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Shelby was tired of it all. They were tired of the whispers, the cover up conversations as soon as she was in earshot, the way everyone would turn away when they walked by. Most of all, they were tired of not being believed. So she would prove them wrong. She would prove them all wrong, by finding cold hard evidence that all these “fantasies” were real, starting with the most elusive of them all.
Bigfoot.
She had been reading about him for years, hearing stories about footprints and bits of his fur that had been found. And they had searched for him with her dad for years, searched for him and other fascinating cryptids. But they never came up with anything and her dad was dead now, so it was time for them to leave. To finally get out in the world. Sunnyside Cliffs clearly held no cryptids, just memories of their dad that lurked in every corner. Just whispers of a side of her dad they never knew, one who drank himself into oblivion, one who would up and abandon his wife and daughter. And Shelby wouldn’t, couldn’t take it anymore. She would find a town, a town their father had always planned on taking her to.
A town called Oakhurst.
Get away, get away, get away, GET AWAY! I need to get AWAY!! Avid’s brain raced in circles as he sprinted through the forest, the cold wind biting at his cheeks as the pine branches smacked into his face. How did it all go so wrong?! Sh-she seemed like herself at first, smiling and eager to continue with our research. And then…and then she wasn’t. Avid, swarmed with memories, memories he really did not want to be thinking about right now, doubled over and screamed until his voice gave out, before crumbling to the forest floor and sobbing. Avid sobbed until he had no more tears left, and that’s when the world came into sharp clarity.
I have to avenge Elle. I have to find what made her into that…that thing and kill it. Stop it from turning more people and ruining more lives. But…how? Elle hadn’t said specifically where she was going before she left, so that made Avid’s job much harder, but eventually he came up with a town. A town Elle had mentioned wanting to visit before, due to the rumours about supernatural sightings. Due to the rumours about vampires.
Oakhurst.
Pain was a sensation Elle was familiar with. She had felt it as a child, a teen, and as a young adult. But never before like this. The world was white, all her senses overwhelmed by the pain, and Elle couldn’t breathe. She was suffocating. Then, all at once, she wasn’t.
As 12 unsuspecting humans entered the area of Oakhurst, each there for their own reason, something stirred, buried deep beneath the ruins of a long abandoned castle. It was a monster, in the traditional sense of the word. It had the potential to rip the town to shreds, along with anyone and everyone inside. It was a creature of the night, needlessly violent and to be purged from this realm as soon as possible.
It was a vampire.
Why then, when Scott awoke from his 600 year slumber, did he not immediately attack, or even make plans to attack the new humans? And Scott knew there were humans in the region, they came with a certain warming to the atmosphere that could only be caused by the horrendous creatures that were humans.
Scott told himself he wasn’t immediately attacking and instead trying to blend in with them for practical reasons. He wasn't at a high enough level, there wasn’t enough blood, he just wanted to see who his next meals would be and their ability to fight back. Nothing else. In truth, it was a pure, simple fact, buried not only under millennia as an untouchable vampire, but also under decades of careful training to not feel anything, let alone something as useless as this.
Scott was lonely.
Scott, the founder of the infamous Goldsmith Coven, terror of Oakhurst Valley, was lonely. And Scott intended to make sure nobody found out. That was a secret to be kept hidden in the centre of a maze of snark, indifference, gaslighting, and, if need be, hostility. Scott would not be viewed as a weak, sniveling person who needed the validation or even company of others. He had let that version of himself die with his sire. He had to. Scott reminded himself of this as he walked towards town, killing any animals he saw on the way for the blood, reminded himself that he had survived this long without company, he had no reason not to now that a couple of new humans were around. As Scott arrived in town, he took in the state of town. It was almost less decayed than he would have expected after 600 years of abandonment. Had someone actually moved into the ruins while he was asleep in his crypt? Despite all the stories that had spread about the Goldsmith regime? He supposed humans must have gotten dumber while he was asleep. The state of the town made Scott wonder about the new humans in town, and why they had decided to settle there in spite of whatever new stories must’ve come out after the town got abandoned again for whatever reason.
