Scary Stories

War of Conquest

April 6, 1862

The vampire was so full he thought he might vomit. It had been a day of blood. When the two great armies had clashed in what would become a disorganized and costly battle, the ground he now stood on had been a meandering forest of bare trees and thick brush. Now that the day was over, the ground was something different - a virtual blanket of spilt blood and shattered bodies. Many of the smaller trees had been split in half by the cannon fire and the constant volley of musket balls, rendering the field of battle into a cursed land of death.

At times like these, the vampire wondered why the providences of nature had seen fit to allow the vampire to exist in the image of mortal humans. Despite their physical appearances, the vampire shared little similarities with the common man. He’d always thought that he was more at kin with an Amazonian snake who took its meals in one large feed, slowly digesting it over time until it was ready for the next feast. The vampire sustained itself in the same way, feeding in one massive meal that left him free from hunger for many days. It had been nearly a month since his last feed. He still felt full, and the sight of this battlefield did nothing but nauseate him.

It was approaching midnight. The fighting had stopped after dusk and a steady torrent of rain had begun to fall.

For a time, he’d found shelter under a tree while the rain fell upon him in unmerciful droves. He was a few hundred yards from the riverbank where the Union gunboats were busy shelling the Confederate line. The volley of shells from the gunboats came in fifteen-minute waves and would no doubt continue all night.

What a day it had been. The Rebels had surprised them, the vampire admitted. No one had expected an attack this day. How, he wondered, did it happen?

In late March, five Union divisions had moved down the Tennessee River and had encamped off its banks at a place called Pittsburgh Landing. From there, they were to push on to Corinth, Mississippi about twenty miles south and take control of the Confederate railroad lines. It was expected that the enemy were massed at Corinth, but on the second of April, the Confederate commander, Albert Sydney Johnston, left Corinth in force to attack the Union army at its encampment. The surprise attack began on the morning of the sixth. What followed was a day of bloody carnage as each side struggled to get possession of the field. By the end of the day, the Union line had been pushed back nearly to the river. But it wasn’t over yet, the vampire knew. There was always tomorrow.

Sitting at the tree, the constant rain soaking and uncomfortable, he thought about home and the fire that would warm him if he were there. Though he was a vampire, he was still susceptible to the discomforts of nature and still dreamed of the creature comforts of home.

Standing up, he decided to make his way to the log cabin that sat a short distance away and warm himself for a while. His ankle was swollen and painful. Two days earlier, he’d fallen off of his horse, injuring his leg. It seemed ironic to him as he hobbled through the rain that he should suffer such an irritation. He was immortal. He’d seen countless moments of history made through the eyes of a man who could not die. Yet he could still be bothered with trivial injuries such as this. Though the ankle would surely heal faster then it would if he were a mortal man, the nuisance still irritated him.

Trying to ignore the discomfort, he made his way to the cabin, and entered quickly, grateful to get a break from the constant rains.

No one paid much attention to him as he entered; the cabin had been turned into a field hospital to attend to the wounded and dying. All around him, men were lying on every available surface as busy army surgeons worked desperately to save whoever they could.

On a nearby table, two surgeons were going to work on a hysterical man whose left arm was clearly blasted to shreds and needed to be removed. They’d tied a tourniquet around the bicep and placed a stick in his mouth. The two men then held the injured one down as the surgeon began to saw through the bloody stump. The man’s howls of pain and agony were almost like a form of musical despair.