The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels

by Travis Luedke

  The vampires watched the two of them like hawks. They stole up behind them once the two men relaxed again. Before either man knew it, they had knives run hard across their throats. The vampires laid them down gently and returned to the trees.

  They moved to the next corner on the same side of the camp. When the clouds masked the moon, they struck again. Nobody suspected or heard a thing. They had taken out two of the four sentry posts.

  The other sentries stood about. They wished they could join the rest of the camp in sleeping beneath warm blankets. The effects of the cold ate at their spirits, and they could not wait for the mission to end. Then they could return home to the comforts of their wives.

  The vampires put them out of their misery soon after. Home was something none of them would ever again see.

  Dracula looked to his son. It is time to do this. In separate lines, they cut the throats of the sleeping men one at a time.

  It reminded Dracula a lot of the night attack against the Turks many years ago. This is exactly what he did on that occasion. He only hoped it paid as great a dividend now. It did not take him and his son long to wipe out a fifth of the force.

  Varkal closed in on his target. The only tent in the camp signified that was where he would find Caliu. He skipped over the last few sleeping bodies before the tent. Inside, Caliu slept soundly.

  He gazed down at the snoring boyar, the urge to drink strong. Caliu stirred and turned over, the blanket slipping from his body. The sudden cold on his back woke him with a start. He opened his eyes to see Varkal’s face only inches away.

  Varkal clamped a hand over his mouth before he could raise the alarm. Caliu looked up at the intruder with real fear in his eyes. Varkal held a blade up for him to see. It glinted where the moon shone through the canvas. He felt Varkal run the tip along the side of his neck. The cold steel marked his skin, making him shiver.

  “Tell me how it feels,” Varkal whispered in his ear, “to be the hunted.”

  Caliu’s eyes followed his, and he dared not move. Even if he did, he could not prevent the blade from slicing through his throat. He waited in the hope the intruder might reveal what he wanted.

  “You have only one thing I want,” Varkal said. He grinned when Caliu realised he had read his thoughts. “Your blood.”

  His words and the tone behind them hinted the intruder intended to kill him. Caliu struggled against the hand that held his mouth.

  Varkal held him firm, and bared his fangs to bite the boyar.

  Dracula could tell, even from a distance. No! he relayed across the camp. His son heard it, but carried on. Varkal sank his fangs deep into the side of Caliu’s neck.

  Caliu jerked his head back hard. His whole body tensed while the first of his blood left his body. He clenched his teeth as the muscles in his jaw tightened. His mouth came free of Varkal’s grip, and a scream escaped his lips.

  Varkal drove his fangs in deeper to speed up the transfer of blood. The men around the tent awoke. They knew something was amiss in their boyar’s tent. Some of them shouted out to raise the alarm.

  Dracula had to act fast. He picked up a bow lying near one of the men he had killed. Grabbing the pouch of arrows beside it, he flew through the air to one of the perimeter fires. He nocked two arrows against the string of the bow and, leaning down, he lit the ends of both.

  He did not care that Varkal was inside the tent. Without taking proper aim, he fired. The arrows whistled through the air before ripping into the canvas. Almost at once, it caught alight. He fired two more at it before exiting the camp.

  By a miracle, none of the four arrows hit Varkal. He looked up to see the canvas on fire. It was the signal for the Maglaks to attack. He left Caliu there to die, and, in a panic, he shot up into the air. Moving at pace, he took the flaming canvas with him. The first arrows rained in on the camp; one hundred in all.

  He cried out as the hot canvas melted against his skin. Like a maniac, he fought to get it off. It dropped down and fell against the prostrate body of Caliu. At once, it burned the boyar. But, paralysed from Varkal’s bite, he could not even cry out. He just lay there as the flames engulfed him.

  In the camp below him all Varkal heard was chaos. Only the dead did not rise to their feet. That number quickly increased. The Maglaks bombarded the camp with pinpoint accuracy. Under the light of the moon, Caliu’s men had nowhere to hide. They could not see their enemy and, in their dozens, they fell.

  Many attempted to run through the pass they had used to enter the field. Dracula waited there for them, and cut down every man who passed his way. Varkal joined him, his hair and clothes still smoking.

  He could see Dracula was deeply annoyed. His father’s rigidity frustrated him. Another of Caliu’s men ran their way. Varkal took his head off with one clean swoop of his sword, a large spray of blood flying through the air. “The plan has still worked,” he said, in his own defence.

  The Maglaks came out of the trees. They waded through the dead bodies in the camp. Any who still lived, they put to the sword. The vampires joined them again.

  The vataf looked to them. “I thank you for this, My Lord.”

  Dracula and he locked forearms in a sign of friendship. “Then may this bond between us last for all time.”

  Chapter 27

  TRANSYLVANIA. TEN MILES WEST OF CLUJ

  NEAR THE BORDER WITH HUNGARY.

  EARLY MARCH, 1502.

  Antonia awoke at the crack of dawn to another cold morning. She thought about getting up, but she did not feel too good. It was warm beneath the blanket. She decided to remain there, and snuggled into her husband.

