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Vampire story

* Gewnddydd pronounce "Sidhe," in the proper manner, "Shee." A
Sidhe is a small faerie-demon who was rumored to haunt the Irish
settlers and play tricks on them. The Sidhe were said to be a
race of gods, named the Tuatha de Danaan. (The children of the
Goddess Danu.)
** A 'Dun' is an old Irish stronghold.
*** A Manteis, or Seer is a Irish fortune teller.
**** Gwenddydd claims her name to be "Gwenddydd Risthartae,"
which merely means Gwenddydd the Majick User.
Copyright 1993 by Donald Wilson Dimmick aka. "Noah Dimmock." All
rights reserved. November 20, 1993
Innocent Victim

By: Noah Dimmock


"Impressions received in childhood cannot be erased from the
soul."
-Frederick the Great, King of Prussia 1712-1730

The young red-haired boy travelled blindly through the
darkness of the dense redwood forest with all the courage and
valor of a Teutonic Knight. He imagined himself as the gallant
Sir Patrick McCoy, Dragonslayer & Bane of all evil. Every nook
and cranny brought visions of demons, goblins, and other such
hellspawn to young Patrick's eye. Just as he was about to
unsheathe the almighty Excalibur (or rather, a well-rounded
branch plucked from a birch tree) at the unruly forces peering at
him through the holes in the darkness, a painful chill ran up his
spine causing him to stand upright.
Patrick could distinctly smell burnt wood, and hear
a faint melody being played by a soft feminine singing voice. The
music was gypsy-like in it's nature, uncontrolled yet fluent.
Enticing him to travel deeper into the unknown, the music was so
captivating one would need not have ears to be captured by the
wondrous instrument's potency. Patrick crept closer towards the
fire, and just as he reached the edge of a clearing, he
accidently tripped on a branch and fell through the thicket.
Then the music gently came to a stop, and Patrick gazed
upward at the musician in awe. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow
at him, as he continued to stare at her. She was a mystical sight
indeed, with chalk white skin that conglomerated with her mane of
black satin hair that fell at her feet, and coiled around her
ankles. Her blood red lips pursed in a sly grin, dark arching
eyebrows, and two clear pupils tinged with a light violet hue
eyed the disturbance with keen scrutiny.
With a rich sardonic smile the musician whispered to him in
a harsh Irish accent, much thicker then his own. "Aye, I can see
we've had quite a trip m'little friend, in more ways then un."
He grasped for words, but when none came he gently opened
his mouth, and closed it once again.
With genuine concern in her eyes the strikingly pale woman
said, "Now, now, calm down m'lad. I'm surprised ye haven't
run in t'worse things then m'self travelling all by ye lonesome
in a forest o'the shee, and ye less then a mature man's age!
Blight shall befall ye if ye don't be careful young one. Alas, in
many times past & many times hence I have been called Gwenddydd
Risthartae, and ye self would be young Patrick Seamus McCoy, who
quite oddly fell upon m'enclave merely t'stutter and squirm on
precious mother earth?"
Once again, he tried to speak, but was much too dismayed to
even form a complete thought. He managed to eek out a protesting
"but how" before he was silenced by the lovely musician.
"Oh, I know many things dear boy, names being among the
least o'them. Ripples channelin' through aulde Mother Earth
warned me o'ye presence a fortnight away! 'Twas o'course no
coincidence that I beckon ye here. Hmmm.." She scratched her
chin, and went off into a five minute contemplation, and just as
Patrick was about to break the eerie silence, she lifted her
eyebrow, and smoothly commented. "My, my.. Wonder what mother
would think o'ye being out here all alone?" She emphasized the
word "mother" with a tinge of malice on her tongue.
Now Patrick's green eyes open to their full extent,
recalling the forlorn memories of his mother's death. He blinked
back the tears from his eyes, and flatly replied, "M'ma.. uh..
went away, for quite a bit o'time."
"I know Patrick." The maternal voice melted his heart, and
in a moment of entrapment he looked away, biting his lip hard to
hold back his turbulent emotions. But even as he turned away, he
felt himself lifted off his feet, as if by some supernatural
force, and cradled in the arms of the stranger.
And then it happened, the forbidden law of all glorious
warriors: he cried. In that single moment of exclusion Patrick
wept every tear he'd held inside his frail body since the day of
his mother's burial. She held his head to her chest as his mother
did when he was only a young boy, and drew a hand up through his
hair reassuringly.
