He stood along the banks of the Potomac River watching, waiting. The only sounds he heard were the chirping of a lone cricket and the rhythmic sloshing of waves hitting a not so distant pier. Warm wind swirled around him while heavy branches gently slapped against his face, but he did not stir. His dark figure remained fixed behind the weeping willow embraced within its dewy limbs. It was so humid that everything was moist to the core exhibiting the fullness of life expected at this time of year. But for him, despite the dense air and lubricious tendrils of hair clinging to his scalp, his skin was cold.

 

With a baleful glare, his eyes reached beyond the tall iron gates of the grand estate. The smell of roses mixed with lavender stretched across the manicured lawn to greet him. He saw them from afar gleaming under the silvery moonlight against the whiteness of the building. Twisting together, they gave the appearance of barbed wire along prison gates.

 

Thorny vines stretched across the iron trellises that graced the veranda.  It was nestled just below the small second story window.  Her window.  

 

His prey was in sight.  She was the one.  He knew that with certainty.  He could taste it in the atmosphere around him.  The air was charged.  Its pungency lingered in his nostrils as clearly as the scent of the damp earth and long dead leaves underneath his feet.  It was so warm; so enveloping.  He wanted to bathe in it like a baby still in its mother’s womb, and he could almost touch it like he would touch her.

 

His long nails dug into his palms as he tried to chase away the tingling sensation he felt on his fingertips.  His body stiffened.  Closing his tired eyes, he leaned his torso against the tree.  Eagerness threatened to lurch from his chest as his foot rhythmically tapped against the trunk in anticipation.  Tiny prickles of electricity traveled up his spine causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.  He was so close to fulfilling his goal.  All he had to do was wait for him to leave her alone for just one moment.

 

His eyes focused on the third story window with the ruffled curtains.  As the light flickered out, he felt the stillness in the air.  Even the crickets silenced themselves.  Perfect.  The time has come.  Urgency drove his body to lurch forward.  He had waited far too long.  His heart should’ve been thundering within his chest.  Of course that was provided he had one, he’d thought.  This must’ve been how Eve felt just before her lips devoured that decadent fruit.  The sheer joy of tasting her was upon him.  He swallowed as he remembered the way the metallic liquid felt when it trickled down his throat.  Warm and sweet and hers would be the sweetest yet.  Only she would save him from this eternal hell — her blood, her soul.  He held no remorse for the others.  They had kept him alive.  Sometimes small sacrifices had to be made for life to continue.  Such is life.  But now, he was positive.  She was the one that held the power within.  It vibrated in every spark of life around her.  All he had to do was take it.

 

With utter glee, he brushed the dirt and dried bark off his black shirt and casually pushed himself away from the tree.  He tried to take a step.  What?  What in Hera’s name was happening?  He couldn’t move his legs and a slight prickling began to flicker under his skin.

 

His agony magnified.  Every nerve in his body cried out for sweet relief.  The weight of his body crashed to the ground as the blistering sensation tore at his insides.  He tried to scream, but he had no voice.  He clawed at his throat, his abdomen, everywhere trying to find a way to end this torment.  Fire consumed him, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.  He felt his muscles pop and contort, but he was powerless to move.

 

******

 

“Shhh,” said the little one.  “You don’t want to wake Mommy, now do you?”
 

Dual sets of dark eyes raked over the child’s flesh like hot coals.  They drifted toward her, never averting their glare.  Isabel, her lips quivering, shook her head terrified that they might hurt her.  What do they want and how did they get into her room again?  The thought tore through her mind. 

 

“Mommy, said I shouldn’t talk to you,” she whispered from behind the pink gingham sheet.

 

“But we’re your friends,” said a soft voice as she coaxed Isabel toward the closet.

 

“No, no, you’re not.  Mommy said you’re not real and that I shouldn’t talk to strangers,” said Isabel.

 

She breathed in a wisp of acrid air, and as the smell of decaying roses wafted past her, bile crept up her tiny esophagus.  A small cool tear drizzled down her cheek.  Resisting the choking, burning, sensation, she released a stifled cry and squeezed her eyes shut.  If she closed her eyes, maybe they’d go away.  Oh, please, make them disappear.  Please don’t let them hurt me, she prayed within.  How she wished her daddy were here.  He would make them leave.  He was just down the hall but so was mother.  

 

“If we are not real, then what are we?” prodded the other one.  Her blood-drenched eyes looked to her sister, urging her.

 

“Besides, we know your name, and we told you ours,” said the first one.

 

“We are not strangers.  We are your friends,” they said.  Their voices beckoned to her like the dulcet tones of the warm summer’s breeze.

