Out of My Grave

by Stephanie O'Hanlon

  My eyes seemed to lock with his as they dove deep into me.

  He stopped in his tracks, backing away from me. “Why do you think I run away?”

  My eyes widened as I felt my heart beating in my ears, “Um, well, you just seem to want to…you just…”

  His eyes went to the ground.

  “I won’t tell anyone,” I said, my voice barely audible. I thought it right to let him know I wasn’t planning on divulging his secret.

  He looked to me. “It does not unsettle you to know I do not eat like anyone else and I take the lives of innocent people?” He seemed confused. “You do not have the urge to run away from me screaming and tell everyone you know?”

  I shook my head. “No, I really don’t.”

  I honestly had the urge to run up to him and throw my arms around him, feel his lips close to my ear and feel his deep voice travel down my spine. There was something about knowing he was dangerous that made sense about his aura. He wasn’t just a mystery anymore. I was aware of his secret. I knew what he was.

  “Why?” His voice barely got out, as though he was extremely confused.

  I looked over to him and shrugged, giving him a little smile. “Perhaps because you seem to save me from situations. Why save me if you were planning on killing me anyway?”

  He smiled, amazed, possibly still confused. “I do not understand how you cannot be frightened of me.”

  I sighed, my heart finally slowing down.

  “I will walk you back to the party. I believe they will be looking for you. I do not want Doctor Harding to have a heart attack.”

  He walked over to me and put his hand out to lead me back up the street.

  He didn’t come too close to me after that. It seemed once I brought attention to what he did around me, he tried to quickly correct it. I went back to the party, Vincent bowing lightly towards me as he vanished back into the night. I put my mask back on as I went inside, Deirdre running up to me in the foyer.

  “Annalee, where did you go?” She looked around me as if to see someone beside me.

  “Oh, I was seeing a friend out, that’s all. He dropped his handkerchief, I was returning it to him.” I pointed towards the door, all the words of the conversation I had with Vincent running in my mind.

  He never used the word, but a Vampire was what he was. How long had he existed as this creature who sucked out the lives of others—specifically young women—so he could continue to live?

  Chapter Nine

  He Said Eternity

  I awoke the next morning and buried myself in my father’s office among his various volumes of the occult and old medicine. All books I shouldn’t ‘bother my pretty little head with’ as he had once said.

  I knew my father found the occult and history of fascination, but I didn’t know some of those books spoke of folklore surrounding mystical creatures. It was like finding a side of my father I never knew.

  I tore through as many volumes I could, reading them over carefully, looking for something to help me to better understand what Vincent was. I knew I wanted to spend more time with him despite the fact he was a dangerous creature. If anything, such a thought made me more excited. He wasn’t like other men, he even said so himself. He was something much darker, much more dangerous…then why wasn’t I scared of him?

  In the middle of a book I stopped, looking up towards to the fireplace. His words rang in my head. Ah, I never said all of the definition was true.

  I bit my bottom lip realizing it was useless to tear through the books. All the myths about vampires were not necessarily true.

  One volume said they couldn’t be out in the sunlight, that the rays of the sun would burn their bodies to cinders. I had seen Vincent in town several times in broad daylight. There was also crosses, stakes, holy water, fire, garlic…so many things everyone puts faith in to save them from the powers of darkness, yet with one simple revelation they all could be proved useless. I closed the book in front of me and placed it on top of a pile I had already read.

  I sighed heavily as I stood up from the floor and sat on the armchair, Higgins standing from the spot where he lay and moving closer to me. I let my head relax on the back of the chair, looking up to the ceiling. I smiled as I thought about Vincent and I dancing, how warm his hand felt in my own. I began to look him over in my head, admiring his eyes, which had to be my favorite part of him besides his lips. His eyes were an unusual color, but only when you really thought about it. I suppose it was best that way, no one would question if he were human or not, they would just think the color was odd.

  Everyone thought he was strange. Everyone wanted to be rid of him it seemed, everyone except me. I wanted to find out more about him. I wanted him to tell me about himself. Is that all I wanted though?

  If I hadn’t exploded at Sean’s parent’s party, would I know Vincent’s secret? He saw the incident, he must have. He was within sight the whole time. The look he gave me, the flight of concern in his eyes. I’m sure I didn’t imagine it. But why did he turn away from me? Why did he go back to the women at his sides? Those women…they must have been victims. Had those girls gone missing as well?

  I almost laughed when I realized what Vincent had said. They fulfilled their requirements. They had indeed—his appetite.

  I shook my head pulling my mind away from those thoughts. My mouth scrunched to the side as I thought about the stories I had heard about him from not only Peter, but Sean as well, trying to pry something more about him from those instances.

  He’s an American. Well of course he is, stupid, you know that.

  I continued to search back in my mind.

  He enjoys the theatre. He likes art. His skin is pale, his eyes deep and beautiful…

  I quickly stopped myself as my mind began to take a different track where I didn’t want it to go. I shook my head and closed my eyes tightly.

  He…purchased the land outside of town. He is well off financially. He purchased a bed.

  I stopped quickly as other thoughts came pulsing to my mind.

