Young Writers Society

Foreword:

Long ago, lost in the folds of history, the first Vampires were born. These people, feared by most who associated with them, were no different than you or I. The only difference, was that the poor souls were sick with leprosy. These diseased people couldn't go out into the light because it hurt their weakened eyes. Other suspicions were soon created about these sick people and they were condemned with the name Vampire and thought to be witches, told to rise from the grave and drain a mortals blood... when really they were merely deathly ill.

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The choir’s voice chilled the young woman to the bones as the haunting moans wafted toward the chapel’s high domed ceiling. Her pale face was gaunt with malnourishment as she held her eyes tightly closed, refusing to cry. They were mere children, vocalizing with one another in a crescendo of beautiful harmony. And yet it scared her.

Taking a sharp breath, she rose and fled the chapel, her tattered black dress whispering amidst her ankles. A nun’s veil was draped across her blonde hair though a few wisps found their way free of the garments’ oppression. Her boots pounded against the filthy cobblestones as the woman entered the deserted streets of London, her head bowed.

“And where are we going in such a hurry my little one?” The woman froze, the childrens’ song echoing through her head, as she raised her eyes to see the stranger who had addressed her.

The man was only a few feet away, leaning against an old brick chimney that was badly deteriorating. A thin smile was plastered across his shockingly beautiful face as he watched the nun. The woman stared at him in slight repulsion, his white drawn skin and deep golden eyes, his thick brown hair and his fine boned features; all unnaturally perfect.

She nodded toward the man, crossed herself, then hurried once more southward toward the city slums, muttering prayers darkly beneath her breath. It wasn’t long before she noticed the man had decided to accompany her. Turning fiercely, hoping to hide her fear, she glared at the man.

“Good sir! I would be much obliged if you would so kindly leave my presence at once!” she stated harshly, her voice quavering. The man stared down at her, his eyes glinting greedily as he stepped toward her.

“And where’s the fun in that?” he whispered quietly in his beautiful voice, reaching toward the woman as he gently stroked her cheek.

Stumbling back in repulsion and shock, the nun fled from the man, leaving her drape in his grasping pale hands, her long golden hair flowing out behind her, leaving the man mesmerized.

The woman ran harder than she’d ever run before until at last she felt the comfort and seclusion of the maze of lower London. Slowing her pace the woman halfheartedly gazed at the crumbling buildings, the trash littering the streets, the ramshackle little huts the poorest of families had attempted to build. The slum was the most disgraceful area of all London. The poorest lowlife lived there, scurrying to and fro like rats, scraping together the best life they could manage and praying for a better life for their children.

Turning down a small dank alleyway the woman entered a shabby, grey building. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness then moved cautiously forwards into the room. Against the far wall a small pile of straw and other debris lay, a few filthy blankets thrown over the awkward nest. Atop this pile lay a small child, so pale and emaciated she looked as if death had already visited her.

“Emaline . . . I am here . . . ” the nun hurried to the small girl’s side, kneeling beside her. Slowly the girl pried her eyes opened, watching the nun listlessly. Lumps covered the small girl’s body and her left arm was badly disfigured, held tightly against her body at an odd angle.

“Sister Rosetta?” Emaline questioned quietly. Rosetta nodded, slowly mopping the girl’s brow with a damp cloth as she pulled a small bundle of food from her long dress and helped the girl eat it.

“Where is you mother Emmy?” the sister asked quietly, looking about the room to find it deserted.

“I am here.” Emerging from a low-set doorway a short woman entered the room. The same welts that covered her daughter had taken a hold of her body and Rosetta stifled a gasp. The woman smiled sadly. “The leprosy has spread Rose . . . more and more of us die each day. We stay in the shadows, the light injuring our eyes badly, praying that our children may survive what we cannot. Worms eat at our insides, and yet we are helpless to cure them.” Rose shook her head mournfully, her tears at last falling.

“Garlic . . . garlic, Katie . . . it will rid you of your worms.” The woman shook her head.

“We who have fallen to Leprosy cannot ingest garlic . . . not without furthering our pain and madness.” Rosetta bit her lip angrily.

“Why has God chosen this village out of all the others . . . you are humble and meek and follow his words and yet . . . you all shall die.” The older woman smiled at the young nuns words.

“We shall die knowing we stayed true to the end and that something far better awaits us beyond the grave.” Rose bit her lip and nodded. She was about to reply when the door suddenly flew open and the man from before stood there looking down at her, his deep eyes shining.

“You!” he pointed a long white finger at her, his eyes darting to take in the other two beings in the room. “They have possessed you . . . why else would someone so noble starve themselves to traverse to hell and back and lament with these dead corpses?” Rose stood warily, anger filling her eyes.

“Who are you!?” she hissed lowly, calming the man slightly.

“I... I am Eric, Eric Von Stoful’. I am a shaman . . . a doctor. And I know enough to tell you that these people that stand before you are nothing less then dead witches, corpses that have left their graves to come and feed from the blood of the living. They have tricked you into becoming their slave, part of the immortal dead.”

“No!” Rosetta’s shrill voice cut Eric off, as she stared at him angrily. “If you’re any type of a real doctor then fix these poor souls! Can’t you see they have leprosy? They’re dying!” Rosetta sobbed, her words filled with anger.

Eric’s eyes softened as he stepped toward the nun. “You are right my dear . . . and for you, and you alone, I shall cure their souls. And after I have freed them . . . the whole world shall be taught how to protect themselves from such creatures of the devil. ” Rosetta gasped as the pale inhuman man lunged forwards and yanked the cross from her neck as the thin chain broke. He pressed the gold charm to his thin lips, mumbling darkly.

Before Rosetta had a chance to do anything, the man turned and gingerly lifted a thin wooden stave from a pile of debris. He glanced at the pointed end and nodded, a second before turning sharply and plunging the wood through the small girl’s heart.

A scream choked in the child’s throat as blood bubbled from her lips and time seemed to slow. Rosetta felt her heart stop in her chest. A sharp explosion brought her from her numbness as a silver bullet whirred past her head and found its mark, deep inside Emaline’s mothers heart.

Rosetta was falling, she was screaming and crying, she was dying inside, as she hit the cold floor, her mind reeling. She was unconscious as the man who called himself Eric lifted the nun into his arms and lay the cross gently across her bosom.

He glanced one last time down at the corpse of the young girl. “Be free . . . Vampir.”