The first three humans Scott came upon in town was a doctor named Legundo (odd name, but Scott had heard weirder in his time), a rich boy named Martyn (who got left by his dad, and Scott was starting to see why as he spent more time around him), and Cleo, a farmer with something ever so slightly…off with her. They smelled faintly of vampire, despite her unmistakable human heartbeat. Scott would have to keep an eye on her.
As Scott was talking with those three about the apparent lunacy of the group Scott could see across the town (Scott wasn’t surprised, humans always seemed to dub someone a lunatic. Be it one who disagreed with the church, one who expressed their opinions on the local government too loudly, or simply differed from the expectations of the town a little too much, there was always someone), a man in a butler outfit walked up and joined their conversation. The conversation drifted lazily from topic to topic; surgery (the doctor), butlers and servants (Scott and Martyn), and, most dreadfully of all, the beacon at the centre of town. Scott had heard of them, and he knew nothing good would come of them. The beacons were a new addition since when he was cursed to sleep, and Scott figured they were related to his magical slumber. This beacon was neutral, but Scott knew humans, and he knew that once one of them stood a tad too close to it and realised they could “convert” it, that beacon was neutral no longer. Luckily, the four Scott was with didn’t seem to want to involve themselves with, or even believe in, the magicks, so they didn’t convert it to the holy light just yet.
As the rest of town was introduced, Scott began to zone out. What even is the point in getting to know them? They’re humans, I’m a vampire, we could never be friends. And I’m perfectly fine with that! Scott thought, pushing down any doubts he may have had, while listening to a girl talk about… big feet? Humans had really gotten weirder in the past 600 years. Apparently, she was one of the “lunatics” the group he had come upon was talking about. Scott couldn’t help but feel that calling her a lunatic was taking things a tad bit too far. Yes, in all of Scott’s millennia of unliving, he had never seen the Bigfoot they claimed to be looking for, but it seemed like a bit of an exaggeration to call them a lunatic. Just another example of humans’ pointless intolerance, Scott supposed. Why do I even care? Scott thought, disappointed with himself, Let them call her a lunatic, let them outcast them, it makes no difference to me. They’re all food in the end. Scott was conveniently ignoring the memories of his old life, and his old coven, that were threatening to resurface. He couldn’t think about the things that were causing flimsy, human emotions, he just couldn’t. To feel is to be human, and Scott wouldn’t be human, not again.
Despite the trouble that was brewing beneath the surface, Scott kept a calm facade up, just as he always did. Eventually, the rest of the so-called lunatics approached and introduced themselves, along with a couple new town members. There was Apo (a name that only brought back memories Scott didn’t ever want to think about again), who was sent by the military and harbouring Bigfoot, according to Shelby. There was Ren (a name that made Scott itch to tear out the man’s heart) who was a man with an ever-shifting accent that made him near impossible to understand. There was Drift, a detective, and finally, and most annoyingly, there was Avid, a vampire hunter. Luckily for Scott, most of the townsfolk (really all of them, excluding Shelby) didn’t believe Avid, at least not yet. Scott knew Avid was spot on with all the warnings about vampires he was spewing about, but Scott had to pretend he thought Avid was a crazy, nonsense-sayer, lest Scott’s cover be blown immediately. Which Avid seemed keen on doing before Scott even got to experience belonging or true community have his fun. Scott should have hated him for this, who was he to try to go against Scott’s plans? But Scott didn’t. Scott didn’t hate him, didn’t despise him.
Scott just felt an overwhelming need to run.
Which was ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous. Him. Scott Goldsmith. Feeling threatened. By a human, of all things. Scott would have laughed at the foolishness, if he wasn't actively fighting off this intense urge to flee. And this? This was what Scott was mad about. It wasn’t that Avid was running around, throwing garlic and yelling about vampires. It wasn’t even when Shelby dragged him over to consecrate the beacon and Avid started telling everyone that Scott was a dark force interrupting the consecration. It was that Avid made him feel something he hadn’t felt in millenia. Something that he was never supposed to feel again, after his turning. Fear. Scott couldn’t explain why, it wasn’t like the vampire hunter was any sort of threat. It was something deeper inside, his instincts. Which also made no sense.
