Forrest Wollinsky: Vampire Hunter [Book One] Page 2

  The woodpile at the edge of our cottage was buried beneath several inches of snow. Long shiny icicles hung from the sides of the roof. With quiet steps, I walked toward stacks of cut firewood. As I neared, something caught my eye.

  A shadow moved between two massive trees. Whatever it was had left no tracks in the snow. My hand tightened around the ax handle. Not necessarily an appropriate weapon to fight a vampire, but what did I know? My father had never trained me, and all I knew were the supposed rumors of how vampires died.

  Taking a deep breath, I bravely stood at the woodpile and raked the layers of deep snow off of the crudely cut logs. With all of the snow, finding narrow stripped pieces of wood wasn’t an easy task, especially while I was watching the trees with my peripheral vision. It was probably easier, if not quicker, to find firewood of the appropriate length and split them into narrow slats.

  Brushing away snow, I grabbed a nearly frozen log and propped it on a wide snow-crusted stump. As I brought up the ax, the shadow moved between the trees again, but paused long enough for me to see its strange eyes before vanishing again. I held the ax above my head, frightened to lower it, and watched the tree for further movement. Stiff as a statue I waited.

  Suddenly my attention was turned, not toward the trees where the shadowed creature had passed, but toward the black cloud swirling above the forest several hundred yards away. This was no normal storm cloud. In fact, it wasn’t a cloud at all. Whatever it was, it was filled with life, as it made strange chirping and shrieking sounds. Sounds unlike any I had known at that point in my life.

  Dread filled me. I was afraid to completely turn my attention from the unseen beast on the other side of the woodpile, but this black ominous cloud was a greater threat. I was what the darkness therein sought. It was coming for me.

  The sound of the breathing cloud increased as it swarmed and changed shapes continuously as it moved through the treetops. Ignoring the invisible beast I lowered the ax and turned to face the menacing shrieking shadow. As it neared, I realized it wasn’t a cloud as one imagined a cloud to be. The chirps and shrieks indicated it was a flock of winged creatures.

  Birds?

  No.

  After their sharp pointy fangs became visible, there wasn’t any question of what they were.

  Bats!

  Over one hundred bats spiraled and flitted toward me, gnashing their little mouths with their sharp razor-edged teeth. They formed a long line and headed directly toward me.

  Perhaps I was temporarily paralyzed with fear, or simply too stubborn to budge, but I held my ground. I didn’t flinch, nor did I swing madly at them with the ax. All the while they wailed with high-pitched cries. But not one of the bats struck me. Instead, they parted around me, and lofted upward to avoid splattering themselves into the side of the cottage before they shot back in the direction they had come.

  They weren’t retreating, but on their unsuccessful attempt to get a fearful reaction out of me, they regrouped into their cloudlike appearance over the trees and watched me momentarily.

  Their chirps and shrills silenced. The quiet of death hovered over the forest. Even the invisible beast chose not to move.

  The dark cloud of bats descended slowly to the snowy ground, assembling themselves in an odd way. Stunned, I watched, remained silent, and held the ax firmly with both hands.

  Where the bats had assembled, a man wearing a black cloak emerged. He was the bats, and they were he. It didn’t seem possible, and yet, it was.

  The tall man’s complexion was pallid, a near bluish-gray, but he held the arrogance of a wealthy aristocrat; owing no one allegiance and expecting knees to bow at his arrival, which was something I refused to oblige.

  Death loomed in his eyes that gauged toward me. I met his gaze and felt immense power tug at me, trying to lure me, to hold and control me, but still I didn’t budge. His brow hardened. I felt his anger and detestation because I didn’t succumb.

  No one had ever told me that looking into the eyes of a master vampire was the most dangerous thing a mere mortal could do. I held no knowledge of how direct eye contact could enslave an individual to such a vampire’s will. His inability to charm me became an instant challenge. My ignorance at that time should have doomed me to live my eternal life as an undead servant.

