It Sleeps at Dawn

by Renfro,Anthony

  It Sleeps at Dawn

  Anthony Renfro

  It Sleeps at Dawn Copyright © 2016

  This book was produced using Pressbooks.com.

  Contents

  Introduction

  1. It Sleeps at Dawn

  2. Bonus Short Story: The Living Sand

  3. Bonus Short Story: Fear of the Scarecrow

  About the Author

  Do you want to read more about Talan Gawayn?

  Thank you to the Lord for the talent you’ve given me.

  Thanks Laura for your tireless Editing Efforts.

  Thank you Marty for all your help.

  Thank you to my family and friends for supporting me.

  Thank you Sherry, Joy, Emily, and Kim for keeping me writing.

  Thank you to all of those who read, like, and enjoy my work.

  Thanks Pixabay for the image.

  Thanks Daniel for the font.

  1

  It Sleeps at Dawn

  1

  The woman ran.

  Where was she?

  How did she get here?

  She had no clue.

  Confusion raced through her brain as her long blonde hair blew out behind her, her feet making their way down the thick red carpeted hall past large stained glass windows filled with colored moonlight. The stained glass windows stood 10 feet tall and 20 feet wide with an arch at the top and an upside down cross attached to each center. One window showed a Vampire as it crept out of a crypt on a moonlit night, another showed a Vampire tearing open the neck of a victim lying on a bed (complete with blood spray), and the last one showed a Vampire sitting on a throne while other Vampires worshiped at its feet. The throned Vampire was flinging blood on them from a naked female corpse it had lying across its lap.

  The woman passed the last stained glass window and saw a room on the right with its door hanging open like a hungry dark mouth ready to swallow her whole. Thick shaded windows provided no light from the moon as she paused in front of the open door, peered in, but saw nor heard any movement inside the black filled space.

  She then looked at the pure gold candelabra sitting on a small stand just outside the room. Wax dripped from its three burning candles. It was one of five that lined the long hallway.

  She gripped her nerves tight, pushed back the fear, and stepped up to the door that she hoped led out of the long hallway and into freedom. The door was made of solid oak, black from top to bottom and side to side, with a gold door knob in the shape of a demon with two emerald green eyes. Bright red pentagrams were embedded into its wood. These pentagrams were so red they seemed to be filled with blood, ready to bleed at any moment, almost pulsing from their plumpness. She reached down for the handle, deep breaths filled with dread ran through her lungs, as her heart drummed a loud terror beat inside her chest. She turned the handle and opened the door, which was so heavy that it took two hands and a healthy dose of sweat to move.

  Her heart sank once the door was wide open because there he stood, the man who had brought her here the night before. Her cloudy memory had finally opened up, spilling forth the information. It was the bar where they had met, the bar where he had laid on his charms, the bar where he had asked her to go home with him, the bar was the last memory she had before waking up in this mysterious place. And she was sure of another thing, he wasn’t the same man who had picked her up. That dashing handsome young man with the long black hair and dusty blue eyes, who stood at least six foot five, and was easily a foot taller than her was now nowhere to be seen. Instead of the young man dressed in modern clothes, here stood an ancient older man in dated black three piece suit with a cape tied around his neck. The cape fell to somewhere near the middle of his back. It was black to match the suit, but the interior of it was as red as the pentagrams on the door. His cologne wafted through the air as he stood there, an ancient smell of High Karate.

  He smiled at her, an evil dark eat you alive from head to toe smile, which revealed large white fangs that hadn’t been there when he picked her up.

  She turned to run back down the hall, but he moved so quick that she was in his arms, and in his death embrace before she could blink. He caressed her neck, pushed back her hair, and then delivered the fatal bite. He drove those two perfectly shaped white fangs into her neck, and drained her until she shriveled up. He pulled back with a satisfied glee and then wiped his mouth clean, licking the last bit of her blood off of his lips. Full and satisfied, he stripped her naked, and then carried her body down the hall to the stairs.

  He descended the carpeted stairs, framed with wrought iron railing on either side, to the cold stones of the first floor. He walked over to the front door, and, with just a thought, turned the gold knob and popped the lock. The door opened up before him, and he stepped outside.

  He walked across the gigantic porch complete with marbled columns of Roman design, and descended the black marble steps that led down to the bare ground, the bright moon above casting a spotlight on the creature carrying the lifeless dangling corpse.

  He paused a moment, and looked out across the Appalachian Mountains, sucked in the cool mountain air. He loved it up here, far away from the world, far away from the Alps where he had been made into this thing that sleeps at dawn in the 10th century.

  Lothar Eustace placed the woman on the ground and, with his mind, opened the gate that led into his courtyard. He let out a long whistle that echoed out through the forest of trees. He then went back inside, as his two guard dogs raced up to the carcass. They tore apart her remains, fighting and enjoying every delicious piece of human meat. There would be nothing left of her once they were done. She was just another single tourist who would not be missed way up here.

  Lothar closed the door to the castle, and made his way upstairs so he could collect the woman’s clothes. He then slipped down to his crypt.

  Once in the musty concrete covered crypt, he tossed her clothes in the burning fire place (one of six inside the sprawling house), and then opened up his coffin. It was green, his favorite color, with gold locks and handles.

