The Last Heretic

THE AUTHOR'S MONSTER

The fork in the road was easy to find. The lizard spotted a small cottage in the distance and looked up at the sky. The sun was a good ways over the mountains, but it was still quite early in the morning. Mumbling a silent prayer to his gods, he walked up to the porch with hope in his heart. There was an old barn not too far away, its paint chipped and faded with age. A cackle of chickens softly emanated from the wooden enclosure. He stooped over slightly to fit under the awning of the house and gently knocked.

The door opened after a few seconds. An elderly man gently glanced up into the lizard's eyes, "Hello? Can I help you, son?"

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Ruyen. I am Ivan. I read your book, Contemporary Mythology of Eulan, and want to ask you few questions."

The old man stared at the lizard for a moment, processing his request. A soothing breeze wafted between them, gently stirring the flowers of a flowerpot by the door. Flowers that hadn't been watered in months. An animal groaned from the barn. The man shrugged, "I don't see why not." He turned towards the kitchen and motioned for his guest to come, "Make yourself at home. How'd you know I lived in Siy?"

Ivan bowed under the doorframe and removed his hat as he stepped into the home, "You mentioned dream of retiring here in book."

Marcob walked across the kitchen of the quaint house, stirring a freshly-cracked egg in the skillet over a small carbide stove. The egg crackled from the heat as he chuckled, "I guess I did, didn't I? Love takes you to far places. Sometimes..." he sighed, "...it takes you home."

Marcob glanced out the small window above the sink. Ivan followed his gaze. A small wooden sign marked a barely noticeable grave only a dozen yards from his small garden.

"I am...sorry for loss." the lizard said.

"Me too, kid. Me too."

The man cleared his throat and turned a dial on the little stove, reducing the flame to barely a candle's size, and sat down at the table. He gestured at the other chair. Ivan nodded and gently sat on the rickety wooden seat. It didn't like his weight, but it held.

The old man smiled warmly at his guest, "So, what is this about?"

"Vampires."

The smile faded slightly. Of all the things to ask about, this kid wanted to know about them.

"I see." He leaned back in his chair and sighed, "I compiled a lot of stories to find commonalities - details they shared and whatnot. And there were plenty."

Ivan nodded, "Yes. But, you mentioned cure."

"A cure?" Marcob cocked his head slightly, "For vampirism?"

Ivan nodded once. The older man looked at the ceiling and thought back to the writing process of his last and final book. He had published it before he moved to Siy all those years ago. His wife, bless her heart, had warned him of publishing it given its ridiculous wealth of information on the mythological monsters of the night. She was worried it could attract the wrong attention. He had heard stories, combed legends, and meticulously inspected myths from dozens of sources - all pointing to the creatures' disappearance a little less than a century ago. But his research pushed the idea that they hadn't disappeared - merely hid. She worried that he would poke the lion, so to speak, by publishing his research. He couldn't remember writing anything about a cure for vampirism, though. Had he forgotten in his old age?

"Ah!" He exclaimed, "I remember now...I have my notes in a box in my room, I'll bring them out for you. Wait here."

Marcob stood up and walked out of the kitchen, the creaky floorboards following the old man's footsteps as he turned down the hallway of his small cabin and vanished into his room. Ivan heard him rummaging through a footlocker. He glanced at the egg as it started to crackle and pop on its way to becoming burnt. The lizard stood up and walked over to the little stove, removing the skillet and placing it on a nearby dish rag across the counter. The old man must've gotten distracted by his guest and completely forgotten about it. He glanced outside as the sunshine graced the shoulder of his black leather jacket. He held up his hand to its rays, his sharp claws glistening in the sunlight. It stung a little. That potion he drank earlier was already starting to wear off. He only had a few left - and they were all in his bag at the inn. How long did they last, again? Was it eight hours or-

The blast ripped a chunk of flesh off his arm. A portion of the cupboards in front of him exploded into splinters. He covered the ripped scales with his hand and dove into the living room. Another blast blew a hole through the kitchen cabinet. The splinters rained to the floor.

