Path of the Vampire forum

Shadows started to dance. They moved and coalesced. These shadows stirred in a graveyard. A phone was queued in on one of the metal stations on a radio app. As the shadows continued to move like it had a life of its own, the changes went unnoticed. Drinking, smoking, trying to bring back spirits, and other things a certain breed of idiots did in a graveyard were deemed more important. Sometimes people missed the obvious warning signs. Still, the phone owner, and two friends continued their "ritual."

One by one shadows started to pluck them off. The first victim was plucked by a simple grab of the ankles before they were pulled into an all consuming shadow. Shadows continued to work, and a mass of them started to grow with the first person drained.

Once the first person was deemed missing, the second went in to investigate. Darkness consumed them, too. Shadows wrapped around them like tendrils, including one that wrapped around the mouth to muffle any screams. Part of the shadow latched on, and drained of all the thick crimson used to keep life, and unlife, going.

All of the black continued to amass into a form that was starting to take shape. However, the form was that of an non-descript male. A little more anatomically correct than a Ken Doll, but still lacking a lot of features such as a eyes, nose, generally everything in the face, hair, nails, wrinkles, and all the other things that truly created horror and beauty.

Being down two friends, made people notice they were suddenly, and unexpectedly, alone. Shadows continued to move, all going toward one target. Unfortunately, by the time he screamed, tendrils launched into the human's mouth. Before long, he too was drained. A lifeless husk like the rest of them.

One last body of blood caused that shadowy form to take further shape. A black ichor turned to flesh and a young man breathed out, like his stopped heart began beating again. All of the shadows disappeared in a body of smoke. How this trick was done? Even the person would be unaware of. Vampires sometimes did crazy things after a nap that lasted too long.

All the person could do was stare. Confusion, emptiness, and everything else that came with having no memory. An affect for being gone too long, as well. Brown eyes just stared, as the person was immune even to their own nudity.

Luckily, the phone continued to play its songs. A familiar keyboard solo by Don Alrey began. The notes were a mixture of synthesized keyboard notes, along with a setting to make other ones sound akin to the organ played by the phantom of the opera. As the notes continued to play, suddenly the vampire left standing almost flung himself to his knees.

Both hands gripped his head. "Simon! I'm Simon!" he screamed out in his mind, and possibly vocally. The action was lost on him as those notes caused an onslaught of memories to flood his mind. To him, it felt like eternity. In reality it was about 23 seconds.

Simon's mind eased. By the time Alrey's notes became higher, while maintaining an eeriness, everything was clear enough for Simon. Ozzy Osbourne's lyrics for "Mister Crowley" began. For a moment, Simon just bobbed his head to the music before a thought slapped his mind.

Both eyes widened, and the naked vampire rushed to a particular spot in the graveyard. His hands practically dove into the earth as he kept digging. Bit after bit of earth came up until he found a ring. "Renee," he said softly and took the ring with a shaky hands. The right placed the ring on the left one, around the appropriate finger. "I'm coming home," he said in the same soft tone.

Another thought crept into Simon's mind before he rushed back to the phone. He began to work on it quickly. Thanks to the open app, there were no passwords to get through. A few moments were needed to figure out how this phone worked, but the vampire got the hang of it in no time. Simon knew he wasn't gone TOO long, but he needed to confirm if it was long enough to possibly lose a lot.

Typing in CNN's web address into the phone's browser. There was no printed date. A few more news sites were tried before he did a simple look on yahoo, and clicked on the weather. "Okay, July fifth. July what?!" he said and hit the newest article.

His eyes widened at the date, "Twenty-eighteen?!" he cried out. Oh, no. This was bad. He heard of longer naps, but this was too long in his mind.

Pacing again, thoughts plowed into his head. There were so many "What Ifs" his shaky hands snagged the phone. Youtube was promptly opened, and he put on another song. Setting the phone down, In Flames's "Sounds of a Playground Fading," began to play.

Simon's hands played air guitar with the intro. Unlike many air guitarist, Simon actually handled his imaginary instrument with care because he knew the song frontwards and possibly backward. The song was one of his favorites. As the rest of the instruments kicked in, Simon kept playing. However, the words just flowed out of him.

