CHAPTER THREE: Mon Pauvre Pere
Fr. O'Flaherty walked painfully to his desk. He opened his cabinet, and took out a tattered old book bound in worn, faded leather. The opened the old tome, and thumbed through to the page where the neat, tightly wound writing stopped. He took out a dull quill pen, and a small pot of red ink, and resumed his writing.
The Vampyr can spread their affliction to others by many means.
The first and most certain means of becoming a vampire is by Satanic Pact. Thus was the First Vampyr, known now as Dracula, the Son of the Devil, came into being.
The second, and second most certain means of producing another of the UnDead, involves a willing convert. A person, willing to share in the restless slumber of UnDeath, drinks the fatal blood of a vampire. The vampire repeatedly drinks of that person's blood, while the said person continues to drink of the vampire's. By this unholy process, the person will die and invariably become one of the UnDead.
The third, most common way of becoming a vampire is to be bitten, and, by being repeatedly sucked of one's blood, die by the Vampyr. This is the way most vampyrs in existence to-day became as they are. For most, it is an involuntary transformation, yet, after the first bite, most find it impossible to resist. Seeing, and being victimized by the vampire, becomes a thing equally hated and yearned for. The diabolical personality of the Vampyr makes their presence, for those who have been attacked, enthralling and addictive.
As I mentioned once before, not all who are bitten by the Vampyr shall become like him. First of all, it most often requires repeated drainings, to the point of death, to be turned. Also, even if one should die by a vampire's bite, they are not necessarily doomed to become UnDead. Baptized infants, younger than seven years of age, are immune to the Curse of the Vampyr. Any baptized adult, who is a practicing Christian, is living in a state of grace, and is a virgin, is generally safe from the Vampyr. A Catholic Christian, living in a state of grace, is also safe from the becoming a vampire.
The fourth, and least common way of becoming Vampyr, which has not been seen for over fifty years and, please God, will not be seen again, is by birth.
Normally, the Vampyr are infertile and im-potent. Carnal union, between a vampire and another, or between the living and the UnDead, is a foul, unpleasant, and, ultimately, fruitless sacrilege. However, if a vampire leaves the land of his birth, and, in another land, lives amongst its people for seven years, and is not exposed as what he is, then he may, with a mortal spouse, produce a mortal child.
This child, while not Vampyr, will after his seventh birthday, unless baptised, will not die, but become one of the UnDead. The best example of this phenomena is the case of Alucard, the child of Dracula.
As for the case the Dhwampyr, they-
There was crash. The old father's pen stopped, and he stood, his hand on his stiff back. Another crash, and the shattering of glass. He opened one of his desk's drawers, and pulled out a pistol. He cocked the gun, and strode forth.
The noise seemed to be coming from his room. He crossed himself, and closed his eyes, focusing all his strength. He threw open the door.
Darkness there, and nothing more.
The room was dark, and still. The wind blew in through the shattered window and fluttered the thin, lacy curtains. Thin, dusty rays of light shone through the darkness upon the shards of glass upon the floor. A piece of paper on his nightstand rustled in the wind.
"Hello, padre." a nasally voice said from behind him, and he felt the hard, round barrel of a gun being shoved into his shoulder.
"Drop it!"
The priest's pistol fell to the floor, thudding softly on the musty carpet. He stepped forward, then turned, stared into the shadows.
"Who are you?"
The stranger stepped into the pale moonlight. I was Waylon Smithers.
"You…but you were killed!"
"Was I?" he taunted, tilting his head.
"Are you one of the Vampyr?"
"Well, it's an interesting story. You see, I was quite literally ripped to pieces by the vampires. My head, in fact, was ripped clean off my neck! But, in the chaos and confusion, one of the walls opened, and a robot picked up my disembodied head, and took it to a secret laboratory within the manor. My head was placed in a vat of nutritive fluid, and oxygenated blood was cycled through my severed blood vessels."
