History of the Vampire (The Vanderlind Castle Series Book 4)

by Gayla Twist

  “Father! What are you doing?” she shrieked. Then she raced across the room and wrenched him away from my shuddering form.

  “He was going to die anyway,” Grandfather insisted. “I’m just facing the inevitable.”

  “But he’s just a boy.” Mother was weeping with rage and grief. “You should at least give him the chance to become a man.”

  “It’s too late now,” Grandfather informed her. “I’ve drunk too much. He’s going to die now, either way. The only question you have to answer is whether I bring him back.”

  “No!” Mother dropped to her knees, clutching my hand. “Oh, my darling Jessie. I should have known. I should have known he would try to do this to you,” she said between sobs.

  I opened my mouth to try to speak. I wanted to tell her to just let me die. My body was already feeling much warmer. I felt like I was floating in a lake on a sunny day. The pain of my illness had been washed away. I was ready to face the afterlife.

  Chapter 7

  Colette

  “I’m sorry, Lilly, but I honestly don’t want to go.”

  “What are you talking about?” my sister exclaimed. We were in the backyard the next morning, clearing out the weeds that had survived the winter, and turning over the soil in Mama’s vegetable patch. “Lev said he had a wonderful time. He wants to see you again.”

  “I just don’t think we have very much in common,” I told her as I tugged at a dead thistle, its little stingers piercing my worn work gloves in a few spots.

  “Men and women never have much in common,” she told me. “You shouldn’t let that bother you.”

  “He doesn’t even like to read,” I grunted, still battling the plant. “Not at all.”

  “You put too much stock in reading,” Lilly said. “I think you’ll find most men don’t care for it.”

  “Papa likes to read,” I pointed out. The thistle finally gave up the fight and I tumbled a little to one side as it released its grip on the soil. “He reads all the time.”

  “Yes, but Papa is an educated man,” Lilly pointed out.

  “I think I would prefer an educated man,” was my response.

  “Yes, but it’s not Lev’s fault he’s not educated. He was going to go to college,” my sister insisted.

  I really couldn’t imagine Lev in a collegiate atmosphere. He just didn’t appear that bright. I wondered if this was something I should mention to Lilly.

  “Please, Lettie,” Lilly pleaded. “You know Walter and I can’t go out again unless you go with us. And I really, really like him.”

  “I’d be happy to meet another one of Walter’s friends,” I told her. “You said he knew a lot of nice boys.”

  Lilly let her shoulders slump. “But what about Lev? Don’t you think that would hurt his feelings?”

  “Lilly,” I couldn’t help but say, “we went out on one date for a soda. It’s not as if we were going steady or anything. Besides, I doubt Lev is desperate for female attention. I’m sure there are a lot of girls who would be happy to listen to him talk about football.”

  Lilly widened her eyes a little, believing she had figured something out. “Is that why you don’t want to see him again? Because he talked too much about football?”

  “It’s not the only reason,” I told her.

  “Then what is?”

  Sighing, I pulled at a few more shriveled weeds. “He never asked me about myself,” I said, feeling a little foolish for no reason. “Not one thing.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Lilly said, dusting some soil from her gloved hands.

  “You don’t understand,” I told her. “If there had been just a photograph of me there in my place, it would have been the same to Lev. And when he finally stopped speaking for a moment, and I asked him a question, he ridiculed me.” Standing up, I brushed some dried grass from my legs. “I’m sorry,” I told her, picking up my hoe. “I don’t want to prevent you from seeing your beau, but I will not go out on another date with Lev Wilson.”

  “But…” Lilly started to protest.

  “I don’t see why I have to be miserable, just so you can be happy,” I told her chopping vigorously at the soil with the hoe. “Just explain to Walter that Lev and I didn’t hit it off and have him fix me up with another boy. Or none at all, for all I care. I’ll just bring a book on your next date and be a third wheel.”

  “No, that’s alright,” Lilly hastened to say. “I’ll just tell Walter you need someone who is a little more intellectual. He should understand that.”

  That afternoon was the first time I rode my bike out to the castle. It hadn’t been my intention. My original destination was the library to hunt for a new book to read, but somehow I found the wheels of my bike rolling toward the shores of the Tiburon River. And the next thing I knew, I was admiring the progress that had been made on reconstructing the castle.

  I knew better than to get too close to the work in progress. I didn’t want to be in the way. But even from a distance, I could see the walls of the castle starting to rise. The dungeon must have already been finished and the stones for the ground floor in place. I had somehow thought they would build the exterior walls first and then fill in the middle, but they appeared to be building everything up, layer by layer.

  All of the stones from the barges had been off-loaded onto the shore. The boats themselves had disappeared; probably they were headed back down to the Ohio River. There was still a massive pile of rocks on the shore, but I had heard a second round of barges would arrive with more stones once the first pile had been cleared.

  It was amazing the amount of progress the stone masons had done in only a few days. But the sheer number of people reconstructing the castle probably made the whole thing go quicker than expected.

  There didn’t seem to be very many windows to the castle. None at all, as far as I could tell. I thought about the drawings and photographs of castles I’d seen in books. There never were any windows. That made sense, especially if a castle’s primary purpose was to defend its inhabitants against a siege.