  In his first step toward me, I evaluated him. His haughty posture and mannerism were completely out of place where we lived on the outskirts of the city. The wind ruffled the edges of his cloak. His crimson vest was fastened with bright gold buttons. A white silk shirt and black silk tie were also a part of his attire. He held prominence elsewhere, even as a vampire, which made me wonder why he’d bother appearing here where peasants, gypsies, and serfs lived in utter misfortune.

  He shifted his feet and moved his right hand. He bore a cane I had not noticed a second before. His right hand gripped the golden ball at the top of the cane. He produced a fine top hat in the other and set it upon his head. Long sharp fingernails protruded from his hands. Drops of blood dripped from each of his jagged nails.

  Again, I looked at his face. His skin was withered. Gazing into his eyes once more, I sensed his power but didn’t yield. He gnashed his teeth and snarled; blood was on his teeth and lips.

  My father’s blood.

  I don’t know why I had immediately assumed such, but later discovered that it was true. This vampire was the one that had attacked my father and tried to kill him. Father had nearly died because of this undead fiend, and at that particular moment, death seemed inevitable.

  “You, lad,” the vampire said, “are a fool. Dare you challenge me?”

  His smooth voice flowed gracefully and with elegance, demanding submission without any obvious threat or the hint of severe repercussions for refusing to become compliant. His coaxing velvety tone should have drawn me to him, but for some reason I resisted without a fight or protest. I simply stood and stared into his piercing eyes. The longer I looked at him, the more hideous his features became. Whatever power he possessed to maintain his attractiveness was weakening and his handsome guise slowly faded. In my eyes, he was nothing more than a standing corpse with shriveled skin, fresh from a long buried casket.

  A wave of energy flailed in my direction but parted around me in the same way a river divided and flowed to each side of a massive stone. The intenseness in his eyes glowed. His anger grew. The bones in his face contorted, making him appear less human and slowly he seemed to be transforming into a rabid animal. By his gaze, I sensed his hatred toward me, that he wanted me dead, and that he was preparing to attack and kill me. But for some reason, he never advanced.

  “Defiant fool,” he said with a harsh glare. “You did not answer me. Do you think yourself more privileged than those of the social status above you? If not for us, you’d not have the crumbs that fill your belly. Surely, your father has taught you to respect your elders, especially those of us who rule over you.”

  “Sir,” I replied. “I do not recognize you, nor the position you deem recognizable outside of our forest where we live, upon which you’re presently trespassing. If it’s groveling and ring-kissing you seek, seek it elsewhere. I hold no allegiance to you, nor will I ever.”

  The man’s brow rose, his eyes widened, and spittle formed at the sides of his mouth. “Trespassing? You insolent child, I’ll have you know I hold the deed to the land upon which your cottage stands. I own the entire forest.”

  His pale hands formed into fists. I expected him to rush forward to kill me, but he did not. His attention fastened upon the door to our cottage and back to me, as if he wished to sprint past without any added interference from me.

  “You’re the one who almost killed my father, are you not?” I pointed a stern finger toward him. “That’s his blood on your hands and mouth.”

  The vampire flashed a dominating grin. “How old are you, lad?”

  “Eight.”

  His eyes widened momentarily. “Your wisdom far exceeds your age. Oddly, you look much older. Based
upon that, I’d think you were lying, except I can discern the truth. You have told the truth; therefore I will not hide my intent from you. You deserve nothing less than the truth in return. Indeed, you are correct. This is your father’s blood, and I’ve come to end his miserable wretched life.”

  His eyes again flicked toward the cottage door, perhaps calculating the distance. Before he moved, I took three quick steps and stood before the door, blocking his direct path. Uneasiness reflected in his eyes.

  “Step aside, lad. Allow me passage into the cottage, and I’ll make his death quick. There’s no need for you to die as well.”

  Quick?

