Large tires ground against the gravelly roads winding near the base of the mountain. The clouds hung low in the sky, gray and threatening. They swallowed up the sun making the time of day questionable. Nothing about this village was welcoming. A ghost town would have been the perfect word to describe the smoking heap of a village on the outskirts of Bucharest if not for the ashen faces of the folks still milling about. It was obvious by the look of the way the villagers looked at them that they hadn't seen many outsiders. The shadow of a town had seen its share of war. Once centers of commerce lay in smoking rubble, the local Cathedral's tower lay on the ground with the church bell crushed under huge bricks, never to sing again. Children clutched to their mother's skirts and looked wide-eyed at the large black trucks. A roll of thunder came from behind the black army vehicles as if alerting the people of the malevolence coming their way. UNITED STATES ARMY wasn't the welcoming parade the propaganda back at home had made civilians believe. The army's sudden visit was very unsettling for villagers.
Two polished boots hit the gravel with a crunch. The silver-haired Colonel Striker scanned the area, still wearing his metallic aviators. Agent Zero followed him out of the vehicle. Satellites had revealed ruins of a castle high in the mountains near this village. Where he would find the ruins he would hopefully find what he needed.
"The easiest way up would come from the west side." Agent Zero pointed.
"Lead a team up on higher ground above the castle," Striker commanded "I'll need you watching and ready in case worse comes to worse. I want another party coming in from the south and I'll take the road with our truck," the road would be another obstacle in itself. Even satellites could not find the path leading to the castle since it had been left untouched for over 100 years.
Striker put on his charming façade and strode toward the small patisserie. The inside was bustling with orders and pleasant conversation but immediately went quiet as he stepped in. People turned to stare at the outsider. Striker scanned the room and acknowledged the attention, soon people went back to their conversations and the volume rose.
An older man with hair of snow white shuffled over to Striker. He wore a blue threadbare sweater and tattered pants, but Striker concluded by the flour soiled apron, he must work here.
The old man opened his arms "Good evening sir, what could I get for you today?" His accent was thick but he might have been the only one in town to speak English. The old man's wife came to his side, making sure everything was alright. Her plump hand hit her husband and grumbled something Striker could not translate.
The old man straightened up slightly "You like coffee? I bring for you, my wife makes fresh pastry" the old man exclaimed in broken English, waving closed fingers in the air.
His wife nodded and tried to usher the colonel into a seat.
As much as Striker was enjoying the hospitality of the meager pastry shop was trying to provide he had business to attend to.
"I just needed directions, I was hoping you could help," he pulled a folded up map from the inside of his uniform.
The old man's face twisted into a smile and nodded "of course, of course," he said eagerly.
"I need to find the road that leads to Velken Castle" Striker smiled at him but the man's face turned to a confused look as if he didn't hear him. "I don't understand?" The man blinked his milky eyes, "There are no roads, you don't want to go there." He said trying to dissuade Striker. The shop became quieter, customers looked over their shoulders at them.
Striker shook his head coolly "I'm no tourist, I'm on a mission to retrieve something very valuable to my country and it is in Castle Velken."
The man's wife wrapped her hand around her husband's arm, holding him closer as if he would be taken. The name Velken had made her eyes as wide as saucers and with a shaky breath whispered something to her husband.
"It is not safe...no one goes there... monsters in there.." He tried to explain. 'Hopefully, there are', the Colonel amused. The superstitions the small townsfolk believed in were farfetched, but that was exactly what brought him to this ash heap of a country.
"Don't you worry, my men have faced worse enemies" he laughed, but it did not comfort anyone. He pushed the map forward again. The man looked down and he could see for a minute an internal debate. The old man reluctantly took the red pen from his apron and drew a shaky line to mark a trail. The blood red line on the map that would lead men to their death, all because this outsider didn't take his warning. The old man felt like he had just killed them himself. His brows furrowed into a sorrowful state, his wife held him closer all while glaring at Striker.
"Please," the man pleaded one last time, but not for Strikers safety. "Don't come back..."
