You're Next

You're Next



While traveling cross-country by coach, in the snow-capped mountains of Fornrick, I fell in with the company of a vampire.

A week earlier, I had received a letter from my younger sister, Roxanne, informing me of the birth of her twins, Sara and Rebecca. She urgently requested that I come as quickly as possible. She spoke of a growing fear that had been plaguing her of late, concerning the very safety of her own children, and a dark reccurring dream apparently involving me. Since it was the Christmas Holidays, I was able to temporarily leave my teaching position at the Cadet Academy in Greensborough.

I immediately packed. It probably wasn't a wise decision on my part, due to the bad weather, but my sister and I were once very close before the war, and I was anxious to see her again. I set out hoping to reach her home in two weeks time.

I traveled alone, with the exception of half a day, when I was joined by a sizable woman that hailed from a small village at the foot of the Harpslow Mountains. Her name, I discovered later, was Amelia Hornsbury, a superstitious woman, but it was good to have someone to talk with for a spell.

The hours flew by.

I believe Mrs. Hornsbury must have delighted in the sound of her own voice because she told long, elaborate tales of vampires and creatures of the night that reportedly lived throughout the province of Harpslow. I still recall one particularly vivid story she told with a wide-eyed terror.

It had to do with a fellow by the name of Franz Sorwreng, who had lost his entire family during the war. Apparently, he went off to join in a battle that was raging nearby his farmlands, but by the time he had gotten to the front, the enemy had moved out of the area. His group finally disbanded and the men headed back to their families.

When Sorwreng arrived home, he was horrified to find that the enemy had been through his lands, and had sacked and pillaged everything he owned. His wife and three young children were found cruelly hung by the neck at the very entrance to their home. Their arms and legs had been barbarously hacked off and a message, written in blood had been hideously painted across the front door of his home. It read: "You're Next".

Evidently, the poor, grieving man went insane, and after quickly burying his loving family, lost control of himself and set out to track down the killers.

The snow was already packed in deep, and he found it easy to follow the trail of the small army as it hurriedly marched back to their homes. Using an upland path and trees for cover, Sorwreng quietly rushed ahead of the column, then buried himself deep into the snow. Waiting for the file to pass, he would then kill the last soldier in line. He did this many times before they ever caught on to what was actually happening.

The General, sent out small scouting parties to search for the missing men, in an attempt to discover what had happened. Most of those soldiers sent out never returned, but the ones that did told horrifying tales of dismembered comrades and mysterious messages written in bright red blood across the white snow. The messages were exactly the same they themselves had used: "YOU'RE NEXT".

The men knew what they had done to Sorwreng's family back at the farmhouse, and they became terrified. They could feel the ghost's of the dead following them. The soldiers soon began to panic, and the once strong army, found itself in total disarray.

The General could not control the fear of his men. Many of them ran off in an attempt to escape the horror that tracked them through the snow. Even during the long cold nights, the remaining soldiers would hear men screaming from the woods. They sounded as if they were being tortured by the devil himself.

Sorwreng eventually took up the practice of drinking the blood of these victims. The warmth of that blood sustained him even in the chilling cold. As his madness consumed him, he carried out his revenge on the fleeing enemy, until none, save one, remained.

It was the General, who was said to have barely escaped the clutches of Sorwreng somehow. He had stumbled through the snow-covered woods until he miraculously came upon the home of a close family member who lived on the far side of the mountain. There he hid throughout the winter. But Franz Sorwreng, now completely insane, never stopped looking for him. And it is said, he hunts him to this day.

When Ms. Hornsbury had finished her story, I felt a chill run through my old bones that was inescapable. I explained to her that in time of war, men had to do many unpleasant things. Pillaging the homes of the enemy ensured the retreating army of extra food. Prisoners were often executed because they could not be left behind, nor taken with the army. We both finally agreed upon the fact that war was ‘hell'.

After the lady and I finally parted company I felt relieved. Her story brought up old memories that were better left forgotten and made me feel strangely unsettled. She also seemed to caste a grim light on soldiers in general, and since I was a well decorated veteran myself, I took no pleasure in her slanted views and was glad to see her go.

The very next day, as my coach had entered the mountains of Fornrick, I was joined again by a traveler. He was a curious looking gentleman dressed all in black with boots well covered in mud. When I asked him his name, he refused to give it, but after much prodding, he merely said, "Fang".

He appeared to be about in his early fifties with hair beginning to gray just at the temples. His demeanor spoke of nobility, but I had never known of nobles in this area before. He had a wild look about him, like a caged animal, and for some reason I felt completely frightened of this man. Filled with dread, I found myself talking nervously, sounding uneducated and dull-witted.

I talked of my young sister and her new family that I intended to visit. It was at that time that he began to take notice of me. He asked the name of my sister, and of course, I told him. A sense of recognition lit up his eyes and a faint smile could be seen at the corner of his mouth. He said that he knew her well, and had been there to visit just three days earlier.

I started to question him about his relationship with my sibling, when the coach unexpectantly stopped at my destination. I asked him to join me at my sister's table, but he flatly refused. So, I simply bid him farewell.

The coach had arrived directly in front of my sister's home and when I went to get the coachman to unload my baggage, I discovered he was nowhere to be seen. How long he had been missing, I did not know, but called out to my traveling companion to inform him of the situation. Yet, there was no answer. Looking inside the coach, I discovered he was gone.

I am an old military man and have seen the dead and the dying. I have on numerous occasions charged headlong into the mouth of battle and known true fear, but the gripping terror that I was feeling at that moment far surpassed anything I had ever experienced before.

I slowly climbed atop the coach and retrieved my luggage, dropping it down to the ground. I studied the surrounding dense woods, but saw no one. Climbing down again, I gathered up my belongings. I couldn't wait to enter the shelter of my sister's house and feel the warmth of the fire on my old bones.

As I approached the house, I literally fell to my knees, crying out as if shot. What I beheld was something from a twisted nightmare, that will forever be burned into my brain.

There, before me, were the mutilated bodies of my sister and her family swaying in the breeze; hung from the roof by ropes like animals. Upon the front door in letters of blood read the message, "YOU'RE NEXT".

From behind me I heard approaching steps. I turned and stared at the man who called himself Fang. My eyes were blurry from the tears of sorrow that poured forth, but I thought I detected him smiling.

He drew nearer, and then knelt beside me.

"So, General, we finally meet," he said gloatingly. "It took me years to figure out where you had hidden. I only just recently discovered that this house belonged to your loving sister and that you had concealed yourself here from me until it was safe for you to leave. They were a very loving and trustworthy family. I questioned her about you, and she told me that you were on your way here to visit. She was very hospitable, you know, and I dined with her and her family before...well, before I killed them."

"Who...are you?" I asked. "Why...have you done this?"

"I suppose you don't remember, do you, since we were never formerly introduced? I am Franz Sorwreng of course, but people around these parts just call me Fang, for short." His smile broadened and two very large pointed teeth crept over his lower lip.

"Kill me now, you devil," I said, "for I have no desire left to live."

"Kill you?" he replied. "I have hunted you for years, to do just what you so eagerly desire of me now, but I will not kill you."

He stood and grabbed the front of my coat, pulling me up with him. "You shall live with this memory as I have had to live, General, haunted for all time."

He bent my head to one side and bit through the flesh of my neck. I screamed out in pain, but he drank deeply of me until I could no longer struggle. Dropping me to the ground, he cut a gash in his wrist with his fingernail then knelt beside me and forced me to drink his blood in return. I could not resist.

"And may you live, happily, ever after," he said, then simply turned, and walked away.