The Darkening Dream by Andy Gavin
Authors: Andy Gavin
improved, although a whiff of the odor from Alex’s salve lingered.
She glanced at her hands. She couldn’t remember why she hadn’t washed them, the trek home had been an exhausted blur. And that tumble down the dark dream-pit, fingers dragging through the dry dirt… After last night, a nightmare was the least any sane person could expect, but this one was reminiscent of her original visions. Dreadful in appearance, dream-Charles had seemed almost brotherly in demeanor. And who was that redheaded girl?
When she stood, a wave of fatigue swept over her. Next time she helped destroy a living corpse in its grave, she’d better be doing it on more than two hours’ sleep.
As soon as Sarah joined the others at the cafeteria table she pulled out her little journal. No need to write that Anne looked drawn and worried or Sam disheveled and tired. But it should be noteworthy that even Alex seemed exhausted. Emily looked unperturbed — excited, even — but then she hadn’t gone vampire-killing with them.
“You’d feel better if you’d come.” Sarah reached for Anne’s hand, but Anne pulled it away. “It was terrible, but it’s finished now.”
“I got ready,” Anne said, “but I just sat by myself in the parlor with the lights out. I didn’t see anything, and I’m still terrified.”
“Trust me,” Sam said. “You’ll sleep better knowing that thing is dead.”
If only it were so.
Only you can stop us , Sarah scrawled in big letters that took up a quarter page of the journal — and didn’t need writing down at all. The five words had burned themselves into her brain the moment she heard Charles say them.
“Alex, tell us what you know about vampires.” Sarah glanced at the clock on the cafeteria wall. “You’ve got thirty-five minutes until class.”
Twelve:
Unholy Feast
Salem, Massachusetts, Friday, October 24, 1913 and Santorini, Greece, February 1906
A LEX TOOK A DEEP BREATH and adjusted himself on the hard wooden seat.
“My first encounter with the undead was at the age of twelve, while we wintered on the island of Santorini. It was February second — the night of the Ipapandi forefeast.”
“The what?” Emily said.
“Like Christmas, but different. When Mary and Joseph presented baby Jesus at the Temple. Anyway, we’d rented in the cliffside village of Oia, and the labyrinth of streets and the church square were lined with candles. Grandfather was busy, so I was alone, watching laymen reenact the story with candlelit effigies — Mary, Joseph, Simeon, the Righteous, and the Prophetess Anna — when this little waif, maybe two years older than me, appeared out of nowhere. She just hopped up onto the wall at my side.”
Sarah’s expression changed, subtly, and indecipherably — given his minimalist experience with the fairer sex.
“Her name was Maria.” He took a sip of his milk. Her skin had been like fresh yogurt, her black hair tangled, her dress ragged, her feet bare. She’d been beautiful, and they talked for hours.
“After services, she asked my help with an errand. I had no idea what needed doing in the middle of the night, but I’d have followed her across the river Styx to Hades.”
Now he could read Sarah’s expression — and it wasn’t good, but he continued.
“She led me across town to a small church, through an iron gate to a cluster of crypts. From between some graves she gathered up a rag-covered bundle then she took my hand and drew me into a central mausoleum and—”
“You followed her into a tomb?” Sarah said.
“Shhh,” Emily said. “I want to hear the vampire part.”
“Coming right up,” Alex said, trying to keep his tone lighter than he felt. “I heard Maria’s bundle make a strange noise, but when I asked, she silenced me. I was young and stupid, so I followed her down the dark stairs into a scene from a Rembrandt etching. The torch-lit sepulcher held marble sarcophagi, one with a throne of carved angels’ wings. An old man sat
She glanced at her hands. She couldn’t remember why she hadn’t washed them, the trek home had been an exhausted blur. And that tumble down the dark dream-pit, fingers dragging through the dry dirt… After last night, a nightmare was the least any sane person could expect, but this one was reminiscent of her original visions. Dreadful in appearance, dream-Charles had seemed almost brotherly in demeanor. And who was that redheaded girl?
When she stood, a wave of fatigue swept over her. Next time she helped destroy a living corpse in its grave, she’d better be doing it on more than two hours’ sleep.
As soon as Sarah joined the others at the cafeteria table she pulled out her little journal. No need to write that Anne looked drawn and worried or Sam disheveled and tired. But it should be noteworthy that even Alex seemed exhausted. Emily looked unperturbed — excited, even — but then she hadn’t gone vampire-killing with them.
“You’d feel better if you’d come.” Sarah reached for Anne’s hand, but Anne pulled it away. “It was terrible, but it’s finished now.”
“I got ready,” Anne said, “but I just sat by myself in the parlor with the lights out. I didn’t see anything, and I’m still terrified.”
“Trust me,” Sam said. “You’ll sleep better knowing that thing is dead.”
If only it were so.
Only you can stop us , Sarah scrawled in big letters that took up a quarter page of the journal — and didn’t need writing down at all. The five words had burned themselves into her brain the moment she heard Charles say them.
“Alex, tell us what you know about vampires.” Sarah glanced at the clock on the cafeteria wall. “You’ve got thirty-five minutes until class.”
Twelve:
Unholy Feast
Salem, Massachusetts, Friday, October 24, 1913 and Santorini, Greece, February 1906
A LEX TOOK A DEEP BREATH and adjusted himself on the hard wooden seat.
“My first encounter with the undead was at the age of twelve, while we wintered on the island of Santorini. It was February second — the night of the Ipapandi forefeast.”
“The what?” Emily said.
“Like Christmas, but different. When Mary and Joseph presented baby Jesus at the Temple. Anyway, we’d rented in the cliffside village of Oia, and the labyrinth of streets and the church square were lined with candles. Grandfather was busy, so I was alone, watching laymen reenact the story with candlelit effigies — Mary, Joseph, Simeon, the Righteous, and the Prophetess Anna — when this little waif, maybe two years older than me, appeared out of nowhere. She just hopped up onto the wall at my side.”
Sarah’s expression changed, subtly, and indecipherably — given his minimalist experience with the fairer sex.
“Her name was Maria.” He took a sip of his milk. Her skin had been like fresh yogurt, her black hair tangled, her dress ragged, her feet bare. She’d been beautiful, and they talked for hours.
“After services, she asked my help with an errand. I had no idea what needed doing in the middle of the night, but I’d have followed her across the river Styx to Hades.”
Now he could read Sarah’s expression — and it wasn’t good, but he continued.
“She led me across town to a small church, through an iron gate to a cluster of crypts. From between some graves she gathered up a rag-covered bundle then she took my hand and drew me into a central mausoleum and—”
“You followed her into a tomb?” Sarah said.
“Shhh,” Emily said. “I want to hear the vampire part.”
“Coming right up,” Alex said, trying to keep his tone lighter than he felt. “I heard Maria’s bundle make a strange noise, but when I asked, she silenced me. I was young and stupid, so I followed her down the dark stairs into a scene from a Rembrandt etching. The torch-lit sepulcher held marble sarcophagi, one with a throne of carved angels’ wings. An old man sat