 

Isabel’s stomach clenched into a tight ball as the thought of telling her mommy about her friends in the closet again scraped the recesses of her mind.  She still felt a slight sting on her tiny bottom.  A reminder from her mother of the last time she’d spoken of her “imaginary” friends and yet, her child’s mind still knew something was amiss.  Another wave of fear flickered through her, and she pulled the blanket tighter.

 

“Your skin looks funny,” said Isabel as her oil-slick eyes perused the pallor of the, young girls’ faces.

 

The fair-haired one, Megan, had long, stringy, crimson-soaked hair.  Chrissy, the smaller child, was the Yin to her Yang.  She had the same pale skin, but her hair was as black as coal and just as stringy and odd as her sister’s.
 

Suppressing a sneeze, Isabel retreated from the now faint fragrance like that of the wilting flowers from her mother’s garden emanating from them.  But, she thought the scent seemed far more pleasant this time.

 

“Why is your skin so gray?” asked Isabel.

 

The pulsing knot tightened within her.  It demanded answers as she gazed at them through heavy black lashes.

 

“Are you ghosts?” she asked.

 

“Shhh today is your birthday.  Happy Birthday,” said Megan.

 

She leaned closer to Isabel and stroked the girl’s silken head with cold fingers.  Soft pink fabric twisted around her tiny fingers as a trembling Isabel backed into her headboard. Isabel gulped back hot tears and hugged her knees to her heaving chest.

 

“How did you know it’s my…”  Her fragile jaw quivered.

 

“Quiet,” said Chrissy, as she placed her fingers upon Isabel’s lips.  It was icy and slick.
 

“You’ll wake Mommy,” she warned.  Isabel’s stomach lurched. 

 

“But, how did you know it’s my birthday,” whispered Isabel.

 

“We’ll tell you tomorrow,” said Megan.  “But tonight,” she giggled.  “Come play.”

 

“Yes, come and play,” said her sister.

 

Unable to contain her curiosity, Isabel reached up to touch the girl’s face.  Cool mist was the only thing to greet her.  Dear God, they were ghosts.  Fear catapulted her to the security of her pink-canopied bed.  She scampered off her bed until she reached the farthest corner of her room and stayed crouched behind her grandmother’s mahogany rocker.  She reached through the spindles and grabbed her new doll and her favorite teddy.  She shielded herself behind them as if they were centurions guarding the castle gates against evil.  Her mind swirled.  But, were they evil?  They said they were her friends.  They wanted to play with her.  It was her birthday, and they had been quite nice to her after all.  Maybe, just maybe, she could keep them.

 

A soft rap on the door chased the visions back into the darkness as Isabel froze where she stooped.  Flyspeck fingers gripped the spindles of the chair, like a fly caught in a spider’s web.  Her pitch-black eyes darted nervously back and forth as sheer stark fright coursed through her when her eyes detected a tall shadowy figure standing in her doorway.  Only the sound of his voice, like a warm summer breeze, eased her angst.

 

“Daddy?” she called from behind her castle gate.  She could hardly lift her little voice above a whisper as the cold fear waned.

 

Isabel inhaled deeply letting relief wash over her like a warm wave.  She wished her daddy could wrap her in his arms and chase the fright away.

 

“Is that my little princess?” he asked as his tall frame entered her room.

 

Isabel felt her heart quiet, and she dropped her lashes quickly to hide her tears.  Daddy’s here, she thought.  Surely, they’ll leave now.  The tension had a strangle hold on her and seeped from a tidal wave to a slow current.

 

“Isabel Aisling Dubois, what are you still doing up?” he continued chiding her with mocked displeasure.

 

“Aw, sweetie, you are so sleepy,” he said.  

 

His voice was soft and soothing as he watched tiny fists rub furiously against her long eyelashes.

 

What are you and Imogene doing behind Nana’s chair?  Shouldn’t you two be asleep by now or are you too excited about your big day tomorrow?  Lukas and all of your friends will be here before you know it, and you’ll need your rest to open up all those presents.”

 

“Wow, five years-old,” he said as he scooped her up, grabbing her new baby doll, Imogene, along the way.  A glimpse of her swaddled in his arms as an infant flashed through his mind.  

Yet, she still had the eyes if an old soul.  My how she’s grown, he thought.

 

Isabel wrapped her arms around his shoulders.  Burying her heads in the crook of his neck, she drank in the scent of him.  His black robe felt kitten-soft and smelled of vanilla, tobacco and wool.  Isabel thought he would always feel like home.

 

“We, we were just playing hide and seek, Daddy,” said Isabel as she climbed into bed.    Her little heart tumbled to the pit of her stomach.  She wanted to tell him about her friends, but her mother’s words pressed within her head.