  Well I guess coffins are a bunch of rubbish. If he had a coffin stashed somewhere why would he need a bed?

  I blushed as I thought of Vincent using the bed as any mortal would—to make love to a woman. Do vampires…?

  I smiled as I shook my head again. Questions for Vincent, not for yourself to dwell on. If you can work up the courage to ask such questions.

  So he lived as any mortal would. He visited town when he needed something, purchased art and went to the theatre. The only difference was he was not human and fed upon those who were human.

  I thought about his cold skin while we were outside, how it felt almost as if a draft was present, like he himself was a draft, a cold wind. I thought about the icy chill which followed me. My eyes widened as I looked around the room. He couldn’t possibly have been in my house.

  I shook my head and stood up.

  “Silly girl, now you are just trying to frighten yourself,” I said aloud.

  Was I really trying to frighten myself or was I trying to make myself special in Vincent’s eyes? Was I just longing for him to be as captivated with me as I was with him? So I was making up stories, making myself feel like I was special, like I held a place within him. He certainly held a place within me…I couldn’t keep my mind away from him!

  There was another thing…what if I was obsessing as I was because he was just someone new, something outside of my normal routine? What if I had met him at a party instead of seeing him in the darkness? I would probably think of him as any other man.

  I stopped.

  No, I would have thought the same.

  He would have been in the corner of a room brooding, watching and waiting. I would have thought the same. There was something in his eyes, something that spoke to me, like in my dream.

  I wonder if looking-glasses are true…

  I pulled myself away from it all, I was thinking far too much. I was being silly.

  I stood up and began to
walk around the manor, stopping at every window and staring out, admiring the day.

  I wondered how Vincent didn’t stand out more in sunlight. He was so pale. I reached into my memory back to the first days I had seen him. Those were cloudy days. The sky wasn’t clear, but there were bursts of sunlight. The day was warm, but every so often there would be darkness everywhere from the clouds reaching over the sun. Did those sporadic absences of light have anything to do with Vincent’s appearances?

  I didn’t go outside all day. I stayed in, most of the time sitting in different rooms, my father’s office, the study, the sitting room, my own bedchamber. I would sit and think about Vincent, what else? There was nothing else. Nothing else seemed to interest me.

  Bess walked into my bedchamber as I stood in front of the window staring out.

  “You have a letter, dearie.” She walked over to me and handed me the letter, turning back and sitting on the floral bench in front of my vanity.

  “Must be Dale again. Another attempt to try and convince me he is in love with me.”

  My eyes went down to the paper, noticing it wasn’t the same stationary Dale used. I examined it, turning the letter over and seeing my name written in beautiful cursive writing. Miss Annalee Harding.

  “Was he even at the ball last night?” Bess began to straighten herself out, knocking hairs off of her skirt and smoothing it out.

  I shook my head as I turned the letter over and opened it. I smiled widely and gasped as I skipped over the entire contents of the letter to see beautifully scrawled at the bottom of the page…Vincent Moor.

  Bess’ voice barely made it through the sound of my heart beating in my ears. “What is it, dearie? Good news, I hope.”

  I looked up at her and smiled before my eyes went back down to the letter.

  Miss Annalee Harding,

  I request the pleasure of your company for supper this evening, Monday the eleventh of June 1792, at my manor at 7.00 p.m.

  I await your reply.

  Vincent Moor.

  I felt the continuation of my heart pounding in my ears, as Bess inspected me, confused. “Are you all right?”

  I looked up to her. “I am wonderful.”

  “Who is it from? What does it say? Come on now!” She began to laugh as she stood up grabbing the paper from my hand. I couldn’t help smiling, the thought of seeing Vincent again, something I didn’t know would happen so soon, washing over me with relief.

  “Who is Vincent Moor?” She looked up from the letter confused.

  I turned towards her. “Hmm? Oh, he is the young man who found my ring in town. He was at the ball last night.”

  She smiled. “Well, seems the men do not waste any time when a young lady like yourself is back on the market. Which one is he?”

  I ran over to my vanity and ripped open one of the drawers, pulling out some stationary and a pen. “I’m sorry?”

  She walked over behind me. “Which one is he? I do not recall you ever speaking about him.”

  I began to write on the paper quickly, answering his letter as fast I possibly could to get it back to him. I did not want to waste any time.

  “Annalee?” Her eyes were wide, expectant of an answer.

  I looked up to her. “I’m sorry? Oh yes, which one. I told you. He found my ring. He’s an American, just moved here. He purchased the estate just outside of town, down the road from us.”

  Mister Vincent Moor,

  I graciously accept your invitation for supper for this evening at 7.00 p.m.

  Annalee Harding.

  I hated my writing. It was nowhere near as beautiful as his, though I quickly folded the parchment and handed it over to Bess as I skipped out of the room.

  “Annalee!”

  Bess had caught the messenger just as he was leaving the grounds, sending the letter back to his master. She then helped me wash and get ready for the evening, picking out one of my light floral print gowns, but I refused, demanding I wear a dark burgundy robe à l’Anglaise which belonged to my mother.

