It was half past noon, raining. The skies held a veil of gray, looming over the discontented city. The people, wearing faces of gloom and despondency, strolled throughout Belial without emotion, nor tenderness.
The buildings, withered with age, stood tall in harmony, but their dilapidation only brought anxiety and discomfort. Business production slowly declined due to the growing darkness that poured out its ungracious power upon the town.
All were in fear.
Few knew why.
Scattering like disturbed fish, the people ran for shelter in their raincoats, trying to stay dry. However, one man, young in age, stood in the rain, unaffected by its cold, bitter feeling. He was alone and calm, but walked with a heavy burden that weighed down on his weakening shoulders. And he carried that burden with himself into the graveyard.
We know the graveyard as a place of sorrow; grief; anguish; it is a bottle of memories, contained for people to open and remember when time permits. Nobody enjoys the graveyard, yet everyone visits them. Why? Because they never want to forget the times shared that are now only moments in the temporal, unchanging past.
The man didn't forget his memories.
Lost in a cloud of disappointment, the man lingered around in the graveyard, staring at each gravestone as if it were a child. The pouring rain drenched his white coat and long, snowy hair, and the drops mingled with his tears that slid out of his silvery eyes; but nothing fogged his vision or remembrance of her.
Just as the sun never forgets to rise every morning, he could never forget every moment spent with her.
While clutching a rare, lavender rose in his shivering hand, the man looked down at one, specific gravestone. Engraved in it were these words:
MARIANNA DEMARE
MY LIFE, MY LOVE, MY WORLD
1853-1875
GOODBYE DOESN'T MEAN FOREVER
Lips quivering, the man attempted to speak.
"I am … sorry that I couldn't save you, Marianna. M-My life hasn't been the same without you," and he caught his breath before continuing.
"I wasn't strong enough."
He choked and whispered, "Forgive me, my love."
He paused, trying to calm himself; but failing, he gave an outburst as he squeezed the stem of the flower.
"I hate them all! And I will not rest in peace until I destroy every, last one of them. I promise … I won't let you down again."
Stumbling to his knees, he dropped the lavender rose and buried his face into a pool of tears, cradled in his hands. He was unable to speak, so he mourned.
He tried desperately to understand how this had happened. How did he lose everything that mattered to him? Thinking harder, he began to reminisce on his life long ago when he was only seven years old and controlled by apprehension.
It was storming ferociously. The roll of thunder shook the earth and the blast of lightning lit the sky, birthing fear into the hearts of children and disrupting the peace of the night.
A mansion stood alone on a large plantation, surrounded by mighty oak trees.
Inside the mansion was a den with a beautiful fireplace. A coffee table sat between two, leather chairs that stood in front of the fireplace. One chair was empty and in the other sat a man, reading a newspaper.
Another bolt of lightning hit nearby, lighting up the entire den.
A little boy, frightened by the storm, walked nervously down the hallway and stood in front of his father. His father lowered the newspaper and asked, "The storm scaring you, Nero?"
The boy nodded, too shook up to reply.
"Well, come here," he welcomed warmly, folding the paper and placing it on the table beside him, "and sit with your old man."
Nero sat on his lap and watched the fire crackle, feeling safe in his father's arms.
"I'll protect you from any of those nasty vampires or Dracula … or your mother," the father whispered, chuckling with Nero.
"My! That storm is awful out there!" Nero's mother mentioned, staring out the window. "I'd better close these blinds."
"Yeah, Jasmine. Remember what happened to the dog?" Nero's father asked.
She shrugged and replied, "Frank, please. I'm still having nightmares about that. Why did I have to be the one to come home first and see Sparky just lying there … fried?"
"Yeah. Remember reading the autopsy? He had his nose to the window and as soon as the bolt of lightning struck—"
"Frank! Please!"
"I'm sorry, dear," Frank said, getting up from his chair and holding Jasmine closely.
"No, you're not," she sarcastically replied, smiling.
"Of course I am."
"I'll let you off this time."
Then the two kissed.
"I'm going to bed now."
"Goodnight, Jasmine."
