It's late 19th century, Y/N moves to Louisiana to learn more about vampires. But what happens when she finds one likely creature of the night at Porterhollow Cemetery?
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The peaceful sound of crickets, the croaking of frogs, and the quiet chattering of folk from across the cobblestone road, the muffled sound of laughter in the tavern. I sat on the shore of a lake, taking it all in. It was late at night. The moon reflecting off the rippling water. I've always admired the ambience and scene of late night Louisiana. There's something about it that makes me feel whole and at hum. I've always been one with nature, I guess that's why it makes me feel that way. I've always been drawn to Louisiana because of the swamps and the tales of vampires lurking in the night. You might consider me to be crazy as a loon but those creatures of the night interest me. There's only a small chance of information folk have on vampires in Texas, where I was born and raised, I came here to learn more about them, to hear the stories about them, and to possibly find one. I'm not getting my hopes up, though. I may never find one, they may not even be real, just a myth, like sirens and fairies, but who really knows? There's one certain vampire everyone has a story about here in Porterhollow, Louisiana. No one knows his real name, so they call him Wrecker of the Night, many claim to have seen him but there are some unlucky few that have seen him and gone mentally... unwell. They say after they met him, he appeared in their nightmares and slowly but surely drove them over the edge. The story of this vampire starts with how he became what he is, nobody knows what he was or who he was before he changed. He was only twenty five when he turned, he had been kidnapped by a group of foreigners, one of the foreigners being a witch, the witch was making potions, he was their guinea pig, the group would test out the potions by making him drink the newly invented potions to see if they worked or if they needed tweaking. Well one day he was made to drink a potion that was still in the works and let's just say, some of the ingredients weren't measured correctly.
He started seizing and minutes later he laid there, cold as a wagon's tire, no heartbeat. The foreigners panicked and threw his body in an alleyway and left him for the rats. He woke up hours later, with a few bites on his arms and limbs. Those healed up quite nicely within a few hours, though. He felt a burning sensation in his stomach and throat. His brain telling him he was thirsty. He craved a metallic tasting fluid. Something rich and thick. He walked into a tavern, but not just any tavern, the tavern I'm sat across at this very moment. He sat at the bar and ordered a pint of beer, thinking it would quench his thirst. He chugged it down in seconds. The bartender stared at him, he gave him a skeery wide eyed look. "The hell you staring at?" He asked. He set the empty pint down, staring back at the bartender with an irritated look. "Sir, your um, your teeth are... go look in the bathroom." His voice trembled with fear, the bartender pointed towards a door on his left. He got up from the stool and walked into the bathroom. He got up closer to the mirror, his face was inches from his reflection, he raised his top lip and noticed his canines. They were longer than before, much sharper. He took a few steps and blinked, trying to process what was happening. He knew the potion he drank did this, it caused this. All this pain and the two sharp canines. Although he chugged the beer, he was still feeling like the thirsty man in a dry desert. Days go by and he finally finds what quenches that painful thirst. It was blood, he started drinking the life out of animals but their blood was bland, they only ate grass, so there was no real flavor in the blood. Days after his feeding he found out his strengths: enhanced strength, enhanced hearing, night vision, and longevity. That was twenty years ago. He still haunts this town so they say, in search for the group that did this to him. He wanted so badly to find them so he could force them to make a potion to diminish the hunger for blood. They apparently fled to another part of the country after the little death scare. They left him as a cursed man, a damned man. Now, to the other stories about this specific vampire, well there are too many to tell, most being fable and sounding like a child's tale. He only preys on the bummers of the town, some say he lives and dwells in Porterhollow cemetery.He visits the tavern once every blue moon. A lot of the town's whores boast about how they've slept with him, most of the outlaws claim they have killed him either with their bare hands or with their trusty dagger, and all the children claim he's played with them at least once at the lake. So many people have had these encounters with him, yet no one knows his name, no one has a sketch of his face. They all say whenever they were with him it was either always dark or half of his face was covered with a bandana. Some folk say he has crystal blue eyes and dark hair, almost black. His nose and mouth are almost always covered by the darkness of the night or his bandana. Why cover his face? What's there to hide? His fangs? Are they incredibly long? Does he look like some kind of vampire-walrus hybrid? I sure hope not. They say once you stare into his blue eyes, it's over. Your dead. You're doomed as soon as you stare into his ocean eyes, he can entrance you and bite into you as soon as your under his spell. His eyes have their own powers. No witch could've done that, they're just magical on their own—so they say.
I've been in Louisiana for almost two year, I've been studying the culture of vampires in this town's book store, I'm good friends with the owner, Tobias Wentley. In fact, he's the one who told me all the stories about the Wrecker. I've waited until candle-light to sit on the sandy shore of the lake, peering at the tavern, waiting for some mysterious man with a bandana covering his face to show up and enter the tavern for almost a year now. I've made a deal with myself, if he doesn't show up tonight, I'll go to the cemetery tomorrow night. I haven't tried to go to Porterhollow cemetery yet, but only because it's on the other side of town... it's definitely not because I'm scared of that place at night time. Wrecker was a no show.
— A/N: I'm gonna be posting most of my writing on tumblr, if you wanna follow me or whatever my tumblr is @/frenchbucky 😘♥️
