Allow me to introduce to you the beginning of the very rough draft that is A Vampire’s Vengeance. Finally! This is, of course, what the Backstage Pass is all about: seeing the development of the attractions being raised in the Carnival of Calamity in real time! Now, gather your coffee, your tea, your whiskey, or whatever it is you enjoy when you settle down to read, and step with me into the backyard tomb of a damn near ageless vampire as he awakens to discover … what? Only one way to find out.
Darkness. Empty, cold, darkness. It was always this way upon waking. How long had he slept this time? There was a deep-rooted hunger in his bones, an insatiable thirst on his lips, a powerful lust in his loins. There was fury in his desire to consummate it all.
Recognizing the intensity of his desires, he presumed he's been asleep at least a century. He would be able to slake his hunger with relative ease otherwise. It's also far longer than he was supposed to sleep, which can only mean one thing: some ill has befallen the coven. His immediate submissives would have woken up him otherwise.
Otherwise, otherwise, otherwise.
He pressed his shoulders firmly against the boards at his back and placed his palms against the boards enclosing him on either side. He gently worked his right hand up and down against the rough grain, until he found the button. With a small amount of pressure, he heard the barely audible click, and as the mechanism coughed to life, he smiled, momentarily satisfied.
One hundred years could do a lot to a machine, especially when there was no one to attend to its maintenance. As he had no idea what lay in wait, he took every positive turn as a small victory. Having lived as long, he knew things normally took a turn for the worst when the opportunity presented itself.
He both heard the sounds of the bolts coming undone from without and felt the vibrations as they were removed. Thin films of low light began creeping in through the slowly appearing cracks in the boards. Soon, the warm light of incandescent bulbs was flooding into his space as the board directly above him became separated from the rest of the cavity in which he reclined. The machine stopped whirring, and with a firm hand against the board, he pushed it off, listening as it clattered to the stone floor. He rose.
The low light of the crypt was welcome. In due time he would step out into the moonlight, but first, he needed to acclimate, gain his bearings. He rolled his head, listening to the whip-crack sounds of his muscles straining against, then releasing from, bone processes. He experienced the same as he rolled his shoulders, and again as he brought his knees to his chest. Placing his hands on either side of his receptacle, he planted his feet and pushed up, standing.
Dizziness threatened to overwhelm him. He leaned over to grab the sides of the coffin to steady himself, then carefully stepped out of it, tentatively lowering first one leg, then the other, down to the ground. As the coffin was set on a platform, raised over a dais, this was no simple matter, but he managed well enough.
The usual attendants, those to wake him, clothe him, feed him, were nowhere to be seen, but he already guessed at this, having to release the catch to the lid of his coffin himself. So too did he anticipate the extent of the silence in the crypt. No movement except for his own and the dust bunnies he disturbed in his wake. Odd that it should be so quiet. Where were the caretakers?
Continued after the break
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The crypt was designed to mitigate noise. Despite its construction of stone and marble, the walls were packed with material to deaden sound, minimizing outside noise to enhance the occupants’ rest. It simply would not do to settle down for a nap of a few decades, only to be awakened every few days. Still, this was too quiet. No matter the attention to detail, there were always rodents of some kind making their way in and around the crypt. They never lingered, as there was never anything they could find to consume, but they always found a way in, and they always found a way out. However, no rodents were present. No hum reverberated through the walls, indicating active machinery outside the walls. This concerned him. The mechanism operating the coffin was entirely mechanical, designed so it required no power supply to operate. A modern marvel of engineering, or so it had been when he went to sleep. All this was processed in a moment, as his thirst rose to tremendous heights, demanding his full attention.
What he wouldn’t give for a fine meal right then and there! Or even a poor one. Any meal would suffice. He just needed something. Weak as he was, it appeared he would have to find something to slake his thirst himself. He moved to the crypt's entryway and felt around the wall to one side. The grain of one of the tiles was different to touch. To this one he applied a little bit of pressure and the wall seemed to spring open before him, but just a crack. He slipped his fingers into the crevice and slowly drew open the door it released, revealing a small closet.
Well, at least the air seals held firm. His clothing appeared in no worse condition than when his servants had placed them here when he laid to rest. He took his time dressing. Though the thirst was maddening, it simply would not do to exit the crypt unprepared and unpresentable. The finely tailored slacks and dress shirt were large on his emaciated from, but he would fill them out well enough once he fed. There was a tie neatly folded over his vest. He never wore a tie. Why they continued to show up in his wardrobes was a mystery he never bothered to understand. He lifted the tie with one end held between his thumb and forefinger, letting it fall open as he watched it with disdain, this modern expression of servitude and slavery. Certainly not for him, and yet they persisted in appearing with his clothing. He let it fall to the ground.
He gathered up his vest, donning it with care. He slipped his feet into his designer shoes. He then went through the painstaking process of oiling and reassembling his pistols, oiling and cleaning his holsters, checking his sword—a long thin blade set into a simple yet finely crafted hilt—and oiling and cleaning the scabbard before equipping them. One pistol at his hip, the other juxtaposed at his side, the sword at the other hip. His hair was a thin, mottled mess—a consequence of a lack of nutrients for so long a slumber. This he ignored for the time being; he'd address this after he fed and gathered his bearings. He donned his peacoat, and stepped out into the moonlight.
Well, we did not, in fact, find out what the vampire discovers in this installment. This will come in good time. Our vampire is patient, calculating, as we’ll see. We must be patient and calculating with him. But first, he must feed. Perhaps we will see him regain his strength and his physique in the next installment, yes? You can read Part II here.
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