  There was no sign of the Vanderlind family. It seemed unlikely that they would arrive before the castle was completely finished. Wealthy people probably hated being inconvenienced even more than us regular folks.

  I knew it was foolish, but I couldn’t wait for the Vanderlinds’ arrival. I didn’t think the family would actually socialize with people from Tiburon, but it would be exciting to see a few of them as they drove through town, or maybe catch a glimpse of them as they entered the policemen’s ball, or stopped by to pay a call on the mayor. I imagined it would be like catching a glimpse of royalty.

  I had read how the English who owned grand houses would have a day each month when their homes were open to the public. That way regular folks could come in and admire the art and finery. I sincerely hoped that the Vanderlinds would adhere to that sort of tradition, so that I would have a chance to see inside the castle. It was something I wanted very much and I just knew there had to be a way.

  That night I dreamt of the Vanderlind Castle. Or at least I had a dream about a castle and decided it was how the castle being built on the other side of town should look. In my dream there was a fine family with a mother and father, an aging dowager, and several children of varying ages. My dark haired boy was the middle child. He was there, playing croquet on the lawn with his brothers and sisters. I wasn’t sure why I was there. Things were vague, as they sometimes are in dreams. But as the dark haired boy was lining up a shot, he looked up and smiled at me, his dark eyes twinkling in the sunlight.

  When I woke up the next morning, I took several minutes to luxuriate in my bed. I knew the memories of my dark haired boy would slip away soon enough, so I wanted to savor them while I could. It probably wasn’t healthy to pine for a boy who was only a product of my imagination, but for a few moments I decided to just indulge in my secret fantasies.

  My sister’s desire to spend time with Walter would brook no opposition. When, after a few days of constant pressu
re, pleading, and offered bribes yielded no results, Lilly realized that Walter really would have to wrangle another of his friends. I hoped for one with a smaller head, but with a bit more going on upstairs.

  And that’s exactly what Walter did. He must have combed through every boy he’d ever met to fix me up with a very studious fellow named Herschel Tuft. He was a grade above me at school and he had won the Tiburon High School mathematics prize three years running. It turned out that Walter and Herschel were second or third cousins — I wasn’t exactly sure of their family connection — but it sounded reassuring enough for Papa to agree to the date. This time it was more than just a soda at Top’s. We were actually going to walk into town to see a movie. I loved movies so I felt this date wasn’t going to be as much of an imposition on me.

  I recognized Herschel from school, of course, as soon as he walked in our front door. I distinctly remembered him accepting his math award the previous year. There was a peculiar angle to the way he held his head when he was nervous and it had stuck in my brain.

  Herschel was a pale boy, tall and slender with sandy blond hair that was straight as a pin. He didn’t have his hair loaded up with any kind of hair tonic, which I knew met with our mother’s approval. I’d never previously spoken to Herschel, or had any classes with him, but I immediately felt more comfortable being around him than I had Lev. At least he was closer to me in age.

  In contrast to Lev, Herschel said as little as possible while the four of us walked into town. I didn’t mind the silence. In fact, I preferred it to stories about football games. But I did think we should have a little conversation so I tried with, “What do you intend to do after graduation?”

  Herschel gave me a started look, as if I was a pet cat that had suddenly started speaking one day. “College,” he eventually answered.

  I nodded, waiting for more than a one word reply. When I realized nothing else was coming, I tried, “What do you think you’ll study?”

  “Mathematics,” he told me, this time without as much hesitation. I figured that was about as much as I was going to get out of him, so I let things go at that.

  There was a bit of problem when we were buying our tickets. Herschel headed up to the gal at the ticket window and purchased a single ticket. I guess that was his way of letting me know he had no interest in me romantically. Fortunately, the feeling was mutual. Unfortunately, it did lead to some awkwardness. I got in line with every intention of buying my own ticket, but then Walter insisted on treating me. I tried to argue with him, but he insisted. It was somehow more humiliating having my sister’s beau purchase my ticket than it would have been if I’d bought my own. Fortunately the film we saw was rather entertaining and I found myself laughing off the whole situation. Herschel, on the other hand, did not appear to enjoy the show. He did not laugh once during the entire movie and frequently looked quite bored.

  On the walk home, I took the lead, trailing Herschel in my wake. I’d actually enjoyed myself more than on my date with Lev. But I didn’t want to prolong Herschel’s agony, so that speeded my steps. Lilly and Walter were walking at a leisurely pace, of course. They obviously did not want their date to end.

  When I got to our front porch, I took a seat on the step. The weather was warming up a little, but the flagstones still chilled my bottom. I couldn’t exactly go inside without my sister, and Papa hadn’t put the porch swing back up since taking it down in the fall, so there was no other place to wait. Herschel eventually wandered up and sat beside me. He said nothing, so I said nothing. I did steal a glance at my watch. If my sister and her beau did not step lively, then we would be late getting home and that would be the end of Walter Bennett.

