Birthright ~ (LGBT-Fantasy-Vampire)

Chapter 2 ~ Visitations

Slowly walking across the threshold, I place my hand against the door to part it further.  To my amazement, it opens fairly easily, perhaps too easily even though constructed from as thick of hardwood as I'd ever encountered. Peering inside, the darkness seems to take on the appearance of a black hole. Strangling, seemingly boundless yet drinking in everything within its reach, snuffing out all existence of light and life, except for a flame flickering in the distance, dancing around a corner. I ease my feet down upon what seems to be steps diminutive in breadth. At that moment I envision myself flying off into the darkness unaware of what I may fall into.  Once my feet seem to be on more solid ground, I hear the bottoms of my shoes click along the rounded pieced flooring. Then it occurs to me that the flooring must be cold moist rock, as the chill permeates the soles of my leather mules and my body begins to shiver.

In pursuit of illumination which beckons all human beings in the dark of night, I call out inquiring often if anyone was home, all the while explaining why I was there, as if someone would be listening. Stupid perhaps, but I really wasn't ready to be shot for trespassing, even though the front door bid me welcome. Rounding the corner of what later appeared to be the den or library, flames freshly kindled in the rock-lined fireplace call to me like sirens.

Without a second thought, I rambled shivering up to the hearth and began warming my hands and front side of my body. While the flames kindled my torso and the grip of the self-hug in which I was embraced eased, my eyes cast upwards, catching site of the immense oil painting hanging above the fireplace. The rendering was that of a long dark-haired gent donning late 1600's period garments containing dark pants, long black coat, white ruffled shirt, and dark hat. As I peer closer, I pose aloud, "I wonder if that is my 13th great grandfather Christopher Harewell..." As that spoken sentence trails off, I feel a slight chill in the air pass behind me, and then a voice nearby asks, "And who are you?"

I stammer and stutter an apology, "Umm.. the ummm duh duh door was open.. and my rental car had broken down.. I had been expected to arrive much earlier by the keepers of the manor, but I lost time in a few cemeteries while researching my ancestry and losing my way on a few back roads.. I am so sorry."  

I inform him of my family birth name and for whom I was ardently searching, all the while  slowly closing the space between myself and the shadowy figure seated in the corner of the library. Reaching out my hand to greet the stranger, light from the lapping flames of the fireplace illuminated the left side of his face. His skin was oddly hued, his facial structure angular and drawn. Holding out my hand, I instinctively caught myself offering it palm upward, as if allowing an animal to sniff and sense no harm. It seemed like an eternity until his hand touched mine and was nearly so icy, that the touch made me shudder. However, I did not withdraw because there was something familiar in his face. I take my other hand and place it atop his, hoping to warm him, and also allow him confidence that I was earnest in my reasons for being there. In an overly cordial yet perhaps curious-filled voice, he asks me to make myself comfortable, and he would draw a drink for me to bring back the pallor of my cheeks.

Prattling on about my research, he pours brandy from a glass flask into our glasses and holds one out to me. It is then I noticed his ring. Quite old, wide gold band with etchings and a huge stone in the center. I couldn't make out anything else due to the poor lighting. I timidly inquire if there were books I could read in the bookcases that lined the walls of the library, that would give me more information as to the whereabouts of my ancestors, particularly the burial places around the area. He curtly warns me that some of the cemeteries it would be best not to visit due to strange happenings and crimes against person who visit. For some inexplicable reason there had been a rash of violent attacks recently. He further offers that perhaps some ruffians or robbers were to blame.

"Perhaps you may not be able to understand, but knowing my history, my "birthright" is very important to me. I came all this way from the United States to trace them, to know more where I came from, who I am. I can't put into words, how it makes me feel, being in the land where my fathers walked, where they tilled the earth, where they married and had families, where they stood and fought in wars to protect all for that which they had worked so arduously. I have this deep yearning, desire to touch them. I know I can't really touch them in person, but at least I can visualize where they rest. Am I making sense or am I already slurring due to the Brandy?"

The sifted brandy indeed had its intended purpose in warming my cheeks and other body parts. Taking rest upon an antique sofa situated along the wall with high glass windows above it, I notice it had a musty scent as if it had not been cleaned in quite some time. But it was comfortable with my tired feet and legs from the walking and running.

After viewing my nearly closing eyes, my most pleasant host remarks that he would tend to a room for me to lodge for the night. Attempting to arise, I remark that I don't not want to intrude upon him. But he insists that it wasn't safe for me to go anywhere at that time of night, which did allay my fears and not wanting to ask for lodging myself. While my eyes watch his figure cascading up the staircase and down the presumably long hall above the library, I take note of his dress. Long dark coat that had a huge yoke around it, that didn't even hit the back of his knees as he glided up the stairs. It dawns upon me about that time, that I didn't even know the name of my most kind host. No sooner was he gone from sight, a knock came upon the front door, and I really wished I knew his name.

A loud boistering shout from two demanding gruff voices cuts through the darkness, "Is anyone eere?  Anyone at ohhmme?" Then the most chilling,  hideous laughter escapes from their lips as the door is soundly knocked against the frame.  

I shout out, "Who is there?? Do you not know that this is not your residence!! LEAVE!!"

As the figures discover me in the library, their faces illuminated by the light of the fireplace were indeed hideous. Fat, bumpy, scraggly faces that hadn't seen a razor in quite some time,  missing teeth, and the ones that dared grace their mouths were darkened it seemed.  

"How are ya this evening lad? Are you ere all alone? Or are the ghosts and vampires keeping you company?", taunted the more vocal of the two dangerous brutes.

"There are no such things in this house, and you both need to leave because the owner will be upset once he returns and will call the authorities", I offer menacingly.

As the figures draw closer to my personal space I back away and began calling for Christopher, "Christopher! Please come! There are surly robbers in the house!! " 

Not believing there was a Christopher living there, they scoff and menacingly mock my calling for whomever I didn't know.  But it felt natural to call him Christopher, since I came there in search of a Christopher Harewell.

The taller of the two thieves comes closer and closer, backing me up against the cold rock wall. I turn away and draw a fist and slung it at my would-be assailant, squarely landing upon his cheek, knocking him back a good distance..

Holding his cheek he remarks wickedly, "Ohhh.. the boy wants to play does he? We'll show you how to play proper like." 

His unruly partner takes hold of my arms while punching me about the face and stomach. With the onslaught of extreme pain with each connecting blow and the breath taken from my lungs, my body begins to slump towards the floor.  However, I am kept upright until my attacker takes from his back pocket, something resembling a small club. As I eye the club, it rushes towards the side of my head, jerking my neck backwards against my captor's shoulder.  

I remember sinking to the rock cobbled floor gazing upward towards the steps where I see Christopher looking over the balcony. I must have been hallucinating as I would have sworn he floated over the protective wrought iron barrier and sailed squarely into the scruffy robbers. The last thing I heard was the most hideous cries engulfing the air all around me.