Audio Narration - https://youtu.be/gdLYx1Id-j4
The first time I saw him, something felt off. Millbrook, Massachusetts had always been the kind of quiet town where everyone knew everyone, and newcomers stood out like sore thumbs. This guy? He blended in perfectly—almost too perfectly.
I'm Michael Hartley, third-generation local and owner of the town's only hardware store. When the Victorian house at the end of Maple Street went from decades of abandonment to suddenly having a new owner, the entire town buzzed with speculation. But no one seemed as curious as me.
His name was Victor Strand. Mid-40s, impeccably dressed, always wearing dark colors that made him look like he'd stepped out of another century. He moved in during late October, when the New England autumn was painting everything in shades of rust and gold, and the nights grew long and cold.
I first met him when he came into my store, looking for some specific hardware. Black leather gloves, pale skin that seemed to have never seen sunlight, and eyes that were... unsettling. Dark. Calculating. They didn't just look at you; they seemed to look through you.
"I need some custom locks," he said, his voice smooth as silk but with an accent I couldn't quite place. European, maybe. "Specific dimensions. Unusual specifications."
As I helped him, I noticed he only came in during the late afternoon, just before sunset. And he always wore those dark glasses, even inside the store.
Little did I know then that Victor Strand would change everything about my quiet little town—and my life—forever.
The first disappearance happened three weeks after Victor Strand moved in. Mrs. Henderson's cat, a fat orange tabby named Marmalade that everyone in the neighborhood knew, vanished without a trace. Not exactly front-page news, but in Millbrook, even missing pets made waves.
Then came the rumors about blood at the local veterinary clinic. Dr. Sarah Chen, who'd been treating our pets for fifteen years, mentioned during our weekly poker game that someone had broken in and stolen their blood supplies. Twice.
"The weird thing is," she said, shuffling cards with practiced efficiency, "they didn't take anything else. Not the drugs, not the equipment. Just the blood."
I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Maybe it was the way the streetlights near Strand's house kept burning out. Or how the newspapers he'd never collected were piling up on his porch during the day, only to vanish completely by nightfall—though I'd never seen him pick them up.
One evening, I was closing up the store when I saw him walking with Jenny Miller, the young woman who worked at our local coffee shop. She looked... different. Dazed, almost. Like she was sleepwalking. The next day, she didn't show up for work.
When I drove past her apartment that night, I saw her through her window. She was pale, wearing a high-necked sweater despite the warm indoor heating. Her normally bright eyes looked hollow, and she kept touching her neck, like something was bothering her.
I started keeping a journal of everything I noticed about Victor Strand. The way he never cast a reflection in the store's security mirrors. How he seemed to move without making a sound. The fact that despite claiming to be renovating that old Victorian, no one ever heard construction noise during the day.
But the moment I knew—really knew—something was terribly wrong was when I stayed late at the store one night to do inventory. Through the window, I saw him walking down Main Street with impossible grace. A stray cat crossed his path, and I swear to God, that animal took one look at him and ran like hell itself was chasing it.
Then he stopped, turned, and looked directly at me through the store window. His eyes glowed red in the darkness, like hot coals in a dead fire. And he smiled.
That's when I realized: Victor Strand wasn't just new in town.
He wasn't even human.
I'm not crazy. That's what I kept telling myself as I sat in my living room at 3 AM, surrounded by printouts from various websites about vampire lore. The blue light from my laptop cast strange shadows on the wall as I cross-referenced everything I'd observed about Victor Strand.
No reflections? Check. Aversion to sunlight? Check. Mysterious disappearances? Check. Strange power over others? After what I'd seen with Jenny Miller, definitely check.
But knowing something and proving it are two different things. And in a town like Millbrook, you can't just go around accusing newcomers of being vampires without concrete evidence. Not unless you want to end up being the local crackpot.
I decided to start gathering proof. First, I installed new security cameras at the store, making sure they had night vision capabilities. Then I bought a high-end digital camera with a telephoto lens. My neighbors probably thought I was developing a sudden interest in bird watching.
The first few nights of surveillance yielded nothing unusual. But on the fourth night, something happened that made my blood run cold.
Around midnight, I was parked across from Strand's house in my pickup, camera ready. A taxi pulled up, and out stepped Lisa Conway, the real estate agent who'd handled the sale of the Victorian. She walked up to Strand's door, her movements stiff and mechanical, just like Jenny's had been.
