Dreamwalker

Note: This is chapter ten of my gothic vampire novel titled: The Death of Elvira. To read the previous chapters, checkout my pinned story. Refresh yourself on the content warnings before proceeding.

Chapter Ten

Rosia hadn’t noticed her absence, nor the screams that tore her from sleep after she’d slid in beside her. That next day was gray, the sky lined with charcoal clouds. As rain pelted the windows and the wind howled, they sat on the couch, binging on trashy television and even trashier food.

She’d be staying with Elvira for a few weeks. Our goodbye, Rosia had said sullenly. Elvira hadn’t flinched, despite how badly she’d been tempted to. If this was their goodbye, then they’d spend it well.

During those weeks, they reverted to being little kids, using chocolate-covered pretzel sticks as swords pressed between their lips, sleeping in forts, and playing all of their favorite childhood games. And when the first rays of sunshine appeared, they took to the outdoors. Of course, Rosia was a bit slower, a bit more breathless, than she was in their childhood.

Elvira’s nightmares never stopped, but she held onto her sanity with a tight, unrelenting grasp. She would not let them ruin her time with her best friend. Even if a part of her was beginning to believe that some of them were real. It didn’t make sense and seemed impossible, but there was no science backing up vampires and yet she knew they existed. And somehow, a real one was visiting her dreams, ending them before they could become too scarring.

Sometimes, all she’d see was blood; red blood that filled her throat until she was drowning in it. “It’s only a dream,” that same voice would say again, feeling as strange inside her head as it had the first time, “wake up, Elvira, before you tear yourself to shreds.” She’d wake then, finding the underside of her nails crusted with her own blood and claw marks down her chest.

Rosia never woke, something that was also unfamiliar to her. She’d never been a deep sleeper and would have woken the moment Elvira so much as twitched. But she was grateful, for it meant Rosia’s last memory of her wouldn’t be of Elvira in the throes of her trauma.

One night, over halfway into Rosia’s stay, Elvira woke up inside of the graveyard.

The stone was cold on her bare feet, sending shivers all the way up her body. She looked around, bewildered. She had no memory of ever leaving the bed or even the house and was still in her sleeping clothes; a large black t-shirt and shorts. The outfit was too skimpy for mid-spring weather and left her clutching at herself for warmth.

There was a horribly familiar animalistic screech to her left, and she whipped towards it. In that split second, all she saw were the clawed faces of her nightmares, racing towards her. But then her vision cleared.

Indeed, there was a Shade. She could tell by the weapon’s harness and silver blood leaking from its arm, and it ran for her, golden eyes wild and hungry. But the demon was closer, and he stormed towards her with a dark expression.

“You shouldn’t be here,” was all he said before his form exploded into a flurry of bats, flying straight towards her.

She stumbled back with a cry, throwing her hands up to shield her face.

Elvira shot awake then, her chest pumping and sweat coating her skin. Her eyes darted to the shadows of the room, and finding no Shades or vampires, she jumped out of the bed and ran to the windows.

It was too far away for her to be certain, but she was sure she caught the demon’s dark form turning away from her. Then an inhuman scream echoed in the night.

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