Chapter 25. Are Vampires Real?

  The pain Sid was feeling in his back. Abram says there is a hole. Well, what does that mean?

  “Arieo come an gets a look at this.” Abram said with a casual wave, directing his fuzzy pal over.

  Big brown eyes found those of a pure white.

  That shadow had white eyes. How have neither of them see this shadow yet. Perhaps it wasn’t a shadow. Perhaps it was reflection of minerals along the tree bark, …yeah that’s it. Perhaps this tree was an Ironwood tree.

  “Haw?”

  “No typically they has a yellow eye. I have seen somes an orangish.” Abram answered in trance.

  He was far too fixated on the hole dug into Sid’s back. The skin was attempting to pull itself back together. It was remarkable yet traumatizing. The way the skin stretched with new growth, it wasn’t right. Flesh just growing in spots, before extending for another new growth. Abram wanted to touch it.

  Okay not a wolf. His master says wolf’s has yellow eyes, sometimes orange. Those ears are sharp. Its fur is jagged too. Maybe he should ask.

  “Haw?”

  “I thinks so Arieo, haven’t seen one in a long-.”

  “Would you two shut up.”

  Sid interrupted, turning to yell at the two.

  Abram froze. Arm extended, a single and splintered finger ready for a poke. Sid was a big man, maybe if Abram stay still he won’t notice. That heavy fellow glare with beady eyes, while finishing a poor excuse for a braid. Sid looked around and started for a direction. It worked that naked fellow walked right by.

  “Did ye shift?”

  It was a simple and subtle question. A question Abram had to harbor for years. There had been times he thought of letting the question sail. There had been others players that fit the profile. But this big guy, Sid. He was checking all boxes on that list. Even some Abram would have glanced over.

  Sid ignored the question though. It didn’t even make sense. Did he shift? What the hell does that even mean. Did he shift. Gods how stupid. Sid couldn’t explain it, but this man and his donkey irritated the hell out of him. Abrams voice was so raspy and tight it just pulled at his ears. The rickety wheel on that old wagon needed to be replaced. Then there was that loud and obnoxious donkey. Not only did it produce a high pitched bray but the damn thing farted every other—Oh there’s that axe.

  It was a difficult bend, but he managed. The timber-terror was still sturdy, and assisted the returning stand. Reaching that tall heavy stand, Sid held the axe in two hands. Holding that strong oak handle he could feel the memory it held.

  Those beady eyes rolled over the axe head. It was an interrogating look, and the dull stain echoed. That pain in his back. It was caused by that refined iron head. One of those hunters hit him with his own axe. A heavy sigh steamed that bold mustache, giving it a wonderful gleam.

  “Haw?” Arieo just had to know.

  “Gods damn it Arieo, just what in the hell ye be lookins at?”

  That salty voyager snapped. Turning to give his fuzzy buddy a stern talking to.

  Sid ignored the two while they yammered about something. Well Abram was yammering about something, the donkey made that noise. He looked at the small nubbin of ear trying to flick, before that tall left one flicked. God’s those two are dumb. Is that one of his boots, …it is. Where is the other boot, or his linens?

  Sid came to a hard sit down in the grass, before pulling the boot over a thick foot. The moment the round of his fat heel touched that soft tan jackalope fur stitched within, another distorted vision rippled through his memory.

  Two of those nasty hunters fought over that large boot. It was a quick and vicious fight. Involving those intimidating teeth, and a few short furious punches. The superior of the two held the boot with both hands. Sick grey fingers curling the fine double mending of leather. It clutched obsessively before burying its face deep in the opening.

  That nasty little creature inhaled long and deep. Those dead black eyes growing wider and wider with each beat of the heart. The deformed hunter arched its back slowly while it draw on that a heavy smell. The warmth that radiate from the opening of that thick boot was exhilarating. The lingering moisture that rise with that sweaty boot put that creature in a sense of elevated bliss. It was a headrush. It made the creature feel high for a lack of better explanation.

  That creature stood in a euphoric daze. Caressing that thick and durable boot. It tucked its head for another whiff. The other it had previously fought with only a long and single breath before, scurry with a scrambling crawl. That dazed creature looked up only in time for a ugly leathery paw to swipe down.

  That paw didn’t just swipe down at that creature. It literally removed its jaw. Those vile black claws slashed at that horrid grey face. Digging deep along those cheeks. Hooking into the jawbone. A powerful moist crack, and that grey thing fell to the forest floor. Screaming while a foul yellow smoke thickened.

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  Sid blinked emptily while the screaming memory faded. Shreds of what looked to be his shirt spotted a single area. It was a area of dead grass. Even the earth the grass had grown from, the soil it looked, …different.

  It was only a few leg paces away, but that short walk felt weird. Sure, he had only one boot on. Yeah, he was also bare, but something else was taunting about the approach. The walkover wasn’t nearly as eerie as standing in the area. He looked at the piles of rot, these three piles had started to sprout mushrooms. Odd little white spores that grew rather quickly.

  In a blink Sid had another distorted image of memory.

  It was a heavy breathing. A primal breathing. Elated with strain, before a horrid roar rippled the branches. A nasty paw reached up and over. Yanking one of them creatures from somewhere, perhaps it was on his shoulder.

  That thick leathery paw yanked that creature away, slamming it to the ground. Those two gross black paws mauled that grey skinned thing while it tried to stand. Furious paws ripped throwing chunks of smoldering gore this way and that. Until a sharp pain. One of them sharp toothed grey things cling to one of those patchy furred arms.

