Young Writers Society

A/N I know that this needs a lot of work. It was one of the hardest things for me to write so far so expect it to have heaps of mistakes. I've been obsessed with vampires since I was nine but twilight killed that in me, here's a short based on one of those ideas though. Enjoy :)

The snowflakes fell slowly, lingering in the air like time meant nothing to them. As if they refused to acknowledge that they were destined to someday meet the ground. Instead, they chose to dance to the song of winter and the music of the wind for all to watch on with envy.

Amidst these falling flakes stood a young man dressed entirely in black and wearing a heavy overcoat that reached sightly past his knees. He was like a shadow; almost invisible in the darkness, footsteps leaving no print or sound. His movements were graceful and lithe, almost entrancing or hypnotic. He seemed to almost glide rather than walk as he slowly made his way to the front gates of the monstrous mansion before him. He didn't rush. There was no need to rush, for he had all the time in the world. Just like the snowflakes.

He had heard whispers amongst the locals that the mansion was haunted, that ghosts of a rich aristocratic family roamed it's rooms and that those who dared enter were driven into insanity. Looking at it now it wasn't hard to see why, with its large gargoyles and Gothic architecture. The face of the mansion loomed before him, daring him to come closer. Come closer he did because for all those rumours the patronising palace was once his home.

It was a night on which the stars refused to shine, leaving the darkness to permeate every hole and crevice. The only source of light came from the moon, a luminescent orb suspended amongst the clouds, and even then only pale wisps of it's glow penetrated the dense woods. The darkness did not hinder the young man for he did not need light to see, and he leapt over the front gates with enviable ease. Strolling through the front courtyard he noted how sad and derelict the entire place had become. The stone statues and benches had webs of weeds sprawled over them and the fountains stood sadly, redundant now that no water flowed through their veins. Everything had changed, everything had broken, and everything had aged.

Except me, he thought with a ghost of a smile. He made his way to the mansion's front door. As much as he wanted to enter, he hesitated. It was said that the mansion was haunted but in truth it had haunted him. The memories could never be erased by one hundred years. Or two hundred. Or even five. A scar that would never heal. He had raised his hand to push the door open when when he cocked his head to one side. He could hear something, a scuffling coming towards the door. He cleared his mind and focused his hearing. Within milliseconds he heard it. Heartbeats. There were three of them- all young, possibly two males and a female. They were coming closer. He moved away from the door and stood amongst the shadows. He could hear voices now. They seemed to be arguing.

“Please Hans, let's just go!” begged the female.

“No way! I want to see some ghosts! You said that there are ghosts here,” replied a male voice, presumably Hans.

“There are! And they're angry too! Please, this place is scaring me. Let's just leave.” the female replied.

“C'mon Hans. Lauren is right, we should go. It's really late now and I have a test tomorrow.” This was a new voice. Another male.

The front door was pushed open and three teenagers came out from the mansion and walked right past the man standing in the shadows. A tall, brown haired boy who was leading in front turned around and addressed his friends.

“Look if you chickens want to go home, then go home. I don't need you lot.”

“Hans, we can't just leave you here alone!” protested the girl, Lauren, whose hair seemed almost as black as the night itself.

“C'mon, let's just leave him. He'll follow soon enough.” The second male spoke up, he was a round and plump sort who was bordering on being overweight.

They were all completely unaware of the man semi-hidden by the shadows. Silently he stepped out into the moonlight and in full view causing all three of the teenagers to jump.

“Who-who are you?” demanded the one called Hans, who was squinting as if trying to see the man better.

“You're trespassing,” was the man's reply. Hans' eyes widened but still held a defiant look.

“Oh yeah? Well you're trespassing too!” he retorted.

The man took a step forward and all three took a step back. “That would be terrible wouldn't it?” he mused softly as he took another step forward, “But as far as I'm concerned, it's not trespassing if it's your home.”

“Y-you mean this h-haunted castle is your home?” squealed the chubby one.

The man gave them a menacing smile. Hans was beginning to look uncertain and both Lauren and the chubby boy were looking terrified.

“I think you children should leave now,” he suggested.

All three began to back away. Hans seemed like he wanted to protest, argue or fight to stay, but he continued to back away as if in a trance or spell.

The man looked at Lauren, “Except you. You stay, the rest of you run home.”

The two boys immediately turned and fled the scene leaving Lauren standing alone.

Lauren tried with all her might to run but her body betrayed her and wouldn't listen. She just stood there, trembling with fear as the man from the shadows approached her. It was hard to see him, he seemed to dwell in the shadows even when there were none. His face was vague to her except the hazy outline of a strong jaw and the glimmer of blond hair. He moved closer and closer until he was face to face with her.

“You can hear them?” he asked. His voice was like velvet or like a smooth coffee.

“Hear who?” she replied, voice shaking. If only her body would listen to her!

“The ghosts,” he replied. He seemed to search her face and she felt like he could read everything about her.

“Yes.” she whispered, “and see them too.”

“What do you see?” he asked.

“They're angry, I think that it's b-because you're here,”

He threw his head back and barked out a laugh. “They're just jealous that I'm still alive while they rot in their graves.”

The wind howled and windows rattled. Lauren frantically looked around. “P-please, you're making it worse.”

“How? Who cares anyway? The dead cannot touch the living.”

The woman stood silently, Lauren hadn't noticed that she had appeared. Blood tears streaked her face and her expression was one of sadness.

“I don't think that they're jealous,” she began, “I think... that they're upset that you left them, and that you left this place to rot and whither.”

The man stilled. He looked at the location that Lauren had her eyes trained on.

“Who is it?” he asked.

“Your mother,” said Lauren, trying trying to determine his expression. “She says that she's missed you for over... 500 hundred years.” She breathed in heavily. Five hundred years? How could that even be possible?

“What are you?” she whispered. The man peeled his eyes from the spot from which the woman had now gone, and looked at her.

“They call my kind many things but you may know me best as a v-”

“Vampire...” she breathed. No, this wasn't happening. Panic flooded through every fibre in her body.

“Don't worry, I won't feed on you. I'm not hungry tonight.”

Lauren suddenly noticed the first rays of sunrise peeking through the trees.

“How-how can it-”

“For us vampires time passes in the blink of an eye, which is why it matters so little to us. It is said that spending time with one brings a similar effect on humans. The sunlight was spreading its arms and embracing the forest. Lauren suddenly realised that the vampire's face had become much clearer to her. It was as if the light framed him or even trapped him. Just like a shadow. His face was a handsome one but there was an unnaturalness to it that she couldn't place her finger on.

“The sunlight, it doesn't kill you?” she asked timidly.

“No,” he replied, “however it dampens our powers and exposes us, as you can see.”

“You've left your family and your friends, w-what then do you live for?”

The man turned to her. For a second, behind his stoic expression, she could have sworn a flicker of sadness passed across his face.

“I live for myself and to say that I am living. The dead can curse me from their graves but it matters not for I still stand on this Earth which they lie under.” he replied. He turned from her and began to gracefully walk away.

“But they have peace!” she called out.

Not haltering his stride he replied, “But I have eternity.”