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Torn from my dreams
As our spirits touch
Cruel
Unfair
Dumped back inside
This dirty stinking lair

Impossibly he rises
This bleak world
Full of surprises
The corpse staggers
Knees wobble
Creeps along
With a hobble
Casting a dark shadow
Over me

He paws at the cranium
On the floor
Sinuous shadows
Scurry deep inside
He scoops up his fetid crown
Places it aright
Then turns to me and frowns

Blood trickles
Down his cheeks
Tears of wisdom
Now fully aware
Of how little
Resides over there

Salvation
All along
Was nothing more
Than an empty song

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I hold the world
In the palm
Of my hand
Everything I hoped for
Everything I dreamed of
Bound
In this tiny piece of heaven

I shake the globe
Ivory flakes
Spin round and round
Before
I thought them snow
But snow I have not seen
Since The Departure
Only the frost of night
That comes and goes
Before the morning arrives

No longer
Will I mistake it
Such ethereal rain
‘Tis no more than ash
Swirling round
Silver and blue spires
A castle crafted
With fairy tales in mind
Such stories
Long forgotten
In the shadow
Of my past

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Ivy snatched my hand as sparks of light shot from her wings. Before I could rip my hand away, the meadow spun out from beneath us. Higher and higher we arced until all was lost in a misty haze. Slowly our speed tapered off as we slipped through an opening in the tree’s canopy. Snuggled deep in the tree’s embrace, a town sparkled below.

“This is Holloway Springs,” Ivy whispered.

Silver spires swept by as we glided past a series of towers and sundecks. Carved into Holloway Springs’ upper extremities lay the housing communities of Y’nnowyn, Merrymore, and Lillipucker Folley. Painted decks gift-wrapped the dwellings with vanilla, cherry, and grape trim.

As we drifted below, more of the town’s stunning architecture came into view. My heart raced as I realized that one of the domes sat atop a giant library. Had the faeries really discovered the invention known as books? Perhaps there was a place for me after all, at least for a couple weeks.

Town Square was a spectacle unto itself: A series of conjoined discs with minimal structural support hung in the air. Main Street, the causeway snaking through the heart of Halloway Springs, teemed with bustling gardens, quaint little coffee shops and cascading fountains that poured into the levels below. A series of arching bridges tied together the remaining communities of Etherharp, Dewdrop and Wandering Way.

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“Another dress? No thanks, ma,” I told her on my fourteenth birthday. “I’d like a hunting knife instead.”

She eyed me curiously, as if I had just told her that I was no longer a virgin. “And what do you need a knife for, Cailan?”

“To kill vampires, of course.”

“It takes a lot more than a knife to kill a vampire.” She rubbed the scar above her ear.

“A toothpick can be lethal if you know how to use it. At least, that’s what the old man told me,” I replied.

Momma pursed her lips, and began knitting again, but I was smitten with my new occupation. At first I thought I would be angry when she started seeing the stranger a few months ago, but my heart warmed every time he passed by.

Initially I thought he was a dork…all right, perhaps he is a dork; but when I caught him throwing knives into an old post I was captivated. I hid behind a bush and watched for a while, certain he could not see me. Knife after knife he buried into the pillar, each the same distance apart. After tossing his three knives, he yanked them out and began again.

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He tells me
He loves me
That I look
Just as I did
Before the flash
That took the skin
From his hands and face
Dare I tell him
He looks worse off
Than I do?

He offers a mug of dirty water
And scraps of moldy bread
But I do not touch them
Or anything
In this disheveled lair
Carved into the hill

He asks how I am
What I’ve done
Who I’ve been with
I am not your dog
You creep
But the words come out wrong
The only word
His pea-brain discerns
Is the one
That has eluded me
For so many nights

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2 December

Yesterday a man approached me about a game. It would be fun, he promised. He would show me that my reluctance was misplaced, and perhaps, even a bit childish. I am not a man for games; I simply do not have the time. There are much better ways to pass the day, and the thought of dragging metal toys across a slab of fold out cardboard nauseates me.

“You win,” I told him. I was even willing to kick in a few bucks just so he would leave me alone.

“It’s one of a kind,” he promised.

Cognizant of the eyes upon me, I relented, and took a seat opposite him. Since I was new in town, I did not want to make myself out to be more of a prick than was already suspected, so I entertained the old geezer and his endless prattle.

“I could be home right now,” I thought to myself as we took turns dividing up our armies and placing them on the board. When not composing I can be found pouring over my archives, or acquiring a new skill. The thought of playing a board game was absurd at best, yet here I found myself.

