The Vampire of the Powmillon

By Jean Gillespie

Life can be boring in a small Scottish town, but not when there's a vampire lurking in the shadows of the Powmillon burn, the stream that runs through the center of town. Jenny, the vampire, is fun at first. Then, she becomes annoying, and, finally, dangerous. Thank heavens for Gregor's gran and her magic cauldron. Morag is convinced that the gift of second sight has been passed on to her grandson, but it is up to her to guide him through the rites of passage and protect him in the process. Gregor's story has mystery, adventure and humor. Follow him on his exciting adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jean Gillespie
• Release date: Jun 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465912336

Jean Gillespie

I am a native Scot who resides in the northern panhandle of West Virginia. I alternate the settings of my books between West Virginia and my hometown of Strathaven, Scotland. "A Death on Faculty Row", "Secrets of the Powmillon" and "The Road to St. Cecelia's" are available on amazon.com.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Morag Cameron couldn’t figure out why on an otherwise normal Monday she was consumed by a feeling of panic, a panic so over-whelming that for much of the day she’d felt nauseated. She went to bed early in an attempt to sleep off the queasiness , but it was hours before she was able to fall asleep. Even then, her slumber was interrupted by intermittent dreams, each one accompanied by a rousing chorus of one of her favorite childhood songs…

A- hunting we will go!

A- hunting we will go!

We’ll catch a fox,

Put’im in a box

A- hunting we will go!

Not much longer, lads. At least, not today, said Euan, pulling up on the reins of his horse. Look yonder, lads. The sun has fallen; ‘ere long we will be engulfed in darkness.

Euan’s warning and the sound of the singing was drowned out by a sudden explosion of thunder. The horses whinnied as Euan’s three companions brought them to a halt.

Not to worry, Euan, my lad. The stars and the moon will guide us homeward.

Not this night. The lights from the heavens will be hidden from sight by these ominous dark clouds. We must find shelter before they open up and drown us with their watery contents.

Euan had barely spoken when a second rumble of thunder rolled across the sky followed by a flash of lightning.

Follow me, lads, said Euan, steering his horse to an opening in the dense foliage. To where? asked one of his companions.

To yonder shelter in the middle of the thicket, said Euan, pointing his finger at the outline of a crude shepherd’s hut not far from the opening.

"How didst thou ken there was a shelter there?’

I spotted it from the top of the hill before we descended into this valley in search of our prey. We should have stayed on the main trail.

Well, we didn’t ride down here on purpose. ‘Twas that sly fox that led us here.

Would we had the brains of brother fox, Fergus. It is he who has trapped us and is now, snug and dry in his den, laughing at our predicament. But do not tarry, my friends. Follow me.

Euan led his companions to the shelter he had espied from the hill. The first drops of a heavy rain fell just as the four youths entered the abode. It was a simple hut, the kind the shepherds used as protection from the elements during the summer months.

The good shepherd has seen us right. I doubt he would mind us using some of his wood for a fire this stormy night, said one of the youths, starting to pile some kindling in the middle of the floor directly beneath the roof’s smoke hole.

The rain pouring in through the hole hindered the fire-lighting process. The four lads were shivering by the time it finally ignited. But it did not take long to fill the small room with warmth. They sat around the fire, eating their evening ratio. Save some for the morn’, lads. ‘Tis a long ride home with no hostel or family dwellings along the way to supply us with refreshment. We will need all our strength for the journey homeward, warned Euan, placing a goodly portion of his meal into his canvas sack. Worry! Worry! Worry! Is that all you ever do, little brother? Have some fun. Lighten your cares with some of this, said Fergus, opening a flagon and drinking from it.

Save some for us, roared his friends, trying to pry the flask from Fergus’s grasp.

Careful, lads. We need every drop we have. This night may prove to be a long one, laughed Fergus, handing the gourd to the youth seated next to him. Several drops of the precious brew splashed on the floor.

