“This place is a wreck, David,” Jimethy called from the kitchen as they upturned Alius’ house.

Jarrod was being led around before Mr Potter who was more than liberal with his gun hand. “I do wish you’d show a wee bit more respect.”

Mr Potter shoved passed Jarrod when they entered the study. The desk was covered with open books that Alius had been perusing before he ventured to Sylvester's mortuary upon the hill. “What’s all this then?”

“Research materials I believe. He didn’t let me look at this stuff.” Jarrod linked his fingers together and rested his hands on his round belly. The fact that he might soon be hanged was plaguing his mind. He was beet red and sweating profusely. “I didn’t spend much time here.”

“Sure you didn’t.” Mr Potter muttered as he read through the page that was left open. “Vampires. Bloody vampires. I bet this is where he got all his ideas for murdering women.” He turned the page and grimaced at the vile hand-drawn picture of a ghastly beast devouring a hapless victim. “No wonder he was sick, these books need burning.”

“I’ll check upstairs.” Called Jimethy as he trotted up the creaky boards.

Jarrod dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief and sighed deeply. “What exactly is it you’re looking for?”

“I won’t know until I find it now will I?” He continued to leaf through the large tome, shaking his head at the contents of each page, muttering about Alius’ madness. “Why don’t you make a brew, tea boy?” He scowled and hauled the large tome into the living room so he could watch Jarrod between pages.

Jarrod agreed and began to boil up a kettle. He tried to relax himself with small talk, but Mr Potter did not reciprocate the efforts and ignored the quaint questions. He glanced at the pistol that had been left on the side table by the couch. The kettle whistled and he clutched the handle tightly. Jimethy was still upstairs.

“Tea.”

Mr Potter glanced up from the book he had become engrossed in. Jarrod offered the mug. He took it and set it down by the pistol which they both looked at. Mr Potter dutifully plucked it up and set it on his lap. “Did he speak much of vampires?”

“It’s all he spoke about since he lost Elizabeth.”

Mr Potter nodded. “Do you believe in all this nonsense?”

Jarrod thought carefully about his answer. He didn’t want to come off as trying to dodge the hangman's rope, but he still wanted to seem sane. “I don’t know much about any of these creatures.” He sat down tentatively across from Mr Potter on the blue dusty chair. “What I do know is something otherworldly stalks this village.”

“So you do believe in this rubbish.” Mr Potter slammed the book closed which made Jarrod jump, before tossing the heavy tome on the small table. He leaned forward and took up the pistol. “You know Alius is the one behind these murders, why not admit it and save your skin?”

“I know Alius is not behind these murders.”

“How?”

Jarrod paused, “He was with me last night, when Esmeralda…your wife, was murdered.” He dabbed his round face.

“I have to admit your loyalty is commendable. It proves that you were in on it though.”

Jarrod frowned. “I will say that so far as acting Captain you are not making a good start. You have already judged Alius and I without a shred of evidence.” He folded his arms and shook his head.

Mr Potter rose and glowered at Jarrod who shrank in the chair. He took up the book and tossed it on the fireplace to join a solitary unburned log. “It’s cold in here, get the fire going.”

“If you destroy these books, you might destroy the answers we seek.”

“Or I might destroy heretical nonsense, written for the sole purpose of driving good men bad.”

Jarrod sighed. “Elizabeth was sick for some time, you know this, these books were ordered by Alius—”

“At great expense to the village treasury, I imagine?”

Jarrod composed himself and continued, “They were ordered by Alius to help save his wife.”

***

“Perhaps me being here is a good thing,” Alius said to Greg, the man keeping watch. Samuel had already left, scared off by Alius’ ramblings and frightful gestures.

“Why do you say that?” Greg chewed the inside of his bottom lip. He truly believed he was sitting across from a murderer and had subjected himself to entertaining his conversation, if not to pass the time.

Alius was sitting in the corner, watching Greg intently. “When he strikes again, I will be proven innocent.” He nodded violently to his own words. “You will seek my guidance, but it’ll be too late. He’ll come for us all and this, me being here, it’s exactly what he wants.”

“What if he doesn’t strike again?” Taunted Greg, “What if he wants to watch you go mad?” He smirked and bobbed his head cooly.

“He must strike again, he must feed.”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Feed on people's blood?”

“That’s the nature of a vampire is it not, Greg?” Alius was wide-eyed with hands raised as he pointed out what he considered the undeniable nomenclature of this reality that had folded itself around him.

Greg was a young man, barely eighteen, though he was sharp-witted and handy at a couple of trades already. He was a good prospect for the village. “I don’t know anything about the occult, captain.”

Alius leaned forward. “Did you not, just last week, tell me of a presence you felt while out lumbering? A stalking wind?”

“Yes. I was nervous.”

“Nervous, in your own backyard?”

“Well, what with all the murdering and such.”

“You said you saw something too.” Alius scooched forward and gripped the bars of his cage. “What did you see?”

“Something like a man, but moving too fast. Could have been a shadow of a quick animal, like a squirrel.”

“In the shape of a man?”

Greg smiled and shook his head. “Captain, one moment of nervousness doesn’t prove your vampires true.”