  As an older style, the robe required panniers and a stomacher, unlike the more simplistic fashions I normally wore. The smooth fabric had a lighter red flower pattern scattered sparsely down the length, the open robe edged with black lace down the folds and along the bottom of the petticoat, the neckline and sleeves.

  For some reason I felt it was the most appropriate and Vincent would like my choice of dress. The thought never occurred in my mind that he could be inviting me to dispose of me, just as he did with the other women he romanced. Any time my mind wandered close to the thought, I shrugged it off. That he had the power to lure me to my death was not a possibility in my eyes.

  I had never been this excited when I was having supper with a potential suitor. I often dreaded it, especially when not having a chaperone there, which was thankfully not often. But, Vincent was no ordinary suitor.

  I examined myself in the looking-glass several times. I made sure my hair was smoothed out, the curls now gone completely, especially after I washed it. I had half of it pulled up in my barrette, a lone necklace with a ruby hanging from it my only jewelry.

  What would Vincent see? If his sight was as acute as his hearing was, he must see things most people overlooked. I didn’t want a single flaw noticeable.

  I stood in the foyer waiting for my father’s carriage to pull up in front of the house.

  “You know, a watched kettle never boils, dearie.” Bess walked up behind me staring out as I was. “You really like this one.”

  I turned to her. “What? No! I’m just…eager to get out, that is all.”

  She laughed. “That must have been some dance you had with him at the ball. Surprisingly, your father did not mention any young man. Will there be a chaperone?”

  I shrugged. “I suppose I could request one of his servants to do the honors.”

  “You do not want me to accompany you?”

  I shook my head. “No! I mean…no, I think the chamberlain will make a suitable chaperone.”

  She kept my gaze for a moment, unsure. But, she nodded, leaving the subject as it was.

  I sighed as I continued to stare out the window, happy she had left it alone. I felt like I was waiting forever for the driver to arrive until my father’s carriage pulled up in front of the house. Bess made sure I got into the carriage safely before the door closed and I sat alone. My hands began to shake violently, my heart pounding so fast I thought I was going to faint.

  Every bump in the road seemed to magnify, startling me. I bit at my lip, careful not to smear any of the color I had on them. Why was I so nervous? Was I so infatuated with him? I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself.

  I wasn’t going to be a wreck. I refused to let myself be a wreck.

  After a long while the coach began to slow. I swallowed hard as I felt us stop and heard the pounding of the driver’s feet hit the ground.

  Chapter Ten

  His Kiss

  I walked into a grand foyer and stopped under a wooden archway, which led into a small, intimate dining room.

  As nervous as I was, it was a formal invitation I received. I had received such invites from Sean many times, but I either declined them, or ignored them. I was all too happy to accept Vincent’s invitation.

  To be honest…I didn’t really understand the dinner invitation. Vincent was very out spoken about how he didn’t need mortal things, didn’t need to eat like other people. Would I be eating dinner alone? Now I was calmer, I started to think of these things, perhaps a way to preoccupy myself.

  The outside of Vincent’s home was a fortress, not really like any other house. The manor hadn’t been able to sell for many years. Everyone in town thought it to be ghastly and grotesque, even roamed by phantoms. I had never really paid any attention to it. Silly stories, really.

  The dark gloomy manor, shaped like castle, loomed up over the land. It was intimidating, but I really didn’t expect it to be sunshine and brightly colored. It had only the one window on the
right side on the ground level, the door oval with iron bars across it. On the second level a single, small window caught the moonlight and the stars. The bricks were dirty and grey and the trim black and Gothic. It looked like any castle should.

  I walked from the foyer, where the servants took my effects as I made my way into a dining room.

  The room was warm, my eyes coming to a tall, ornate fireplace in the center of the room, snug against the wall. An antique clock graced the mantle, a painting hanging above. Several small sculptures were placed tastefully around the room —the art Peter had mentioned Vincent purchased from the local artist.

  The wooden floor was barren, not carpeted or even covered in a type of tile, not like Sean’s dining room. It had a small wooden table stretching across it, close to the fireplace, only seating six people. I recognized the table from Mister Wilks’ furniture shop. Due to its size, it was not nearly big enough for a party like in my social circle. Was it my social circle anymore? Perhaps I was part of Vincent’s social circle now.

  My eyes scanned the rest of the room. The walls were darker than I had normally seen in such homes, white being the usual color with gold trim, still reminiscent of the Ancien Régime. Instead, the walls were red with wooden trim.

  Several paintings broke the color of the walls enhancing the lavish black silk of the curtains. To my right where I’d entered the little dining room, a beautiful bouquet of dark purple lilies sat on a table with a candle next to them, in front of the only small window.

  I walked up to a painting on one of the walls, recognizing it as Vincent, a very old painting, but very beautiful. The artist was able to capture his gleaming emerald eyes perfectly, his dark brown hair silkily falling to his shoulders in gorgeous waves, his face silent, still. He was wearing a black blouse opened to reveal his gleaming chest. I couldn’t help imaging his eyes piercing into me and rendering me breathless as always.

  “Vanity is a sin.”

  I turned quickly toward the familiar voice. Vincent stood over at the fireplace with a glass of red wine in his hand.