There is just something about vampires that intrigue us. Maybe it’s the fascination with good versus evil… or maybe it’s because vampires represent an exaggerated version of humanity: suffering from our past demons, wanting what we can’t have, and being afraid of death.
The night was getting chilled. It was the perfect time for a movie night with family. I made the popcorn while my brother picked out the movie. Both of our daughters was sound asleep. Just when the movie was getting really good, my brother's daughter Ellie woke up crying.
I need to write this because I'm scared, and I don't know if this is even real. Let me explain:
When I was younger in my teens, I remember a really crazy dream that still feels real to this day. It was all about a little girl. She would haunt me almost all my life.
For a thousand years there have been tales of a creature that roams the dark woods alone, a creature so dangerous and terrifying that not even the bravest of our countrymen dare to go near the edge of the mystical forest that was sprouted and grown from the deepest sorcery of black magic. Everyone tells the tales of the evilest being known to mankind keeping a watchful eye on our small town that resides just a mile away, waiting for any unlucky soul to enter, whether it be man, woman, child, or animal, and those of whom have dared to enter the inhospitably cursed woodland in the past have vanished without a trace, never to return, be heard from, or seen again, for they had entered the territory of the most dreadful being to ever walk this earth, which only goes to prove that the tales are true, and that everyone shall stay away if they value their life.
As one of the most famous creatures in horror history, the vampire has seen an evolution that few creatures built of lore, legend, fiction, and film have enjoyed" (Karg, Spaite and Sutherland (2009:p1)).
Time for Halloween to mark the beginning of Fall
The car stopped at a huge house surrounded by forests. My mother, Violence, and I got out of the car, and followed the thin path up to the house. On the door was a big knocker, which was carved in the shape of a weeping angel. The door itself was intricate and beautiful, with intertwining swirls and patterns. In truth, it reminded me of a church or cathedral. Everything seemed to be judging me, its peering eyes peeking into my soul. I didn't want anyone to see into there. I grabbed onto the back of my mother's dress. She brushed off my hands, and ushered me away.
There's a strange thing about hiding underneath the blankets. There's a sense of safety, even when there is none. We feel safe, because we believe we are unseen, even if we aren't. There's a sense of safety in being invisible. Then there is companionship. We feel safe in numbers even though we should feel more like cattle being led to the slaughter. I hold on to Violence tight to my chest underneath the blankets, and feel that false safety and think, are we ever safe? Another thing that tricks you into feeling safe is silence. That long terrifying silence that feels like the ending of a storm to find that it has truly begun. Silence was in that hospital room even over the thumping of my heart and my heavy breathing there was silence. Yet then there's the heat. The heat of another being that makes companionship, but I didn't have that. I had fire.
Knowing the origin of something is rare. Knowledge itself is power. Being self-aware of your own existence and strength is something that is equally great and damning.
It was the most beautiful collection that he had in his possession. Some were puzzled by the fact that a collection this size would give the impression that he needed these little ones to have as real friends. The problem with that point of view was the fact that they weren't real. They were toys. And Stevie would have to face the fact that he was allowing himself to think and feel they were real.