by B. C. Sirrom
Vampire Morsels:
ALEXANDER
A short story
By Joleene Naylor
https://www.joleenenaylor.com
[email protected]
Copyright 2011-2015 by Joleene Naylor
Cover art copyright Joleene Naylor 2011-2015. All rights reserved.
Ramblings from the Darkness at https://www.joleenenaylor.com
You never know what you’ll find in the shadows…..
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GET ALL SEVENTEEN SHORT STORIES IN ONE ILLUSTRATED VOLUME:
The Vampire Morsels Collection: Tasty Bites from the Amaranthine Universe
Other books by Joleene Naylor:
Amaranthine:
0: Brothers of Darkness
1: Shades of Gray
2: Legacy of Ghosts
3: Ties of Blood
4: Ashes of Deceit
5: Heart of the Raven
6: Children of Shadows
7. Clash of Legends
8. Masque of the Vampire
9: Goddess of Night
Also:
Vampire Morsels Collection: 17 Short Stories
101 Tips for Traveling with a Vampire by Joleene Naylor
Heart of the Raven Mini Prologue Collection
Tales from the Island: Six Short Stories
Thirteen Guests: A Masque of the Vampire companion
Road to Darkness: A short story companion to Brothers of Darkness
COMING SOON:
Tales of the Executioners
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Thanks to Susan Koenig for her ninja-like proofreading skills.
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This is the second in a collection of short stories, Vampire Morsels. Each story is about a different vampire from the Amaranthine universe who, for one reason or another, didn’t get a chance to tell their tale.
You can find Alexander in the novel Shades of Gray. His story takes place in 1831 on the Cotterill plantation in Virginia. The rebellion mentioned is Nat Turner’s rebellion.
This is the only PG rated story in the Morsels collection.
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“Who goes there?” the potted fern demanded and shook its leaves threateningly. “Friend or foe?”
The dark haired, pale woman stopped in her tracks and glared at the foliage. “Alexander! I have told you to stay out of the plants. They are not here for your amusement!”
The fern rustled again, and a smaller voice pleaded, “But, Mother, it’s not me! It’s one of the talking plants in the magical forest of Brisbinay! You can be the queen, if you want.”
“Alexander.” There was a note of warning in her tone. “I do not wish to repeat myself. Get out of the plants this moment and find some other diversion with which to amuse yourself.”
Alexander watched her disappear through a large, carved doorway. Then, with a resigned sigh, he climbed out of the pot. Oblivious to the dirt he tracked, he marched down the hallway, past the family portraits, and up the shiny, curving staircase to the second floor. He stopped outside the door to his room, unwilling to go inside and face the dreaded monster: Boredom.
“I’ll slay you, you foul creature!” he whispered and then brandished an imaginary sword. He pretended that he was in a grand castle in one of the fairytale stories Nanny Hannah told him. He would slay the monster and save the beautiful princess. She would reward him with jewels and a kiss. He’d have to put up with the latter, whether he liked it or not, because it was just the way fairytales went.
“Take that!” he cried. “And that! And-”
“Alexander!”
He spun around and knocked into his aunt Torina. They both stumbled, but she caught his arm and righted them. “What ever are you doing?”
“Fighting the monster, ma’am,” he answered. “I was playing magical forest, but Mother said I mustn’t.”
Torina released him and brushed her skirts straight. “Before you go dashing about willy nilly you should make sure there are no innocent bystanders in your path. You could have knocked me off my feet!”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Torina,” he murmured with a heavy sigh. “I’ll go play somewhere else.”
“Yes, you should.” She looked thoughtful and then added, “Why don’t you go find Martha’s daughter to play with? She’s too young to be of any use except keeping you occupied.”
Alexander’s shoulders sagged. “I’m not supposed to play with her. Mother said-”
“Oh, your mother.” Torina gestured away the importance of the order. “You may do as you wish, of course. Just mind where you’re fighting monsters in the future.”
She swished away in a swirl of green skirts, leaving Alexander alone. The large, gilded clock in the hallway said it was only ten, and he imagined the long hours of his day stretching out like one of the plantation house’s corridors; full of silent paintings, carved wood and echoey noises that sounded like “shush!”.
He turned over his aunt’s words and, with new resolve, he wandered down the back stairs and outside to the kitchen, housed in its own building. Inside, two women worked, sleeves rolled up over their dark arms, and sweat beading on their faces from the steamy heat. The smell of baked bread greeted Alexander’s nose, but did nothing for his appetite. However, he noted with delight that Eucey was sitting under the table with a bowl of buttons. Martha and Prudence were too busy to notice him, so he slid neatly under the table to join her.
“What are you doing, Eucey?”
She turned her large chocolate eyes on him and smiled brightly. “I’m countin’ buttons. You wanna count ‘em, too?”
Alexander turned a shiny red button over in his hand, then dropped it into the little bowl. “How would you like to play outside? It’s plenty warm out, so you don’t even need any shoes.”
“How come we never go play in the sunshine?” Eucey asked as she counted off five small buttons. “It’s lots prettier, then.”
“Because I can’t go outside in the sunshine,” he answered patiently. “You know that. None of us can. Not Mother, or Father, or Aunt Torina, or Uncle Fabian or me, or even baby Tristan.”
“’Course I know.” She wrinkled her nose. “But why not? They’s other white folks what go in the sunshine. I seen ‘em in town ‘afore, so it can’t be coz ‘a that.”
“It’s just the way it is,” he answered with growing impatience. “Look, do you want to come play or not?”
Eucey peeked out from under the table towards the women at their work. “Mama won’t like it.”
“I imagine not,” he agreed. “So we had best hurry.” Before Eucey had a chance to say anything further, he grabbed her hand and tugged her out from under the table. They dashed out of the kitchen and down the well-worn path. Alexander stopped and took in a lungful of air and held it. The night was cool and the silver moon hung in the sky like a thumbnail clipping. He could smell fresh cut alfalfa on the breeze and the bugs droned lazily in the trees. He could see the lights from the slave quarters and knew that most of them were going to bed. Unlike his family and the house slaves, they were up in the daylight and slept while it was dark. If he thought hard, he could remember a time when he was like that, too. He used to go out in the sunlight but that had changed. He just wasn’t sure when.
He shook off the thoughts as unimportant. “Come on,” he instructed, and pulled Eucey after him. They kicked through the wet grass towards the other outbuildings, but stopped when they saw that the stables were lit up. In the doorway, Alexander could make out his father and the shapes of two other men. His curiosity got the better of him, so he and Eucey crept closer, taking shelter behind a pile of neatly stacked wo
od.
“Who is it?” Eucey asked. “What are they sayin’? I can’t hear.”
Alexander motioned her to silence. If they were detected, he’d be sent back inside to find something else to amuse himself with. Slowly, their words filtered to him, and he paraphrased for his friend. “There’s father, his friend Mr. Smit, and another man. I don’t know him. They’re saying something about a massacre…” he trailed off and squinted into the night, as if that would improve his understanding.
Eucey waited patiently for more information, but Alexander made the mistake of leaning too far out from the wood pile. Someone pointed in his direction and, though he tried to hide, it was too late.
“Alexander?”
He looked up and found his father peering down at him. “Yes, sir?”
“What are you doing?”
“Sir, Eucey and I-”
His father’s face stayed passive, but his tone was severe. “Alexander, have we not
