Demon Vampire (The Redgold Series)

by Virgil Allen Moore

  “Your lesser demon gift.” Yugo said with an evil undertone.

  “So I did this?” Zack look around.

  “Yes. This is my dream. It is your gift that brought us here.” Yugo told Zack. “Has it happened before?”

  “Yes, this has happened before.” Zack let his guard down. He thought about Kyli and her forest. It was real after all. He had traveled to Kyli's dream world and talked with her there during the concert.

  “Demon gifts are much more capable than elder vampires would ever know about. The demons have greater and lesser abilities. Unlike regular vampire gifts, they are special. It is these minor gifts that allow us to fight. Considering you are here, you have a minor telepathic ability that your demon grants you.” Yugo seemed to know everything.

  “Is that rare?” Zack loosened his neck tie.

  “It is not a unique gift.” Yugo saw Zack's face drop. He was disappointed. “That's not to say it isn't all-powerful. It requires blood to fuel, unlike a normal gift. Blood power that accumulates for purpose of the greater ability the demon wields. It is like a reserve tank of energy. It can be drained by the minor uses.”

  Zack asked the question. “What happens if the tank is full?”

  “Nothing good.” Yugo commented.

  “What happens?” Zack persisted.

  “The demon awakens. It commands its power directly through your body.” Yugo turned away.

  “And if I don’t want that?” Zack didn't like what he was hearing.

  “It is not up to you. By then you will be dead, and it will have full use over its terrifying greater gift.” Yugo informed Zack.

  “That's the worst case?” Zack wanted to be prepared.

  “No. Worse case, the world population will go down.” Yugo grumbled. “Before that, their gift activates.”

  “And what is that exactly?” Zack sat down on a small boulder in the sand.

  “Your demon knows what it is capable of. Unfortunately I do not.” Yugo sat down, cross legged in the sand.

  "Did it pick me?" Zack wanted to know.

  "No, your demon is adventitious as all of them are to their hosts." Yugo explained.

  “Do you know what yours is?” Zack wanted more. “Did it ever tell you?”

  “Yes it did.” Yugo smiled.

  “Willingly?” Zack's attention was focused.

  “No.” Yugo answered quickly.

  “How?” Zack leaned forward.

  “I tricked it.” Yugo adjusted his legs.

  “And?” Zack wanted to know how he might be able to demand his demon to stop harassing him. To stop tempting him with blood.

  “Disaster.” Yugo sulked.

  “What do you mean? Did it do something to you?” Zack shifted on the boulder and placed his hand down. The sand felt eerily similar to the forest floor in Kyli's dream.

  “This is the fruit of my gamble.” Yugo looked around. He stared at the mist in the distance. Then down to the ground beneath him. “The result of my delicately crafted ploy. A little island of humanity to call my own, and nothing else.”

  “Humanity? You’re a vampire.” Zack didn't know what Yugo was referring to.

  “We’re all human Zack. We’re just infected with something that’s changed the rules. How we live, how we survive, has been altered. You are in a volatile situation.” Yugo extended his hand out above the soil, a chair formed under it. Yugo climbed into it. “Learn to embrace it.”

  “How am I supposed to do that if I'm dead?” Zack complained.

  “Do it before.” Yugo's simple sentence shut Zack up.

  Zack waited, not knowing what to say next.

  “I’ll tell you another secret. The river, lake, seas of blood, they're not what you need to worry about. It is the rest of it. The events that make us, that forms us. Our individuality is what's most important, especially in our circumstance.” Yugo took a handful of sand. He let it pour down the sides of his open palm. “The erosion that develops in our minds is a clock. its hands tell us how much time is left.”

  “Left until what?” Zack didn't like where Yugo was going.

  “It wins and we cease to exist.” Yugo tipped his hand to let the sand fall.

  Zack’s breath was getting faint. He felt pressure on his neck. It was a tightness that was uncomfortable. He was starting to choke.

  Yugo leaned back in his chair. “Now get out of here. Go back to your own body before you die on me and this conversation becomes worthless.”

