Halloween Series 2022

The Vampire

 “People always had one kind of animal or another inside them.”  - Paul Russell, The Coming Storm

Francis knew he should not have done it. If his father, the good Rev. Theodore Sullivan of the Congregational Church of Newton Village, found out, he would be punished for sure. It galled him how his reverend/father treated him as a child when he was a man. He was eighteen years old, off to college in the fall, but there was the problem of how he felt. He looked in the mirror every morning wanting to see a man, but all he saw was a gangly teenager. He was shorter than his older brothers Lawrence and Samuel and skinnier than they had been at his age. Even his younger sister, Sarah was nearly his height. It made him feel like a kid. One that hovered down at the river when the flatboats came upriver with goods from one of the harbor towns, watching the men unload them. Or he would be at the blacksmith’s shop watching one of the sons hammer the hot metal. Leon was there most often, but it was the oldest, James, he watched the most intently.

This was the biggest secret he kept; one no one could ever know. He fancied men. Muscular men, with bulging biceps and broad-shouldered upper bodies. A sin of the flesh, one that damned his soul, if he believed what his father said behind the pulpit, often appearing to be looking at him with disgust. Maybe the reverend/father knew his youngest son was a Sodomite, someone who wanted to lay with men instead of women. But there was something about his desire that didn’t seem wrong. Why did anyone care if it didn’t hurt anyone. But he knew the church was all about controlling its flock, a reference to them being mindless sheep, just following their shepherd.

Francis finally came out of the Uffmoor Wood, an old forest to the north of the village. Stepping out of the canopy of the woods, he stood in an old lane that went up Wolf Hill. He believed no one had been up the lane in over five years due to the growth in the lane. At the top of Wolf Hill had been a manor house. He remembered how the lights in its windows seemed to hover over the northern horizon. It led to rumors that the Ereabus family practiced magic, and the house really did fly into the sky at night.

It was near dusk, the sun low in the western sky, and Francis headed up the hill. Why he had to go to the old house site, he didn’t know. He just felt drawn to it, like it was summoning him. He moved up the lane, pushing through the high weeds and young saplings that were over taking it. He knew what lay at the top of the hill. It was etched in his mind, as it probably was for everyone who had been up there that awful night. The stone piers, the front steps and the two chimneys were all that remained of the manor. It had been burned to the ground by the town’s people, including his own father. There were two barns and a smoke house behind it, and he wondered if anyone had come back and burned those to the ground.

Francis came to the crest of the hill and the old stone gate, the wrought iron gates lying to the side, bent, and broken. He passed through knowing without being told, the damaged was done on the night the town charged up the hill and burned the house down. He followed the old lane, watching his step for nature was taking it back, slowly, piece by piece.

The sun was below the horizon when Francis came upon the old house site. The chimneys towered into the darkening sky and between them piers and foundation walls of a cellar with charred remains surrounding it all. He moved around the remains until at the back corner and he turned his attention toward the woods. Across the high grass and saplings reaching for the sky, he saw the outline of one barn and to its right the skeletal remains of the other barn. He couldn’t tell if it had been burned or someone was salvaging the lumber from it. The ground was too grown up to see any smoke house and he was sure if it had not been burned, it was probably lying in a heap of splintered wood.

Francis stood for a long time staring at the barn. He imagined seeing someone at it, maybe one of the sons had survived that night. There had been three of them. The oldest had been Baxter, and Francis knew he had not survived, along with his mother and father. He could picture the three bodies strung up under one of the trees, some claimed as a warning, but Francis knew it was to make the mob satisfied with their attack, a way to express their revenge that had been exacted.

The next son was Byron, and everyone said he had been in India or Africa at the time, and rumor was he had abandoned his claim to the property refusing to return. The final and youngest had been Rayford. Francis remembered Rayford from school. Two years older, he had been tall and muscular, with dark red hair. Rayford rode horses all the time around the countryside and around the village. One of the girls he had dated for a short time said Rayford cared more for his horses than any person alive.

Rayford had disappeared on the night of the attack, and no one had seen him since. Some claimed Rayford had been killed and dumped in one of the wells on the property. Others said he had been dragged away by the Radcliff boys, but Karl and Louis denied it. The rumors persisted despite their denials, some claiming they tortured Rayford and bled him dry. It was the rumor that led to the more recent ones, that Rayford was a vampire, come back from the dead. It was said he lived on the blood of wild animals and travelers who become lost, lured up the lane to Wolf Hill.

