Disclaimer: Van Helsing belongs to Scott Summers. And man, does it rock!

A/N: This title - and this chapter - has nothing to do with M. Night Shymalan's The Village.

Van Helsing picked up a tarnished silver mirror from off the table. His reflection was obscured by a thin coating of dust. With the corner of his sleeve, he wiped it clean. That was better. His eyes stared back at him, intense and serious. It was unusual for a woman to leave a mirror so neglected, Van Helsing noted. Perhaps she had no need of it, if she never had any visitors. And her entire village was undead.

The woman pulled a thick mass of blankets from behind a crate. "You're welcome to stay here," she said, laying the blankets down on the floor. "I certainly wouldn't recommend going outside in this storm."

"Not that I'm ungrateful or anything," Van Helsing set down the mirror and turned to face the woman, "But when can I leave?"

The woman looked up at him. "When the sun comes up would be safest."

Outside, the storm howled. "How do you tell when the sun comes up?"

The woman smiled. "Practice." She smoothed down the blankets, her smile fading. "I've been here a long time." She rose, and sat down on the chair in front of the fire. Van Helsing sat opposite her, picking up his bowl of soup where he'd left it.

"Thankyou," the woman said softly.

"For what?"

She did not lift her eyes from the flames. "For chasing away those… the villagers." She sighed. "Thankyou."

Van Helsing stared into the fire. Set in the middle of the room, it chased away every feeling of cold that there was. It was as if this home was protected from the horrific blizzard that raged outside.

"My name is Carina." She said. "As you heard them calling me."

"Do you know how it happened, Carina?" Van Helsing asked.

The woman shook her head, then paused, and nodded slowly. "Strange things have always plagued our village. Wild beasts, famines, blizzards that can last for months…"

Van Helsing looked to the door, alarmed. Months? Would he be trapped here for months?

The woman continued. "But a year ago… no, two years… one and a half, certainly…" She paused, gathering her thoughts. "Perhaps I'd best start from the beginning. My father was a merchant trader. The best there was. He would be gone for years, buying, selling and trading goods, and coming back to our humble village with such treasures!" She smiled, lost in the memory.

One of the logs in the fire crumbled, sending up a wave of sparks in the air, as lithe and quick as fireflies.

"This," Carina gestured to the room, "was his warehouse. And his home. One year, my father took me with him. I saw such wonders; a sea frozen solid. Water that ran hot, coming from underground. Buildings that survived the fall of the Roman Empire. And above all things, the goods my father brought with him - which we thought so unimportant back in our village - sold for a king's ransom; and things which we found so wondrous and strange sold for a penny on the streets." She laughed, then was silent.

Van Helsing listened.

"When we returned," Carina continued, the laughter dying in her eyes, "There was… a stranger in the village." Carina swallowed, but ploughed on, as though it were a necessary evil to tell of the stranger in order to finish the story. "This was a year and a half ago. This village never gets many visitors… it was a rare novelty. And he… he was a handsome man. The girls were flocking to him. And the men were impressed with the stranger's bearing - he was clearly a noble, dressed in animal furs and fine silks, but he was also…" Carina struggled for a word, "A survivor. A man who looked capable of surviving anywhere, surviving anything." Carina lifted her eyes from the fire, and looked straight at Van Helsing. "Much like yourself."

Van Helsing didn't quite know whether that was a compliment or not. He continued to eat the soup Carina had made while she talked.

"My father - God rest his soul - did not trust the stranger." Carina's eyes went flint-hard. "He said he did not like the way that the stranger looked at me." A pause. "I did not like it either. There was something about the man that sent shivers up my spine. And he would always be there, following us, watching us. It was… unsettling.

"The people of our village were strangers to us now, saying things they had never said before, doing things they would not normally do." She looked helplessly at Van Helsing. "That is the best way I can explain it. The people of our village… changed. No, not changed. They had been corrupted." She cast her eyes back to the fire. "The stranger left after a few weeks. But what he had done… did not. I fled, I hid, taking refuge in my father's warehouse, barring myself in and leaving only when I had no other choice. But every night, the villagers come to my home, and… and they ask me to open the door." She sighed. "So, for now, I am safe. But the supplies will not last forever, and there is only so much a soul can endure."