  He placed his body inside of the coffin, put his head on the satin pillow, and fell asleep listening to the wood pop and crackle in the fireplace.

  The morning sun found the horizon a short time later.

  2

  The night was calm, cool, and overcast when Lothar slipped out of his coffin, put on his clean going out for a hunt clothes (grey slacks, slip on suede shoes, and a long sleeve black collared shirt), and made his way down to one of his favorite hunting spots.

  The little bar he liked to frequent and hunt in was nestled into the side of a mountain with a small parking lot just off the main road. It was a tourist trap that was usually filled with ogling tourists most of the year. The bar was small and square, covered with wooden exterior walls. It had a triangle tin roof, a porch that ran the length of its front, and four windows strategically placed around the building. There were rocking chairs sitting on the porch year round, inviting those weary travelers to stop in for a bit and take a load off.

  “Evening Fred,” Darcie replied when Lothar walked in through the glass filled door with the sign on it that read OPEN. She was a hot little number in tight shorts and a tight top. Her body got her lots and lots of tips.

  “Evening,” Fred replied, taking a seat, disguising his voice with a sharp Southern accent. With this voice he never stood out in these parts, never once was suspected of being someone from a European background.

  “Same as usual.”

  “Yes, mam,” he replied in that Southern drawl, smiling.

  Darcie returned the smile, and then made him a Bloody Mary.

  “Kind of quiet tonight,” she replied when she put the drink in front of him.

 
“It is.”

  “They’ll be along soon enough though.”

  “Yes, I’m sure they will,” Fred replied, sipping on his drink. He didn’t really like alcohol or the way it made him feel, but to act like a mortal was the best way to fool a mortal.

  “I know you like your space, so I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure, need anything, you know the drill.”

  Fred held up his glass, smiled, and Darcie boot scooted on. When he was alone, Lothar surveyed the room, which he had done numerous times before. There were ten tables, six booths, a bar, a fire place, a jukebox that still played CD’s, hanging lights up above that looked like beer cans, advertisements and TV’s on the wall, and two bathrooms. The same as usual, but tonight the place was practically empty. Should have been a few more people here on a Friday, but Lothar was a patient Vampire. He didn’t mind the wait, because when you have lived for as long as he had, time was of no importance. It was merely numbers on a clock.

  A local blue collar guy slid up to the jukebox with a beer in his hand, and punched in a few of his usual drinking favorites. He was here often and always played country that actually sounded like country music. He never played any of that new stuff that didn’t know if it was pop, rock, or pure crap. Lothar found it to be pure crap. He actually preferred classic country. It had a style and a rhythm that modern country music just seemed to be lacking. Of course, his favorite style of music was Heavy Metal. The faster the better was the way he felt about it. Slayer was one of his go to bands, because there was nothing better than listening to “Raining Blood” or “Dead Skin Mask” while chasing a victim through his sprawling mansion. His favorite song by them of course was “At Dawn They Sleep.” A charming little song about his own Vampiric kind.

  The door clanged open, and Fred quickly eye-balled the two guys who entered the bar. They were obvious tourists, from their clothes to the way they walked. They screamed out that they were just stopping in for a quick break before hitting the road again. Lothar felt his stomach grumble as he smelled their fresh blood.

  “Evening,” one of the guys replied with a heavy British accent.

  “Evening,” Darcie replied.

  “I wonder if you would do us a favor and pour us a pint,” the British guy replied.

  “A pint. What’s your name, sugar?”

  “Danny, and this young fellow beside me is Brian.”

  “I guess he’ll have the same,” Darcie replied.

  Brian nodded.

  “How about a long neck of something local?”

  “Sound’s splendid.”

  Darcie retrieved the drinks, as the two guys scanned the bar from their bar stools.

  Danny, the older of the two, had a gray beard and hair, sporting creases around his eyes and a small mouth. He was fifty years old, dressed in a pair of jeans and a buttoned up long sleeve shirt, white sneakers completed his outfit. Brian, twenty years younger, had a long pony tail that ran down his back. He was dressed in a pair of shorts, tennis shoes, and a long sleeve shirt that was covered by a black vest.

  “Where you guys heading?” Darcie asked when she put their drinks down in front of them.

  “We’re on our way up into the mountains to search out haunted hot spots,” Danny replied, as “Mama Tried” by Merle Haggard started to play on the Jukebox. Clint Black had just finished something called “Killing Time.”

  “Ghost Hunters?”

  “Paranormal Investigators. We’re writing a book about it,” Danny replied, pride for his work etched all over his face, trying not to get upset. He hated it when people called it Ghost Hunting. Those sham artists (or so he believed) had polluted a lot of people’s minds on TV when it came to the afterlife, so he hated to be lumped in with them.

  “Any luck?” Darcie asked.

  “Some. We found this charming little place in Abingdon, Va. called The Martha Washington Inn. Some good ghosts there.”

  “You know. We have a legend around here? Darcie could tell you more about it. She’s been here all her life.”

