The ravine was narrow enough that it'd make an excellent ambush-spot to catch anything passing through it,
thought Peggy Powler as she warily stepped onto the sandy path towards where Father Mathew Jacobs was
pointing. "It's just beyond that boulder" the worried Priest said with a slight warble in his voice, he didn't like
being here again.
Just like the flask of coffee earlier, the intrepid Witch had produced a strange-looking lantern from her canvas
tote and holding above her head, she peered at the frightened man next to her. "You say nothing came out when
the hunters were here?" she asked in a hushed voice and watched for any sign of uncertainty, but she saw none.
"I waited a whole hour with two of the trackers after the blaze was set and Doramus never appeared, nor anything
else came out of that hole except smoke" Jacobs said confidently. She accepted his statement and nodded so.
"Let's take a look, shall we?" Peggy said hoped and her brave act of stepping forward would urge Mathew to follow her.
But it was the illumination from the lamp that cajoled him into accompanying the little woman.
The night's temperature was dropping quickly now and the couple felt the urge to shiver, but resisted the need to do
so as it might look too-much like trembling -they both thought separately. Brush and stunted bushes lined the trail and
in their passing, every shadow looked like a Vampyre that had gone rogue.
Passing the large rock on their left, Peggy and Mathew stared up at the black maw that still had evidence of smoke
damage on the bluff above it. "May the Gods help us" the off-duty preacher whispered and crossed his heart with a
finger.
"Aye" Peggy agreed absently.
...................................................
Only a mile away from where the Witch and the man-of-the-cloth were staring at the ominous shadows of the cavern,
the actual creature they were hunting was shambling fast over the dark land towards a faint light that that glimmered
through some tall yew trees.
With vicious eyes, the one known as Doramus scoured the countryside before him as his damaged body swayed in
his powerful gait. It was easier on all fours due to the inferno he'd escaped from. The Barguest's spine had never
returned to its original position and his mangled features told of a more harrowing failure to return to the authentic
face of his true-self, Emmett Collins.
If his mother had been still alive, she'd have wept for her once-handsome boy lumbering through the peat-stained bogs
and rough heather in the guise of the now disfigured monster they call Doramus. With wolfen-toes, clods of earth yielded
and left footprints that had never been seen before below the moon that watched down through the rain-heavy clouds on
the wretched brute who had fallen foul to a vampire.
Emmett Collins had set forth from little village of Barleydowns six years ago in the hope of gaining employment as a
Gamekeeper's assistant. A lad of fourteen walking alone across a dark moor in the direction of his prospective job
at Barque Hall and his whole life ahead of him.
But such memories were now beyond the twisted shape that eyed the large house with the fancy gardens. For the
thing once called Collins and now branded Doramus, recollection tended to exist in the form of where blood could
be easily accessed.
The encounter with the ambushing ghoul that had changed him was gone, the incident where he'd altered his physical
being in the blazing cavern and failed to return to his natural self was gone and what he'd done to poor Martha Dinsdale
exceeded any contemplation within his animal thought-process.
Then his long ears twitched as a snoozing partridge decided to find a better bed amongst the heather and for a moment,
Doramus' mind focused on the fat bird squatting in the dark, but the bright moon appeared and dropped the odds on any
chance of a feathered capture.
That same bloated orb also revealed more of the damage that the burnt Vampyre endured, fur-covered shins stretched
like a dog's and feet that hurt the eyes to observe. Whatever clothes Emmett Collins enjoyed on his trek from Barleydowns
were now charred rags where a coarse pelt poked through the many holes. But it was the moon-lit face that most would
recoil in horror from, it was a head that belonged in the freak tent at a Carnival.
The ears were definitely canine and even though the fire had left its mark on the back of his head, fur still covered most
of his neck and cheeks. The remnants of Doramus' human-side was his right eye, a blinking blue orb where one would
struggle to find any remains of the ethics of altruism or virtues that we accept as the mark of man.
Matted-fur hung from his stunted snout that was twisted due to the right-side his mouth being pulled in a permanent snarl
and if his mother had witnessed what her son had become, what he did next would have caused her to swoon onto the
brush that slumbering gamebirds perceive as a haven.
