Soul Crafter

Chapter One: My Savior, My Secret

Present day

Michelle Gilder got in her car to return home late one early December evening. It was near midnight as she drove down the roads of Cary, North Carolina, all the way to Highcroft Village. There, she passed multiple houses, all decorated with Christmas lights, and all bunched up together, almost hugging. It was only after she passed all of her neighbors that she could then see her own quaint, colonial style house atop a single hill in the distance. 

     She pulled up the driveway and got out of the car, her heels clicking on the pavement as she stepped out. She ran her fingers through her fair blonde hair, proceeded up the porch and unlocked her front door.

     She stepped inside and turned on the lights. She stared around the living room, hardly registering the modern décor, simple leather couches, and glass coffee table. Michelle was not only exhausted, but she’d had a terrible run in with one of her parents’ old friends, which reminded her of the misery she was desperately trying to heal from. Her eyes teared up. She threw her purse on the couch and made her way to the kitchen just behind the living room. There were days she couldn’t stand being alone in her own house. She opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. She uncorked it a poured herself a glass which she gulped generously.

     She looked around her empty kitchen and living room, hating the silence that pounded against her eardrums.

     Last year, on her 21st birthday, her parents had decided it was a good idea to go out to dinner. Michelle had insisted they eat at an Indian restaurant. It was down a dark alleyway. It was there that she and her parents were mugged, and where she was forced to watch in horror as her mother and father were both stabbed— repeatedly— by a masked man.

Held down by one of her assailants, she couldn’t help them; she couldn’t stop the other man from murdering them.

     Every time she returned to her empty home— the one she used to share with her parents— she felt heartbroken and sick inside. Not only that, but she felt guilty. If only she hadn’t wanted to go to that particular restaurant. If only she hadn’t done so many little things that could have changed their fate.

     She choked on her wine as she drank— tears began to freely flow. She downed the whole glass and poured herself another. She was just about to finish the second glass when, suddenly, she heard an earsplitting boom which made her house shake. Her chandelier in the middle of the living room jingled, dust falling from the ceiling.

     The sound had emanated from behind the house, so she rushed to open the back door and look outside.  She turned on the light above the door, looked around, and listened, but heard nothing. All she saw were the faintly illuminated trees in the distance behind her house. She knew that whatever caused the sound was unlikely to be any of her neighbors, the closest of which was hundreds of yards away. She figured perhaps it had been a jet that flew above her house. She was just about to return indoors when she heard a blood-chilling roar come from the distance. As the roar stretched on for several long seconds, she froze there on the spot, hypnotized by the intensity of the sound that she felt reverberating throughout her whole body.

     Paralyzed, she wondered what kind of creature could possibly make that sort of sound? Something so terrifying, it made her go ridged and caused a slight sheen of sweat to appear on her forehead within seconds.

     Of all the roars she had ever heard in her life— mostly from animal documentaries— she had never heard anything quite like what she had just heard. Though, perhaps she had misheard it? Maybe it was a tiger, even some kind of wolf?

     She waited there, silently, her eyes wide as she tried to see beyond the glow of the light above her head. She neither heard it again, nor did she hear any other noises. It was time to go back inside, she thought. It was when she quickly turned to go back inside that she heard the sound of a snapping twig behind her. She trembled where she stood and slowly turned around to see who, or what, it was.

     She saw nothing. Even though the light above the door frame illuminated the area around her, it did not extend very far. Michelle stared out into the darkness, squinting her eyes and trying to make out any sign of movement. Some part of her screamed that she should return to the safety of her home.

     She turned again but just as she tried to yank her door open, an arm appeared right next to her head, and a hand pushed against the door so forcefully that she could not open it. Now frightened out of her mind, she slowly looked up at the hand planted on the door. It was pale with long, sharp, white fingernails.

     Michelle’s stomach sank down to the bottom of the earth. A new wave of terror swept through her system, causing goosebumps to erupt all over her body.

     She traced her hazel eyes all the way up the pale arm, and they landed on a white-as-snow, chiseled chest. She looked up at the face of the man before her and found herself staring into nearly black eyes with glowing red irises. Michelle began to tremble as she heard low growls emanating from under the strange man’s breath as he panted.

     He had sharp fangs peeking out from under his lips, and blood dripping down his chin. His long black hair looked to be somewhat mussed and matted and it, too, had blood in it. She shakily glanced at the rest of him and saw he was wearing ripped black pants, and hefty black boots. She felt sick to her stomach when she saw that through one of his legs was a huge, rusty iron pole covered in blood.

     “Help me,” he breathed out in foreign accent. With his other arm, he reached up and put his hand on her shoulder, making her wince. His skin felt like ice.

     “Please, help me,” he said again, this time more weakly. He then slowly dropped to his knees and fell sideways. Michelle stood there, stunned, staring at him with trembling hands as blood slowly gushed from his leg.

     It took a while before Michelle returned to her senses. What should she do? Help him? Who was he? Should she call the police? She wasn’t so sure about that. She watched him as he lay there, helpless and calm in his unconscious state. She decided she’d help him, but part of her had a feeling that helping this strange man was going to lead to things she might not be prepared to deal with.