"Goodnight," she replied before walking over to Nero to embrace him.
"Goodnight, Nero."
"Goodnight, Mom."
Then she walked up the stairs to her bedroom.
"Dad! Look!" Nero hollered, "Look! Look! It's Duke!"
"Duke?" Frank asked, walking back to his armchair.
Nero held the newspaper up for him and said, "That's Duke, Dad!"
Frank skimmed through the ads till he came upon a picture of a longhaired man, dressed in white. His back was against the snapshot, showing only a small portion of his bearded face. In his hand was a harpoon gun and in a sheath attached to his belt was a long, silver sword.
The Legend Returns
Belial investigations show that the fabled vampire slayer, Duke Angtrav, has again returned to the city with his mythical blade in a pursuit unknown to the public.
Witnesses speak of the mysterious man as a loner, who dwells in an abandoned, dilapidated mansion around the outskirts of the city. Nothing else has been confirmed as of today.
Frank put the newspaper down and said, "This is some character, huh, Nero?"
"He's awesome!" Nero replied as he picked up a wooden, toy sword. He swung it back and forth, jumping off of chairs and spinning around, pretending to be Duke.
Chuckling, Frank said, "You really have taken a liking to this guy?"
"Nobody can defeat me!" Nero shouted, imitating Duke.
Suddenly lightning flashed and thunder roared, scaring Nero. Tossing the sword down and letting out a small yelp, Nero ran to his father, clutching him tightly.
"This Duke character is pretty scary looking, eh, Nero?"
"No way! Look at this!" Nero protested, picking up a comic book he left on the floor.
Frank looked at the comic book and said, "This guy … he's real? The guy in the newspaper looks just like the character in this book, Nero."
"I know! He's real! Duke, the great vampire slayer!"
"Now Nero, you know that this is just a joke. I mean this man isn't real."
"What? What do you mean? Of course he's real! He protects Belial from the darkness!"
"Nero, you know, sometimes, there are people out there who like comics and there's people who love them. And then there are people who are so infatuated with fantasy, they try to make it a reality."
"What do you mean, Dad?"
"I mean, well, Nero, this man in the newspaper—"
"Duke," Nero corrected.
"Right. Duke. He may like these comics a little too much and likes to pretend he's the real Duke, the great vampire slayer. I'm not saying this is wrong or you can't pretend you are this character, but it is odd for a man his age to still play childish games."
"Dad, he is real. I know he is! Don't you trust me?"
"Yes, of course I do, Nero. I trust you," Frank whispered, squatting down to make perfect eye level with his son.
"Then why don't you believe me?"
"No, Nero. It's not that I don't believe you. I do. It's just I'm trying to tell you that maybe this isn't the real Duke."
"But, Dad—"
"I tell you what, Nero. How about we spend some time this week together and we can talk all about this Duke. What do you say?"
Nero thought a moment and then replied, "Okay."
"All right then," and Frank smiled. "Now I think it's time for bed."
Nero nodded, still hanging onto his father's leg.
The two walked up the stairs, Frank's loving arm across Nero's back. He tucked Nero in bed and said, "Don't worry about the storm, Nero. It will pass."
After a warm embrace, Frank left Nero and went to bed.
Nero, still frightened by the storm, hid under the covers to try to fall asleep. Failing, Nero pulled the covers off his head and picked up a comic book to read by candlelight.
Suddenly a knock was heard.
Nero jumped out of bed and whispered, "Who's there?"
He looked around the room carefully, searching for anything that could have fallen off of a shelf or rolled against a wall, but after finding nothing out of the ordinary, he continued reading.
"I believe in you, Duke."
The room was quiet, but hardly soothing. Hoping to be filled with peace, he dwelled primarily on his reading, but then another knock was heard just seconds later, louder than before.
Nero leaped out of his bed and grabbed a wooden sword off the wall.
"Is anybody there?" Nero whispered, slowly walking around his room with his sword held in front of him.
He became more worried after seeing nothing, wondering if the noisemaker was something invisible or intangible. Fear clouded his judgment and harmed his senses.