Slobbering in the darkness at the man-made illumination in an act of hungry contemplation, the Barguest slowly pushed
his saliva-dripping proboscis from his jaws and the Vampyre that had lost its way stared longingly at the Barque mansion.
thought Peggy Powler as she warily stepped onto the sandy path towards where Father Mathew Jacobs was
pointing. "It's just beyond that boulder" the worried Priest said with a slight warble in his voice, he didn't like
being here again.
Just like the flask of coffee earlier, the intrepid Witch had produced a strange-looking lantern from her canvas
tote and holding above her head, she peered at the frightened man next to her. "You say nothing came out when
the hunters were here?" she asked in a hushed voice and watched for any sign of uncertainty, but she saw none.
"I waited a whole hour with two of the trackers after the blaze was set and Doramus never appeared, nor anything
else came out of that hole except smoke" Jacobs said confidently. She accepted his statement and nodded so.
"Let's take a look, shall we?" Peggy said hoped and her brave act of stepping forward would urge Mathew to follow her.
But it was the illumination from the lamp that cajoled him into accompanying the little woman.
The night's temperature was dropping quickly now and the couple felt the urge to shiver, but resisted the need to do
so as it might look too-much like trembling -they both thought separately. Brush and stunted bushes lined the trail and
in their passing, every shadow looked like a Vampyre that had gone rogue.
Passing the large rock on their left, Peggy and Mathew stared up at the black maw that still had evidence of smoke
damage on the bluff above it. "May the Gods help us" the off-duty preacher whispered and crossed his heart with a
finger.
"Aye" Peggy agreed absently.
...................................................
Only a mile away from where the Witch and the man-of-the-cloth were staring at the ominous shadows of the cavern,
the actual creature they were hunting was shambling fast over the dark land towards a faint light that that glimmered
through some tall yew trees.
With vicious eyes, the one known as Doramus scoured the countryside before him as his damaged body swayed in
his powerful gait. It was easier on all fours due to the inferno he'd escaped from. The Barguest's spine had never
returned to its original position and his mangled features told of a more harrowing failure to return to the authentic
face of his true-self, Emmett Collins.
If his mother had been still alive, she'd have wept for her once-handsome boy lumbering through the peat-stained bogs
and rough heather in the guise of the now disfigured monster they call Doramus. With wolfen-toes, clods of earth yielded
and left footprints that had never been seen before below the moon that watched down through the rain-heavy clouds on
the wretched brute who had fallen foul to a vampire.
Emmett Collins had set forth from little village of Barleydowns six years ago in the hope of gaining employment as a
Gamekeeper's assistant. A lad of fourteen walking alone across a dark moor in the direction of his prospective job
at Barque Hall and his whole life ahead of him.
But such memories were now beyond the twisted shape that eyed the large house with the fancy gardens. For the
thing once called Collins and now branded Doramus, recollection tended to exist in the form of where blood could
be easily accessed.
The encounter with the ambushing ghoul that had changed him was gone, the incident where he'd altered his physical
being in the blazing cavern and failed to return to his natural self was gone and what he'd done to poor Martha Dinsdale
exceeded any contemplation within his animal thought-process.
Then his long ears twitched as a snoozing partridge decided to find a better bed amongst the heather and for a moment,
Doramus' mind focused on the fat bird squatting in the dark, but the bright moon appeared and dropped the odds on any
chance of a feathered capture.
That same bloated orb also revealed more of the damage that the burnt Vampyre endured, fur-covered shins stretched
like a dog's and feet that hurt the eyes to observe. Whatever clothes Emmett Collins enjoyed on his trek from Barleydowns
were now charred rags where a coarse pelt poked through the many holes. But it was the moon-lit face that most would
recoil in horror from, it was a head that belonged in the freak tent at a Carnival.
The ears were definitely canine and even though the fire had left its mark on the back of his head, fur still covered most
of his neck and cheeks. The remnants of Doramus' human-side was his right eye, a blinking blue orb where one would
struggle to find any remains of the ethics of altruism or virtues that we accept as the mark of man.
Matted-fur hung from his stunted snout that was twisted due to the right-side his mouth being pulled in a permanent snarl
and if his mother had witnessed what her son had become, what he did next would have caused her to swoon onto the
brush that slumbering gamebirds perceive as a haven.
Slobbering in the darkness at the man-made illumination in an act of hungry contemplation, the Barguest slowly pushed
his saliva-dripping proboscis from his jaws and the Vampyre that had lost its way stared longingly at the Barque mansion.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.