 

“Only evil children see things that aren’t there,” her mother had said.

 

But they were there. And yet, the thought of seeing the look that rested behind her mother’s eyes in the eyes of her daddy’s scared her more that her strange new friends.

 

“Daddy?” she asked sweetly.  Her black eyes peaked out from behind ebony bangs, bright with anticipation. 

 

“Yes, Baby?”

 

“Can you tell me a story,” asked Isabel?  

 

As her father laid her down on her soft downy mattress, panic slipped back to grab her.  All that came to mind was please, please don’t leave me daddy.  She began to shake at the fearful images that amassed inside her psyche.  Her father’s warm hands tightened around her.

 

“Okay, what would you like me to tell you about?  Fairies, princesses or unicorns?” he asked.

 

 He chuckled when he turned on her bedside lamp and saw it.  It was molded into the shape of princesses and fairies dancing around a willow tree much like the tree on these very grounds.  His wife must’ve gotten it for her while he was away.  This is the last business trip I’ll take for awhile, he thought.  I promise.  Oh, how he missed her.

 

“No,” she giggled.  “Ghosts.”  She caught herself glancing uneasily toward her closet door.  

 

Her father followed her eyes.

 

“Ghosts?” he exclaimed tucking Imogene next to her in the pink ruffled bedspread. 

 

Yet another girly bauble purchased by his wife while he was away.

 

“Won’t you be scared Sweetie?” he asked.

 

“No, you’ll protect me,” she said.

 

“I sure will.  For now and forever,” returned her father cheerfully.

 

Tilting her head back, she peered at his face, and her rosebud cheeks broke into a sweet angelic smile.  The sparkle in her father’s dark eyes rained down on her, glowing like moonbeams on ocean waves.  They only accentuated his high, chocolate-hued cheekbones and broad, hawk-like nose.

 

“So will you, Daddy?  Puh-leeease?” she squealed.

 

“How would you like an early birthday present instead?” he asked as he pulled a black velvet pouch from his pocket.

 

“A present for me?” she beamed.

 

He handed her the pouch.  She squeezed the soft fabric between her fingers as she tried to feel what remained inside.

 

“Well, open it sweetie,” he said.

 

Inside was the prettiest necklace she’d ever seen, a silvery heart-shaped skeleton key with alternating vines of white and yellow gold carved roses.  A tiny gold cross was at the bezel where it dangled from a delicate white gold chain.  She turned it over and noticed a small engraving of a sun and moon on the underside of the largest rose.

 

“Oh, Daddy, I love it,” she exclaimed, “and I’ll never take it off.” 

 

Her father leaned down and kissed the top of her head as he grabbed the    trinket and clasped it around her dainty neck.  Her hair smelled just like her mother's hair.  It smelled like jasmine and honey.   

 

“Promise?” he asked smiling but he hoped his eyes did not betray the foreboding in his heart.

 

“I promise.  But Daddy, I still would like a story.  Can you?  P-leease?” she pleaded.

 

“Um, not tonight, sweetie.  Maybe tomorrow,” he said stooping down to place another gentle kiss on his daughter’s head.

 

Her dark eyes peered into his silently begging him to stay.  His heartbeat softened as he sat down beside her on her bed.  He cuddled her within his arms and rocked his sweet baby until he felt her breath deepen into a silent, still slumber.  Softly, he placed Imogene back under his daughter’s delicate lace covered arm and draped her with the soft cover of pink perfection before he tiptoed to her closet door.  

 

“Nothing there,” he whispered.  He chuckled quietly at himself as he leaned over

 

Isabel’s bed to shut the window.  

 

“Why must Sara always leave the window open?  If I’ve told her once …,” he whispered.

As he turned away, a dank, foul stench seeped into his nostrils.  He gagged and lost his balance.  His daughter began to stir.  He ran his hand through her soft hair to settle her and said his prayer once more.  Then, just as quickly, a breath of rose scented air passed by.  He turned off her bedside lamp and left the room.

 

Tomorrow never came.

 

******
 

“Make it stop!  Make it stop!  No! I’ve come so far.  I’ve waited too long.  Not again!”

 

Though he heard shrieking within his head, his voice would not break free.  A black hole opened under him.  It yanked at his very soul.  Resisting was futile.  The pull was too strong.

 

“I will have her.  You cannot protect her forever.  I will be free.  If not tonight, then it shall be tomorrow.  You will see.  This I promise you.”

 

A resonant voice boomed within his head.

 

“You will not have my daughter, Vrykolakas.  Not today, Vampire,” he said.

 

The sorcerer’s voice cut through him like a hard cold scythe. 

 

“Not ever.”

 

Tomorrow has not come.