My mind wandered from the game at hand to the sandy white beaches of my vacation home in Napili. I had made an investment years ago for a condo overlooking the ocean for the astronomical price of $195,000 in the late ‘80s. I had only purchased it because I knew I could rent it out the other fifty weeks of the year while I was away. After the first six months the condo began paying for itself and providing extra cash for my annual visit. Twelve years later property values skyrocketed and my humble two-bedroom two-bath condo with lanai peaked at $1.2 million.

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I spied them in the branches above, shadows springing from tree to tree. Silently, in unison with the howling wind, bare limbs clattering together, clickety-clack, clickety-clack, masking their advance to the untrained ear.

“Is it always so windy this side of Mayenne?” My frosty breath dissipated before me. The wind swelled, revealing my crossbow underneath, and nearly taking my wool hat with it. I tucked my journal into my pocket, and pulled my coat shut.

“Always.” The guide prodded his black mare forward. He was tall and slender, dawning a white lace shirt and tan breeches, oblivious to the biting wind. Brown curls fell to his shoulders, green eyes matching the emerald stream behind him. “I am Darrien Laroche, son of Hadrian.” He offered a hand.

“No names.” I waved him off, preferring to linger in the shade of the tree. “After you, my friend.”

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So little time
For sleep or dreams
Even when I wish
They do not come

Is the world out of dreams?

I tread along
This sinuous path
Careful to keep him
Within my sight
As he fades
Into the shadows
Once more

Though I struggle
My dear
You are not lost from me
And never
Are you far

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Night falls
And thoughts of you
Race through my head
Your icy breath
Licks my skin
You are close now
Even in this pathetic state
The smell of your cologne
Draws me from the shadows
Deep within

Days following The Decree
The land scorched over
Evenings frosted
To such extremes
Nothing could live
In between
Except the undead
And Redeemed

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‘Twas an accident, I confess. Not sure where to begin, so let me just jump right in. I caught her spying on me through the window that eve as I poured over edits of The Canterbury Chronicle. As I hurried to bolt the door, the pale shadow slipped inside, combing her blonde locks with her fingers.

“Do not be frightened, dear. I am an admirer,” she murmured, licking the keen point of her incisors with her tongue. “Pity I have had to savor your work from afar, pondering every word, every subtle turn of phrase. No longer.” She advanced me. “Is that tomorrow’s edition?”

“Yes.” I steadied my trembling hands.

“Good, then I have a story for you: the wisdom of an old, enlightened soul,” she mused.

“Very well.” I backed into my desk. “Who would you like me to interview?”

“Myself, of course.” She lifted her crimson dress, and eased into the chair.

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The world raced by in all its fiery madness. I could see my epitaph now:

Here lies Yvan Frollingswyrth
That cranky old bastard
Who was foolish enough
To marry a cloud faery
And was never seen again

Through a tunnel of fire we bounded, our essence thundering across the world of Adura. My eyes burned, teeth chattered, and balls ached. Before I could curse the dragon whose magic sent us here, an explosion ripped through the spinning inferno.

I grabbed Ivy, and held her close as molten debris rained down on us. As we bathed in a hail of fire and brimstone, a wayward fragment shot into my mouth, and down my throat. Even if I could swallow fire, I did not want to see what it looked like coming out the other end, so I hacked as best I could, coughing my lungs inside out. To my surprise the sinking ember had gone down smoothly, as if I’d inhaled a firefly rather than charred ruin. But what would an insect be doing in the tunnel of fire? Aw, well. Perhaps I needed a little extra protein.

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Unwashed hordes
Amble along
Tattered rags
Dangling
From weary bones
Ravenous cries
Echo across the plains
Mindless scavengers
Yearning
For a scrap of flesh

But not this wayward soul
My mind
Is not so far gone
That I cannot reel in
My darkest desires

I struggle
To string together
A few simple words
Moans
Whimpers
Nothing more
Than gibberish

At times
I sound no different
Than the others
I’ve tried communicating
With them before
Wide blood-red eyes
Blackened tongues wriggling
They simply do not comprehend

None are like me
Nor seek a remedy
For this plague
They stagger along
Submissive to their pangs
Hunger the only notion
Crossing their feeble brains

Like insects they scatter
Into the horizon
Till they can crawl
No more
While I sit
And pray

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Warm tears
Are my only comfort
I weep for a small eternity
Losing track of where I am
This body
Barely recognizable
What have I become?

