Orlock Fanfiction Contest.
Entry by Sami Gibbs
‘A Splinter in My
Side’
Chapter 1: ‘Dead Diary’
‘2nd January, 05:19’
‘My human slave, Edgar was it? Edward perhaps.
A pathetic excuse for a life what ever the name was. He died. Humans
never live long enough. Not that I expect them to live for long. As I
was saying, he died in a most delightful way, tearing out first the
heart and eyes of my other human slave, Morgan, and then cutting off
his own head. It was rather fascinating to watch. Needless to say,
their blood was quite delicious, and their flesh was delightful.
My slave’s performance was so fascinating it inspired me.
I’ve decided to keep all the eyes of my meals and hang them up on
a wall somewhere. Somewhere my son will see them. Won’t that be
fun…
Gah… the talk of blood always distracts me.
As I was saying, as I went off to pick some new slaves I saw a book in
Morgan’s pocket. Though the pages were crusted her own sweet,
warm blood, I still managed to pry it open. I was rather surprised to
find it was a record of her thoughts and feelings. A diary I believe
they’re called. I flicked through cautiously, until one page
caught my attention. It read:
‘Dear Diary,
I have been taken into the
stronghold of the devil. He has
chosen me for his slave and I am to stay here ‘til the day I die.
Which I fear will be very soon. What have I done wrong God? Why punish
me like this? I can hear his voice in my head; I can hear him laughing.
I can see those eerie eyes starring into my soul. Sweet Lord, I’m
snapping! That Devil is not here, I cannot see him! He is not even the
Devil! He is just a vampire and I refuse to be controlled by him! Wait,
I’m supposed to be working. What if I don’t work,
that’ll teach him! No! If I don’t work he’ll kill me!
But wouldn’t that be better than staying here? Dear God, the
other slave is chewing his fingers again, that’s what master
does. No, he’s not my master! I can hear him coming! I must work!
He’s not here but he can see me, I must work, master wants me to
work! Must work!’
The quality deteriorates as her time in my castle
proceed, the last entry being stains of blood and scribbles that look
nothing like human words. I found it rather amusing to read through her
most personal thoughts and fears; most of them being of me. I do not
like the way she keeps calling me ‘The Devil’, for I am not
he. I am Orlock, much more real than the Devil and a hell of a lot
scarier. And soon, everyone will know it.
Excuse me a moment, a rodent is currently running
across my floor, I must go sort that out. Oh dear, what a shame, its
internal organs suddenly collapsed. Isn’t that such a shame.
Any way, this Diary of Morgan’s inspired me to
create my own. It could be rather useful in the future. And unlike
Morgan, I do not fear anyone reading this. No one would ever dare read
this.
Hmmmm, wonderful. I do believe there’s another
rat scampering across my floor. I’ll soon change
that…’
‘4th January, 03:56’
‘I am in a rather vile mood. These rats will
not stop pestering me. The new workers are completely useless, the
first one broke within seconds of being influenced by my mana, and the
next one lasted an hour. Humans; could they get more pathetic? Though I
am rather content and full, I still wish to murder something.
Maybe I shall…
They call me ‘The Demon King’. I was
surprised. Well, only a little. I am rather scary. I went into the town
and they all cowered before me; human and vampire kind alike. This is a
good thing. Through fear I shall manipulate the world into becoming
mine. But not just yet. A new problem has arisen. It is rather annoying.
A feeling of great dread is welling up inside of me.
I do not fear anything, not death or pain; in fact I relish the things
that people fear. I am the thing that people fear. Yet I have a great
feeling of, not fear, but dread. I cannot place it. I cannot find it. I
cannot fight it. It is still there.
It has put me in such a foul mood.
That rat deserves to die.
