A/N: This takes a good bit from Dracula, but it'll diverge quite a bit as the story plods along. Also, this isn't in any actual country due to my laziness (and by that I mean utter stress) with researching Europe in the 1880s, so we're just takin' a made-up place and applying general historical knowledge so I don't spend eight hours reading papers on the Austrian-Hungarian empire. Again.
Also there is going to be major character death, noncon, and a lot of violence. It's gonna be bloody and fun though, I promise. Enjoy~
Thursday, the 2nd of April, 1885
In the waning daylight hours of a cold spring day, a fog began to spill from the height of the mountains. Trickling down through thickets of evergreens and seeping through the slim cracks left in precarious piles of stone, it found its way through the maze of nature onto the man-made structures at the foothold of a towering cliff.
Sweeping its way through tilled dirt paths and between the feet of villagers approaching the end of their days, it caught little attention. A common occurrence to find themselves in a slight swell of mist in the damp days following a storm, though an unseasonable warmth made it worth conversation among townspeople. Said storm had occurred only two nights prior, and the sweet smell of slick grass and freshly-made mud still ran rampant in their village. Gray clouds still clung overhead, remaining uninfluenced by the sun's journey creeping behind the mountains. With the air so heavy and each breath laden with extraneous effort to bring in and out, the villagers found themselves all the wearier as more wisped strands entangled into braids of disorientation.
As the hours began to pass and the church bells had rung their final time for the night, as most had hurriedly poured back into their homes before dark overtook the village, the fog took their stead. What had been but a thin, milky ebbing tide along the dirt and through the gravel and sparse blades of grass turned thick. Like porridge it overtook the village, rising to nearly halfway up a homestead and obscuring the vision of those who still walked the paths. Amber glints from window-side candles caught each divot of the fog, fading into the ghastly light spilling down from the moon trying so desperately to shine through those hovering gray clouds.
Footsteps echoed around the houses from a heavy faded leather boot and a purposed stride, a light, stilted hesitation on the right step from a tightly secured truncheon and pistol. A routine walk from Rèmorda Stoley, whose hair stood in high alert against that of the fog. The nights like these were ones to be the most attentive, he'd been told by others.
A small village like Enrilth required little attention from the police, only one officer sent per night to make the rounds and leisurely stroll about looking for the all-too-rare troublesome occurrence. There were typically sounds to be heard: Late night strollers and the flow of the spanning river pressing through the mountains to echo into their valley. On nights like these, however, it seemed to be the barren valley of Siddim, awaiting a brutal invasion while God tried to hide His sinning creation from His own view.
In a village of a mere two hundred timid, God-fearing people, even this night seemed unnervingly still.
Rèmorda Stoley, just past the cusp of thirty and clinging to his officer post as his only reason for remaining in Enrilth, rued the notion of undertaking a night such as this. He hadn't patrolled during such acts of nature, had had only desk duty and heard the tales passed down from senior officers before him of their own eerie happenings.
Rèmorda Patterson had come in the next dawn of his own fogged adventures a few years back, swearing up and down at a horse that had escaped its stable and approached him from out of the misted shadows, frightening him enough for a loud yell to have echoed around each and every house. His was one of the easier stories to process, one of the ones that every other officer in their small group prayed for on their own routes.
Patterson's mundane tale, however, was not as common the odd occurrence as their patrol hoped for. Others came forward with reports of wails they couldn't pinpoint a location for despite searching for nearly the entirety of their shifts, shadows that clung and never seemed willing to seep off back onto the streets. There were reports of missing family members that had been all but brushed off after months of searching, the assumption made that they'd wandered off into the mountains in the middle of the night and out of their scope.
More than a handful had repeated the tales told so long by the elders of their village of Marchosias, the furred beast that seemed to slip along the sides of houses with broken wings like oil. Stealthily it would stalk the streets, just waiting for an unfortunate passerby before taking them by surprise. It would appear as though plucked from the night sky itself, they would claim, leaving a trail of musty darkness that both repelled with a drastic chill and suffocating strength, yet drew in with an intoxicating aroma of crushed and fermented kadarka grapes.
Stoley smelled no wine in the air, only rain-saturated tobacco plants from the farmland over the hill of Laida. He'd heard the tale of Marchosias and other frightful creatures since he was a child, fell asleep to his own parents recounting their own fateful encounters with the myriad of demons so many claimed to plague their tiny village. Outsiders who passed through their village, however, held tales of their own lands of similar beasts. Stoley could only assume that either people were full of it, just loved the grandeur and the attention that came from weaving wild tales, or every single place on Earth was wrought with demonic presences.
