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The Longest Night

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Mentally, he's still the same man, but physically, he's being pulled by new urges. It's interesting to see that struggle, just as it will be interesting to see which part will get the upper hand as time passes and his human ties to this world slowly disappear (such as his wife, family, friends - in fifty years or so, Huard might have far less to anchor him to humanity).

As far as Temple Franklin goes - if he can't be persuaded by a close friend that vampires exist (and that said friend is one), then there is truly no hope for the man. ;)
 
Fantastic work as usual sir!
 
A gentleman may become a vampire, but a vampire cannot be a gentleman. It's in the rules. ;)

Like Stuyvesant, I look forward to Huard's struggle against his new nature. Revelations about ones self are always damaging and destructive when they collide with the mannered face we wish the world to see.
 
I am a little embarrassed that I have not posted before Coz, but I have been trying to follow your story and now I have caught up again. This is a very exciting story, and I really can’t wait to see what will happen next. It seems your man is fighting an internal fight with himself, now that is a little scary, but I am sure it will turn out well in the end...And should it not, I am at least sure it will be a great story to read.
 
Darkness. Not the poor darkness of nighttime in the city, barely worth the name. Nor the deep darkness of a moonless night in the country, where even you yourself can't be sure of how many fingers you're holding up. No, this is something else altogether. Perfect darkness, brought on not by a temporary shielding of the sun, but by the utter absence, nay non-existence of any light whatsoever. There is no light. There is no motion. No smell. No sound. The stillness of the grave.

Except...

A vibration. A short shudder, then silence. Then again: that brief tremble, followed by more silence. And again. It is barely noticeable, but slowly grows stronger. Now there is a sound accompanying the vibrations. A... scraping..? sound.

A sudden thud of metal on wood, followed by more rapid scraping. A shovel, unearthing... what?

"I've found it! Gimme the crowbar!"

Thunk. Creak. A grunt, then the sound of splintering wood. Unwelcome, blinding, painful light floods in...

"Is it dead?"

That is the question, isn't it, coz1? Forgive the verbose excess - I was bored and decided that the tortuous metaphore for digging up this thread was warrented, given the story's subject matter. :)

Perhaps you've been busy with the dreaded Real Life, or maybe the Free Company is taking up your time, but since it has been five weeks or so, I thought it'd be okay to ask. I'm sure there are others who would also be happy to see you continue this tale. If you could enlighten us as to your plans with this, I'd sure appreciate it. :)

Anyway, needlessly long post over and done with, hope to hear from you soon and apologies to anyone wasting their time with this drivel.

Oh, and this:

Your eyes smart in the harsh light, unaccustomed as you are to it from your long your deathless slumber. But your skin does not boil and your mouth creases into a cruel smile, revealing the vicious fangs: the fools brought a flashlight. That means it's night. Safe.

Immediately, the need to feed is overwhelming, all-encompassing. With cat-like reflexes you seize the nearest target. Before he has a chance to cry out, your fangs sink deeply into his neck. Warm, nourishing blood, flowing into your mouth, trickling down your chin.

"Oh my god! Get him off me!" The human shrieks and struggles hysterically, but already his powers are failing.

As you drain the last blood, your eyes roll up, noticing the other man. He is standing at the edge of the dug-up grave, frozen in shock.

You drop the lifeless corpse, a wicked grin on your blood-stained lips. Good...
 
Stuyvesant - that must be the most creative way anyone has ever asked for an update. Classic! :D I am tempted to ask if perhaps you'd like to write the next chapter. It also makes me wonder (yet again) why you don't try your hand at something longer? Excellent stuff, sir!

As for my part, I admit I have been trying to juggle several things over the past month and change. This story just has not been at the front of my mind, unfortunately. I am also struggling as I consider the voice of the story and the direction. It just goes to show that a well planned outline helps every time. :rolleyes:

I can say this - I have not abandoned it. I am still thinking about it when I can and would love to say I'll have something up soon. I cannot promise anything, though. ;)
 
Hilarious, Stuyvesant! :D

Looking forward to a return, Coz!

Renss
 
Oh, my - I almost fell out of my chair. I have to agree with coz1 - that may be the absolute best 'Update!' ever posted. :)

One more reason why Stuyvesant is a forum treasure, and should be protected and if possible cloned. At least his commenting should be. :D

For anyone who is interested you can follow the link in my Inkwell to 'Frontier' which does contain a longer section of Stuyvesant's work. His guest author piece is well worth your trouble (as are the contributions of the other guest authors, including coz1, but it is Stuyvesant we are talking about now).

