. . . The Miles Household. . .
Hilary turns the TV off.
“. . .She’s definetly an alien.” Hilary said, confirming her own idea on Amanda.
Hilary’s mother, Mrs.Sophie Miles, came in holding a big cherry pie.
“Hilary,” Mrs. Miles said. “The pie is ready for the Stromburgs.”
Hilary whips around from the TV on her sliding stool.
“The—who again?” Hilary repeats, with her hands on her lap.
Mrs.Miles puts the pie on the table.
“The Stromburgs.” Mrs.Miles said, taking a plate out.
“Mom,” Hilary said in a low voice. “You just said Stromburgs.” She pats on the table. She is familiar to her mother’s name mocking. “They are actually the Strongburg’s.” Hilary holds her hands out right across from each other. “Strong and Burgs; like that bugs rabbit dude?”
Mrs. Miles shrugs as she puts the pie on the plate.
“Doesn’t matter.” Mrs.Miles said, taking the plate “Now take this to the new next door neighbors.”
“Why me?” Hilary asks. “Why don’t you have dad take it to them.”
“He’s watching the cooking network; making some brownies.” Mrs.Miles slightly frowns.
“Mommmm.” Hilary draws the ‘m’ in mom as though it was longer. “He’s not in the kitchen.”
“His man cave has a kitchen.” Mrs.Miles hands the pie to Hilary. “Do it before I decide your baby to be named. . .” She pauses for a moment, and ponders what she wants to say next. Mrs.Miles then smiles. “Ludiocus Francis Diel.”
Hilary’s eyes are full of horror, as she holds the plate.
“You are so unfair.” Hilary then goes out the door, and did not close it behind her.
Mrs.Miles sighs, making a ‘tsk’ sound a little over three times as she came to the door.
“Kids these days.” Mrs.Miles closes the door.
“Sophie,” Her husband calls from the basement. “Get some eggs, cheese, yogurt, strawberries, and—a fork.”
Mrs.Miles goes to the fridge; not bothering to question her husband. . .
_________ ___________ ___________
Spheris knew he had to be ready. And he knew the news had been released when cars started parking around the house. It is dark outside. All the electronics in this house were unplugged, taken out, destroyed or de-activated. He approaches Rosemary’s picture; it’s only a sketch of her. Not a digital or a recently taken picture. This sketch is in a wooden picture frame.
On the corner of this sketch are initials ‘S.B’ meaning Spheris Baker.
“It’s best you don’t see it.” Spheris said, putting the photograph of Rosemary facedown.
He had spent two days getting this house prepared, also getting rid of anything that proved Amanda lived here. He basically did a wipe out; removing everything that belonged to Amanda. Spheris had done quite a job ruining the apartment. The job he had was useful to planting devices all over the building. Being a vampire that has lived for 350 years and lost more than he could tell; Spheris did not intend to abandon the house un-harmed.
Spheris would not easily forget how life treated him. Not ever would he forget meeting Rosemary. . .
It was nightfall when he came to the plantation with Sharley. It was silent as a death night; that is when e towns were likely to be struck by vampires. Spheris, in his vampire youth, crawled out the coach secret compartment. He lands on dirt. Just dirt, grass, and rocks; of course, that was Virginia. This plantation had the most to offer for safety. There is a big house without windows or holes, but it did have a few doors here and there.
The year is 1825.
“No wonder they call it Virginia.” Spheris said, in a fluent British accent.
Spheris turns towards the coach.
“Sharley.” Spheris said. “It’s clear.”
The lid to a coffin shaped box is thrown into the air right from the coach.
“Bloody nails!” Sharley starts, as he came half way up. “I should have not listened to you, Sph.”
Sharley takes a nail out from his back and held it as if was just a tooth pick.
“It wasn’t me who broke the last one.” Spheris said, his attention is directed to the coffin’s lid that lands in the cotton field.
Sharley leaps out the coach and lands beside Spheris.
“Maaan,” Sharley said. “I knew we should have drank before the ride."
Spheris saw something stir in the bushes.
“Who’s there?” Spheris asks.
A small, sixteen year old African American girl comes out holding a box and rag.
“Me.” The girl, no other than Rosemary, said in a soft and low voice. She looks skinny to Spheris with the right face, small and delicate hands, her figure is small for a slave like her. This teenager had caught him in the act of getting out.
“Let’s suck her—“ Spheris put his hand up at the moment that it made Sharley fall back over on the ground.
Spheris puts down his hand.
“Name?” Spheris asks.
Sharley rubs his nose as he gets up.
“r-Rose,” Rosemary said. “Rosemary Burnes.”
She shrugs, as though exepecting Spheris’s confusing reaction.
. . . Present day; April 10th, 2014. . .
. . . Qlanberry street. . .
Spheris returns to reality. “It’s only a night.” We hear Spheris say in a voice that can concern a child. The darkness shows his cloudy, glowing eyes shine a little bright instead of being reserved. He disappears in the darkness. Only then we go behind the front door to see some men holding guns, Tasers, and clubs. A few were holding stakes that were both metal and wood. It seems the time of idiot humans is pretty much over; killing wise, that is. Some cars remained on,vans and trucks have their bright lights pointed at the Burnes family house.
One man, Korer Lewies, takes a pen from behind his ear.
“So,” Korer said. “Who’s going in?”
There is a good number of men standing behind the gate.
“Nobody needs to ask.” A civilian said. “And we don’t need reporters.”
“But. . . you do need historians.” Korer said.
“You are a bloody historian?” The Civilian asks.
“I’ve always wanted to be there when vampire’s blood would be shed.” He said. The pride of his voice is easily seen better than a terrible B-Actor for a very bad science Fiction movie.. “It’s a dream come true for a historian.”
“Let’s show those vamps who control this state!” One of the civilians proclaims, rushing past Korer.
“This isn’t politics speak. . .” Korer is brushed aside by many men who go into the house and leave him behind. “I’ll just be the bystander. . . yep.”
This ensured many lives would change . . . In the night of bloodshed.