Raven: Vampire Hunter

By Peter Allchin

The Vosges Mountains in France; Transylvania; and the gloomy streets of late 19th century London. These are the settings to a vampire story like no other.
A destiny to be fulfilled, as prophesied in an ancient book; cannibalism; vampires; a meeting with Death; and a murder mystery that has never been solved – until now, in this violent world of make-believe.
One man is unwillingly thrust into this world: Raven.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Allchin
• Release date: Apr 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310350030

Peter Allchin

I have been writing for quite a few years - short stories; poetry, and two novels, one of which was published in Australia in paperback in 2007. Owing to unforeseen problems, the book is no longer available. I have also been published in magazines, although my style of writing - usually, but not always, black comedy and horror, is not for women's mainstream magazines. I also write poetry, preferring rhymes rather than free verse. And rhymes, as opposed to 'proper' poetry, is something I love to write, especially simple, silly verses, many of which are suitable for young children. I write because I enjoy creating something out of what might be an acorn of just a few words, or a phrase that came to me, or overheard in a conversation.

Book preview

Raven:

Vampire Hunter

by

Peter Allchin

Original copyright 2007 by Peter Allchin

Smashwords Edition 2014

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Including: Raven 2: Apocalypse

Raven: Vampire Hunter

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Raven: Vampire Hunter

Chapter 1

I never knew my parents, or the man who took me away to live in a convent. I was supported by the nuns and my unknown benefactor through to adulthood and to a doctorate in medicine. An explanation as to the colour of my eyes or the dark birthmark on my neck was never given.

***

Silently, it came. As dust and insects danced in the first rays of sunlight, the visitor approached from the East. At first, it appeared to be nothing more than a tiny dot in the sky, slowly gaining in size as it neared.

The stark blackness of the bird contrasted with the bright morning sky as it circled the small enclave. Not a sound came from its throat or wings as it scythed through the air, as though it were a thief at daybreak, looking for a particular fancy.

No human eyes saw the bird as it finally made its decision, turning and swooping, before perching effortlessly on the roof of a mud-encrusted dwelling. Three days and three nights, it stayed, unmoving, silent. Had it been seen, any onlooker would have thought nothing more of it other than an ornament. Only at the onset of evening twilight on the fourth day, did the bird finally stir. Spreading its wings, the creature rose into the air and disappeared, as screams of pain and anguish filtered through the thick mud that had been its resting place.

***

I can see the head! The voice was that of a man. He stared at the wonderment of childbirth. It's coming! It's coming!

The mother-to-be, sweat-soaked after many hours of labour, grimaced, and screamed again as she attempted to push the child from her womb.

The man's face, at first, a picture of joy, changed to one of horror. There's something wrong. The cord, it's wrapped around the baby's neck! What do I do? What do I do?

At that moment, the door opened. A man, unknown to the occupants, stood in the open doorway. His face was partially hidden by the low brim of a hat. A tattered leather frock-coat was buttoned to the neck. In his right hand, he held a small leather-bound book. The husband rose, shocked to see a stranger in his home. The stranger pulled a knife from its sheath, pushed the husband out of the way, then, with one swift movement, cut the offending umbilical cord.

Push woman. In God's name push! he cried.

The woman did all any woman could do, and within seconds, a baby boy was born. The light in the room was poor, but even by that dim light it was plain to see that the baby was unusual. Although breathing heartily, and flexing four perfectly formed limbs, the eyes were not that of a normal baby. Instead of blue eyes, this baby's eyes were black. The stranger lifted the lid of each eye. No white could be seen. He then noticed a mark on the infant's neck and smiled.

Tiny beads of perspiration formed on the husband's brow as he noticed the look on the stranger's face. Who in hell are you, and what of our child? I saw you looking into his eyes.

The stranger handed the child to its mother before answering. Everything is as it should be, he replied, adding, as for being in Hell, on the contrary, consider me a friend who has come to save your son and guide him towards his destiny. Opening the book, he read aloud. And on the fourth day a son shall be born bearing the mark of the bird, and his name shall be, Raven...

A sudden commotion from outside caused the reader to stop. Closing the book, he snatched the child and melded into the shadows. The husband and wife called to him but the stranger and their son had disappeared.

A bitter wind blew through the enclave. Dust rose high into the air, causing the sun to dim and die. In the small hut, the man and his wife cowered, fearful of what was to come. Death entered the room and consumed those that it saw...

Chapter 2

I stood at the edge of a large precipice, set high in the Vosges Mountains of France. Leaning forward, I peered down into the valley far below. From experience, I knew the villagers would be doing what generations before them had done prior to every sunset: preparing for the horror that only comes with the blackness of night. Fires would be burning brightly to keep out the cold, doors locked, windows shuttered and secured to keep out the unwanted and the feared. Before nightfall, which was fast approaching, the innkeeper would have served and said goodbye to his last customer before securing his own premises.

Born of superstition, an ornate but useless talisman would be at the neck of every living soul. Such was their fear of the living dead.

The journey from the village had been difficult. Deeply scarred with ruts from the wheels of countless coach journeys to and from the castle, the road, such as it was, was no more than a narrow track, extremely steep and hardly fit for man or beast.