"You see, in this lab, The Master had many clones of himself, and of me. One of these clones was selected, taken out of suspended animation, and administered steroids and growth hormones to hasten development. In five years it had reached the physical age of eighteen, at which time its brain was removed and replaced with mine. It took a while for my brain to get used to moving a body again, and form the nerves to heal, but in time, they did. And now, ten years later, fifteen years after my presumed death, I'm here for my master's ashes!"
"They're gone. I threw them into the sea! You can go fish 'em out if ye want!"
The man's face fell. His jaw hung, half-open, as he shook his head, his eyes wide with disbelief.
"He's lying," a woman's voice called. A woman, clad in a long, red dress, sashayed into the room. Her short hair and round, gleaming face were as white as the moon, and her lips were so red that it could be seen even in the blue moonlight.
"Who is she?" the priest said, not turning to look at her.
"She is Violet, a vampiress. She has come to help me resurrect The Master."
"He still has them. They must be here somewhere," she said, her fiendish grin revealing her sharpened fangs.
"Where are those vials!?" demanded Smithers.
"I'll not tell you. You can look if you want. Ye'll be here all night and then some."
Smithers lowered the gun, his eyes wild, the maddening light making him look even madder.
"I'm not afraid, you sick bugger."
"But what about her?" purred the vampiress, and her arm stretched like taffy around the corner and into the hall. She pulled it back in, a small child now clutched in her vicelike grip. One of Apu's daughters dangled above the floor by her hair, tears trickling from her eyes. The priest felt his heart drop.
"Tell me, priest, can you just sit there and watch me kill a child, an unbaptized, hell-bound heathen child, because of your impertinence?"
The priest was at a loss for words. His mind was numb.
"Well, I guess that means 'yes'" she said, and she opened her mouth, her jaws unhinged, and her face contorted. Her gleaming fangs extended, and her eyes began to glow like embers. She seized the child and tilted her head, exposing her neck.
"Wait! Please, I'll tell you!" he blurted.
Smithers grinned. Violet was disappointed; she was hungry.
"Where?"
"Give me the child first, and I will tell you," he said slowly and deliberately.
Violet looked to Smithers, her clawed hands still tilting the child's head painfully. She smirked, and tossed the child to the priest.
"Where!?"
"Under my desk, you will find a loose floorboard. Lift it, and you will find what ye want."
"Show us."
The priest, holding on to the frightened child's hand, led them to his study. He shoved his desk forward some, his back screaming in protest. He got down on his hands and knees, and lifted up the loose board. Twelve gleaming vials, with gilded crosses upon them, lay on a bed of straw. The priest handed them to Smithers, who placed them in a dusty carpet bag.
"There. Now away wit' ye!" he barked.
"Nighty-night, padre." the vampiress laughed. They walked to the door. Smithers turned.
"Just one thing more, priest."
"What?"
Smithers brought up his gun, and fired. The hot, leaden slug shot into his gut.
"Thanks."
The Fr. O'Flaherty fell to the floor, clutching his side. Hot, red blood trickled forth. He heard, just barely, through the fog of pain and the throbbing in his ears, the screech of rubber.
Apu's daughter ran to the phone.
"Hello, 9-1-1? This is Uma Nahasapimapetilon. Someone has been shot! No, for once, it is not my father. I am at the priest's home near St. Anthony's, and some maniac has just shot him! Yes, he is still alive, but he is bleeding horribly. Yes, thank you."
Father Malloy heard the blast and the car speeding away. He leapt out of bed, and ran over to Father O'Flaherty's residence. He found him lying on the floor, holding his side, his black priestly garb shining with blood. The little Indian girl was holding his hand, crying.
"Father…what happened?"
The old priest opened his mouth. His lips tried to form words he had not the breathe to say. The Fr. Malloy set his hand over the one on the old man's side and said:
"Are you sorry for all of your sins?"
Fr. O'Flaherty gasped, and nodded.
"And for any offences you may have committed against God?"
Another gasp, a shorter, weaker, more painful nod.
"I absolve you of all your sins…in the name of The Father, and The Son, and the Holy Spirit."
The old father mouthed the word 'amen'.
The ambulance arrived shortly, and rushed the old priest, then unconscious, to the hospital. Father Malloy drove little Uma back to her home.