Spencer Smith comes from a long line of good Vampires who hunt bad ones. Vowing never to get involved with humans, but what happens when one involves herself.
Nobody new that I had moved, I liked to keep secrets and this was the best one. As I stepped out my car and looked at the new estate I had purchased not a fortnight ago; I took in the musty air.
British Columbia wasn't my first choice, but after reviewing the place my publishers wanted to send me; I left for here.
All my stuff would arrive at 7 am the next morning, so tonight I would have to find a hotel to rest myself. But looking at the house couldn't hurt I had told myself several times.
There were two parts to me; a dangerous Dale and a negative Nancy. While Dale got the better of me in high adrenaline situations, such as three speeding tickets in one night, a DUI and jumping from things. Nancy seemed to be the pessimist and I seemed to stay away from trouble when I hadn't had something to drink. Negative Nancy was the practical in me, the OCD of my mind. It was her who suggested just going to the hotel, creepy old estates and all; yet Dale was shoving my arms to pull off the highway, take the exit and see the new home.
"Wow," I seemed to mutter after a few good minutes.
The house was long and stretched far into the grounds behind it. A lot of the trees were over grown and the paint severely faded. I took a few steps and Nancy stopped trying to get me to go back to the car and drive away. My feet were on the porch in a matter of seconds and I unlocked the front door.
Stepping inside I coughed at the dust, but I squinted harder into the hall. I stepped back outside and locked the door again, coldness had touched my arms and I was beginning to shake.
Around the back of the house there was a Mausoleum. I bounded towards it; finally I would have a real mausoleum just like in my books. I yanked hard on the tomb door but it didn't budge, my heart slightly dropped.
"Well that ends that."
I touched the huge brass handle and lock; rubbing the grit between my fingers. I walked back to my car and looked at my new home before speeding away to the small town I had driven into.
"Are you the new owner of the Smith estate?"
I turned my attention to an elderly looking man; he picked up his beer and sat at the booth with me. I placed my sheets of notes down.
"Yep, that’s me. Emma Grey," I placed my hand out and he took it.
"Emma Grey as in the Zombie author?" He asked.
"Yeah you caught me."
"My son loves your work, as does his son."
"Well that’s always great to hear."
There was a silence and he smiled. I looked to the dinner bar and then back to him. I leaned in close and he copied.
"Can you tell me something about the Smith Estate?" I half whispered.
"Well," He chuckled, "There's not to much to say," he paused, sifted, and then continued, "The house is over 150 years old, The Smith family seemed to show up out of no where and like that this town began to prosper and flourish," He swallowed, "The Smiths brought money to B.C. when they came from Nevada. They had 4 sons, and with ever generation of the Smiths the first born son was always to be called Spencer James Smith," He paused trying to remember
"Yeah?" I urged.
"Well when they left Nevada the family took up a different last name, calling themselves Smith. There was also something about them being outlawed for witchcraft,” He licked his bottom lip, “By the end of the third generation this town got word of it.”
He bit the corner of his lip thinking harder. I shuffled my papers.
“Is that when the line ended?”
“No,” he said slowly gazing past my shoulder, “most of the town kept the whereabouts of the Smiths secret for as long as they could.”
“Why,” I asked lowering my voice, “they were outlaws, wasn’t witchcraft a huge scary thing then?”
“Yes,” he smiled and half nodded, “but the town was getting richer by each generation, the fact of the witchcraft didn’t matter to them.”
“Huh,” I muttered, “When did the line end?”
“Well,” he began sighing slightly, “The fifth Spencer James Smith was the last, poor thing, and he was left at 14 all alone while the town hunted his family down. Seemed Nevada intervened and offered a big reward for their deaths.”
“What happened to Spencer?”
“Some say he ran to Vancouver hiding amongst the Asians; but a popular story is that he died and now haunts the house.” He wiped his mouth after taking a sip of his beer, “I personally believe someone came and took that boy, raised him and such.”
I sat back taking in the skewed story, I found some new idea’s racing through my mind. I was so lost in thought that I didn’t even notice someone talking right over me.
“Don’t be bothering the pretty lady Grandpa,” he sat next to his grandfather and reached a hand out to me, “Sean Harker.”
“Emma Grey,” I replied taking his hand.
His jaw dropped slightly.
“Emma Grey as in the Zombie Author?”
“Yep, that's me,” I smiled.
“So is the Smith estate giving you any new ideas?” he urged for my answer.
I saw his grandpa give him a look that was unseen by Sean. I smiled again and then shuffled my papers.