This skin
Once soft and radiant
Now the color of the grave
My blond locks fade
A dark shade
Running through them
I am nothing more
Than a corpse

I am here without you
My love
And without you
I’ve lost my way
Thinking about you
All day long
Wondering where I've been
And why God gave me
Another day
To fill with my despair
If only
I had you near

Photo courtesy of Peter Griffin

Lawson gazed into her pale face, running his fingers through her long, dark hair. "Endolyn?" he whispered, but she did not stir. He kissed her forehead, and walked out of the room, leaving the door ajar.

He sat down at his workbench, and turned the lantern clock over. Opening its back, he gazed inside, and noticed a brass gear slightly bent to one side. He reached in, and fished it out, setting it on the table. Banging down with his riveting hammer, he straightened the metal disc, and eased it back in place. Lawson turned the clock upright, and watched the pendulum begin to swing.

As the clock chimed, Lawson spotted his wife across the room. "My love, what is it?" He jumped off the stool. "You should be resting. Come, have a seat." He led her to the table.

Endolyn sat down, gaping at her odd surroundings. As he took her hand, the skin darkened and bruised over. She whimpered, and placed her head on the wooden table.

"Hang in there, dear." Lawson patted her softly. "The doctor will be here by morning."

She beat down her fist, over and over until it bled.

Photo courtesy of Peter Griffin

The hunter galloped up the cobblestone, raising his repeating crossbow as Vissorouy fell away. As brambles swept over the hill, he squeezed off three successive bursts. Arrows whirred through the air and erupted, incinerating the thorny tangles, and flattening the hill. Dirt and thorns flew high into the air, blood spurting out the broken vines. While the brambles smoldered, Lawson veered off, thundering up the path, and snaking around the flank.

As he whipped around the bend, the hunter unleashed a second volley. Silver needles arced into the valley, detonating one after another, and severing the lines extending from the forest. Blackened tendrils flailed, desperate to shake the flames from them and rethread with the core.

Photo courtesy of Vera Kratochvil

Buckets sloshed from hand to hand, running along a human chain from the pier to the street. Snails squealed at the steady onslaught of seawater, pressing forward defiantly, and backing the men into the dock. One pounced, snapping a man in two, and tossing his remains into the sea.

Essinger cut off the advance, striking out with both swords, and fracturing teeth as they snapped down. "More seawater!" he shouted.

Saltwater splashed against the snail's wounds, scorching layers off its amorphous mass as the vampire carved it to pieces.

"Brothers, your women and children lie at your back. Do not founder!" Essinger screamed. "Hold fast; do not give an inch. The community is your shield; together we shall stand!"

Photo courtesy of Amy Quinn

The crusader bounded from rooftop to rooftop, glancing at the street below. Zombies pawed at the townspeople as they fled, aroused by the commotion. As they pursued, slugs exploded out of the mud, tossing women and children aside, and devouring the witless cadavers.

Essinger peered over the rooftops, and spotted the brigade ahead. Fifty men idled by the docks, staring listlessly as families screamed and fled.

"Hey," Essinger called out; but before he could jump down, the roof jerked forward. He tripped over the crown, smashing clay tiles as he tumbled, and snagging the edge of the roof with one hand.

"Please, help." A woman cradled her child.

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"My lord!" Lawson dragged aside Lord Vangley as the cobblestone walk crumbled.
Demons erupted from beneath, black and gold stripes adorning their amorphous forms. One slithered out, spearing a cadaver with its crooked teeth. As it took the zombie in its mouth, a second monstrosity snapped off a piece for itself.

Laurent gasped. "They are nearly the size of a house."

"Any other infestations I should be aware of?" Lawson raised an eyebrow.

The behemoths snaked forward, twitching eyestalks dangling from their bulbous heads. They prodded the adjacent grounds, snatching up the remaining corpses before setting their sights on the hunter.

Laurent cocked his bow.

"No Laurent, you are too close!" Lawson screamed as he pulled the trigger.

Photo courtesy of Renaude Hatsedakis

The hunter dropped the cadaver, and sawed it open. "More seeds," he uttered. "No doubt this is a fabrication, but how did Enura plant so many so soon? Graveyards are scattered throughout town; even plots exist by the estate house. Surely we would have seen her."

"Perhaps they came with the rain," said Laurent.

"Seeding clouds would be impressive, but not feasible," Lawson replied. "Besides, why not just poison the rainwater?"

"I know from whence they came," said Deverrell.

"And so should you, just the same," said Dionte.

The hunter crossed his arms. "Well, speak."