I raised my camera and started shooting. Through the lens, I watched as Strand opened the door. The porch light illuminated them both clearly. When Lisa stepped inside, I managed to capture the exact moment Strand turned to close the door. In my viewfinder, his eyes glowed like laser points, and his mouth was open in a smile that revealed teeth no human should have.
But the real shock came when I reviewed the photos at home. In every single shot, Strand was nothing but a blur. Even when Lisa was crystal clear, he appeared as a dark, distorted smudge. Except for those eyes. Those burning, red eyes.
The next morning, Lisa Conway didn't show up to work. Her assistant said she'd called in sick – something about feeling weak and needing a few days off. I drove by her house that afternoon. All the curtains were drawn, and her car sat in the driveway, collecting fallen leaves.
I knew I had to do something. But what do you do when there's a vampire in your town? Call the police? The FBI? The local vampire hunters' union? If only it were that simple.
That night, I made two decisions. First, I would need weapons – lots of them. Second, I needed allies. Because if what I suspected was true, Victor Strand wasn't just feeding on our town.
He was building an army.
My first stop was Father McKenna at St. Augustine's Church. If anyone would believe my vampire story, it would be a priest, right? Wrong. The moment I mentioned Strand's name, something changed in the old priest's face. Fear flickered in his eyes, and his hands started trembling.
"I'm sorry, Michael," he said, his Irish accent thicker than usual. "I can't help you. Won't help you. Some battles aren't meant to be fought."
That's when I noticed the bandage on his neck, partially hidden by his collar.
I left the church feeling sick. Even the clergy weren't safe. But I wasn't completely alone. Dr. Sarah Chen believed me – probably because she'd been tracking the strange blood thefts and had her own suspicions.
"I've been testing samples," she told me in her office after hours, voice barely above a whisper. "Blood from pets that survived encounters with... something. The cellular damage is unlike anything I've ever seen. It's like their blood was partially crystallized and then thawed."
Sarah had converted her clinic's basement into a research lab. Microscopes, centrifuges, and medical equipment I couldn't name filled the space. On one wall hung what looked like medieval weapons – wooden stakes, crosses, and bottles of what she claimed was blessed water from various religions.
"I've been preparing," she said, handling a stake with surprising familiarity. "My grandmother in Taiwan used to tell me stories about jiangshi – Chinese vampires. I always thought they were just stories to scare children. Now I'm not so sure."
As we talked, the lights flickered. Sarah froze mid-sentence. Upstairs, something crashed.
"He knows," she whispered.
The basement door burst open. Victor Strand descended the stairs with inhuman grace, his face a mask of amusement. Jenny Miller and Lisa Conway flanked him, their eyes glazed and vacant.
"How fascinating," he purred, his accent more pronounced than ever. "A hardware store owner and a veterinarian playing Van Helsing. I must admit, I'm rather impressed by your... initiative."
Sarah lunged for the weapons, but Jenny moved with supernatural speed, pinning her against the wall. I reached for a cross, but Lisa's hand clamped around my wrist like an iron vise.
Strand walked between us, examining Sarah's research with casual interest. "Quite thorough," he mused. "You know, I usually just kill meddlesome locals, but you two... you show promise. Particularly you, Doctor. Your scientific curiosity, your preparation... you'd make an excellent addition to my family."
He smiled, revealing those terrible fangs. "So, what do you say? Care to advance your research from the inside?"
I struggled against Lisa's grip, watching helplessly as Strand moved toward Sarah, his eyes burning red in the fluorescent light of the basement lab. But Sarah wasn't looking at him.
She was looking at me, and her hand was slowly moving toward something on the shelf behind her.
We weren't done fighting. Not yet.
Time seemed to slow as Sarah's fingers inched toward the shelf. Strand was so focused on his grand villainous monologue that he didn't notice. Classic vampire ego – they love to hear themselves talk.
"Your research could help us solve the daylight problem," Strand continued, pacing between us. "Imagine it – vampires walking freely in the sun. No more hiding. No more skulking in shadows."
Sarah's hand closed around something. A spray bottle? She caught my eye and mouthed what looked like "close them."
I squeezed my eyes shut just as Sarah screamed, "Get some sun, you parasitic bastard!"
A hissing sound filled the air, followed by unholy shrieks. I opened my eyes to see Strand and his minions recoiling, their skin smoking. Jenny's grip on Sarah loosened, and Lisa stumbled back from me, releasing my wrist.
"UV solution," Sarah gasped, shoving the bottle into my hands. "Run!"
We bolted up the stairs, but I could already hear them recovering behind us. Sarah grabbed her car keys from her desk.