Maybe if I sleep it it’ll vanish. I have not
slept in such a long time, maybe that is the cause of this dilemma. I
can just imagine resting my head down and loosing myself in the
darkness of the day, the shadows of sleep. I do not know if it will
help. It is slightly unnerving to not be in control for
once…’
‘4th January, 13:53’
‘I cannot sleep. Not ever, never again. I
heard her screams. I saw her eyes. I could feel her tears on my
fingers. I could taste her blood on my tongue. It has been a thousand
years, perhaps more since I dreamt that dream. It has been much longer
than a thousand years since I lived that dream. Why has it returned? I
cannot stop shaking. This feeling of dread is no more. It has been
replaced with fear.
I am so disgusted with myself! I cannot fear, I am
fear, people fear me! I do not fear.
But I can never sleep again if she is what awaits
me. Never again.
This is the beginning of something. I must prepare
for the worst. I refuse to give her the honour of my fear. No one has
that honour. She deserves nothing of mine. All she deserves is the
bloody death I gave her.
What am I saying? What am I thinking? What am I even
feeling?
The night best had come quickly; I need to murder
someone. I need to taste blood on my lips and feel it pumping
underneath my fingers as I hold onto a beating heart. I need to hear
someone’s scream as I rip him or her apart and then mount their
eyes on my wall.
But which wall?’
Chapter 2: ‘Grave Talk’
‘6th January, 03:26’
‘My son visited today. It was rather amusing.
As we walked about my domain, I showed him my new wall decorations. It
was pure joy watching his face grimace and scowl as he tried not to
look at them. It was hilarious watching him shake with anger, his Drone
Vallov growling menacingly at me. It’s a shame he didn’t
bring along his little group of friends. I do so love to hurt them. Its
amazing how much my son scowls when I do this. I suppose he did not
inherit my morbid sense of humour.
He did not find it amusing when I asked if he like
my new decorations, completely ignoring me. So I slapped him. Then
Vallov came charging towards me, but I flung him into the wall with
ease. His skull made a sickening crack against the wall and a pool of
green blood surrounded him. It made me hungry. I grabbed my son’s
chin and turned his bruising face towards me and asked again, if he
liked my new decorations. He shook with anger and told me I was a
monster. I laughed and forced my hand through his stomach. The feeling
of his blood pumping all over my hand was delightful. He uttered a
quiet ‘Hrk’ sound and spluttered, his breathing rasping in
his throat. I love the effect I have on people. After withdrawing my
hand, he stormed away, picking up Vallov and walking out of my castle.
His strength astounds me. I must be more careful
with him. He is still rather rebellious, though less than before. He
still hasn’t turned anyone, which is a disappointment, but not a
problem. I know he wishes to grow more powerful and rise up against me,
but I doubt that will ever happen. I will have to start being more
careful, I think my son is becoming reckless with his freedom. Perhaps
he needs another lesson. I wouldn’t want him to tumble down a
hill and break his crown. Of course Jill would not come tumbling after,
as there is no Jill. Neither is there an Emily.
She really did have the most beautiful eyes. Too bad
I can’t stick hers on the wall…’
‘8th January, 06:11’
‘There is no word to describe today, except
fun. My son brought to me a new victim, a vampire that had been
slaughtering hundreds of humans and vampires alike, raping all of the
females, and even some of the males. Sickening I assure you. I did not
care for his name, only for the look of terror on his face as my son
strapped him to a chair. My son then left. It’s such a shame.
He’d learn so much if he stayed.
I paced around my new ‘friend’ chewing
on my fingers staring at him; while he shook violently making the
chains that were wrapped around his body click against each other.
Sweat dripped down his brow as I licked my lips, standing in front of
him. His pupils were small, and his eyes wide. I could smell his fear.
My mana slipped into his mind without him even noticing. Tipping his
chin up with my finger I whispered,
“Do you enjoy raping people?” He did not
reply, a muffled squeak escaping his shaking lips. Tears ran down his
face and his breaths came in short rasps. “Why don’t we
turn the tables, do you like getting raped?” From one of the
shadowy corners a demon appeared, crawling towards the shaking
criminal, who probably would be screaming, if his voice weren’t
paralysed with fear. At this point I turned away, I have no interest in
watching rape.
I amused myself by getting a goblet of blood, though
of course it would not be long before I was sufficiently satisfied,
listening to the screams of pain as the man was inflicted his own
torture. A taste of his own medicine perhaps. Perhaps that was a
technique I should use on my son. But how?
