I stepped through a door in a conspicuous part of a newly constructed mall. It was a single door in between two under renovation spaces. A mysterious door which couples and children do not seem to notice as they passed by. Its red frame and ruby-colored knob caught my attention. It seemed to be calling me over and over again. “Come, boy,” I heard them say—those voices beyond the door. I walked towards the door and reached for its elegant yet twisted doorknob. I heeded its call by stepping through its red frame.

The atmosphere beyond the doorway is far colder than the mall’s air-conditioning system at the other side. I held onto the knob behind me so that the door would not close. But I let it go when a vile stench stung my nose. The door drew back slowly, creaking, as if someone at the opposite side was pulling it. Then it slammed close. Alarmed, I turned around to see and realized that there was no door behind me.

The vile, rusty stench filled the air as a cold wind blew. Light slowly appeared from the ceiling as I looked up. I saw shadows moving away, unveiling the single light illuminating above. It was only a little later when I realized it was the moon I was looking at—the big, perfect, full moon—and the clouds uncovering it. Around me, stood tall, dark shapes looming above like trees that looked alive and eyeing my every move.

Gathering my courage, I took a step, and another, and so on, exploring the dark woods unknowing what will face me next. “Come, boy,” the voices behind the trees still whispered. I can’t exactly make sure where the voices were but I knew from the echoes that they were everywhere surrounding me. Suddenly, I heard rustling up ahead. I imagined it was the sound of a squirrel hopping on dried leaves on the ground. Hoping I would find a way out of the forest maze, I followed the sound. A bit of noise was better than nothing, I persuaded myself even though I didn’t want to go that way. It felt like my feet were possessed and I couldn’t control them. It reminded me of one of those suspense movies, where the protagonist will find out where the body is hidden. The stench grew stronger as I came closer. I felt my stomach churn.

The stirring clouds and the trees’ shades blocked the light of the moon in that area of the woods. I can barely see what was in front of me, only shades of gray and black. My heart was pounding heavier inside my chest as, little by little, I imagined where the smell must have come from. The rusty stench in that area can only be one thing, I thought. Blood.

When at last, the clouds above gave way to the moon, its silver light shone through the gaps of leaves revealing what lay in front of me: a dead man lying down with his eyes open wide as if staring blankly into the sky. He laid flat on the blood-spilled ground while a boy, a little younger than I am, crouched in front of him. The boy was undoubtedly whimpering and in pain.

Even though I did not know what pain he felt at that moment, I snuck up closer, hoping maybe I could ease the stranger’s pain away. Hoping not to startle him, I walked more quietly. With every step I took, I tried very hard not to make a sound. I moved in sideways to learn what had really happened, to see them both clearly under the light. It was only soon that I realized that this was not a good idea. Even just the thought of trying to comfort him was bad. How bad? Very. Under the full moon’s light, it was all clear now that the boy was not embracing his father—if he was indeed his father. The boy was crouched down before him because he was feasting on the corpse. The dead body was already rotting away. Flies were flying in every direction. Slurp, slurp, the sound it makes. Shuffle, shuffle, the dry leaves go.

Terrified, I took a sudden step backwards where, unfortunately, a fallen branch lay. Crack! I slipped and fell down on the ash-colored leaves. Startled, he turned around revealing a set of sharp canine fangs, dripping with cold, faded-crimson blood. His eyes, which I noticed under the moonlight, were crimson like the blood he was indulging in. Slowly, he walked towards me–with both of his hands opened into palms; waving at me–reassuring me that he meant no harm. Who would believe that? I started scrambling onto my feet as he came closer.

I got up on my feet in no time, picking up the branch I stepped on. I can use its other end as a weapon, as a stake, if he attacks.

“Wait, wait,” he pleaded as water dripped down from his eye. Was that a tear or was that just a dewdrop from a leaf of a tree. Thinking about it, I heard him crying before. His voice sounded sincere as he spoke while licking the blood on his lips. I wasn’t entirely sure what to believe. This could be a trap, I kept telling myself.

