Roanoke

Roanoke
(Excerpt from Slipping into Darkness novel)
By
Eric Z Fox

It was July 1587 when the English ships arrived on the harsh shores. It was the third Anglo settlement tried at this forbidding location. The first two left after harsh elements and fierce Indian attacks.
The tales of these blonde haired blue-eyed men stretched far enough to peak the interests of this monster. It has survived for so long that it didn’t remember its origins nor did it care. Through its mind the hunger howled undeniably but it had decided not to feed for the entire trip from the continents interior.
So now blood engulfed its thoughts, how he would feed upon these white angels until blood rolled from its pores. Even the trees parted for this monstrous creature as it passed and how that pleased it. After all it was a monster but it stood only four feet tall. His face was a hideous mass of wrinkles and scares from an ancient war it cared not to recount.
Its bladed smile was held tight with anticipation. Across from the turbulent sound at which he stood was Lane’s Fort. The crashing waves and obscure tide would have frightened any seaman but not this monster. It had no need to fear water for it had no need to breathe, though more often it did because it felt natural to it. Why else would it have lungs?
It stepped into the water and sank like a stone, where on the bottom it could continue its arduous walk. It had decided to go to the southern tip of the island so it could watch its cattle before the slaughter. In the water the salt stung its eyes, nose and throat, but this was a minor irritation to it next to the hunger.
As it came upon the islands sandy shore its nose filled with the smell of salt and the hunger stabbed at its entire nervous system. It growled with either delight from the settlers scent or outrage as the first rays of the sun began to brighten the nighttime sky.

The Colonists

It was early August when Captain Edward Spicer arrived. The colonists whom had been there long enough to repair the old fort welcomed him, though he was another mouth to feed with an already dwindling food supply. Near the twilight of this summer day the men had decide to hunt for crabs, to help with the food supply.
They all took a sharpened stick and went about the beaches. The life they had all gotten into was difficult, very difficult. They had arrived too late to plant crops. Well the local Indians were extremely savage do to earlier visits.
“Godless savages,” George Howe whispered as he walked slowly down the beach. Quickly the sun fell and George turned his chubby baldhead. For the first time noticing that he was alone.
“Jesus.” He said out loud.

He began to wade through the pond. The Reeds and other plants grabbed onto his cloths like claws. The water was thick and eerily it pushed against the bald mans progress. His heart began to pound in his chest as he tried to run. The foul water splashed the small crown of hair left on his head.
As fast as he could he put out his arms but it wasn’t fast enough. He tripped over something and splashed loudly in the water. He got up blowing soot and foul water from his nose and mouth. Through pound scummed eyes, George saw the small shadow rise from the water like it was floating. With sulfur burning eyes the child size thing grinned at George. Its body was horribly scared. Its pink face dripped globs of mud revealing its disfigured face and bladed smile.
III
The monster was raving mad with hunger but its rage over being awoken was much worse. It glared at the dirty bald white man. The smell of his blood rang sweetly through its senses. It smiled as it changed its hand into a ham-sized fist. Knocking George to the pound it jumped on him draining his mind and body like some behemothic leach.
In the fat white mans mind the monster saw wonders. Ships so large and powerful they could carry people thousands of miles. It saw their dead God and the cross he was crucified upon. Most terrible of all was their guns which were able to expel metal, yes lead, but what of silver it wondered.
The monster left the bloodless corpse face down as it left to find the nearest Indian tribe. After all it knew that for warned is for armed as the blood is the life.


IV
The community was panic-stricken when they found the colorless water bloated body of George Howe. The now orphaned George Howe Jr. didn’t know what to do. His momma had died along time ago and his only family was back in Whales. Most of the town wished to return to England but Captain Spicer would not oblige. Only one was allowed to return with the ship and its crew.
The people wanted George Jr. to return with a letter from their Governor John White to Sir Walter Raleigh explaining their hard ships and need for aid. Yet Governor White objected. He thought that if he pleaded their case that all of England would rally behind them. After a long debate the matter was swayed the Governor’s way and he left on the journey to England.
Most of the people thought that his choice to leave was odd since his first granddaughter Virginia had just been born and nobody would be there to protect his goods. When John White left he had left instructions to leave clues to where the town would be if they left the island.
The Croake Indians informed the thing, which they knew was one of Earths abominations, of Englishmen, the strange weapons they had and their strange craftsmanship. They told the demon from the mountains about the war they had with the first two groups of colonists. Finishing with how they refused to do trade with any of the sickly white men. Then it took two of the Indians and made the clan watch as he ripped them to shreds.

