On a dusty road somewhere in New England, Samuel Burtwhistle and his two child companions set forth for New York. It would easily be a week’s journey likely filled with perils such as bandits, battlefields and scorching summer heat. And though all of these things posed exceptional risks on their own, Samuel’s biggest concern was alcohol withdrawal.
Sweat had already covered him by mid-morning. By mid-afternoon the shakes began. And as the sun began to dip beneath swaying leaves, fog filled his mind as his vision blurred. Granted, he was old hat to this devil’s lust, yet always before -- booze was just a short ride away. The issue now was that he was on foot with many miles between towns, maybe even a day’s journey at times. He knew he could stock up at the next hamlet, but that might not be until nightfall at the pace they’d set, and after that who knew when the next tavern would arrive.
“How far until New York?” Corn asked.
Samuel had placed the children on Corn’s emaciated horse which Lily had named Oats. Upon leaving Cherrytown, Samuel knew the kids would complain within an hour if they were forced to walk, so in an attempt to keep his withdrawal headaches at a minimum he opted to lead the horse on foot and let them ride the disheveled beast, allowing them off only for bathroom breaks.
“Five or six days,” Samuel responded through gritted teeth.
“A whole week?” Lily groaned. “We’ll definitely need more food.”
“And water,” Corn added.
“Yeah, it’s really hot,” Lily said. “Can I just have a little now?”
“We need to ration it,” Samuel said.
“But I’m thirsty,” Lily replied.
“We’re all thirsty,” Samuel said. “We’ll get more at the next town.”
“But when’s that gonna be?” Corn asked.
“A couple hours,” Samuel lied, praying they’d at least reach somewhere by nightfall.
“But it’s already been a whole day!” Lily cried.
“It’s barely evening,” Samuel said. “You can wait.”
He wiped sweat from his brow as the kids groaned in unison. A few years ago he would have ditched them and just taken the horse, but he’d grown soft as of late.
Blame his nephew, he figured. The poor kid.
“Who’s that guy you’re looking for?” Corn asked over the clop of horse hooves. Then with an air of disdain he added, “Isn’t he a Tory?”
“Yeah, he’s British,” Samuel replied, “But he’s also an old friend who might help me.”
“Help you with what?” Corn said.
Samuel hesitated to answer. He hadn’t told the boy about the book yet, or the townsfolk trapped inside it.
Thankfully, Lily changed the topic. “Margaret always said the British were bad.”
“His allegiance is to himself,” Samuel said.
“But how do you know him?” Corn asked.
“I used to hunt with him,” Samuel said.
“Hunt?” Lily replied, “Like animals?”
“Worse,” Samuel said, then he finally turned to them and lowered his chin. “We hunted monsters.”
Corn and Lily’s eyes narrowed in unison.
“There’s no such thing as monsters,” Lily said skeptically, even though just weeks ago she’d been possessed by an ancient demon.
Samuel smiled and said, “Well, when I was a boy, Francis—”
“Who’s Francis?” Corn interrupted.
“The British guy,” Samuel said. “Anyway, when I was a boy Francis rescued my brother and I from vampires.”
“No way,” Corn said.
“There’s no such thing as vampires,” Lily added.
“I’ll tell you the story if you want to hear it,” Samuel said as distant memories flashed through his mind: a full moon shining through frosted window panes; screams below a stairwell; the acrid stench of blood.
“We won’t believe you,” Lily said.
“Well then I won’t tell it,” said Samuel.
“No!” Corn argued. “Don’t listen to her! Tell the story! I’m so bored!”
Samuel met Lily’s eyes. “Well?” he asked.
The girl shrugged. “Fine, tell it.”
Samuel smirked and turned back to the road. Telling this story would help him concentrate, he figured. Maybe even save him from collapsing in the churning, late-afternoon heat.
He took a deep breath, then began, “When I was ten, and my brother twelve—”
“You have a brother?” Lily said.
