Crispin the Vampire: The Cross of Blood

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England, A.D. 1377

"In the midst of death comes life." I have heard this many times, from various people. But they never knew how true those words are. But, "In the midst of life comes death" is also true. But it is not in the way you would expect it.

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I remember the day my mother died. The priest and I wrapped her tiny body in a gray shroud and easily carried her to the church. It is very compelling to see how death changes people. Death took away all of my mother's strength.

Asta was her name.

As the priest and I bore the remainder of my mother to the church cemetery, it began to rain. Why has God done this to me? The dirt road turns into mud, making it even harder to walk in. The rain was the only noise, besides the sound of our labored breathing.

Continuing to walk, we passed the villagers. None of them even looked up. As they shunned her in life, they did so too in death. They all hated me, too.

My lonely mother had two friends in the village. The priest, Father Quinel, and me, her son. The villagers did nothing but ignore her. I had often wondered why, because she was beautiful. Not in the way all children think their mothers, but really, truly, beautiful.

The burial was where all of the other poor people were buried. The cemetery behind the church. Father Quinel and I dug her grave, in the muck. She had no coffin. We laid her in, with her feet facing the east, so that when the Day of Judgement came she would rise up to face Jerusalem.

I could not understand the prayers the priest was chanting in Latin. So my thoughts meandered to why God had taken away the one person I loved. Alas, God's will be done.

Once we had finished burying the body of my mother, the steward, John Aycliffe, came upon his horse.

He glared at me. "Asta's son, come." He said this with an impatient gesture with his hand.

I couldn't look him in the eye, but I still came close.

"Look at me!", he demanded, forcing my head up with an acute slap. I could not help but to wince. My reward was him scowling at me.

For some reason I will never know, I always had great difficulty to look on others. John Aycliffe, was by far the hardest of them all. Maybe it was because his black-beard, beady eyes, sharp face, and frowning lips were forever angry with me. He hated me, but I, as our good Lord in Heaven knows, did nothing to him. Nothing! Even when I just passed by him, I would allure his scorn, kicks, insults, and even blows.

But John Aycliffe was forever blameless, because he was in charge of our little village of Stromford, while Lord Duranger was away. If you committed one small crime and was caught, you could get any punishment Aycliffe could think of. For such penalties as missing a day of work, speaking harshly of him, poaching, or stealing some much needed bread, you could get anything from a whipping to a cut-off hand to death. Aycliffe was the judge, jury, and executioner, so he had only to say the word, and there would no longer be an offender. We were all deeply afraid of him.

After a long time of Aycliffe staring and me squirming, he said, "You are required to bring your ox to manor house, by tomorrow noon. It will serve as your mother's death tax."

"But sir," I said slowly, for I was terribly stupid, "I can't. For I will not be able to work the fields without the ox."

"Starve then, for all I care," he said, sneering at me. As he rode off, he didn't even look backwards to see the effect of his words.

Seeing I was distressed, Father Quinel whispered in my ear, "Come into the church, son of Asta. Together, we will pray." I was too upset to say anything, so I only shook my head.

"Don't worry; God will always protect you, and I will pray for you," the priest said, gently placing his frail hand on my shoulder. "Just as he now protects your dear mother."

His words had the opposite effect on me as he had intended. I was only more agitated. Was death the only escape from this wretched place? Afraid and uncertain, I ran to the forest.

I tripped and I stumbled over fallen branches, weeds, underbrush, and only God knows what else. I was starving, haven eaten long before the burial of my mother. But I craved something different. Something I had never craved before. Blood.

While I realized this, I stumbled, and as God would have it, my head struck stone.

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~Cori