Hmmmmm. Maybe I should let my AAR go for a while... :p
 
coz1: ...I can say this - I have not abandoned it.

time ? ? :cool:
 
GhostWriter said:
coz1: ...I can say this - I have not abandoned it.

time ? ? :cool:
Click to expand...
He lives!!! Great to see you again, GhostWriter. Glad to see you are able to catch up on some of your favorite reading across the forum. I wish I had some fresh updates for you here, but Eagle in Winter has been over for a while and requires a final GW post, don't you know? ;)

To answer you and Stuyvesant more specifically, I'm not sure. I've got my notes and some ideas for where I want to take this, but I'm lacking some will at present. This story needs a heart and I have not found it yet. Until then, it seems to me just so many words. I suppose I could practice on it (any writing is good writing, even if it's shite) but a.) I don't want to drag the readers on as I stop and start like I did with Eagle (and Into the West, for that matter) and b.) I hate to put out sloppy work and when I've not got my mind around it right, I feel I put some sloppy stuff up at times. But I am still noodling it so I refuse to say it's done. That helps little for those wanting to read more, and for that I apologize. :(

So go read The Eagle in Winter instead! :p Or even read Into the West to those that may never have read it before. :) I got plenty of stuff out there for those curious eyes. Just see my Inkwell. :D

EDIT - OK...maybe some updates after all. It's a good thing I took good notes. :D
 
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LongestNightbanner.png



Episode II​

* * *​

London, 1790​

In the noisy din of the pub, Abraham Huard slowly sipped on his drink. A post message had alerted him to a meeting but he did not see the man he was supposed to meet. He looked around the dark place, shadows playing tricks on his eyes and blocking his view of lone drunks wishing to hide and young lovers finding a welcome smoky corner. He thought on his younger years…and his wife. She was a light in this dark world. And shortly he would return to her if the man did not show. He would allow two more minutes.

“Pardon, old chap…” a voice spoke up next to him. “Might I trouble you for the time?”

Abraham turned his head to greet a tall, thin man. His smile seemed buried in a gaunt face but his eyes appeared to sparkle…perhaps too much of the drink. Looking down at his pocket watch, Abraham answered, “Half past midnight, I am afraid.”

His own smile was greeted by the back of the man’s head when he turned again to face him. But the man quickly shifted back and nodded his thanks. He fumbled with a small glass of dark liquor, twirling it on the counter causing the ice to melt, but he did not drink it. He looked back to Abraham and pointed his chin to the owner silently sleeping at the end of the bar.

“I don’t think he minds if we close down the house.” He offered a half laugh and went back to twirling his drink.

“I should think not,” Abraham answered. He took a long pull from his beer and sat the empty mug on the counter. It was late and he needed to go home. He’d contact the man tomorrow and inquire about their meeting. Offering a hand to the tall gentleman, Abraham gave one last smile, “Pleasure, sir.”

The man did not shake it nor look at Abraham. He simply nodded his head and stared straight forward.

“I’ll be off then,” he finished as he pulled the hand back and shrugged. He felt slightly tipsy after a few more beers than intended but he made his way well enough to the door and out into the street. The moon was out above and made the travel easier. It was not far. Off down the road he went, Abraham walking home to his wife.

DarkNight1790.jpg

As he neared the bridge, he saw how the trees over head covered it and caused a dark shadow. He could not rightly see where he was stepping but he was making good time. But before he stepped foot on the bridge, a low sound came out in the distance. It sounded stronger than wind. Abraham convinced himself that was all it was. He moved onto the bridge and could hear the small trickles of water that passed underneath. He found it soothing and stopped for a moment to look over the edge. He was greeted by the feel of a hand on his back that startled him.

“Pardon, old chap…” the voice said in the darkness.

Abraham ran. As fast as his legs could carry him. He did not see where he was going until after coming out of the shade of the trees and he did not care. His whole body screamed for him to run. And he was followed. He could hear it, sounds of something swooping through the air behind him as if a large bird moving in on prey. He nearly stumbled as the moonlight above finally allowed him to see. He turned in time to duck as the tall man flew through the air, nearly toppling him over as he neatly swung past over head. Abraham had never seen anything like it and hardly could believe his eyes. But he sensed the danger and ran again.

He had little chance when he barreled into the man standing still like a wall. He had firmly planted himself directly in front of Abraham’s path and the poor man stumbled back, stunned. He fell to the ground with a thud but the pain was stunted by the adrenaline coursing through his body.

“Now we’ve had our play…” said the tall man in a low voice, “It is time for the meal.”

A row of teeth in the man’s mouth was soon marred by sharp fangs moving closer to Abraham as he sat prone on the ground. He could not move. He could not yell. He…

…woke up.

Sweat covered his body and sound suddenly poured forth from his mouth as he gasped for air. His wife rolled over next to him and placed a calming hand on his chest, softly brushing it through his nightshirt. She whispered “shhh” and continued to stroke his chest as he felt his breathing return to normal. He moved his head to look at her and found her eyes open and looking at him, worried but loving.

“Is it the dream again?” She quietly asked.

He nodded his head as he thought on it again. But it wasn’t just a dream. It had happened and he’d never been able to tell her. She would be too worried. He closed his eyes again and this time it was only darkness. That did Abraham Huard little good as it was the black night that frightened him so much.
 
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Wow! Simply wow! Without a doubt that was fine work with Abraham, his dash through the woods to get away from his followers, the vampires. And then only to wake up to a dream. Hmm, I'm suspect to this dream.

Amazing!
 
I wouldn't mind having that dream. If I were the vampire, that is. Got me wondering though, do vampires dream?
 
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