“I did,” Samuel replied.
“But not anymore?”
“Just let him tell the story,” Corn whined.
“Sorry,” Lily said.
“Anyway, it was a cold, moon-speckled night,” Samuel continued, “Snow dusted the fields around our farmhouse. We had gone to bed, my brother and I, watching flakes skitter by our frosted bedroom windows. It had been a cozy winter, by all accounts — that night being only weeks after Christmas with all its joy still lingering. But in the dead of January, in the dead of night, we awoke to screams from the floor below—”
“Wait, is this a scary story?” Lily interrupted.
“It’s about monsters,” Corn said, rolling his eyes.
“It’s not only scary,” Samuel added, “But true.”
“I hate getting scared,” Lily said.
“Oh, just let him tell it,” said Corn.
“I’ll just cover my ears if it gets too scary,” the girl remarked.
“Whatever you want to do,” Samuel said before continuing, “So, in the dead of night, as we lay in our separate beds on the second floor of our humble farmhouse, we awoke to screams. Through the moonlight I saw my brother’s eyes glance at me from across the bedroom. For a spell, we laid in silence, listening to muffled shouts and scuffles, hissing and banging, barks of furniture scraping against the floor — then silence. Finally, I emerged from the warmth of my bed and set my feet upon the cold wood floor.
‘Don’t’, my brother whispered, still wrapped in the comfort of his bed.
‘They might be in trouble,’ I replied, referring to our parents.
Now, bandits were rare where we lived, but not unheard of. Just that last year a home some twenty miles from us was razed by starved colonials. Their cows were slaughtered, their horses stolen. After that, father kept his gun loaded by the front door.
So with that in mind, I ignored my brother’s caution and crept across the floor careful to avoid the wooden boards that groaned underfoot. I crouched at our door and opened it with the slightest creak.
‘What do you hear?’ my brother whispered again, still in bed.
I turned to him and replied, ‘Nothing.’
‘Maybe they’re ok then?’ he said.
I shook my head and replied, ‘If they were ok, they’d come tell us.’
I opened the door wider as my brother finally crawled from his covers and joined me so close that I felt the floor vibrate with his shivers.
Out of the crack in the door I saw the stairwell which lead to the first floor. It was then that I heard a faint growl and a hiss from below. I turned to my brother and pressed a finger to my lips. And I remember in that moment hating the notion that I was not only the stronger one of us but also the youngest. Just once I wished he could have played the role of brave big brother.
I took a deep breath, then crept out of our bedroom into a hallway lit by a pale white moon—“
“Why are you talking like that?” Lily interrupted again.
Samuel turned to her with an eyebrow raised. “Like what?”
“All flowery and stuff,” she said. “I’m not even scared. I’m just bored.”
“I like it,” Corn replied matter-of-factly. “I think it adds tension.”
Samuel smiled and said, “I’m sure someday you’ll both make fine teachers.” Then he turned back to the road and continued his story.
“So there I was, my brother and I, at the top of the stairs. Below us was the faint flicker of our home’s dying hearth. And beyond those little sparks of orange, nestled in the darkness, was the sound of slurping, groaning, and the brief dragging of boots.
“I turned to my brother and pointed down the steps. He shook his head, eyes wide with terror. But I nodded in defiance and placed my bare foot on a cold step followed by another, then another.
Slowly we crept down together, scanning the dark. The slurping grew louder, the grunts more guttural. At the bottom of the steps I turned and found in the flickering hearthlight an impish creature leaning over my mangled father. The thing was pale, hairless and clothed in rags. Its ears were pointed, its face covered in blood. Slimy veins, wrenched from my father’s neck, dangled from jagged teeth. The thing pecked at my father like a vulture, ripping at his throat—“
“I have to pee,” Lily suddenly blurted out.
“Now?” Corn barked. “It’s finally getting good!”
