If Morning Never Comes - Episode Three
In Which: The Subject of Vampires is Introduced
Welcome to If Morning Never Comes, a serial adventure from and proudly published by . If this is your first time, catch up before you begin Chapter Three:
Please enjoy!
~ The Editor
Later, Charles, his mother and his sisters sat down to table with Vicar Clarke and Georg Stryker. The introductions had been pleasant but awkward. Charles supposed that was about as much as Mr. Stryker could have hoped for. Or rather, Herr Stryker, as he insisted they call him. Charles’ mother had simply loved that; she called it exotic. She also had called their guest “George,” which Herr Stryker kindly corrected.
Now they sat, with Mrs. Ashley at the head of the table, flanked by the vicar on her left and Stryker on her right. Charles sat next to Mr. Clarke, with his sister Charity on his left, directly opposite Eleanor. Before they began the meal, Vicar Clarke gave a long prayer, which his mother punctuated with little “hmms” and “ahhs”. Charles looked up and locked eyes with Herr Stryker. The German smiled and brushed his upper lip with a finger. Charles returned the smile, his newly shaved lip pulling back over his teeth as he bowed his head again.
Clarke finally ended with a solemn “Amen” and the supper began. True to form, Mrs. Ashley congratulated the vicar on such a splendid invocation before the soup had even been set before them. Mr. Clarke humbly thanked the woman for her kind words.
After a mouthful, Mrs. Ashley began, “Now Herr Stryker, you simply must tell us everything about yourself. I absolutely insist on knowing all my neighbors intimately.”
“Have you ever been to the Alps?” asked Charity.
Herr Stryker used a napkin to wipe off his bristling mustache and answered, “Yes of course, Miss Ashley.”
“Oh, how beautiful they must be!” exclaimed the younger sister. “I’m sure they’re tall and graceful, aren’t they? With snow on the peaks!”
The older sister sat with her head high, eyes on her soup as she ate. “Perhaps Herr Stryker would be so kind as to tell us himself if you will allow him to continue, Charity,” said Eleanor.
“There they go again! Pay them no mind, Mr. Stryker, my daughters are never happy if they’re not having a row. You just go right on, they’ll catch up.”
Stryker furrowed his brow, wrinkling his forehead. He glanced at Charles, who looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then took another sip of soup.
“Yes, my dear, the Alps are very beautiful. They are tall and strong. The peaks rise above the clouds, where nothing can grow. In the winter, they are draped with the whitest snows and in the summer, the most verdant of green.”
“Oh, Herr Stryker, you’re practically a poet!” cooed Mrs. Ashley.
“Where exactly is your home, Stryker?” inquired Mr. Clarke. “I’ve never been farther than France, but I’m somewhat familiar with the geography of the region.”
Charles snorted in his cup, quietly. Mr. Clarke was “somewhat familiar” with every subject, which meant he knew nothing.
“I was born in a very small village near the forest. It is not a place you would know.”
“Is that the Black Forest, then?” asked Mr. Clarke.
“Yes sir,” replied Stryker.
“The haunted woods! You grew up in the land of fairy tales, Mr. Stryker!” cried Charity. Her hair was in a tighter formation than before, but it didn’t look to hold for long.
“Charity, please don’t insult our guest by trivializing his home,” said Eleanor, “The Black Forest is not haunted.”
“Oh no?” asked Stryker with a turn of his head. Eleanor said nothing. Charles laughed and Charity leaned in with her elbows on the table.
“Is it really, Mr. Stryker? Is the forest truly haunted? Is it simply teeming with ghosts and goblins and will o’ the wisps?”
Stryker chuckled and looked kindly at the girl. “No, Miss Ashley, there are no goblins in the Black Forest. And if I’m not mistaken, will o’ the wisps belong to your island. But the forest is beset with dangers. The farther one strays from the safety of the village, the darker grows the forest. The light fades behind the groaning trees. Every step looks no different from the one before. There are strange sounds and the wind will whisper to you. From every shadow you just know that something is watching. You can never tell what might be lurking. Wolves stalk the trees...among other things.”