"She told me they would come!" Marcob yelled, prying his double-barrel shotgun open. The steaming shells bounced along the hardwood floor as his shaking fingers shoved two fresh ones in with a click. The weapon snapped closed, "She told me not to publish it! They would kill me for exposing them!"

Ivan rolled over and stood up. He silently stepped into the doorway across the living room, slinking into the other end of the hallway. He held his breath and listened. The floorboards slowly creaked as Marcob stepped through the kitchen, "I knew what you were when I laid eyes on you, son. Your...kind..."

Marcob swung around the corner of the wall, his shotgun pointed at the blood stain on the floor of the living room where Ivan lay just a second ago. The blood was smoking in a ray of sunlight. It was boiling before his very eyes.

Ivan slunk through the hallway as silently as a giant lizard-man could, passing the open door of the bedroom and moving back around towards the entrance to the kitchen. Marcob was panting - he could hear the old man's strained breath throughout the house. The author was terrified.

"So why did you do it? Why did you kill her!"

The lizard slowly peered around the end of the hallway and glanced at the splatter of his blood on the cupboards. The liquid was smoking and evaporating in a sunbeam. His flesh was turning to ash on the countertop. It was already almost gone.

A gasp behind him made him jump. Marcob pulled the trigger. The lead pellets screamed past the small ear holes of Ivan's hairless skull and punched a hole through the front door. The lizard grabbed the barrel of the shotgun and ripped it out of the old man's hands, throwing it over his shoulder. He shoved the man against the wall, his meaty hand wrapped around his tiny, wrinkled neck. The man's breath stopped short. He was trembling.

Ivan leaned into the shaking man's pale face, his hot breath only an inch from the man's nose, "I'm not here for you." His eyes started to glow a muted red deep within his pupils, "And I know nothing about her. I'm here for cure."

The old man glanced down at the Solladin's teeth. Six fangs were slowly growing out of the flesh of its mouth - four from the roof of the mouth, two from beneath the tongue. He looked back up at the monster's eyes, "The...the...cure?" he managed to stammer.

"Yes." Ivan said. His breath was growing raspy. The missing chunk of his arm spilled a steady, thin stream of blood onto the floor. It needed healing and he held the medicine in his grip. But he didn't want to heal right now - he wanted information. And it took every ounce of his will to keep himself from devouring the poor man. He was holding back his very nature.

Marcob's face contorted in pain as he shook his head in the lizard's grip, "I...only know rumors! I've never seen it with my own eyes!"

He slowly let go of the old man's neck, "Rumor brought me to your house." He softly closed his mouth, a slight lisp over his fangs covering his deep and cavernous voice, "I can work with rumor."

The six sharp teeth protruded from his lips, itching for a taste of blood. The old man's eyes were glazed over. He wasn't listening anymore. Ivan let go of the man. Marcob slunk to the floor clutching his chest. Ivan knelt down and grabbed his shoulder, "Mr. Ruyen!"

Marcob pointed a trembling arm at his bedroom, "The...closet..." His voice was strained from the pain deep within his chest, "My notes...I couldn't...everything..." The old man's voice trailed off into raspy breaths. His eyes widened. The wrinkles around their sockets smoothed as he smiled warmly and lovingly at something behind the lizard. Ivan turned around. There was no one there. They were the only people in the house. They were the only people for miles.

"Mallory..." The old man whispered, "...you waited..."

The man's head bowed into his lap. Ivan gently lifted his head by the chin. It was heavy. Lifeless. The man didn't respond. Ivan gently laid him on his back on the floor. He placed both of his palms on the center of the man's chest, one hand over the other. He didn't come this far to lose his only lead to a heart attack. The lizard firmly pressed his hands into the man's chest. He pumped the poor man's ribcage with a steady rhythm, trying to coax his heart back to life. Marcob's body trembled with every meaty shove of his chest cavity. But he was still. His eyes were lifeless. The spark of life was gone.

He was dead.