Synopsis

A missing brother … An imminent phenomenon …

Award-winning comic book illustrator and artist Jimmy Cochran is also a freelance reporter in New York City, specializing in the supernatural. Upon hearing that his estranged brother, Quentin, has gone missing with his best friend over in Germany, Jimmy becomes concerned — unable to shake off the feeling of foreboding and dread. Things worsen when he quickly learns that the missing two are in great danger from an unequaled evil, which is connected to an upcoming, ominous, and phenomenal event.

A mysterious ‘man’ with a terrifying tale …

With time running out, Jimmy investigates further, in spite of the strong warnings and the danger to his own life — particularly after he is contacted by a peculiar and mystifying man with a horrific, nefarious past of his own, linked to old Serbian and German folklores and a sinister, secret brotherhood.

Amazon

Read for Free via Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt

Jimmy decided to use Quentin’s desk upstairs to work on his art. He got up to check that the radiator thermostat was turned all the way up. As he sat back down, the telephone next to him rang. He hesitated before answering it. “Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello? Can you hear me? Hello?”

“We need to talk,” a man said coldly.

“What? Who the hell is this?”

“It’s about your brother and his friend.”

“Quentin and Riley? You know where they are? How do you know that Quentin is my brother?”

“I do not know precisely where they are. I do, however, know of certain information that may prove useful to you. It’s best we meet in person.”

“Who are you? How do you know my brother’s number and that I am staying here?”

“I will tell you more once we meet.”

“What? I don’t understand. Meet where?”

“Kings Langley Common — noon. Near the cricket ground. There is a tree and a bench nearby. You will see a couple of cricket sight screens. Do not be late. And come alone.”

“Wait —”

The call ended with a click.
*
Jimmy decided to get a taxi, and made his way to the meeting point. He started to worry that it was some kind of trap. At least there were a few other people out and about. Walking along the footpath, he saw up ahead, the tree and the two large cricket screens. What caught his attention more, was a man seated on a bench. He was dressed all in black, with a black hat and scarf to match. Getting closer, Jimmy could see that it was a cowboy hat. The man reminded him of one of the characters from his and Donovan’s comic book series. Looking around nervously, Jimmy swallowed, now only a few feet away from the man.

“Good. You came. I am glad that you did so alone.” The man didn’t even turn. It was as if he just knew he was there. “Please. Have a seat.” It was hard for Jimmy to determine his accent, or lack of one.

Jimmy saw someone toss a squeaky rubber ball for their dog to chase. He cleared his throat and took a seat on the bench making sure he kept his distance by sitting at the far end. “Who are you? What do you know about my brother and Riley? Why the need for me to come alone?”

The man continued to gaze forward.

“Well?” Jimmy asked more sternly this time.

“Such a warm and pleasant, autumnal day. Better make the most of them, for I feel that a severe and harsh winter is to come.”

“Winter is coming, eh?” Jimmy replied sarcastically, referring to the euphemism from Game of Thrones.

The man kept his forward gaze. He didn’t say anything else for a moment.

Moving closer to him, Jimmy saw the pallid skin of the man’s hands and face. His nails were also a little long and yellow. He suspected he was ill.

“Your brother and his friend are in danger. Though this, you already know.”

“Why did you contact me? Why am I here?”

The man turned to face Jimmy. His cheeks were hollow. His uncommon, grey eyes stared into Jimmy’s, causing him to feel more unnerved. Dark circles were clearly visible underneath each bottom eyelid. “Because you want answers.”

“Then just tell me. Don’t f* me about. If their lives are in danger, then we could be running out of time.”

“I sense there is still time. But yes. The essence of time is important …” The man turned back around.

“What do you mean? Just get to it and tell me what you know.” Jimmy shifted impatiently on the bench.

The man reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out an old black-and-white photograph that had several creases at the corners and across it. “Your brother’s friend came into possession of this idol.”

Jimmy took it from the thin, veiny hand. “What is this?” The photo showed a bronze statue with an evil-looking face and fangs, riding a cow, and wearing a strange crown. “Or more to the point, who is this? How did Riley get hold of this idol?”

“From an old man, recently deceased. You would know him as Barnaby or Barney.”

“I came to suspect that this belonged to him. Who is it meant to be, riding this cow?”

“He was known as Arnold Paole. A Serbian soldier, or ‘hajduk’, who fought for the Austrian army in the seventeen-hundreds. There are different variations of the story, yet the core of it remains the same. I shan’t bore you with the full details. Being stationed in either Greece or a location by the name of Gossowa, he was attacked by a vampire there.”

“A vampire?” Jimmy scoffed.

“It is presumed he fought with this vampire and killed it — being bitten in the process. After leaving the military, he returned to his home village of Meduegna, and confided in his wife about his encounter. He did initially believe that he had cured himself by eating the soil from the vampire’s grave and smearing himself with its blood. He eventually died from a head injury on his farm, and was buried in the local cemetery. Soon after, strange occurrences started to happen, including sightings of Arnold walking the streets after dark, or even being seen in residents’ homes. There were also reports that after a sighting, the witnesses would themselves die. Church bells would often ring out mysteriously, too.”

“Sounds far-fetched to me.”