  My eyes narrowed. I had no idea how far my half dead father had dragged himself through the freezing blizzard to get home, but there wasn’t anything quick about his death, even if his life ended now. He had endured much pain and suffering in his struggle to return to us. He had only survived because he was too stubborn to die. And then again, perhaps he had lived because he wished to identify his assailant before death claimed him.

  In a physical confrontation, I wasn’t any match for this vampire or any vampire for that matter. I lacked the knowledge and skills necessary to kill a vampire. I’d die quickly, regardless of how aggressively I fought back. I held no doubts about that. But I refused to be subservient and step aside so he could kill my father. I was prepared to die first, if that were the case. I didn’t fear death like most children, and I wondered if my lack of fear was what made him hesitant to approach.

  In the blink of an eye, he withdrew the sword hidden inside his cane. The blade gleamed, and a smile of triumph widened on his face. “Blood spills tonight. I will feast upon you, your father, and your mother after I dice all of you to pieces.”

  The invisible beast I had forgotten about between the trees moved like a blur, his wild shadow spilling across the snow as he ran straight toward the vampire. Right as the shadow stopped in front of the vampire, a bright blinding blast of silver light flashed with the strength of the sun, forcing me to shield my face with my hand and turn away.

  The vampire shrieked with frightful fury.

  When the light lessened enough for me to look, a cloud of bats filtered and scattered through the forest, too disoriented to fly in close formation. Some struck tree trunks. Others spun endlessly in circles. All retreated farther into the forest.

  Another figure stood in the place of the vampire. He regarded me with an inquisitive stare. Unlike the vampire, this man wore rugged clothes beneath a heavy wool coat. A tattered hat rested upon his head. His drab clothes allowed him to blend in with the tenants encamped throughout the forest and on the outskirts of Bucharest. Based on his appearance, one might take him for a trader passing from town to town, except he had no wagon or horse or any pack filled with wares for trade.

  His greasy black hair flowed wildly down his shoulders. Thick unkempt sideburns covered his dark cheeks. His brown eyes gleamed like a hungry wolf, and shifted slightly, cautiously as he took in his surroundings. He was on alert, perhaps searching the trees for the vampire’s return. The only valuable thing in his possession was the long silvery cane that he leaned upon. Even in the faint light as daylight slipped away, the cane shimmered like silver ice.

  I reached behind me to grab the door handle.

  “Wait,” he said sternly. “You and I need to talk.”

  Chapter Three

  “Are you Forrest, the son of John Wollinsky?” he asked in a thick accent. His voice was deep, intimidating, but he lacked the haughty nature the vampire had displayed.

  “I am.”

  “What power do you possess to terrify a master vampire in the way that you just did?”

  “None.”

  “None at all?”

  “None that I know of. Why? Who are you?” I asked.

  “Jacques Amanar. I’m here to help your father, provided I’m not too late.”

  The name held no recognition for me. I gazed past him, toward the trees where the dazed cloud of bats had fled. “The man who turned into a cloud of bats was a master vampire?”

  “I can answer your questions later, but please, let me see your father first, so I can heal him. I fear we have little time.”

  Doubt must have shown in my eyes. Since I didn’t know him, or exactly what he was, I was skeptical, not knowing if I should trust him. After all, the vampire’s purpose was to kill my father. How could I know what this man’s true intent was?

  “What are you?” I asked.

  “A friend.”

  “I do not know you.”

  He gave a gentle smile, which didn’t seem foreign to the wrinkles around his mouth. “Forrest, your father and I have been friends since we were your age. I do not wish his death to befall him on this day.”

  In spite of his rough exterior, his odd eyes held honesty and no sense of hostility. He had also confronted and attacked the vampire, with what exactly I wasn’t certain. The vampire had fled, and that really was the most important factor.

  Backing toward the door, I reached for the door handle. He waited until I eased the door open before he approached. Once across the threshold, he removed his hat, gave a slight bow, and leaned his silver cane against the wall.

  Momma rose from the side of my father’s bed. Seeing this man, she rushed across the room and embraced his neck tightly, sobbing. “Jacques!”