After a few moments of scanning the room and coming to another dissatisfied conclusion, Nero tossed his sword down and climbed back into his bed. As he pulled back his blankets, he turned to the window one last time, and saw something traumatic; gruesome; wicked and disgusting.
It was a hand—a brown, bony, gnarled hand that was similar to a claw, having black, pointed nails and throbbing veins.
Pulling slowly but strongly across the window, the hand left five, deep abrasions, and then released, hiding back into the shadows.
Nero screamed as he leaped out of his bed and ran down the hallway. After storming into his parent's bedroom, he lunged onto the bed and tried waking his father.
"Dad! Dad!" he shouted, "Wake up! Wake up, Dad! Wake up!"
Rolling over to face Nero, Frank sat up, rubbing his eyes, and asked, "Huh? What is it, Nero?"
"Dad, there's vampires!"
"What are you talking about?"
"They're here! The vampires!" Nero said, hopping out of bed. "Come quick before they leave!"
Frank sighed and got out of bed.
"What's going on?" Jasmine mumbled, waking up.
"Nothing, honey. Go back to sleep."
Frank yawned as he walked down the hallway, refusing to race Nero to the window.
"Look, Dad! Look!"
"Hold on, son. I'm almost there."
Frank stood at Nero's doorway and asked, "What? Where are they, Nero?"
"Out there. Look!"
Frank saw the five gashes in the window and said, "Nero! How'd this happen?"
"The vampires, Dad! I told you that a thousand times! The vampires are here!"
"Nero, c'mon. Not now. I told you we'd discuss this later. What really happened? Did you see it?"
"Yes, Dad! Yes! I saw it! It was a hand! An old, ugly hand!"
"Are you sure it wasn't a tree branch?"
Nero shook his head.
"It looked like this," and he opened the comic book, revealing a poster of a vampire hand.
"This is hideous," Frank commented.
"It scratched my window, Dad."
"All right, you know what?" Frank sighed. "We'll replace the window tomorrow. Right now, I just want to go to bed."
"Dad?"
"Yeah, Nero?"
"Can I sleep with you tonight?"
Smiling, Frank replied, "Sure, son."
Frank placed his arm around Nero and escorted him across the hallway. Nero hopped in bed and slept between his parents. Frank smiled as he slipped in the bed and whispered, "Goodnight, Nero."
"Goodnight, Dad."
The family slept soundly that night, ignoring the storm and disconnecting themselves from trepidation. As they dreamed happily, a greater darkness than they knew was lurking on their rooftop.
Three dark figures, all of different height and size, spread out across the top of the mansion. One, crawling like a cat, had black hair as of a woman. His body was thin and his yellow, snake eyes bulged. His ears were crooked and his face was distorted and scarred.
The other two vampires, twin brothers, were gathered around Nero's bedroom window, hissing. Horns replaced the missing hair on their head, arms, and legs, and all three of them had tails as of a scorpion.
They were vampires.
And they were trying to get inside.
"Is the father gone?" the hairy vampire asked, speaking with a strong, natural hiss.
"Yes," the elder brother replied in a deep voice, "but the child went with him."
"We'll just have to kill all three of them then," the younger brother added, having the most normal voice of the vampire clan.
Laughing, the three drew closer to the window, attempting to break through it; but just as they were in preparation to lunge, an arrow struck the younger brother between two ribs.
Letting out a hiss, he grabbed the bloodstained arrow, but couldn't pull it out, which frightened the other two vampires. He managed to break a piece off and throw it down, but fearing that this was a battle they couldn't win, they fled, flapping their batwings that spread out as an eagle's wings do. Within seconds, they were gone.
Standing by a tree in the front yard was an elderly man dressed in white. He had an ivory beard and long, matching hair. In his left hand was a slender sword and in his right hand was a bow gun, loaded with silver arrows.
He stared at the vampires that were too far away to be seen by human eyes. After realizing they wouldn't be coming for a second attack that night, the man turned away from the mansion and vanished in the night.
Left behind was half of a silver arrow, lying by a tree.