"Why do they want you to open the door?" Van Helsing asked. "Why is that so important?"

Carina looked at him. "Vampyres. They're all vampyres. A whole village, corrupted by that lone stranger. A whole village… bar one woman." She closed her eyes and settled back into her chair, sighing.

Van Helsing stared into the fire as he ate the soup. Vampyres. He'd heard stories of vampyres, but knew little of them. He knew they drank blood, and they could be kept at bay by the cross, cold iron… and garlic.

That explained the copious amounts of garlic in the soup. It was a protection. Van Helsing looked around the room, seeing the encircled crosses in a new light. This, too, was a protection.

"Why the fish?" He asked. "I understand why you would draw crosses, but fish?"

"The name of God's Son, in Greek, was ichthus." She explained, her eyes still closed, "Early Christians, fearing persecution from Rome, would draw the fish to let other believers know that they followed God." She shifted position in the chair. "Lift up your hands in the sanctuary, and praise the Lord."

"Psalm 134," Van Helsing noted, surprised.

Carina lifted her head. "The Lord is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear?" She smiled faintly. "Psalm 27." She looked down at the fire again, her pale hands folded. "I find that Psalm 27 has the greatest relevance to my life at this point in time."

"Wait for the Lord," Van Helsing said, remembering it. "Be strong, take heart, and wait for the Lord."

Carina nodded, then looked at Van Helsing, curious. "You speak like a priest, sir, yet when you were dispatching those strigoi I saw a darker side of your nature. It was somewhat frightening."

"I am many things," Van Helsing admitted, finishing the soup and setting the bowl aside. "But I do not intend to be frightening."

Carina laughed. "I meant, frightening for the strigoi."

Van Helsing smiled. "That, I can assure you, was intentional."

Carina smiled back at him, then turned to the fire, and sighed. "You should get some rest. In the morning, if the blizzard has let up, you are free to go." She rose to her feet and crossed the room. Van Helsing watched her, silently.

She picked up the mirror that Van Helsing had cleaned earlier, and examined her face in it. She touched her lips, her fingers lingering there, then set the mirror down determinedly.

"If they come back," she said, going to a mess of blankets in the corner, "Don't listen to them."

"I won't." Van Helsing assured her. He picked up the blankets that Carina had laid out for him off the floor, and wrapped them around him. He would not leave this chair. It was too comfortable. Besides - he felt safer sleeping upright. It was easier to protect himself that way. And Carina.

"Forgive me," Carina said, just before she lay down, "I do not know your name."

Van Helsing looked into the fire. The flames did not give him any answer. "Neither do I." He said softly. "But others call me… Van Helsing."

Carina nodded. "Then goodnight, Van Helsing." She lay down, and was asleep in an instant.

Van Helsing stared into the fire. But before drifting off, he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to Carina's father. The woman had said nothing of him beyond God rest his soul. If both he and Carina were wary of the stranger, and this was his warehouse, where was he?

Van Helsing woke suddenly. The room was dark - the fire had died, and it was growing steadily colder. The noise of the storm outside was still the same, but that was not what had woken him.

There was the sound of cloth on cloth. Subtle footsteps. Soft breathing. As Van Helsing's eyes accustomed to the gloom, he smiled wryly at himself. Carina was awake, and moving around. She was probably going to rekindle the fire. Van Helsing closed his eyes, and willed his senses to accept the woman's presence.

He felt a light touch on his shoulder, followed by a gentle shaking. "Van Helsing? Van Helsing, wake up."

He sat up slowly. "Why?" He peered through the gloom, trying to make out her face. "What's going on?"

"It's morning," she whispered back. "Come, quickly." The hand on his shoulder vanished, and Carina's footsteps headed for the door.

