Dark Seed
by Larry Letemplier
The naked creature stood on the second-floor balcony of the two-storey brick house,
her red hair flowing around her shoulders, as she posed for the moonless night.
Byron Stone leaned against an oak where the woods began and stared intently
at the vampire, Angie. She who had been the other half of their promising future, now a
vile creature like her God-forsaken creator. His aching heart called out her name, knowing
her soulless body would never know peace until it was put to rest.
Suddenly, she turned her head in Byron’s direction. Her eyes wild and lustful;
the warmth and softness of those beautiful blues lost forever. Byron shrank back into the
woods. He pulled a crucifix from his overcoat pocket and gripped it tightly. Then he
turned and followed the foot path until he reached the gravel road where he had parked the
black Caravan.
After locking himself inside the van, with crucifixes all around him, he removed
his coat and dropped his restless body down onto the air mattress set out in the rear of
the van. He pulled out a wallet-size photo and stared at her, his then pregnant Angie.
After sometime his teary eyes closed, and he slept, clutching the photo.
At the break of dawn he started back through the woods toward the house,
carrying a knapsack containing everything he needed for the task ahead. He came out of the
woods and hurried across the clearing as a light October wind hustled after him, but the
double-knit sweater Angie had given him on their first Christmas together secured him like
an armored blanket.
The heavy oak door was locked. He pulled his hammer from the knapsack and
swung it at the glass in the door. Then he carefully unlocked the door, and pushed it in
on a long narrow hallway that led to the stairs.
Removing the knapsack, he pulled out a wooden stake to go along with his
hammer. He ran for the stairs, and two steps at a time he reached the second-floor
landing. Instantly, his body chilled and tingled.
He turned the corner, and as he opened the bedroom door, his shadow crawled
across the floor and climbed the wall. After a momentary glance, Byron ran across the room
and ripped the vinyl blind away from the glass door. Sunlight flooded the room.
Byron’s eyes were drawn to the mahogany coffin resting on a box spring where a
mattress should have been. He plodded across the room. Gripping the coffin lid, he
swallowed hard, reminding himself not to look into her eyes. Then he lifted it.
He jerked back, his eyes wide and mouth open. A child, maybe two or three
years old, and wearing a navy pajama suit, lay in the coffin. His head rested on a pink,
silk cushion, his eyes were closed. The boy’s eyes flew open. He shrieked and raised
his pale hands in front of his paler face.
Byron’s blood chilled. "Mother of Christ," he moaned, and
slammed the lid closed. The screaming abated.
The vampire child has to be destroyed, he told himself.
My God, he couldn’t.
But he must.
He shuffled forward, urging himself into action before his heart could
further weaken his mind. He flung open the coffin lid; he gritted his teeth and placed the
stake upon the little vampire’s heart. He thought the child looked strikingly
familiar, and his heart went out to the child’s parents. Then he raised the hammer
above his shoulders.
Again the little vampire’s eyes flew open.
"God give me the strength," Byron whispered.
"Daddy."
Byron’s arm dropped and he shrank back. He fought to suppress a
hysterical giggle.
"You’re not even human," he cried.
"Daddy. Wuv you!"
The stake and hammer slipped through Byron’s sweaty palms and plopped on
the floor. The little hands flailed as it tried to blot out the daylight. Byron slammed
down the lid.
"Where in hell are you, Angie?" he moaned.
She’s shown you the product of your own seed, his thoughts cried out.
She has placed the future in your hands.
He exited the room and slumped on the second-floor landing. He would wait.
Wait until dusk.
© Larry
Letemplier
October 1999 HofP |