Consider the drops that fell on the floor my portion, said Euan. I have no need of ale.

Then that will be all the more for us, laughed Fergus. And thou can’t say we didn’t offer thee any.

Did anyone hear that noise? asked Euan, jumping to his feet.

It is the rain on the roof. Nothing more, little brother. You need a drink to calm your nerves.

The tapping noise Euan had heard became louder. Surely you can all hear that unless you be deef.

Fergus walked to the door and opened it. Four of the most beautiful maidens any of the youths had ever seen stepped inside. They stood in a straight line, joined hands, and nodded their heads in unison. Music began to play, soft and slow at first. Enchanted, the men rose to their feet. The music grew louder and faster. Each maiden extended a dainty hand to one of the men. Each of the youths, except Euan, accepted the outstretched hand. They began to dance a reel around the fire. Euan fled out the door in terror. ‘Tis the Sith. The Sith, I know it is the wicked fairy Sith. He tried to scream to warn his brother and companions, but the words stuck in his throat in a knot of terror. The maiden Euan had spurned gave chase. Euan sought refuge in the middle of the circle of their four horses. He sank to his knees and covered his eyes. He knew that he must not allow himself to become enchanted with the beauty of his pursuer. He willed himself not to take her outstretched hand.

Euan fell asleep in his equestrian refuge. When he awoke, it was daylight. His hands were still covering his eyes so tightly that he had to pry each finger loose. He must have been asleep for hours. The rain had abated. The day was filled with sunlight, as much as the sun was able to provide in that far northern land. The horses were grazing at the edge of the thicket. Not a single sound came from the hut. Euan smiled. The other three must be sleeping off their hours of drinking and dancing. But the sight Euan gazed upon inside the dwelling forced him to run to the woods and retch. The bodies of his brother and friends lay lifeless on the dirt floor. The bodies were an alabaster white, shiny and translucent. Euan knew that not a single drop of blood remained within. The youth sank to his knees. I was right, he sighed. Those women were the Sith, the white women of the Highlands, who seduce unsuspecting youths with their beauty and then suck every drop of their blood.

Euan knew he had nothing to fear now. At the first sign of daylight, the Sith disappear underground, energized by the blood of their victims. Euan buried his brother and companions in the deep woods behind the hut. Then, he tied their three horses together, mounted his own steed, and, in single file, led the rider-less horses home.

Everyone in his village agreed that Euan had been lucky to escape the Sith. The wisest old man in the village told him that hiding in the middle of the horse circle had been his salvation.

But why? Are the Sith afraid of horses?

No, Euan. The Sith fear iron. It was the iron horseshoes on the horses’ hooves that saved you.

From that day on, Euan carried a horseshoe with him wherever he went. The story of Euan’s encounter with the Sith was passed down from generation to generation in his village, and, to this very day, the horseshoe is a symbol of good luck throughout Scotland.

It was the sound of those hoof beats from long ago that jolted Morag Cameron out of her restless slumber. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The room, her bedroom, was pitch black. She knew she must be in the middle of a dream, but, the moment she opened her eyes, all knowledge of it, including the sound of the hoof beats, vanished.

Morag got out of bed and made her way to the kitchen. It was only six o’clock, not yet light, but she was awake enough to realize that her chances of falling back to sleep if she returned to bed were slim to none. Might as well stay up. She fixed herself a cup of tea and tried to remember the dream. But only brief, disjointed episodes came back to her: the clippity-clop of hoof beats, rain drops hissing as they landed on tree branches, loud music. Only sounds. No images accompanied them. Too bad you can’t tape your dreams. Now that would be a worthwhile invention! And why not? Everything else can be done electronically nowadays.

Morag rested her head on top of her folded arms on the kitchen table. She had almost drifted back to sleep when the dream video she so desperately wanted to recall clicked in. She saw every frame clearly: the youths riding to the hut, the lighting of the fire, the arrival of the women, the dancing and carousing, and one lad escaping and taking refuge outside with the horses. Morag was spared nothing. She shrieked out loud as the women sucked the blood of the unsuspecting youths.

