Corcitura

The Vrykolakas Attacks: Taken from Corcitura, Chapter 6, The Haunter of Darkness

The flames near the Acropolis had died. I cocked an ear, but didn’t have to strain this time, for there were no longer any revelers at the top of that hill. Stefan must surely be back by now, unless Sorina Boroi had spirited him off to yet another den of iniquity.

       I retrieved my key from my pocket and slid it into the lock. When I tried to push against the door, it held fast. “Stefan,” I called out. “Stefan, are you there?” I asked a minute later. Still, there was no answer.

       I shouldered my weight against the door again. Nothing. It had been jammed.

       I was ready to try the hole that served for a window at the back of the hovel, when I heard a sound coming from within—a low sibilant sound, like the hiss of a snake…a very large snake.

       Stefan was in there with that snake. A boa constrictor, an anaconda—whatever other foul kind of snake that was indigenous to Greece could have been in there strangling the life out of him.

       I jangled the lock, making a terrific noise that surely must have caught its attention—drawn it away from Stefan and turned it toward me. But nothing happened.

       Then I heard the sound again. This time it was different, more defined, almost human—a low, rasping voice, sounding as though it were struggling to speak, as though its vocal chords had been damaged and it couldn’t talk above a whisper.

       I tried to swallow. My mouth felt as though it was full of sand. I pressed my ear against the door and heard the voice hiss a name…Zigmund.

       A gurgling sound snaked through the wood beneath my fingers. My hands clenched, causing splinters to embed in my skin. I could care less about the pain. My only thought was that this couldn’t be happening.

       Snakes could not laugh.

       Stefan was in there with that horror, that gurgling horror, whatever it was.

       I threw my weight against the door and it gave way. The blackness disoriented me; the room was so dark, I couldn’t see a foot in front of my face. Not even the moonlight pierced through the window on the other side of the room.

       I took a step forward. My foot knocked against something on the floor—something that gave off a low moan. Startled, I sprang back, colliding with the overturned crate that served as a night table. The din that erupted was enough to wake the entire village. I slid to the floor, trying to conceal myself behind the crate, but the creature either did not hear the noise or was too busy to care.

       I reached up my trembling hand until my fingers closed around the neck of the oil lamp resting on the crate beside the bed. Slowly, carefully, I settled the lamp next to me, then reached up once more in search of the matches.

       There were none.

       Lovely. They had been there that afternoon. Where the devil had they gone? I was ready to give up, but then I realized they might have been knocked to the floor. When I stretched out my hand, one of the matches snapped beneath the weight of my probing fingers.

       The snuffling above me ceased at once. My arm remained stretched out. If I tried to move, the rustling of my clothes would give me away. This was an entirely new problem. The thing seemed not to care about loud sounds, but make the tiniest of noises and it would go berserk.

       I could hear it moving…coming closer…leaning down from its perch on Stefan’s bed. Stefan’s bed! He couldn’t still be in it? The thing on the floor…no, that was definitely not Stefan.