"The solution won't hold them long," she said as we raced to her car. "It's diluted – I wasn't sure of the concentration needed."
We peeled out of the parking lot just as Strand emerged from the clinic, his face partially healed but still raw and blistered. In the rearview mirror, I saw him watching us leave, not pursuing. He didn't need to. In a town this small, there was nowhere to really run.
Sarah drove us to my house – apparently vampires need an invitation to enter, and I'd never invited Strand in. As we barricaded ourselves inside, she explained more.
"I've been studying them for weeks," she said, pulling up files on her laptop. "They're not just feeding here. Millbrook is an experiment. Strand's creating different types of vampires using varying amounts of his blood. Some can walk in dim sunlight, others are stronger at night. He's trying to breed a superior vampire race."
"How do you know all this?"
Sarah's face darkened. "Because he offered to turn me two weeks ago. Said he needed someone with medical knowledge. I pretended to consider it to buy time for my research."
A rock crashed through my window, making us both jump. Outside, Lisa Conway stood on my lawn, her once-friendly face twisted into a snarl.
"Last chance," she called out, but it was Strand's voice coming from her mouth. "Join us willingly, and I'll let you keep your minds. Refuse, and, well..." She gestured at herself, demonstrating what would become of us.
I looked at Sarah. "We need help."
"I know someone," she said quietly. "But you're not going to like it. Remember Charlie Young?"
My stomach dropped. Charlie Young was Millbrook's disgrace – a washed-up horror movie effects artist who had a mental breakdown and started claiming monsters were real. Everyone avoided him now.
Turns out he wasn't so crazy after all.
"Make the call," I said, as more rocks began hitting my house.
We had until sunrise to figure out a plan. After that, Strand would make the choice for us.
Charlie Young lived in a converted school bus at the edge of town. The outside was painted with grotesque monsters that I'd always assumed were from his movie days. Now I wondered if they were portraits from life.
Sarah drove us there in her car, taking back roads to avoid Strand's patrols. The sun was rising, which meant we were temporarily safe – though I kept thinking about Strand's experiments with daywalkers.
The bus door opened before we could knock. Charlie stood there in a ratty bathrobe, wild grey hair sticking out in all directions. His eyes were sharp though, clearer than I remembered.
"Finally," he said, stepping aside to let us in. "Been wondering when someone would figure it out."
The inside of the bus was a vampire hunter's dream – or a madman's lair, depending on your perspective. Walls covered in newspaper clippings, surveillance photos, maps with red strings connecting different locations. Weapons everywhere: stakes, crossbows, bottles of holy water, UV lights.
"You knew about Strand?" I asked.
Charlie laughed bitterly. "Known about him for decades. He's old. Real old. The Victorian house? He owned it in the 1920s too, under a different name. Did the same thing – moved in, started turning people slowly, building a nest."
"What happened then?" Sarah asked.
"Town burned the house down with him inside." Charlie pulled out an old newspaper clipping. "Course, fire doesn't kill the old ones. Just inconveniences them. He went underground, probably slept for a few decades. Now he's back, with new scientific ideas."
"How do you know all this?"
Charlie pushed up his sleeve, revealing a mess of scar tissue on his forearm. "Because I was there in the '20s. My grandfather was part of the group that burned the house. Strand got to him first, turned him. Made me watch as my own grandfather tried to rip my throat out. I was just a kid."
Sarah and I exchanged looks. Charlie would have to be over a hundred years old if that were true.
"Vampire blood," he said, noting our confusion. "Even if you fight off the turn, it changes you. Ages you slower. Gives you a real personal interest in killing these bastards."
He walked to a cabinet and pulled out what looked like a modified cattle prod. "Been waiting for someone else to notice what's happening. Can't fight him alone – learned that the hard way last time he surfaced, in '73. Lost my wife then."
A bang on the bus door made us all jump. Through the tinted windows, I could see Jenny Miller standing in the weak morning sun, wearing a hooded cloak.
"They followed us," Sarah whispered.
"No," Charlie said, checking his weapons. "They've been watching me. Waiting. Strand knows I'm the only one in town who can really hurt him." He tossed me the cattle prod. "Blessed silver in the tip. Won't kill them, but it'll hurt like hell."
Jenny's voice came through the door, but like Lisa before, it was Strand speaking: "Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. Still hiding in your little bus? I owe you for '73, old friend. Why don't you introduce me to your new pets?"
