Summary: Whispers In the Darkness explores the events of the series starting at episode 211 and continuing through to 329. This is a true-to-show story with Willie Loomis as the central character, so some personal interpretations have been taken with what I believe happened to Willie during his early servitude to Barnabas, including his internal thoughts and motivations. I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter 1 - Episode 211
Cold. Cold and dark. Willie had never felt so cold before, not even on the decks of the ships as they rocked to and fro in the midst of the unforgiving storms that haunted the oceans. No, this cold was deeper than any sea spray he'd ever felt. This was a cold that sank into his soul, corrupting it into something he didn't recognize.
Corrupting it into him.
With a small cry Willie jerked awake. Memories came back to him, memories as violent as those storm-born whitecaps. The tomb. The secret room. The coffin. Him.
Willie trembled and moaned. That man-no, it hadn't been a man-that thing had grabbed his throat, had come out of the coffin, and-
The young man whimpered. He wanted to cup his head in his hands, but his arms wouldn't move. He was too weak from the attack. His wrist still throbbed from that thing's bite. The creature had drained him of his blood and left him on the cold, unforgiving floor of the secret room.
Was it still around? Willie's eyes shot wide open. He tried to peer into the darkness that surrounded him, but no light penetrated the room. That meant the secret door was shut. His only shot at escape was lost to him.
He shifted a little and winced. His neck was sore from where it had grabbed him. He tried to swallow, but the motion stuck in his dry throat. His legs were stretched out in front of him. He tried to move them. One of his feet slipped across the floor, scuffing the hard ground. The sound was like striking a match.
His eyes widened. A match. The book was tucked into his coat pocket. He slid his hand against the floor and fumbled for the edges of his jacket. It was then he realized that there was a bandage over the punctures, courtesy of his own torn shirt. The monster must have done that, for what reason he didn't deign to think about.
His fingers danced across the thin fabric before they found refuge in the hollow. The small cardboard book tapped against his knuckles. He clasped his fingers around it and drew it out. Out of habit his fingers flipped open the book, and his thumb stumbled over six matches that stood in a row like good soldiers ready for their purpose.
Willie willed his left arm over his legs and grasped the book. His other hand pulled a match from its brethren and with shaking fingers he struck the tip against the rough surface. The match refused to light. Perhaps it, too, was terrified of what lay in the darkness, but Willie had to know. He just had to. He tried again. Success! A small circle of light appeared around him.
Willie took a deep, shuddering breath and raised the match to eye-level. The light fell across the floor and climbed the pedestal upon which the coffin sat. He raised the match a little higher. The light revealed the open coffin. Its occupant was gone.
Willie leaned his head back against the hard wall and closed his eyes. His hand that held the match dropped to the floor beside him. A shaky sigh escaped his parched, quivering lips. He was safe.
A noise. Willie's eyes flew open and he moved his head to one side. The noise was the sound of stone grinding against stone. A shaky moan rumbled from his throat as he watched the door open. The flame of the match in his hand reached his fingers. The hot fire burned him. With a hiss Willie was forced to drop the light. The match clattered to the floor and his single solace vanished with the dying puff of the flame.
The door opened wide. A figure stood in the doorway, framed by the lighter shadows of the night. Fear and adrenaline filled Willie's body. He pressed his palms against the floor and with determination mixed with terror he pushed himself into the farthest corner of the small room.
The figure stepped into the room and turned to the left. A tall floor candelabra stood proud and sullen in the corner. The figure set a few candles in their small holders and one-by-one lit them. Willie's eyes flickered to the door. The entrance sounded its gravely warning as it slowly shut behind the new occupant, trapping them inside together.
The figure turned toward Willie, and by the light of the candles he could see it was him. He was the man in the portrait, Barnabas Collins come to life. Almost.
The musty clothes of yesteryear were gone, and in their place was a neat dark suit and perfectly-shined new oxford shoes. The black hair was neatly trimmed and the short bangs were combed to one side. The thing's face was pale, but not as pale as before. Willie swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't have to guess his contribution to its change in pallor.
The monster strode over to him, his shoes tapping almost noiselessly on the hard floor. Willie's eyes widened and he pressed his back hard against the cold, unmoving wall. The monster knelt down in front of him and studied the young man with a peculiar smile and a glint in his dark eyes.
"Good evening, Willie." Willie's heart fluttered. His cracked lips parted in question, but no words came out. The monster chuckled. "You wonder how I know your name." The monster grasped Willie's injured arm-his grip was as cold as ice and stronger than steel-and raised the limb so that the bandage was visible to both of them. "I know all about you, Willie. You see, this communion between us gives me many advantages over you-" He pinched the tie of the bandage between the fingers of his free hand and pulled on the knot. The bandage fell away to reveal two tiny round marks. They were already healed. The monster's eyes flickered up to meet Willie's own quivering gaze. He curled his pale lips back to reveal his long canine teeth. The teeth of a vampire. "-and you will soon learn all there is to know about being my servant."
What remained of Willie's blood ran cold in his veins. He tried to wrench his arm away, but his feeble effort hardly shook his limb. The vampire opened his hand and released Willie. The young man cradled his injured arm against his chest and shuddered.
The true nature of the thing's gesture wasn't lost on Willie. He had shown Willie who was master in this communion. It was by the vampire's will that Willie would live, if you could call the life of an unwilling servant living.
The vampire rose and half-turned to the coffin. He raised his chin in the air and contemplated the hidden sky above them. "Soon the day will come, but after that will come another night. So many more nights. Freedom will forever be mine." He glanced down at Willie, and by the light of the flickering candles Willie could see the vampire's cold smile. "Do not speak, and remain here until I awaken."
Willie's eyes widened. There would be another day in this tomb. Another night with that creature. His exhausted body couldn't take the strain of those thoughts, and he fell back into unconsciousness.
