The Long Night

High atop the Carpathian Mountains sits a medieval Romanian castle. It is eerily dark as the wind howls through, disturbing the cobwebs and thick layers of dust. Deep down in its bowels lies an ancient coffin containing a dark secret.

As the last rays of light kiss the castle’s pinnacle, the wolves of the forest begin to howl. The lid of the ancient coffin starts to creak and snap as it slowly opens. Within lies the body of a man. It appears as though he was placed there just the day before. His hands are folded on his chest, and his head rests on a white satin pillow. His features are sharp but not unbecoming. Suddenly, his chest expands with a rapid inhalation of air.  His eyes flutter open as he slowly exhales.  He is immediately obsessed with an insatiable craving for blood.  Two women also arise from their coffins and hover about him, awaiting their master’s command. They are not dead, but half dead, each exposing their slender throats so he can drink their blood. When he has had his fill, he hisses at them, ordering them to go and find sustenance for themselves. Tonight, he’ll hunt fresh blood.

                                                             …

The moon is full and lights up the eyes of the wolves as they race to keep pace with their master as he flies toward a remote village. 

Aware that this is the night of the full moon, the village folks have shuttered their doors and windows early. They have sprinkled holy water on their lintels and placed garlic cloves around every window. The villagers have also locked and secured all their livestock to protect them from the packs of wolves that follow. On each barn door, they have nailed a crucifix. 

Transferring back to human form, the terror enters the village. His plan is thwarted, for he cannot access his prey. He growls and paces back and forth while the wolves whine and mill around him. At last, he devises a plan to deceive the people in the tavern by disguising himself as a traveler seeking shelter for the night.

 Popa and his wife tidy up inside the tavern after a busy day. Popa washes and dries the pots and pans while his wife, Alina, prepares food for their guest's morning meal. Suddenly, there is a loud rapping at the door. Alina stiffens as she looks anxiously at her husband. Popa frowns as his eyes flash from the door to his wife. He presses a finger to his lips as a gesture to be silent. The banging resumes.

Someone calls out, “Hello? Is there anybody there? I’ve just arrived from Albs Lulia and need a place to rest.”

 Popa holds his hand up to calm his wife as he approaches the door. “Go away! We are closed! Come back in the morning.” 

The voice on the other side of the door grows louder and more desperate. “I can’t go away. I have no means of transportation. Your tavern is the only one for miles around!” The stranger pauses, but when he next speaks, it is with a trembling voice and a sense of urgency.  “Please let me in! I’ve heard these woods are unsafe, and I’m frightened.” 

Popa hesitates and believes it is an honest confession but remains suspicious. “What is your name, and what is your business here?”

“My name is Kronid Omor. I’m here to meet with your jitnicer, the keeper of your granary. I have an appointment with him to buy grain for my bakery. On the way here, the horse pulling our carriage went lame. The driver had to turn back. I walked the last few miles on my own. That is why I’m so late. Please, may I come inside?” 

Popa turns and sees his wife’s pleading eyes.   “What? You want to let him in?” Wringing her apron, Alina shrugs.  “I’m afraid that if he is telling the truth and we don’t help him, God will hold us accountable if anything bad should happen to him.” 

Popa ruffles his hair with both hands and exclaims, “ No!” His wife begs, “Please, Popa.”  With shoulders slumped, Popa slowly unlocks the door.

                                                             …

Popa hurries the stranger inside. “Quick, quick, come in!" Popa looks up and down the street, ensuring it is empty before relocking the door. "My wife will register you over there."

Omor grins at Alina as she turns the registration book toward him to sign. " You are very kind to allow me to enter on a night like this. You don’t know how relieved I am.” 

As Omor signs his name, Popa responds. “I’m sorry for making you wait, but one can’t be too careful. Would you like a little sherry to chase away the cold?”

Omor bows his head, “That would be divine.” After Popa leaves the room, Omor quickly lunges over the counter and grabs Alina’s head.  With a quick twist, he snaps her neck. Hearing a loud thud, Popa rushes in with a bottle of sherry in one hand and a glass in the other. Shocked, Popa suddenly stops and drops both. Glass shatters on the floor.  Omor stands directly before him, baring sharp ivory fangs.  Frozen in place, Popa’s eyes lock with his nemesis. He has never seen such evil in the eyes of any man.  Omor grabs the tavern keeper by his hair and wrenches his head to the side, exposing Popa’s throat. Omor drains the poor tavern keeper of his life, then lets the lifeless body slip to the floor. He breathes in deeply and releases a satisfied “Ahh.”  Returning to the registration booth, he scans the keys hanging from their hooks. There is only one missing, room 8. The vampire turns and looks at the staircase. He raises his hands, palms up, and floats to the landing without making a sound.