Van Helsing rose, putting the blankets aside, and moved to follow her. While she undid the locks, Van Helsing lifted the iron rod from its place and set it down. Now, there was nothing between Van Helsing and his quest. His quest to rid the world of evil wherever he found it.

Carina paused, her hand on the wood of the door. Van Helsing saw her turn her face to him in the gloom.

"I have… Forgive me, this is foolish, but I have a favour to ask of you."

Van Helsing tilted his head to one side. "If it's within my power, I would be happy to help you."

Carina took a deep breath. "I have to go into the village."

"What?"

Carina sounded pained. "I was going to ask if you would escort me, but it was a foolish request."

"Carina," Van Helsing frowned, "Why would you want to go into the village?"

"They do not usually come to my home like this!" Carina hissed back, "I think it was because they were attacked first."

"I never…"

"The strigoi." Carina said, her voice almost pleading. "You killed the strigoi. That is why the villagers tried to attack me. They are weakening. Killing their servants weakened them even further."

Van Helsing heard the strange tone in the woman's voice. "And you want me to kill them? The villagers?"

Carina lowered her head and gave a choked sob. "No! I cannot ask you for that!" Her voice hardened. "They deserve their fates. They made their choice. But… but my father was taken from me. They… they took him from me. Stole him." She looked up at Van Helsing, eyes softened in the darkness. "They deny him a proper burial. And I thought… since you had killed the strigoi… weakened them… they might… they might give me his body…"

Van Helsing fixed his eyes on the wood of the door in front of him. He had no obligation to this woman. She gave him a sanctuary for a night, and fed him. Nothing that could not be repaid in coin. But he was not heartless. This woman loved her father very much, that much was clear. And the villagers - the vampyres - were evil; that was even clearer. And it was his quest to purge the world of evil. But she did not want him to kill the people of Carina's village. All Carina was asking of him was to help retrieve the body of her father.

"Do you know where your father is?"

Carina's choked sob was one of relief. "In the town centre. Where the church once stood."

"Once stood?"

Carina wrapped her cloak around her move securely. "They burned it down," she said simply, then opened the door and stepped out into the blizzard, retying her headscarf tight. Van Helsing followed close behind, pulling the scarf across his face. The cold of the blizzard was nothing compared to the cold that gripped his heart.

It seemed to Van Helsing that Carina's home did not seem that far from the village. It also did not seem as well hidden as she had claimed. But then, he knew where to look. In the blizzard, through the forest and the rolling hills, there was nothing visible, no sign of the place where Carina locked herself in.

They now stood in the middle of the graveyard that encircled the village. Van Helsing felt a hand placed on his arm, and looked down to see concern in Carina's eyes.

"'Ware," she said, her voice low, "We enter a town of betrayal and death. Be on your guard."

Van Helsing nodded, and the two walked side-by-side through the graves towards the houses. Van Helsing was on his guard, as Carina had warned. His eyes lingered on the graves - none of them looked recently disturbed, but it was clear that they had been at some point in time. Glancing down at Carina, Van Helsing noted that the woman did not appear concerned, but he could sense the tension radiating off of her. He didn't blame her - they were walking into the middle of a lions' den.

As soon as Van Helsing's foot crossed the boundary line that separated graveyard from village, the storm suddenly ended. It was as simple as that - the wind died; the snow ceased to fly with icy savageness, content now to float gently downwards; and the dark clouds which blocked out the sky lightened. No golden beams of sunlight, though - it was as though the storm was holding its breath.

Van Helsing found this very unsettling. "Do you get this kind of weather often?" He asked Carina.

The woman had the strength to give him a withering look. "Didn't I tell you that strange things always happen in our village?"

Van Helsing shrugged. "That was not strange," he said, indicating the clouds, "That was bizarre."

Someone laughed. "Oh, yes, and Carina would know all about bizarre. The trader's daughter's seen more 'bizarre' things in her life than she likes to let on."