V
The monster stood outside the settlement high amongst the trees. From the shut up encampment he heard Virginia’s cries, as he sniffed all of their blood from the chilly night air. Its sinister broad tooth grimace gleamed in the moonlight.
“Tonight!” It whispers as again the blood hunger enters its soul.
Slowly ever so slowly it crept in the house of Thomas Harrison. Weakly a fire burned in the fireplace causing the whole house to smell of popping Cedar. Thomas sat sleeping in a chair. In his lap was a book, and a small wooden pipe rested comfortably on his chest. From the pipe an almost invisible line of smoke rose slowly. The monster could easily smell the tobacco that smoldered though he had been asleep for hours and had touched no flame to it.
Thomas dreamed of a black and turbulent ocean that swept the mammoth ship back and forth. In Thomas’ dream he stared blankly out to the sea. Suddenly he saw Poseidon’s glowing amber eyes and startled awake. Before him burned those same eyes yet not belonging to the ocean in some dream but to a tiny deformed man, its rows of sharpened sword teeth dripping saliva. Thomas’ sense of smell was not very keen thanks to his smoking, but he could smell the dank smell of death from its breath mixed with the strong sent of rotten meat.
“Wha…wha...” he lipped almost getting it out.
“Quiet!” the monster growled in a low voice. The monsters fingers stretched pealing its skin from the bone to a sharpened sudo-plasmic cartilage that continued to elongate.
“Now you’re going to teach me Thomas.” It said. Painfully it inserted its new fingers into Thomas’ head. Thomas tried to scream he wanted to scream but it siphoned his voice just as surly as it sucked his blood and brain matter alike.
In Tom’s mind he felt a pulling as his family and knowledge was stolen from him. Desperately he tried to hold on to the face of his dear mother but he gave her up as he gave up the ghost. The monster crashed over the corpse sending the useless body tumbling from the chair to a huddled mass of useless flesh devoid of all succulence. With a sickening thud the cadaver hit the wall sending dust flying in all directions. It was an excruciating amount of pain to assimilate the information the thing stole but it welcomed that pain.
The walls he slashed with razor claws that shifted slightly thanks to his laps in concentration. But the hunger comes with the pain and that made it smile. After all the blood is the life.
VI
He loped out of the Harris home looking more wolfish than man. This way it looked more normal than as a dwarf. Little did that matter though because already he was calling for a deep thick mist to cover it in the moonlight. Again he hit a house with the same style and outcome as that of Thomas Harris, first to Morris Allen and then to Edmond England. With an amazing amount of gluttony he drained the body of Richard Kemme.


Finally it came upon the abode of Andrew Viccars. The home’s small fire carried with it a sent of something wondrous. A woman’s sent, a very ripe woman smelling of her own blood. And the sugary dreams of a young child. The monster lifted its wolfish snout into the air on the side of the house. Looking towards the attic it grinned the boy was up there, it knew it.
Again it was a small man as it crept through the loft window. In the small room a boy with sandy hair slept. The vampire smelled the succulent innocence from the boy’s blood. His dreams were of a sweat lollypop. The monster figured it would not taste nearly as delicious as the boy would. Even though it was a monster it took the boy gently filling his thoughts with the lollypop. It waited to pull the body from the bed until he was dead.
Ambrose Viccars stayed awake smoking his pipe like he often did. How much he did enjoy this new world and the potential for freedom that it offered. Huge sparks filled the chimney as he threw the new scraps of wood upon it.
‘THUMP’
Came from the boy’s room Ambrose thought. What did he fall off the bed? He thinks as he started up the latter. Then he stopped, froze and his heart pounded for no reason. Jumping down about two feet with a wine from the floorboards he looked up. The attic entrance stood as always, slightly propped open.
With three large steps he was at his loaded musket. Above him there was an amazingly high-pitched creak as the ceiling crashed into Ambrose’s face. Mrs. Viccars walked in as the little impish banshee descended from the loft but nowhere near the attic door. It was horribly ugly and she tried to scream but IT wouldn’t allow it.
Its burning eyes held her there while it searched her mind. And yes there it was easy to find, and yes she was truly a woman. It came forward with a growl emanating from its chest. For the first time Elizabeth Viccars noticed it was doused in blood. Oh, how badly she wanted to scream.
“Scream,” it said with perfect speech. “Oh I’m going to make you scream.” When it finished talking it showed her telepathically exactly what it meant. Then a bloody and angry faced Ambrose stood musket ready.
“By God almighty,” he cried as he fired. The gun exploded with a deafening cloud behind it. By Gods hand the lead ball hit the thing square in the back. It howled and turned with Elizabeth in its arms.
“You killed her,” it said as it dropped her to the dusty floor. In its chest Ambrose saw the clear through tunnel his bullet had made. “NO!” Ambrose said as he dropped the now useless gun to the floor and fell to his knees.
“Oh much worse than that,” the monster said as it elongated its jaws. It grew its head large enough to bite from Ambrose’s nose through the center of his head. “Come, my friends,” it said as it dragged the two corpses behind out the door.







VII
The people of the town, well the survivors anyways, gathered outside the Viccars’ home. Exiting the door was a hideous red child thing dragging Mr. and Mrs. Viccars.
“I am Croatan, the demon,” it said pushing a forked tongue from its bloody mouth. There were four men at the front of the crowd (John Sampson, John Borden, Clement Tayler, and Arnold Archer) who fired muskets. Three were on target striking the hideous thing in the face and chest. The vampire pulled its lips back from its hideous bladed teeth. Laughing it spoke, “Not even your God your dead God can help you now!”
It leapt into the air using all the life it had stolen to transform into a giant 20 feet tall. “Is this better,” the monster bellowed. Instantly killing four people on landing it began to feed ravenously from as many people as it could grab.
“To the church,” someone screamed and they all turned and ran. The church how ever was on the other side of the township. Near the center of town Croatan saw a man carving on one of the trees. CRO the carving began but he died instantly when the vampire landed on his head and broke his neck.
Standing before the small church the vampire morphed back to his original 4ft frame and said. “Oh how thoughtful all in one place.”
With its telepathy it made its foot falls deafening to the ears of the people in the Roanoke Township church. “Make peace with your God because it’s my time.” The people in pure desperation set fire to the entrance way with there lamps. As the flames licked at the body of the nude dwarf vampire it spoke. “Cooked? Not my favorite but I’m not picky.”
The flames probably would have stopped a young vampire but Croatan was much too old and strong for that. After it burned its name into a tree it left the coast for its Rocky Mountain home. It told the Indians to do what they would with the town it was now theirs.


Epilogue
1590
Three years later John White returns to a gutted and desolate Roanoke Island. No signs of life or death remained of the 116 colonists. On one tree there was carved CRO, and on another more burned than carved was the word CROATAN.
In the 21st century it is still a great mystery.



Eric Z Fox
Dec 13, 2003