Vlad the Vampire always rises from his coffin at the first moment of darkness. Keeping with his habit from his living time – now centuries past, he will not waste precious seconds on idleness. “The early bird gets the worm” sounds so much more serious in its original Low German, Vlad thinks as he pulls back the bedroom curtains and takes in the sky, still awash with somber colors from the recently departed sun, with only the brightest stars yet piercing the dusky gloom.
With a well-rehearsed rocking motion, Vlad swings back to open the window, then lunges forward through the opening, transforming into a bat as he brushes past the curtains and flying with purpose into the dark. The crickets’ song has just begun, seemingly echoed by the growling in his stomach, a Pavlovian response to the impending time to feast.
He is somewhat taken aback by the number of people out and about. There must be some sort of evening festival in the park. It will be tricky to avoid witnesses, but this is the part of the game that Vlad enjoys the most. His version of hunting is no more fair than shooting deer from a blind, but getting away without anyone knowing what he’s done? That is a worthy challenge that he has learned to relish over many, many years.
Near the playground Vlad spots a girl moving away from her group, heading toward the pavilion beyond the pine grove. Children are a special treat for Vlad, not just because of their tender flesh but because of the pure anguish to an entire community caused by the loss of a child. The innocent blood provides rejuvenating sustenance but the wider devastation has become his motivation, his muse.
Vlad the Bat flies lower now, and he quiets his wings preparing to time his swoop with the girl’s arrival in the grove. She keeps looking up at the sky over her shoulder. In fact, she seems to be staring right at him. Her pace picks up, but is it from agitation or anticipation? She can’t possibly see him, can she? Vlad’s unease feels familiar… and he remembers.
Centuries ago Vlad had encountered a sorceress named Grimhilde who had the gift of second sight. She always knew when he was coming, regardless of the form he took. Whenever he appeared she had the same look of recognition that he sees on this girl’s face now. In an eon of cat-and-mouse games, Grimhilde thwarted Vlad’s attempts to get close to her time and time again. And Vlad retaliated by feasting upon some of her loved ones. It was simple enough to find people distant enough that she could not predict his attack but close enough to cause her profound despair, and so she existed within a perpetual cycle of tragedy and sorrow. But, alas, she would not break, so for Vlad, his revenge was solace without succor. Several decades back, Grimhilde disappeared in what Vlad believed was an act of surrender. And now, this new girl: Another sorceress with second sight? Is it possible?
The girl steps into the pine grove, still in a hurry but no longer glancing back. Vlad the Bat is seconds behind, below the treeline now. Soon the girl will be alone, and more importantly, she will be out of sight of the crowd at the playground. As he prepares to touch down and regain his vampire form, his subconscious is nagged by the fact that the entire crowd at the playground is also looking up at the sky. Whatever has distracted them will make the task at hand much less of a challenge. More’s the pity.
As his feet meet the ground, he transitions from his bat form with a wisp of smoke, just like in the movies. Except that’s not what usually happens in real life. Why is there smoke? Vlad looks down to take stock of where it is coming from. The girl has stopped walking and turns to face him. Her smirk confirms his suspicion: It is Grimhilde! But how?
But he cannot dwell on this unexpected revelation because the smoke is thickening and he is feeling the heat. Grimhilde points toward the sky without breaking her self-satisfied gaze from Vlad. The total eclipse is ending, precisely four minutes since it began. The crowd oohs and aahs from a distance as the shadows retreat and everyone is bathed in the late afternoon sun. And Vlad the Vampire is toast.
Image by Tim Jegle, Brunswick Forest