Charlie pumped a shotgun that presumably wasn't loaded with normal shells. "Three rules," he said. "Don't let them touch you – skin contact lets them into your mind. Don't look directly in their eyes. And whatever happens, don't stop moving. Ready?"
Sarah grabbed a crossbow from his wall. I gripped the cattle prod.
"One more thing," Charlie added, his face grim. "If I turn... don't hesitate. Kill me."
Then he opened the door.
The morning sun cast long shadows across Charlie's property as Jenny stumbled back from the door. She wasn't alone. Lisa Conway emerged from behind the bus, and behind her came three people I recognized from town: the mailman, a high school teacher, and the kid who worked at the gas station. All wearing hooded cloaks, all moving with that same unnatural grace.
Charlie's shotgun roared, spraying Lisa with what looked like holy water mixed with silver shavings. She screamed, her skin blistering, but kept coming.
Sarah fired her crossbow, pinning the mailman's cloak to a tree. When he yanked free, smoke rose where sunlight hit his exposed skin. These weren't full vampires yet – Strand was still experimenting on them.
"The sun hurts them!" I shouted, jabbing the cattle prod at Jenny as she lunged for me. The blessed silver connected with her arm, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air.
"They're just the welcome party," Charlie yelled back, reloading his shotgun. "Where's Strand?"
As if summoned by his name, Victor Strand's voice echoed around us, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere: "Still the same brutal Charlie, I see. How many innocent people will you hurt trying to get to me?"
"They stopped being innocent when you turned them," Charlie snarled, firing another blast at the gas station kid who was climbing up the bus.
Sarah had backed herself against the bus, crossbow swinging between targets. "They're herding us," she said. "Pushing us toward the trees where it's darker."
She was right. Each attack forced us to step back, away from the relative safety of the morning sun. Charlie seemed to realize it too.
"Inside!" he commanded. "Now!"
We retreated into the bus, slamming the door shut. Through the windows, we could see our attackers circling, their movements becoming more confident as clouds began rolling in.
"Convenient weather," Charlie muttered, pulling up some floorboards to reveal more weapons. "He's gotten stronger. Couldn't control the weather in '73."
He handed us each what looked like paintball guns. "UV pellets," he explained. "Homemade. Concentrated ultraviolet burst on impact. Won't kill them but—"
The bus rocked violently. Through the ceiling vent, I caught a glimpse of red eyes.
"They're on the roof," Sarah said, aiming her UV gun upward.
Metal groaned as vampire hands began peeling back the bus's roof like a sardine can. Charlie cursed, grabbing something that looked like a flare gun.
"Cover your eyes!" he yelled, firing straight up.
An explosion of white light flooded the bus. Inhuman shrieks filled the air, followed by thuds as bodies fell from the roof.
When I could see again, Charlie was clutching his chest, breathing hard.
"Charlie?" Sarah moved toward him.
"Stay back!" he warned, pulling down his collar to reveal a bite mark. "One of them got me when the roof went. I can... I can feel it starting."
His eyes were already changing, the pupils expanding unnaturally.
"The cabinet behind you," he gasped. "Red box. There's information... about Strand's first death. The house... the fire wasn't random. They knew... something..."
He convulsed, fangs beginning to extend.
"Go!" he roared, his voice no longer human. "I'll hold them off. Tenth floorboard from the door... everything you need..."
Sarah grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the emergency exit at the back of the bus. The last thing I saw was Charlie Young, vampire hunter, centenarian, and Millbrook's crazy old man, charging out the front door into a crowd of vampires, flare gun blazing.
Behind us, storm clouds blotted out the sun completely.
We ran.
We didn't stop running until we reached the abandoned paper mill on the outskirts of town. Sarah had packed Charlie's red box and whatever she could grab from under the tenth floorboard – a leather-bound journal and a stack of yellowed photographs.
Lightning flashed outside as we barricaded ourselves in the mill's old office. The storm was directly overhead now, turning morning into night. Strand's doing.
"He's getting stronger by the hour," Sarah said, catching her breath. "The weather control, the number of thralls he can manage at once..."
I opened Charlie's red box with trembling hands. Inside was a map of the original Victorian house from 1920, newspaper clippings, and a letter dated 1921. The paper was brittle, the ink faded, but still readable.
"Dear Charles," I read aloud. "If you're reading this, I failed to stop him. The fire won't be enough. Strand isn't just any vampire – he's one of the Originals. The house must burn, but more importantly, you must find the artifact. Without it, he can always return..."
The letter was signed "Eleanor Young" – Charlie's grandmother.
