Forrest Wollinsky: Vampire Hunter [Book One]

by Leonard D. Hilley II

  With a fierce frown, Fane shook his head and waved his hands. “I’ll not have it, John! Your money’s no good here. I’m heading to the city. You and your son are quite welcome to ride along. For free, mind you!”

  My father shook his head, insistent. He held up animal hides. “What about these?”

  The hides were mine from all of the game I’d hunted during the winter months while Father was recuperating.

  “I’ll not have your money or your hides, but instead, you two help me load and unload my wagon, and I’ll consider that payment enough.”

  “Deal!” my father said, shaking hands with Fane. Afterwards, my father set his hat upon the driver’s bench while he helped load the wagon.

  Fane grinned apologetically toward me. “My back’s not what it used to be.”

  I liked old Fane. Most of the time he wore a gray wool hat atop his head every time I had seen him. His hair had oddly receded and looked like those strange men that wore brown robes and wandered into Bucharest every now and again. He had a short circle of hair with a bald spot on the top of his crown. Theirs was intentionally cut that way. Fane was cursed with it by nature. Monks—I later learned these men were called—were a party to which Fane didn’t reside.

  Fane was also quite plump and jolly. Like us, he rented little property, but he was fortunate enough to own an old horse and wagon.

  I helped him load his wares into the back of the crude wagon. My father lifted lighter baskets and crates, hobbling slowly and wincing occasionally.

  “You okay, John?” Fane asked. “You look to be in pain.”

  “I’m fine. Just old and stiff.” He was walking, at least, but it was doubtful that he’d ever have full mobility he once had before his legs had been shattered. Whether he wished to accept it or not, I didn’t see his vampire hunting days lasting too much longer.

  I lofted an empty wooden barrel onto my shoulder that Fane had been slowly rolling along its edge.

  He smiled at me and then looked to my father. “Your son has grown like an ox and has the strength of a bear. How ever do you feed him?”

  My father chuckled. “The boy holds his own. He’s become a great hunter and quite accurate with a rifle. He keeps meat in our pot.”

  Fane made a strange face in jest. “No wonder the wildlife is growing scarce in our neck of the forest. He must keep a hearty appetite.”

  “Indeed,” my father said with a wide grin.

  “How old is he now? Twelve, fourteen?”

  “Eight,” my father replied with a great sense of pride, almost like I was a prized heifer or bull.

  Fane’s brow rose. “Oh, surely you jest.”

  Father shook his head and placed his hand over his heart.

  “My word,” Fane said. “So young and already the size of a man. I imagine he eases your labors. And I dare say that he could probably pull my wagon faster than the old mare, eh?”

  I smiled and shook my head. In a weird sort of way, such comments brought a sense of pride to me, and made me work harder and faster.

  We finished helping Fane load his wagon. My father rode on the seat beside him while I rode on the tail end of the wagon, sitting on the edge, letting my feet dangle above the compacted dirt trail.

  My father hadn’t taken his hunter box along, but each of us concealed a wooden stake inside our coats. We had no intention of being outdoors after dark. The sun had barely risen by the time we had reached Fane’s cottage.

  Fane directed his horse and soon we were passing our cottage on the way to Bucharest. Smoke drifted out of the chimney and snaked a thin path through the trees.

  All of the snow had melted. Winter had gone and the cold spring had arrived. Little sprigs of grass protruded in places at the edges of the road. Crocus flowers bloomed, giving color to an otherwise dull brown forest floor. Bits of blue lichens and green moss clung to the sides of the trees and twisted roots. My mind absorbed these delicate colors while I thought about other things.

  During the entire time my father had been healing, never once had the baron revisited. No vampires had attempted any attacks on my family at all. Perhaps the baron had given up his pursuit to kill my father or me? I doubted so, but at the time, I still didn’t know if the two hunters had been successful in killing him. But they had never returned for further information about Jacques, so I concluded they had either failed miserably or fled into a neighboring country, ashamed of their cowardice.

