Sunnanvind

A poem is just a thought that has been trapped in the page.

In the twilight after sunset, a wagoned party's closing in
to the castle that has ancient history of sin.
Oh, that castle, standing proudly where the mountains would erode.
Now the party nears the gate, knocking twice, that's the code.
And that big gate opens slowly, by the work of unseen hands.
Then the party enters, weary, bound together by no bands.
In that main hall, sits a table that's as wide as I am tall.
And around it they all gather, settling down, one and all.
Seven strangers, knowing little. Seven people, fat and slim.
In the corner: Saumel Howard, vampire hunter, looking grim.
There is Sanka, proud while bitter, crown of dreadlocks on his head.
An unknown stranger, big and muscled, with tattoos all shining red.
Little Jimmy, straight from downtown, wishing he were somewhere else.
There sits Edgar, morbid poet, thinking only of the hells.
Professor Coulthart, he's the sceptic, with a courage (make-believe).
Now, he's here, though, and it seems like he would rather leave.
By the farside of the table sits a woman wearing hood.
It's Rebecca, bird on death's wings, creature-toothed, smiling good.
Now Sam Howard's leaning over, and all listen as he speak:
"I have gathered seven strangers, brave as frightened, strong as weak.
What is happening some of you have perhaps already guessed.
One among us is a creature, by the demons cursed and blessed."
"What? A creature!" scorns professor, "And what creature might that be?"
"If I told you, then I think that you all would try to flee."
"Take the risk, Sam," says Rebecca, "We deserve to hear the truth."
"It is a vampire, an immortal, that can always keep it's youth.
It is immune to lethal weapons, drinking blood as you drink wine."
"I don't believe it," sighes professor, "but if you prove it, fine."
"For the night, though," Sam ignores him, "you can all just take a room.
If you see the vampire then scream as would it be doom.
I will carry all the death-tools, both the hammer and the stake."
So be it then, and they all goes up the stairs to wake.
After hours, midnight nearing, a silent cry from Edgar's bed.
Samuel goes there, and he finds the poet lying dead.
Sitting next is crazy Jimmy, smiling, crying blood for tears.
Blood is running from his face: his mouth, his nose, his ears.
Samuel grows into a raging hunter crossing fingers before nose,
driving stake through heart and the blood is pretty gross.
Samuel's face is turning pale as the redness isn't gone:
"Vampire's don't bleed, this means Jimmy wasn't one!"
Sweat beads fall of him as he tremble with fright.
Something happens in the hunters shocked mind tonight;
"What did I do," he thinks, "killed an innocent boy?
More death and blood for the vampire to enjoy?"
He leaves the room in horror, and it passes from his mind,
thinking only of the hunt now, no remorse there he could find.
He barges in the door to the next room in the row.
At the first glance he sees nothing, but as we all do know,
things can hide in the dark and lie covered by sheets.
Wicked strange things, both abstracts and concretes.
He tears away the covers of the bed that stands nearby,
there's a body, huge as noone, that in that bed dost lie.
He awakens with a start and squinty-eyed as sleepers are,
it's the stranger that has traveled from a country that is far,
wondering why he was so rudely torn away from sleep.
Samuel stands there, cold and stonefaced, he has yet to start to weep.
When he sees the red on the strangers arms shine bright,
he blames the unknown man as a creature of the night.
"Did you do it?" he demands, of the suspected monster foul.
"Are you the evil being that did so gladly disembowel
Edgar, and then fed upon his heart?" And no reply.
A strangers silence is a yes (in a hunter's narrow eye).
As he reaches for the death-tools he queries once again:
"Are you the beast within that tears my mind with pain?"
The hammer and the stake are both raised for all to see,
lowered in an instant that would make a brave men flee.
The stake hits the heart and the hammer hits the stake,
stricken down with perfect blindness in a soul that will not wake.
Samuel Howard thinks with coldness that he yet again was wrong,
but his shame and thoughts of sorrow doesn't nearly last as long.
His hunt continues, he's determined, as the night is turned insane,
he is heading for the library at the ending of the lane.
The professor is there studying the death-birds of the night,
when that crazy-eyed hunter, Samuel, tries to start a fight.
"Look at yourself, Sam.", he sais "This is not who you are.
The night drives you wild, Sam. This thing has gone to far."
Samuel replies: "You been against this 'thing' from the start!"
He shouts: "Then maybe you're the one tearing us apart!"
He waves with some garlic (feared, revered in the past);
here, no effect, perhaps he just showed it to fast?
"So you're immune to garlic, eh? Let's see how you'll take it,"
he scorns, "stuffed down that throat in one giant bit!"
And he smiles with delight as the learned man chokes:
He turns remorse into nothing but a never revealed hoax.
The professor wasn't the hunted, yet Sam feels no shame.
"To kill a vampire," he thinks, "will bring fortune and fame!"
With a laugher of pride he runs out to the hall
"One must be the vampire; I will murder them all!"
So there is the next room: It's the last one of the batch.
In that room sits Sanka, scarred but yet to meet his match.
He sits reading by the window and thinking of the task.
"Why are you doing this, Sam? These things, if I may ask?"
"You are the creature then?" Sam assumes, " I thought so all along!"
He continues with a growl that freezes blood to ice
and he attacks the wondering Sanka, leaves no answers to the 'why?'s.
Sanka, used to being in a fight has instincts to his aid,
while Samuel, superstitous, hides the fact that he's afraid.
But Sanka's fighting for his life now, while Samuel's out to kill!
No self-preservation will help the loser of this thrill.
But still the fight is even, and it goes on and on for hours.
Samuel blames the even-ness on Sanka's presumed powers.
And there! a cross will help, if used to cut a vein,
and metall-smelling redness covers Samuels skin like rain.
He sighs with fake sorrow: "He wasn't one! He died for no need.
The reason I know that," he smiles, "is that he started to bleed!"
So he exits this deathscene, with no peace on his mind,
and he enters the corridors and what does he find?
Rebecca's walking down the hall, without her disguise.
"You were the vampire?" Sam cries out in surprise.
"Don't come near me, I don't want to be one of you!"
"You already are," she whispers, "you know it is true.
You are the monster among us, killing four innocent men.
Take a look in that mirror to see the death-bird again!"
Oh, he looks in the mirror, and he'd look all day,
if it weren't for the image fading away.
"One more thing," Rebecca whispers softly to the man,
"Quit aioli, and don't try to work on your tan!"
Shrieking with fire and ice, Samuel leaps out the window.
Down to the winter ground, several stories in a row.

Someone walking in the shadows, turning scarlet what was white:
It is Samuel, hunter hunted, shedding blood and stalking night.

By Sunnanvind.

©Sunnanvind Briling 1999 and forward (in the the improbable case of this page surviving the Y2K )
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