As Scott was sitting out of sight of the vampire hunter (not hiding, he refused to call it hiding) and away from the now consecrated beacon, pondering the anomaly that was Avid, Shelby and Drift approached him and invited him on a resource gathering mission. Scott gladly accepted, drawn to Shelby almost as one would be drawn to a little sister. As he was drawn to his little sister.
They headed out into the woods, cutting down trees and eventually stumbling upon a tomb of sorts. Intrigued by the potential of supernatural things, Shelby jumped down, soon followed by Drift and Scott. Inside, they found a book, a tome of sorts, which excited Shelby greatly, as she was always always one for books. The three of them discussed the tome, “Way of the Land,” and its meaning as they left the tomb and continued on their journey. As the sun hit its peak, the trio decided to collect more wood for their houses, selecting some trees near the river to cut down.
“Have either of you decided where you’re gonna live or with whom?” Shelby asked as they struck a tree with her axe.
“I’ve decided to room with Avid in the ruins near the southern entrance to town,” Drift explained, causing Scott to cringe at the mention of the hunter and Shelby’s face to fall slightly.
“I, on the other hand, have not,” Scott provided, grimacing as he struck his own tree. Oh how he hated manual labour, the experience improved only slightly by his vampiric strength.
“Oh! Well, would you maybe…want to be my roommate?” Shelby blushed and looked away shyly, feeling silly for even asking. They figured Scott would for sure say no, think too highly of himself to room with a broke cryptid hunter. And Scott thought so too, lest he get attached to her, which he promised himself would never happen again.
“Of course, it would be my pleasure, dear,” Scott surprised himself with his response, and even more so, the fact that he genuinely meant all that he said. Shelby, surprised as well, but unaware of Scott’s bewilderment (he had always been skilled at hiding his feelings), squealed and clapped their hands while jumping up and down in excitement, reminding Scott of his sister a bunny.
“Oh this is going to be so much fun! I’ve never had a roommate before! Or really, anyone who would want to be around me that much…” Shelby trailed off before perking back up again, not wanting to ruin the moment with memories of her old town, “I have a house, well, ruin actually, picked out but if you don’t like it or have a different one picked out, I can build there if you want! And if you get tired of me or annoyed with my ramblings, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. Most people can’t stand it after about two days.” Shelby danced around him, spinning, a sharp contrast to their words.
As she was spinning, they tripped over seemingly nothing, almost falling into the river, until Scott taught her and twirled them into a dip, his years of dance lessons as a human coming back to him. Shelby giggled, her embarrassment at tripping dissolved. Despite himself, Scott’s lips tugged into a smile, brought back to afternoons spent twirling in sunlit fields, the first genuine smile that crossed his face since his coven… Scott pushed that thought far from his mind, refusing to let it disrupt the fun he was having with Shelby and Drift. And he supposed fun was the right word for it, such an unfamiliar feeling (it didn’t used to be). He hadn’t had this kind of fun in millenia. Sure, tormenting humans was always fun and the fear made their blood taste oh so much better, but that kind of fun was lonely, and always had been lonely, even when he had his coven. But this fun was shared by others, others who didn’t fear him, even a little bit. He wanted it to stay this way. Once their laughs had subsided and they returned to the mundane task of collecting wood, they fell into companionable silence, eventually broken by Drift.
“Don’t you think it’s odd that all 14 of us just happened to arrive in Oakhurst at the exact same time? Is it really a coincidence? It feels like there’s something larger at play here…” Drift mused out loud, her detective brain longing to connect the dots.
“Like Bigfoot!” Shelby exclaimed, eyes lighting up. Drift tilted her head in thoughtfulness, seeming to be considering the possibility.
“Is that something he’s known for?” Drift asked, genuinely curious. Shelby, clearly excited Drift hadn’t just immediately dismissed his existence or grumbled about how delusional she was, paused her tree cutting to ponder.
“Hmmm… I guess not, that’s more of a fae thing…” Shelby’s eyes darted quickly to look at Scott, before returning to Drift.
“Do you think you were drawn to Oakhurst by the fae?” Drift, although clear she didn’t believe in cryptids, didn’t seem to be ridiculing Shelby, instead gathering all the facts so she could make an informed decision.