Herr Stryker’s voice captivated his audience and dropped to a whisper. No one breathed nor spoke, as if to hide from the unseen terrors of that faraway place. Charles felt his heart racing.
Then the servers came in to take away the soup. The spell was broken and Charity squealed.
“Mr. Stryker, how could you ever leave such a magical place for a hovel like this?”
Stryker laughed, “Magical? Miss Ashley, do you think the terrors of my childhood something to envy?”
“Well, there’s certainly nothing like that to be found here!”
Charles and Stryker met eyes. Charles spoke.
“Actually, Herr Stryker and I found something rather distressing ourselves this afternoon.”
“Really, Charles?” asked the vicar, taking a bite of his grouse and sipping his wine.
“Yes sir, just before he arrived.”
Charles’ mother snorted, her jowls red, “Charles, how dare you draw such a distinguished guest as our Herr Stryker into one of your ridiculous fantasies? Herr Stryker I apologize if he inconvenienced you.”
“No no, Mrs. Ashley. It was actually I who made the discovery. Charles came to assist me.”
“Well, what was it then? Something distressing, you said, Charles?”
All eyes looked at Charles. He said, “We found a dead sheep on the moor.”
The ladies gasped and Eleanor chided, “Charles! This is hardly mealtime conversation.”
“Indeed!” interjected Mrs. Ashley. “What possessed you to tell such a story?”
“It was only this afternoon, Mother!” protested Charles. “And it was only a sheep.”
“Only a sheep? Only a sheep? Charles, how could you be so insensitive?” asked Mr. Clarke, joining in.
“Was the sheep really dead, Mr. Stryker?” pleaded Charity.
Herr Stryker watched this whole scene with a frown. He glanced between the fretting mother, the indignant sister and the patronizing preacher then turned his eyes to Charles. He kept his eyes on the boy as he answered.
“Yes, my dear. It was really dead.”
The ladies moaned for the poor sheep. Mr. Clarke asked for details of the situation, apologizing that Stryker had to arrive under such brutal circumstances. Of course, no one reproached Herr Stryker for talking about it. And he was the one who’d started this whole macabre discussion in the first place. Charles determined to shut himself up for the rest of supper.
Soon, the conversation drifted back to more mundane things. Herr Stryker was in town for an indefinite period and would rent the cottage on the grounds owned by the Ashley family. He knew no one else, and so Mrs. Ashley invited him to come to the upcoming ball to meet the rest of the neighborhood, as she called it.
“That is very kind of you, Mrs. Ashley. Is it to be here at Ashwood?”
“No sir, at Mr. and Miss Raines’ home. They’re new to the area as well, so it will be the perfect opportunity for you to meet everyone.”
“Yes, and the Raines are vampires, so you really don’t want to miss it.”
“Charity!” cried Eleanor and Mrs. Ashley together. Eleanor’s mouth was agape while her mother sputtered and covered her face with a handkerchief. The vicar said not a word and Charles kept eating. If Charity kept up her antics, he might not have to endure a supper like this ever again.
“Vampires?” asked Herr Stryker slowly. “Whatever do you mean by that, Miss Ashley?”
“She means nothing,” Eleanor cut in. “She dreamt it up with her silly friends and now she says it to gain attention.”
“I didn’t dream it up!” said Charity. “They never come out during the day, and their house is simply eerie. You’ll see at the ball, Mr. Stryker.”
“It’s Herr Stryker, Charity,” Eleanor fumed. “Hold your tongue!”
“How do you know,” mused Stryker, his blue eyes unblinking “that they don’t come out during the day?”
“Well, I’ve never seen them during the day. And I’ve invited them to all of my summer garden parties. They’re simply lovely and Miss Raines hasn’t attended a single one.”
“Has she replied to tell you she wouldn’t come?” asked Stryker, but Mrs. Ashley stepped in.
“Herr Stryker, please don’t feel obligated to play along with the girl’s fantasies. There’s really no talking to her once she’s latched on to something. She’ll drop it soon enough. It’s bad enough I’ve got a son obsessed with bloody corpses and violence, I’ve got to have a frivolous daughter as well.”