Photo courtesy of Sigurd Decroos

The undead corpse of a vampire snapped at one of the spectators, before turning its attention back to the rose bush.

"That's odd," Lawson said, staring at the courtyard.

"What is it, Lawson?" Laurent asked.

Without answering, the hunter unbolted the front door, and stepped outside.

"Are you mad? Surely they will attack you." Laurent tried pulling him back inside.

"Will they?" Lawson walked to the center of the courtyard and stood. Zombies devoured the flowers and bushes, not paying any heed.

"They do not appear interested in us, at least not yet," said Lawson. "Without inhibitions, a vampire's first inclination should be to attack a mortal, but even that appears secondary to their newfound hunger."

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Lawson gasped, and hurled his fork at the intruder. The zombie staggered, and then fell down, moaning at the splinter in its eye.

"Lawson, what have you done?" Lord Vangley stood. "I told you no weapons in Vissorouy!"

"My apologies, my lord. I guess I overreacted."

Tears filled Vangley's eyes. "Eleanor...could it be? Oh, momma." He stepped forward and embraced the cadaver. "Look at you, aren't you adorable?" He kissed the hole in her cheek. As he held her close, the shriveled corpse peeked over his shoulder with its one good peeper.

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The hunter descended the grand staircase, his polished boots echoing off the marble stairs. "So nice to have the opportunity refresh oneself, especially with warm water." He joined Lord Vangley and his sons below. "But we must not breathe too easily. Rain provides the cover Enura needs."

"Even with the downpour, there are eyes on the forest," Vangley replied.

"There is something else, my lord," said Lawson. "During her visit, I noticed a series of bumps rising from her back. My arm grazed them as she held me close. They were firm, like bone." He stepped forward. "Enura is transforming; I am afraid we do not have much more time."

"Or, that whore caught something she cannot shake," the elder chuckled. "Do not fret, Lawson. Come, have a bite to eat. Olivia prepared something extraordinary for us this evening."

"Did she?" He forced a smile.

They stepped into the dining hall as servants placed a large silver platter in the center of the table.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Please, have a seat." Olivia stroked the point of a knife.

Photo courtesy of Konstantinos Dafalias

The hunter jumped on his steed, and sprinted down the pier. Jerking his reigns, he galloped over the sandy dunes, and thundered into town. Amid the sprawling structures and uneven streets, he lost sight of the hillside. Rocky cliffs to the south, he had no choice but to blaze through the center of town, and catch the trail farther north.

Families huddled in the streets, whispering and pointing at Lawson. Miffed they did not know enough to clear his way, he shouted, "Fire!" Still unmoved, he circled the cobblestone walk, and dashed through the unfinished framework of The Black Swan Inn, ducking down an alley before rejoining Main Street.

"Fire," he called again as he passed through the Vangley estate. Gardeners gaped at him as he galloped by, more concerned about the debris kicked up by his horse than the impending firestorm. Every moment crucial, the hunter cursed as he slowly traversed the bend. His steed still fresh, it was simply more strides than he cared to remember.

Photo courtesy of Ivan Bliznetsov (iStockPhoto)

"Then that would make you responsible for the tragedy in Mayenne," said Lawson. "Why do you do such things, my lady?"

"We both scouted Mayenne for the same reason, Lawson. After all, they were vampires. Surely you do not object," she replied.

"Vampires did not control the entire village. There were innocents, too." Lawson turned aside as they trotted along. "I doubt you came all this way for a horse. Why are you here, Enura?"

"Shhh..." She closed her eyes. "Do you hear that, my love?" The wind swept through her ivory hair. "The shore is not far. Come." She whipped her reigns.

The tan mare bolted forward. Lawson pursued, careful not to lose her as she zigzagged through the crowd. He had been wise to give her a timid Caspian; no matter how far she thundered, he easily closed the distance. As Taurus broke across the white sands, Enura disappeared from view. Nearby, the caramel steed lingered, dipping its snout in the tide.

Photo courtesy of Fernando Weberich

White and crimson petals danced in the wind as the hunter ambled through the courtyard. Loose roses tumbled by, inviting him to step around or crush the virgin bulbs.

Olivia's mark still fresh, he circled the stables, noting the sweet scent of olives. He stepped inside, noticing a woman in a silk dress stroking Taurus' mane with her glove. The lady turned, her ivory hair falling out of her white tricorn hat. "Good afternoon, Lawson," she said.

The hunter gasped. "Enura."

"I am pleased you found your way to me." Her pale eyes pierced him.

"My lady." He bowed slightly. "I was not expecting you here."