My hands were trembling that I didn’t notice the branch–my only weapon–fell from my grip. I started running away from him, hoping I could get away. I didn’t look back, afraid of what I may see behind. The trees around seemed to whisper still, “Come, boy” or “You can’t get very far”. I wished this was only a dream, or a nightmare, and in just another minute I would wake up. But I didn’t and I kept running. I was running in circles but I was too afraid to realize.

Wishing that finally I had lost him, I glanced behind me, slowing down my pace. The voices too had gone. I was lost deeper in the woods. As soon as I felt that I was safe, I stopped to breathe. I bent my knees, leaned forward and supported my weight with my arms against my legs as I closed my eyes and breathed hard. My heart seemed to skip a bit as soon as I half-opened my eyes. In front of me, there he was standing, with no trace of dirt or sweat. His clothes were clean and, oddly, he was groomed.

“Please, don’t go away,” he said. His voice was still calm and pleading. “Please, I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“I…I…” I was trembling and I did not know what to say. Clearly, I was afraid and hoping that any minute from now, I’d be waking up with a start.

“Come with me,” he said and looked back and pointed to what looked like a tower up ahead, “I’d like to invite you to my home, up there.”

Somehow and oddly enough, I felt safe that I agreed to come with him to his mansion. So much for the saying, “Never accept a vampire’s invitation.”

We walked—well, I walked while he hovered—together through the woods without speaking a word. I could not make out what he was thinking since he was on the lead and I was following him. If only I could see his face. A while longer, we reached the end of the forest maze easily as if he knew every single tree. At the end of the woods was a rocky path trailing downhill and up the steep mountain. A black coach pulled by two black stallions waited for us there. I figured it was magical of some sort, as it wasn’t being manned by anyone.

As soon as we reached the carriage, he moved closer to the horses—which I noticed had hollow eye sockets—and patted them gently down their necks. He walked over to the door of the carriage and opened it. Inside, the coach’s cushions were of red fabric, probably silk.

“Step in, friend,” he said invitingly. Normally, people would not easily believe vampires but if you heard or felt his voice, it was easy not to doubt. I reached up for the handlebars hesitantly and pulled myself up to the coach seat. As I sat myself comfortably, I was stunned to see him in front of me, sitting comfortably as if he was there before I climbed in.

“How did you…? I mean, how…” I trailed off knowing the answer already. Vampires tend to do those stuff anyway. He did not seem amused or enthusiastic when I asked that as if he did not want to do that by any means.

“I’m Alfonse,” he stuck out his hand timidly. I felt he did not want to be rejected.

I took his hand and shook it in return. “Corin,” I said. His hand was as cold as death but his smile was warm enough to melt anyone’s cruel heart. “So,” I tried to start a conversation but the words didn’t come out of my mouth. I wanted to know what happened back in the forest or how he came to be.

“What you saw in the woods,” he started as if he could read my mind, “it’s not what you think.” He paused. He looked outside the carriage’s window, deep in his thoughts, as if he remembered something from the past.

“I did not kill the man,” he explained. “He was already dead two days ago. He was killed by his friend, or so he thought he was, because of a fight between a girl—a prostitute, if I may say.”

His words were mature for a 13-year old.

“They were both drunk. He had the knife, while they both agreed that they both screw the girl in turns. The girl was drugged, so she did not know what really happened. He was first to do her,” he stopped. I was rather feeling awkward listening to this kind of story, even more, from a 13-year old. I signaled him to go on. “Right. He induced her with drugs once more before he did her. Then they took turns—there in the part where you found me—over and over again. It was his turn soon and he asked his friend to move but his friend stabbed him with his own knife, which he left beside the drugs they used. It’s a cruel world.”

“How do you know all this?” I asked him.

“All the memories of a person courses through his own blood. Once my kind tastes a person’s blood, his memories will be carried onto us,” he said. “To survive,” he continued, “I had to satisfy my hunger. I needed blood.”