"You can finndddd, All you neeeeddd. The message is in the sillllleeennnncee! Whispers words to calm your miiiind. Reach inside, numb the pain! Come around!! With Annnsswerrrrs!!

We aarrrrreeeeeee ghooosstttsss of the concrete worrrlllddd. Genetic codes of a dying breeddd! Will I be left behiinnnddd? Sounnddsss of a playground fadddinnnngggg."

(music and lyrics by Björn Gelotte and Anders Fridén, performed by In Flames. All material copyrighted by them, and Century Media respectively)

As he sang, Simon's hands continued to play his non-existent guitar until all of him collapsed literally, the weight of the words almost actually hitting him. One thought lingered on his mind, "Will I be left behind?"

Quietly, Simon moved up a wooded trail. Memories were coming to him. As he noted a particular spot, he began to sing.

"Aveeeeee Marrrriiiiaaaa, Graaatttiiiaaa pleeeenttaaa, Dooommminnnusss tecuumm,"

Simon began. Shadows welted up in his eyes, ran for a few moments, and they disappeared in a small puff of smoke. The curse of those that danced with the shadows, tears were faster to flee.

His voice echoed in the woods. Each step getting closer to the spot that stuck out. Dropping down, Simon began to dig at a bit of earth. Parts of white stuck out. The prayer continued from his lips,

"Beeennnneeediiiiccttaa tuuuuuu innnnn murrrrrllliiibbbeeeuuusss,"

and he pulled up a simple white cross.

Years had weathered it, chipped away some of the white paint. However, Simon plunged it back into the earth. By now the singing had turned more into a prayer. How it was meant to be.

"Et tu benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus. Nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen."

Those fleeting tears continued, and when he said amen, the man crossed himself. His gaze still staying focused.

"Hey. It's been a while. I just want to say, this might be one of our last visits. I'm done getting drunk on father's day because of you. Just because we don't talk here, doesn't mean we won't take. The cross on my back wasn't done because of you, but I dedicate it to you. I just...I can't keep crying over you. It won't help me move on. So, if you ever loved me as a Dad, sire, whatever you want to call me, you'll let me grow a little, too," he cautiously leaned down and kissed the cross.

His daughter was not his by blood, in any sense of the word. However, someone he swore to protect, keep safe, and she chose to kill herself. The suicide note still played in his head a little bit, especially on Father's Day.

"Sleeping put a few things in perspective. I'm still learning what has changed, what hasn't. Hell, I bought a business and lost it, somehow. I couldn't officially bind the property or something, but I had a second." He gave a shrug. "Thing is, times change. I'm done looking back at you, if you ever loved me, look down on me. Keep me safe. Something. Whatever you can do to help me, but I need you to stop weighing me down. I won't move forward that way, so I hope you understand why this might be one of my last visits. I won't take this cross, but I'll hang them up where I go."

((Ave Maria is the latin prayer, part of public domain, merely sang. Schupert's is no longer under copyright law. I did quote it as a precaution))

Running his hand over a railing, dust greeted his hand, and spread across like a virus. "Been a while," he said with his voice that carried through the empty apartment. His gaze roamed over the familiar four walls, the same walls that belonged to the apartment he called, "Home." The dust just told him there was work to be done.

Dusting, cleaning, organizing, all of it happened. Through the course of trying to get the apartment in order, his attention went to various items. Books bought from auctions five, and six years ago, old cards from Christmases, Father's Days, a few stuffed animal trinkets, and all sorts of assorted items. They were from random events in the city, family, loved ones, former loves, and even former friends.

The place was clean by the time Simon was done, but less organized. Sure, there were neat piles of books here, and there, but some of the old memories and mementos were either cared for considerably, or scattered along the floor. What was on the floor were things that had lost their meaning. Old things that were once sentimental, now just seen as pieces of cardboard, paper, and the like no matter how pleasant the memory was.

