Nightmare Vampire

Like a shadow the cloaked figure ran down the vacant, dirty city streets as the sun beat down, as the mighty Blacksmith upon his anvil. The din of a mob could be heard echoing through the alleyways. The shouts of angry humans, the shuffling of feet. Yet around the cloaked figure not even footsteps could be heard.

Inside the cloak Lord Veratau fumed. How could his sanctuary be breached so easily? How had the people he’d spent decades subjugating, their spirits broken, found their spines? Why wouldn’t the sun move faster across the sky?

He felt as if he’d been running for hours, the chase persisted, "Move thy cursed chariot blasted Sun," screamed through his mind. His only salvation was his dark, heavy cloak he always slept in for just such an emergency.

If not for a few of them getting caught in one of his traps, he would have never even awoken, he’d already be…

His thoughts trailed off, what would he be, dead? He’d already died once, he managed to chuckle, even as he could feel the mob approaching.

How were these humans so fast? Everything seemed a blur, he could barely make out any buildings or streets; was he even in his own city anymore? How long had he been running?

“Over here!” he heard a voice shout. They’d found him. He tried to twist and turn his way through endless alleyways, closer and closer still, the commotion of the mob.

He could hear the clattering of their farm tools, he could hear some of the fatter ones huffing and puffing as their lungs struggled to keep up with the chase. Filth covered faces and tattered clothes became clearer as they approached. Their wishes for his death, for his torture, for his suffering rang out as if blasted from a clarion.

How had he been bested by these... these cattle?

A piece of his cloak snagged and ripped open as he jerked to free himself and continued his desperate run. The light hit his leg where the cloak had torn and blistering pain shot up through his body, as if he’d touched the face of the sun itself.

He had long forgotten the feeling of mortals when the golden sunlight kissed their skin; it was all pure agony now. How were none of these alleys hidden from that infernal orb in the sky?

The pain of seared flesh was excruciating. He thought back to when he was turned by Viscount DeMolay - the pleasure of that pain was something he would always revel in. The day he gained new life. He thought how different this pain was. It was like the pain of before, back when he was a stupid mortal like these rabble chasing him.

There was a stone protruding from the road in front of him which he hadn’t noticed. Too late. He tumbled to the ground for what seemed an eternity. Every time the cloak opened a new part of his body was pierced by sunlight, waves of pain shooting through his entire being.

Finally, he stopped rolling, the exposed parts of his body sizzling in the cursed sun. The crowd gathered around him. He couldn’t see any faces, just contorted, fleeting expressions. Something seemed familiar about all of it, was it, were they all who he’d killed?

The closest figure to him raised their pitchfork and began to thrust it down toward his chest. The figure suddenly drew into sharp focus, a red streak on the villager’s neck seemed strange. The tines of the weapon pierced as the attacker lowered his face. The bright eyes, the sharp nose.

“It’s you,” Lord Veratau gasped as the pain from the pitchfork shot through his chest. “Sellick, my first.”

The form shifted and changed, the streak of red on the neck warped and twisted. The pitchfork dug deeper causing the vampire to squeeze his eyes shut. When they reopened blond hair flowed down the figure’s face.

“Veronique, you were so very beautiful,” his voice trailed off as he remembered and the form shifted further, a white veil falling over her amber eyes. The delicate hands now grasping the pitchfork tightened their grip and twisted further. Another shock of pain attacked the prone vampire.

When his vision cleared the figure began raising the pitchfork again.

“You lied to me,” the figure growled as they thrust the implement down toward Lord Veratau’s neck.

Just as the tines were about to strike the face came clear, the vampire’s eyes went wide, “No, Gianni!”

Lord Veratau shot up from his coffin. His hands up attempting to block the blow that...it wasn’t coming, he was in his chambers, he was safe. No light through the windows. Nighttime, safe in his bed.

He rose and made his way across the opulently appointed bedchamber, opening a door on the far side. He could see the slumped figure of his latest meal still chained to the wall in what he affectionately referred to as his chiller.

Making his way over to her, he lifted up her delicate chin. There was no light in the room, but he could see her hair fall down to the side as he looked in her half-open eyes. “They say it’s rude to play with your food,” he started, “but when it comes to you humans, for all the pain you caused me in life, it’s only appropriate.”

The face looking back at him was expressionless. It seemed this toy was broken. Tomorrow night he would have to go out hunting. He reached his hand out to press his palm against his victim’s chest. The heartbeat was faint and weak. Soft and feeble, like how he would softly weep himself to sleep at night after his father would get home late from a night of carousing and take his frustrations of the world out on him.

“Pitiful, frail humans,” he sneered. The figure in front of him made a quiet sigh, as if they were attempting to speak, but simply didn’t have the strength.

“Oh, don’t worry my dear, you’re not alone, for even Vampires have nightmares. The difference is, for you, the nightmare is over.” The light from the candles flickered across his face as his lips curled and he opened his jaw wide. His eyes rolled back as he bit deeply into her neck and drained the last glimmer of life from her form.