At 'all about bizarre', Van Helsing had whirled to face the figure that stood in the middle of the path, in front of the burnt-out shell of a building. The stranger stood barefoot in the snow, smiling politely. Carina paled, her eyes wide, and she pulled closer to Van Helsing, seeking sanctuary.

The stranger ignored Carina, and turned his attentions to Van Helsing. "Greetings, sir, to our humble village." He gave an extravagant bow. "A pity you could not have come in the summer - the view is truly magnificent then. You can see for miles, instead of these bare inches in front of your face."

"Enough with the showmanship, Serafim," Carina snapped, though she shook with fear, "It does not become you."

The young man - Serafim - smiled apologetically at Van Helsing. It was hard not to notice the way the man's eye-teeth were slightly sharper than normal. "I apologise for Carina's manners. She does not know how to conduct herself with a guest present." He looked pointedly at Carina, the veiled threat in his tone unmistakeable, then smiled again at Van Helsing. "Come, friend, out of the cold. Our tavern serves excellent ale. The fare is not so poor either, considering how backwater we are."

"We're here for Carina's father," Van Helsing said flatly.

A flicker of irritation crossed the man's chiselled features for a moment. "Carina's father?" The man shrugged, almost apologetically. "He is dead."

"Give him to me, Serafim," Carina said, coolly.

Van Helsing looked down at the woman. She didn't sound frightened anymore. But then, she was not dealing with a vampyre - she was talking to one of the villagers. Wasn't she?

Serafim made a playful face. "Come, Carina, you really think I believe your 'I must give him a proper burial' story? I know you better than that."

"Then, once again, you prove that you do not know me at all." Carina was shaking with anger now. "I have to bury my father, Serafim!"

He flapped a hand, dismissively. "Bury him in the graveyard, then, with the rest of the dead."

"Carina," Van Helsing turned to her, "That not may be such a bad idea… now that the graveyard is empty."

Serafim's eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion. "My mother rests in that graveyard."

Van Helsing shrugged. "Not anymore."

Carina gave a short laugh at the horrified expression on Serafim's face. "Serves you right for turning your mother into a strigoi, Serafim. Looks like you'll have to find some other old woman to be your servant."

Serafim turned to Van Helsing once more. "I would beg your apologies, sir. My fiancée," he shot another look at Carina, "Does not think before she speaks. It is a flaw I will have to accept… or see to."

Van Helsing frowned at Serafim. "Your fiancée?"

The young man looked surprised. "What, she didn't tell you?"

Carina dropped her head and muttered under her breath, neither admitting nor denying the fact.

"No," Van Helsing said after a moment, "She didn't." He shrugged. "Not that it matters, since I'm here to help her retrieve the body of her father, not marry her to you."

"Besides," Carina added, snarkily, "I cannot marry you, Serafim. You burned down the church and killed the clergy. How are we to be married without a proper ceremony?"

Serafim's smile twisted into a taunting leer. "Under the brush suits me just fine, my love."

Carina went pale, even more so. Van Helsing felt her grip his arm tightly, as though to draw strength from his presence, just as she had last night.

The snow continued to fall, light and innocent. The clouds overhead shifted, but still no sunshine.

In the ruins of the old church, there was a feeble groan.

Carina stared past Serafim, to the source of the noise. The young man standing in the path sighed irritably.

"What a nuisance," he muttered, "I had hoped to keep him as a bargaining chip."

"My father is alive?" Carina stared, horrified. "You kept him alive, Serafim?"

He shrugged. "You know better than anyone that we need fresh blood in order to live, Carina." He smiled politely at Van Helsing. "And why not keep Carina's father as such a food source?"

"You heartless bastard," Carina sounded disgusted, defeated.

Serafim's youthful features distorted with anger. "Heartless? Heartless? I am not the heartless one, Carina! I survive! As do we all! We need blood to live! And by blood we live, because by blood we were reborn!"

"Corrupted!" Carina said, angry but on the verge of tears, "You were corrupted! Made into monsters!"