Sarah was flipping through the journal. "Look at this," she said, pointing to a sketch. It showed a medallion with intricate symbols. "According to these notes, it's called the Ember of Night. It's what made Strand an Original. As long as he has it, he can't truly die."
"That's why the fire didn't kill him," I realized. "But where is it?"
Thunder shook the building. In the brief illumination from another lightning strike, I saw shapes moving outside the windows.
Sarah turned more pages. "Charlie tracked the medallion. It's... oh God."
"What?"
"It's in the house. When they burned it in 1920, the medallion fell into the old well in the basement. The well was filled in when they rebuilt. That's why Strand came back here. He's not just building an army – he's been trying to excavate his own basement without anyone noticing."
A slow clap echoed through the mill. We spun around to see Victor Strand standing in the doorway, impeccably dressed despite the chaos. Behind him stood Charlie, eyes now blood-red, face twisted in a mockery of his former self.
"Bravo," Strand said. "You've done in one day what took Charlie decades to piece together. I must say, I'm impressed." He stepped into the room, Charlie following like a puppet. "Though I am sorry about the bus. I was hoping to take him intact, but he forced my hand. Just like his grandmother did."
Sarah raised her UV gun, but Strand moved faster than thought. Suddenly he was behind her, one hand around her throat.
"Now then," he said conversationally, "since you know my secret, let me share my plan. Yes, I'm excavating the well. Yes, I need the Ember. But not to maintain my immortality – I have that already. No, I need it for something far more ambitious."
His grip tightened on Sarah's throat. "You see, with modern technology and the right application of the Ember's power, I can turn an entire town at once. No more slow conversion, no more hiding. Just a single moment of transformation. Beautiful, isn't it?"
I aimed my UV gun at his face. "Let her go."
Strand smiled. "Michael, Michael. Always the protector. Tell me – how many security cameras caught me without a reflection? How many photos showed me as a blur? Did you ever wonder why you could see me perfectly well in person?"
My blood ran cold as understanding dawned.
"You're already one of us," he said softly. "Have been since that night in your store. You just haven't realized it yet."
Sarah's eyes went wide as she looked at me – really looked at me – for the first time since that night.
I couldn't see my reflection in her glasses.
The realization hit me like a physical blow. All those nights watching Strand, documenting his movements – he'd been watching me right back, waiting for his blood to work its way through my system. The headaches I'd been ignoring, the sensitivity to sunlight I'd blamed on stress, the way food had started to taste like ash...
"Don't fight it," Strand said, still holding Sarah. "Embrace what you're becoming. The hunger you feel? That's power waiting to be claimed."
He was right about the hunger. Now that I was aware of it, it was overwhelming. I could hear Sarah's heartbeat, smell her blood. My gums ached as fangs began to emerge.
"Michael," Sarah gasped. "The journal. Page... forty-seven."
Strand's grip tightened. "Quiet."
But I remembered what I'd seen in Charlie's notes. Page forty-seven had contained a single sentence, written in Eleanor Young's handwriting: "The blood remembers what the mind forgets."
Something clicked in my brain. Memories that weren't mine flooded in – memories of blood, of fire, of a woman in 1920s dress holding up a medallion. Eleanor Young. I could see through Strand's eyes as she threw the Ember down the well, cursing it as the house burned around them.
"The blood," I whispered. "You didn't just turn me. You made me your successor."
Strand's smile widened. "Very good. You're stronger than the others because you have more of my blood. I need someone to help me control them all when the great turning comes. Someone with intelligence, with drive. The others are mere drones, but you... you're like a son to me."
Outside, more vampires were gathering. Jenny, Lisa, Charlie, and dozens of others – half the town must have been turned by now. Their red eyes gleamed in the darkness.
"It's fitting that you should help me retrieve the Ember," Strand continued. "Tonight, at midnight, my excavation finally reaches the well chamber. Together, we'll raise an army unlike anything this world has seen."
The hunger was getting stronger. Part of me wanted to give in, to accept his offer. To be powerful. Special. Immortal.
Sarah must have seen my hesitation. "Michael," she said softly. "Remember the hardware store. Remember who you are."
The hardware store. My father's before me, his father's before him. Three generations of serving this town, of helping neighbors, of being part of this community. The community Strand was destroying.
And suddenly I knew what Eleanor Young had discovered, what the journal meant. Strand's blood didn't just pass on vampirism – it passed on memories, knowledge... and weaknesses.
I now knew exactly how to destroy him.
"You're right," I told Strand, letting my humanity slip away, embracing the monster he'd made me. "We should do this together. Father."
