A Vampyre's Daughter

by Jeff Schanz

  He reached the far edge and saw it was a concave shape like it had been eroded or collapsed. On either side, the rock face was jagged and uninviting, however the concave section was sandier and a gentler slope, not at all easy to traverse, but possibly doable. There was a small patch of pebbly ground below that passed for a tiny beach, and an inlet next to it that led into what might be a cave. Brandt couldn’t see too far into it from his vantage point.

  There wasn’t a dock. There was no boat pulled into the cove, or anything to signify that this was any kind of usable port, or place to launch or beach a boat. But it was the closest thing he had seen so far. Maybe Lia and her dad were out in the boat right now and they might come back to this spot. And maybe Brandt was pressing for something that wasn’t realistic.

  Someone who lived out here would need a substantial boat to get around. Those waves would toss around anything less than a twenty-foot craft. Something like a sloop would be the smallest thing one could even consider, and even then it could be dangerous in these waters. And a good-sized sloop would be hard to beach on that little rocky shore. It would need to be docked somewhere. Nothing made sense.

  Far off to Brandt’s right was nothing but mountainous terrain. Giant rocks and harsh vertical ground that shot straight up from the water’s edge. There was absolutely nowhere in sight to gain entrance to this place by an approaching boat. This little cove was the only thing Brandt had seen that had a chance. Maybe on the other side of the island, hidden behind the mountains, there was some kind of beach or dock. But how would the traveler get to this side? There was no road or obvious path through the mountains that he could see. Below, and to the right, the inlet that led to what looked like the mouth of a cave was the most promising thing he had seen so far. It was a ridiculous whim, but he imagined an underground tunnel that traversed the island leading from that cave. Then he reconsidered that it wasn’t entirely ridiculous. He knew that several of the islands had caverns that went a considerable distance under the surface. Whale watching tours would sometimes visit them to impress the passengers when the whales weren’t cooperating, and the captains wanted to give the passengers their money’s worth. An island-long underground cavern was about as likely as anything else in this place, and he didn’t have any other good ideas. He either needed to investigate this cave, or give up and go back. If he stood here any longer he’d stiffen up and be a useless invalid. While his muscles were still warm and not locked up yet, he needed to keep moving.

  He paced near the edge, which had precarious drop-offs in many places, and several spots where rain or wind had bitten into it and made a trough wide enough to step. Brandt shuffled and sidestepped, trying to keep his balance in one of the ruts. The slope was mild at the top, but bent into a steep decline within six feet. It was layered with shells and smaller rocks that didn’t offer much stability, and his feet slid immediately when he pressed down. The cascade of pebbles and shells made a consistent slope down to the bottom if he risked just sliding down on his butt, though that also meant that getting back up would be a bigger challenge. And in his condition, he wasn’t sure he’d be strong enough. He was beginning to shake from the exertion already, and he didn’t want to think of what his ankles and ribs would feel like when they cooled down. He tried to dog-walk backward down the slope. That helped a little, but his feet still completely slid out from under him until he was on his belly. He considered again whether to just let himself slide all the way down. There was simply no telling how deep that cave went, and if it led nowhere, then he’d be stuck down there.

  Brandt sighed. Now that he was outside breathing fresh air, stuck in an awkward position, he was starting to reassess the current state of things. Honestly, he had witnessed no nefarious activity from Lia or her mysterious father, and Brandt’s deductions had so far been based on assumptions or guesses. He was starting to think he was unwarranted in his pressing of the panic button. Or was just being tired and kinda missing his comfy bed good enough reason to believe he had overreacted? His quick fuse sometimes got him into trouble. He had put himself in this situation and he only had himself to blame for being here. And if Lia and her father hadn’t saved him, he would have probably drowned, so there was that. They had saved him and given him a room to recover and hadn’t harmed him. Despite Lia’s concerns about her father’s intentions, which were unknown, the father hadn’t done anything while Brandt had been unconscious. They had been in his room and had done nothing more than check his bruises and give him a pair of slippers. He couldn’t even be sure Lia had sedated him, although, he still couldn’t explain what had happened to him.