The demon interrupted my thinking, letting me know it had finished with
my victim. I sliced off its head in gratitude. It was a foul creature
anyway. But its blood was rather metallic, with a coppery zing that
made me want to drink more. But I had other matters in hand.
He is shaking rather violently; his pupils are mere
dots, irises tiny circles surrounding them. They are filled with a deep
bronze colour. They would look rather nice on my wall. But not yet. His
face is stained with tears, his cheeks blotchy and red, nose turning
pink. His lip is bleeding. He is in shock. So much shock he is almost
oblivious to me and his fear of me. Better change that.
I dragged my finger across his cheek, watching the
blood run down his cheek, licking it up enthusiastically. The criminal
did not respond.
Grinning I watched a tear run down his cheek. I bit into his shoulder
savagely, tasting his blood and flesh. Still the criminal did not react.
Dabbing my fingers in his warm blood I let it drip slowly onto his
lips. There was still no reaction. I licked it off for him. The moment
my tongue brushed against his lips, that’s when he started
screaming again. I am not sure if he was fully conscious, perhaps part
of him was still locked in his shock; but he was aware of everything I
was doing. Perfect.
Cutting out a star shape from the fabric covering his stomach I was
grateful that the demon had not removed the criminal’s clothing.
Or if it had, it had been placed back on to the criminal. His skin was
pale, muscles rippling beneath his skin. I could feel his blood pumping
quickly around his body. Slowly, I cut the same star shape into his
skin, watching the blood well up behind it. Peeling it off slowly, his
thick, crimson blood dripped down slowly. His screams grew ever louder
his eyes mere dots in a white canvas.
For the rest of his torture, I continued to cut star shapes out his
body, devouring them in front of him, ending in me cutting out his
heart and letting him watch it being devoured before death took over
his body.
So I am rather full to say the least, and now the sun is about to rise
so I’ll have to be off now. Not to sleep of course. But even I
need to sleep sometimes, just not today. I am still in shock of that
last episode. Instead I shall lock myself away in my mind, in a form of
meditation. Hopefully no dreams will ail me there. I can take refuge in
the darkened shadows that is my mind and if anyone or anything dare
disturb me, then I shall drink their blood and devour their flesh. I
will rip their beating heart from their broken body and hear their
screams of pain.
Ah, the joys of vampirism…’
‘8th January, 08:11’
‘If she were not already dead, I’d kill
her. I’d drink her blood, devour her flesh, rip her beating heart
from her broken body and listen to her screams of pain. But she’s
already dead. I already killed her. She’s already gone. Why is
she still here, in my head, in my heart? Why isn’t she gone?
She’s dead, she’s gone. Her body is stone cold, her bones
now rotting, flesh turned to dust, why is she still here?
She’s dead, I killed her myself.
She’s dead.
I killed her.
What have I done…?’
Chapter 3: ‘Infected Fun’
‘10th January, 04:11’
‘I have nothing to do. My mind has been
wandering. What has become of me? I cannot focus on blood, I cannot
focus on death, and I can focus on nothing but her. My son is busy
tearing things apart, my demons are busy tearing things apart, why am I
not busy tearing things apart? I have segregated myself from everyone
else. I cannot let anything see me like this. It is almost
embarrassing. It is embarrassing. I am so weak. Nothing good will come
of this. If my sanity had ever existed I would assume I was going
crazy. How can those, whose minds have already been poisoned by the
sting of madness grow more insane?
I feel pathetic. This uncertainty is growing
annoying. I refuse to let it control me. I must get a hold of myself.
My son visited in the fist few hours of the night, sun barely slipped
behind the darkening horizon. He brought news of a gang, a silly, silly
little gang who are daring to challenge me. Silly, silly little people.
Silly, stupid, suicidal people. But they are not human. They are
vampires, creatures of the night, just like I. Yet they still persist
in plotting against me. They plan to assassinate me. Don’t they
all. They will try, and they will fail. Such is the way. But I am not
concerned for silly people who wish to become my food.
