Piles of Ashes

It was noon when the knock at the door came.

I had just finished setting the end table with the proper amount of teacups and saucers. I smoothed out the wrinkles in my pale pink dress and measured my steps to the front door.

I opened the door, allowing a smile to light up my face, and slightly bowed my head at the guests, my dirty blonde hair falling in front of my face.

My mother, after hearing the knock and the door open, approached me from behind and likewise smiled.

Our three guests, the newest neighbors in the town of Boston, were a family consisting of a mother and a father, along with their only son.

The mother removed her veil as she stepped in the doorway, revealing her fair skin, dark brown eyes, and jet black hair.

“Good afternoon,” she said. Her lips turned upwards into a smile, though she didn’t show her teeth. “I’m Mrs. Tarner, otherwise known as Mildred. I trust this is the family of Densmore?”

“Yes, this is the correct house. My name is Helen, and this is Emily. My husband, Allen, is in the back,” replied my mother, formally dressed in a deep red dress, completed with a thin corset around her waist. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a neat bun, and her face was framed by two curls that bounced when she moved.

Mr. Tarner tipped his top hat forward in polite recognition before removing it and hanging it on the coat rack next to the door. Along with Mildred, he had black hair and dark brown eyes. His skin was a darker tone than his wife’s, but still strikingly pale compared to my family. He wore a black suit and tie, and boots so spotlessly clean, I could almost see my reflection in them.

He thrust his hand out towards my mother, who followed suit and shook hands, his eyes lighting up with happiness as he added, “The name’s George, and his boy here is Ellis.”

I turned my gaze to Ellis, who looked almost identical to his father with the same facial features, suit and tie, and top hat, but with the slight exception of his mother’s pale skin.

“Come in, then. The tea’s almost done,” I said, gesturing towards the drawing room next to the front door.

The family of three followed me down the main hallway and into the drawing room, which was situated next to the dining room.

The Tarners sat next together on the dark green sofa, while my mother sat down in an adjacent rocking chair my father had built. As my mother insisted beforehand, I walked over to the end table carrying the tea and poured the steaming liquid into six different cups before handing the drinks to our guests.

“Thank you, Emily,” my mother said, formally sipping her tea. “So where did you move from, if I may ask?”

“Ever heard of Manchester?” Mr. Tarner asked.

My mother shook her head. “I’m afraid I haven’t.”

Remembering where my father was, I silently stood up and exited the room even as Mrs. Tarner was replying, “Oh, it's a good-sized town in New Hampshire…”

I opened the front door and slowly shut it behind me, silencing the conversation our guests were having inside.

Smiling as I felt the fall breeze blow around me, I took off my slippers and ran around the house towards the edge of the forest, relieved to be free and not bound to the typical manners expected in a seventeen-year-old girl born in a rich family.

I ran up a small hill and saw my father holding an ax in the middle of a pile of wood. My father, one of the biggest landowners in Boston and the surrounding lands, was chopping wood, trying to cut enough to sustain us for the entire winter. Even though he knew guests were coming, he insisted on using his time to support our small family.

“Woah, there,” my father exclaimed as I ran full speed towards him. “Is something wrong or are you just your usual self?”

His blue eyes matched the sky, and his usually neat, brown hair was slightly messy with the act of splitting logs. Despite the fact that he was working, he wore his formal white shirt and black pants, only missing his black vest that slips over his shirt.

“The Tarners are here,” I announced, putting my slippers back on.

My father set down his ax and started walking towards the house where my mother was occupying our guests. I followed him, half-ready to race to the door.

“Thanks for getting me. How big is their family?”

“Just a mother, father, and son.”

My father looked at me, keeping pace all the while. 

“Is the son cute?” He pestered.

“Father, stop.” I rolled my eyes, not wanting to think of my future just yet. 

He kept quiet for the rest of the way, but I knew he was itching to tease me more. He always was. 

A few minutes later, we entered through the front door, and before we approached our guests, I took my father's black vest off of the coat rack and passed it to him.

He smiled as he slipped it on and buttoned it up, then smoothed my hair before saying, “You don’t want mother to know you ran outside, right?”

I nodded and took on a formal posture before walking over to the drawing room with my father next to me. We both sat down in unoccupied armchairs, smiling at the Tarners.

Mr. Tarner turned his gaze to my father.

“You must be Mr. Densmore,” he said.

“Oh,” my father replied, “just call me Allen.”

Mr. Tarner’s smile widened, although it was only with his mouth.

“Well, then Allen, what do you do for a living?”

And so started the few hours of boring conversation.

It was an hour after dark when the trouble started.