  Jacques had not returned, either. I sorely missed him, even though I didn’t really know him. He was one of those people, that upon first meeting, you felt like you had known all of your life and hated to see his departure. So many things I wished to discuss with him, especially the puzzlement of the holy relics Father carried and insisted were tools a vampire hunter needed.

  My young mind reserved doubts about any intrusive religion being forced upon the civilizations around the world. One either accepted the proposed faith or was butchered as an infidel. More strife and wars were caused by the feuding religions than the eternal peace they offered for succumbing to them. Bucharest had already experienced such hostilities and the oppression indicated another uprising would eventually occur.

  After a quarter hour of traveling, the towering buildings became visible above the treetops. Although walking wasn’t terribly faster than a horse drawn wagon, it allowed the luxury of taking in the scenery. It also permitted a person extra time to think.

  Fane and my father discussed various subjects while we rode, mostly about the harsh blizzard and his rapid depletion of supplies. By the time the horse stepped onto the cobblestone, Fane asked my father something that troubled me.

  “You don’t keep any animals, do you John?” he asked.

  Father shook his head. “No, why?”

  “During the severity of the period when we were snowbound, I lost three of my hens, two goats, and one sheep.”

  “That happens in severe weather.”

  Fane shook his head. “No, I don’t mean that they froze to death. They were bled dry.”

  I looked over my shoulder toward them.

  Father couldn’t hide his astonishment. “In what way?”

  “Puncture wounds at the throat on the goats and sheep. The hens were decapitated.”

  “What did the puncture wounds look like?”

  “Two holes side by side. I’ve never seen anything like it before. I’ve not ever given credence to the old wives’ tales, but if I did, I’d think a vampire. Silly notion, eh? But I know of no natural predator that could leave such marks.”

  My mind raced. That would have happened a little over a month earlier, not too long after the baron had made his appearance and threat known to me. I faithfully watched our cottage door on a nightly basis without ever a vampire rattling at the door.

  “Perhaps a mink?” my father suggested.

  Fane craned his head to the side, thinking. Slowly he nodded. “Perhaps on the chickens, but not with the goats and the sheep. The height and all.”

  “I see your point,” Father replied. “Was that all in one night or scattered across several days?”

  “All at once.”

  “And since?”

  Fane shook his head. “Not lost another. The hens can be replaced quite readily once the temperature warms enough for the remaining ones to set on eggs, but those were my only two goats and the sheep I needed its wool. I’ll have to replace them. All in due time, I suppose.”

  “Should it occur again, don’t hesitate to call upon me. I’d like to have a look if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course. But I’m hoping never to see such ever again.”

  Father nodded. “You and I both. Horrible to think something travels in the darkness of our woods at night, capable of such a thing.”

  “Since you have no livestock, you have less to fear,” Fane said with a grim smile.

  “Alas, you’re right.”

  The horse’s hooves clapped upon the cobblestone. Other people milled along the street an
d traders were gathering near the square. Since the weather stood to be warmer and dry, hundreds of people cluttered the city—shopping, trading, and gossiping. Military guards marched in small bands, as a threat to keep peace in the city.

  Fane pointed. “I’m going to the marketplace first. Is there anywhere you wish to be taken?”

  “Here is fine,” my father said. “Thanks for your kindness.”

  “Oh, no trouble at all. Leave your hides with me. I’ll sell them for you.”

  “Thanks, Fane,” I said, pushing myself from the back of the wagon.

  He nodded. “How long were you two intending to be in the city?”

  “A few hours,” my father replied.

  “You should find me parked near Dyre’s Tavern. Come inside and have a drink with me before we return to our homes.”

  My father straightened his sheepskin hat. “Look forward to it.”

  Fane nodded, snapped his whip, and rode toward the market square.

  Father smiled at me. “Forrest, we need to find you a hat since you pass for a grown man, so you’ll look more proper.”

