bringing it to my eye level.

“We shall celebrate, friend, celebrate on my wonderful plans,” I whisper to it softly, “and guess what? You have the honors of being the main course…”

My lips curve into a malicious grin, baring the fine points of my canines as I think of my bride-to-be, and then feast.