Free story to read. Happy Flash Friday!
"He was a wise man, the village story teller and chronicler—the archivist of tales. Tales he would recount orally for that was the way of his people.
Sometimes there were visitors, they were generally lost and frightened. Frightened by the fierce appearance of these his tribal brethren. Mainly the interlopers were hunters who were lost.
He always helped them. Occasionally, they carried within their numbers a wounded comrade; mauled by the demon vampires that still dwelled deep within the surrounding jungle. There was only so much folk magic that would work. He could tell when they were going to die or even become a vampire themselves.
His people would release such a demon to go back to their kind. It kept their attacks few and far between. In fact there hadn't been many attacks on the village in years. All hoped that it would not change.
Very little else happened but then some strangers had wandered in, people in funny clothes with peculiar ways.
The elder had heard of them before. Europeans. They were neither wounded nor lost. They made themselves understood, gesturing and drawing lines in the sand. Thankfully, there was one among them who spoke a familiar dialect enabling some communication to take place.
The chief elder was not surprised when asked about the demon vampires.
They gestured for him to speak so he nodded and began to spin his tale. He spoke slowly and paused repeatedly so that their interpreter could cope with his story.
"At the beginning of time there were the great mancats that roamed throughout the world. These beautiful beasts were more like panthers than men. On occasion they would turn into handsome men, thereby ensuring human women would mate with them. The offspring of such union were the world's first vampires. They lived in packs, and fed upon most living things, draining both animals and humans of their blood. They could be heard hissing at night—baying like wolves at the moon and roaring too when they mated with others of their kind. Their forbears died out—but their children survived.
Euta, a small female lived in a pack but the others bullied her, stealing the rodents she fed on from her and driving her out from the enclosure.
Euta often wept for herself but her cries were low for she did not wish the others to hear. Sometimes children were taken from the villages as food and Euta tried to set them free. She always preferred to feed on small animals.
A man saw her once. He watched her remove a child from the enclosure when the others were asleep. She carried the babe back down the hillside.
The man came forward then, for although he realized she would not harm the babe he wished to make his presence known. When she saw him she cried out.
"Don't worry I won't hurt you." he cried.
They could understand one another or so the legend says.
She watched him return the child to its rightful place. She wanted to make friends with the man but he had a woman. And because she was jealous, she wished to tear apart the woman so she might have the man all to herself.
It is the only violent thought she had ever had. But she didn't do anything, instead she went back to her pack.
Eventually, she was thrown out and fled down to the village but was attacked with bows and arrows.
The man saw her and saved her. And because he tended her wounds, his woman left.
He left soon after with her following him, hiding in the shadows—not caring what kind of existence she would have for she would not wish to be far from the man.
The legend says that she died shortly after, and the man did mourn her as a friend if nothing else…"
The elder stopped spinning his tale because one of them, a distinguished looking man looked disappointed. The translator spoke with him and nodding he asked the elder:
"The gentleman wants to know about the other demon vampires, the ones that tear apart flesh and consume blood. It is those and only those that he is interested in."
The wise man shrugged. "The world has always had evil monsters in it. But very well if that is what he wishes to hear I shall tell him."
The translator told the man what the elder had said.
"Thank you," Bram Stoker replied. "I would be most grateful, most grateful, indeed."
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