 Omor presses his ear to the door of the room and hears rustling inside. He gently taps. A woman’s voice responds. “Yes?”

Omor smiles as he mimics Alina’s voice. “I have brought fresh towels for you. May I come in?” Omor readies himself for the attack when he hears the key in the lock turn.

The young lady’s eyes widen when she opens the door and sees a tall, dark figure glaring down at her instead of the lady of the tavern. She staggers back, bumping into the nightstand but Omor locks her in his gaze before she can utter a sound. He raises his pale hand and commands, “Sleep!” The young woman collapses to the floor.

A smug smile graces Omor’s lips as he is about to claim his prize. As he moves toward the woman, something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. It’s a baby’s crib. Arching his eyebrows, he muses, “Perhaps a little treat for the ladies?” He strolls idly to the crib and looks down. There, he sees a six or seven-month-old baby boy, cooing and squirming in place. The vampire leans in closer when the child opens its sky-blue eyes. 

Omor feels a pain deep in his chest and staggers backward. He grabs the front of his shirt. “What is this pain?” Why am I experiencing this pain? Images of a time long past flash before his mind’s eye.  Memories long forgotten, back when he was human, fill his head. 

“Yes! I remember now. I, too, had a son with sky-blue eyes and blonde curly hair like his mother’s.  Omor experiences an even deeper pain and, gasping, collapses to the floor. Omor sobs, “Yes, I remember it all now!” 

The year was 1593, during the Habsburg Monarchy and Ottoman Empire wars. The Turks were attempting to overthrow the principalities of Transylvania. They invaded his small village and killed his beloved wife and only child. He was not there to protect them, for he was engaged in a different battle to the north in the town of Banat. The battleground was chaotic, with cannon fire, rifles, and sabers clashing. Men were shouting and screaming, viciously attacking one another. Omor had just bayonetted an enemy soldier when another Turkish soldier casually approached him, yes, approached as if he were walking down a sidewalk on a Sunday afternoon. He was unarmed and stared straight at Omor.  Omor sensed something evil. The soldier’s presence emitted a sinister aura. Omor leveled his rifle and fired. The bullet did nothing!  The soldier picked up his pace then, suddenly, began to charge! Omor could see the soldier’s eyes were a burning red, and foam dripped from his mouth. A mouth that held canine teeth! The madman leaped upon Omor and knocked him to the ground. He was powerless, for the creature had immeasurable strength. Its jaws savagely snapped at his face. Omor struggled to retrieve his long-bladed knife from his boot. He stabbed the monster again and again until he could push it away. Without hesitation, he drove his blade deep into the heart of the creature and killed it. Omor fell to his knees, gasping for breath, when he became aware of a searing pain. Reaching up, he realized that he was bleeding profusely. The thing had bitten him on his shoulder.

Omor fled the battlefield and returned to his village only to learn that his family had been slaughtered. Deep in despair and now sick with vampirism, he traveled into the Carpathian Mountains, sleeping by day and hunting by night. At last, he came upon an abandoned castle where he hid and resides still.

“A hundred and fifty years! That all happened one hundred and fifty years ago, and for what? I’m forced to sleep like the dead during the day and hunt for blood by night. I’m a beast, an animal living on animal instincts—a senseless cycle of sleep and killing, over and over again. I was once a devout Christian, but God has surely turned His back on me now.” Omar stood and looked into the crib. Balling trembling fists into his eyes, he wailed, “I’ve taken far too many lives! I shall not ever do so again! This shall be the last of this long night. I want to see the sunrise once more.”

Omor picked the sleeping mother up off the floor and lay her on the bed. He whispered in her ear, “You shall awaken when you hear the cock crow.” He then sped home to his castle, leaving only an hour til dawn. 

In the dank catacombs of the castle, he opened the caskets of each of his brides and kissed them gently on their foreheads.  Whispering a goodbye, he drove a wooden stake through their hearts. He then went to the castle’s highest point—where the sun would strike first, the pinnacle.

Standing atop the pinnacle, Omor looked out over the land of his youth and sadly chuckled. “I once fought invaders to save Transylvania. Now I’m saving Transylvania from myself.”

Turning to face the east, he noticed the black curtain of night receding and taking the stars with it. In its place were the colors of purple and maroon, which in turn were replaced with red, orange, and yellow. A rooster crowed. Omor smiled, “Yes, my friend, sing to the glorious new day!” As he watched, he saw the sky turn blue and bright. Omor threw his arms out wide and laughed joyfully, for the sun had risen above the earth’s curvature, and its first beams were racing to greet him. The sun’s light hit Omor like a blast furnace, reducing him to nothing more than ashes that the morning breeze gently blew away.