  They turned to face the guy who was sitting a few bar stools away from Brian. He was decked out in a black cowboy hat, long sleeve shirt with a bolo tie around his neck, dusty faded blue jeans, and brown cowboy boots.

  Lothar’s ears perked up when he heard Cowboy Dude start talking. He loved to listen to the locals talk about the legend of Bubba.

  “Really?” Danny asked, intrigued.

  “Yep. He’s called Bubba. Right, Darcie?” Cowboy Dude said.

  “Sure is,” Darcie replied, leaning over, revealing a very ample bosom that she didn’t care to show off. “That was one my granddad used to tell me when he was trying to give me a good scare before bed time. In fact, his granddad had told him the same legend when he was a kid. I think it might have gone even further back than that.” Darcie noticed they were staring at her, and hanging on her every word. She led the conversation forward. “The legend talks about this strange house, way back in the woods. The house is huge, a mansion of epic proportions, with rooms upon rooms upon rooms, and they say within this sprawling manor walks something not of this Earth. No one knows for sure what it is that walks there. Some say it might be a ghost or a man who transforms with the moon, but the one word I hear more than anything else associated with this legend is Vampire.”

  “Come on, seriously,” Brian replied, baffled. “I know we’re tourists, but I know when I’m being led on a snipe hunt. The minute we walk out the door chasing after this legend you guys are going to have a nice long laugh.”

  Danny put his hand on Brian’s shoulder, and then ran it across his back in a loving caressing way. Darcie picked up on this move of affection, but she let it go. She’d seen guys like this before, but she tried not to judge them for what they did even though she knew it to be wrong.

  “Easy there, Brian,” Danny replied, as he finished the back rub. “Let’s hear her out. It might be fun to investigate.”

  “Come on, Danny. We aren’t out for a wild goose chase, knocking about in these woods looking for something that’s only real in fiction.”

  “But you believe in ghosts?” Cowboy Dude asked.

  “Ghosts are real. We don’t know exactly who or what they are, but we’ve seen enough of them to know they do walk on this Earth.”

  “Brian, please, just hear her out. Okay?”

  “Fine, but when this turns out to be a big joke don’t take it out on me,” Brian replied, leaning back on the stool.

  Darcie looked at Danny, who gave her a nod to continue. “The legend goes that if you go deep enough into these woods you will find the house. It’s set right up on top of a hill where you can see five mountain ranges from its front porch. But go during the day. For whatever walks its halls walks it in the dead of night.”

  “We really must see this place,” Danny replied, almost jumping out of his seat with a childlike glee.

  “This is a snipe hunt. I can promise you that,” Brian replied.

  “Hush up,” Danny said this to him, and then turned to face Darcie. “How do we get there?”

  “No one knows for sure. No one around here actually knows if the house exists, but I do know you can’t drive to it. There are no roads. You can only get there on foot.”

  “And how many snipe are we going to get out of this one?” Brian asked. “I bet they’re delicious for dinner, along with a side of bullshit.”

  “Shut up, I love you, but you’re getting on my nerves,” Danny said to Brian, and then once again turned to face Darcie.

  She continued on. “The legend states that if you head up this main road a piece you’ll see a road to the right called Deep Gulch. It will lead you straight up. When you reach the top you’ll see a dirt road on your left. Drive up that road about a mile or so. Park at the edge of the trees where the road ends. You’ll be on foot from there.”

  “When we’re on foot, which direction should we go in?”

  “North,” Darcie replied. “
I’ve tried to find it before, many of us have, but no luck. This is the way you are supposed to go. Everyone knows that, but no one that I know of has ever seen that house. So, even the directions could be made up bullshit. Maybe they’re just there to give us kids something to preoccupy our time with. Who knows?”

  “Thanks,” Danny replied, smiling. “We’ll check it out. Even if it’s nothing, then at least we might get a nice walk in the woods out of it.”

  “I’m ready to go,” Brian replied, taking out a wad of money and slapping what he thought was the price of the beers on the bar. He made his exit with a disgusted frustrated walk.

  “I apologize for him. He has a nasty temper when he’s not happy. He’ll be on board by the morning. Though I might have to convince him a bit before he is,” Danny replied, looking down at the money. “Is that enough?”

  “Plenty. You sure you don’t want some change?”

  “Keep it my dear, you’ve earned it. Night,” Danny replied, and made his exit.

  “Good night,” Darcie replied, and then turned to face Cowboy Dude as she picked up the money from the bar. “Strange guys.”

  “They are. Guess it takes all kinds to make up this world.”

  “It sure does,” she replied, and moved on down the bar to the new customers who had arrived while she was talking about the legend of Bubba.

  Lothar saw that the two guys had used cash, which was the best thing in the world for him. It would be hard to trace them back to this little bar if they didn’t use a credit card. They were almost begging to be his next victims.

  The night slowly passed after the tourist guys left, and three hours later Lothar finally finished his drink. He decided it was time to call it a night. The bar was still relatively empty, and the two tourist guys who had left a short bit ago seemed like the only thing he was going to find this evening.

  “Calling it a night early?” Darcie asked when she saw him stand up to leave, placing money on the bar to pay for his drink. She could tell by the way the bills were stacked on the bar that there was a healthy tip among the pile.