Francis was fascinated by the tales, the notion someone could become a creature of the night, sucking the essence of life from someone. He imagined it, Rayford pale and ghostly in appearance hunting in the darkest hours of the night. He imagined him taking someone, teeth biting into the soft flesh of the neck, or maybe somewhere else. Then his imagination became more lurid, vivid in the horror of someone being taken by Francis, the vampire.

There was a sound inside the barn and Francis froze, staring into the darkness within. He held his breath so as not to make the least sound and listened. Maybe it was a raccoon or an owl roosting in the rafters, or maybe it was just his imagination.

He moved closer, alert to any sound. Finally, after one hesitant step after the next, he stepped through the doorway into the barn. He could see nothing but blackness surrounding one shaft of moonlight through a hole in the roof. It hit the dirt floor at a ring of stone. Someone had been in the barn building a fire. Probably someone from the village. No doubt Karl and Louis if he had to guess. He moved toward the shaft of light taking careful steps in the darkness that surrounded him.

Francis was at the edge of the moonlight when he noticed there had recently been a fire within the circle of stone. He could smell the remnants of smoke in the air. He looked around seeing the nearest posts supporting the roof, then nothing but darkness. Looking up, he could see half the moon through the hole. A cloud passed over it and he was cast into darkness.

When the cloud passed, Francis was still looking up to make sure the moon would still be there, then he looked down and froze. Before him stood Rayford as pale as he had imagined. He couldn’t move, fear gripping him like never before. He could only think this would be his last night on earth, his ending at the hands of the vampire. But Rayford just stood staring at him. He finally got a grip on himself and looked Rayford up and down. The ratty clothes, so rotten and tattered, he didn’t know how they still clung to his body. And he looked gaunt, and just as afraid as he felt.

“Rayford?”

“Your Francis, right?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you here? Come to burn down the last remaining thing of my family?”

“No…I just came to look around.”

“And you came alone?”

“Yes.”

“Fool.”

Rayford stepped back only a few steps and he disappeared in the darkness.

“Wait! Please, don’t go. Not yet,” Francis called out.

“Why?”

“I think what happened was wrong.”

“…”

“And…I’m sorry. I don’t mean to imply I had a hand in it, for I didn’t but…it was wrong.”

“…”

“Why do you stay here? Why not leave?”

Rayford came back into the light, silently, not making a sound. He stared at Francis as if he were an alien, something not normal.

“Aren’t you lonely?” asked Francis.

“I have nothing. No witness to attest to what belonged to my family, no documents that survive or that I can obtain. I have no means, nothing. Why not wait here for the end of time. It is as good as any for someone considered a monster.”

“I don’t think your monster.”

Rayford was in front of Francis so fast, so suddenly, Francis gasped. They were inches apart, so close he could see the dark eyes looking back.

“What do you think of me, Francis?”

“…”

“Do you think me a friend? Or maybe, a lover?”

Rayford laughed, loudly, manically, shattering the silence that had surrounded them.

“If you’d have me,” Francis whispered, a confession he knew to be true.

Rayford stared at the frightened young man and saw something else. The longing, a need for something he knew Francis would never find in the village.

Francis slid a half step closer until their noses nearly touched. He reached out and touched the shirt, then the body within it.

“You should stop,” said Rayford, grabbing Francis by the wrist. “I have such anger at everyone from the village. I want to hurt them, to take out my revenge. Francis, look at me. I want to hurt you, to take my pleasure from your pain.”

Francis was shaking in fear but there was also desire. Twisted and distorted by his fear. He wanted the intimacy a man could give him. He wanted to feel a masculine body, to touch those places forbidden. He leaned forward and kissed Rayford.

Rayford kissed him back, hungrily, passionately, with a roughness that aroused him. Rayford bit his lower lip and tugged on it. Nipped at the skin of his neck and kissed down to the exposed skin below the neck. His coat slipped from his shoulders and was soon gone from his body.

A ripping sound, then another and Francis was aware of Rayford tearing his shirt from his body until it hung in tatters along each arm. His trousers were tugged on roughly, then loosened around the waist as Rayford got them undone. Rayford stooped before him and he raised one foot then the other letting Rayford remove his shoes, stockings, and finally his trousers. The cool air sent shivers up his spine, then he shivered again as Rayford tugged down his underwear. His cock flexed with its freedom, and he willingly stepped out of them. A white flash and he knew Rayford had carelessly tossed them into the darkness.

Rayford touched him, fondled his growing erection. Then he felt a mouth on his sac, tongue working his nuts around, then the pain, oh the delicious pain of teeth lightly biting the sac and tugging on it. He shuddered and felt his cock flex and get harder.

