Hello here is a short story about that I wrote about vampires three years ago but I only just edited it recently. I hope that you can enjoy it.
Summary: Earnest Young is a struggling artist living in poverty in the 1920s. His only hope at salvation is the mysterious vampire Mr.Wright who he discovered living next door.
"No, no, I
won't do it, no more!" Cried a young blond man as he trudged through the
snow. His skin was pale, his fingers bony, and his eyes were sunken in from
lack of sleeping.
But what drew the attention of all who walked by, was not his
fatigue or neglected appearance, it was his lack of shoes on that freezing
winter's night. He was dressed only in a thin pair of pants, a crisp white
shirt, and his feet lacked anything to prevent frostbite. But to the horror and
amazement of all, instead of freezing from the cold and curling up into a ball
to shiver, the man easily bulldozed through the snow like it was the middle of
summer.
"No, no, absolutely not!” He wailed as he pushed through
the crowd of workers returning home. Onlookers stopped to stare at the man who
should have been frozen before they brushed off the spectacle and returned on
their way.
"Why, why not?" Yelled Earnest, as he fought through
the crowd to catch up with the blond man. "Why won't you turn me into a
vampire?"
At the word vampire,
the man stopped and froze like he'd been stabbed in the back, and Earnest used
this opportunity to catch a must needed breath. Earnest bent over and grabbed
his knees for support. His chest burned like fire and frantically moved up and
down. Unlike the man before him, Earnest was wearing every piece of clothing he
owned, which still wasn't enough to keep out the cruel winter cold. His coat
was worn and covered with holes, and his shoes and pants were a sight to
behold. Earnest's clothing wasn't the only thing in need of attention. His
short brown hair was messy and unkempt, and his sea blue eyes were tired and
drained. It wasn't unusual for this boy of nineteen to be mistaken for an older
man without any home.
"When will you leave me alone?" Asked the vampire who
oozed sadness. "Why is it always you who follows me home?"
"Please Mr. Wright," begged Earnest. "I ask only
one thing, please make me a vampire so that I can escape this dreadful mortality."
"Don't call me that!" Boomed the vampire. "I'm
not Mr. Wright. That's the name of the man who I killed in order to rest my
head in the daylight!"
"Then how should I address you?" Asked Earnest with a
hint of hope. "It's only fitting that I know the name of the man who shall
deliver me into immortality."
"Immortality, you say," said the vampire with a
chuckle. "You treat my curse like it's something desirable."
"It's not a curse Mr. Wright," said Earnest and he saw
the vampire flinch. "The way I see it, it's more like a gift from heaven.
There's no need to worry about money or age, and it apparently protects you
from this blistering cold."
"You're a fool,” said the vampire, and Earnest noticed that
his eyes were unnaturally red. “You see vampirism as a magical thing from a
children's fairytale, and you have no idea about the truth of your words."
"That's not true," said Earnest. "I've thought
about this every day, and there's nothing I desire more than to become one of
you!"
The vampire's breath hitched in his throat, and he began to
shake, but the man quickly composed himself and looked at Earnest dead on.
"I'll tell you this once so listen well. Today's the last day you'll find
me walking along this road. I'm leaving forever and don't bother to find me.
I'm going to a place far removed from your world."
"But Mr. Wright!" Pleaded Earnest once more in
desperation, but in the blink of an eye the vampire disappeared into the crowd.
"Mr. Wright!" He yelled in a panic, but no matter how
fast he ran, or who he shoved out of his way, the vampire was gone and Earnest
found himself alone. He kicked his boot in the snow and sighed in frustration.
As furious as he was, he had no other choice but to make his way home.
Earnest Young lived on the bad side of town. It was a place
where the poor, wretched, and needy called home. The buildings were worn down,
gloomy, decrepit, and Earnest's apartment building was no exception. It was six
floors high with a dirty stone exterior, and there were various broken windows which
all had dim candles flickering within them. Outside men gathered in small
groups smoking, and Earnest could overhear the occasional word in German or
Italian.