My having to walk had been unavoidable as nobody from the village had been willing to bring me here, not even for a generous reward. To be honest, their fear and loathing of this place and its owner was understandable. People I spoke to, which, I admit, were no more than a handful, cowered at the very mention of the name, Vasislaw. They begged me not to go and made it perfectly clear that they expected no return journey. This day, I was so emphatically informed, was to be my last, should I enter the castle.

To my right, pine trees marked the boundary between track and oblivion as the ground suddenly dropped away. To the left, more trees, dense, dark and foreboding, clung to the mountain-side. Now, almost four gruelling hours after leaving the comfort of my room at the inn, I had reached my destination - Castle Vasislaw.

For almost three years, the finding of this place had haunted my mind and yet, I knew that I would be drawn here just as surely as night follows day.

Evening twilight: the boundary between night and day. Shadows creeping out from their hiding places like a tide of darkness swallowing everything in sight. A no-mans land, where, in many villages and hamlets throughout the world, good folk retreat to the safety of their homes, while the unholy ones prepare for their nightly tasks.

My gaze turned towards the sky and I watched as one by one, stars twinkled in the gathering gloom as the cloak of darkness slowly descended.

I took my pipe, then, having lit it, filled my lungs with aromatic smoke, and marveled at the surrounding scenery as the dying sun, now pale orange, dipped below the trees on the horizon. The moon, which earlier had been a pale disk, had gained in brightness in the early evening sky. I have never ceased to be amazed at such incredible beauty so far away.

Displayed, as if on an artist’s canvas, was a picture of pure peace and tranquility. Behind me... I felt a sudden chill as the hairs on the back of my neck bristled. What torment lay there, inside this castle of death and depravity, I could only imagine. In the distance, somewhere deep in the forest, I heard the howling of wolves paying homage to the moon. I turned to face the castle, steeling myself for what I was about to do.

In the fading daylight, large stone gargoyles stared down at me, their eyes piercing into mine as if willing, no, daring me to enter the castle. Conical spires reached up to the heavens, as if pointing fingers in defiance at the Lord, although, nothing Heavenly would I see behind these walls.

My eyes took in all before me. To the left of the castle was a courtyard more than large enough for a team and carriage to turn with ease. Iron gates led, I assumed, to the stables, although the ivy choking the metalwork made it obvious and somehow sad that these gates had long since ceased their proper use.

I cautiously approached the main door and lifted the heavy knocker, but before I could slam it against the heavy oak, I heard movement from within.

I listened intently as a key turned in the rusty lock. The harsh grating of the mechanism sent shivers down my spine. I stood back, beads of perspiration began to form on my brow, contradicting my frosty breath. With racing heart, I watched as the large, heavy, iron-strapped door creaked slowly open on ancient hinges.

I shuddered violently. Not even my newly acquired woollen under-drawers and under-vest could keep my body from shivering. I was however, grateful for my fedora. During the day, the brim had shaded my eyes, and now, the thick felt was somewhat comforting. Whether it would warm my brain, causing me to be more alert, I did not know, but that pleasant thought cheered me.

Was I frightened? Maybe, but what man goes into battle without a little fear? I had not felt this way since… I forced the coming thought from my mind and concentrated on the beast of castle Vasislaw. Was he alone? Was there a hornet’s nest of Hell-Hags waiting for my very soul? Only by entering would I know.

The sun had disappeared, leaving me alone to face the night. Moonlight flooded in through the open doorway, casting my shadow eerily upon the flagstone floor. Instinctively, my right hand tightened on the ebony sheathed dagger concealed in the deep pocket of my greatcoat.

The dagger felt comfortable in my grasp, for this was no ordinary weapon. A thin strip of rock-hard ebony had been bonded to both sides of the fine steel blade, stopping a half-inch from the razor sharp point. Meticulous chamfering of the wood made it indistinguishable to the touch between wood and steel. It had been made for one special purpose, and that special purpose was the reason why I had travelled so many miles to this cold, uninviting, evil place.

I had never taken the undoubted safer, but inherently hit and miss, method of searching for a well-hidden coffin in daylight and hammering a wooden stake through the vampire’s heart! No, for me, direct confrontation was the only way. With one lightning-fast strike, the vampire I sought within those walls would be no more. After all, I was only thirty three years of age, extremely fit and healthy. But more than that, I had once been in the company of two dear friends, without whose help and encouragement, I would not have survived.

Straining my eyes, I could see at the far end of the hall, flames from candles flickering and dancing in the incoming draught of cold air, but the air within was silent. Nothing stirred, no footsteps, no words of greeting, nothing. Slowly, cautiously, I moved forward into the unknown.

Chapter 3

Upon my entering the hall, the door creaked and closed behind me. I immediately spun round, my dagger partly drawn in readiness for the expected attack, but none came. There was no-one to be seen. I assumed that whoever had unlocked the door had remotely closed it after I was inside. Although, I must admit, I could see no means of achieving such a task. But this was 1901 and with modern science, I supposed that anything was possible.

