I see well that the intensity of the moment has settled upon you, but we must now stop the story at this point and instead, reverse its course. Closer to the beginning, but still far from it. Now, we must settle our gaze upon a man who walks a lonely road. A very reserved and private individual, who keeps to himself. Few know of his existence and fewer still know his name. As such, they simply call him The Silent Man, as he rarely speaks.
He is attired as befits a traveler wearing a wide brimmed hat and long coat with a sword at his side. Yet, his journey is not long. He emerges from out of a forest which conceals his residence from the prying eyes of the outside world. His steps are quiet and his voice even more so, but this was not always the state of his existence.
Once he was known as Timothy, a simple boy much beloved by his father, Samuel and his mother, Mary Anne. This love, however, could not stop the summons to war which was laid upon his father, who had no choice but to answer the call. A heavy shadow fell upon the household which weighs down the occupants and persists beyond Samuel's departure.
Day in and day out the remaining family members await his return. They toil the days away, trying to stay as busy as possible so as not to focus on the absence. It takes a while but they eventually find a rhythm that allows them to accept the absence and move on with their lives without cutting him completely out of theirs.
At long last Samuel returns. His presence alone sets his family's collective hearts alight, but it does distress them. For wrapped around his eyes is a bandage that hides his burned eyes from the rest of the world, a result of sleeping far too close to a campfire when one has a tendency to roll in their sleep.
Timothy and Mary Anne stifle a smile and a tear as they give him a great big hug. For though the situation is indeed humorous, it still leaves the father blind. However, he's not so stricken by the awkward situation and gives to rolling laughter which his family joins in. It abates their apprehension and they come to a state of accepting a new normal.
The father lives with his handicap and even learns to exceed it. His work is not much hindered by it either as he is by trade, a man who cuts down trees, or woodsman. And so long as he knows where the tree is, he finds it little difficult to fell. So, as explained, their life is not much inconvenienced by the inability. The family lives day to day and spends many a quiet evening gathered round the fire inside their cozy, little home. It's during such a calm, autumn eve, that there comes a knock upon the door.
Samuel stands from his place and opens it. "Good evening to you," he greets the strange man who stands there, undeterred by his blindness.
"And to you woodsman," the stranger replies with an icy voice, as he surveys the interior.
"Would you like to come in and warm yourself by our fire on this chilly evening?" Samuel offers holding out an arm, gesturing to the fireplace.
"I would love a seat," the stranger accepts as he steps across the threshold.
Timothy watches the stranger advance and he doesn't like the look of him. He's not certain what it is he does not like exactly, but something about this man doesn't sit well with him. Still, the visitor sits, not near the fire as the father had suggested, but a distance from it, while Samuel rejoins his family and then there is silence.
"Is there something wrong?" Samuel asks, breaking the stillness as he returns to his seat.
"Nothing wrong," the stranger assures him as he stares directly at the previous speaker. "I'm just sizing you up."
"For what?" Samuel inquires with genuine interest and sits up straighter.
"For my dinner," the stranger informs him with words as cold as ice and a head cradled on his resting arms.
All remain in stunned silence.
"You must be jesting," Samuel starts in with a look of confusion plastered on his face.
"No jest," the stranger replies, his eyes never wavering. "You see, I have a friend, whom I often dine with, and one night he told me that the best blood to be had belongs to hearty woodsmen."
"Please, you can't mean-" Samuel continues while he physically retreats some.
"That's exactly what I said," the stranger returns and gives a creepy smile. "But my friend insisted. He said. 'You haven't truly tasted blood, until you've tasted a woodsman's blood.' So, I decided to give it a try."
Samuel rises from his place. "Sir, you do not presume to say-" is all he's able to get out as shock pulls at his face.
"I am indeed," the stranger breathes as a wicked grin curls his lips.
Samuel leaps forward and takes hold of his guest's throat. "Run!" he screams to his family while focusing in their general direction.
The family remains frozen in place, unable to move. The situation is so far removed from reality that it seems completely implausible and is therefore hard to cope with.
The stranger on the other hand, finds it easy enough to accept and does not stir, even with his throat being clutched. "You do realize that since I don't breathe," the stranger begins as he leans forward. "You holding my throat in no way hinders me, don't you?"
Samuel pays no mind. "Run!" he shouts even louder than before.
This time Mary Anne reacts. Taking hold of Timothy's hand she runs out the door as fast as she can while the tears stream from her eyes. The boy does nothing, other than keep pace, he still can't believe it's happening and so reverts to simple mechanical function. Once a safe distance away, the two hide themselves as they wait, watch and listen, all through the night and into the morning.
Mary Anne waits as long as her patience will allow. She looks to her son who is still wide-eyed with terror. She gives him a reassuring hug before they both set off for the cabin. It lays in complete stillness, the door shut. For a moment, they believe it all to have been a strange dream, but entering the house wakes them to reality.
The inside is completely trashed. The furniture is strewn about, broken into pieces, and there are deep ruts in the wood, both on the floor and against the walls. All signs of a violent struggle and in the middle of this mess, lies Samuel. His body is cold and does not respond to the affection poured upon it. He's dead, though no blood lay upon his body, only numerous small holes riddling his body. So, Mary Anne and her son are forced to bury the body.
It is a long, solemn occasion and neither of them speak. Mary Anne carries out all the work as Timothy watches. At last, the hole is dug, while the body remains to be seated inside it. Samuel's body has been wrapped with a white sheet and upon it sits a small, wooden trinket. It's a flat faced piece of wood with his name inscribed upon it. Mary Anne clutches the trinket in her hand as the tears stream down her face, while her mind is lost to memory.
She recalls a time far removed when Samuel was distressed. He didn't want to go to war, but he had no choice. Had he stayed he would have been rounded up with the rest of the deserters and either executed, or exiled to forced labor. He tried to make this clear, but his wife would not listen and was lost to all reason on the matter.
