(The Loud House and/or other related titles are rightfully owned by Viacom and Nickelodeon)
(The following is a work of fanfiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the writer's imagination or are used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any kind contained herein are for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.)
"The world seems full of good men, even if there are monsters in it." – Bram Stoker, Dracula.
- CHAPTER ONE -
THE ABBEY
Northern Bohemia, Czech Republic.
30th of October – 11:35 P.M.
The night sky was blanketed in red, and the full autumn moon materialized high above, barely spilling its bright cream-colored rays past the black and wispy clouds. The cold October wind brushed against his short white hair and nipped lightly at his cheeks. The essence of death loomed in the chilled air as the gossamer fog slowly began to settle in, overcasting the background of this weary land, covering up the dirt floor beneath his boot-worn feet.
His blue eyes searched around at the hazy gloom of the environment of the deep forest that he was in, being surrounded by barren trees, leaving nothing but naked branches resembling long skeletal fingers reaching out at all directions. Not a trace of the ground was visible, as mentioned before, for the fog had now obscured all trace of it, leaving him blind to whatever else he could step on, be it possibly browned dead leaves, a trap laid out for him by his prey, or a small animal.
But he did not need to see the ground to know exactly where it was, for years of honing his senses taught him to see with his ears and not just with his eyes alone. He could hear the crows cawing out at each other, the crickets chirping, and a lone wolf howling from an elongated distance. He could also hear the trickling of a nearby stream. Closing his eyes, he carefully placed the palm of his right black gloved hand down on the ground, his mind giving him mental pictures of what he was touching. His gloved hand searched for whatever was different about the ground until he came upon something that seemed to be very out of place.
He traced the outlines with his fingers until he came to the successful conclusion that it was a footprint, not of his own of course, but one that was... Hmm, odd. The footprint was something Lincoln had not expected at all. This was not the print of a bare foot, but rather, and judging by the shape of the heel and the sole, they were most likely high-quality loafer shoes. Who would have guessed that this vampire had such an upstanding taste?
The direction of the footprint was straight in front of him, telling him that whoever it was that made that print was close.
He stood back up onto his feet and peered his trained eyes as best he could into the darkness. From far ahead, as the moon barely shined across the land, he could see what his eyes and sharp mind could describe as the shadowy outlines of an old structure that displayed itself from afar. Based on the information given to him by the people of the village that was now more than eleven miles behind him, Lincoln concluded that what he was seeing was what appeared to be that of an abbey that had been in disuse, long abandoned, for quite some time.
So that is where you are hiding, he thought. You can only stay in the darkness for so long. But I will find you, and I will finally avenge my friend. Lincoln inhaled a deep breath through his nose and slowly exhaled through his mouth.
Lincoln Loud was a rugged-looking young man, appearing to be twenty-two years of age with short snow-white hair and a set of dark eyes.
About his torso was an orange button-up shirt, a black-brown laced leather vest, and a black leather long coat with red lining underneath. Adorned on his head was a slightly narrow-brimmed hat. He wore a pair of buckled motorcycle boots, as well as some black gloves and armor-plated kneepads. Strapped firmly to the upper legs of his black denim pants were leather gun holsters. Etched on the silver buckle of his multi-poached utility belt was a peculiar emblem, the image of a simple Templar cross with a fanged skull head smack dab in the center.
He turned around swiftly, approached his horse that patiently waited for him – one that was given to him by one of the local farmers who lived about ten-and-a-half miles south from here, and climbed onto the leather saddle. A kick from his heels and the horse was off, its hooves clip clopping against the hardened soil, carefully trotting along the mist-hidden path that lead to the crumbling monastery ahead.
Eventually, after traversing through the surrounding forest and on the road, he gently pulled onto the reins, making his horse come to a complete stop. They were now at the foot of the entrance of the abbey. Lincoln looked up and examined every detail of the abbey.
The place was roughly about more than three floors high and gray stone bricks made up most of the structure. A few rectangular windowpanes were present here and there. On the right side of the abbey was a small tower where the old rusted bell hung. A large circular stained-glass window displayed itself up above the entrance of the abbey. Many crypts and gravestones were everywhere, surrounding almost the entire property by less than one acre. Lincoln's eyes slightly shifted into a glare. After dismounting from his horse and hitched the reins to a nearby pole, he opened a large duffle bag that hung on the right side of the saddle.
Inside were a certain number of varied equipment, those being a multi-poached utility bandolier – which he directly slung over his long coat and chest – and an assortment of small vials that were filled with a multitude of distinctive contents in each one; ranging from garlic cloves, poppy seeds, and wolfsbane to holy water, mountain ash, and salt, all in that exact order. The traditional apparatus used appropriately for the likes of dismantling those of the vampire menace.