I cannot concentrate. Let them come. It will be a relief. A relief from
this stab of pain. This stab of the past. It is but a splinter. Just a
splinter. A tiny, little, insignificant splinter. It shall cause no
more harm to me. It will not effect me any more. It will not
contaminate my thoughts ever again!
I feel weak. Ever so weak. My head is spinning. There is blood matted
in my hair. I can feel it as I weave my fingers through the silky
locks. I can smell blood. I can taste it. It is all over my hands.
It’s tangled in my hair and smothered on my lips. It splatters on
to the page. The ink will run. What have I been doing all day?
I’m sorry dear diary. So very sorry for your bloody pages. I can
feel it drip. I can hear it hit the pages of you. I can hear a voice
screaming. My ears are pounding. My head is spinning… I can hear
the devil laughing…
What have I done…?’
‘18th January, 03:48’
‘I can hear a demon cawing in the background.
I can hear its blood drip from it. The sound is music to my ears. My
son visited again. He must visit more often if he is trying to retrieve
his humanity. I doubt he will though. He is nothing but a killer devoid
of sunlight forced to feed upon the lives of others. He has not taken
their humanity though. It is a disappointment not a problem. He will
one day. I have all eternity to wait. I can wait.
I was happily painting blood onto a wall, the
crimson liquid dripping down slowly, the metallic tang filling the air.
I was covered in blood; it was dripping from my mouth. I remember the
thrill of so much blood So much blood. It dripped from the carcasses.
It dripped from the walls. It dripped from my servants. It dripped from
me. It dripped into the blood-covered floors. It was like drowning,
blood so thick in the air you can feel it well up in your throat, like
water filling your lungs as you gulp for oxygen.
Ah, the joys of similes and metaphors.
My son was rather, un-amused in the wake of my
feast. I could see he wanted to feed as well, the blood so thick in the
air, covering the walls and floors. But he resisted for whatever
reason. Maybe to preserve the sliver of humanity left in his
bloodthirsty heart. He is unhappy. He is angry. He is afraid. I can
tell. He does not wish to see me so much. He hates seeing me. I am a
reminder of a past he wishes to forget. A past he regrets. But I am
part of the past he has to remember to keep him alive. He cannot live
without me. Without me, there is nothing for him to remember and the
memories will soon slip away leaving him nothing but bloodlust.
That would be an interesting scenario, if I were not
dead. I have no interest in becoming what they all believe me to be. An
un-dead. I am still alive. Just because I live in the shadows of night
and eat and drink those of the day does not make me an un-dead. Silly
people.
I was ecstatic when he arrived. He brought Vallov,
plus his little friend. His copper hair stood out rather brashly
against the crimson blood covering the room. It spoiled the mood. It
would definitely have to go. I wonder how fast hair grows back on
vampires.
My son spoiled my fun though. He saw that look in my
eyes. He asked if he could kill Raff Van Victor, though I suspect it is
not what he wanted to discuss with me. As I licked the blood off my
fingers, which I must say are much longer than I ever remember, and
replied,
“You can kill whoever you like my son, except
of course, me.” I then tore the head off a carcass and ripped out
its eyeball. My son was shivering. Vallov looked at me menacingly. His
friend, whose name eludes me right now, glared at my son hissing
something. Something about a girl, Maila, ‘what about
Maila?’ That’s what he asked. My son glared back and I have
a sneaking suspicion that they were arguing using telepathy. I
wasn’t too bothered at the time. I sat on my throne of bone,
gnawing one viscously, licking the blood off and tearing into the
flesh. Soon enough, the state of mind I was in then, got bored.
Selecting a still beating heart, I threw it violently at my son,
laughing at his shock and the blood dripping down his face.
His friend was shocked, though he may have been laughing if anyone else
had thrown the heart. But he is too scared in my presence. My son did
not look amused. At all. Anger glinted in his blood red eyes and I saw
him shake with anger. Vallov growled menacingly. I love playing with my
son. He is so easy to wind up, like a little toy solider with a key in
his back.