     And so she dragged him through the door, leaving a trail of blood behind him, as she set him down in the middle of the kitchen.

     Looking down at this stranger covered in blood, she panicked. What the hell was going on? How could she help? Her body started to shake, her thoughts raced, then she remembered! The first aid kit in the bathroom. She ran to the bathroom to look for it. When she returned with the kit in hand, he was attempting to lift himself up, but failed miserably and fell back down with a loud thud.

     Michelle gasped, and the man looked over at her. His eyes were normal now, and they locked onto hers with an intensity almost as disarming as the roar she had heard just moments ago. There was no sign of the red or darkness she’d seen there before. They were a bright, piercing blue.

     “Will you… please…remove this?” he asked in a deep, yet weak voice. He gingerly gestured to the metal rod through his leg. Michelle slowly approached and kneeled down beside him. She felt like she did not want him to hurt, for some reason, and that she wanted him to be okay. It was more than a want— it was a strong need rising inside of her.

     The man was fading in and out, and so Michelle firmly grabbed the rod that was sticking out of his leg the same way she would grab a baseball bat and began to pull.

     Immediately, his eyes shot open and he roared yet again— that same awful sound she’d heard before. Once more, his eyes were dark and red, and he began to pant. Frightened, she released the rod and scooted away from him.

     “No! no,” he growled. “Don’t be afraid. Just get it out, please?”

     Michelle hesitated, but then moved forward and grasped the rod once again. “This is going to hurt. Are you ready?” she stammered. He nodded, his eyes closed, and he waited for the next wave of pain.

     Michelle began to pull the rod as forcefully as she could, until it began to slowly slide out of his leg. She swallowed, fighting the need to gag. She closed her eyes so she didn’t have to watch the rod come out of his flesh.  He howled and roared again, which made her shake even more as she pulled the rod clean out of him. Some of the sounds that came out of his mouth seemed human, others not.

     After writhing and hollering in pain, he fell back down and lay there flat, gasping for air.

     She sat there on the floor, crouched over him, her hands trembling, holding the bloody rod. She was shocked by what just happened. She looked down and saw she was kneeling in a puddle of his blood.

     It was all over her hands, too. Before she could finish standing up in disgust, she glanced at the wound on his leg and saw that it was closing right before her eyes. She gasped and slowly released the rod, which hit the floor with a loud bang and then a clanking sound.

     His wound was now completely healed.

     Michelle watched as his breathing subsided, and he sat up gingerly and looked into her soft hazel eyes with his own piercing blue eyes.

     “Thank you,” he said in a deep, clear voice. For a second, Michelle forgot that she was kneeling in his blood. But, once she remembered where she was, and the state of the kitchen and her clothes, she quickly stood up, disgust and panic clear on her face.

      “Um, no-no problem,” Michelle said, red and flustered. She felt like she was going to cry. She hadn’t realized how stressed she felt.

     “You should take a shower,” she said, going behind him and getting the bleach out of a cupboard under the sink, and grabbing some paper towels. She returned to his side and began to clean up the blood with shaky hands.

     He knelt beside her and gently touched her wrist. She looked up with glassy eyes, near tears from what she had just experienced.

     “Hey, you should take a shower. I’ll clean this up,” he said gently, his accent clearer now. He sounded like he was from somewhere in Europe.

     “No, no, you need to clean up and rest,” Michelle insisted.

     “Please, I healed as soon as you took it out. I’m fine now. You, on the other hand, look like you just performed open heart surgery for the first time without ever having been to medical school,” he said, almost teasingly.

     “What a mouthful,” Michelle stuttered. She prepared to protest.

     “Please, I insist,” he said, gently coaxing her. She hesitated, but then agreed. She stood up and headed for the bathroom to wash up, leaving the cleaning to him.

     Once she was alone in the bathroom, she leaned her back against the door and let out a loud sigh. Her chest then began to heave. Her mind was reeling, trying to come up with explanations for what she had just seen. She saw him heal instantaneously, his eyes had been glowing red, the rest of his whites had been dark grey, almost inviting darkness into them. And those sounds— the sounds he made. They were so otherworldly, so animalistic, so inhuman.

     She began to undress and realized that the blood had seeped through her jeans and gotten onto her skin. She stepped into the shower and turned on the water. She was grateful for the warmth that met her skin and relaxed her muscles. As the warm water washed away the stress of the day, she thought of the man in her house. Was he even a man? He seemed like one, mostly.

     She got out of the shower, threw on her robe and quickly dashed to her bedroom across the hall. She put on a simple pair of jeans and a dark purple sweater, then opened her bedroom door, and just stood there and listened. Nothing. Had she imagined the whole thing— maybe all that she had been through was finally making her see things that weren’t there.

     She braced herself and headed for the kitchen to see if he was still there.

     Her kitchen was empty. Not only that, but it looked clean. She examined the floor and saw no sign of blood, but she could smell the cleaner that was used. Maybe there hadn’t been any blood at all? Maybe she had just been all alone in her kitchen and spilled a drink. She remembered that she had been drinking wine earlier.