“Well,” I began, “I was thinking about another book for the Claus Chaos series.”
He immediately jumped on my answer, wrinkling his face as he opened his mouth to speak.
“No offence, but that character is way too overdeveloped!?” he shifted in his chair, “he’s done almost everything, there’s not much more for him, defiantly 3 books is enough.”
“Sean,” his grandpa warned.
I nodded while looking to my notes.
“Okay,” I mumbled.
“Boyd Massacre is your best bet!”
I gathered my things and stood. Sean recoiled embarrassed slightly.
“Well Boyd’s story was definitely over, he was my first book, and is definitely going to stay that way,” I turned slightly, “it was nice to meet you Mr. Harker, Sean.”
With that I walked from the dinner. It wasn’t my first encounter with a die-hard fan; I was used to the criticism. I threw my notes to the passenger’s side and drove to an outside motel I saw on the way in. Dale was screaming in my head about going back and kicking the shit out of Sean, Nancy seemed to badger him back and I was able to concentrate.
It was 3 am when I felt my body grow extremely hot; I was sweating buckets in seconds. Pulling myself from my bed I reached in the dark for an ice bucket. At 23 I knew I wasn’t having a hot flash; maybe the heating was just broken or the summer heat wave had settled.
I stepped outside and the still air was not much help. The sweat which now poured from me like a fountain was causing my small tank-top and boxer shorts to attach themselves to my body. I wiped at my forehead and kept moving to the ice box.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, “It’s so fucking hot.”
There was a whisper at my backside and an uncomfortable chill ran down my spine. Cloth danced on my shoulders causing my hand to release the bucket and gasp. Within seconds two hands had grasped my hips and I was flung over a man’s shoulder. I tried to pry myself but his clench on me was too tight. He threw me to my motel room’s floor and straddled my limp body as if I was a piece of meat.
He took in a long breath of my scent; licking his lips after my head flopped to the side. At first I could hear hissing in the back of his throat and fangs grazed my neck. My whole heart rate increased as if I was running; my chest rose and fell accordingly.
“Mm, fresh Virgin,” he whispered sending more chills down my spine, “hard to find one at your age these days.”
I whimpered and closed my eyes, wishing it was a dream, a bad, bad dream. Nancy and Dale had abandoned me; I was all alone this time. He leaned down kissing my jaw; and again he opened his mouth.
“I’m contemplating if I should just kill you or take…,” he trailed off pushing his hand in the leg of my shorts, “what someone will never have.”
I whimpered again trying to speak, just kill me I screamed inside my head. His finger snapped the elastic of my underwear and again I tried to move.
“Maybe I’ll wait till you’re drained;” his tone so cold, “the corpse stays warm for hours after.”
“I wouldn’t do that Peter.”
The voice startled us both, he sat up and I opened my eyes to see a male, younger than me maybe 20 glaring in the darkness of my room. The man named Peter attempted to retract his fangs but the attempt was meaningless as they stayed glinting in his mouth. A heinous smile crept on Peter’s lips.
“Why, Spencer James, come to feast on the virgin with me?” He looked down at my body, “She’s prime flesh and blood, well bred, untainted.”
Spencer growled and I closed my eyes again, I heard more growling as Peter left my body. I somehow rolled to my side and curled into a ball. Someone was slammed against a table and more hissing and growling arose.
“You know what virgin blood does!” Spencer roared.
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” Peter giggled and glass shattered to my right.
I opened my eyes, both men had each other in a hold, they were breathing hard and their eyes glowed red. I watched in awe as Spencer threw Peter off him and slammed a hand to his throat. Peter struggled but lay still trying to regain energy.
“That shit will make you go crazy, and you know it Wentz!” Spencer snarled, still holding a firm grasp.
“Well Smith,” Peter put a huge emphasis on the last name, almost to mock him, “you learned the hard way didn’t you, turning that little shit into a vampire,” Peter scoffed at Spencer, “didn’t even give Brendon a chance for human flesh. You almost killed him, but oh, look at you now,” I glanced into the red eyes of Spencer they grew to coal, “you’re strong enough to break my neck, but you know you can’t kill me.”
“Watch me,” Spencer maimed, his voice cool.
I watch his eyes grow red again and with that Peter’s neck snapped and his body fell to the floor. Spencer stood over the corpse breathing hard; it was a good long minute before he turned to me.
“You better come with me; after all you’re staying in my house.”
I fell back onto the rug, and darkness took me.