Striker grinned to the couple "Thank you for your cooperation." he placed his metallic sunglasses on his face and turned at the heels towards the door. Leaving the patisserie with stunned silent patrons. The village was sure to be gossiping about this for a month.
Darkness. Darkness weighed her down, Darkness held her afloat.
She was floating on a still silent ocean. Black waters caressed the sides of her face. At first, the struggle to let go felt like she was drowning, fighting and thrashing out against nothing but water. But as time went on her body felt like it was floating up to the surface and now time held her completely still drifting on the black waters.
She was afraid to open her eyes at first, but when she did she saw the heavens above her. Beautiful star lights, cosmos, nebulas, and supernovas transcended over her. And so she floated there in a timeless space forever bewitched by the colors of heaven.
All of a sudden the skies became brighter, and brighter, and brighter. Until the stars all clustered together and the skies became a blinding white light. It burned her pupils and she held her eyes shut. All of a sudden she was being pulled back into the now white water. She struggled and thrashed. The urge to breath pained her again. She forgot what it was like to need air.
Deeper and deeper she was being pulled down until she hit the floor.
Earth? She tried to remember. The senses slowly came back to her. Air? She felt the wind against her skin. Her skin? Her skin, why was feeling like this?
Her senses were slowly coming back to her. For so long she was floating at the very brink of death until something pulled her back down her body.
Now she could feel the air around her and the weight of her bones and tissues. She tried to focus on these senses.
Muffled sounds became louder. Then the muffles began to sound like rocks being hit together. Hisses of water? No these were...these were... Voices. Yes, voices. That would mean people were here!
And why could she feel the air? Her tomb was sealed with a heavy stone.
Leave. Let me go. Let me fall off the edge, please.
Who dares to wake me from my dead slumber?
What was left of her decomposing brain tried to make out the voices.
'Not Latin these were no monks...the sounds were too soft and short to be a Slavic language...not Basque either...maybe Celtic. She listened and tried to recognize the words and sounds of teeth and tongue.
'Englishmen' she amused she hadn't the energy to make out what they were saying she couldn't respond anyway. She knew she'd be in this crypt long enough for her mouth to nearly dry out. She tried to focus on her the feelings around the paper like flesh. She could feel the warmth of bodies surrounding her it was like putting one's hand near a flame after laying hours in the snow.
Drip
….
Drip
….
Drip
….
Drops were hitting her gaping chops, gathering on her top teeth and shriveled skin where her lips once were
Drip
….
Drip
And suddenly they crept into her mouth and hit the back of her throat. A warmth built up where the drops finally landed. The warmth got hot and then began to burn, then they began to sear and the pain was too much. She couldn't move, she had no more muscle to contract against her bones so her limbs laid there. She wanted to scream to make the pain stop but her lungs would not move to inflate.
Drip
….
Drip
….
Drip
What was this? Her mind panicked she couldn't remember anything burning so bad. The hell fire began to creep through the rest of her head and then it made its agonizing way to her stomach, then the limbs. She realized the sensation then...it was the cells beginning to grow. She hadn't healed herself in so long she forgot the pain of regenerating tissue.
Drip
...
Drip
No no please I want to rot. Why is it all coming back? She could barely hear her own thoughts with all the pain.
Drip
...
Drip
I don't understand I haven't been trying to stay alive...I've been starving myself...I should be decaying why am I healing myself?
Drip
…
Drip
…
What are they giving me?
Drip
She realized
Drip.
Stop don't give me anymore. Leave. Heave the stone back on top of me. If you know what's good for you, you'll bury me.
Drip
Drip
Take it away before its too late. Take it away before I want it. Before I kill you all. I'll kill you.
Please please take...
Drip Drip
I'll Kill you all. Run.
Drip
Don't...Run... More
Drip
Slowly the fear was being confused the need...she was so confused as the two forces battled inside her. One begging them to stop and run, run for their lives. The other side threatening them to keep going, don't leave or I'll kill you. Give me more. The hungry force was taking over and she begged for more. Pleading for another drop. Every millisecond she waited for the drop of blood to fall through the air and into her mouth was agonizing.
Soon the blood lust took over and she embraced the pain of each fiber in her body slowly reattaching themselves.