I felt scared. I wanted to get out of the carriage at once.

“Though,” he said reluctantly, “I am still not ready for my first kill yet. Not at this time. Bartholomew, my father—“ Father? Is he bringing me to his father? I started. Even though it was cold, sweat trickled down my face. He must have noticed my uneasiness then, that he looked through my eyes sincerely and said, “Please understand. I am not here to hurt you. My father… He—he’s gone. He taught me how to survive. He taught me to feed only from the blood of poultry, or cows, or corpses. He taught me to only feed from people with hearts as black as the forest. But still, I am not yet ready.”

I was about to ask him about the ‘first kill’ when the coach abruptly stopped. “We’re here,” he said, “Helfort.”

Helfort was the name of the mansion. According to him, Helfort had been there since their kind’s first generation. I learned later on that he was of the 8th generation. If I would do my math—considering the factor of immortality and that each generation could take up to at least a hundred years—Helfort would be almost 8 centuries old.

“Let us talk more, about everything you want to know, inside,” Alfonse said as he opened the carriage door for me. He had been educated well, I thought. He treated his visitors with utmost courteousness. I peered out and looked about. Unsurprisingly, Helfort wasn’t a lively place to be in. It had the ‘haunted house’ image we believed in, only darker. A garden—a lifeless one—slept in the yard in front of the mansion. There was a maze of hedges with gargoyles and statues with lonely faces. The pathway was paved with huge, smooth stones as old as Helfort.

“I see you’re acquainting yourself with my home,” he said as he, too, looked around, reminiscing the memories he had. As soon as we both got off the coach, the stallions pulled it, as if by command, towards the stables east of the mansion. Slowly, as I looked at them, the stallions, as well as the coach, became translucent then faded into the stable just like…

“Spirits,” I whispered.

Alfonse nodded. “They are the spirits of those who died in this territory. They are cursed to serve the Master of Helfort in their eternal damnation. I do not want it. Yet it is a blood oath.”

“I thought you were alone?” I asked as we stepped through Helfort’s antique front door. Two women hovered towards us. One of them assisted Alfonse as she took off his crimson-black mantle. The other directed us through the hallway. Both of them wore veils to cover their faces. “I mean, these spirits…”

“I am,” he said, fixing his sad eyes on the woman in front of us. “It is different having you here or visitors from time to time.”

We arrived in a room as big as my house’s lot back home. It looked to me that this room was a study, since there were shelves towering each wall and cobweb-covered books carefully arranged in the shelves. The first woman pulled out a chair, dusted it and assisted Alfonse to sit. The other woman came in with a tray of goblets and something else and put it down on the table. “They only live to serve,” Alfonse said as soon as they left the room.

“Please,” he insisted, “grab a seat.”

I took a chair, which was stacked up on top of other dusty chairs and stood it by Alfonse’s table. I reckon Alfonse didn’t get visitors that often.

“Friends, on the other hand, they give me life—stories,” he continued.

“So… How long have you been here?” I asked him as I tried to silence my stomach. I’m guessing he was about a hundred years older than I am.

“I was eight when I was first bitten,” he narrated as he offered me a goblet of crimson liquid. I told him I don’t drink blood then he laughed and said it wasn’t. “It’s been 50 mortal years since then.”

“If you were bitten at 8, shouldn’t you look 8 too and not 15 or 13?” I asked.

“Where did you learn that?” Alfonse sounded confused. I remembered that there wasn’t any evidence in the real world—my world—about existing vampires or their lifestyles. Things about what we knew were only figments of our imagination. This, this was the real thing. “Vampires tend to delay aging whenever he drinks human blood, until our first kill.”

There he is again. The ‘First Kill’.

“50 years ago,” he said as he leaned forward, crossing his fingers together, “beyond the mountains of the boundaries, somewhere at the foot of the Alps of Hollerdam, my father—my real father, my brother and I were gathering wood for the winter. I don’t remember who my mother was but my brother, who is older, says that she was a kind, loving, and beautiful mother. Father said though that she was taken away.