  The mist closed in around Yugo. He disappeared in the haze. The red tint to everything vanished as the club scene returned. It was similar to when Zack heard the voices before he was abducted. Reality faded back into existence from the dream world. They were back in the small crowded room.

  Yugo stared at Zack. His eyes were compassionate. Yugo raised his hand towards Marin. “Stop.”

  Marin let go and Zack collapsed on his face. His upper body flat on the table.

  “Marin, he will be of better use to us alive. It seems Zack Giver has a talent that is quite extraordinary. For that, he will be given more time.” Yugo stood up from the table. He walked to the door Zack had entered through and opened it.

  Zack coughed, recovering from the choking. Bruises from Marin's fingers were forming in his neck. Zack was breathing heavily.

  Marin stood and helped Zack up on his feet. “We're leaving. Pick yourself up.” He escorted Zack to the door.

  Yugo held the door open, waiting for Zack and Marin. “You are an interesting person Zack, remember what you learn in the dream world. Do this and we will surely meet again.” Yugo waved goodbye to Zack in a pleasant, genuine manner.

  Yugo closed the door behind Marin as he ushered Zack to the hallway.

  Zack leaned on a nearby panel, still coughing, clearing his lungs. There was a small dusty mirror he noticed hanging beside him. Zack viewed his neck, it was sore, but no longer bruised. He turned to Marin. “You didn’t have to do that, I didn’t mean to make fun of him. I was only making light of the situation.”

  Marin squeezed Zack's right arm and threw him across the hall. He held Zack to the wall before the drywall could reverberate the motion. There was no impact sound in the way Marin attacked Zack. It was unreal. Marin’s fingers were pressed into Zack’s chest. He pushed slowly, piercing the skin as he deflated Zack’s rib cage. There was no room to cough, or sigh. He was pinned, his feet unable to touch the ground. There was no room to scream.

  Zack couldn’t argue with what Marin was about to say.

  “You are of interest to Yugo. Sometimes he can be a bit too pragmatic in covering for everything. You may have something to offer him before we tear your heart out.” Marin pushed. There was no emotion on his face. Marin was calm, cold.

  Blood began to stain Zack's white dress shirt.

  “Until then, smile.” Marin let Zack down, removing his fingers from the fresh holes in Zack's skin.

  Zack was panting, gasping for air.

  Marin opened a tiny cooler near the far side of the barricaded door. He reached for a single glass and a small pouch of blood. Marin gently poured a cup for Zack. He walked over to place it in Zack's right hand directly. “Make yourself presentable again.”

  Zack's eyes stared at Marin, calling him out as insane.

  Marin smiled as he tucked Zack's shirt back in. “Don't worry, no one will care about the blood stain out there.” Marin turned to face the hallway. “Now, we have a party to get back to and you have a beautiful woman to woo.”

  Chapter 4

  The Simpleton and The Little Life Lost

  In the winter of 1902, an odd young man was born on the northeastern shores of Virginia. His name was Del Marin. His father was French, his mother American. Del's father traveled to the states in the hopes of raising a proper family. Growing up Del wore his hair short and black. He had a light skin tone, pale from birth. Del's father decided he was to only be taught English, an effort to blend him into society. It was a task that was made difficult due to Del's
simple personality. He was focused as a child. He enjoyed remedial labor. As a child he shoveled horse stalls in an effort to provide for his sickly mother. During this, Del's father drank what little money they had left. Del didn't seem to care. His mentality was to keep working. He was perfectly happy to accomplish the job at hand. There was something about farm life that suited him. Every morning he got up, did the same couple of jobs all day long, and went to sleep on the same beaten down wooden bed. The next day he got to do it again. It was straight forward to Del, something he came to know well. A series of tasks he repeated year after year.

