Tag Archives: Vampires

Sunday Photo Fiction – Morning’s Gift

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It had been many, long years since Britta Jarnskop had stood atop the crest of Sellanja Rise. In the distance flecks of light began to spark over a still darkened horizon – the comforting security of night once more meekly surrendering its battle to the advancing dawn.

As a child she had often climbed the Rise with her father – together they would sit amongst the glistening snowdrops awaiting the new day, dreaming of the joys it would surely bring. That joy had soon turned to a nightmare: their lakeside village in the Gerstag valley ransacked – only little Britta survived, although at times she wondered if she truly had. Within that vibrant shell of seeming eternal youth now spun the memories of a lifetime, centuries in the making.

Britta was tired. She no longer wished to make others suffer her fate to extend an already overstretched, unloved existence. They had tried to stop her, but within her eyes they knew: it was her moment – a moment that they too would face in time.

As the first flashes of light collected and joined the battle was over – a new day was born. Britta Jarnskop closed her eyes and accepted the flames which engulfed her body; accepted her end.

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These words form my entry into this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge. 

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Sunday Photo Fiction – A New Master

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The mysterious new squire at Branford Hall already had the locals talking: the village’s social highlight of the year had been moved! The previous squire had been a stout defender of tradition, and the longest day of the year always meant the Masquerade Ball. Through winter and spring the villagers, rich and poor, would work on their costumes. It was a night when, no matter who you were, you were an equal: the flower lady from outside the Green Goose public house was just as likely to be dancing with the squire as his good lady wife.

From longest day to longest night – the move certainly ruffled more than a few feathers. However, they all still attended, even battling through swirling snows to reach the manor. Once inside, the seasons were quickly forgotten. The new squire was a most obliging host. Roaring fires warmed once frozen bones, drink flowed merrily and freely. Lord and Lady, Mr and Mrs danced and laughed all night.

On the stroke of twelve it was time for the unmasking. As was tradition, the squire and his family were first to reveal themselves. A gasp went around the hall: the squire was as white as a sheet. His silk gloves peeled off to reveal pale boney fingers. His family were similarly off colour.

The squire slowly licked his cracked, red lips before two gleaming fangs clicked down into place.

‘Feast young ones,’ he ordered, as the warm, smoky air was suddenly filled with bloody screams and the aching of satisfied, thousand year old bellies.

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These words form my entry into this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge. It is over the 200 word limit, but as it’s the first story for the new site, and Al is a fan of the subject matter, I thought ‘what the heck’!