We were collecting wood from Daggerpoint Forest to sell to our neighbors for the cold nights of winter. It wasn’t safe in those parts of the woods for they say, a vile creature lingers and anyone can be its next victim. My father told us, my brother and I, to stay and keep an eye on the firewood pile while he goes out and collects more.

It was taking a while and my brother was already getting worried. I, too, was very anxious to go home. When all of a sudden, a shriek and a cry echoed through the woods. We knew one of them was my father. I started to cry and pray, hoping he is all right. When the woods became silent once more, my brother picked up the axe and told me to run towards the village. At first, I did not want to leave him. But then, he shook me by my shoulders and hugged me as a tear fell from his eye. ‘Run, Alfonse, don’t let father down,’ he said.

I ran south towards the village. I ran as fast as I could. Tears were trickling down my face. I did not want to leave my father nor brother behind. Family just doesn’t work out if you’re alone.

There was another cry. I recognized the voice of my brother. I stumbled on the ground crying even more. Then I heard the shrieking noise closing in behind me from above. There was a sound of flapping. The whispers of the wind rustled against the leaves of the trees. Somehow, I felt a presence behind me. I knew then I was not alone anymore.

‘Alfonse…’ it said. It knew my name. ‘I will take you to your father,’ it said slyly. Its voice sounded like long breaths and hisses.

Trembling in fear, I gathered the courage to turn around and face it. It had very pale skin and a monstrous face. Its face was similar to a normal person’s, only it is deformed. It had long jet-black hair. Some strands were covering its face but I could clearly see that the whites of its eyes were red and its pupils glowed in dark like a cat’s. It was a man and a monster at the same time. It had bat-like wings connecting its skinny arms to its sides. Its limbs were bent in an awkward position.

It grinned. ‘Ah… You have your mother’s green eyes,’ it said in its dry, throaty voice. ‘I remember when I took her away…’

Rage was overwhelming me. I wanted to strike with an axe—if only I had one. I wanted to lunge at it like when I fight bullies in the village school. I wanted to but then, I was frightened. The monster stood upright and straightened itself like a normal man. He walked towards me; sky light from the south was shining upon him. He raised his arm against it to protect his eyes as he moved in closer.

‘Peace, brother,’ another voice said from behind. It was more peaceful than the monster’s dry voice. He was against the light that when I turned around, he was just a silhouette. ‘You do not need to do this. You have taken enough lives to satisfy yourself!’

‘He’s mine!’ the monster said as he suddenly appeared beside me. ‘And you… are not a brother of mine, fool!’ He pushed me aside with his clawed hands. I could feel a tearing pain across my chest. My vision was beginning to blur but before I blacked-out, I saw its face change from man to monster. Its jaw opened from ear to ear, revealing tombstones of sharp teeth overlapping each other. Fresh blood oozed down from it.

I stirred on my seat as Alfonse told me half of his story. It was getting colder and darker outside. I didn’t know how long I was there, but it seemed like ages already. He called the wraiths—his woman servants, that’s what they were called—and asked them to light some wood in the fireplace. He later asked them to make me something to eat. A while later, they came back with, guess what, fried chicken. I helped myself with dinner as Alfonse continued his story.

“I woke up to the sound of the waves colliding on a ship’s deck. I did not know how I got there. I opened my eyes and tried to stand up but I couldn’t keep my balance every time the ship rocked to the ocean’s sway. As I stumbled towards the starboard, I felt someone support my back. I looked up at him—a man of honor and dignity. I recognized his voice from the tragic incident in Daggerpoint. He was the voice behind me.

‘It’s been 3 weeks, my boy,’ he said. ‘You were out for 3 weeks,’ he repeated, ‘he must’ve given you a very deep wound.’

You saved my life, I told him gratefully but he looked down swimming deep in his thoughts. ‘I saved you, yes, but,’ he was hesitating, ‘you were already dead.’