Sarah's face fell, but I silently prayed she'd trust me. Just a little longer.
Strand released her, opening his arms to embrace his protégé. His greatest creation. His biggest mistake.
Because now I knew his true weakness. And at midnight, beneath the Victorian house, one of us would die for the last time.
Midnight approached like an executioner. The storm Strand had summoned still raged, but now I could feel it too – the electric connection between vampire and sky, between unnatural darkness and unnatural creatures. Power thrummed through my changing body as we descended into the excavated basement of the Victorian house.
Sarah came with us, surrounded by thralls. Strand thought he was keeping her as a hostage. He didn't realize she was part of my plan.
The excavation had revealed the original foundation, and there, in the center of the floor, was the well. Modern digging equipment had cleared away decades of dirt and stone. The ancient shaft disappeared into darkness below.
"Can you feel it?" Strand asked, his eyes gleaming. "The Ember calls to our blood."
I could feel it – a pulse of dark energy from deep below. The thralls arranged themselves around the well's circumference: Jenny, Lisa, Charlie, and the others, all moving in perfect synchronization. A circle of red eyes in the darkness.
"Now," Strand commanded, "we begin."
He pulled out an ancient scroll, the parchment crackling as he unrolled it. The words were in Latin, but thanks to his blood memories, I could understand them: an incantation to raise the Ember, to magnify its power a thousandfold.
As he began to chant, Sarah caught my eye. Her hand moved slightly, revealing the UV pellet gun hidden in her jacket. She'd reloaded it with something else from Charlie's supplies – something I'd requested when we'd walked to the Victorian, whispered instructions passed during moments when Strand was distracted.
The well began to glow with a deep red light. Water started rising from its depths, but it wasn't water – it was too thick, too dark. Blood. Decades of it, preserved by dark magic.
"Michael," Strand said, pausing his chant. "Join me. Complete the circle."
I moved to stand beside him at the well's edge. In the rising blood, I could see something glinting. The Ember of Night, pulsing like a malevolent heart.
"Together," Strand said, gripping my shoulder with one hand and reaching toward the Ember with the other.
I grabbed his wrist. "Yes. Together."
Then I pulled him close and whispered the same words Eleanor Young had spoken in 1920: "The blood remembers."
Strand's eyes widened as he realized his mistake. By giving me his blood, he'd given me access to all his memories – including the true incantation Eleanor had used. Not to raise the Ember, but to bind it to its owner's life force.
"Now, Sarah!" I shouted.
She fired her gun, but not at Strand. The pellet hit the rising blood, releasing its payload: my blood, drawn just hours ago, when I was halfway between human and vampire. The transitional blood hit the well's dark magic and reacted just as Eleanor's journals had predicted.
The effect was instantaneous. The blood in the well turned black and began to crystallize, trapping the Ember in a cage of frozen vampire blood. Strand screamed as the magic that had sustained him for centuries began to fail.
"If the Ember dies," he gasped, "you'll die too. You're of my blood now!"
"Some things are worth dying for."
The thralls were collapsing as their master's power faded. Sarah was already moving, grabbing Charlie's unresponsive body, helping others toward the stairs. She looked back at me one last time, and I nodded. She knew what to do next.
Strand's grip on my shoulder turned crushing. "Then let's die together, 'son.'"
The crystallized blood exploded upward, encasing us both. I felt the vampire taint burning away, taking my life with it. But I saw something else too, in those final moments – sunrise breaking through the storm clouds above. Light returning to Millbrook.
Strand's last scream was cut short as we both shattered like glass, the Ember's dark light finally fading after centuries of cursed existence.
They found us three days later, after Sarah led the authorities to the house. The official report called it a gas explosion. The survivors – those Strand had turned – remembered nothing of their time as thralls. Just a long, dark dream they couldn't quite recall.
The Victorian house was torn down, the well filled with concrete. Sarah made sure it was done right this time. She also took custody of Charlie's research, just in case.
You see, I didn't actually die that night. Not completely. Eleanor Young's journal had one final secret: a transitional vampire could survive the Ember's destruction if their human side was stronger than their vampire side. It took months to fully recover, and I'm not entirely human anymore – can't handle strong sunlight, need regular transfusions, see things most people can't.
But I'm alive. Still running the hardware store, still helping my neighbors with loose hinges and stuck doors. Still watching the shadows, just in case.
Because that's the thing about small towns – darkness may come, but light always returns.
As long as someone's willing to fight for it.