  More rocks slipped under his knees and he sprawled flat on the ground. Brandt worked his way back up to the grassy edge and knelt there for a moment.

  Those dream feelings of claws or prickly things on his abdomen could’ve been shots when he was asleep the first day. The drugs could’ve had a delayed effect. It made some sense. In which case, he had already been drugged before he awoke the first time. But she could’ve at least have told him later. He sighed. He was probably being an ass. All Lia was trying to do was help. There wasn’t much of an excuse for his suspicions other than he had passed out like he had been drugged, was locked in the room briefly, and was nervous about his own situation catching up with him. He was a paranoid, presumptive, suspicious asshole.

  Fine, I’ll just be cautious. And I also need to get back inside. I’m not getting off this rock anytime soon, and I’m not helping matters right now. He could come back and investigate the little beach and cavern later when he felt better. Neither of them was going anywhere.

  I guess I’m going to stick around, then. And be cautious, but not an asshole.

  Brandt's ankles were screaming at him. His ribs had decided they wanted a piece of that action and were pounding against his sides like two sledgehammers. Awesome. This ill-advised stunt probably just set himself back a week. His concussed head was giving him bad advice. He should’ve just stayed in bed and thought things through. Too late now. He pushed himself up to a standing position and winced. Everything hurt a lot, and it was all catching up to him.

  “Holy shit,” he hissed as he twisted to stretch out the offending body parts. It didn’t help. He could really use a golf cart right about now, as the house looked small and seemed like it was hours away. It was really about a few hundred yards, but that was a marathon the way he was feeling. His legs were bags of jello. His torso felt like it was wrapped in splintered wood, the less he moved it, the less it would poke him. He blew out an exasperated breath and took a step toward the house.

  He leaned against the front door with all his weight. The tree limb he had used as a walking staff was placed next to the doorframe as he calmed his panting. It hurt his ribs each time he had planted the stick on the ground, but it helped his ankles immensely. He had been grunting and grinding his teeth with every step. Just that effort was exhausting, forgetting everything else he did. But he made it back in one piece and hadn't fallen and broken anything. Despite the stupidity of roaming around injured, he hadn't ruined his chances to go home.

  Home. There was another complicated concept he needed to deal with. Home was the place where his haunted dreams wouldn’t give him peace. The place where he sat and gripped his head in agony and cursed at God for leaving him alive. It was the thing he had dismissed to never see again, and yet was now trying to get back there. Later. One mental hang-up at a time, please.

  He reached for the doorknob, then hesitated, having the sudden feeling that someone was on the other side and would open the door before he could do it himself. The door didn’t open, and the feeling faded somewhat. Brandt shook off the crazy notion and opened the door. Nobody was there.

  Everything was just as he left it. Cobwebs, dust, nothing out of place. The eerie museum to old-world charm.

  He replaced his shoes on the foyer rug. Lia would probably not be fooled into thinking that he had never left his bed, but he’d try it anyway. He’
d prefer his de facto nurse not scold him for his ill-conceived excursion. The sneakers were carefully adjusted to look as though they hadn’t been touched, then he looked at the staircase. Damn, that looks tall. It wasn’t so daunting coming down, just using careful footsteps to catch his descent. Going up would require energy and effort. Maybe I’ll put that off for a few minutes.

  His legs hurt, his sides hurt, and he was definitely needing more rest, but he figured if he was already up and pressing his luck, he might as well press it further before he killed himself climbing the stairs. Plus, he was thirsty again and a little hungry. He shuffled toward the kitchen.

  The sink didn’t have any running water. It was dry like everything else. Luckily, on the counter was a ceramic jug topped with a cork, similar to the one Lia had given him before. He carefully pulled out the cork and sniffed. Water. Apologies for my cooties, but… He took a long slug and replaced the cork.