Moments later he awoke from a dreamy trance. As he looked
around for the familiar redwoods and sedation of the enclosed
clearing he was filled with utter confusion at the magnificent
change of scenery. He sat upon a very large violet mushroom,
still cradled by the arms of the stranger. The sky was a clear
light green, and the ground the exact blue of the sky as in the
world which he knew. The clouds seemed to hang close to the
ground, and just as he reached up to touch the clear white vapor,
Gwen's glazed eyes opened wide, and she looked at him with her
head cocked to the side.
"Who are you?" He asked as he quickly surveyed his
surroundings."And where am I?"
"Surely ye memory isn't as poor as t'forget m'name already?
And ye quite obviously are in an Orifice."
"A what?"
"'Tis an opening inside ye self, Seam."
"Seam?"
"Aye, short for that odd second title which seems t'tag
along ye first name, Seamus, which I prefer to call you."
Patrick contemplated the nickname, and shrugged. "No one's
ever called me Seam before," and with a reluctant grin, "but I do
like it."
Gwen returned the grin with an appreciative nod of her
head. "So be it, Seam! Now hurry up, and join m'in a game o'
Vinevickle."
With a quizzical expression upon his face Seam paused, and
asked, "Uhhh... What is a Vinevickle?"
"These," she pointed towards a patch of exquisite gem-like
flowers, which seemed to sway back and forth, taking little gold
dust particles from one another, and passing it to the next. "are
Merrifolds, a rather droll patch o'gossipin' flowers. Vinevickle
is the game o'which Merrifolds become the most unwilling
participant of. Each o'these Merrifolds ye find here form a sort
o'family, and that family in turn produces three different types
o'Shee dust: Dust o'Castles, Dust o'Towers, and Dust o'Dragons."
Then she bent down, and held up a sharp silver edged weapon to
the light, which bent in a curve quite like a large hook. "'Tis a
Silver Sickle. You get one and I get one. Each o'the players
takes one o'the sickles and cuts the Merrifolds' stem. The gold
shee dust emitted by the plant can be used t'create three playing
pieces: a Dragon, a Castle, or a fortified Tower. Now 'twould do
ye good t'remember that ye can't just walk o'er to a Merrifold,
and cleave it in twain. They will fight fiercely t'hold on
t'their dull and sundry life which they seem t'praise more then
the mischievous faerie-folk who created their bloody lives in the
first place."
Seam examined the patch of flowers which through their dust
blowing pods were making ungainly comments such as, "Did ye hear
about old Kilty Mcquire?" Another would open wide, and in a clear
state of astonishment would gasp loudly, "No! What 'tis it that
the old rascal is up t'now?" Then the inquisitor would go on to
berate and belabor the subject's social life, private life,
clothes, hair, and eye color. Just as the flower started on the
inconsistencies of his character, a sharp pain: something very
familiar, twitched in the back of his mind as if he had heard the
same comments on some other dark and dreary day which he had long
since forgotten. Then Seam became quite serious, and skeptically
asked. "These plants.... they're not alive are they?"
Gwen snorted in contempt. "Hah! Nay, I wouldn't be one t'
call what these folk do living." And then seemingly oblivious to
Seam's protests, she preceded to nonchalantly walk over, and with
skillful ease lop off the gossiping plant's blossom, the vine
growing out and into an immense castle wall. "'Tis the first
wall of the Castle o' which I'll be naming Lann Awynn. Now, ye do
the same."
Patrick's first intention was to run as far away from the
nightmare as possible, and shout for help within the madness that
surrounded him. Just then however, the listener eyed his
neighbor's corpse, and turned his blossom away. He looked over to
another plant which had been doing it's very best to eavesdrop,
and began once again as his deceased friend did beforehand to
maliciously slander the passed away Merrifold's life in the same
manner the former had. It continued on to criticize the very
death of his neighbor, commenting on how it was her own fault
that she had died, and maybe, just maybe, if she had even
bothered to take the proper precautions, or maybe lived a little
more civilized, she wouldn't be in the fix she is in now.
In a fit of anger, Patrick gripped the cold silver sickle,
and violently beheaded the neighboring plant. The stem turned
into an equally well designed Castle Wall with a clear slate
across the front which implied that something was missing.
After the initial anger passed, Seam looked over at Gwen and
asked dumbly. "Well, what now?"
"Ye are going t'have t'put a name upon that Dun.**"
"Then I shall call it Dun Culchulain."
"A fine name indeed, but lets see if ye live up t'that most
venerable Celtic Legend's name on the playing field!"
