A Nightmare in Stokely
Vlad could hear the storm raging outside even through the Castle's thick stone walls. The wind and rain howled at the door like fearsome beasts, trying desperately to enter. The weather fit his mood perfectly. He and his best friend, Robin, had had a spectacular fight the day before in school. Robin had been going on, and on, and on about how Katie Nolan had admitted that she could sorta kinda see how he might be cute in a weird way. Vlad was used to hearing about the fuel for Robin's right hand, but this time he had simply snapped
. He couldn't explain it; one minute he was listening to Robin's boasting, and the next adrenaline was coursing through his veins. Anger was all he could think about. Anger, and envy and ohgloriuswrath filled his mind, clouded his eyes. He had shoved his tray forcefully down the table, knocking several other people's lunch out the way. Vlad winced a little as he remembered the hurt look on Robin's face, and the way it contorted in anger as he shouted back. It climaxed when Robin tried to lunge across the table and take a swing at him, prompting Van Helsing to step in. Vlad had fallen foul of the school's 'No tolerance for the instigator' policy – introduced courtesy of a Mr Price – and was suspended for the rest week. So he was stuck watching Jeremy Kyle, 'My boyfriend beats me – should I stay with him?'
"What's up, Master Vlad?" Zoltan asked him sympathetically. "You look upset."
"I don't know why I blew up at Robin like that yesterday, Zoltan." He confided to the stuffed wolf. "I couldn't control it… I just felt this rage inside me, and I –I couldn't control it." The boy confessed.
"I'm not surprised, Master. It is getting closer to Beltane. Now that you're fifteen – and you've worn the crown – you'll be more susceptible to its effects." The wolf said, ignoring Vlad's look of confusion.
"What effects are you talking about?" Vlad prompted.
"Why, hasn't your father told you?" the wheeled mammal asked, surprise evident in his tone."
"Dad still hasn't forgiven me for the whole 'Time Warp' thing." The boy admitted. Vlad still thought it was totally worth it.
"No? Perhaps you know it as Nos Galan Mai?" the wolf asked. Seeing the boy's unchanging blank look, he continued. "Nos Galan Mai, or Beltane, or Belotenia in Breton, is one of those times of year when the veil is weaker. You'll find that your vampiric side will be getting more active. It also means that you'll be a lot more powerful." He explained.
Vlad felt a shiver run down his back at the prospect.
"So I could vamp out randomly?" he asked, voice rising.
"Not at all, young master! You'll just be a tad more short-tempered, with better hearing and sense of smell, and a lot stronger and faster." The wolf tried to console him.
Vlad rubbed his eyes with his palms, and then asked, "Is there anything else I should know?" He felt incredibly stressed. Normal teenagers didn't have to deal with sudden mood swings, intransigent embarrassing parents and a weird body, did they?
Zoltan was silent for a moment, before advising "Just remember what I said about the veil, Master Vlad. Things could get a lot stranger than they already are in Stokely."
Later that Night…
"Robin, do this! Robin, do that!" he muttered. Robin Branaugh was not a happy boy. His dad was at a plumbing convention, so his mum had sent him to get cough medicine for Chloe at the shops without so much as a please. She practically threw him out the house, into the middle of a freak storm! He was trudging along in a black hoodie and dark blue jeans, both saturated with water. Even his socks were wringing from wading through dark puddles. He was already in a foul mood after his fight with Vlad. That wanker, what was his problem? Just cos someone actually fancied him for once! His own mother even had the nerve to take his side! "He's probably going through some things right now, Robin. Do try to be patient."
He pushed his anger – and he'd never admit it, but hurt- away and tried to forge on. The driving wind and rain hit his eyes like insect bites, so he decided to concentrate on the pavement in front of him, dyed black by the rain and broken up by the reflections of street lights shining like fluorescent oil slicks. He usually liked the rain; it seeped into every corner of Stokely and made it darker and more ruined, but tonight it was this very sensation that made him felt uneasy. It was probably because he was actually out in the bastard rain this time. Probably due to the storm, the streets seemed completely dead, and Robin didn't even see any cars pass by. All he could hear was his own footsteps echoing in the empty streets, and the steady fall of water as abused drains struggled to cope. So much for summer starting soon … well, this was a close approximation of summer in Britain.
As he was walking, the uneasy feeling he had before grew. Robin stopped walking as he felt it uncurl from his gut and creep up his spine as his breathing got faster and the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood on edge like they were sentries. Waiting. Robin stood perfectly still, rain dripping from his hood onto his nose, then –
"Branaugh!" The shout was like a gunshot across the empty night. He'd recognise that voice anywhere: Price. He turned, and sure enough the whole tribe was there: Price, Drew, Tommo in Berghauses and a wet and miserable looking Kelsey, Stacey and Trish huddled round one 'HSM' brolly.