He gulped and suppressed his feeling of dread, because unlike
most people Earnest despised going home. He shuddered, pulled his coat around
his face, shoved his hands into his pockets, and attempted to bolt towards the
main door.
"Hey, Young!" Yelled a man who emerged from the crowd
to block his way. He was tall, dark, hairy, and had a beard like a mane.
"You're two months behind in the rent. I've told you before. When are you
going to pay up young scoundrel, it's soon or else!"
"Give me a break Mr. McClain," said Earnest shortly.
He was still irritated about the vampire's escape. "I said I’ll pay you as
soon as they sell."
"Sell?" Laughed a man smoking in the crowd.
"Doesn't that fool know it's hard enough to find a job, let alone sell
works of art?"
"A painter, he calls himself," said another man
lounging outside. "But a five-year-old child could surpass him for
sure."
Earnest suppressed his rage as his cheeks turn red, if he'd been an angrier man,
he would have pounded their heads in.
“Look, Mr. Young," said the landlord with more sympathy.
"You have three days to pay me my money or you're out on the street."
“But-” Earnest protested, but the man cut him off.
“Three days Mr. Young, that's my final word.”
Earnest gritted his teeth and nodded his head as his neighbours
smirked at his terrible luck. He avoided their glares, looked towards the
floor, and with two shaking hands pushed open the large front door.
The corridor had no lighting. It was dark and eerie, but many
small children were running around playing. He climbed the creaky wooden
staircase, avoided the holes, and Earnest finally landed on the fifth floor.
The oil lamps were dim and it was difficult to see, but Earnest steadily walked
forward until he was before room 503.
He reached forward and touched the nameplate which had been
engraved with the name Wright. He ran
his fingers over the word before growling in frustration, and with the toe of
his boot he sternly kicked the wooden door. He knew the vampire was gone and
would never come back, but that didn't stop him from banging on the wood until
his hands were red.
“Why? Why wouldn't you make me a vampire?” He sighed in defeat.
Earnest pressed his ear against the door and listened for movement, but the
room was as dead as the deceased Mr. Wright.
His hopes had been thoroughly crushed, and Earnest had no choice but to
retreat to his room next door. With a turn of a key and a click of a lock, the
door opened to unveil the place that Earnest called home.
It was slightly larger than a closet and had enough room for a
bed, a chamber pot, an easel, and a pile of paintings almost three feet high.
It smelt of old cigarettes, rotten food, and stale bread. And as hard as he
tried he could never clean all the grime from the walls.
The room was a far cry from the brilliant future he'd imagined
as a boy on the farm. He'd dreamed of becoming the country's most famous
painter, but there was no progress so far. He'd naively disobeyed the wishes of
his father and created his own hell, where there was nothing but poverty and
his inability to break through. As hard as he painted, no matter how
frantically he tried, Earnest had yet to sell one piece of art.
Time was running out. His landlord never lied, and Earnest was
terrified that he'd soon have no place to sleep at night.
With a sigh of despair, he collapsed in front of his easel to
stare at his newest piece of art. It was a painting of a brilliant party.
Colourful people danced merrily, and several sparkling chandeliers hung from a
tall glamorous ceiling.
With one shaking hand Earnest picked up his brush, dipped the
tip into the paint, and continued his work. He worked half the night until his
hand began to ache, but no matter how hard he tried he could not capture the
scene that he'd witnessed that night.
The night that he met the vampire who killed Mr. Wright.
Two weeks ago Earnest had been staring at his blank easel in
vein. He had no idea what to paint or an ounce of inspiration in his brain. Fed
up with staring at his narrow four walls, Earnest decided to take a short walk
in the cold. The streets were dark and not a soul was to be seen. Earnest
greatly regretted his decision and decided to leave.
But that was the moment when he saw something which he shouldn't
have seen.
If you like free stuff please check out my free story Diary of a Soul here!
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