  He planned to check out the fridge, but there wasn’t a fridge. Go figure. There was no evidence of anyone ever doing anything in the kitchen, so the absence of food wasn't a surprise. They may have a pantry with dry goods or canned stuff, but he was almost willing to bet there wasn't any of that, either. What might be a slender pantry door was at the far end of the kitchen, which was a longer walk than Brandt expected. The kitchen was large enough for a gourmet chef to be comfortable in, but apparently, it was just for show. The pantry would bear the final judgment. Catching his breath after his trek across the kitchen, he tried the pantry door. It wouldn’t budge. I have no idea what that means. It meant he couldn’t solve the bet with himself, and he wasn’t going to whip up a PBJ anytime soon.

  Next to the pantry door was a small hallway that led to what looked like a utility room. There was something round and dull-colored in there, like a washtub, or something unglamorous. It was dark, so unless he wanted to investigate with a candle, it would remain a semi-mystery. It wasn’t exciting enough for him to shuffle down there. But something else caught his eye.

  To his right was a recessed door. It was in a place that would make sense as some kind of basement access. But basement doors are usually bland interior doors that looked even less stylish than normal interior doors. This one looked large and medieval. It probably weighed more than him, and had heavy iron hinges, bolts, and an ornate iron latch handle, like somebody bought some castle door and installed it as the basement door. The mahogany color was the same as the dining table and looked almost as old as a castle would be. A stone arch around it also looked borrowed from some European castle. It was bizarre and creepy, and positively alluring.

  Brandt crept over to the door, partially from an attempt at stealth, and partially from not wanting to jar his body anymore. He tried the door handle, expecting to find it unyielding and locked. The latch smoothly clicked up and the door eased open a crack. Holy cow. This door was doubtless the entrance to something of importance, and that thought enticed Brandt to push the door open and see whatever it was. But he had already pressed his luck and basically thumbed his nose at his caretakers with his foolish escape stunt, so he was reluctant to barge in on whatever was down there. He could explain his little outdoor adventure as temporary insanity. But trespassing? The door’s open, dude.

  That still isn’t a free pass to poke your nose around someone else’s house.

  You’re looking for food.

  Aw, come on, weak sauce.

  Did he really care if they knew he was snooping around? It seemed wrong, regardless of how he rationalized it. A few moments ago you were considering armed combat to get off the island, now you’re worried about etiquette? And yet you think Lia’s the emotionally immature one? That was actually a good case for him needing some more rest. Besides arguing with himself, he wasn’t making rational decisions. The best decision he could make right now was to carefully close the door and head back up to bed.

  The door had other ideas. Like a cross breeze had sucked it open, the door pulled at his hand and began to open wider. There was no wind he could detect. Maybe the door wasn’t level with the ground, and opened slightly downward, and gravity pulled at it. Brandt yanked back at the handle. The thing was ridiculously heavy. He grasped the handle with both hands. As he did so, he could see that there was a long stone stairway leading down into a deathly dark space. The sliver of ambient kitchen light didn’t cast far enough down to illuminate the bottom floor. Brandt pulled with both hands and arrested the door’s movement, but it was far enough open now to see the staircase clearly.

  The stone stairs looked as old as anything he’d ever seen. They had the sheen of something that had been worn down over a thousand years. Not that those facts are amazing, just curious. Either some druid race lived on this island a thousand years ago and this house was built on top of it (unlikely), or the builder had imported old stonework to construct his stairs (more likely). Still cool, just not as cool as the druid thing. In either case, interesting. But he was actually not trying to explore the basement. He was trying to close the door, despite the door's ghostly opening. The door finally gave way to his strength and creaked to indicate its returning trajectory. As it did so, Brandt noticed something. That creak wasn't from the door.