“I don’t think so, I’ve just come to realise that it’s important to put the books down every now and then, and experience some adventure for myself. Although, I guess the fae could have influenced my decision without me knowing…” Shelby hummed contemplatively, before pulling out a notebook from her satchel and frantically scribbling something down with a quill, like a writer trying to preserve their idea before it blows away on the next coming wind.
“And you, Scott? Why did you come to Oakhurst?” Drift asked, beginning to cut her tree, which had finally fallen, into smaller, actually usable pieces.
“I’ve come to reclaim my ancestral lands. The Goldsmith Family, which is the family I hail from, ruled this valley for millennia, up until about 600 years ago, when they-” Scott’s lies, which Drift and Shelby had completely believed, were cut off by Shelby.
“Completely disappeared! It was so mysterious! They were this huge leading faction of not just Oakhurst Valley, but the entire world, and they just vanished completely from all records! I’ve read so much about it, all the information I could get my hands on,” Shelby blurted out, eyes shining as they interrupted Scott, eager to share her knowledge. Scott, to his surprise, found that he wasn’t annoyed in the slightest by Shelby’s interruption, didn’t feel offended by what would have been considered a lack of respect in his coven. Instead, Scott felt strangely… endeared to her, something Scott hadn’t felt since her death in millennia. Shelby, realising they had been rambling, cut off abruptly.
“Sorry, you probably already know all of that though…” Shelby trailed off, blushing profusely and staring down at her fidgeting hands.
“You’re quite alright dear, I’m just impressed my bloodline has made that much of an impact,” Scott patted Shelby on their head, once again shocked by how genuine he was. Shelby giggled sweetly, glad Scott didn’t mind her little outburst.
“What about you, Drift?” Shelby turned the question onto Drift, as she was the only one who had yet to answer, “Why are you in Oakhurst?”
“I’m a detective and I heard whispers of this place. I’m here to crack the case of Oakhurst, and figure out why it has this overall air of mystery surrounding it.” Drift explained, convincing Shelby, but not Scott. Scott was always good at reading whether or not people were lying, and, while Drift didn’t seem to be lying, she didn’t seem to be telling the full truth. Once again, Scott had to remind himself that he’s not meant to care, that it didn’t matter if people were lying about their backstories, so long as they weren’t a threat to him.
“What kind of whispers? Bigfoot? Werewolves?” Shelby asked, enthralled by the possibility of new cryptid stories.
“No, not necessarily. More just strange murders and people who disappear out of nowhere.” Drift responded. Scott found it interesting that the stories Drift had heard didn’t include the Goldsmith Family. It was clear his name was still circling, as Shelby knew it, but why wouldn’t a detective, who most likely did her due diligence and researched Oakhurst Valley, know of the main family of the valley? Maybe his name wasn’t as well known as he thought… But, Scott reasoned, she seems to know of what my coven did, what with the disappearances and murders. I guess it’s good if I want to blend in that the murders aren’t linked with my family name…
The trio continued to make small talk and chop wood until the sun dipped below the horizon, causing them to head back to town. Once they finally got back to town, the blood-red moon was nearing its peak, the darkness that should be comforting to Scott drawing zombies and other monsters of the like out from their hiding spots. Despite being battered and bruised, Drift and Shelby managed to keep a cheery attitude, an attitude that lasted until Avid came running up to them.
“There you two are! I was so worried, you two really shouldn’t be out past nightfall, considering the vamp-” Avid’s rushed ramblings were cut off abruptly as he noticed Scott standing behind the girls. Avid’s entire demeanor shifted as he started questioning Scott. “Oh, and what were you doing out in the middle of the night?! Seems a little suspicious, if you ask me. You were probably doing evil vampire things, like trying to turn these two into monsters!”
“I was literally just chopping down wood. What are you even on about?” Scott tried to reason, shoving the bundle of wood he collected into Avid’s arms, annoyed with the so-called ‘hunter’, and conveniently ignoring the fact that every fibre in his being was screaming that he needed to run.
“Oh sure you were, VAMPIRE!” Avid stuck his tongue out at Scott in an act Scott considered extremely improper. The act perplexed Scott, as it was an extreme juxtaposition from the instinctual fear Scott had of Avid.
