by Elle A. Rose
our systems go into a sort of hibernation. This usually gives the family time to bury our bodies. Once the change is complete, most vampires need to dig themselves out of their grave and find somewhere to hide, or locate black clothing to keep them protected from the sun. It’s an instinct to bring your casket with you. Besides the clothes on your back, the casket is the only thing you enter your new life with. That is, if you’re lucky enough to be buried. That was another ‘pitchfork’ in the heart for me. Thankfully Dugan wasn’t called to his next reaping right away, so he waited to see if someone would claim my body. Realizing no one would, he moved me to his dwellings and clothed me. He no longer needed his casket since he had a proper shelter, thus as I moved into the world alone, he allowed me to take his for protection. Vacant buildings weren’t as prevalent as they are now, and unless we are removing a soul from a residents in which is occupied by the living, that invisible wall blocks us from entering. Furthermore, all holy grounds are completely off limits…even if a death occurs on the premises. As a result, most vampires aren’t left with many places outside of the casket to seek shelter in the beginning.
I’m commanded forward to the shuffle. I watch as the taller man on the left pulls out the gun. I reach the elderly lady seconds before he fires. Sinking my teeth into her neck, I draw her warm blood into my mouth. As I drain her essence, I hear the booming click of the gun. The woman gasps as the bullet enters her body. Dealing with weapons is a part of the job, but I hate it. I let out a sharp hiss as the bullet exits her body and enters mine. It comes with the territory. Letting her body drop to the ground, I step back into the darkness and attempt to pull the bullet out of my abdomen. This is why vampires heal quickly. Outside of my own death, I have, over the centuries been shot more times than I would like to count. I was thankful when sword fighting lost its attractiveness. But buses, knives, cars, axes, baseball bats and even a fishing pole are some of the weapons that have battered my body over the centuries. Not to mention those times I‘ve arrived late and found myself jumping off of tall buildings or boats and other such things to make the draining before their lovely blood makes too much of a mess for me to lick up. Ironically, there has never been another pitchfork to pierce my skin. The Powers that be have a sick sense of humor.
Digging deep into my side, I find the bullet and yank it out. The tissue and skin around the wound begin to heal. Hissing again, I throw the metal on the ground. My Jane Doe has exited her host and is staring at me. Her murderers have begun their retreat.
“Aren’t you going to stop them?”
Her voice is a high pitch wail. She turns and stares down at her body, and the blood that’s left, as it slowly leaks out onto the sidewalk. “No, not today, but maybe one day I’ll get the calling to.” I glance through the new hole in my shirt and I find the puncture is completely closed. “Come on, it’s time to go.” My Jane Doe faces the direction in which the men ran and spits a saliva-less spit before turning back towards me.
“Well, now what? I’m assuming I’m dead.”
“That you are. Follow me.”
We need not travel as far this time to the next gateway. I can sense it materializing. Making a right, we head for a dark alley that smells of urine and has a hobo sleeping under a box next to the garbage bin. As we walk past the bum, the old lady mutters an ungodly word and attempts to kick him. Her foot goes right through his leg, and he feels nothing. I stop and once again and I’m greeted by the warmth of the depths of Hell. Ormand is the operator of this opening. He, too, is flanked by two hell hounds.
“Must be those weekend things or whatever you call them. This is my six emergence of the night.”
“How are you this fine evening, Ormand? Yes, it is a weekend, but I have a feeling it shall soon slow down. I do not sense the calling of another as of yet. This is my second of the night.”
Ormand nods at me, and flashes a toothless smile towards our Jane Doe.
“Burning yet?” he questions with an unworldly beam. He then gives a slight click of his tongue and the two hounds stand and position themselves.
Jane throws her nose in the air and says, “I need no assistants from these mongrels. I’ve known this was coming for some time.”
She attempts to push past the beasts whose muzzles stop at her shoulders. With her head held high, she marches into the gates of Hell.
Ormand smiles at me and says, “It wasn’t too long ago that I saw Willem, perhaps he’s close by.”
Gatekeepers have no way to tell time, other than what information us vampires pass onto them. He may have seen my Willem, but it possibly was not on this evening. It could have been months ago for all I know.
“Perhaps. There are no other calls for me as of now, so I shall go home and await his company.”
Ormand steps back, pulling the gate closed, and I draw the shrouds of darkness around me. Heading out of the alley, I head home and await Willem or my next calling, whatever happens first.
Note from the author: Though this is a short story, please let me know if you would like to see more of this tale and Cyrene. Visit either my Facebook Page: www.facebook.com/ellearose2012 Or Twitter: @Elle_A_Rose. Thank you and I look forward to your response.
The Rabbit Hole
By Elle A. Rose
Copyright © 2012 By Angela Watkins, Elle A. Rose
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