His fangs flashed in the crimson light. The bloody air seeped into his
nostrils. He was enjoying it. His eyes told me of his hunger, his
anger, his utter disgust, and his hatred.
I invited them to feast with me, ripping at a leg of some human. He
breathed in the scent of death. He could taste the liquid, which he so
desired. The blood dribbled down my lips. Their eyes watched it. They
were both itching to sit and feed with me.
Fear is truly the most powerful emotion if it can stop a hungry vampire
drinking from a lake of blood. I could smell their fear. It was as
potent as the blood that was ever thickening in the air I breathed.
They were afraid of me.
My son refused to eat. He told me he didn’t want to dine with me.
He told me he wouldn’t eat any of my manslaughter. That brought
me into my current state of mind, no longer manipulated by the
overpowering smell and taste of blood. And I must say, at that point in
time; I was really pissed off.
“Why won’t you eat with me my son?” I remember
hearing my voice echoing in his mind. I remember his cold reply of,
“Because you’d eat me too you sick freak.” My crimson
eyes narrowed. I dismissed him and his friend then. They seemed
shocked. My son was expecting a violent retaliation. He would get one.
I will plague his dreams tonight. I will turn them into nightmares. I
will drag up all his pain and heartbreak and make it real again. He
shall re-live his death. He shall loose Emily again. He shall loose
Julia again. He shall loose everything he cares for again. I will
torture him with my voice. I will make him scream once again…
That demon will not stop its infernal cawing! How I am supposed to feel
evil when it’s giving me a head ache! Sometimes I swear I’m
the only one with a brain in this whole castle.
Then again, considering the others who live in this castle, I probably
am.’
‘18th January, 14:45’
‘My mana was just about to slip into his mind.
He knew I was coming for him. He knew I would be in his dreams tonight.
His nightmares tonight. But some stupid idiotic human decides to break
in, in an attempt to assassinate me while I sleep. I was outraged. Good
thing my fortress is so big, and dark. Even in the day, the sunlight
never touches the inside. I think if I had left the human, he
would’ve died anyway. But I had to kill him. As punishment. Maybe
I should’ve prolonged his torture for days. But he would’ve
died. Stupid humans.
I crept up behind him. He was shaking already.
Launching myself upon him, I bit into his neck and he screamed. I then
gouged out his eyes and threw them to the floor. His screams continued.
I tore out his voice box and the screams stopped. He fell to the floor,
twitching in pain. I picked up his eyeballs and left for the demons to
do what they wished to him.
I now have a pair of green eyes on my wall. It
stands out amongst the browns, coppers and pale blues. It is an
electric green. Too bright for any human. I wonder, I
wonder…’
Chapter 4: ‘My Splinter’
‘18th January, 17:12’
‘Is this day ever going to end? I feel so
weak. So very weak… Maybe it was a bad idea. It wasn’t a
bad idea. The way I executed the idea was bad. No, I executed the plan
perfectly. He ruined it. I shouldn’t have said anything. Who
knows how he’ll use this against me now.
It was perfect. He was standing on a hill
overlooking the countryside. The wind blew his jet-black hair gently,
and his dreamscape was calm. If I had left him perhaps his dreams would
have been filled with a calming scene. But my mana slipped into his
mind easily. As soon as I arrived shadows crept around the dreamscape,
engulfing his mind in darkness. He still stood there, ignoring the
ever-growing darkness swallowing his world whole. His angry red eyes
glowed in the black night, never moving from that speck of light in the
distance, which eventually disappeared. Soon enough, the only light was
his blood red, rage-filled eyes. He did not move.
Another pair of red eyes joined the darkness. And
another. And another. My servants filled his mind as I readied myself
for my son’s torture. There was a dim light as the first candle
was lit, flickering with a dark red light. Another one lit beside it,
pouring out its dark red light. Soon there was a circle of red light
illuminating my torture ring. His blood red eyes stared into the
distance, never leaving the tiny speck, which wasn’t even there.