“Avid, stop! Scott’s not a vampire, okay? And you’re going to have to get used to me spending time around Scott, we’re roommates now,” Shelby stepped in between the two, and grabbed Scott’s hand to show that she wouldn’t let Avid try anything.
“But-” Avid started, before Shelby raised an eyebrow at him, and he let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry, okay?! I just- I just don’t want to see you hurt, Shelby. So just… take this, just in case.” Avid handed Shelby one of the stakes off of the strap of his pauldron, causing Shelby to begin scolding him again.
“Avid! Scott’s not going to hurt me! I appreciate how much you care, but this is a bit far,” Shelby tried to push away the stake, but Avid pushed it into their hands firmly.
“It’s just in case!” Avid exclaimed before leaning in to whisper to Shelby (which Scott still heard due to his vampiric hearing), “I’m not saying you’re going to need it, I’m just saying that if he ever makes you feel unsafe, use it. Promise me.”
“Fine. I promise that if I ever feel unsafe, which isn’t going to happen, I’ll use the stake.” Shelby humoured Avid, which seemed to satisfy Avid enough that he just gave Scott one last dirty look before running away, leaving Shelby with Scott and Drift, who had simply been watching the events unfold, both unsure of what to do. “I’m so sorry about that, Scott. Avid’s just worried, is all,” Shelby clearly felt bad for Scott having to watch his roommate receive a weapon ‘just in case’ right in front of him.
“And I’m sorry too. Avid… I think he’s been through a lot, but that's not an excuse for his actions,” Drift added, feeling guilty by association, as if it was her job to make sure her roommate didn’t make anyone in town feel unwelcome, which it wasn’t.
“No worries, dears, I know not to pay attention to that one.” Scott reassured them, patting Shelby on the head while ruffling Drift’s hair with his other hand.
“Good. Avid… he means well, he really does, he just…” Shelby paused, gathering her words, “Goes about it the wrong way.” Drift hummed in agreement, before changing the subject, feeling as if they had ridden that train of thought to the end of its track. The trio made idle talk for a few minutes, only stopping due to Shelby interrupting Drift with a huge yawn, before they quickly covered her mouth, embarrassed.
“Oh! I’m sorry, that was so rude! I just randomly got super tired,” Shelby yawned again, demonstrating the truth in their words. Drift started yawning too, prompting Scott to yawn, just to fit in, as he wasn’t all that tired. Sure, Scott was a tad tired, because he was low on blood (compared to where he was before his sleep) but it was nowhere near as tired as the humans felt, especially considering he fed at the beginning of the day.
“Ugh, me too. We have, or at least I have, been travelling for days on end, and then we chopped down trees for the majority of today. I am ready for a good night’s sleep,” Drift corroborated, before saying her goodbyes and heading to her and Avid’s house. With Drift gone, Shelby and Scott headed to their ruin, where Shelby began to set up chests to store all that she had been carrying for the entire day. The ruin had barely any walls, and certainly no roof, but it would have to do, as Shelby was way too tired to fix it. As Shelby deposited their stuff into chests, she realised that they only had enough wool for one bed. She was extremely apologetic as they informed Scott of the situation, but Scott didn’t mind, and was quick to reassure her by saying,
“Oh don’t worry, I’m not tired and I don’t sleep much anyway. You can have the bed, and I’ll just go for a walk,” Scott led Shelby to the bed as he said this, leaving no room for argument, before tucking them in and leaving to go hunt until the morning.
The sun was blazing, just as it had been since Scott woke up, and, while Scott wasn’t strong enough for it to be painful yet, it certainly wasn’t enjoyable to be in, and Scott was ready to be out of it. (Scott used to always love the sun) Unfortunately, Scott felt it would probably be ever so slightly suspicious for him to take a rest in his crypt, especially to the self-proclaimed “vampire hunter”, and, as much as he would have liked to just stay in Shelby and his house while everyone else did all the work, their house had yet to have a roof, which made it useless in the protection against the sun. So, when Owen proposed making a community mine under town, Scott almost jumped at the chance to be out of the sun and out of suspicion. It was not like Scott to willingly offer to do manual labour, but he didn’t really see any other options, and, beyond that, he wanted to get to know Owen further. Scott was inexplicably drawn to the quiet man, who clearly tried to take up less space than he was owed and who seemed to wear his emotions, rage mingled with hopeless amounts of despair, on his sleeve. Owen, who was so extremely different from those Scott had spent time around in before his slumber, pulled Scott towards him as if they were connected by an invisible string. Scott would not realise it until after the fact, but the string was not unlike the feeling a sire gets during their fledgling’s turning, only weaker.
