Vampires in Versailles

Chapter One

*This story contains brief mentions of blood drinking, gore, mass murder and  body organs being removed* 

                                                                                      Paris

                                                                                    August, 1683

Desolate; were the streets, save for the few drunks who wandered from tavern to tavern until all were shut, and so they were left to stumble around aimlessly. Those who were not in a drunken stupor stayed within the safety of their dwellings, locking and barring doors and windows, keeping only few candles lit. Some murmured a prayer for those foolish enough to be out still, asking God to bless their souls and protect themselves and their children against the evil that roamed the streets. It was unnaturally silent within the city, a rare thing to occur in any town, but for Paris. It was near unheard of and yet, all of it's inhabitants who were wise enough to lock their doors and hide their children as the day ended, they would refuse to go out. Muttering claims of the devil's hand to be at play or something evil to reside in the shadows, they would not go out at night....

All except for a few who'd mock those who feared the night and the shadows would dare to venture out as usual, claiming to not be so easily intimidated by a few old wives tales and children's stories.

One such man; a shoemaker, laughed at the men and women who believed in the childish statements of the devil's work to be the cause for the poor souls who recently were found to be dead by unknown sources. Three more had been found within the last week since the first victim had been found nearly half a month ago. The reason why most blamed the devil himself for these happenings? On each person, two puncture wounds, upon the neck were found. No stab wounds, nothing to point to strangulation as the cause. The Gendarmerie were at a loss. No one could identify the reason behind these vicious crimes. Some said it was the work of a madman on the loose, suffocating his victims and then finishing them off by driving two nails into their necks. Others blamed demons, witchcraft and such as the perpetrator.

The shoemaker? A man of reason such as himself did not entertain such fantasies of witches and devils to be the reason. No, no, no. It was a lunatic, driven mad by illness or perhaps he had escaped from prison, a convicted murder on the loose. Yes, he agreed with himself, far more logical and rational. And yet, as he closed his shop for the night, a shiver crawled up his spine, the wind whispered to the hairs on the back of his neck, they stood on edge. The shadows of buildings seemed to elongate by themselves. It was dead, all around him. Nothing moved, nothing breathed, all was silent. Completely still....no strange noises coming from the shadows, no growling or strangled whispers of help. All completely normal. Shaking himself out of his trance, the shoemaker gave the door a final check, stuffing the keys into his trouser pocket. Satisfied, he strode off in the direction of home, not once looking back.

It was not until he was approaching his home did he stop and look around. Silent, was the street. And yet....no. A trick of the eyes, he thought. But he could have sworn, out of the corner of his eye, a shadow....He glanced up at the moon, though it was not yet full, its light shone luminously on the city; creating shadows in places where the light of torches could not reach. Blaming lack of sleep and the light of the moon, the shoemaker continued back on his path towards his dwelling. Footsteps from behind filled the air. He stopped, and so did the unknown steps. He stepped two paces forward and stopped; like an echo, the stranger's own steps copied him. Beating madly within his chest, he was sure heart could be heard if another man were to stand beside him.

Gathering himself, the shoemaker turned around briskly and peered into the street. "Hello?" Silences greeted him. "I say, who's there?" From the corner of his eye, there! a shadow moved along the buildings, so swift and silent. He turned round and cleared his throat. "I saw you, enough games now! Show yourself!" His voice quivered only slightly. At first nothing, the shoemaker nearly began to laugh at what a fool he had made of himself, but quickly swallowed it back as he heard the footsteps again and with them, they brought a hem of a dress, a torso and a face to the edge light. It was a dainty face, a pretty one, half covered by what looked to be a fur hood.

"Please, you must forgive my atrocious manners, Monsieur." The dainty, pretty face spoke, bobbing a bow at the shoemaker, who stared in half amazement and shock. He spluttered. "No, no, do not apologise. I did not see you there..." He stammered. The stranger with the pretty face smiled at him. "No sir, for I startled you. Therefore, I must insist on apologising to you." It was clear by the sound from her voice she was of highborn blood, not entirely French though. There was something about the stranger's accent that sounded foreign, where the shoemaker could not say.

"I must admit, my reasons for pursuing you are rather silly," The stranger told him, not once moving from the shadows. "I seem to find myself rather lost. You see, I am a foreigner in Paris." Explained the pretty stranger. "I am looking for an inn called Le Porcelet, do you know of it?" The shoemaker blinked. He felt that the more the stranger spoke to him, he felt somehow as if any worry he had of shadows and what not following him, were entirely melted away. He felt at ease. Like snow when the sun breaks through the clouds. He blinked again, the stranger still smiling at him. A smile made out of honey. "I, yes. I know of it." He said, breaking free of his trance. "I can take you there now, if you wish." The shoemaker offered. He vaguely felt the same sensation he had felt before at his shop, a shiver crawling up his spine, the wind whispering to the hairs on the back of his neck, they stood on edge. But, as quickly as it came, it left, and the feeling of ease drifted back over the man once again. "Oh no," The pretty stranger shook her head. "I could not ask you to trouble yourself more than you already have. You have helped me greatly sir. All I ask of you is for directions to the inn." The stranger spoke graciously. The shoemaker shook his head. "I'm afraid I could not do such a thing. Let a woman such as yourself wander alone in the night in these parts?" He laughed. "You truly are a stranger to these parts madam. No, I shall accompany you, if you would not mind."

The shoemaker began to wonder why the pretty stranger seemed to be alone; she had not spoken of being broken up from a party or at least with a chaperone. "You are too kind, Monsieur." Exclaimed the pretty stranger, bowing once more. "How ever shall I repay you for your helpfulness?" The shoemaker blushed and stood straighter. "No need, you'd be mad to wonder alone, what with that madman on the loose..." He muttered. The stranger raised a refined eyebrow. "Madman?'' asked the stranger. "Oh, nothing to worry yourself." He said. "You'll be safe with me around." The pretty stranger gave a smile made of honey again, offering a gloved hand to him. "I thank you, once again Monsieur." The shoemaker strode forward and accepted the gloved hand. "And I think I have thought of a way to repay you for your helpfulness." The loose grip of the pretty stranger's hand turned like steel, roughly griping his entire arm, causing the shoemaker to stumble forward to where the pretty stranger stood in the shadows, nearly falling over with the force of the pull. Looking up, the shoemaker saw the honey-made smile turn into one made of something colder and more sinister, a smile made up of maliciousness and white, sharp teeth. He gasped in horror. The feeling of ease had fled and in its wake left his heart, beating wildly in his chest. The pretty stranger bent down to his ear and whispered. "I shall make your death a hasty and painless one." And with that, the pretty stranger wrenched the shrieking shoemaker into the shadows, his cries soon being silenced within a few moments.

Desolate; were the streets of Paris. Nobody stirred, all was still. No one noticed a silent shadow darting from an alleyway, having indeed fulfilled its promised reward to the shoemaker; a hasty death.