And with that, Gwen and Seam dove into the patch of
traumatized flowers, and began to build up their strongholds.
Barking out commands like a groaning banshee, Seam
flailed his arms wildly in the air, commanding the exquisitely
colorful skinned Dragons to begin a formation. They launched
foray, after foray upon the opponent's stronghold, and it seemed
unlikely anyone would win, until the smell of Dragon's blood
permeated the battlefield, and Gwen rose a white flag recognizing
her depleted storage of Merrifolds.
Gwen snapped her fingers, and with a cocky smile she
exclaimed. "Well, ye can't win them all, can ye?" She chuckled
to herself as Seam triumphantly danced all over the field,
causing downcast looks from the enemy Dragons who as his own were
fading away into the distance. Just before he went over to Lann
Anywnn, and plucked a rather unusually silent Merrifold from the
left over patch of flowers. The enchanting little plant gave not
one howl in agony, or gram of shee dust. Instead, it merely
laughed. An ancient, elderly laugh full of mirth and cynicism.
The plat gleamed once in the sun, and Seam inuitively decided to
intertwine the old Merrifold into his long red hair decoratively
as this seemed to be a treasure of no minor importance. Then
with immense fatigue the Seam and Gwen fell upon the clear blue
grass, quickly drifting off into sleep.
As time went on within the Orifice, however time did go on
in an Orifice, Seamus grew deeper and deeper into the enchanted
land's spell like ability to capture his heart, and fill his body
with laughter and excitement. Several nights, Seamus spent at
Gewn's side learning the myths of the Celts who had conquered the
Land of Erin, or rather the odd name of which Gwen chose to call
Ireland. This Erin, very different from present day Ireland,
became a utopian heaven for Seam, and more then once he had found
himself wishing he had been born in the earlier days of the
heroic Celts. Seam lived in the city of Dublin, that which Gwen
insisted on calling "The Lands of Emain Macha," his father worked
as a foreman in a shipping company, but made only enough money
for them to live on. He was visiting family in the County of
Leinster, and feeling very lonely, decided that he might sojourn
into the neighboring forest for a bit, and discover hidden
faeries ready to lead him on adventure. Once, Seam asked Gwen if
she was a faerie, but she shook her head warily and told him not
to ask again, "for there are answers which I shant ever be giving
ye, m'dear." Seam decided that she was indeed one of the mythical
faeries, and that she had abducted him so that when he was old
enough to marry in Ulster proper, she would bring him back, and
they would live "happily ever after."
One night while sitting at a campfire lost within one of the
magnificent gypsy songs Gwenddydd would play, he started to think
about his own world. A morass of voices begin to clamor and jeer
in his mind: the school mates who made fun of him, his father's
bitter and lifeless voice full of guilt, his aunts, uncles, and
relatives spitting out lies about his beloved mother, and most of
all the loneliness which pressured him constantly to just give
up, to walk off into the distance and never look back. Then his
thought's turned to this new world. The many lessons Gwen taught
him beside the campfire at night began to swirl around in his
mind: What would ye mother think.... Sometimes the answers are
right under ye nose... 'tis no such thing as a problem without a
gift for ye self waitn' in it's hands, seek them out... You're
never given a wish without also being given the power t'make it
true, work for it Seam.. What about ye own home? your school?...
Are ye sure you won't be wanting t'go back... go back... Why do
ye fear death?....Death is an end, to seek out an end is to throw
away the gifts given to ye by the Goddess o'Erin herself..go
back... what would mother think?... go back.. What would
mother... go back.... never given a wish without the power to
make it true... work for it.. go back.. mother... death...
mother... death... throw it away... death... seek them out...
make it true. The whole gruesome nightmare seemed to spin over
and over again. He saw himself with his mother on a carousel, and
as they spun along he looked up at his mother. Her eyes twinkled,
and he could feel her arms around
him, but just then in short horrifying blanks of time the
carousel began to stop. In his childhood voice he heard himself
scream in terror as his mother melted into non-existance. The
carousel scene disappeared and was replaced by his father
standing before his mother's grave in a drunken stupor crying out
in a gruff voice: Oh,Briga! Briga! Brigaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!