  Andrei groaned in his sleep, the familiar sound drawing a smile from her. They had not spent much time apart in their fifty-four years of marriage. One night a month, he sloped off. At sunset on the thirteenth day, the Dark Ones could see him if he did not shield himself. It meant he had to go well away from his loved ones. He would find a quiet spot to hide and build up his defences. Then and only then were they ever away from each other.

  She groaned too. Her bones felt stiff and ached when she moved. For a while now, she had not felt too well. Andrei sensed it, but she never let on. When he did ask, she assured him she was fine. They had known each other from birth and wed at seventeen. He trusted her word, even though he sensed otherwise.

  He felt warm to touch, as always. She moved her knees in behind his and moulded into him until they were one. The padding beneath them was a comfort, and she was glad of it. They needed it, at their age, sleeping against the hard ground.

  That was one of the many things she loved about him. He did everything he could to ensure her comfort. She deserved it, he said. Everything he had, she had given to him. Six sons in their first ten years together.

  After the split with the tribe many years ago, they raised and nurtured their sons alone. She watched her boys grow into fine young men. Each one was the image of their father in one way or another. He proved the perfect role model.

  In time, her boys all fell in love and married. Their wives joined them so as not to break the family unit. The unions produced another twenty children. Eight of those had married to produce a half a dozen more. It capped a perfect life for her. She lay there thinking if her time came now, she could have no complaints.

  Andrei stirred when she moved against him. He reached back with a hand and rubbed her thigh. She wrapped an arm around him and snuggled up closer. “Good morning, my love,” she whispered.

  He shifted slowly around to face her. His body ached too. “You are awake?”

  “I always wake before you,” she said, offering her familiar smile.

  “That is what you keep telling me.”

  She reached her head up a touch to kiss him. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  He pulled her in closer. They locked in a tight embrace and kissed again, slowly.

  “You are such a beautiful man,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  “I am what you hav
e made me.”

  “No, my love. This has always been you.”

  “It is as well for me, then, that I am. Or you may not have loved me.”

  “I have always loved you. How could I not?”

  “It helps me know how fortunate I have been, when you say such things.”

  “I am the fortunate one,” she said, planting a soft kiss on his neck. “I have been blessed, as have our children. What more could a woman ever want from a man than what it is you have given me?”

  He held her tight in his arms. The same rush of love that had passed through him almost every day of his life, did so again. “You still take my breath away.”

  She nuzzled into his neck. “Thank you,” she said. “You have given me a wonderful life.”

  He pulled away a touch. “You say that as though it is about to come to an end?”

  “We are old, Andrei. It cannot be that far off, for either of us.”

  “Well, not quite yet. I am not ready for you to go.”

  “Do we have a say in such things?”

  “I do. You know I have stopped people from crossing over.”

  “Yes, I know, but promise me one thing.”

  “What, my love?”

  “When it is my time, let me go.”

  “It is not your time.”

  “Promise me.”

  He sighed. “I promise.”

  “My body is tired. I do not know how much more it can give me.”

  “You need to rest, that is all. We should not travel for a time.”

  “A rest would be good.”

  “Till you feel better. I am not ready to carry on without you yet.”

  “We can never be ready for such things.”

  “Not I, at least. My earliest memories are all of you.”

  “Mine too.”

  “I love you, Antonia.”

  “And I love you, Andrei.”

  He heard her gasp quietly. “Antonia?”

  Her body fell limp at his side.

  “Antonia?” he said again. He moved back and sat up.

  Andrei looked down at his wife. She lay with her eyes closed and her lips slightly apart. Tears welled in his eyes. He knew she had gone. A terrible feeling crawled through him from the pit of his stomach, a feeling of dread and loss.

  He raised her up in his arms and cradled her head into his chest. Her hair still smelled so good. He stroked it in as soft a way as he could, as he rocked her gently back and forth.

  The tears flowed freely down his face. “How can I go on without you?” he said into her ear. “I do not want to.”

  He felt so tempted to lay her down and breathe life back into her. Many times in his life he had done such a thing. He knew, though, that he could not do that for her, not after the promise he had made. She knew it was her time. That is why she said it.

  Andrei looked up as her soul rose from her body. It stood only a foot away, looking somewhere far off. He reached out to touch it, but his hand passed straight through.

  “Please do not take her from me yet,” he begged those he knew would soon come for her. “Give me a little more time.”

  He hummed a soft tune. It was the one she loved most of all, of the few he kept in his head. He used to do it over her swollen belly during each of her pregnancies. She always said it was the reason their sons were at peace with the world when they were born. How he wished he could relive one of those times.

  Her soul turned to look at him, and smiled. He looked up through teary eyes and smiled back. “Do not go yet.”

  A light shone through the tent and touched against Antonia’s soul. They are coming for her.

  He cried harder. What is there without you? He had not known a world that did not have her in it. Yet now he was going to discover just that. His heart felt heavy. After saying goodbye to her, he knew he had only one thing left to do in his life. Then there was nothing more for him.

  The light grew brighter, and her soul turned to face it. He could see the excitement on the face of all that was left of his wife. It should have made him happy, but instead, it devastated him. Very soon they would take her. That would be his last moment with her in the mortal sphere.

