Merlin fan fiction Lamia
The fire crackled and sputtered as John Howden tended to the red-hot coals with a poker. His deep-set blue eyes were slightly furrowed as he took a long sigh.
'There's a chill in the air tonight. Much colder then usual' he uttered.
A warming chuckle caressed his ears. He turned to see his beautiful wife Mary folding up a blanket. John's face looked rather bemused.
'What?' he asked, as his hand let go of the fire poker.
Mary continued to laugh wholeheartedly. 'You say that every night dear'.
John raised his eyebrows. 'Do I now?' he asked. He picked up the fire poker again and prodded the embers.
'Yes, for the last thirty years or so' she remarked, placing the blanket beside her. 'Now stop your fussing and come to bed'.
John smiled again as he finished tending to the fire. He was about to answer back when his words where interrupted by an ear piecing scream that shattered the silence. John froze his face set. Instinctively he yanked a torch from the bracket and set it alight and was about to stroll outside when Mary gripped him hard by the arm.
'John don't go out there I'm begging you'.
'I'm the elder of this village it is my responsibility' he retorted opening the wooden door.
'John please' Mary pleaded letting go of his arm.
John ignored her, 'Lock the door and let no one in. Do you hear me no one'. He took a deep shuddering breath, and then stepped out into the cold night air of Longstead village as the door to his hut snapped shut behind him. The cold was so bitter it clung to his clothing but he didn't care. He continued to stroll down the makeshift path cutting through some of the houses, trying to figure out where the voice had come from. John walked past the village market square everything was dead silent. There wasn't even the slightest rustling of branches. John was slightly unnerved by this and his breathing quickened.
A door loomed up ahead illuminated by the touch light. John gripped the door handle tensely, and then pulled it open to reveal… nothing just the endless patch of field. John pursed his lips. He turned… only to come face to face with one of the villagers. It was Ultred a young man drenched in cold sweat and wide eyes that stared up at John. He was muttering incoherently and his limbs were shaking so much that John steadied him on his shoulder.
'Ultred what happened, who did this to you?' John demanded.
Ultred tried to answer but his throat was so constricted that all he got out was a small moan of agony. John glanced at his neck and saw to his upmost horror two small needle like puncture wounds embedded in the soft tissue.
Suddenly a sound that sent a rippling chill up his spine caught his attention. A low hissing noise that emanated from a hedge nearby. He walked towards the source of the noise trying to see. But it was so dark that his eyes were squinting.
'Hello, who's there'?
There was no reply the silence was tangible. John shuddered and helped a staggering Ultred to his feet. He was right after all. There was a chill in the air tonight, a chill of illness and death.