He awoke in a cold sweat, but as he strained to lean
forward, he found he was entrapped, or rather, tied down to a
cement slab. There was a strong smell of sandlewood incense in
the air, and the torches around him emitted a sweltering heat. He
could hear a drum being played repetitiously in the background,
and as he looked around, he realized that he had come back to the
clearing where he had met Gwenddydd that night. Now in a state of
immediate panic, he looked up and saw Gwen with a blank
expression upon her face, and a dullness in her eyes as she beat
the ceremonial drum. He looked off to both sides of the altar,
and noticed two silver chalices full to the top with blood, and
immediately above his forehead sat a menacing skull covered with
celtic. Then, Gwen became to speak in a somber voice, "A Bard's
mandolin can only create so many variations on an original theme,
just as life can only play out so many years until we find
ourselves holding nothing left. I am Gwenddydd Og Mannaan, better
known to m'own people as Gwen, Daughter o'the God of the Sea.
M'gifts o'music given t'me by m'father have brought me on an
immortal journey through life, and a discreet and lonely one at
that. I left m'foster family, who claimed t'not know who left me
at their Dun. The Druid finally professed that I was in fact the
daughter o'a Seer which by a curse could not be named, and the
God of the Sea. When I was but a wee little girl I travelled
across the sea on my fathers back t'the land o'Erin, and bid my
native Albu a fond adieu. 'Tis where I dwelled, and became a
travelling Bard named "Emer," after the only Erin maiden's name I
knew, that of the wife o'Cuchulain. There I encountered after my
many travels throughout the country side a Welsh-Manteis of ill
reputation named Rhiannon, the first and only Vampire o'celtic
blood. Later I was to find this disgusting charlatan to be in
fact m'own mother, by which means I've discovered not."
She breathed in deeply, and gazed sadly upon her victims
innocent green eyes. "Alas, I have a curse upon m'head which hath
incarcerated m'self in the Clearing o'a forest which was once
known as North Bristia, now 'tis nameless. I wait patiently each
night for the people o'Erin t'walk within North Bristia, so I can
draw them to m'clearing and open up an Orifice within them. Now,
I've thirsted too long.... Ye are but another lost voice in a
morass of victims which I cry for each night as they howl t'me
from the land o'the dead. Ye shall never know o'young Seamus how
much I love ye, and how sorry I am for the fate which must befall
ye at such a young age."
Now his heart skipped a pace, and he frantically shouted out
to her, cried, screamed, and tore inside at himself to no avail.
She rose from her position gracefully. Slowly walking over to the
stone altar whereupon lay Patrick's quivering body, and lifted up
a viciously sharp blade, and rose it in the air above his head.
There was a long drawn out moment of silence, and a sickly nausea
crept over his body. With vindictive force, the blade came
crashing down, slashing painfully across his neck. The wound bled
profusely, but none so before Gwen revealed a set of hideous
fangs, and with her tongue lashing out she sucked his blood with
vehement force. An orgasmic euphoria spread over his young body
as the blood drained out of him. At that exact moment, in an
instinctual will to survive, he felt the back of
his head for the hidden dead merrifold which he wore
decoratively. The Orifice wasn't that far away, for he could
clearly feel the soft edges of the Merrifold blossom, as he
pulled forward with his two fingers releasing it from it's base.
The off-blue dragon appeared as a shadow against the silvery
waning moon which illuminated the sacrificing altar. Just as
Patrick felt he could no longer hold consciousness, the silver
blue dragon swooped down in a burst of energy, and ripped Gwen's
suckling mouth from Patrick's bloody neck. There was a loud
overbearing pain when her mouth was released, and when he found
he had the freedom to move, he fell off the stone slab, and began
to heave. Time seemed to stop, as in a berserk fit of rage the
vampiress charged at him. He looked at the ground, and briskly
clutched the sharp silver dagger, and shoved it into her abdomen
with his remaining strength. Gwen's eyes opened painfully wide,
and she doubled back over the stone altar, gurgling blood. Her
body convulsed for a brief second, and then became cold and
motionless.
He had only time for a final tear, and as he heaved forth a
heavy sigh he felt himself slipping away back into
unconsciousness.
The next morning all was silent except for a constant
beating of rain drops on his thoroughly saturated body. The
morning sunrise was an off color purple, a reminder of the
tainted pupiless eyes he once adored. He could think quite
clearly, much clearer then he had in a very long time. Everything
seemed to be behind him, and with him he held all the answers he
needed. It didn't matter that there was no explanation for the
healed wound, the missing altar, and even more startling, the
missing corpse. He stood fully naked, drenched in water from head
to toe, and looked off in the distance. His destiny guided him
home, and his past he wore as his clothes.
(C) 1993 Donald Wilson Dimmick aka. Noah Dimmock
 
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