"If you go, then you will never come back," Mary Anne insists as she turns her back on her spouse.
Samuel has no words for her and so the matter is laid to rest, but not forgotten.
That evening the family gathered around the fire. No one speaks and the tension is simply palpable. Then Samuel sets something between them all. It's a flattened stick with their names carved on it. He takes a hatchet and cuts the stick twice, between each of the names and bores a hole at the top of each inscription.
Into each hole he laces a chord and loops it, which is long enough to slip over the wearer's head and hang like a necklace. Finished, he distributes the trinkets to their namesake, while keeping the one with his. His face says it's completely natural, but Timothy and his mother are perplexed by the strange gift.
"I've heard of an ancient clan that lived far away from us," Samuel explains to them as he turns to poke the fire. "Anytime the men were called to battle, they would take a stick, write their name on one end and their beloved's on the other. They would then break the stick between the names, keeping their own piece with them while giving the other to their beloved who was so named. Then, when they returned from battle, they would reunite the pieces and thus be made whole again."
The woodman smiles warmly in the glowing light of the fire as the weight of the gift settles upon Mary Anne, who springs from her seat and embraces her husband while their child joins in the embrace, each one of them now wearing their keepsake. The trio squeeze each other tightly as they openly weep and swear to always be together.
Tears much like those shed then, once again roll down the cheeks of the newly widowed woman as she and her son lower the body into the ground, before covering it over with dirt. Now, they need a marker. Mary Anne creates an effigy using a thick stick which she had bored a hole in its top and threaded the chord of Samuel's keepsake through the hole and loops it round to the front, where she pulls the stick through the loop, thus securing and allowing it to hang.
They stand for a time before the finished grave, the mother and the boy, till at length they return to their lives. From that moment on, things are different in their lives. Timothy copes with the situation by assuring himself that his father had simply died, not been made a victim of a vampire's bloodlust, but not Mary Anne. She despairs the loss deeply, and cannot forget it.
As best she can she prepares for the day when she would again meet the vampire who had destroyed her life, that she might enact her revenge. For she believed one day he would once again darken their doorstep. The night arrives as does any other, with the pair gathering round the fire for the evening meal.
A knock is heard which reverberates throughout the one room hovel. Mary Anne looks to Timothy and they both hold for several moments as they gaze upon the closed entry. She prepares herself both physically, with a stake in one hand, and mentally as she has to psyche herself up for the encounter to come and moves to the door.
"Who's there?" she calls from behind the closed entry and places her ear upon the wood.
"Someone who would seek shelter in their own home," a cold voice responds.
Mary Anne is distraught, her enemy, presumes to own the house. She opens wide the door and nearly drops the stake. Within the open doorway, stands not the stranger that she expected, but her deceased husband, Samuel. The boy and his mother are taken aback. They thought they'd never see him again.
"Why, whatever is the matter?" the father speaks with words of ice as he stands large as life before his family. "You look as though you've seen a ghost, but you'd be far from the mark."
Mary Anne retreats from her husband's advance with her son just behind her.
"Come now my dear," Samuel responds to the action, as he continues to walk toward her. "Have you not a greeting for your beloved husband?"
Mary Anne backs away from the strange yet familiar visage while her son keeps behind her as she becomes a wall that he can safely hide behind. She watches as the darkened figure traipses across the floor and stops before the fireplace. For several moments he stands, unmoving, unspeaking and gazes into the blaze.
Samuel turns about. "Am I so changed, that you do not see your beloved husband at all?" he inquires after his family and looks somewhat hurt.
Mary Anne looks as best she can, and though she sees the outline that belonged to her cherished beloved, she still does not see his soul and she knows that whatever happens after this night their lives will never be the same. She advances from her position, leaving her boy behind as she walks across the floor and stands before the man in front of the fireplace. She places her hand upon his chest and casts her head downward.
Samuel takes hold of her chin and lifts her head to meet his gaze. "Look to me," he speaks as he looks deep into her eyes.
Mary Anne returns the gaze and together, the two remain locked.
"Do you still not see me?" Samuel presses, as he draws his wife closer.
Mary Anne tries as best she can, but she still cannot see her husband. Perhaps, it's the ice that his voice possesses, never before did she hear him speak so coldly. So, though she tried all the more, she can see naught but the shadow of the monster who had stolen her beloved away. It pains her, but she knows what she must do. Forever more will she have to throw him away. Her husband is dead, it's time to see the deed made official.
Mary Anne gives one last embrace "You'll not have us," she whispers into his ear before driving the stake into his chest with all the malice she can bring to bear.
The rudimentary weapon pierces Samuel's flesh, but goes no further. His inhuman reflexes and strength hold back the violation with a single hand while his other hand still holds to his wife's chin. He stares into her enraged eyes as tears stream down her face while she tries to muster enough strength to drive the weapon home.
"Please," Samuel pleads and though his words are still like ice, they now contain a hint of warmth. "You must see me!"
Mary Anne shakes her head as she drops her face and presses the attack.
"Look!" Samuel demands, as he raises her chin again, but this time with less tenderness.
There's a sudden, sickening crack that echoes throughout the stillness of the cabin and for a long moment no one dares to move. The father looks to his wife as her head rolls to the side and hangs at an unnatural angle. It seems the force of his gesture had been too much for her fragile neck to cope with.
Her body droops within his arms as it slowly lowers to the ground where it lays perfectly still. Samuel looks to the boy who yet remains cowering. In his eyes he can see confusion mixing with fear. But none of that matters. The deed is done and there's no taking it back. As such, the father casts the stake used against him into the fire before turning on his heel and walking out the door, giving one last look and shutting it.