The mouth sucked his nuts and tugged until he wondered if Rayford meant to tear them free. Then a finger touched him, rubbed over him where only he had touched in his most daring self-manipulations. It rubbed and pushed against his tightness. Another tug on his sac and the finger penetrated him.

Rayford stood and Francis saw a hunger, a need in the eyes that wasn’t there before. A hand grabbed him by the hair and tugged his head back. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth to moan. A mouth covered it, sucking the moan from his throat. Tongue moved into his mouth, moving over teeth and his own tongue. Then the mouth was moving along his jaw to his ear. Another tug by the hair and lips brushed his ear.

“Remember, this is what you wanted, Francis. I’ll not stop now even if you beg me too.”

“I want stop you,” Francis uttered as teeth bit into his neck, then lips were pressed to the skin. A suction, powerful, drawing blood to the surface.

Rayford forced Francis to his knees, then down on his hands too. Francis held his head down sensing every move by Rayford, then every touch. The pushing of his legs apart. The rub over his ass, then probing between his ass cheeks. He knew it was Rayford’s cock. It was larger than any finger, the wide flared head struggled to slip between his cheeks. But it pushed with determination until at his opening, and it kept pushing.

“OH, Rayford!” Francis cried out as the cock breached his tightness and stretched him open. It pumped within his hole, going deeper and deeper until Rayford was banging against his ass. He shuddered and gasp for breath as Rayford fucked him.

A hand grabbed him by the hair and tugged his head up and back, pulling until his whole body moved back on the cock. It bored into his deepest depths. The other hand took him by the waist, the long nails digging into the soft flesh. The pain mixed with pleasure, stirred Francis to an aroused state that made his cock ache and flex as it flopped between his thighs. He reached for it, taking the familiar form in hand and stroked it in rhythm to Rayford’s fuck. His hand grew slick, a rare occurrence, and it felt better than ever before.

“Fuck. Fuck me. Fuck me harder,” Francis uttered, confessing more with each utterance.

Rayford pulled roughly out of his ass and pushed and tugged him to his back. Then Rayford was on top of him, covering him with his body. It undulated against his skin, it pushed his legs apart and bore into his depths. He wrapped his legs around the waist and felt the ass rise and fall with every penetrating push into his ass. Lips touched his ear, moved softly over it.

“Take me, take me…please,” Rayford whispered.

Then the lips were on his neck. Teeth bit into the flesh and he shuddered with the pain. A tongue moved up his neck to his chin, then pushed into his mouth and he tasted his own blood.

Rayford fucked him for an eternity, the moon shifting out of sight and the barn falling into complete darkness. Francis then felt the change in pace. The hard thrusts into his depths, the grunting and moans that grew louder. Then the shuddering body and constant pushing to try to go deeper. He knew Rayford was filling him with his cum. He felt it, the fullness of the penetration flexing in his depths.

Then Rayford was between his legs, his cock in a warm mouth. Tongue slid along its length, then toyed with the head until he was pushing upward. Then teeth bit down on the head. He cried out and came, jerking with each ejaculation as he pumped his cum into the suctioning mouth.

Francis woke to daylight streaming in through the hole in the roof and the open bar doors. He was on the dirt floor curled into the fetus position, shivering from the early morning coolness. He sat up, suddenly aware of aches and pains in his body. He was naked, smeared with dirt. There were teeth marks on his wrist, on one thigh, and more terrifying, on the head of his cock. He felt pain on his side and saw where fingernails had dug into the flesh, then he saw the dried blood on his chest. He reached up and touched his neck, jerking back his hand at the pain of contact. He looked around seeing the remnants of his shirt, then he saw his filthy underwear, trampled in the dirt. But his trousers and coat were gone, and he knew just as quickly, so was Rayford.

He felt a sickening, a fear of himself, of what he had done with Rayford. The roughness of it, the pure pain mixed with the pleasure. Then he felt a strange hunger for it. A desire to do it again. To do it with one naïve to the ways of the darkness. He crawled across the floor to a dark corner not bothering to retrieve his underwear. He sat against the wall, knees up with arms wrapped around them. He rocked back and forth wondering how long he would have to wait. Would it be as long, as Rayford had to wait on his arrival, or could he hope someone would soon come to him. He smiled, knowing it wouldn’t be too long. Someone would come, sooner rather than later. They would come looking for him.

Maybe it would be Karl or Louis. Karl, the oldest, the most muscular, a man now. Or maybe it would be Louis, younger, still a teen, but just as deserving.