Siblings, 1936


They were angry and desperate.

A trio of jalopies was parked outside the wreck of the Wilson Dairy, which had folded after the stock market crashed on Black Tuesday of ’29.

The cars appeared held together with baling wire and not much else. There was a fair amount of baggage tied to the roofs, and some of it was scattered around the vehicles, as though the occupants had been disturbed during the unloading.

I suspect they had been.

I drew my Colts when I entered the main barn of the dairy and headed towards the stairs that led to the lower level. Old Wilson had installed a fine system, which was why he had gone bankrupt and put the barrel of a shotgun in his mouth. You could still see the bone fragments embedded in the ceiling.

When I reached the stairs, I saw the flicker of a kerosene lantern. At the bottom, I saw four children, all of them siblings. Their faces were worn, their expressions hollow. I knew what it was they had seen. Virginia, like all vampires, was a creature of habit.

“Where?” I asked, and the oldest girl pointed towards the far end.

“Are you Blood?” she asked.

I nodded, and the children stood up.

“She told us to wait here,” the oldest girl stated. “She said we could go when you came.”

“Wait for me outside,” I told her. “I’ll bring you into town when I’m done.”

A boy wearing only an undershirt looked at me with skepticism. “Will you come out?”


I heard them walk up the stairs, and I crossed the long floor to the doors at the end. They were locked, and I smiled. Virginia had tucked her victims away, knowing I wouldn’t leave them imprisoned. I wouldn’t be able to risk it.

I took a step back, raised one of the Colts and blew the lock apart.

No sooner did the shattered metal strike the floor than the door was thrown open.

They were fast and hungry, an even dozen of them, and the fight was on.

The Colts were dry within a minute, and I was left with nothing more than my knife.

It was enough.

They were strong, their insatiable thirst driving them forward.

I was hatred and rage, vengeance and spite.

Soon, I carried their heads into the daylight and brought the children into Cross.

#fear #horrorstories #paranormal

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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