  “Olivia,” he replied softly. “I wish my arrival came with better news. I’m so sorry.”

  “You know him?” I asked.

  Momma pulled back from hugging Jacques, looked at me with tears in her eyes, and nodded. “He’s an old friend.”

  “Was John bitten?” Jacques asked, approaching the side of the bed.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  My father’s pale face was covered with a sheen of sweat. Were his swallow breathing not visibly evident, I’d have thought him dead. Never had I seen him weak or sick at any time prior.

  Jacques took the oil lantern from the side of the bed, leaned closer to my father, and peeled back the cloth bandage to examine the wound where the vampire had bitten him. “Ah, good. You’ve already cleansed the wound with holy water.”

  Momma nodded.

  “Appears you have purified the wound. No fear of him turning during the night. His other injuries are worrisome, and he still stands in Death’s shadow. His legs—”

  “Forrest, where are the wooden splints?” she asked.

  “I—”

  Jacques shook his head. “We had an unexpected visitor outside, which prevented Forrest from cutting them.”

  “Who?” she asked. Her nervous eyes glanced toward the door.

  “The vampire who almost killed John,” Jacques replied.

  “He’s here?”

  Jacques shook his head. He winked at me. “Gone, thanks to Forrest here. The vampire fled through the forest, but it doesn’t mean he won’t return.”

  Dread filled Momma’s eyes. “Do you know which vampire?”

  “Baron Randolph,” he replied.

  She gasped. “The baron is a vampire?”

  Jacques frowned. “John never told you?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps he didn’t know,” he whispered, so only I could hear. Then he looked at Momma. “The baron is a master vampire. I’m surprised Randolph ventured into the forest at all when he could have sent his descendants in his stead.” Jacques looked at me. “Has your father begun your training?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t even know my father hunted vampires.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  Jacques was silent for several moments. “You have so much you need to learn, but there is still time.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. I certainly didn’t think I was old enough to hunt and kill vampires. Looking at my father, who apparently had fought them for many years and was near death because of one, I didn’t know that this was a vocation of my choosing.

  His eyes studied mine. For some reason, it felt like he
could stare into my soul and read my thoughts. He smiled reassuringly. “The baron has fear of you, lad. Great fear. If your father has not started you with the proper training to hunt and kill these demons of the night, did he perhaps give you a gift . . . a blessed pendant or trinket?”

  “Nothing like that,” I replied. “But he did give me this before he left.”

  I pulled my tarnished dagger from its sheath.

  Jacques grinned and extended his strange fur-covered hand. “May I?”

  I offered the dagger, hilt first. His eyes studied mine with wonderment, as if I knew some secret. The lack of knowingness in my eyes and my confused expression indicated that I did not. Carefully, quite cautiously, he took the dagger by the hilt.

  “Marvelous,” he said, holding the lantern near the hilt. “Never lose this blade.”

  “What is so special about it?”

  “The engraved inscription is a spell from the olden country. This, young man, has been blessed by a gypsy witch.”

  “I didn’t know a dagger could kill vampires.”

  “They cannot,” he said in a whisper, handing the dagger back to me. Seriousness narrowed his eyes.

  I frowned, staring at the blade, suddenly seeing the carved runes etched into the bone handle and immediately understanding their meaning. “Then what use has it?”

  He patted my shoulder firmly with his hairy hand. “The reason the baron never came any closer to you was because of this dagger.”

  “Why? If it cannot kill him, and I’m only a boy, why fear me with the blade?

  Jacques lowered into a squat and rested upon his haunches. Soft laughter rumbled at the back of his throat. His deep voice was soothing when he spoke. “Because you could harness control over him. And if he’s under your command, all of his vampiric children are also under your control. Should you stake and kill him while he’s under your power, all of his minions turn to dust. They will die. I believe your father fought to make his way back home because you have the blade. The importance of that, I shall tell you later. At this moment I must attend to your father’s ailments.”