The next morning awakened with the dawn spreading out her glorious blanket of orange and yellow light over the heavens. Excessive dew had formed on the English fields, reflecting the sky's beauty.
Frank was found in the dining room, reading the newspaper. Across the table sat Nero, nibbling on his eggs.
"Looks like your role model was spotted again," Frank commented, folding the paper and sliding it to Nero.
Nero put down his fork and stared at the front page where two pictures were shown, one of a man in white standing by a tree in the dark and the other of a broken arrow.
Then he read the article.
The Ghost Hunter Strikes Back
Around midnight, three dark figures were found fleeing from Little Lark Lane. There were no actual witnesses to who or what frightened these flying monsters, but one reporter found a piece of a silver arrow, lying in the grass by a tree.
Some strong fans of the great vampire slayer have been interrogated about the arrow. They claim that it could have been his since the white-cloaked man supposedly takes a liking to silver.
Nothing else has been confirmed as of today.
"Duke was here!" Nero exclaimed. "I told you, Dad! There were vampires on the roof!"
"Nero, let's forget about last night for awhile. We can talk about Duke later and—"
"Dad! Why don't you believe me?"
"Nero, it's not that I don't believe you. I told you I did last night; I know you aren't lying. It's just I still have doubts about the vampires."
"But you don't believe me—"
"Nero, it's okay. Let's just replace your window and then we can—"
"No, Dad! No!"
"Son, what's wrong? You act like I am forcing my opinion on you. Do you think these 'monsters' are going to take you away to their castle or something?"
"It's not about that, Dad! It's not about that at all! I'm upset because you don't believe me! You never do!" and then Nero pounded the table.
Rising up out of his seat in tears, Nero ran out of the dining room and up the stairs, ignoring his father.
Frank didn't know what to do. He just sat back and sighed as he rubbed his head.
Jasmine strolled in the room and rubbed Frank's shoulders.
"Bad morning, dear?"
"No, Jasmine. Just frustrating."
"Seven-year-olds can be that way sometimes, but just remember," and she whispered in his ear, "he still loves you."
"I know, honey. Thanks," and then they kissed.
"Well, I guess I had better go get that window replaced. Then I'll think of something to do about Nero. He's pushing my temper, but," and Frank sighed, "I know that I can come across the wrong way with him sometimes. I just don't want to hurt him."
"You do the best you can, Frank. Don't worry about it. Just as Nero learns how to be more of a man, you learn more each day how to be a great husband … and father."
"Thanks, Jasmine."
"So when do you plan on being back?"
"By noon, I hope."
"Well don't let Nero get to you."
"Last week he called me a bad father."
"I know petty things can hurt when they come from the ones you love, but Nero doesn't mean everything he says."
"You're right, Jasmine. You always are."
"I know."
Frank smiled.
"Goodbye, dear."
They kissed one last time before Frank left. Jasmine stood on the front porch, watching Frank step into his horse drawn carriage and leave the driveway.
Nero was up in his bedroom, watching his father through a large gap in the wall where his window once was. He wiped his teary eyes once or twice. He was a boy with big hopes, huge dreams … and a crushed heart.
"Oh, the poor little dear had another fight with his daddy?" the maid asked as she brewed hot tea in the kitchen.
"Yeah, Margaret, they did," Jasmine replied worriedly.
"Now, darling, you keep stirring your tea like that and you'll puncture a hole in the cup."
Jasmine chuckled and said, "You're always so jovial, Margaret."
"Well, honey, after my husband died I thought I wouldn't be able to live, but you know what? I decided I wasn't going to let death, the key to a new life, get me down. I know my hubby is in Heaven and that soothes my heart. Nothing gets me down or scares me now … except rats."
Then the two laughed.
"They're supposed to be going on a boat trip this week," Jasmine said.
"Oh! That will be so good for them!" Margaret replied.
"I hope it will be. Nero has been very hardheaded."
"Like his father?"
Jasmine realized that it was true. Nero was growing up to be just like Frank. She forgot that it isn't just the good points of Nero's personality that reflect his father, though.
"You always know what to say, Margaret."
"Aw, thank you, sweety."
Then the two sipped their tea.