All of this, he organizingly placed in his utility belt, one vial for one pouch.
Drawing from the duffle bag further, Lincoln grabbed a small quiver of sharply pointed wooden stakes, and hid them snuggly behind his back beneath his long coat, along with other forms of monster hunting weaponry. The very last thing Lincoln drew from his bag were dual custom-made Ruger Old Army revolvers, both appearing to be made of stainless silver steel, and both of the guns came with ornamental engravings that were etched around the frames, cylinders and the seven inch barrels.
Shown on both sides of the polished wooden handles was the familiar Templar cross and fanged skull head logo. With that, he placed both revolvers in each of their own respective holsters. After that was done, he drew further from the bag and pulled out many ring-shaped moon clips that were loaded with gleaming sacred .45 caliber bullets and packaged them in each of the remaining still empty poaches of his utility belt and bandolier.
After breathing in a calm breath and then exhaling, Lincoln muttered a quick word of prayer, and then he walked up to the entrance and carefully opened the withered wooden door, making a loud and slow creak. Once inside the abbey, Lincoln gazed around at the structural interior. The marble stone walls were quite in a state of decay. There were two rows of pews that stretched all the way to the other side of the room, which Lincoln perceived to be some sort of a chapel.
The tapestries that hung against the marble walls were either torn in half, shredded into pieces, or long eaten away by moths.
It was all so very odd. There was not a single trace of anything that was modern to be found here. No light switches, no plug-in lamps, nothing. Absolutely no form of a technological device at all. It was as if this place had not been used for over a very long time, as if the place had long stopped catching up with the times since then. As he carefully treaded across the room, he suddenly heard a noise from the second floor above.
A sound that resembled that of aged wood that creaked from a single footstep. Immediately, Lincoln started up the staircase that was nearby to his right. What he saw was a dark and dusty room mildly covered in cobwebs around certain corners of the walls and other objects that had not been touched for only the Lord knows how long. A long-rusted axe hung above the disused fireplace.
Following his trained ears, Lincoln made his way to the next room that was situated near the bell tower. The moonlight shone through the broken glass windowpanes, giving his eyes a better look at the dwelling. The room was just as much in disarray as the previous one. The ceiling was more than thirteen feet high with an iron chandelier that hung from the center.
A few ripped-up tapestries and unlit torches covered most of the stone walls. Lincoln kept his senses sharp as he carefully passed through the room, one cautious step at a time, the fingers of both his hands coiling tightly around the grips of his custom Old Army Rugers in their holsters. Even with the moon's rays shining through inside, there were still gloomy corners and shadows in the large room.
And then, Lincoln immediately heard the danger neighboring close by. A part of the rafters above had creaked. "Lincoln quickly turned, glanced up, and saw a shadowy being scaling up the wall. Before the figure could possibly make an escape, the monster slayer quickly drew the custom revolver from his left holster, aimed, and then pulled the trigger of his weapon.
With a fired flash of the muzzle, a single blessed bullet flew across the air at one of the withered rails close to the shadowy figure above, splintering a large chunk of the age-old wood near the figure's feet. With finesse and ease, the shadowed form leapt from the rafters and landed nimbly on its feet to the floor down to Lincoln's level.
"I suspected right, knowing that you would hide in a forsaken place like this," Lincoln spoke to the figure. "Now, I hope that you're prepared to face what is to come next, Griselda."
Thanks to the beaming light of the full moon, Lincoln was given a much better look at whoever it was standing before him. But what he saw was something that which he was not expecting at all. What he saw caused all of the blood to drain from his own face, and his eyes to widen, surprise and shock filling up in his heart. The vampire slowly turned its head to the side, eying the monster hunter from its peripheral vision, and smiled a very toothy grin.
"I'm afraid Lady Griselda is not here, at the moment," the vampire spoke, in a low and yet also ominous voice that was all too familiar to Lincoln. A voice that he had not heard in four long years, one that he instantly recognized as the voice of–
"C-Clyde...?" Lincoln Loud murmured, his mind trying to comprehend the revealed identity of the humanoid monster he saw standing with its back turned before him. Slowly but surely, the vampire turned around to face him, revealing itself completely for the hunter to see.
A hint of black and red slowly became visible. The figure, a young man appearing to be around the same age as Lincoln and clad in red-and-black clothing, stepped forth, emerging from the darkness and appeared before the shining moonlight, his unnaturally pastel face revealed in ominous shadows from the stark light. Lincoln instantly turned pale.
"Hey there, Lincoln," muttered Clyde McBride, a wicked-looking smile plastered on his face. "It's good to see you again."
TO BE CONTINUED...
What did ya'll think? Was it good? Bad? Meh? Let me know in your reviews and tell me what you think could be improved. Until then, have a lovely Autumn and stay safe. ;)