Pulling up his black marble coffee table a little closer to the couch, Simon plopped down and stared at some photos on it. Renee and Cristi were there, in their own separate frames. Renee's photo was a drawing done by hand. Sometimes vampires had issues with photographs. Also, it wasn't her last face, the one before it. That was part of her curse. Death forced her to reincarnate. Kind of. It was more complicated then that, but should she find herself greeting Oblivion, Renee would be back with entirely new features. Same soul, different face. Well, different everything really. It didn't matter to him.

Cristiana was actually in a traditional photo. She had lived long enough, or simply been lucky enough, to appear human. She was anything but. However, photographs couldn't tell the difference.

Getting off the couch, Simon looked about for one simple thing. Over the course of cleaning his black button up shirt had two buttons at the top undone, both sleeves rolled up a little past the elbow, the matching slacks flowed freely, and his feet were devoid of any shoes or socks. One of his bare feet trampled a meaningless card before Simon found what he had been seeking.

A casual glance went toward a gothic cross he had recently hung on the wall. The thing had been spray painted white, so it was no longer black. All of the coats of paint, the labor of picking it out, and eventually hanging it up, were part of fulfilling a promise.

Sitting back down, Simon began to run his hand over familiar cards. Fingers practically working off of muscle memory as he tuned that precious item sought. In his hands was a black acoustic guitar. Even without a speaker, the instrument managed to bellow. Whether it was pleasant, or horrible, depended on tuning, and skill.

The ritual was comforting. Like going through a secret handshake with a close friend. Notes were strummed as he kept testing each string until he felt the instrument could rightfully carry a tune.

Fingers started to strum over the instrument just getting his feet wet. It didn't take long before he was lost in the old familiar dance between performer, and instrument. A glance went toward the photos for a moment before he began to sing.

"I hurt myself, todaayyy. To see if I still feell. I focus on the painnn. The only thing that's reaaalll. The needle tears a hole. The old familiar stinnngg. Try to kill it all awayyy. But I remember everrrythhinnng."

Before the chorus rumbled from Simon, he was already lost to himself. The moment where man, and instrument were one to become a performer.

"What have I beeecoomme, My sweeetessttt friiieeennd?"

A glance went toward Renee, and his heart lurched even if it wasn't technically alive. He pushed onward. A look went toward Cristiana's photo,

"Everryoonnne I knooowww, goooesss away in the ennnnddd."

More pain surged through him, but the show continued.

"And youuuu could havvveee it alllll. My empiiireee of diiiirrrttt. I willllll let you dooowwwn. I willll makkkeee you huurtt. I wearrrr thisss crown of thornes, upon my liarrrr'ss chair. Fullll offff broooken thoughts, I cannot repaiiirr."

Finally, he conceded to sing the crown line "Correctly." Trent Reznor used a different word instead of "Thorns." Every time he sang the song, even if it was like this. Simon always used that word, except for today.

"Beneath the stains of timmmeee. The feeelings dissappearrr,"

a glance went to his littered floor. Eyes flicked upward toward the freshly painted cross that hung on his wall.

"You are someone elseeee, I am stilll right hereeee."

"What have I beeecoomme, My sweeetessttt friiieeennd?! Everryoonnne I knooowww, goooesss away in the ennnnddd. And youuuu could havvveee it alllll. My empiiireee of diiiirrrttt. I willllll let you dooowwwn. I willll makkkeee you huurtt."

Suddenly, Simon's voice rose, became raw, filled with emotions, sounding less like Jonny and more like Trent even if the notes that continued to play off the guitar were still more in the Man in Blakc's style.

His voice continued, the notes blared with his voice as Simon was completely lost to both song, and emotion,

“Ifff I ccoulllllddddd starrrrtttt againnnnn, a million miless awwwaaayy. I will keeep myself, I would find, a waayyy.”

Simon fell to his knees, and the thud was enough to annoy the neighbors beneath him, and both photos fell onto the table, face down.


("Hurt" written by Trent Reznor, originally performed by Nine Inch Nails, covered by Johnny Cash. All copyrights go to Trent, Nothing Records, Interscope, and possibly RoadRunner respectively.)