  By 1921, Del had grown up into a handsome man. He had now been employed for eleven years as a farm hand. Little changed except for the things his older, taller body was able to let him work on. Del's face had elongated. His eyes had become piercing atop his defined cheek bones. He had a face that most women held their breath when looking at for the first time. He had grown to six foot one inch. From the years of labor, Del was lean and highly toned. He had developed a thick tan. Del still kept his hair short, only slightly longer than when he was a boy. He was the model of health and attraction in a simple package that wished for neither.

  The prior year, Del's mother finally perished from the red death, tuberculosis. His father had left on the night of his nineteenth birthday. Shortly thereafter, Del was informally adopted by the farmer he had been working under since the age of eight.

  Del was beginning to see the changes in the world around him. There was a boom across America. Cities were expanding, automobiles and suits were becoming the new precedence instead of horses and straw hats. Del was figuratively left behind by everyone in the town. The few people that were ever nice to him moved away or stopped talking to him altogether. Not one to conform, Del continued his position at the farm that he was accustomed to. He didn't care what others thought. Shoveling, cleaning, wrangling, feeding, fixing, and building were Del’s everyday chores. It was simple, straight forward work. Del had found a sense of calm in what he did. He was proud of what he could do with his own two hands.

  Six years passed, Del was now twenty-five. He had built a reputation in the newly expanded town as a strong worker. Del was adroit with his hands. He was trusted by everyone that knew him and most that did not. He had come to be considered an upstanding citizen. Del's good looks led to attract many women in the local area. Stories of their intentions spread and were the talk of many late night conversations among young women. Despite the vast number of takers, Del had begun to court a young lady named Demy McHugh.

  Demy was an heiress to a nearby tobacco plantation. She was slender and curvy. Demy had curly long brown, thick hair. She had deep brown eyes. Demy's face was oval, her eyes big, soft, and doughy. She was the catch of the town. Even with all of her suitors, Demy fancied Del. She liked his surprising wit during their encounters just as much as his firm grasp of her body when he embraced her. They quickly and frequently found the time to express their desires for one another throughout the week. Eventually, Demy became pregnant.

  Knowing Demy's father would not allow such a simple farm hand to marry his beloved daughter, Del walked to Mr. McHugh’s personal estate. It was located on the far outer reaches, opposite Del's residence at the farm. Del made his way at the eye of dawn. Treading past the stores which had come to know him. The milk company, the slaughter house, the corner store at the heart of town. The owners all knew Del's name. They waved and greeted him as he came near. Everyone knew what he was doing, what he was trying to accomplish. As Del crossed the street, hordes of small children watched. They were anxious to see what was going to happen. Far more nervous than Del himself. He exited the edge of town with the McHugh estates in the distance. As the sun lowered in the sky, Del climbed the steps beside the cobble stone driveway leading up to the main gate.

  The white three level house was visible from the outer property wall, a distance of more than two miles. Del slowly made his way down the path to the front door. The grass lawn was wide and well kept. Without the slightest sign of ware or damage. Every fifty feet there were two three foot standing stone place markers. Each one adorning a lavish 'M' representing the McHugh name. Del smiled as he remembered the time he spent working to dig the holes for their placement. He had never actually seen the pillars themselves. Del was happy that he was able to make each hole level and tight for them to rest on.

  At the end of the road was the McHugh house. White siding with brown balcony accents for each of the floors was the decorum of the house. It had been built in 1870 when the McHugh family came to Virginia. The former plantation house was given to the workers manning the fields. A glad gift for the several dozens of low pair laborers tending to the fields that helped pay for the house. Mr. McHugh had a philosophy that a paid worker that is happy, is much faster and more productive than a worker that is not.

  Del stopped at the front steps. He kicked his shoes together to remove the mud and dirt from the long walk. The hardwood floors on the house porch were pristine. Del was timid in marking them up. He sat down on the lowest level and took off his working shoes entirely. In only his socks, Del approached the large red double doors.

  Del knocked twice on the heavy red paint.

  A tall, thin old man with an almost pure white complexion answered. “Yes? What business do you have here young man?”

  “I've come for the master of the house.” Del spoke up.

  “Who may I ask is calling?” The butler asked Del.

