only human

Two

Just as Sylvie had predicted, it had snowed, and it hadn’t stopped doing so for over a week. At 19 Arwell Avenue, the cold that the snow brought with it was stubborn to leave despite the log fires and candles that had been lit around the place. But it wasn’t warmth that had attracted Hal Yorke to buy this cottage home. The seclusion and isolation of the town, and the general insignificance of its residents meant that his internal battle could rage on unnoticed, and if he did revert, any damage could be confined to a much smaller area.

After having had a forty year-long jaunt as his reverted self, one year being ‘good’ was hardly an indication he was safe to be let out in amongst humanity, and for one year humanity did not intrude on him either. Yet on a winter’s night when Hal was busy attempting to warm the frozen air of the cottage, he was disturbed by three loud and confident knocks. He told himself he would not; could not answer it. Just two weeks or so before he had received a letter – an invitation – bordered with pretty gold leaf and written in elegant calligraphy, and it so happened that Hal’s more monstrous self was in control. He was so close to writing Yes; so close to giving himself the perfect medium to kill again, but he stopped himself. He wrote No.

Alas the simple ordeal had been all too near to triggering the very collapse he’d feared and been fighting against for one whole year. It meant that any human contact was now out of the question, and that opening that door was unfeasible. But despite this resolution, something threw him, because, whoever had knocked on that door knew exactly who was inside.

 “Oh, Lord Harry!” called a terrifyingly familiar voice.

Hal froze. It was Fergus.

Fergus was not a human, but a vampire. In the 1720s Hal was in France and having a distinctively ‘good’ period, and his confidence had grown to such a point that he’d felt human contact was possible. He’d grown close with the then-human Fergus, until his new friend was struck down with The Great Plague of Marseille. Hal had recruited him, to save him, and thus Fergus was a vampire, but he became the least human vampire Hal had ever seen. Fergus was one of the main influences that had caused Hal to relapse into the monster he thought he’d escaped.

 “Oh, Hal… Henry… or whatever it is you like to be called!” he shouted.

Out of the silence that followed, “Excuse me, sir,” came a young female voice.

Hal edged towards the boarded window; his heart pounding in his chest, faster than he ever knew was possible.

“Why, hello there little lady,” said Fergus with an obvious smile in his voice. His voice got louder then: he began talking to Hal. “You hear that? There’s a lovely young lady out here.” The threat was clear. He would kill the girl if Hal didn’t come out.

Hal panicked, unable to decide what to do. He had come here to stop the killing, not to stand by and watch it happen! But if he went out there, he himself could kill her all the same.

Suddenly, the girl’s voice sounded. It was sharper and more abrupt than before. “Sir, do you know who lives in here?”

“I do indeed. I’m sure he’d love to meet you – Hal! You’d better come down!” spoke Fergus.

There was a long silence. Outside, Sylvie who had come to investigate the mystery at Arwell Avenue hadn’t expected someone to have beaten her to it. And, there was something in how this man had addressed her as if she was a delicious crème brûlée that set her teeth on edge. He continued to stare expectantly up at the boarded windows of the house, and though instinct told her to be cautious of this stranger, Sylvie found herself looking up too. It was like waiting for the curtains to go up in a theatre before a performance – tense and captivating.