Sacrificed to Vampires

Chapter 2

The sermon was about John 3:16. For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. Pastor Johnson used dramatic pauses and waved his arms a lot. He talked about what an important sacrifice it was, for God to give up his only child, for the sins of all of us. He then discussed the story of Isaac and Abraham. How Abraham was asked to sacrifice his son. And then, out of mercy, God sent an angel to stop him. But Abraham obeyed God, even in sacrificing his child. For that he was rewarded by being the father of a great nation. That nation being the nation of all Christian believers. And then he said this meant there was a covenant, between man and God, that meant that God would never again ask to sacrifice a child.

Abby's mom, Misses Barkin, was sitting in the front row, three rows directly in front of me. She wore a proper-length gown, unadorned. Hair tied back neatly, and pleated. It looked like a gold chain hanging down from the back of her head. Margaret wondered how it must feel, to hear a sermon focusing on a parent's love. She must feel alone, too, Margaret thought. People had conspicuously avoided sitting close to her, creating an obvious bubble of absence around her. Nobody talked to people who were going to have, or had recently had, a sacrifice in the family. Margaret was not sure why. Maybe they thought it was bad luck.

Maybe they thought those people wanted to be left alone. I don't know.

Margaret tried to think of what it would be like in Misses Barkin's shoes. To be on the verge of losing a daughter. Her only daughter, since the youngest had been taken by a fever last winter. To be pregnant with a baby, give birth to it, protect it, feed it from your breast, love it, and care for it, only to see it die. It seemed like the cruelest thing fate could bestow upon a woman. And yet in Coltowne, it was a fate most women had borne, at least once. Children died. Winter was harsh. Food was often scarce. Some children would just wonder off. Some were taken by wolves. Many were taken by sickness. Some born weak were sacrificed before they had even had a chance to live. No chance to grow up and go to school, like Margaret did. No chance to play and run around and chase a ball with the others. No marbles or hoops for them. They'd never hold a small candle in the barn loft at night, whispering secrets to the sleeping cows below. Why was it like this? Margaret wondered why God seemed so cruel. Couldn't he let every baby live to be an old man or old owman? What was the point of all that?
Why have the love for a baby exist if most of them are going to die?

After the service, Margaret asked her aunt if she could speak to Pastor Johnson.

"Oh he's probably busy with more important things right now." was her answer.

"No, I want to talk to him."

"About what?"

"About God, and... About Abigail."

"Don't speak to anyone about Abigail. It will depress them too much."

"Why do they do this thing then, if it depresses them to hear about it?"

"It is the way things must be done."

"Why?"

They started walking out the door. Margaret's heart sank, realizing her chance to talk to Pastor Johnson about this was fading, and then it was gone.

"Why? Well, if we don't give the blood-thirsty silver-hairs what they want, what do you think they will do? They have told us. They crave human flesh. And they will get it. Even the heathen Indians know that."

Margaret could picture what could happen if they were to angrily descend on the village.

She'd never seen a vampire that closely, only ever at a distance. She had heard stories. People liked to make up rumors about them. They were tall. Whether slightly taller than an average man, or as big as a rich man's house, varied depending on who told the story. The ones Margaret had seen were head and shoulders above most grown men, but not quite as big as a house. They had silver hair, or pale white hair, or light blue hair like ice, again, depending on who was talking about them. Everyone agreed they had dark red eyes. And fangs, like icicles, jutting down from the corners of blood-red lips. They did strange rituals by the light of the full moon, it was said, but humans did not participate in these. They were only rumors. They had a walled city. The size, color, and substance of their city walls was another thing that could vary a lot depending on the speaker. And they could only live by eating human flesh. No animal nor vegetable other than that would sustain them. They allowed humans to live, in territories they believed to be theirs, only under the arrangement. A certain number of sacrifices proportional to the population of humans needed to keep flowing to them. Margaret didn't know how many they demanded. But she knew when. There were four festivals, one during each season, at which the sacrifices were collected. The festivals were a rare fun time for the town too. They were a time when natives, bringing their sacrifices too, and vampires coming to collect, also came to celebrate, dance, talk, and trade together. The warm glow of unity between three races so different in appearance and custom was quite the spectacle for Margaret. Although, out of fear or superstition, Margaret had not been allowed to look at or speak to a vampire at such times. Only leaders of the town negotiated with them directly. And they did so with bowed heads, and eyes conscientiously lowered to the ground.

It were as if we were their servants. And Margaret supposed they were.

They got home from church. Her mother asked how it had gone. She felt lucky that Aunt Leah did most of the answering. She scurried outside to play, climbing her favorite tree. She was grateful that it was no longer winter. But she couldn't stop thinking about Abigail and her misfortune.

Aunt Leah thinks this is the way that things must be. But I bet I could find other adults who don't agree with her. Margaret determined that tomorrow, after school, she would snoop around downtown and search out such people.