  “I apologize for not purchasing your ticket,” Herschel eventually said, breaking the silence. “I must save every penny I have for college next fall, And Walter said this wouldn’t really be a date, so I saw no reason to incur the expenditure.”

  “That’s alright,” I told him. “I’m sorry you didn’t enjoy the picture.”

  “I enjoyed it,” Herschel told me.

  “Really?” I was surprised. “I don’t think I heard you laugh once during the whole film.”

  Herschel chewed over this observation. “I don’t…” he began and then he thought it over some more. “I don’t believe guffawing loudly in a public place is an accurate assessment of enjoyment.”

  Guffawing? I thought to myself. Herschel was certainly more intellectual than Lev, but he wasn’t exactly a pleasant person to be around. Fortunately for me, Lilly and Walter came into view at that exact moment, walking arm-in-arm. It was a relief because I knew Papa would scold both of us if we were late, and I really didn’t want to spend any more time speaking with Herschel Tuft.

  Chapter 8

  Jessie

  I woke to a hunger that I never imagined was possible. The urge to feed was overwhelming. It literally crippled any other thought that entered my head. I could smell odors that would have never registered in my mortal nose. I knew the chambermaid had been in the room recently to change my linen. My mother must have sent her away immediately because the smell of her was very faint, but my urge to rip out the girl’s throat and feast on her red juices was overwhelming.

  Fortunately, Mother was right there with a large jug of blood. “It’s alright, my darling. Everything is going to be alright,” she said, handing me cup after cup of the red nectar until I just grabbed the entire jug and gulped it down.

  It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. It was ambrosia in my mouth. I could feel the blood coursing through my body, making every part of me tingle with satisfaction. There was only a small part of my brain that wondered how the liquid I was drinking had been acquired. Did some poor soul sacrifice his life for the precious elixir? I was ashamed to admit it, but a large portion of me didn’t care. All I wanted was more.

  After the jug was gone, I was a little better. I felt saner. I still had horrible pangs of hunger, but not the kind of pangs that drove a person to do depraved things. I took notice of my hands. The red rash from my illness was gone and my skin looked extraordinarily pale. A small scar that I had been at the base of my thumb for as long as I could remember had vanished.

  “Are you better now?” Mother asked, clasping my hands and pulling them to her cheek. “Do you feel under control?”

  I looked at her, but suddenly I couldn’t speak. There was bile filling my throat. I felt like beetles and slugs were trying to crawl out of my mouth. I hated everyone and everything. I wanted to set the world on fire. I wanted to cause pain. I wanted to see mortals quaking with terror so that I could delight in their agony.

  “Jessie?” My mother stared at me, her eyes wide with fear.

  I’d always loved Mother dearly and I didn’t want to frighten her. I didn’t want to cause her any more pain than she’d already suffered with a monster for a father. And it was that conviction that centered me. The plague that I was tempted to let spill from my lips abated. I felt my old self again. “Yes,” I finally managed to say.”Yes, I think I’m…” I could not even think of the words to describe how I was feeling. “Calm,” was what I ended up saying.

  “I’m so sorry.” Mother burst into tears. “I should have known my father would try something like this. I should have guarded the door.” She hung her head and released a deep sob. “I should have taken you all away years ago.”

  “I think we both know Grandfather would have never allowed that to happen,” I said, sitting up a little in my bed and stuffing a pillow behind my head and shoulders. “He would have pursued us to the ends of the earth.” Grandfather was a very controlling man. He did not like the idea of anyone disobeying him, especially his own flesh-and-blood. His word was law.

  “That’s true,” Mother said with a large sniff, her eyes glistening. She always looked beautiful, even when she cried. That was one of the things I remembered about her, even before she was turned. Her beauty had been enhanced by becoming a member of the undead, but it wasn’t create
d by it. “But still…” she said. “I should have tried. I should have thought of something.”

  I put my arms around her. “Please don’t cry.”

  She suddenly straightened up, pulling away from me and looking into my eyes. “You haven’t changed. Have you?” she exclaim. “I thought for a moment there…” She brushed at her tears. “But it’s not true. Is it? You’re still my wonderful boy.”

  Running my hand through my hair a couple of times, I thought things over. I didn’t feel any different. Not really. Not deep inside. There had been a moment where I’d felt like I could have let the world tumble into the darkest pit of human misery, but that moment had passed. Yes, my sense of smell was better than a bloodhounds and I could see clearly without there being a light in the room. Yes, I craved human blood. I could already feel I would need more of the red nectar before much longer. But no, I did not feel innately different. I no longer felt hate in my heart. That moment was gone. I had no desire to kill or torture mortals. If anything, I felt sad for the life I would never live. I mourned for the girl I would never marry and the children I would never cradle in my arms.

  “I think I’m the same,” I finally told my mother. “I don’t feel any cruelty in here,” I said, tapping on my chest.

  “Thank God,” Mother said, wrapping me in her arms. “Thank God.”

  I held her for a few minutes and let her cry in my arms. Then she pulled away from me and dried her eyes. “Now I only have Emily left.”

  My poor little sister. She was a dear girl. The weight of continuing the family line would fall upon her shoulders. “We must find a way to protect her,” I said. “We must get her away somehow.”