My son was chained to a metallic wall, my servants flitting around in
the shadows of the flickering light. He did not attempt to move, simply
staring into space with a viscous glare. I intended to take full
advantage of this.
His gaze filled with anger as I chewed on the pale flesh covering his
neck. His hands clenched ever tighter as my tongue lapped up his blood,
dripping from the wounds I had created. His nails dug into his skin,
drawing blood, as I kissed the nape of his pale neck softly, blood
pulsing feverishly behind the thin skin.
Holding his shaking fists in my hands, I felt the blood trickle down
from his self-inflicted wounds. Amused, I turned toward his angry face
and hissed,
“My son, Why are you not fighting back? Surely you do not want to
die in your dreams?” His eye twitched and his teeth ground
together. I listened to his accelerated breathing, as his pupils grew
smaller. Fury welling up inside of him, he screamed at me,
“I will never be your son, don’t you dare call me that! You
show a son respect and love and I will never receive that from you! So
why the hell do you call me son!?!”
This was the moment when everything fell apart.
I do not know what emotion came over me. I do not understand why I said
what I said. Things get a little blurry from there. Everything went
white. There were no candles, no demons, no metallic wall, no chains,
no darkness, and no more blood. I could feel a strange emotion weighing
me down as I turned away from my son. I swore I almost felt tears
gather behind my eyelids. Turning my head back towards I whispered,
“Because you are the closest thing to family I have
left…” Then I realised what I said. Turning fully towards
him, taking a step back, my hand clasped my mouth; I think I was more
shocked than my son was. I began shaking as my son stared at me with
wide eyes. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, trying to comprehend
what I had just said. I was trying to comprehend what I had just said.
I couldn’t have said that. But the shock on his face, a picture
that is still painted clearly in my mind, proves that I did. Why in the
name of all that is bloody and dead did I say that? I can’t
believe I said that. Is it even true?
It is pulling at my eyelids. I can feel it weighing down on my body. I
cannot give in. I cannot sleep. Not while she is there waiting. I
don’t want to go back there. I refuse to.
My hands are shaking. I can feel my eyes close. No! I must keep them
open. I have to. I cannot be banished into the hallucinations of my
past. I refuse to be banished into my past. My past. I have not thought
of it since it happened. Why now?
Change is in the air. I can taste blood on my lips. Something is
happening. My son is involved. So is someone else.
Why does she continue to hunt me from her grave? She’s dead.
She’s dead. She is dead. She. Is. Dead.
No she’s not. She will live on forever in me. She will always be
inside of me. Her blood runs through my veins.
I can feel the darkness slipping over me. I cannot resist it. I can
hear her voice. I can see her tears…
Anything but this…
Mother…?’
‘19th January, 02:14’
‘I was never what you could call a
‘normal’ child. None of them could understand why I laughed
when my sisters were hurt, or grinned when my father was murdered, or
when I smiled mysteriously when they asked what had happened to out
dead cattle. I was never treated as an equal, my fellow villagers only
ever saw me as a threat. I was accused of being the son of the devil
and my mother was often accused of sleeping with the foul demon they
called Satan. They even accused her of being a witch. The world could
not understand me just as I could not understand it. I was glad. It
would mean that I would feel no regret when I slaughtered them all.
However, she never gave up, trying to understand me.
They taunted and teased her but she ignored it all. They accused her
and ridiculed her, yet she refused to stop trying. Even when the rest
of my family turned against me, she still stood by me. Even when father
was dead and gone, and she, in a state of mourning, she still tried.
Part of me was annoyed by her determination, but part of me enjoyed it.
As I grew older my interests dove into the dark
secrets of the past, blood death and the magic involved. This only made
the village hate me more. This only made her protect me more. As I
delved deeper and deeper into the dark arts, she tried to delve deeper
into my mind. She grew desperate to understand me as the deaths and
attacks trailed far behind me. The villagers talked of killing me. They
talked of it much. I laughed at them. She asked me why I hurt people. I
merely replied that I enjoyed it.