He was far more focused on the duty he'd been carrying out for the last six years, only getting the solemn nod of the officer whose shift he took over that told him of a quiet night ahead. Throat parched, and hand poised vigilantly alongside his truncheon, he began the fourth cycle of his regular route, making a full round of the church with the chipping bricks and saturated with the scent of the oils of catechumens and chrism leaking through the crack of the western window.
He found himself indulging in a small, fond smile. The day had not been tainted by the dreary mugginess of the air, despite being so crowded within evening mass before his shift and nestled nearly atop the laps of his neighbors just as enthralled in the holiness of the day as he was. No, within the walls of their simple congregation, breath never seemed to flow so clearly. It was easy enough to forget the world so stained waiting for them while being touched with the tale of Jesus' humility.
What he wouldn't have given to be back in that oblivious state once more instead of alone, tromping down the barren streets.
Deep brown eyes flittered between houses, seeing the barest outlines of furniture between candlelight and the damnable fog impeding his vision. He knew well enough that the bodies within those houses were stuffed with heavy stews and goblets full of wine, prepared for the day of fasting before them all. His lips twisted in the slightest, hoping his own dinner hours prior would be enough to sate him when daylight found its way back over the mountaintops. It didn't matter, he supposed. His day would begin back in bed and he would awake in the early evening to find his way back to mass and truly start his repentance.
He made way to step across the dirt road between the church and a row of houses, hearing an echoing clatter of stone and coming to a stop. His head whipped in the direction of the sound across the way towards the vacant gunsmith's. Stoley squinted through the heavy mist, turning on his heel and heading down the way. His teeth lightly clacked, keeping his head turning to look for signs of youths sneaking out of their homes to fool around in an overgrown field or a drunken fool attempting to meander his way home. Seemed to be the status quo for his routine, though he didn't hear the telltale giggles of teenagers or the frustrated slurs of a man too many ales in to tell his house from a barn.
He found himself before the gunsmith's, scanning the ground for the guilty rocks that caught his attention. The toe of his boot lightly prodded at a beige Porphyry, finding it embedded in the dirt and hardly budging at his insistence. He hummed, fingers tightening along his truncheon in light pulses as he moved to head West and search further.
A light drizzle began anew, a shudder rolling down his spine as he looked up through the fog lingering overhead to the blackened sky just barely outlined with the silver bellies of mourning clouds. A drop of rain found itself tearing through his left eyelash, trickling through the fine hairs to kiss his iris. He grunted, raising a gloved hand to rub at the assault and dropping his attention back down to continue his search for the rogue pebbles.
Plenty of rocks lined his way, but a lack of a breeze made it hard to understand how any had found their way to tumble on their own accord. He came to another pause, face tightening in a concentrated grimace as he listened through the sound of light raindrops dappling the dirt for any other outlying noise.
Another clatter from far behind him whirled him around, pace immediately quickening as he moved East, eyes darting. The drizzle began to produce thick droplets that crashed atop his head, snaking down through his hair to touch his skull and ride the curve down the back of his neck under his woolen uniform. A gulp found its way down his throat, bumps prickling along his arms as he stepped through a sudden coldness, and the sudden aroma of hefty wine.
His eye was drawn back across the road, finding himself in line with the door of the church and bristling uneasily. With a slow step, he moved out of the parallel, his disquiet heightening as he found himself back in the muggy warmth he'd been combatting throughout the night and the returning smell of rain-splashed tobacco.
Light fingers came to brush drenched bangs plastered on his forehead into a graceless swoop, shoulders stiffening as he forced his feet to continue pressing onwards. Foreboding hesitation racked his body, unsure of just what it was he was searching for. His knuckles were stark white along the handle of his baton, a thin lip being ground down by clenching teeth. Finally, his fingers unwound, hand sliding back along his belt steadily to instead grab the grip of his pistol in the same poised strain.
Stoley couldn't remember the last time he'd so much as held his pistol on his patrols, typically only using it for warning shots on the few-and-far-between violent skirmishes that would erupt between warring farmers. Something about this night as he trudged through the fog towards the glowing lantern of the end of the road, however, seemed to want him to utilize any advantage he could muster.
Perhaps it was merely in his head, he tried to convince himself as he walked. Too many stories from too many senior officers poisoning his reasoning. Surely they weren't immune to the gratification of storytelling and the attention received from spinning tales of adventure in their humdrum village. So maybe that's all it was, imagination getting lost in the thrall of the mist.
"Jennifer! Come back!" a deep voice screamed, cracking with the telltale timbre of being torn from sleep.
Stoley spun around, immediately sprinting towards the source of the sound, the clatter of his boots slamming against the dirt echoing between the array of buildings surrounding him. It had come from the second street back, towards the river that wound its way through the mountains. His ears perked at another distinct, high-pitched sound: A child crying, the vocalization piercing enough to not be hindered by the rain beginning to come down heavier.