  He stopped pulling. The creak had come from the depths of the basement. It was most definitely a hinge-like sound, which was why he had assumed it was the door. But as he stopped pulling and held his breath, he heard the creak again. Shorter, weaker, but there. Down there.

  Oh, hell no.

  The hesitation of listening for the sounds allowed the door to pull back open again. It opened a little wider than it had been previously. The long triangle of grey light speared the darkness and touched a tiny corner of something solid. The object had a precise ninety-degree corner and was glossy black with a hint of silver, and was sitting on a stone basement floor. Brandt swallowed a glob of spit he had held too long in his mouth and let the door swing wider. As the little shaft of light grew larger, the object became clearer. It was some kind of a large box, all glossy black. On top was a painted crest, which could very well be the same family crest design that Brandt saw on the foyer rug. Around the box was thin silver trim, plus some bolts, nails, or pins of the same finish. And there was the hint of a polished black pole attached to the side. A pallbearers’ pole.

  Oh good God, it’s a coffin. Brandt blew out a horse-snort through his lips. He had barged into the basement where the dead relatives were kept. This was going to be embarrassing to explain, and certainly he had no business snooping around the family’s crypt, or whatever this was. He needed to shut this door and get his ass back up to bed. If his luck held, they may never know he even saw the basement. Slick, man. Hurry up.

  The door was fully open and Brandt had to go down the first step to reach the door handle. As he did, he heard the subtle creak again downstairs. Like a coffin lid creaking? Yeah, right. Out of the corner of his eye, he could’ve sworn he saw some kind of movement on the coffin lid, but he was already irrational and rattled from a concussion, probably drug-addled, and certainly paranoid. Just close the door, Scooby-Doo. He grasped the door handle with both hands.

  Something tickled his spine. It felt the same as when he had been locked in his room and he thought there was somebody with him. The tickle turned into a humming in his brain and his eyelids got heavy. Oh, for the love of… No, no, no! He wanted to slap his face with one of his hands, but he needed both to pull the door. He shook his head, trying to jog sense into it. Come on, pull! At least wait ‘til the door is shut to pass out. The door budged and he had to take a step backward, but his strength was ebbing. His body was becoming numb. The door handle was still in his grip, so he refocused his effort into pulling and the door swung a little closer to him, but he didn’t think he would be able to take the step back up to the top landing. Come on feet. Obey me, you pieces of shit! His feet wouldn't budge. In fact, he believed he was starting to lose his balance. A moment later he was sure. Whatever was stunning him, and this time he
was certain it wasn't Lia, it was keeping his limbs from maintaining their balance. And his weight was closer to the basement side than the kitchen. Oh no. He could feel his torso lean toward the basement even as he figured this out. The door handle was still in his hands, but his fingers were uncurling and held no power. Still no response from his feet. Maybe if he could just fall forward onto the top step, he wouldn’t tumble down the stairs. But no, his torso wouldn’t obey either. He was a sack of useless human meat that had no ability to move, and he was about to fall down a long flight of stone stairs.

  “Help!”

  The entreaty was to no one in particular. Probably to God himself, but Brandt was not a religious person and simply did not know who to send the message to. He elaborated in his mind. To whom it may concern. I am about to fall down some stairs and bust my head open. Would the nearest deity, or convenient spirit, please be so kind as to save my useless ass? Thank you, sincerely, Me.

  He squinted from the desperate effort to find some solution anywhere in front of him. There simply was none. His parting wish was that he could tell Lia he was sorry for blaming her for whatever was happening to him. He was resigned to expecting serious injury and multiple broken bones, if not death, when he saw something familiar.

  Familiar and haunting. The eyes. The yellow glowing eyes that he had seen several times in his dreams, and in the blurry hallucination of his water rescue, were right in front of his face. They bore into him. He had no idea if he was still falling, or floating, or was already dead. Everything went quiet and seemed to fade away. Only the eyes remained. Brandt had no recourse except to look into those eyes.