The man made a humph sound. “Arnold’s body was later exhumed. A group of villagers, including a man of the cloth, found that the body, with a red hue to it, was remarkably fresh-looking and had moved into a different position inside the coffin. New nails and a beard were also growing. Blood was also seen around the mouth. Coming to the conclusion that Arnold was a vampire, one of the villagers staked him through the heart, with Arnold letting out an excruciating and unnatural scream.”

“Yeah, right … What the hell does any of this have to do with my brother and Riley? I’m not interested in what this represents.” Jimmy flicked the photograph firmly.

“I am getting there. It is important that you understand the origins of this idol. Some sources claim that the group beheaded Arnold and burnt his corpse. And/or that garlic was placed around his body and grave. The same went for his victims, who had seen him before they perished. It is said that they, too, were staked, beheaded and burnt, just in case.”

“Did any of these victims have bite marks?” Jimmy asked a little mockingly.

“Not all, but some, yes — and not just on their necks. Numerous parts of their bodies, including their wrists. For years afterwards, Meduegna returned to normal. However, the strange occurrences eventually resumed. The dead were seen, rising from the grave and walking the streets. The same protocols and methods from years before, were applied to destroying their bodies.”

Jimmy laughed to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well, it doesn’t exactly make sense, does it? If this Arnold was a vampire, and these events occurred after he died, then who was responsible for turning the others years later?”

“Some believed he had cursed the village, and fed on his farm animals, all the while infecting his cattle, causing the village folk who ate the meat to turn. A number of the locals could have been immune at first, and it may have taken years for the disease to mutate. Some have even raised the question that Arnold bit his victims, causing a chain reaction amongst their own families, infecting their bloodline.”

“Still sounds like bullshit to me.”

“Victims complained of suffering from a fever like no other, aching all over, shaking uncontrollably and struggling for breath. Some were found with their mouths wide open, blood trickling from every orifice.”

“I suppose the statue of Arnold riding a cow somehow represents this farm animal theory?” Jimmy handed back the photograph.

“You are right … this photo was taken in the nineteen-fifties. From what I have learned, the Sullivans had this idol in its family for generations, where it got passed down, ending with Barnaby. He never knew how it came to end up in his family. The idol itself is possibly around two hundred years old.”

“Who made it? Where did it come from?”

“The origin isn’t clear. Other than a group of people started to worship Arnold Paole several years after his death.”

“Worship how? What people?”

“Individuals coming together that practiced vampirism; it was a religion to them. Performing blood rituals, celebrating special days or holidays, a rite of passage. Debauchery, orgies. Sharing certain beliefs and tenets. You get the picture. Arnold was a demigod to them. Certain followers believed that he came to them in their dreams, visiting them whilst they slept.”

“They weren’t ‘proper’ vampires, then?”

“Not to begin with, no … In time, black magic and sorcery was used. Even necromancy, bringing back loved ones from the grave, becoming the undead. Things became much, much darker, all in the name of Arnold Paole and vampirism. He had inadvertently created a religion and garnered followers. They saw him as a king, hence the crown.”

“Where did these people — followers, come from?”

“Originally from Serbia, Arnold’s homeland, these beliefs spread out across Europe. But some of them bled to death where experiments failed and gone wrong. In fact, it was only a select few that were successfully able to conduct necromancy, amongst other things. As time and the years passed by, this religion eventually faded away. Most of the ‘proper’ vampires — as you put it — that remained, were either killed by vampire slayers or forced into exile. Few went underground — quite literally, too.”

Jimmy shook his head. He looked down to the concrete slab that the bench was fixed to. “F*ing hell … You’re basically telling me that vampires do exist, yeah? That to this day, they are walking amongst us?”

“That is correct. It is hard to say how many there are worldwide. Though I do believe that there aren’t as many as there once were. Of course, you still have the ‘non-supernatural’ ones who practice vampirism in general … There were rumours that Arnold came across this treasure or loot, belonging to the vampire he’d slain. Or that he knew of its location. Or that it had somehow ended up in Germany. You won’t find this mentioned anywhere, however.”

“How do you know this? Who are you?”

“Who I am isn’t important. I am merely an acquaintance who is trying to help you.” The man nervously looked around.

“That’s just it. You haven’t told me anything of importance. All I’ve heard is some legend about a man who supposedly became a vampire after he killed another vampire! I’ve learned nothing. Why did you insist that I came alone? Where is my brother?”

The man didn’t respond.

“Well? Answer me!” Jimmy grew agitated. He then noticed the man tilt his head back, strangely twitching his nostrils as if he were trying to sniff out something.

“I must leave. It isn’t safe for me here. I promise I will be in touch very soon and give you more answers that you seek.” The man then stood up, still anxiously checking about. He pulled out a pair of dark sunglasses, applying them to the ridge of his large nose.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I wished for you to come alone so I would draw less attention to myself. You, too. Watch yourself. Trust nobody.” The man hurried down the footpath and out of sight.

Jimmy stood up, just when a strong breeze swept past him, almost blowing him over. “What the f*?” he muttered, scowling. Was there someone out there watching them both …?

About the Author

Alan Golbourn was born in Essex, England. He has enjoyed writing stories since a young age, when he was recognised early for his writing abilities. Amongst several interests and hobbies, including football and computer games, he holds a love and compassion for animals.