I asked him what he meant. It was difficult for me to understand at first.

‘You see, Troken—the monster you met—slashed your chest open,’ he carefully said. ‘You were dying. He retreated as soon as I injured him, cursing me as he flew to the depths of Daggerpoint. Well, I managed to reach you in time, hoping what I willed was the right thing to do.’

He explained how he saved my life and how he gave me a cursed one in return. He thought he was too late but still brought me along on his journey home. He later told me that Troken and us were of the same kind, only that our ways differ from his. ‘I know how difficult it is to understand at first,’ he said as he put his hand on my shoulder. He knelt down and faced me, ‘but, let me make up for your loss, son.’

Son. He called me son. I cried remembering my father—my family. He let me sob on his shoulder, even though there weren’t any tears. Since that day onwards, I have treated him like my father and he has treated me as his own son.”

Alfonse told me his father’s name—Bartholomew—and pointed to one of the portraits hanging in the study. Even though the study was filled with cobwebs, the portrait of Bartholomew was spotless. There were other portraits beside Bartholomew’s, much older than his.

Bartholomew looked 25 in the portrait. He had straight, brown hair tied in a man bun. His skin was normally pale—normal for vampires, that is. His eyes were as sincere as Alfonse’s. He wore fine-tailored clothes with ruffles on the sleeves. Around his neck, hung a crimson-black mantle, which I noticed Alfonse wore earlier. An amulet made from a rare gem hung over his neck.

“It is the family crest,” Alfonse told me. He managed to follow where my eyes were looking. He fumbled the necklace under his shirt. Alfonse told me that as soon as they, Bartholomew and him, arrived in Helfort, Bartholomew handed him the family crest. It was said that whoever had the crest, will be recognized as the Master of Helfort and the forest around it. He was even given a second name: Vladmir. From then on, he had been called Vladmir Alfonse Everdark.

The Everdarks were the Masters of Helfort and of the Everdark Forest. It is the forest around Helfort where the trees were said to be once cruel people that had been cursed to serve the Everdarks. The country within the surrounding forests was then named after the forest itself, Everdark. Thus, in reality, making the Everdarks master of which their name conquers.

Bartholomew was a pureblood according to Alfonse, and so are the previous generations. The Everdarks had been the just eyes roaming around Everdark, protecting the innocent and the weak, and punishing the cruel.

Alfonse mentioned the First Kill, at last. It had been bothering me the whole time since he talked about it. “It is the initiation of immortality, he said. “Though it is not the kind of life we seek, we only truly attain endless youth and eternal life through our first kill. That is the reason why even when I had become a vampire at 8, I still continued to age and mature.

As long as I savor my hunger with blood, my aging process slows down. It was my father who taught me how I could control this curse.

It may be hard at first especially if you have fallen in love with the world and the people around you. Though sometimes, one cannot escape this fate, there will come a time that we will need to kill. Father said there would come a time when it is the right thing to do. And I, I shall wait for that time.”

I had just finished eating the chicken he served me. Though, I still haven’t touched the goblet of crimson liquid he gave me to drink.

“It’s bloodberry juice,” he said laughing heartily, “it’s one of my favorite drinks when I was still, well, alive.” He stood up and walked to the glass door of the terrace. It was still dark outside as if time in Everdark froze. “Bloodberries were originally grown in Frostglades—the village south of Daggerpoint. It gives off heat once its juice is taken into the body.

When my father gifted me,” gifted was the term Alfonse used for making him a vampire. He did not treat what Bartholomew had done to him as a curse, “parts of my memories have been shared with him. He learned of my family, of how they have been killed. He learned of my youth and how I have enjoyed it. He learned that the juice of the bloodberry, my father—my real father—used to harvest, was my favorite.”