Have you no baggage, Dr. Raven? enquired a voice. No supply of wooden stakes and crosses?

I looked up to my right and saw a smartly dressed man, probably in his early forties, standing on a galleried landing. I assumed the trick with the door was due to him, but I refrained from asking.

Although I had never seen a picture of Victor Vasislaw, the mere presence of this man told me who he was.

Ah, Count Vasislaw. No, no luggage, no wooden stakes, no crosses. I tend to travel light, especially tonight. The moon is high and bright and I expect to be back at the inn long before daylight. My assertiveness was as cocky as I could make it. After all, the hunter must never show any sign of weakness, no matter whom, or in this case, what the foe is. My immediate intention was to show distinct overconfidence, perhaps even arrogance, anything to make Victor Vasislaw think me foolish and therefore no match for him. He would make a mistake, and I would have him! I see we have much in common, I continued. At least when it comes to knowing each other’s names and I assume, business?

Quite so, replied the vampire. "Names and business. Although, I do believe I may know more than you think I do, and possibly more than you know about yourself. You are the one with the birthmark on your neck, relating to your name-Raven-are you not? No need to answer, as I already know what that answer will be. You see, there is a book called the Saloman Book of Prophecies. Just the one copy survives, and once, many years ago, I caught the merest glimpse of some of its predictions. You my friend are mentioned in it. Unfortunately, the book was snatched from my grasp before I could read precisely what your future holds.

However, that is not important. We are both hunters, that I will admit, but unfortunately, the skill you possess at the moment is of little consequence compared to my own, for I have honed my art over many, many years. Therefore, I am unable to see that we have that much in common.

I puffed at my pipe and blew several smoke rings in the direction of Vasislaw, hoping that he would be so angered at my impertinence that he would jump from the balcony and attack, but he kept his composure, which, I have to admit, somewhat disturbed me.

I feel, he said, that you may be more than a little presumptuous in believing that you will be back at the inn before daybreak. Past events have shown that once your kind enters here, they never leave.

Had I made a fool of myself? Was I too well-known to even think of tricking this creature of the night into thinking me inept?

Vasislaw held his hands and arms open in mock greeting. This magnificent building you have so foolishly entered has been in my family for several centuries, and will continue to be so. Come, let us not argue, the evening is young. You are welcome to join me at my humble table, unless of course you wish to return to the village immediately, in which case I give you my word that nothing untoward will befall you on your journey; providing of course, you give me your word as a gentleman that you will never return to this château. Be careful of your answer, Raven; once given, there is no going back!

Sir, I said bowing my head. I thank you for both kind offers. You know what I am. You know what I do, and why I am here. Therefore, you know I can never leave this place until my task is either complete, or I die.

Vasislaw uttered something I could not quite hear, then in a louder, mocking tone of voice, he said, Honour to the end, eh, Raven? Then so be it!

I was about to speak when he raised his hand as if to dismiss whatever I might have to say. Vasislaw then turned and appeared to glide along the landing towards a staircase and was soon standing not five feet from my back. That I know, for only a male vampire exudes the stench of rotting flesh in their breath! I waited a full ten seconds before slowly turning to face him.

Long, thick, jet black hair topped a gaunt white face. Eyes that showed no emotion were deeply set, almost hidden in shadow. The nose was thin and pointed but not overly long, whilst the lips…the lips were thin and pale, almost without colour and cruel looking in the extreme. The overall demeanour however, was of a well-bred, well dressed, man, standing at over six feet tall. I have used the term man, but in truth I knew him to be a vampire of the vilest nature. Neither of us proffered the other a hand.

It was rumoured, (nobody visiting the château ever returned alive to speak of it), that Vasislaw was the most powerful vampire the world had seen, even more powerful than the Prince of Darkness himself, Dracula! Vasislaw was no ordinary vampire.

For centuries, vampires had preyed upon the living to drink their blood. However, it would seem that here, the vampire legend had taken on a new and even more terrifying twist.

For almost 20 years, villagers had had their wives and daughters taken from the very beds they slept in. They were later found mutilated, half eaten and drained of blood. Every ravaged body found had one thing in common - the victim's eyes were missing. The villagers knew who was responsible for these atrocities but were obviously far too frightened to confront Vasislaw and destroy him. Maybe they did not know how?

Vasislaw was one of three powerful vampires. Their allegiance to each other spanned several centuries. No evil on earth could match what these monsters had done. Between them and showing no mercy, they had brutally defiled, savagely raped and murdered countless victims. Innocents like children were mere fodder for these blood sucking demons, and now, with one violent lunge I could pierce Vasislaw's inhuman heart, and in so doing, rid this planet of one of the vilest of the living-dead, but I stayed my hand. I was troubled, confused. Vasislaw had been expecting me. He knew my name, reputation, and my reason for being here. Yet he willingly let me into his home, his fortress - his trap?

During my brief stay at the inn, under an assumed name, I had kept my own council, barely talking to a soul, and even then I gave no more information than that which I wished to impart. In fact, when I did make conversation, I made a point of telling people that I was studying architecture and wished to look at the old château set high in the hills. I certainly did not divulge my real name, for fear of what might