Swinging his pickaxe over and over, Scott was reminded of why he didn’t do manual labour, and wished he had just sucked it up and dealt with the blazing sun. But, as Scott looked over at the man mining next to him, he was reminded of why he decided to subject himself to this torture. Owen, only adding to the mystique surrounding him, had begun making an odd high-pitched, almost song-like noise, one that Scott could tell would be inaudible to human ears. It strangely reminded Scott of something. Though he didn’t realise it at the time, it reminded Scott of the call made by bats while foraging, which Scott knew that certain vampires subconsciously made calls similar to those made by bats beyond simply purring when they were content. All vampires purred, but some did more, in situations such as hunting, flying, siring, or when they were in distress. It was rare, but Scott had a couple in his coven, and knew that the quirk wasn’t anything to be concerned about, as the bat calls were unable to be heard by human ears. However, in the moment, Scott didn’t connect the dots, instead he just thought the human was humming some odd tune, and wondered whether or not to remark on it. After mulling it over, Scott decided not to prod about what tune it was. But, feeling lonely tired of the silence, Scott struck up a conversation, making idle small talk until Scott asked the question he had been wanting to ask since he’d met the quiet, but angry, man.
“So,” Scott started casually, not wanting to scare the man off, before putting down his pickaxe and turning to Owen, “What brought you to Oakhurst Valley?”
“I lived here a long time ago,” Owen responded, startling at first before offering up his answer, which didn’t necessarily feel false, it just felt like he was lying by omission. I suppose that explains why the ruins look more built up than they should be after 600 years. Humans really do have no self-preservation, deciding to move into a valley as this one. Unless… Have the stories died out? I know Drift had heard of mysterious deaths, but that’s not the same as my coven’s massacres. As Owen continued mining, they broke into a deep cave, which they dropped into to hopefully find some resources other than stone, like coal or, unfortunately, silver.
“Some of the other townsfolk have been talking about this valley being haunted. Have you heard any stories like that?” Scott asked, reluctantly returning to mining, tolerating the slight burn of silver to ensure the humans had as little as possible. Ugh, this sucks. If only those stupid townsfolk hadn’t enlisted that stupid witch to put me in a stupid sleep, I would have been able to continue my reign, and I wouldn’t be hungry, I wouldn’t be interacting with these weird peasants, and most of all, I wouldn’t be alone doing manual labour. Owen didn’t respond, and Scott just figured he didn’t have an answer (which made Scott slightly annoyed, after all, who was Owen to just ignore the great and powerful Scott Goldsmith?). This human is much less interesting than he first appeared. I mean he’s not even responding to my questions, and if he does, it’s with the least words possible. Not at all worth the manual labour. I wish I’d just stuck by Shelby, and done whatever she’s doing today. She reminds me so much of-
Lost in his thoughts (which was rare for Scott, he was usually so alert), Scott didn’t hear the sounds of monsters and didn’t notice that they were attacking Owen until a series of short trills cut through his thoughts. The individual trills began on a higher note before descending, and stirred something deep inside Scott, something that had been dormant for well over 800 years. Scott whipped around towards the sound, and found Owen lying on the ground, surrounded by skeletons, zombies, and the like. He ran over with inhuman speed and began slashing with a sword Scott didn’t know how to use. With a mix of vampiric strength and pure luck, Scott managed to take out the hoard of monsters, allowing him to administer aid to Owen, who had been consistently calling for help through the repeated trills. As Scott examined Owen, he calmed down, his instincts retreating enough to allow Scott to regain control, however still quite prevalent. Scott noticed Owen was not breathing, but he wasn’t worried, as Scott realised that Owen was something more than human, something that had the power to destroy anything he wanted to, something that could bring the entire town to its knees. Owen was a vampire.
