The Children Of Cain: A Tale of the Vampyre Hunters

The Original Story

I originally wrote, and self published, this story almost 15 years ago, before I finally evolved into who I am now. It is being presented here, free, due to contract expiration. Any originally identifying information has been redacted using the Capital X. This is one of my first forays into writing, presented strictly for the historical value
Thank You In Advance for reading it
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The Children of Cain
                  By
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

FOREWORD
Dear Riding (writing?) Companion:
A story is like a vehicle, some are big and comfortable, some sleek and dangerous, others just get the job done.  I’ll be your driver this evening.  Climb on in.  Buckle up.  As we say in the South, we’re goin’ ridin’.  Make sure you’re comfortable, we might not be stopping until we get there, at least if I do my job right.  Do you have snacks?  You can’t always count on the rest areas on these highways.  Make sure you hang on to something.  There are going to be twists and turns in the road, some you’ll see coming at us, some  you won’t, but don’t worry, ‘everything’s under control’, as they say.  Don’t worry about the wildlife.  Something may occasionally jump out in front of us, but I’ve got the wheel and I know the route.  Nothing’s going to harm you on these back roads.  That’s the good thing about a good story.  It lets you step out of the everyday and into a brave new world where the sun can shine at night, and the things that go ‘bump’ might not be the furnace kicking in.  I don’t aspire to great writing.  I will never be a ‘great’ writer.  But I can drive this car and hopefully you’ll enjoy the ride.  I don’t write literature.  I tell stories, so if you want something that stimulates or inspires, well, I may have a few nuggets of wisdom and inspiration scattered here and there, but for the most part just accept the story as ‘good, bad or mediocre’, and don’t dig too deep or you might scratch the paint job.
Your Humble Driver
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thank Yous
And Dedication

No creative project is, in my humble opinion, ever a solo project.  In this case it’s more like a group effort.  That said, I have a few people to thank before you dig in to the story.  These people have been invaluable to me as I wrote this book.
First, I have to thank XXXXXXXXXX, whose input and pushing brought this to fruition.  Thanks XXXXX, you’re my muse!
Second, I have to thank my mother, for never doubting me for a second when I said I was going to be a writer someday.  Someday finally came mama!
Third, thanks go out to XXXXXXXXXXXX for her encouragement and support.  Hey XXXXXX, I made it into print!
Last, but in no way least, I have to thank my wife, XXXXXX, for putting up with writer’s block, temper tantrums, three a.m. brainstorms, black moods, and sleepless nights when I worked all night long. 

This book is lovingly dedicated to Ms. XXXXXXXXXXXXX my High School English teacher whose belief in me has never wavered, even now, years later.  Ms. XXXXXXX, if you’re reading this, thank you will never be enough.  Your support, encouragement and belief kept me struggling when even my wife couldn’t prop me up.  I’d remember your gift and advice and, after a couple of deep breaths, keep going.  The only way I can phrase it is that you were the pivotal person in my writing career, and I honor you for that.
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The Children Of Cain:
A Tale of the Vampyre Hunters
By  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Meredith Hawk looked warily down the dark streets.  A strange town at night held peril at every corner for a vampyre hunter.  The Undead, for some odd reason, didn’t like a vampyre hunter slinking around their town.  Hawk pressed his back against the decaying cinder block of the building behind him and squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating on listening.  With the undead, sight was tricky at best.  If ever they fixed their gaze upon your eyes, you’d be in heaven ten minutes before you were dead.  They could dazzle the eyes, but could do very little with the ears, save scare the bejezus out of you, and Hawk had been doing his job too long to be easily frightened.  He weighed his options carefully.  The words of his mentor came back to him; “A wise hunter knows when to hunt, and when to save the hunt for another day.”  A lone tear streamed its way down his cheek.  His mentor, now his prey, had been turned earlier in the year.  It seemed he had succumbed to the vampiric enchantments of Baal-Nimroch.  That name brought hot anger to the surface, threatening to cloud his thinking.  He decided to make his way back to his motel room.  Emotions are a weakness for a Hunter.  It gives too much for the hunted to work with.  And Vampyres are ruthless.