  “I doubt they’ll have one that fits me.” My brown hair spilled down to my shoulders in thick curled locks. In spite of its length, it wasn’t ragged or uncomely. My mother kept the ends trimmed on a regular basis, but since she liked my curls, she never cut it short.

  “We shall look. Every man of importance wears a hat.”

  Glancing around, I didn’t see a man or a lady without a hat. Even the peasants poorer than we, wore hats. Children, too. My father had given me one of his about a year earlier. I could no longer pull it over my crown. I had grown quickly. I knew we couldn’t afford to find one my size, so I had never said anything.

  “Where to first?” I asked.

  He glanced around and whispered, “To get you a hunter’s box.”

  “Is it nearby?”

  “It’s a place hidden on the outskirts of the city. We must remain inconspicuous because the shop where we’re headed is owned by people shunned by a majority of the city.”

  I didn’t say anything. I simply nodded. He seemed more uncomfortable about us being seen entering the shop and associating with the people who suffered ridicule and were deemed outcasts rather than having any sympathy for them. After all, he was seeking these shop owners to construct my box to store vampire-hunting tools. Why be worried about what the outsiders thought about them? His fear was hypocritical. I didn’t understand why he felt that way.

  Over a period of several decades, I came to discover that I trusted the subjugated and persecuted folks far greater than the people who had oppressed and herded them into settling the wastelands where no one else wanted to reside. Those in higher authorities tended to be deceitful and abusive with their power and position. The baron certainly came to mind as someone who had made his gains from taking advantage of the downtrodden. But other vampires, like the baron, were hidden right out in the open, without being suspected for what they truly were. They had obtained high places of authority in the most unexpected places. If ever unveiled, a panic would ensue.

  To get to this shop, we walked through several intersecting alleyways in the city. The architecture became less glamorous. Gradually, we moved into an even more depressing area where the buildings had suffered severe damage during the Great War. The buildings stood in disarray. The interiors of some were burned out with only the brick walls precariously holding the outside structure erect. And yet, poor unfortunate families chose to risk their lives beneath possible collapse than to suffer and die from exposure.

  Children with tattered clothes and dirty faces peered from the hollowed buildings. Hunger burned in their eyes. Others coughed pathetically, sick with disease. Mothers held sorrow in their hopeless expressions while desperate men dug and scavenged for bits of food through the piles of garbage the city sanitation had dumped in the street.

  While I looked at these poor people, I had never known such destitute places existed. None of the children left the buildings. They skeptically watched us in fear. The men ignored us; too busy searching through the trash.

  “Don’t stare, Forrest. Just keep walking.”

  I hadn’t realized I was staring, but it was too horrific to look away. For a moment, I glanced over my shoulder to see the cathedral looming a few blocks away. The morning sun gleamed off the stained glass windows. I looked again at the poor people starving to death so close to one of the most ornamental buildings in the city, and I wondered how they viewed the supposed beacon of hope.

  I watched the dirty street as I walked, avoiding the temptation to continue looking at the rundown buildings and the hungry people. The rotten stench of death flowed with the morning breeze. The ripe scent was strong, indicating that something big was dead; or quite possibly, a lot of people were. The smell was thick. I pressed closely behind my father.

  But then he stopped walking. We heard her wailing cries. The anguish in her voice wasn’t something either of us could ignore. We turned.

  A woman stumbled outside of a narrow doorway with a young boy in her arms. His body was limp. His arms and legs draped downward like wilted flower petals. He was obviously dead. But he hadn’t died from hunger or disease. On his neck were two fresh bleeding holes. A vampire’s bite.

  “Forrest,” Father said, “let’s hurry and get out of here.”

  Panic rose in his voice. It was broad daylight with few shadows and no clouds in the sky. It wasn’t even close to noon. I didn’t see how it was possible for any vampires to be out until I glanced into the next building. Deeper in the dark shadowed recesses, glowing eyes watched us.