In Alfonse’s story, Bartholomew—before leaving to Everdark—bought sacks of seeds of bloodberries in the village of Frostglade. They were carried on a ship called The Endchaser. The Endchaser belonged to a good friend of Bartholomew who owed him half his life. Bartholomew’s friend, the captain of The Endchaser, used to be a pirate. He retired after he was crippled. The ship was then used as a bartering vessel across different countries.

They traveled over sea for 4 months where they were fed with the live poultry’s blood. The rest of the poultry were cooked and fed to the captain and the crew. Alfonse made a few friends in The Endchaser but they soon had to say their goodbyes as they reached the country of Ashen, one of the neighboring countries of Everdark. From Ashen, they traveled to Helfort on a carriage even though Alfonse had already learned to hover.

“It isn’t advisable to hover in Ashen. Not like in Everdark where the sun seldom comes out, Ashen is home to the sun.”

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“Here in Everdark, it’s always night. It has not been explained why the sun hardly crosses the boundary between Everdark and Ashen. While in Ashen, it’s the complete opposite, the sun never sets,” he explained.

So that explains why time never seemed to pass. I thought it was still night when morning had already broken through.

“Legends say that once upon a time when Solos, the sun god, fell in love with Lunul, the moon goddess and vice-versa, they chased each other every passing day. Solos chased Lunul to the west while Lunul chased Solos from the east but they never reached each other, even just once. Solos then decided to wait for Lunul instead hoping she would pass by again. Lunul, as a woman, got tired of chasing after Solos—who she believed should be chasing after her instead—waited for her lover.

Solos, while waiting, built a city filled with prosperity and opportunity and named it Ashen or the country of Light. Lunul, who had been waiting all her life for Solos, became deeply depressed. Her gloom that she felt was poured down in the land, which was originally rich like Ashen, and turned it into the countries of Darkness.

Up until now, they are still waiting for each other. A sad story, actually.”

“Quite funny too,” I added but his facial reaction didn’t change. If something were funny, he would probably have laughed. Instead, he had become more serious and quiet.

“Father… father was killed because of that,” he tightened his grip on the goblet. “The villagers insisted that the Everdarks were the reason why this place was unpleasant to live in. They believed that we are the cause of their hardships and misfortunes.”

“I… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…,” I said. I wished that I had just shut my mouth. I really was sorry.

“The villagers were rallied by the town mayor. He said nasty things about the Everdarks as if we ever made his life a misery. He rallied up the villagers—farmers, merchants, even the eldest sons of families, making them carry their own weapons. From the tower, I could see their torches burn from far away. They marched in like ants towards Helfort. Father told me to stay in the tower just like what my real father told us (my brother and I) once. Stay here.

I did not want to stay. I wanted to come with him. I wanted to fight by his side if he would fight. I wanted to be there.

I ran down the spiral staircase of the tower. As soon as I was in the great hall, I hovered towards the arch door. I flew out the door and saw him there, waiting by the gate.

He noticed I was behind him and he scolded me for that. That was the only time I heard him roar. Even though he was angry, I felt his concern. He knelt down before me and shook me like the time in The Endchaser. ‘Vladmir Alfonse Everdark,’ he said, ‘do not be reckless!’ The villagers’ chants were getting louder and louder. The light of their torches was getting nearer and nearer. ‘Stay here, son, I do not want to endanger you,’ he pleaded. He took off his mantle and tied it around my neck. The Shroud of Darkness. It was a family heirloom passed on from one generation to another. Whoever wore it will be protected under the darkness. He gave me one last hug and kissed me on my forehead.

He flew out the gate and into Everdark forest. He called out to the villagers and led them deeper into the woods. It rained that night. I didn’t see him the next day.”

“Your father, he’s” I said. He sacrificed his unlife for Alfonse, who wasn’t even blood-related to him. I knew that one day Alfonse would be just like his father, “a brave man.”

Alfonse smiled behind his sad eyes. “Thank you, Corin,” he said meaningfully.

“No,” I remarked. “Thank you.” This adventure had been a wonderful experience. I have to thank the red-framed door for that.