I had already driven myself insane with the number of manners and sitting still, and was almost relieved when the power went out, rendering us completely in the dark.

Almost.

“Come on,” my father grumbled. “Helen, I knew we should’ve stayed with gas lanterns instead of switching to electric.”

“Can you go check it out?” I asked, reaching where I knew there were a few candles and a matchbox.

After fumbling in the dark for a few seconds, I lit a match and then a few candles, shaking out the match after the fire caught on the wax.

After handing out the candles, my father set off into the darkness to find the problem of our lack of power.

“Maybe we should leave,” Mrs. Tarner said, getting off of the sofa, half smiling at her family.

The rest of her family followed, and walked themselves out of the room and towards the door, without a candle or any help from me or my mother.

My mother looked at me, sighed, and said, “I wonder what caused the power to go out.”

I shrugged, not understanding the new electrical technology that came out recently.

At that moment, a loud and painful scream came from upstairs.

“Father!” I shouted, grabbing a candle and running towards the sound of the scream.

“Emily, don’t!” My mother commanded but to no avail. I needed to help Father if it was the last thing I did.

I ran up the stairs and through the master bedroom to see my father, unmoving, on the floor of the closet.

The candle he had used was put out and knocked over on the floor, next to his head.

Despite my racing heart, I gently placed down my candle and moved over him, hoping that he would sit up and tell me he just bumped his head and that he’d be alright.

My luck didn’t hold. He had no pulse, no matter where I checked it, and his skin was cool. He seemed entirely untouched, yet his death happened in a matter of seconds.

With tears starting to form in my eyes, I moved his head to face me, but as I did, I noticed two marks on his neck, almost like bite marks.

I moved closer to study them better when the candle I had placed a few feet away blew out.

I was in almost complete darkness, the only light was the moonlight trying to penetrate through the closed curtains.

I looked behind me, but I couldn’t see anything or anyone.

What saved me was my hearing.

I heard light footsteps to my right, and the swish of an arm swinging full force at my head.

Instinctively, I ducked then moved backward, trying to get out of the room as quickly as possible, nearly tripping on the candle on my way out.

Hearing someone chase after me, I ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, only to bump into someone. I could hear the other person in the doorway of the kitchen. I was trapped. I backed up until I hit the counter. My hand hit a small box laying there.

Realizing what it was, I grabbed it and pulled out its contents, allowing several small sticks to clatter to the ground. I lit the match in my hand and was surprised to see Mr. Tarner and Ellis in front of me, flinching and stepping back in the sudden light.

As they turned back around, they snarled at me, their open mouths revealing sharp fangs.

My eyes widened with surprise and wildly looked around for anything I could use as a weapon.

My gaze settled on a pot of water that was boiling on the stovetop.

A quick glance to my left told me that the Tarners were too close to slip by them. As I turned my gaze to grab the pot of water, I felt one of the Tarners grab the match out of my hand and put out the fire, leaving me in darkness and not knowing what they were.

I grabbed the handle of the pot, and, ignoring the searing pain, splashed the water on our used-to-be guests.

With a loud hiss, they shrank back and evaporated, leaving two piles of ashes on the floor.

Utterly confused, I ran out of the kitchen and back to the drawing room where I last saw my mother, clutching my nearly-burned hand to my chest.

“Mother, father’s dead, and the Tarners have fangs…” I started, tripping on something on the floor.

I turned around, only being able to see with a small amount of moonlight streaming through the windows.

Tears cascaded down my face as I realized that my mother was lying on the floor.

With a sneaking suspicion, I turned my mother’s neck to see the same two bite marks on her neck.

“Poor Emily Densmore,” said a voice above me. “She’s all alone in a dark house.”

Looking up, I saw Mrs. Tarner slowly walking towards me, showing her sharp teeth while smiling, although the smile never reached her dark eyes.

“What did you do to my parents?” I asked, wiping the tears off my face, stinging my hand in the process.

“Oh, just sucked the blood out of them. I do want to say thank you for providing such a wonderful snack for my family.”

“Your family’s dead,” I whispered. “They’re piles of ashes.”

Mrs. Tarner shrieked and launched herself at me.

Knowing I had to escape or I would be killed myself, I rolled out of the way and ran to the farthest end table. My hand fell on a long, sharp object. I wasted no time and grabbed the butter knife we had previously used for buttering small rolls of bread, and stabbed Mrs. Tarner.

Like Mr. Tarner and Ellis, she evaporated into a pile of ash.

Looking down at the knife I had in one hand and my other nearly burnt hand, I sank down on my knees and started to cry.