The Bronte Vampires

The Brontes
An icy cold wind swirled across the bleak and barren moorland above the village of Haworth, making a sound like a noose tightening and stretching the rope on a scaffold. The night was black; the clouds were rolling in and taking away any natural light that may have helped a traveler to find their way,
Out there in that blackness were the silhouettes of three  ladies with skirts blowing in the cold night air, they were just visible on the moorland. There also appeared to be another figure standing close by them this figure had the appearance of a man who moved towards the ladies in a quietly confident manner with head held high.
There was a peel of thunder followed by a flash of lightening which broke through the darkness turning the sky electric blue which cast an eerie light where the figures stood. Another peel of rumbling thunder, then it began to rain falling steadily another flash of lightening revealed the rain drops rolling down the faces of the ladies like tears but these were icy cold tears rolling down their cold dead flesh, their dead eyes  stared out sightlessly at the village and its inhabitants, there was no emotion just the nothingness of death their real tears had dried up centuries before.
The one they called Branwell came and stood in front his sisters Charlotte, Emily and Anne his cloak billowed with blackness, the four of them had only one thing on their minds, that was to hunt for mortal blood, the four of them had paid the ultimate price many years ago, the superstitious villagers had accused them of being vampires because of the mysterious deaths in the village where people had been drained of their life blood, they were hunted down by the villagers and the church of which their father Patrick was a minister, when they were cornered cruel stakes had been hammered through their hearts condemning them to an eternity of darkness.
All of them swore their vengeance on the villagers and their descendents and swore that they would one day return to the cobbled streets of the village.
There had been an accident up on the moorland earlier in the week when a hiker  had fallen and gashed his leg causing his  blood to seep into the ground unfortunately this area of moorland is where the villagers had buried the bodies of Branwell and his sisters  his innocent blood brought them back to life and they were out now looking for vengeance on all the descendents  of those who had taken their lives.

The four of them made their way down from the moors and headed towards Main Street with its cobbled road illuminated by gas lamps which were flickering in the wind behind their glass cowls, mist swirled around the lamps often giving the impression of being the spirits of those who had departed this mortal coil many years before.
They seemed to glide across the cobbles towards the apothecaries shop where in his life Branwell had bought much laudanum at the height of his alcoholism and drug addiction the Apothecary who administered powders and potions from his shop was one of the gang of people who had killed Branwell and his sisters the current owner was a direct descendant and as such was on their mind as they sought vengeance!  They opened the door and entered the building which smelled strongly of medicinal powders and the unmistakable smell of clove oil as they opened the door the bell rang to inform the owner that someone required attention as he walked from the back of the premises he was faced with the four of them and an instant fear fell upon him as he looked into their cold dead eyes, Can I help you he stuttered? The four of them just stared at him and felt the rage of centuries coursing through their veins Branwell moved forward and took hold of the Apothecary and in his death like grip he was powerless it was then that the sisters moved forward and Emily and Anne took hold of his arms and began to bite on his wrist While Charlotte went to bite him on the neck He struggled but to no Avail he then collapsed to the floor drained of his life blood , the four of them looked at each other  Branwell left the shop first stepping out into the cold night air his cloak which was as dark as the night itself  billowed about him as if he was part of the shadows around him then again from those dark dead eyes he turned to Charlotte, Emily and Anne he  smiled at them it was like staring into the face of death itself  his eyes were empty and emotionless, they looked at each other in satisfaction as they knew that their vengeance had begun. 
They then walked across the road to the Black Bull Inn which was a regular drinking place for Branwell all those years ago, The sign outside the pub swung too and fro in the wind making an eerie screeching sound of metal against metal, the lights in the pub were on and as they looked up smoke plumed high into the night sky from the peat burning hearth within, they could here music being played by the old piano minstrel  laughter came from within Branwell was the first to open the door of the Inn closely followed by his sisters they stood a short distance from the bar and stared at those gathered within the landlord glanced over and said, “ can I help you ?” Branwell walked straight over to him and slit his throat with one swipe of his hand and as the blood flowed Charlotte ,Emily and Anne pounced and drank greedily from the open wound, The other people inside the pub tried to escape but Branwell blocked their path they had no where to run to and very soon all had been dispatched into the arms of death there were seven in all now just empty vessels just as the glasses they had been drinking from Branwell turned to his sisters and smiled that hideous smile of satisfaction once again as he led them out of the Inn That was another seven people who’s ancestors had been involved in their slaying all those years ago .
Branwell led his sisters up the cobbled road leading to the stone steps to St Michaels and All Angels  church where they walked around the graveyard looking at the many stones which bore the names of those long past something that they had been denied as the Rector  at the time was their own father Patrick who had   refused to let their bodies lie in sanctified ground as they  were believed to be Nosferatu  the living dead,  as they wandered around they could feel the anger welling up inside their bodies again as they relived that horrible moment when those cruel stakes were driven through their hearts, Branwell motioned them towards the parsonage Where they had lived with their father.
Branwell led his sisters up to the parsonage door and knocked , after a short while a gentleman opened the door holding a candlestick as he peered out into the darkness his eyes picked out the four figures standing there, When his eyes became accustomed to the dark he recoiled in horror as he stared into the dark and emotionless eyes of Branwell  he spoke saying , “ get away from here you foul creatures “ Branwell replied, “ You dare to command us mortal ?” as he spoke his voice did not seem to emit from his mouth but thundered from all around, “ are you so caught up in your faith that you think it has hold over us ? are you so arrogant as to believe it will conquer us ?”
The rector stood open mouthed and said , “ I shall not fight you but I will put my trust in God” at this he got hold of his old crucifix and began reciting the Lords prayer then just as he  got to the part of the prayer which goes  deliver us from evil  Branwell  pounced and got hold of the rectors shirt and tore the cloth then dug his hands into the rectors chest  and with brute strength he parted skin, sinew and muscle and snapped his ribcage like matchwood and there it lay the rectors heart still beating within the chest cavity a warm vibrant and bloody human heart  in all its glory then with one tug he pulled it free holding it up to the night sky before bringing it to his mouth to eat, Charlotte, Emily and Anne were knelt on the floor beside the body drinking the blood from his chest.
The night was passing quickly and soon it would be dawn, the sun would rise on a brand new day so they needed to find somewhere to rest until it was nightfall once again, Branwell knew the perfect place and motioned his sisters back towards the church as he remembered what seems centuries ago being taken through a small door on the west side of the chancel wall by his father leading  to the crypt where past incumbents of the church had been lain to rest, It was the perfect place shielded from the sunlight, they all found a resting place and vowed to each other that their vengeance would carry on at nightfall.

TO BE CONTINUED 
Graham Jenkinson 05-03-2017 

Tags: dark, imagery, hate, fear,