There was a certain silence that pervaded that tiny village north of Bremen that night. Despite the sharp rain and nearby thunder, every inch of Meerstadt felt quiet. A certain unease flowed through the air, seeped into every crack and crevice of every homestead and tavern, even the chapel. A small inn, the one that was always bustling with the tired and drunk few coming in from the fields, was completely silent. The keeper had already locked up for the night and grabbed a chair.
In a room just upstairs, lied Peter Muller, called the brewer of Bremen. He couldn't close his eyes. Despite putting out his lamp, closing his door shut and making sure that damn creaky window wouldn't let in an inch of rain, he couldn't sleep. This wasn't all that uncommon for Peter, certainly not. He'd inherited his father's insomnia and taken to his sister's overactive imagination.
Peter's nights were a battle with himself. He would convince himself, subconsciously, that the chair's shadow was not a shadow at all, but a gremlin who'd come to chew his legs off. He knew, unfortunately, that if he turned that oil lamp back on to check, he would never be able to sleep.
Peter Muller laid there, tossing, sweating, and rapidly closing and opening his eyes. He turned to his left for the fiftieth time that night and again saw that same tall shadow from an hour ago. Damn that thing! he thought. He wasn't scared anymore, he hadn't been for years, he was just angry now.
"Damn you, shadow! Let me sleep!" he cursed at the corner of his room, grabbing a handful of mattress with an enraged fist.
Curiously, a moment later, the shadow seemed to shrink. Now the thoughts flooded again. The one thing he hoped to avoid. Did it just respond to me? Could that shadow be- am I insane, did I - who? The thoughts made no sense and flooded violently. He shut his eyes and forced his face into the pillow in one final effort. Surprisingly, this seemed to ease him out, and Peter finally felt himself drifting away.
"I was damned once before." Peter felt a sharp pain drag itself down the edges of his spine. The voice grew closer, and the miller felt a hot, putrid breath engulf his ear.
"Now it's your turn." The pain shot outwards like a stone hitting glass, branching and webbing into every inch of his body. Peter screamed in terror and agony, trying to toss himself out of the grip of this force, but feeling completely paralyzed.
The pain only grew more excruciating as his throat was torn into by a set of archaic claws. The back of his head was torn into and his legs were cut to shreds. His final scream was heard as his heart was agonizingly dragged out of his back by the hand of this horrid beast.
The pale, cracked hand crushed the poor man's heart like a cherry tomato and lifted itself into the crooked-toothed maw of this creature. The shadow's deep amber eyes filled with wicked delight as it tore the flesh of Peter Muller off of his corpse, devouring it in a single mouthful.
A raspy, disgusting laugh reverberated against the walls and meticulously shut windows of the inn's uppermost room to the left as Peter's lungs were torn apart by the hideous shadow, the vile and unknowable vampire.