But he couldn’t do anything yet, as Owen was still a fledgling, a fledgling that very much needed his sire right then. A fledgling… That means there must be another vampire here… Cleo, maybe? And she found a way to appear as if they had a heartbeat? Or maybe someone else entirely, someone who had yet to reveal themself to the town. Whoever it is, they’re a terrible sire, simply allowing their fledgling to head into a town of humans, humans who could easily kill such a weak fledgling, on his own. I swear, I’m going to make sure whoever this failure of a sire won’t ever make this horrible of a mistake again. But first, I have to fix the mess that they made.
“Owen! Can you hear me?” Scott shook Owen, preventing him from falling into a blood-starved, energy saving slumber. Owen was too weak to respond, instead just mumbling vaguely. “You’re extremely hurt. I’m going to adopt you as my childe to save you, okay?” Upon hearing Scott’s plan, Owen attempted to get away from Scott, using his last remaining energy to shout,
“No! You won’t… replace… him… ” Owen’s voice got quieter and quieter as he finally gave into slumber. Scott, instincts regaining control, scooped Owen into his lap before biting into Owen’s neck.
The doctors poked and prodded, causing Owen to squeal each time they touched him. The squeals got weaker and weaker as Owen began to succumb to the tiredness that threatened to overwhelm him. Owen had been feeling bad for the past few days, and his parents finally took him to the town doctors. When Owen woke up, both the doctors and his parents were as far away from him as possible in the small examination room. From then on, the hugs, cuddles, and casual touches were gone, which made Owen feel really quite confused. One day, Owen woke up and found their small house silent, save for the quiet sobs from his father in the next room over. All that was left of his mother was a short letter, which Owen could not read. Promptly after his mother’s disappearance, Owen and his father (who now only regarded Owen with glares and one word answers) moved into a small cabin in the woods, no longer having the gold to pay the rent on their house in town, due to the fact that his mother took almost all their gold when she ran away.
Life was almost normal for the next two years. Sure, Owen was left alone for most of the day and the townsfolk avoided him at all costs and his father didn’t seem to love him as much as before his mother left (or interact with him at all), but Owen had gotten used to the loneliness. He devised games to play, created worlds in his head, and, oftentimes, he felt too sick to do anything anyways. One day at the beginning of his eighth winter, Owen was playing in the woods behind their cabin, building two kingdoms out of the snow, which he deemed the Red and Blue Kingdoms. Owen had made believe that he was a noble knight of the Blue Kingdom all day, and by the time the sun began to set, Owen was ready for a nice meal, a roaring fire, and night of sleep. But, when Owen went inside, that was not what he found. Instead of a meal, Owen found his father, face down in a pool of blood. Instead of a cozy fire, he found a blood soaked letter that he was unable to read. And instead of a peaceful night of sleep, Owen was left tossing and turning, worried about a potential murderer in the woods who could come and kill him at any moment.
It was spring when Owen, alone and hungry, having barely survived the winter, first tried his hand at using his father’s axe. Owen had managed to chop down almost a full tree before he passed out from exhaustion. The next day, he tried again, succeeding in felling the tree and chopping it into usable pieces. The next day, he sold the wood in town, using the gold he earned to buy food. And every day after that, Owen would fell trees and sell the wood in town. Owen learned to replant the trees, which trees to fell and which trees to save, and how to maximize his time. And, for a while, it seemed to be working. It seemed to Owen that he had set up the perfect system, complete with a job away from the townsfolk, so they couldn’t glare at him and make snide remarks about how he was a liability to them all. It all seemed to be working, until it wasn’t.
He was doing well. Yes, the doctors charged him inane amounts of gold for his treatment and his condition just kept getting worse, but at least he had food on the table (almost) every day. But one day, the townsfolk stopped accepting his payment. At every market stall, the townsfolk would scream and yell at him until he moved onto a new stall. Nobody would give him food, even after, in an act of desperation, he offered to pay double. He went home that night empty handed. From then on, it was a gamble whether or not he could eat that night, even if he had the gold to pay, gold that was quickly depleting, as more and more townsfolk became suspicious of buying from him.