“If you let me free you can help solve this with me, you’ve a keen mind and an eye for things out of step. You were the only one to notice all the axe heads had been dulled.”

“Well, I’m the one who sharpens them, Alius.”

“So how were they dulled all at the same time?”

Greg pondered a moment, “I was careless.”

“Truly?” Alius shook his head. “Let me out–”

“I’m not letting you out, Alius.”

“Captain…” Alius attempted to correct him.

Greg looked away, “Mr Potter is captain now.”

Alius slumped back into his corner and buried his head between his knees. He was a good salesman of ideas, however, often failed to convince people of his convictions and duty. A curse if anything.

***

Jarrod, Jimethy and Mr Potter watched the fire consume the books and notes that Alius had so meticulously gathered and catalogued over the past several months. Jarrod was given the task of feeding the hungry flames.

“Good riddance to this nonsense.”

Jarrod shook his head and looked at Jimethy, “If you call burning your evidence good riddance.”

Jimethy shrugged.

Mr Potter scoffed, “I tore out a few pages, not to mention there’ll be plenty more to surface.”

“You could have sold the books.”

“I’d rather not fill up our coffers with the money from this filth.” Mr Potter sneered at Jarrod, “Not everyone is an amoral, sycophantic coward like you.”

“We done in here, David?” Jimethy asked.

“No, check the pantry.”

Jarrod huffed. “Nothing in there, Alius doesn’t eat.”

“Then why is it locked up?”

“I don’t know.” Jarrod half lied, he knew there was something in there for had been told never to go in. Alius had hidden the key and Jarrod was none the wiser to its whereabouts.

“For a man so sure of Captain Alius, you know very little.” Mr Potter raised both eyebrows and shook his head. He moved from the fire to the pantry door. The lock was thick but the latch it looped through was weak. David was able to smash it off using the metal kettle.

“I do not think this is a good idea.”

Mr Potter looked at Jarrod. “Come on, tubby, you can be my canary.”

Jarrod pressed himself up and strode over to the pantry door, “You’ll see there’s nothing in here I assure you.” Jarrod was sweating again, he had no clue what may lie behind the door. Something told him it might be the body of Elizabeth. He pulled the door open and stood to one side.

Mr Potter and Jimethy looked in. They said nothing.

Jarrod could not look inside the pantry for fear had taken hold of his body. “Well, any dark secrets?”

“Garlic?” Said Jimethy.

Jarrod shuddered and then looked in.

Mr Potter illuminated the tight corridor with his lantern. Bundles of garlic swayed in the draft from string pinned to the ceiling. “Absolute madman.”

“Where is that draft coming from?” Jimethy said.

Jarrod looked around the otherwise empty pantry, “probably a crack somewhere.”

“Crack my arse.” Mr Potter waded into the room and handed off the lantern to Jimethy. He grabbed the empty shelf at the end of the pantry corridor and jerked it. “It’s loose. Jim, help me with this.”

Jimethy set the lantern down on one of the pantry shelves and helped Mr Potter pull the end shelf down. It was weak and folded in on itself. Another door with just a hole for a handle awaited them.

“Look at that, Jimethy.”

Jarrod came through to get a better look. “Another door? Probably to a cupboard.”

“Probably to a cupboard? So we shouldn’t open it and find out?” Mr Potter waved his pistol at Jarrod. “Come now, open it for us.”

It was evident the atmosphere in this house had taken hold of all three men. There once outward bravado had been replaced with timid movements and a penchant for pushing poor Jarrod in front to do all the door opening.

Jarrod wormed his finger into the hole to gain some purchase. He could feel the draft from the other side and it sent a shiver up his body. It was as if someone was blowing on his finger.

Mr Potter watched on as Jarrod dallied, though he didn’t much mind, he was assured something tragic awaited him. One dead person was enough for any man to see in a lifetime, especially one's wife. He could only imagine what horrors Alius the madman had committed.

A stray ball of garlic struck Jimethy on the head and he waved his arms up frantically. “What, what was that?”

“Garlic, Jim, keep your nerve.” Mr Potter sighed and nodded to Jarrod. “Open it then.”

Jarrod tugged at it. The door resisted as if being sucked back into its frame. Jarrod overcame it and pulled the door open. A moaning whirl of air flushed out like a siren’s call at sea, beckoning the three men deeper. Before them lay steep stone steps. The walls were bare stone and mortar, filled with nooks and crannies.

“Down you go.” Mr Potter urged.

“At least hand me the lantern.” Jarrod reached back and Jimethy obliged, pushing the lantern handle into his hand.

Jarrod's steps echoed downward into the blackness. His lamp light was weak and only lit up a small aura about him. The air was frosty and he could see his breath rising.

“Why is it so cold down here?” Jimethy hissed.

“Shhhh.” Mr Potter hissed.

The sound of the crackling fire grew weaker as they reached the bottom of the stairs. They were met with a narrow passage. With the only direction being forward they steadily walked onward.

A low moan danced out from the darkness ahead and froze all three men to the spot.

“What was that?” Whispered Jimethy.

“Could be echoes coming from the village, noise travels you know,” said Jarrod.

“Rubbish, that’s one of his victims.” Mr Potter pushed Jarrod forward. “Move, let’s see who this freak was about to prey on.”