     Oh, that’s it! Michelle thought. She must have gotten drunk. And then she spilled her wine, and cleaned it up after she got it all over herself— and that was why she had needed a shower.

     “So, what should I call you?” a deep voice said behind her. She jumped and swore in surprised, quickly turning around.

     There he was, the man she had been trying to convince herself wasn’t real, standing before her. There was something different about him now, though. His long, dark hair was no longer matted and bloody, but straight, dry, and soft. He no longer had any blood on his face, lips, or chin.

     She looked down his body and saw that his black jeans and black boots were completely clean. Not just clean, but where there had been tears and rips— and a hole where the rod had been— there was nothing. Like his wound earlier, it was as if his pants had healed, too.

     “My name is Michelle – Michelle Gilder,” she replied, blushing furiously.

     He revealed a sideways grin, showing his fangs. Michelle stopped breathing for a second when she saw them.

     “Well, Michelle. Tell me, what wishes can I grant for you?”

     “Wh-what?” she stuttered. “Wishes? Are you a genie?” Michelle asked skeptically.

     “No, no genie. Something far worse,” he replied, closing the distance between him and boring into her eyes.

     Michelle gulped. “A what then?” she prodded, backing away from him until she felt the counter and could go no further.

     He cheekily looked from left to right, mockingly making certain that they were alone, and then whispered with his hand hiding one side of his mouth, “I’m a vampire.” And then gave a mischievous grin.

     Michelle’s jaw nearly fell off.

     “You’re a what?”

     “I think you heard me,” he said much more seriously.

     Her mouth felt dry. Michelle swallowed and looked around the room, begging for there to be an audience, and for this to all be an act.

     She locked eyes with him again and was caught off guard by how strikingly blue they were.

     “So, what do I call you? Just vampire?” she asked, trying to sound comical to hide her anxiety. She crossed her arms so he couldn’t see her hands shake.

     “You can call me Victor,” he replied. He began to rummage through her cupboards until he found a wine glass. He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of wine. He poured himself a glass and began to drink. “I’d offer you some, but I want you sober for this moment.” Michelle looked at him, bewildered.  “So, your wishes, my dear?” he reminded her.

     “Um, I don’t understand,” Michelle said. “Why are you asking me about wishes if you’re a vampire?”

     Victor sighed and tucked his long dark hair behind his ear. “Ah, humans and their lore.”

     “Let’s just say that often what your people call ‘supernatural beings’, pay back an individual that helps them,” Victor explained.

      “So, it’s basically like giving back what was done for you?” she asked, squinting her eyes while thinking about what he just said.

     “Something like that. Think of it more as equalizing the energy exchange. Since you saved me a great deal of grief, I owe you a great deal of wishes. Unless you ask for one big one— then we’re through,” he mused.

     “Ah,” Michelle began, blinking at him, “I see.” She wasn’t sure if she did. “What is a ‘big wish’?” she asked.

     “Oh, you know, wishing to be ruler of the world, invincibility, bringing back the dinosaurs… Big stuff like that.”

     “You can do that?” Michelle tentatively asked. “What about bringing back the dead?”

     For a brief moment, Michelle found herself thinking of her parents. She felt a sharp pain shoot through her chest. Before how she felt could make it to her eyes in the form of tears, she banished the thought from her mind.

     Victor pursed his lips. “I could do that, but I would advise against such a wish.”

     “How come?” Michelle asked, suppressing a yawn.

     “Because the consequences for that could be quite dire— and if someone is meant to be dead, they’ll simply die all over again anyway. If they don’t, catastrophe will follow them. They can only return to earth in human form when it is their time.”

     Michelle, fascinated, hung onto every word. “But wouldn’t it be the same for bringing back dinosaurs too?”

     “There are consequences to everything— but for dinosaurs, I’d only be creating new life forces to inhabit the dinosaur’s body. But to bring someone back, a specific person— the original— that is something else altogether.”

     Michelle gazed at him, confused. “This is making my head hurt.” Michelle let out a wide yawn which made her eyes water.

     “That’s because you’re trying to apply human logic. These are things your people don’t comprehend. Yet.”

     “Yet?” Michelle inquired.

     Victor smiled at her coyly. “Not tonight. You’re exhausted and need to sleep. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”

     “Oh, yeah, right. I need to make up the couch for you—”

     “Don’t bother; I can do it.” Victor headed for the living room. Michelle, curious, followed him to see what he would do.

     Michelle’s eyes widened when she saw a huge, plush black blanket appear on the couch, along with fluffy black pillows and sheets underneath.

     “See? I can take care of myself,” Victor said, grinning wryly. “Now, off to bed for you. You’ve had an exhausting day.”

     Michelle, confused as ever, though certain she was so tired she could faint, said good night to Victor and then hobbled to her bedroom. She put on her pajamas and crawled into bed— convinced that everything that had happened that evening was all just a dream, or some strange trip, and that she would wake up in the morning and none of what took place will have happened.

     Oh boy, was she mistaken.