By the time Owen was in his 20s, his existence was miserable. More often than not, he didn’t have the gold for any meal that day. Owen knew a bit about foraging, but there wasn’t enough left over from the foragers from town for him. Owen’s ability to work was quickly degrading, his sickness making it harder and harder for him to earn money. Soon, Owen realised that to continue working, and therefore, living, he would need to build a sawmill. And to build a sawmill, he would need to, unfortunately, get the mayor’s permission. So, Owen set up a meeting with the mayor, expecting it to go about as well as all of his other interactions with town members had.
But the meeting was different, the treatment was different, Mayor Louis was different. He welcomed the sickly man kindly, shook his hand, made him tea, and spoke at length about Owen’s plans. It was the kindest the lumberjack had ever been treated, with the mayor not once shying away from touching him, or making him feel unwelcome due to the bandages that wrapped Owen’s arms and hands. Mayor Louis made Owen feel not like a burden, but like enjoyable company, and so the lumberjack vowed to meet with the mayor the next day, and the next, and the next, until their meetings had made its place in both of their routines, a time both looked forward to. The mayor accepted Owen as he was, and never once did he shy away from touching Owen or comment on his condition, he simply made him tea, and talked with him. It was one of Owen’s favourite things about their meetings, the mayor simply treated him like a human, a luxury Owen hadn’t been privy to since he fell ill. Eventually, Louis came to learn of Owen’s living conditions, and, upon seeing his rotten cabin that could blow over with one small gust of wind, Louis insisted that Owen move in with him. One evening, as Louis and Owen were unwinding from a long day of working, Louis asked Owen a question, a question that would change Owen’s future forever.
If you could get rid of your condition, but live your life never truly belonging amongst those you care about, would you?
Owen’s answer came quickly: yes. He never truly belonged due to his condition, so if he could be free of the pain, the numbness, the exhaustion, he would accept in a heartbeat. Upon hearing Owen’s response, the mayor revealed his true nature, a creature of the night, a vampire. The mayor told Owen about the positives and negatives of being a vampire, ensuring that he wasn’t leading the lumberjack into a life he would learn to regret. Even after informing Owen of the advantages and disadvantages, Louis didn’t offer the gift right away, instead telling Owen that, if he wanted it, he could have the gift of eternal life, but only after learning all there was to know about being a vampire. Owen, feeling hopeful for the first time since he found his father dead, told Louis that he wanted to start learning immediately.
And so, Louis taught Owen about vampirism. But, when he was about halfway through his syllabus, Owen’s sickness got drastically worse, and he was confined to their bed for a week. He was going to die. Owen, weak beyond comprehension, begged Louis to turn him, or else he would die. Not wanting the love of his unlife to die before they even had a chance to really love each other, Louis brought Owen to the cellar of his manor. Owen fell into a deep sleep, as expected of a fledgling, with Louis promising to be by his side when he woke up. However, Owen awoke alone, hearing shouts and cheers, and the crackling of fire. Worst of all, Owen could hear a familiar scream, the scream of his beloved. Owen ran up the stairs of the cellar and into the town square, finding the townsfolk gathered around a burning pyre, with his love tied to the pole in the centre. In a rage he had never felt before, Owen began attacking those standing closest to him, the ones holding pitchforks who seemed to be orchestrating the whole thing. But Owen didn’t stop there. Every single one of those monsters stood by and did nothing as the only man who was ever kind to him burned. Owen slaughtered all 2,799 men, women, and children who simply allowed the murder of the only pure soul in all of Oakhurst Valley. After his rampage, Owen ran to the tower that he and Louis had countless picnics in, and buried himself, simply wishing for everything to go away. He didn’t want to live (or unlive, as he was a vampire now) in a world without Louis, so he sat underground for 200 years, wishing he could sleep the pain away. But vampires can’t sleep, unless they are extremely low on blood and injured, so instead, Owen sat in that hole, trying to forget it all, calling out for his sire all the while.
“Oh. I see why your sire just let you go into town on your own…” Scott thought to himself, pushing down the fact that his fledgling was dead, killed in the most painful way possible. Scott instead focused on choosing a memory that he wanted to give to Owen, as he sliced his wrist and put it in Owen’s mouth. Scott decided that the best memory for Owen to see was a memory of his old coven in their nest, a memory that included Louis. As Scott felt the blood drain from his arm, a bond snapped into place, connecting him with Owen. Owen was his fledgling now.