  Dozens of sets of eyes set their attention upon us. Their eyes reflected in the light much like a wolf’s did in the glow of a bright lantern at night. These people were no longer human, but undead vampires. Their hunger was visible, and their hatred toward us evident. The unfortunate weren’t like us. We were strong contenders, their enemies, and a threat to their existence.

  This impoverished area was a vast feeding ground for vampires.

  The sunlight didn’t reach far enough inside the building to affect them. Between them and the open door was a pile of dead bodies. A moving mass crawled on the corpses. Beady red eyes looked at us.

  Rats. Dozens of them.

  “This isn’t the lair where the baron had taken you, is it?” I asked, picking up pace to catch my father who was moving much faster than I thought possible, given his stiffened legs.

  “No.”

  “There are at least a dozen vampires back there.”

  He nodded. “Probably a lot more than that, son. It’s a different lair.”

  “Is there not anything we can do to help those children?” I asked with anger rising in my voice.

  “Just the two of us?”

  “Yes.”

  Father shook his head. “You don’t have the experience, and there are far too many for us to fight even if you were a seasoned hunter.”

  “And none of the city’s officials are willing to exterminate these vampires?”

  “Why should they?” he asked.

  “Because hundreds of these people are potential victims.”

  “The magistrate knows it. The cathedral priests probably know it, too. They won’t do anything because these are people they don’t want in Romania anyway. They’re fodder. This satiates the vampires and keeps them from moving into the renovated part of the city where the businesses and bank are.”

  If this was a separate lair from the baron’s, I wondered who the master was. The notion that the city officials thought they were safe by allowing these vampires to feast upon the poor discarded vagabonds was preposterous. The vampires didn’t have to drain these people completely to feed. Left unchecked, this lair could immensely multiply their numbers to form a vast army and completely annihilate the city. Even as a child I realized the potential danger the city faced while the council did not.

  Sadly, in some ways, the ones the vampires chose to kill were be
tter off. They suffered no more from the aches of starvation, but it still wasn’t right. There was a greater chance the vampires eventually turned them than destroyed them.

  My father panted and groaned, trying to force his legs to run when he no longer possessed such ability. He wasn’t moving from fear, as the vampires weren’t about to step into the sun to pursue us. I believed he was still trying to protect my innocence. He was being a father, and although I appreciated it, it made no real difference. In passing the building with the peering vampires eyes, the unfortunate child in his mother’s arms, Bodi, and the baron, I didn’t have any remaining innocence left for him to preserve. It was too late. The mental scarring was inevitable, and I had already been exposed to the madness. I knew what was out there. I understood the dangers. All I needed was training and experience. Turning back wasn’t possible.

  “Slow down,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to hurt yourself. It’s daylight. They’re not going to attack us.”

  “It’s not them I’m worried about.”

  “Then what?”

  “The rats. A master has control over certain animals. I just wanted to make certain we got far enough away so the rats didn’t swarm after us.”

  I glanced back. “They’re not coming. It’s okay to slow down.”

  Father stopped, leaning forward with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He gasped and panted and wheezed. I was amazed by how many city blocks he had moved at such a rapid pace. After a couple of minutes he looked at me with hurt in his eyes.

  “Forrest,” he said, wiping drool from his mouth with the back of his hand. He stood, took a deep breath, and pointed back in the direction we had come. “That’s why I didn’t want to start your training. It’s the disturbing things like that. When you’re still just a boy—”

  I smiled and nodded. “I know you wish to protect me, but you can’t do that forever. In size I’m a man. My mind might be eight years old, but with each passing day it’s catching up. In many ways, my mind has probably aged twenty years since the night the baron arrived at our cottage. With everything I’ve seen during the past month, did you ever consider that perhaps there’s every reason for my training to begin? I know it isn’t a coincidence for all of these events to occur for my benefit, and by now, I’m certain you agree.”