Sometimes all vampires want is safe passage to the other side.
I'm not into voodoo, or magic, or even religion... but for some reason I've always believed you can hear vampires at night. All you have to do is listen to the wind's slow moaning as it whips through the trees. You can hear their whispered pleas, their faint, seductive mutterings for blood, "just one more taste of what is yours." You can listen to the silenced and subtle patterns as their voices rise and fall in your ears. Their pleas vary as the days pass and the seasons change. I once thought that vampires were freaks of nature, but since I met Yavo I know that they are just ghosts seeking blood revenge on the world that caused them so much misery-- and sometimes all they want is a safe passage to the other side.
I live on an island off the coast of Canada. My mom and dad call it New Italy Island seeing how it is only my pure Italian family that lives here. But I've always called it Haunted Isle-- because this is where ghosts truly take their rest, and where vampires crawl belly side down through the brush searching for a revenge they can never get. Where it sometimes feels as though the world reeks of demons. When you're on "New Italy Island" you can never feel alone. There will always be the presence of the ghosts and demons and vampires surrounding you. Ever since I met Yavo I haven't minded the feeling of always being surrounded. Even at those times when it isn't a safe feeling.
In the bitter winter of 2006, I spent most of my extra time wandering the forest of the Haunted Isle. I would follow the torn and beaten paths of the forests, staring up at the dull blue sky, the piercing white sun; shuffling my feet through the untouched snow, so white and perfect it disturbed me. I would let my mind wander, while I listened to the slow trickle of melting snow far off in the hills, the whistling breeze in the trees-- and that other sound that I didn't recognize, a sound like the ground and sky were muttering curses beneath their breath.
I didn't know what was so odd about the island. I didn't know why I found it so hard to sleep at night. All I knew was that there was something terribly odd about "New Italy Island".
Then one day I was strolling through the forest. There had just been a blizzard and the snow was fresh and untouched, covering the ground and trees like a veil. My strides were slow as I strolled about; my parents didn't really care when I came home, as long it was before dark. I wore my brown Columbia coat, even though it was 3 sizes too big and a boy's coat. If I had been in public I would have been an odd sight-- a girl with long, stringy brown hair wearing a boy's coat and a pair of torn and beaten Old Navy jeans. Of course, there was no one to see me on Italy Island, and no one to care whether I looked like a total tomboy.
It was a fine day, and I was up for the walk. I had been outside a long time before I started to hear the noises. They sounded like voices speaking through a closed door. Muffled mutterings. They came from all around me, and seemed to have no particular direction that they went in. I turned around in a full circle, not knowing what to think or how to react.
It was then that I began to hear the humming in my ears; a persistent, unstoppable noise that echoed in my head. The thrumming, the thunderous volume of it, made me grab my ears and dive into the underbrush. Even there I could not escape the humming... or the whispering voices that swirled in the air, attacking me with their mystery.
I was huddled down, hands clamped tightly over my ears, knees pulled up to cover my face; looking like a girl preparing for a hurricane. It was then that she came. A girl dressed entirely in a white robe, skin pale and smooth as ice... Eyes; a fierce transparent blue. She hovered over me, leaving me unsure whether her feet even touched the ground. Then one of her hands, as cold as the snow beneath me, grabbed my face and pried it out from between my knees. The muttering whispers and the humming stopped suddenly. This girl was staring into my eyes, her face showing no emotion, betraying nothing. She bent her lips towards my face and I began to scream. Her grip tightened, bringing a stinging pain to my face. Her lips touched my ear and she whispered two words in a soft, lucid voice that melted into the air:
Then she disappeared and I fell to the ground without the support of her hand on my chin.
What just happened to me? I asked myself, more then a little puzzled as to what was going on here. Sure, I had seen the shadows lurking in the forests, heard the mournful call of a werewolf, glimpsed the silky skin of a ghost... but never had one of the mysterious Italy Island creatures attacked me... None of them ever spoke directly to anyone. All they did was mutter incoherently at night.
Who is this strange girl who attacked me? I thought, pulling myself up from the snow. I dusted off my jacket, and slowly rubbed a hand across my cheek where she had grabbed me; the spot was red and sore.
I pondered what was happening on Italy Island as I walked back to my house. The image of the creatures silky white skin and pale cool hands never left my mind.
Caught in a wave of distress I wandered back to where I lived, near the edge of New Italy Island, a hill that looked out unto the mainland of Canada. My house was a wood cabin back then. The inside smelled of oiled pine. The floors always creaked with each step.
I opened the door with one shivering hand. I ducked my head into the entrance, looking around to make sure our 6 month old greyhound, Lika, wasn't there to dart out. I used to swear that that dog would chew through an iron cage to get to freedom.
The entrance was clear. Lika was not there, sweeping her shuddering tail through the air.
I frowned, stepping inside. The house was quiet. There was not even the creaking of wood or the whistle of the consistent wind pressing against the house.
When I realized there was no one there, it was like my soul froze... and I don't even know what that's supposed to mean, but that's the only way I can describe how I felt.
The house. It was so...so... so empty.
I stood there, my eyes sweeping back and forth across the room, feet itching as though they wanted to pace the room. I checked the whole house: there wasn't a living being anywhere. Even the goldfish was not in its bowl. It was gone too; disappeared.
I paced back to the living room. I sat down on the bare wooden floor that smelled like greased over pine trees... my eyes began to water and the tears that rolled down my cheeks were cold; like water straight from the fridge.
Then it started again; the muttering, the whispering that rose from the ground and swirled about me... teasing and taunting my ears to attention.
I closed my eyes and sobbed, "Go away!" The noise did not stop. It persisted and grew louder.
When I opened my eyes again, the noise had stopped and she was in front of me; the girl. Her hair: a brilliant red like flickering candle flame. Eyes: cold, and blue, and relentless. Lips: like fire, cracked, bent, and shaped by a cynic's view of the world. Her skin: too pale to be human. Nose: small and button like, instead of elegant as the rest of her features suggested it should be.
She stared at me for a second, her white robe too perfect, her face too unmarked by fear or pain or any feeling at all.
"Who are you?" I asked in a muttered tone of half-reverence, half-fear.
"My name? Oh but if a name could bring the pieces of my soul back together, oh but if a name could show you who I was... but instead it will only tell you who I am," she answered, voice soothing... the words suggested melancholy but the tone gave away no emotion at all.
"Then tell me your name," I said, gathering bravery like straws spread over a football field.
"Yavo. My name is Yavo. It is a name of death; for in German slang it means 'yes' and it is to death that it is saying yes."
*unfinished. I'd like your comments... I guess... If I didn't want your comments I wouldn't be on writing.com, now would I? Please point out spelling mistakes. I overlook them often, cause I don't have Microsoft word, and if you wanna know a secret, I suck at spelling. Thanks. I appreciate it. No. really. I do. Hope you like it so far. I'm just writing it for fun, so please all zealots and perfectionists don't go all Ted Bundy on me slaughtering my work. I'll probably just laugh it up, print out your review and bring it to school and make fun of you. Just kidding.. This was inspired by daydreamer13 the true Yavo. (check out her port, SHE ROCKS!!).... She said I could write a story with her as a vampire. lol. Now I'm rambling. I just love doing this. I LOVE TO TALK!!!*