Charles set his jaw and breathed faster. He would keep his temper. But even as he controlled himself, he resented himself for it. Why couldn’t he just tell her off? Just once?
But it was Herr Stryker who spoke next, “Mrs. Ashley, I take no offense at your family. And your son has done nothing wrong. I beg you, please leave him out of this, we are having a nice time.”
Charles looked up at the man. The hairs in his mustache looked as thick as twigs and his blue eyes were boring into his mother. She muttered some excuse and returned to her meal. Herr Stryker glanced at Charles one more time before returning to his.
Mr. Clarke broke the awkward silence, “It’s really rather strange how we invent such fanciful stories out of our own uncertainties, isn’t it Herr Stryker?”
Stryker looked at the vicar. It looked to Charles as though the German didn’t much care for the cleric. But that could have been nothing more than Stryker’s natural intensity.
“How do you mean, Mr. Clarke?”
“Well, strangers become vampires, the woods become haunted. It’s all just fear given shape, don’t you think?”
Herr Stryker held Mr. Clarke’s gaze. Then he broke eye contact and cut his meat. Mr. Clarke looked around the table, unsure if he had offended the man. Stryker chewed his bite and swallowed. He wiped his mouth with his napkin before he spoke.
“You don’t believe such stories, Mr. Clarke?”
Mr. Clarke spoke slowly, “Herr Stryker, I certainly did not mean to offend you or imply that you weren’t telling the truth about your upbringing.”
“I did not think you were. But do you not believe that there are things beyond our understanding, all around us? You think these things are mere projections of our own fears?”
Vicar Clarke straightened up, determined not to look foolish, “I believe that the world is fantastic and dreadful. There is much that we do not understand, and when reason ends, the imagination takes over.”
Mrs. Ashley and Eleanor nodded at this. Clarke noticed and smiled. Then in true clerical fashion, he pivoted to the moral of his discourse, “Our goal ought to be to learn, to receive as much light as possible, so that we may fear nothing.”
“You believe knowledge is the answer to fear?” asked the German.
“We always fear most what we do not understand.”
Herr Stryker considered this, then set down his glass. He shook his head. “No sir, I do not think so.”
Clarke was confused, “Which part?”
“Fear is not born from mere ignorance. It is not so simple. We fear many things that we understand. We fear beasts and deep waters and wicked men. If something is fearful, then knowledge will only increase our fear.”
“That’s certainly an idea, Stryker.” The vicar adjusted his spectacles. “But don’t you think that modern science has done much to allay our fears of the world around us? Has not discovery frightened away the darkness of uncertainty?”
Stryker thought for a moment. “From my village, it was only a short day’s walk through the woods until we reached an old, abandoned castle. It no doubt belonged to some landed noble, but he had long since left it to decay. No horse would go near it, and we could find no game in its vicinity. Everyone feared that castle. Mothers warned their children against it, and the men did not speak of it. But the one person who feared it the most was the one person who had been inside of it.”
“Who was that?” asked Charity, already thrilling at the story.
Stryker smiled, “Why, me, Miss Charity. I was younger than the other boys, and they pressed me to try and sneak inside. I thought that if I did they would respect me as a brave man. So one bright day (I was not so brave as to attempt it at night) I snuck to the castle. The dark green light of the forest was broken as I entered the clearing. Tall towers with sharp teeth rose above the trees. Moss and vines had reclaimed and cracked the stones of the walls. I easily climbed over them and went to the great wooden doors. I pushed and found them open. I went inside. Only once. And to this day, no one fears that castle more than me.”
“What did you find there?” asked Charles, despite his previous resolution.
Herr Stryker looked him in the eye and smiled. “Vampires.”
The table erupted with laughter. Even Eleanor allowed herself a dignified giggle. Mrs. Ashley roared with cries of “Oh, really, Mr. Stryker!” the wine starting to do its work. Mr. Clarke laughed and coughed, and laughed and coughed.
He said, “Stryker, you are truly the real article! Vampires indeed. You almost had me believing you.”
Charles smiled and shook his head. Perhaps he could get used to this old rogue after all. But when he looked at the face of the old man, past the grinning mustache he saw in his eyes a cold, ancient fear.