  “Del Marin.” Del smiled. He was confident, having all the time of the walk to build his nerve to this moment.

  “Wait here, outside. He will be with you soon.” The butler closed the door.

  Del waited and stood diligent for almost an hour. To him, the time was nothing. It passed much quicker than the trip there. The lights in the house were fully lit by the minute the butler reopened the front door to face Del with a reply.

  “The master is not available.” The butler said with pomp and disdain towards Del.

  Del Said nothing.

  “Didn't you hear me? I said the master is not available. You can go home.” The butler instructed Del.

  “Yes, I heard you clearly.” Del responded.

  “Then please leave. You can no longer carry on your endeavor here.” The butler said while attempting to close the door.

  The door stopped abruptly on Del's right foot. Del said nothing to the pain it caused. The sound of crunching flesh and bone rang into the open silence of the moment. Del wouldn't admit it, but the door had broken two of his toes.

  “No thank you. I'll wait.” Del smiled, masking the swelling in his right foot.

  “I'm sorry you were unable to understand what I was trying to tell you with your underdeveloped farm-boy mind. The master is not home. Come back tomorrow.” The butler was being blatantly rude.

  “No. You said that he was not available.” Del took a deep breath and continued. “If he is unavailable at this time, and you had to confer with him for an hour to determine this, than he is obviously on the premises. Therefore, he is home.” Del stared into the eyes of the now irate butler. “And therefore I will wait for him to become available.”

  The angered butler gave no reply. He simply peered down to refer to Del's foot blocking the doorway.

  Del removed his broken foot. A small streak of blood trailed under Del's sock.

  “The master will be out shortly.” The butler slammed the door, rattling the red wood frame.

  Roughly three minutes later, a short, stout man in a light tan cotton suit appeared before Del. He was in his later fifties, with a brown and gray beard. He stood just under five foot seven. He wore a mid length brimmed straw hat. His brown eyes had the same flare as Del's. The man's skin was partially tanned from his forearms down. His sleeves were rolled high on each arm. His hands were old, wrinkled, and worn.

  The unknown man had been a laborer when he was younger, Del was sure of that.

  The stranger looked Del up and down. The man smil
ed and spoke to Del. “Well, boy. You have some damn fine nerve coming here like you did.” The man's voice was rough and crackling. “I assume from what you said to my butler, you aim to talk to me about something rather important. What might that be?”

  Del took to his feet and faced the unknown man. “Are you the master of this house? Are you Mr. McHugh?”

  “Yes. That is the name my mother gave me. Now what business do you have here with me at such a late hour?” Mr. McHugh asked Del.

  “Sir, my name is Del Marin.” Del was interrupted.

  “Marin? Is that French?” Mr. McHugh commented.

  Del's train of thought was temporarily broken. “Yes, sir. It is. Now it's mine.” The pain in Del's toe began to ache. His resolve returned. “Sir. I've come to declare my intentions for your daughter.”

  Mr. McHugh raised his left eyebrow. “And what intentions are those?”

  “I've come to ask you for her hand in marriage. Then you and her directly.” Del rushed through the words so quickly that Mr. McHugh had trouble hearing them.

  “What was that?” Mr. McHugh asked Del.

  Del took a deep breath. He repeated himself, slowly and with diction.

  Mr. McHugh understood every word. He took another look at Del. “Nope.”

  “What?” Del was confused.

  “I mean, no. Son, you have to understand, Demy has more than a dozen suitors that all come from good families. How can I give her to you when you can't prove you'll be able to provide for her?” Mr. McHugh had a fine point.

  Del realized the flaw he needed to find a solution immediately. “What are they?”

  “Who are you talking about son?” Mr. McHugh asked Del.

  “The other suitors. What are they?” Del asked with enthusiasm.

  Mr. McHugh scratched his chin through his beard. “Well, I suppose there's a doctor, a musician, and a lawyer after her. The rest are just from upstanding families.”

  “And would you rather pick one of them over the others? Would a suitor with one of those professions meet your personal requirements to be her husband?” Del was building his case.