"Where's Count then? Got fed up of your needle dick? Is that why 'e 'ad a go at you in school?" he continued, eliciting laughter from his male friends and eye rolling from his female ones.
Without even thinking about it, he vented his frustration by snapping back "Fuck off!"
When he saw the look on Price's face, Robin wished he could unsay it. Or be further away.
"What'd you just say to me?" the boy demanded.
"C'mon babes, just leave it. I'm cold and I-" Kelsey started, but was cut off.
"No, I want to hear this. What… the fuck… did you just say to me Branaugh?"
Robin Branaugh was cold and wet and miserable, and had fallen out with his best and only friend. 'I so don't need this. Fuck it.'
Instead of answering, he started sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him. Shouts and the pounding of footsteps behind him confirmed they'd given chase.
Robin ran for a good ten minutes past a blur of granite and rain and light until a stitch in his side became so painful it forced him to stop. He leaned heavily on an imposing spiked railing next to him. He could hear the relentless thud of trainers on the ground behind him, telling him his pursuers still hadn't given up. Desperately he pulled himself along the railing until he came to a large gap in the bars, and he squeezed through. He hobbled forward desperately, spurred on by cries of "He went in there!" He looked up and saw rows upon rows upon rows of imposing grey slabs, mixed with the occasional mausoleum or angel statue, an army of stone. Robin recognised his surroundings instantly. He was in Stokely Necropolis.
Jonathan Van Helsing did not like storms. He would have quite happily waited it out under his bed covers. Jonathan Van Helsing did however like Chloe Branaugh. He would have quite happily have moved mountains if it meant he could get in her good books. As it was, she seemed to mistrust him deeply. 'Honestly', he thought, 'I beat up Count once – for something I can't even remember! – and she hates me forever.' He had actually used his prefect badge (…and his father) and pulled some strings for Count, and gotten his suspension reduced to two days, and even got Price moved from his classes to the Learning Support Base for a fortnight. 'Count might not be too happy about it,' he thought, 'but Chloe was.' He still couldn't believe that she'd given him her email, and couldn't help but grin every time he thought about it.
So when he saw Robin Branaugh fly past his window like wild dogs were chasing him, and then find it was ugly gorillas instead as Price and his 'crew' came hurtling past a few seconds later, he saw a golden opportunity. So he pulled on a jacket of his dad's that was close to hand and his own shoes, and flung himself after them. After all, if he got an email address for helping her friend, saving her brother another beating from the school "gangstas" must be worth at least Chloe Branaugh's mobile number.
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Robin was thankful that the rain had stopped. He was currently leaning against an ornate statue of an Angel wielding a spear, trying to catch his breath and ignore the chill he was getting from his heavy and waterlogged clothes. He seemed to have lost Price's gang somewhere in the sprawling complex, although feminine and shrill cries of "Give up! He's gone home, you dick!" carried on the wind told him that they hadn't yet given up the search. The place was pitch black, apart from the odd shafts of moonlight that struggled through the dark clouds hanging oppressively overhead. The weird feeling was back, stronger than ever. Robin had faced down some pretty creepy things, and he still couldn't get over this feeling. It was like the air itself was filled with a hostile charge, a malevolent energy coiled up and ready to spring.
The feeling of dread only increased as he stumbled up to the top of a grassy ridge. Below him, a naked man was laid out on an ornate marble sarcophagus. Green unnatural fire burned gleefully around the stone, illuminating the horrifying spectacle.
From the shadows stepped a woman clad in white linen, shadow obscuring her face. She boomed "Quod me destruit, me nutrit!"
Robin could only watch in horror as she then produced a dagger from her robes and plunged it into the man's heart. Robin though he would be sick as he saw her remove the dagger from her victim. His mind froze, as he tried desperately to breathe again. There was a mad woman, going around killing people in Stokely of all places!
He couldn't contain his horror as the man proceeded to rise from the waste up. He raised his arms, and Robin could see into his chest. His heart was not beating. The undead thing cried "Sum quod eris; fui quod es!" Moments like lifetimes passed by. The only sound was his own breath, coming harshly. Then the knocking began.
Knocking, and scratching filled his senses. Robin Branaugh could only look on in horror as the dead of Stokely Necropolis started to rise.
AN: Trying to do a gothic, scary kind of story. Leave a few words if you do or do not like what I've written so far please. Also, much love to Drygionus for her permission to love her charming creations. I think that they've become part of YD fanon!