Shattered Hope * Book 2, free, on going *

1. A Clue

Ricky

Year: 1984, 29th May, Tuesday, 7.05 pm, Spring.

The day had descended into a spiral of dissatisfaction.

The word was not encompassing enough.

Furious my hard won prize had been snatched from its hiding place, I ran. My mind was buzzing with determination. I would find her. I would find the thief. They would both pay. The price would be equal to my pleasure.

At the house I paused. My sudden halt kicked up dust. How unusual. The forest had been damp but the land around the old Brice property appeared bone dry. The dwelling itself was a rotten shell. Nothing like when I had last seen it. So many nights lurking, watching, waiting, outside of their little slice of the American dream. All the effort I’d gone to felt like all the blood we had spilt on the Keystone - wasted. As the days and decades and centuries had passed I had hunted the Brice line. Haunted them.

My personal vendetta.

Slowly they had been whittled. Each of their deaths was a delight. Each of their deaths brought me closer to victory - to freedom. Each of their deaths held a special place in my memory. There were so many lovely memories.

Sally-Anne was the last one left.

Poor thing.

Sally-Anne should never have existed. She had not been the boy her Father longed for. I still had no idea how her pathetic, weepy Mother had managed to bring her to term. Not when I had been tainting the water, ‘religiously’ as a human might say. The suffering had been so delicious to watch. So many ‘precious’ babes lost. The sound of her wailing, hum yes, there was no finer music. Oh, and the tell tale, unmistakable tang in the air as her failings leaked from between her legs - that was enough to make me smile; even now.

Sally-Anne's Great Grandfather had fled from England. Fled my ravenous campaign. Turned tail and sailed for America as if I wouldn't find them. As if a little ocean would keep me from liberating my people.

When I came across their new abode it was shored up like a medieval fort but not with stone and iron and pitch at the guard tower. No. They had enlisted Witches. I was not deterred. One by one the wards had been broken, cracked, replaced or removed. Never enough to get to them directly but enough to bring misery and start their demise. They had not suspected anything was amiss. Instead the arrogant Hunters lived as though death was not stalking them; as though what they had done to my kind would be forgotten.

I wasn’t complaining.

Their complacency was welcome. Useful even. Case and point - Sally-Anne.

Sally-Anne.

Sally-Anne.

Sally-Anne.

Everything came back to that doe-eyed, docile, oblivious little wretch. I had tried to stop the vermin Brice line from continuing to breed. Hit and miss with her Mother, ineffective with her Aunt (although death had delivered the desired cease and desist on both accounts) and pumping sweet, loving Sally-Anne, a trusting raven haired beauty, with my venom had drawn a thick line through any hopes she might have had of birthing any more burdensome Brice offspring. Pretty little thing had been instrumental to bringing the others down.

Now there was just her to deal with, but she had been stolen and I was back to hunting. At least I like to hunt. It was my forte. It was my nature. It was my right. The air shifted, sending me a touch of the thief’s scent. Past the dead plants I trod. Up the steps, so close to rotting through, I stepped.

There. There on the edge of the crumbling bannister a slight whiff of sugary almond was clinging. The thief had been inside the house.

Frustrated, I growled. When I caught up to her, that silly little girl, she was in for hell. As for the thief… they would beg for hell. They would pray for such a leniency. Humans, so pathetic.

The scent was old. It was impossible to tell if it was before, after, or around the same time as the scent from the Brice prison. If the owner of this offending whiff had taken Sally-Anne then I would have to assume they were knowledgeable. Why else would anyone take a desiccated corpse from a hidden prison? Successfully too. Her body wouldn’t have been deprived long enough to turn to ash but it was long enough for dear Sally-Anne to fall apart. I’d seen no evidence of such an event. My thief was likely a Hunter but it was perplexing…

Why would a Hunter keep her and not destroy her on sight? Unless they knew who she was. There were still some who believed in the legends. I would be more than glad to prove the validity given the chance. As soon as I could get my hands on that gullible girl the world would see.

“Infernal bloody Witches!” The words hissed between my teeth. Air stretched grotesquely beneath my hand. Some disgusting human owned the house so a ward had covered it, preventing my entry. No matter.

If Sally-Anne were here she would be drawn to me. Me, her Sire. The ward wasn't her's anyway. Only humans got these barriers for their hovels. Unable to get inside I walked around the building looking through the shattered windows and open doorways.

From the lounge window I spied a suspicious dark patch on the floor. Perhaps I would find myself another human to fetch that board for me. Almost a shame I hadn't kept the boy. The release from decapitating him and splintering his bones was worth the price of hunting another.

At the side entrance I reminisced. That had been a great night. Regrettably, the scent of the blood Sally-Anne had spilled didn't permeate the barrier but I had heard it. The glugging and gushing from the hole my Fledgling had torn with her teeth. A resplendent, ragged, red hole in her Mother's throat. Oh, it had been so sweet to watch it pool and gather on the uneven stone floor. Glistening, gleaming in that perfect shade. The moment would have only been more beautiful if I could have intervened.

I liked to play. Take my time. Over and over I'd reimagined the scene. It was hard to decide my favourite alternative scenario. Probably one where I taught her how to drink Mummy and Daddy dry but only after I'd ripped a limb off of little baby brother. My teeth were out at the thought. While her parents watched I'd make her chow down on the helpless babe as I f****d her with the dismembered limb. Then, instead of letting her squat in her own misery, I would take her to visit Auntie, Uncle, and her sweet little cousins. The house she invited me into.

The theatre of it all. It had been such a special occasion. The look of pure horror on Nancy’s face was my favourite thing about that night. She looked so much like her cousin that I’d forgotten it wasn’t Sally-Anne. Nancy had screamed and sobbed and begged as I pleasured myself with her body.

Bones were broken.

Blood was spilled.

Flesh was ripped.

When it seemed she might lose consciousness, I fed her my blood and started again. Those shimmering blue eyes of hers looked the best when I came inside that pristine cunt. The strength of my desire for her cousin surprised me. I’d called Sally-Anne’s name; a whisper that held a strange (and unexpected) longing. Nancy had looked - perfect. Straw in her hair, blood on her face and hands frantically trying to remove my spunk from between her legs.

When I caught my final missing Brice, my silly Sally-Anne, she would get a deep taste of what that night had been like.

Done staring into the broken kitchen, I climbed the side of the building. The cladding creaked and flaked. The bedrooms were empty shells scared by vandalism. All bar the baby's room. Other than being sun damaged and dusty it looked the same as all those years ago when I had gleefully watched the pathetic Brice baby wail until it could wail no more. Apparently these animals had some sort of restraint or perhaps this room was just warded against human intruders.

Nothing else to see I hopped to the ground, creating yet another billow of dust. There was a car rumbling along, not too far away. Perfect. They could get me the suspect piece of wood before aiding me in the further release of my stress - a worthy cause. A little self-indulgent stretch and I was ready to spring into action when I felt the change. A shift in the air followed by a soft pop.

"Interesting." I turned back to the house, a smile climbing my handsome lips. Whoever had owned the house (and I would find out) had just ceased to do so. With the barest of thoughts I flash stepped into the now ownerless house. The air was rich, thick almost, with the scent of Sally-Anne. It emanated from that dark stain I’d spied. Laughing, I snapped the plank. This dried circle of blood would make her so much easier to find.

Perfect.

Enough time had been wasted. Granted, I was the one that had wasted it, but the slow game had been so exquisite. Now was the time. Sally-Anne would be the last Brice to pay for the sins of her lineage. With her broken corpse at my feet, the world would be mine to pluck.