Her efforts grew less and part of me was relieved. I
could finally go do as I wished, follow my own path, wherever that may
lead. It was rumoured that a group of people, much like myself were
travelling past our village I the coming days. I readied myself to join
them. She tried to stop me. Of course she did. She was the only one who
cared.
But this time, I did not spare her efforts. They
were troublesome and now in the way of my future. I killed my sisters
first, snapping their necks simply, drinking their blood. I felt alive.
I started to murder the cattle, peeling their skins off and pinning
their blood soaked muscles to the walls. Then my mother arrived home.
She begged me to stop. I do not remember what
happened exactly. You must remember; I was only six at the time. There
was fire. It erupted all over the house, engulfing it in bright orange
flames. She screamed at me to stop. I held her arm and bit into her
neck. Tasting her blood I felt alive again. But part of me realised
what I was doing. Part of me realised that I was killing the only
person who had ever tried to help. I was killing my own mother.
She was bleeding badly; her pulse was thinning as
her heart slowly stopped beating. I was so shocked; I pulled away too
fast. And I did something I never thought I would do. I ripped her soul
from her body and devoured it.
Afterwards, I lay in shock as I felt her stone cold tears run onto my
fingers. I threw her body in the fire was watched her burn. I then
found, I myself, was crying too.
When they found the wreckage and the crispy remains
the next morning, I discovered I could not enter the sun’s rays.
I hid until nightfall, waiting, watching. They accused me of the fire.
I had to leave. I met up with the group I planned to meet with and they
took me in with welcome arms. They too, were just like me. They
explained that they, were the first vampires. The word was delicious on
my tongue. They told me they were collecting others like themselves to
form a colony. Then sometime far in the future, when humanity was least
expecting it, they would strike back. The humans would never be able to
fight back. The vampire’s power would’ve been too strong.
And even as I preyed on others for food, even as I
drank the blood of foolish humans, my mind never wandered to my
murdered mother.
Until of course the 4th of January. That is when she
returned to my dreams. But it is a splinter, merely a splinter. Nothing
will come of this. Nothing. A splinter, nothing but a splinter. My
splinter. Nothing must come from this.
Most peculiar. I am feeling a strange tingling in my
body. This is familiar. I haven’t felt this tingle I two hundred
years. It cannot be. No, I can’t be. Could it be?
My son has a sireling?
I must investigate this matter more.
As if I wasn’t tired enough…
I fear that… something… has already come from
this…’
‘19th January, 23:35’
‘Her name is Jill. Jilliana Cross to be exact.
She has her eyes. She has my mother’s eyes. She has Emily’s
eyes.
She awoke with a gasp in the shadows of my tower. My
servants crawled around her, scaling the walls, their red eyes the only
thing visible. She shouted something at me as I gazed out of the
window, my head down. When she shouted, I moved my head up, and turned
very slowly towards her. She gasped and was paralysed in fear as my red
eyes turned toward her. Looking at her with one eye and an evil glare I
whispered,
“E… …mi…
…ly…” She then woke up. I left her mind then. I was
in a furious rage. I still am.
How dare he. How dare he. He just had to pick
someone with her eyes. What does this mean? Has my son found a way to
restore his humanity? I won’t let him. I refuse to let him get
away from me.
I will make her hate him; I will make her hate him
as much as he hates me! I will make her flee from his touch and I will
force him to come crawling back to me. I will not have her ruining my
plans.
If I cannot have my humanity, neither can he. If I
cannot have her, he cannot have she. I will not let her eyes begin to
unravel his darkness.
Jack will break his crown, and there will be no Jill
to come tumbling after. If there is, she will tumble down deeper, she
will not stop at his level. I will make her go lower. She will not get
him his humanity.
But I promised to keep away from his Sirelings.
But promises don’t carry into the grave…
Jack and Jill Went Up the Hill,
These are chronicles of our fruitless journeys to death,
To Fetch A Pail of Water,
A cross stands at the end; his humanity is crucified,
Jack fell down,
Running is not the answer, her eyes will tell,
And Broke His Crown,
I did that, shattered on the floor,
And Jill Came tumbling after,
Only if she doesn’t crumble first…’
-The End-