Fallen Nightmares Book One

The beginning of the End

Chapter Two

“I can't understand it. I can't even understand the people who can understand it.”

-Queen Juliana

In all actuality he had not intended to leave the apartment today, he despised the reality. Being out in the open reminded him that the world still moved forward, and how he hated that revelation.

It was not that he hated humans, or the world for that matter. No, nothing of that sort. He hated time. He hated what he was, what he would always be. As time dragged on he remained frozen, like an ageless statue. Like a piece in one of his collections. All he could do was watch the world grow old, watch even the most beautiful flower wilt. Watch the world destroy itself. Although, even then it was not time he hated. In a sense of the term he hated himself. He hated what the choices he had made resulted in.

Then again, he had been like that even when he was human. It was odd how well he could remember things. Certain details were never forgotten, but in some cases the years had melted together. Still, he knew the exact time of the day, the exact layout of the room. Every tiny detail he had memorized, only because that was the day his world was destroyed. The day his mother died, the day everything good he had ever known had vanished. His father stopped working on the farm and, even though he was only nine at the time, he had to take over. Things would only get worse. In those days, life was nothing but one difficulty after another. So who wouldn't have taken the easy way out? Who wouldn't have chosen this life instead? He tried to shake the thoughts, it didn't matter anymore. None of it ever did.

The light of the sun pierced through the clouds, hitting his arms. He welcomed the bit of warmth it imbued in him. Humans still believed his kind couldn't exist in the light, a myth he himself had helped to spread. Back when vampires were less myth and hunted it helped calm humans, to think that they were safe during the day. The night simply made him stronger, but even during the day he could best the strongest human there was.

He took in a breath of air, realizing that he had been holding his breath. In his boredom, and to prevent his thoughts from straying again. He began to sing the poem of Barbra Allen, one of his favorite ballads.

In scarlet town, where I was born

There was a fair maid dwelling

Made every youth cry well away

An' her name was Barbra Allen

He stepped in timing with the music that played in his head, it kept him entertained and best of all stripped him of his boredom.

All in th merry month of May

When th green buds were swelling

Sweet William came from th western states

And courted Barbra Allen

It was all in th month of June

When all things they were blooming

Sweet William on his death bed lay

For th love of Barbra Allen

He sent his servant to th town

Where Barbra was a dwelling,

My master is sick and sends for you

If your name be Barbra Allen

And death is painted on his face

And o'er his heart is stealing

Then hasten away to comfort him

A, lovely Barbra Allen

So slowly, slowly, she got up

And slowly she came nigh him

And all she said when she got there,

Young man, I think your dying

His memory surprised even him as he recited the words as he had heard them so long ago in the streets he used to walk along. Now, the memories swept over him. It was a simple time, but death and anguish were so commonplace.

O yes, I'm sick an' very sick

And death is on me dwelling

No better, no better, I never can be

If I can't have Barbra Allen

O yes, your sick and very sick

And death is on you dwelling

No better, no better, you never will be

For you can't have Barbra Allen

O, don't you remember in yonder town

When you were at th' tavern

You drank a health to th' ladies all around

An' slighted Barbra Allen

As she was on her highway home

Th birds they kept a singing

They sing'd so clear they seemed to say

Hard hearted Barbra Allen

As she was walking o'er th fields

She heard the death bell knelling

And ever stroke did seem to say,

Hard hearted Barbra Allen

The meaning in the song amused him. For him though, it held within it a personal meaning that only he would ever try to explain. Rejection and regret, a theme that seemed to follow him everywhere.

She looked to th east, she looked to th west

She spied his corpse a'coming

Lay down, lay down, that corpse of clay

That I may look upon him

The more she looked, th more she mourned

Till she fell to th ground a'crying

Saying, take me up an' carry me home

For I am now, a dying

O mother, o mother, go make my bed

Go make it long an' narrow

Sweet William died for pure, pure love

And I shall die for sorrow

This version, he had first heard in the 1970s but he had listened to the original so many years ago, he couldn’t even remember when. This was his favorite version though. For it’s length and because he thought it conveyed the message far better than the others.

O father, o father, go dig my grave

Go dig it long and narrow

Sweet William died for me today

I'll die for him tomorrow

She was buried in the old churchyard

And he was buried, anigh her

On William's grave, there grew a red rose

On Barbra's grew a green brier

He was about half way to the council meeting place, which was just Gregor house. Of course, his home was a slightly overrun storehouse that hadn’t been used in so long Kalvier wondered if Gregor was actually paying some sort of rent on it or if he just broke in and decided to make it his own.. Either way, he didn’t care all that much.

When he was almost there, just about five minutes away from the depressing building that he had hoped to avoid, an odd scent filled the streets. First it was weak, but as he walked on it became stronger. Looking to the far right, the other side of the street, he watched a young girl as she walked past him. Unaware of his eyes she didn’t even divert her gaze from the street, but she had no need to do something like that. She was among the poultry few humans that were out that day, but from some reason he couldn’t help but think she was more than human. She wasn’t a vampire, or a werewolf, or any of the other creatures he had met over the years. She just smelled… different.

Even in the smog of the city and the scents of decaying garbage, open sewer systems, and the filthy homeless man he had just passes at the last street corner, he could still single out her aroma.

Perhaps, he thought to himself, perhaps she is a NightBringer, or at least one of pure blood. He tried to remember the scent of his creator, a female of pure blood that had descended from two of the first seven. It was strange though, the scents were similar but this strangers was still different, better somehow. Sweeter, as if she wore honeysuckles around her neck.

It was rare for any human to smell so good.

She looked up, not at him thankfully. Still, he froze, barely able to stop himself from tripping over his own two feet. Later he would remember this moment as the beginning of the end, and the end of his pathetic existence in this world. His heart, his strong and never failing heart, skipped a beat. He felt a chill crawl up his spine, immobilizing him. Why?

She wasn’t looking at him though, she was watching the corner of the street. She was standing so still, if not for the rise and fall of her chest he would have thought her to be a statue. She seemed to be challenging the shadow coated alley, where the shade cast by the building hid the corner and the rest of the hidden street. Her eyes, the endless pools of golden brown, were empty of all emotion - as if she had lost herself somewhere.

The wind picked up, catching itself in her long light brown hair and pulling it away from her face and neck. She moved, pulling the white zip up hoodie tighter over her pale blue t-shirt and thin frame. She moved once more, this time to take a step. He noticed that her dark jeans had a tear in the upper right thigh, but that was the style now and it seemed like everyone followed it. It was in that moment, right before her foot hit the ground, that he caught the scent. Blood. Fresh human blood.

He felt his stomach lurch, wanting what it could not have. Quickly and quietly he crossed over to her side of the street, the whole time cursing himself for not detecting the scent earlier. The blood scent was mixed with the musk of werewolf. He didn’t have time to think about the fact that it was day time. This girl, the oddly scented human, was headed into the jaws of a feasting werewolf. Not just any wolf either, a pure blood without a care for the reestablished rules or human life. If he couldn’t get to her in time… he shuddered at the thought. He couldn’t let her die, not someone with that scent. Not any human. It was his job to keep the balance, to keep his kind and wolves unknown. He only hoped that he could convince the wolf to leave them alone, but then again he was no match for a pure blood when the sun was out. No match at all.