  Massive arms they were too, well I suppose they were proportional to the paws. To that grey skinned hunter thing though, those arms were huge. The paw alone was more round than the one’s chest. That patchy furred arm though was something that grey thing could hold on too, all while it bite and bite.

  Those nasty teeth dipped in and out of that thick arm. A sissling hiss with each puncture. Not only did that arm bleed with a foul dull yellow, but that hunter thing did as well. It shrieked upon each biting, but oddly never did it stop. It chomped and chomped before one of those massive paws swatted at it. Swiping the irritant free, like a blood sucking mosquito.

  Sid looked at the bruised welt along his arm. Many of them seemed to be losing their deep pigment, fading to a blotchy marking now. The leaking cavity in the center of those bruises no longer flow. He turned his arm over looking at those odd clearing bruises. Sid turned looking into another pile. Again a blink let him in on a secret of the woods.

  The one who smelled like Darren. He leaned against a tree looking back at the screaming massacre. The goon who never left his side, the both of them too had that sickly grey skin.

  The two watch while those nasty paws slap down hunter after another. They watched while those gross claws unwrapped the two more. It was a juicy surprise, and those drippy claws spoiled the reveal. Heavy breaths conducted a series of head movements smelling the air, before a nasty ripped snout pointed at the one named Darren. There was a horrid carnivorous roar, and a few stars dropped from the night sky.

  There was a chill that gripped that grey man. Even in his sickly skin that wriggled. There was a cold sweat, and the bead could be seen through that yellow smoke. Hell even his heartbeat could be heard over the screams. His panic stunk so good. There was a particular sweetnes—

  “Oye Sid.”

  Abram spilled into Sid’s head with that raspy voice. Beady eyes blinked with clearing thought. Sid directed his flat stare at Abram. The man was standing next to a pile. Sid became curious had the man have any more clothes.

  “Thinks I may have founds yer sword.”

  That bold mustache gave a firm wiggle, while Sid started for Abram. Sure enough within one of them piles was a black bubble that didn’t pop. The neighboring bubbles all boiled with a gentle hiss. The one Abram point at though, remained.

  “I believe that may be the pommel of yer blade Sid.”

  Sid dragged the head of that big bad lumber dropper through the pile. The pile was so rotten the axe practically slid through the mess. Pulling most of it across the ground. The sword didn’t come with ease though. He practically had to drive that axe like a hoe plowing a field. Remarkable Abram was correct, that was his sword within the mess. Hopefully Clayton’s ashes were okay.

  “Ay watch it Sid!”

  Abram barked with a jump. In the final dragging of the axe. The sword started to crown. There was a lovely slosh that ripped. Sid gave another tug, and the sword was birthed from the mess. That lumpy black liquid spilled over with a sizzling splash.

  “These be me only pair of..”

  Abram held his tongue looking at Sid. The big man was dressed in only a boot. Just the one and only lonely boot. The left one if you were suspicious.

  “Nevermind.”

  “Abram. Can I ask you something absurd.”

  That mustache wiggled, while big Sid came to a knee. A pose that was only accessible due to the strong oak handle of that timber terror. He wanted to grab the handle of the sword, but he was a bit nervous. Could one blame the man. That mustache peaked over a heavy shoulder.

  “Are vampires real?”

  It was a stupid question. Not just stupid but completely absurd. That big man, Sid. He must have been living under the order of Minyera's legion. Only a brain dead follower of hers could conjure such a comment. Abram couldn’t blame the fellow though, had it been the case. He didn’t let the ignorance of the question smear his expression either. Instead Abram casually kneeled down with big Sid and smiled like a tutor giving correction.

  “Of course they is Sid. Vampires be ones of Fannons grossest tokens. Right up here with a Butcher in our opinions ain’t that right Arieo.”

  Abram said, hands held up in measurement. Comparing the two creatures of fire-tale. Arieo however was concentrated along a shadow. Really studying the dark shape.

  There was a cold pinch in the pits of Sid's gut with that answer. He looked to the tree tops. Then into the darkening distances.

  “Widowmakers?”

  He questioned again. It was a shaky question. One of slow realization. Were the stories really just depictions of conquering feat.

  “Umm yeah Sid.”

  Realization was slowly washing over Abram as well. Not the fading of innocence kind of realization Sid had going on. Abram was inspecting the welts of Sid's body. If one could sustain those attacks, that is how one may look. These smoldering piles of rot. They were the remains of vampires.

  Sid's eyes went wide. Well wide for those little beady things anyways, but still they opened with panic. He looked at Abram’s confused mug. Those odd eyes swirled with a flash, while he looked back.

  “Do the Butcher pack with Vampires?”

  That brave mustache asked. The question was spiced with concern and salted with fear. Then it was served with a cold drizzle of panic. That poor metaphor was all plated in front of Sid’s face. That steam of anxiety lifted, boiling that nervous expression over that round rosy face.

  Abram got a taste of that expression. It was a bit salty for his liking. He’d tasted fear before, and this was a bit overcooked. He stood quickly and looked at the smoldering piles. His coat slightly whooshed with his heel spin, before he stopped. Abram looked back while Sid came to a tall heavy stand. A single boot stand.

  “Ye gots to be shittin me Sid.”

  He said looking at the piles growing white spores. Yellow smoke hissing while the flesh boil to a rot.