Samuel laughed, then nodded at a tree just ahead which split the road in two. “We can stop at this fork.”
Samuel pulled Oats to the side of the road. Lily clumsily climbed off the horse and plunked onto the dirt. Insects hummed around them. Birds chirped and squirrels barked. Samuel figured there wasn’t a soul for miles. It was only the three of them in this bushwhacked patch of wilderness.
“Where are we?” Lily asked, eyeing swaying trees which lined the makeshift road.
“Haven’t a clue,” Samuel replied. “But I know we’re headed south.”
He noticed his legs were less wobbly than when he’d started his tale and for a moment he wondered if he really needed more whiskey. Maybe he could just make due with water when they reached this mystery town. Maybe he could finally fight this miserable lust and win after all these years. But then a sharp, knife-like stab drilled just behind his eye socket. He pressed his palm against it and cringed.
“I’ll go over here,” Lily called out, already entering the dense woods.
Samuel waved to her as he and Corn turned away.
“So vampires killed your parents?” Corn whispered atop Oats.
Samuel nodded, still pressing his palm against his eye.
“Is there water beside you?” Samuel asked through clenched teeth.
Corn leaned over the horse and examined various satchels and burlap bags strung over the saddle. He reached for a sack and pulled at its drawstring.
“No, not that one,” Samuel said, realizing the kid was reaching for the cursed book he’d stuffed into a bag. “Try the one beside it.”
“But what’s in this one?” Corn asked, still holding the top of the burlap sack, ready to plunge his grubby hands inside.
“Personal effects,” Samuel said, not knowing what would happen if anyone else handled the book. “I don’t touch your stuff, so don’t touch mine.”
Corn shrugged and riffled through another satchel, then he pulled out an animal skin canteen and handed it to Samuel.
Samuel popped the stopper from the bladder and tilted it to his lips. As he slurped murky water inside, he eyed the sun sliding down the tree lines. They’d need to pick up the pace if they were to make it to a town by nightfall.
“Is that water?” Lily asked as she crunched back toward them from the woods.
Samuel nodded and handed her the little bladder.
“Yeah, just a sip though,” Samuel warned.
The girl side-eyed him and lifted the water bag up and down, weighing it.
“You just drank half of it!” she cried.
“I’m bigger than you,” Samuel replied.
The child huffed and took three large gulps before releasing a satisfied, ahhh.
“Can I have some?” Corn asked.
“There’s hardly any left,” Lily replied as she handed him the thing. Corn took the near empty canteen, frowned at its vacancy, then tipped it over his mouth and tongued at the few remaining trickles.
“What about Oats?” Lily said, patting the horse’s mane.
“He’ll be fine until we get to town,” Samuel said. “I’m sure whatever inn we find will have plenty of water.” … And also whiskey, he prayed.
“Ok,” Lily shrugged, then she turned to Samuel and raised her arms. “Help me up?”
“Corn can lift you,” Samuel said as he turned from them and took the reigns of their exhausted horse.
Lily grumbled as Corn struggled to pull her back onto the animal. After a few attempts, she finally shimmied into position behind Corn and wrapped her arms around his waist. She was smaller than him, but not by much. Samuel figured they were only a couple years apart in age.
“Alright, where was I?” Samuel asked as they continued their slow journey through the quiet woods.
With excitement, Corn said, “You just saw the vampire.”
Then Lily added, “Your story’s not that scary. I haven’t even covered my ears once.”
“You will now,” Samuel replied, then continued with his tale.
“So, there in the humble den of our home, my brother and I watched this impish thing tear at my father’s throat.
My brother tugged on my night shirt and whispered, ‘We have to run.’
But then the monster screeched and flicked its head up in our direction. The air seemed to suck from the room just as a long string of blood dripped from the creature’s crimson-drenched mouth. Suddenly, it lunged at us, but I leapt to the side and pulled my brother away just before the beast snatched him.