"Oh, my God. The Sith. I haven’t dreamed of them since I was a young girl. What does this mean? Is it an omen?" She thought of her young grandson, Gregor, just turned twelve. Where’s my granny when I need her? Morag laughed nervously. But she was the grandmother now. It was her turn to interpret the dreams. She didn’t want to alarm Gregor needlessly. She’d wait for a sign. If something strange was going on in Gregor’s life, he’d tell her before he’d confide in his mother. Moira was a great mum but definitely a product of the twenty-first century. And her family didn’t have Highland roots. Interpreting dreams as omens was Moira’s idea of having a head filled with cotton wool.

Morag showered and dressed. By the time she’d finished her morning chores, she was back to her old self. For the moment, at least, her dream and concern for her grandson had disappeared.

CHAPTER 1

Gregor knew he was in trouble the minute he saw his mother’s small car parked in front of their row house on North Street. He opened the front door as quietly as possible, stepped into the hall, and closed it before the wind slammed it shut. He placed his finger over his lips to hush his younger brother, Ian, who’d stepped into the hall from the lounge. Without speaking, Ian pointed towards the kitchen where Gregor could hear his mother’s voice on the phone.

Great, thought Gregor. I’ve been saved by the war in Iraq. Today was Tuesday, the appointed time for his mum’s weekly chat with their dad. Hopefully, she’d been so excited about speaking to him she’d neglected to notice that Gregor wasn’t at home when she arrived. Moira Cameron was laid back about most things, but she drew the line at Gregor’s not being on the premises with Ian on the one day a week she worked late at her surgery and Tuesdays when his dad phoned from Iraq.

Gregor. Ian. Get in here. Dad wants to talk to you.

Eight year old Ian let out a whoop of glee. Me first. Me first, he yelled at the top of his lungs, almost knocking down Gregor in his rush to get to the phone before his big brother.

Hello, Dad. It’s me. Wee Ian. I beat Gregor to the phone. School’s great. We’re working on balloon designs for next year’s show. Our class might enter one.

Moira laughed at her eight year old son’s exuberance while trying to control the tears welling up in her eyes.

How was school, Gregor?

Fine. Same old thing. All we do is review for the exams. Dead boring. How’s Dad?

Moira laughed.

What’s so funny?

When I asked your father how things were, he gave me the same answer. ‘Fine. Same old thing.’

Bet he didn’t say dead boring.

Of course not.

Operating on wounded soldiers has to be a wee bit more exciting than going over the same old stuff day after day.

Aye. You’re right. But don’t forget that to get to that point you’ve got to put in your time on all sorts of boring things.

Did you?

I’m a doctor, Gregor. What do you think?

Gregor laughed. I know. I’m just missing Dad. He always thinks up exciting things for us to do.

Well, pardon me for being such a drag. I guess I never learned the fine art of filling children’s heads with magic.

He does not.

Okay, Daddy. Here’s Gregor, said Ian, starting to hand the phone to his older brother. Wait, he yelled, putting the phone back up to his ear.

What did you say, Dad? Oh, that. No he isn’t taking good care of me all the time. Just sometimes. Mum got home before him today, so I was all by myself for a long time.

Before his mother could say anything, Gregor grabbed the phone.

Hello, Dad. Aye. I’m fine. How are you?

While his Dad talked, Gregor wished that his mother and Ian would disappear. But that didn’t happen. They stood rooted to the spot within hearing distance of the phone. There was no chance of either of them giving him any privacy, so he pretended they weren’t there.

I think there’s something going on up at the Castle, Dad. It’s kind of scary. I haven’t gone up to check, but every day this week I’ve heard a low wailing coming from the main turret. And there’s something white on the ground. I can see it from the road.

Gregor’s mother glared at him while