Memoirs of a Vampire Hunter

By

Chapter 1

I stood at the edge of a large precipice, set high in the Vosges Mountains of France. Leaning forward, I peered down into the valley far below. From experience, I knew the villagers would be doing what generations before them had done prior to every sunset, whatever the season; preparing for the horror that only comes with the blackness of night. Fires would be burning brightly to keep out the cold, doors locked, windows shuttered and secured to keep out the unwanted and the feared. Before nightfall, which was fast approaching, the innkeeper would have served and said goodbye to his last customer before securing his own premises.

Born of superstition, an ornate but useless talisman would be at the neck of every living soul. Such is their fear of the undead. The journey from the village had been difficult. Deeply scarred with ruts from the wheels of countless coach journeys to and from the castle, the road, such as it was, was no more than a narrow track, extremely steep and hardly fit for man or beast.

To my right, pine trees marked the boundary between track and oblivion as the ground suddenly dropped away. To the left, more trees, dense, dark and foreboding, clung to the mountainside. Now, over three gruelling hours after leaving the comfort of my room at the inn, I had reached my destination: Castle Vasislaw.

For almost three years, the finding of this place had haunted my mind and yet, I knew that I would be drawn here just as surely as night follows day.

My having to walk had been unavoidable, as nobody from the village had been willing to bring me here, not even for a generous reward. To be honest, their fear and loathing of this place and its owner was understandable. People I spoke to, which I admit, were no more than a handful, cowered at the very mention of the name Vasislaw. They begged me not to go, and made it perfectly clear that they expected no return journey. This day, I was so emphatically informed, was to be my last, should I enter the castle.

Evening twilight: the boundary between night and day. Shadows creeping out from their hiding places like a tide of darkness swallowing everything in sight. A no-mans land, where, in many villages and hamlets throughout the world, good folk retreat to the safety of their homes, while the unholy ones prepare for their nightly tasks.

My gaze turned towards the sky and I watched as one by one, stars twinkled in the gathering gloom as the cloak of darkness slowly descended.

I took my pipe, then, having lit it, filled my lungs with smoke, and marveled at the surrounding scenery as the dying sun, now pale orange, dipped below the trees on the horizon. The moon, which earlier had been a pale disk, had gained in brightness in the early evening sky. I have never ceased to be amazed at such incredible beauty so far away.

Displayed, as if on an artist's canvas, was a picture of pure peace and tranquility. Behind me... I felt a sudden chill as the hairs on the back of my neck bristled. What torment lay there, inside this castle of death and depravity, I could only imagine. In the distance, somewhere deep in the forest, I heard the howling of wolves paying homage to the moon. I turned to face the castle, steeling myself for what I was about to do.

In the fading daylight, large stone gargoyles stared down at me, their eyes piercing into mine, as if willing, no, daring me to enter the castle. Conical spires reached up to the heavens, as if pointing fingers in defiance at the Lord; nothing Heavenly would I see behind these walls.

My eyes took in all before me. To the left of the castle was a courtyard more than large enough for a team and carriage to turn with ease. Iron gates led, I assumed, to the stables, although the ivy choking the metalwork made it obvious and somehow sad that these gates had long since ceased their proper use.

I cautiously approached the main door and lifted the heavy knocker, but before I could slam it against the thick oak, I heard movement from within.

I listened intently as a key turned in the rusty lock. The harsh grating of the mechanism sent shivers down my spine. I stood back; beads of perspiration began to form on my brow, though the temperature was approaching freezing point. With racing heart, I watched as the large, heavy, iron-strapped oak door creaked slowly open on ancient hinges.

I shuddered violently. Not even my newly acquired woolen underdrawers and undervest could keep my body from shivering. I was however, grateful for my fedora. During the day, the brim had shaded my eyes, and now, the thick felt was somewhat comforting. Whether it would warm my brain, causing me to be more alert, I did not know, but that pleasant thought cheered me.

Was I frightened? Maybe, but what man goes into battle without a little fear? I had not felt this way since... I forced the coming thought from my mind and concentrated on the beast of Castle Vasislaw. Was he alone? Was there a hornet’s nest of hell-hags waiting for my very soul?

The sun by now had disappeared, leaving me alone to face the night. Moonlight flooded in through the open doorway, casting my shadow eerily upon the flagstone floor. Instinctively, my right hand tightened on the ebony sheathed dagger concealed in the deep pocket of my greatcoat.

The dagger felt comfortable in my grasp, for this was no ordinary weapon. A thin strip of rock-hard ebony had been bonded to both sides of the fine steel blade, stopping a half-inch from the razor sharp steel point. Meticulous chamfering of the wood made it indistinguishable to the touch between wood and steel. It had been made for one special purpose, and that special purpose was why I had travelled so many miles to this cold, uninviting, evil place.

I had never really taken to the undoubted safer, but inherently hit and miss, method of searching for a well-hidden coffin in daylight and hammering a wooden stake through the vampire's heart! No, for me, direct confrontation was the only way. With one lightning-fast strike, the vampire I sought within those walls would be no more. After all, I was only twenty seven years of age, extremely fit and healthy. But more than that, I had once been in the company of two dear friends, without whose help and encouragement, I would not have survived.

Straining my eyes, I could see, at the far end of the hall, flames from candles flickering and dancing in the incoming draught of cold air, but the air within was silent. Nothing stirred, no footsteps, no words of greeting, nothing. Slowly, cautiously, I moved forward into the unknown.