We ran in circles inside our home as the monster crawled after us on the walls and ceiling, howling and screeching like an animal. We jumped over chairs and threw anything we could at the thing. But after a few laps around the room, the monster leapt onto our dining table, stopping us before screaming an ear splitting cry.
‘Dad’s gun!’ my brother yelled when suddenly the monster leapt through the air and tackled him to the ground. I raced to our front door where our father’s musket leaned against the wall. But remember, I’m nigh ten years of age, so father’s gun was nearly as tall as I. Yet still I wrenched it from its resting place and struggled to aim at the creature’s belly as the monster snarled and spit in my brother’s horrified face. However, when I pulled the trigger all it did was click. I cocked the gun, pulled the trigger again. Nothing.
The beast thrashed its terrible claws across my brother’s face, tearing a gash from hairline to chin. I jumped at the monster, hitting it with the gun over and over until it reached out its slender hand, picked me up by my collar and threw me against a wall beside the front door with such force that all the wind in my lungs spilled out in one breath.
I gasped for air as my brother cried, as the monster howled, as my father lay dying by the smoldering hearth. I was helpless, and I knew that after watching this monster rip my brother to shreds, I’d be next.
But then the front door exploded open like a cannon burst. Splinters sprayed as a man entered our home garbed in a long, red military coat. He held a silver hatchet in one hand and a wooden dagger in the other. Pale moonlight shimmered behind him, illuminating snowflakes which swirled in the startled air.
The stranger glanced at me, then at my brother who kicked helplessly at the monster snarling over him. The man then roared and lunged at the creature. He pulled the wretched being from atop my brother and slammed it onto our dining table which broke at its weight and crashed to the floor.
Overtop the beast, the stranger raised his wooden dagger and plunged it deep into the heart of the monster. The terrible thing clutched its chest, trying to grab at the weapon and pull it from its pale flesh as red veins pulsed across its skin. Black bile erupted from its mouth, drenching the stranger as he pinned the beast in place while it convulsed and howled until finally the vampire exploded, spraying flesh and blood across our tarnished home, covering everyone and everything in crimson.
Panting, the stranger picked up his dagger from deep inside the fresh pile of slop and wiped it clean with his coat before holstering it. He cleared his face of bile, then turned to me as I remained motionless against the wall.
With a glint of remorse on his face, a face half lit by our hearth’s orange glow, he said to me, ‘I heard your mother’s screams while I passed along the road. I couldn’t save her from her wounds, but she told me her two boys were still alive in this house.’ He turned to my brother who clutched his bleeding face, then continued, ‘I’ll patch ye up, but we can’t stay here. You’ll both come with me now and leave this place behind you.’
At sunrise we buried our parents and set the house aflame, burning any evidence of what transpired. And from that moment on, I was indebted to this man known as Francis Edmund Swift, a monster hunter under the employ of the Crown and his Majesty’s army. The same man we’ll hopefully find in New York in the coming days…”
Samuel exhaled and listened to the rhythmic clop of horse hooves. He hadn’t thought about that terrible night in a very long time. He noticed his hands were shaking. His breath was shallow.
“Was that all true?” Corn asked.
“More or less,” Samuel replied, having embellished a few details — namely his bravery. In reality, he was terrified the entire time.
“Is it over?” Lily asked, her hands cupped around her ears.
“It’s over,” Samuel said with a smile.
“So vampires are real.” Corn said.
“They are,” Samuel replied. “Along with werewolves, fae, demons, and plenty of other nightlings. Us humans, I hate to say, are just one of many who share this Earth.”
“And you hunt them?” Lily said. “These nightlings?”
“Only the bad ones,” Samuel replied, then he pointed at a sign on the side of the road which read, Brandy Wine Hamlet — five miles. He sighed with relief and said, “We’re getting close.”
Yet as they continued down that slender road, with the sun sliding ever-westward, Samuel caught a whiff of a charred home and his father’s blood: tendrils of memory.