His pace picked up, heart wrenching with dread and confusion at just what he was running towards. He nearly flinched as a woman's panicked shriek rang through the night, followed by the sound of wooden doors slamming and yells of concern. Stoley growled, urging his body to move faster, to make damn sure he wasn't going to find himself with the village in a frenzy on his watch. A chorus of shouts wormed their way around the buildings, each laced with some form of terror Stoley had never heard from his neighbors before.
"Get her inside, inside!" that deep voice bellowed yet again amid the yelling and the rain.
After what seemed to be the furthest stretch of his village that Stoley had ever had to cross, he came to the backs of a small crowd of five men, eyes narrowing as he pushed forward and shoved them aside to slither his way to the forefront.
His breath caught, finding himself locked in glowing eyes the hue of redcurrants, nestled among tufts of soaked, dark fur barely outlined by mist seeping over its form. Stoley squinted, heart pounding. No, not over. Through.
His hand immediately pulled his pistol from its holster, ignoring the panicked declarations of the townspeople around him as he pointed the barrel towards the beast. A simple snuff left a sharp muzzle before the red eyes picked up a heavier glow, reflecting eerily on wisps of vapor between itself and the men. The group doubled back as the creature slid out of existence, not a single step taken by the beast as it dissipated before their eyes into nothingness smoothly as oil.
"What the hell is going on?" Stoley demanded, looking at the men surrounding him for explanation. He glanced towards a wide-eyed woman illuminated in a candlelit window, a wailing baby clutched tightly to her breast as she watched the scene before her.
"Jennifer just woke up and went outside, wouldn't say anything!" Alec Simmons snapped, riled and a stocky frame shaking with adrenaline as he looked between the officer and his petrified wife observing them. "Took the baby and just walked out! Right to that… thing."
Stoley nodded, gnawing on his tongue and unable to quite comprehend what he'd found himself in the middle of. "All of you," he addressed the group. "Get back to your homes, I'll handle this-" He stopped short, eyes widening and breath stuttering as the weakened, trailing shadows of the men parading against the dense fog began to morph, mottled moonlight picking up the glistening curve of individual strands of fur as the creature emerged from emptiness behind the thrall. Pieces of shadow clung to its back like tree limbs, its shape mangled and twisted as it spawned from a half-dozen directions.
It lunged towards the cluster, breaking off from the hold it'd crawled out of, each branch of shade peeling off fluidly like skin. Its dark, wide jaws opened and snapped shut around the throat of a boy of not sixteen, a short, panicked scream cut off with a gurgling gasp as he fell with the force of fangs sinking effortlessly through his skin. The beast was unhindered by his weight, easily pressing through the crowd and knocking the remaining men off their feet as it sprinted, dragging the boy's limp form through the mud.
Stoley hit the ground with a yell, immediately twisting up to his knees and aiming his pistol towards its retreating form. He squinted as it pivoted towards the river and its chest was in his sights, pulling the trigger and the lot of them recoiling with the thunderous sound filling the valley with a sharp crack. They watched, tensed at the lack of so much as a stumble from the creature. Stoley stood, lining himself up for another shot and his thumb pulled the hammer, trying to keep his arm steady with the creature's rapid pace in his hindered vision. He broke forward into a sprint, the remaining men hopping onto their feet and following to assist in pursuing the beast.
They slid around the row of houses and headed towards the river on its trail, Stoley taking another three booming shots as they ran. His face fell in dismay at each one seeming to pass right through, briefly seeing his spent bullets buried in a thick trail of blood atop the mud as they desperately tried to catch up to its weightless dash. The brief hope that he was wounding the creature was short-lived, even in his panic reasoning that, considering the beast losing not a step in its stride, they were following the macabre breadcrumb trail of the boy being lifelessly dragged away.
They slid to a horrified stop as it reached the outskirts of the paved paths, each toppling in the slickness of the dirt and mouths agape as the creature and its victim seemed to melt against the grass being pelted in the rainfall. Into several pieces they both spread, attaching to the shadow of individual blades and pressing forward, the landscape rippling like a gust of wind carrying through the meadow.
Jaw trembling, Stoley got to his feet, his pistol still clutched tightly in his cramped fingers and standing silently amongst the panicked shouts of the men behind him debating still trying to track it down and see if they could save the boy. The chill left in the wake of the creature told Stoley otherwise, that they were far past the point of being able to help.
The men seemed to reach the same conclusion and simmered into nothing more but horrified expressions and silence as they watched, nauseous with the lingering, smothering aroma of grapes as the rustle of the grass disappeared downriver towards the inlet of the mountains and silently crept into the depths of the fog.