  Then he saw them. He laid her body down gently and jumped to his feet. Her soul reached out with both arms. The White Ones walked up to her image and took it by the hands. He fell to his knees in despair when they did not even look at him.

  He dived full length to try and come between them. His efforts proved in vain. He passed straight through them and hit the ground.

  They stopped, and Antonia turned to look at him. “It is my time to go, Andrei,” she said, offering him the warmest smile. “Do not be sad.”

  He fell back on his haunches. His heart ached. He needed her so badly.

  “Do what you must do,” she said. “And then come to me. I shall be waiting.” She smiled and blew him a kiss. “I love you.” Then she turned towards the light.

  With that, her soul disappeared and the brilliant light and the White Ones were gone. He dragged himself back over to where her body lay alone on the blanket. Lying down beside her, he pulled it over them both. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close and cried.

  By late morning, the camp came to life. Andrei’s sons stood around and chatted while their wives began cooking the first meal of the day. The younger children ran about, wrapped up in their warmest clothes. Some of them played too close to Andrei’s tent. They belonged to Gabriel, the youngest of his sons.

  “Come away from there,” he scolded them.

  The eldest of the brothers, Mihail, turned to him. “Mama and Papa should have risen long ago. They never sleep this late.”

  “Do you think something is wrong?” Gabriel asked.

  “They are old,” Petre said, in a half laugh. “Leave them in peace.”

  Mihail did not accept that. “When have you not seen Mama walking around the camp before any of us?”

  He was right. She almost always emerged from her tent before any of the others. Gabriel’s wife overheard them talking. “It is worrying us too,” she said. “Someone should go and check on them.”

  “I shall do it,” Mihail said.

  He walked over to their tent. “Mama? Papa? Are you awake?”

  When he did not receive an answer, he called them again. For the second time, there was no response. His brothers saw his worried expression.

  “Go inside,” Simon said.

  Mihail ducked down and opened the flap. He saw the shape of his parents beneath their blanket. “Mama? Papa? It is late. Have you not woken yet?”

  Andrei raised his head to see his son inside his tent. At once, Mihail knew something was wrong. “What is it, Papa?”

  He cleared his throat to answer him. “Mama is gone,” he cried, his voice broken as well as his heart.

  Mihail dropped to his knees. His grief was instant. Mama is gone? He could not even grasp the concept of it, let alone the reality.

  Andrei pulled the blanket away from her face. He wiped his eyes and gazed down at her. “Even in death, she is beautiful,” he said with pride.

  “Are you well, Papa?” Mihail managed to ask.

  Andrei smiled at him. “Yes, my son, I am well. She devoted her entire life to me, to us. Few are as fortunate as I have been.”

  “She is not gone, Papa,” Mihail said, trying his hardest to be strong for his father and not break down. “Part of her lives on in each one of us.”

  “I know,” his father agreed. “We are truly blessed.”

  He gently moved the wisps of hair from her face with a finger. “Go back outside,” he said. “I shall join you soon. I need a few more moments alone with your mother.”

  Mihail staggered outside and then broke down in tears. His brothers ran straight to his side. They crowded around him, too afraid to look inside the tent.

  Raphael grabbed him by the shoulders. “What is it, Brother?”

  Mihail looked up at him. He choked, as he tried to speak. “
It is Mama.”

  “Is she sick?”

  “She is gone, Raphael. She has passed over to the other side.”

  “And Papa?”

  “He wants to remain with her.”

  The news crushed them. Few men ever loved a mother the way they loved theirs. When the news reached their wives, they broke down too. They had lost their beloved Antonia, the sweetest and most caring human being any of them had ever known. None of them were prepared for such a thing, and it devastated them all.

  Inside the tent, Andrei laid his wife out on the blankets. He dressed her in her prettiest clothes and brushed her long grey hair. His loved ones continued to grieve outside. None of them would enter the tent until they saw their father emerge.

  “There, my darling,” Andrei said, smiling at her. “Your boys can come and say their farewells. You are as beautiful as the day we married. I shall love you always.”

  He gave her one long final kiss. “Wait for me, and help guide me if you can. I shall be with you soon once more.”

  His sons stepped forward when they saw him emerge. They ran to comfort him, and all six of them embraced him together. They cried as one, and hugged each other hard. Their wives stood back and watched, each lost in their own grief.

  “Go and say farewell to your mother,” Andrei said. “I am going to walk for a time. I need to find a spot for her. One that she would have loved.”

  He left them and went on his way. It had turned into a beautiful day, and spring was in the air. All around him, he saw the first flowers. On the trees, the buds had begun to open. It painted the fields and woods nearby with an array of pretty colours. He only wished she could be with him to see it all.

  Rabbits jumped in and out of the bushes either side of the path. Seeing them, restored a smile to his face. A butterfly gave a little dance in front of him, and then landed on his sleeve for a moment. Antonia had loved them. She liked nothing better than to roam the fields in search of the many varieties.

  It crawled all the way up his arm to his shoulder. He felt a gentle rush of air on his face as it flapped its pretty orange wings. When it flew off again, he followed its path. It led him to a lovely spot close to a riverbank. He took it as a sign from her.