Serafim's anger turned to rage. "You dare to call us monsters!"

In every house in the village, voices rose in shrieks. Doors and windows were flung open, and the villagers crowded into the streets, leaning out of windows and clambering across carts and crates, surrounding Van Helsing and Carina. But while they screeched and howled like demons from some flaming realm of Hell, their faces were calm, serene. Almost angelic. These people were perfect, beautiful. The sound of such unearthly voices from such beautiful people was terrifying.

Van Helsing readied his Tojo blades, preparing to fight. At the sight of his weapons, the villagers fell eerily silent. Serafim - calm once more - stood waiting at the end of the road. He made a motion with his hands, and two of the villagers disappeared into the ruins of the church, then returned a few moments later, dragging the body of an old man between them. Carina stifled a sob, glad to see her father alive, but did not rush forward. The villagers dropped the old man at Serafim's feet, then merged back into the crowd.

The old man moaned. He could not have been older than 40, but he was withered and pale, his lifeblood drained so that the vampyres could feed. He was deathly pale, and there were wounds around his neck and wrists, both old and new. Scars that would never heal.

Van Helsing could tell the man was not long for the world. Carina could tell as well, and hung her head and silently shed tears for her father's fate.

The snow continued to fall, as though the clouds were unaware of the brutal scene which was unfolding below.

"Well?" Serafim asked, his voice and manner unusually gentle. "Aren't you coming to see how he is?"

Carina lifted her tear-stained face, unable to speak.

Van Helsing stepped forward, and Carina, still clutching his arm, followed him. The crowd stood silent and still, following with their eyes. Serafim waited patiently as Van Helsing and Carina approached him.

"Take him," the young man said to Van Helsing. "Take him and bury him." He shrugged, affecting nonchalance. "It's the least you can do for her, stranger."

Carina knelt down by the body of her father, and held his withered hand in hers. The old man groaned, struggling to open his eyes, to look at the face of his daughter. Carina buried her face in the old man's hair, sobbing, trying to speak to him, trying to hear his feeble whispers. The relief in his eyes was undeniable - but was he relieved to see his daughter again? Was he relieved that he was free from the vampyres? Or was it something else?

Van Helsing held Serafim's gaze. Up close, there was no denying the aura of evil that surrounded this man like a cloak. Carina was right - it was a corruption. A taint of a single signature, which each villager bore on his or her soul. Every villager was a vampyre - and the taste of corruption and evil was thick.

"I could kill you all," Van Helsing replied calmly, flippantly, "And then Carina would never be bothered by your pleas to 'open the door' ever again. She would be free."

Serafim's lips twisted in amusement. "You really think so?" He chuckled. "I never thought I would see green in winter, stranger, but here you are. Standing right in front of me."

Van Helsing met the young man's gaze evenly, showing no fear, then he knelt down beside Carina. Pulling her away from her father's body, he raised her to her feet, then lifted the old man gingerly. He weighed no more than a sack of grain.

"Carina."

The woman turned back to face Serafim, her face tear-stained and wretched.

Serafim's face was softened with concern and affection that was in no way feigned. "It does not have to be like this, Carina. You could be immortal. You could live forever!"

Carina turned away from him. "One life on this bitter earth is hell as it is. I will not damn myself with an immortal life for anyone's sake."

Serafim's face nearly crumpled with regret and longing, then his eyes hardened, and all sympathy was gone. "You are damned, Carina. You just don't realise it yet." He paused, watching as Carina and Van Helsing dragged the old man away. "One day," Serafim called, "One day you will plead for the gift that was offered to us! One day, you will beg for my blood to pass your lips!" He laughed and laughed, and the wind whipped up in response to his laugher. The blizzard was returning.

The villagers stood and watched silently as Carina and Van Helsing left the way they had come, dragging the old man between them, making slow and steady progress through the growing storm back to Carina's home.

A/N: This is turning out interesting, wouldn't you say? Reviews would be nice - and thankyou to those who reviewed already. You guys rule.