A huuuuge thanks to Dimension Lover for all the help she's given me with this. I couldn't have done this without her!


"It's not pretty. But when was a great horror story ever pretty? I suppose there are a few decadent predators out there who do look fancy in velvet, but Steve's vampires are not of that clan. He's tapped into a new vein in these pages, evoking a cold, joyless world in appetite can never be sated, and love gives no comfort. Even in the bright light of day. In fact, especially then.

I won't spoil the tale by saying any more. Let me only commend 30 Days of Night to you, with certainty that if you have a taste for the real stuff of horror fiction, you'll find it in the pages that follow."

-Clive Barker, 30 Days of Night by Steve Niles


Two days ago out if the haze of tress, as if from nowhere, came Him. His eyes were red rimmed, yet they sparkled with determination and excitement. His chin and cheeks were clean and smooth, almost baby-like, and yet looked weary, wretched, and in pain but his expression suggested that he could walk on forever. Pausing and glancing over his shoulder, he could just make out the shadow of the prison.

He marched across the plains, the wind chilling as he walked and he tightened the coat he was wearing across his chest, zipping it up beneath his chin so that the hood gathered around his face. But there was little that could protect him the storm that was coming. He felt hot from exertion, but his breath gathered in the air before him. Once or twice he stumbled and fell, coating his clothing with wet moister, an unintentional camouflage. But there was no need to hide. It would soon be the first bad storm of many, and no one in their right mind would be outside later.

He drew a clear map case from his pocket with a small light, checked the compass hanging around his neck, and grunted. Right way. Not long now, He looked up at the sky but all he could see were dark, fluffy clouds. But soon there would be snow. Oh, so much snow. It was said that every flake was different and unique, but he didn't really care. For the him, there was merely us and them.

An hour later he started up an incline. He was struggling by now, legs shaking and breath rasping in his throat. He needed warmth, shelter, and food, but more than anything he needed to succeed. Anything else was unthinkable.

Dreaming of what would come, he mounted a ridge and stopped. Ahead of him, way across the forests, lights winked in the darkness. He dug out a pair of compact binoculars from his pocket.

Several dozen low buildings hugged the landscape. A radio tower ringed the outpost in the distance, the tall mast topped with red flashing lights stood away from the settlement to the north and south, and dozens of poles suspended a web of power cables at eaves level. Lights burned in many of the buildings. There were even a few illuminated carnival tents on show. In this place of ice and snow, the town looked almost warm.

"The Water Tribes," he remarked.

And then, he grinned.