Maggots—so many of them—wriggling, squirming, biting.
I know they've rotted away, that their bodies have melted into the mud. I know that.
Still, I remember a face—her face.
Pressed into the ground, red with blood, black with mud and rainwater, but still, I saw the warm brown of her eyes.
They looked at me, they wept, until her breathing stopped, and the tears turned dry.
"The Face": Go.
"The Face": Run for your life.
That's all she said, like they were the only words she could remember.
Young Rubuska: No. I don't want to.
Young Rubuska: I don't want to leave you, Mама.
"The Face": Go ... Run ...
"The Face": You must go.
Run, Buska!
RUN!
Those words never left me.
I hear them whenever the light gets low, just as I'm about to fall asleep, or as I run through the woods with everything I have. It's like a second shadow, one that covers me entirely.
Young Rubuska: Мама ... No ...
I cried. I bawled. What else could I do?
Run. That's what.
As far as I could. As fast as I could.
And I buried the screams. Buried the gunshots. Buried her face deep in my memory.
And never looked back.
Young Rubuska: There you go, Dad.
Young Rubuska: Now, Kolyo!
Young Rubuska: You've grown a lot, haven't you?
Young Rubuska: Okay. pant
Young Rubuska: And last ...
Young Rubuska: It's your turn, Mама.
Young Rubuska: ...
The guns and the strangers who wielded them have gone for now, leaving behind fields caked with blood and bodies lost to eternal slumber.
When all settles, the village is nothing but a scorched ruin.
The girl buries her family together in a nameless pit.
Father, mother, and little Kolyo. Lie neatly arranged, like porcelain dolls on a bed of dirt and leaves.
Young Rubuska: Why are you all sleeping? It's still light out.
Young Rubuska: I don't want to be the only one awake. Let's all fall asleep together, alright?
She lies down with them, curling close to her mother, pulling a stiffened arm around her chest.
Young Rubuska: This is nice, like when I was little, and you used to hold me, Mама. When we wake up, will you comb my hair?
Cold fingers tangle in her hair, yet in her mind it feels like comfort.
Young Rubuska: Mама, tell me a story, would you? Please? I know you've told the vampire story a hundred times, but just once more, please.
Young Rubuska: "In the light of the blood moon, they rise and stride under the veil of night."
Young Rubuska: "Freely, they live, without fear of death."
Young Rubuska: "For through blood they live forevermore."
Her breath is shallow. Consciousness slips away with whispered stories as her eyes close, and she falls into slumber.
Because blood is life.
Young Rubuska: Because blood is life!
Young Rubuska: That's right! As long as they drink blood, vampires can rise from their graves and live forever!
The girl bolts upright, pallid face glowing with a strange light.
She bites her finger and smears the flowing blood over her mother's lips.
For a moment she believes in miracles.
The blood beads on cold lips, glowing like red agate, lighting up death's grim mask.
Young Rubuska: ...!
The girl smiles with delight.
Young Rubuska: Yes, good, Mама!
Young Rubuska: A little for Dad, too, and for Kolyo.
Young Rubuska: All set!
She smears thick, almost comical streaks of blood across her family's lips.
Young Rubuska: Yeah, we're just like the story!
Young Rubuska: Dad, Mама, Kolyo, and Rubuska—a vampire family!
Young Rubuska: That's why Mама likes to wear lipstick. It's just like blood.
Young Rubuska: Here, have a little more, Mама.
She caresses their faces tenderly.
Young Rubuska: Am I a clever girl? I figured it out. Now, we'll all wake up soon, right?
Young Rubuska: I know it might take a while, but I'll wait.
Young Rubuska: Don't worry. I'll be right here, watching over you.
A breeze lifts. A bird's cry drifts in from afar.
The girl looks toward the scarlet-red sunset, sniffs, and raises her tiny fist to the sky.
Young Rubuska: Don't even try to touch my family, you hear me?!
Young Rubuska: I'm Rubuska the vampire, descendant of Dracula himself!
Young Rubuska: I'll rise in the light of the blood moon and stride under the veil of night!
Young Rubuska: I'll live freely, without fear of death!
Young Rubuska: I'll watch over my blood forever and ever—
Young Rubuska: —forevermore!
Her vow is sharp and unyielding, the fiery voice of a young but powerful child of an ancient and noble vampiric bloodline.
???: Liar.
Young Rubuska: Huh? Who's there?
She looks down again, and the illusion breaks. Cold blood dries on rotting faces. Their mouths bent into grotesque smiles.
Young Rubuska: Who are you?
Young Rubuska: Kolyo! What happened to your clothes? Mама's going to be mad at you!
Their eyes are milky and puckered dry, bodies cold and sagging, gray faces gaunt—blood-soaked and tattered clothes the last vestiges of their identities.
Young Rubuska: Mама, Mама, Mама, wake up. Please, please hold me.
Young Rubuska: No! NO!
Young Rubuska: Mама! Dad!
She screams, ripping cloth, scrubbing furiously at their faces, but the flesh gives way like ripened cheese.
Young Rubuska: No! You're not dead. We're vampires! We can't die!
Her rough wiping tugs at their mouths, baring smiles soaked in blood.
???: Hahahaha ...
Laughter swells, spilling from red lips, from the sky, from the corpses, howling, echoing, like a thousand bells ringing at once.
???: Lies! All of it.
???: Red eyes, fangs, the resurrection of our family—all lies!
Young Rubuska: No ...
Terrified, she runs toward the distant red sun.
No matter how far she goes, the laughter seems to chase her.
???: Off you run! Hahaha.
Go, run, Rubuska!
Run!
Rubuska: ...!
Rubuska jolts awake from a deep sleep.
Rubuska: It's not a lie.
Rubuska: ...
Her heart slows. Her eyes adjust to the dark.
The stench beside her is revolting and bitterly familiar—death, mixed with fuel and smoke.
She turns her gaze and meets another face, swollen and bluish.
Rubuska: ...
A corpse, stiff and cold. Black veins coil beneath its pale skin like twisted branches of a dead tree.
Her eyes follow the body upward until they freeze on a face she knows—one she has seen before, back at the snowbound station.
Passenger I: No, no, not precisely, but many like it. Vampires, werewolves, wild beasts, and monsters.
Passenger I: It's always the same story about the powerful consuming the common folk. Heh, storytellers have always been good at making their points one way or another.
Rubuska: It's that old man from the train station.
The irony of his warnings is a bitter mix of comedy and tragedy.
???: You are awake.
A shadow in the corner stirs, taking the shape of a looming man.
Pyrrhos: Thirsty?
Rubuska: You-you're that officer. What is all of this? Did you .. Did you kill these people?
Pyrrhos ignores the questions.
The rag drags across the floor with a heavy scrape, tossed casually to Rubuska's feet.
Pyrrhos: I'm afraid I haven't been a very good host, and alas, our water supply has run dry. Blood, however? Well, we've got plenty of that.
Pyrrhos extends his hand, long blackened nails stroking the corpse's wrist with a vile tenderness.
Pyrrhos: Drink up, Little Miss "Vampire."
Blood runs down Rubuska's hair, lashes, eyes, nose, finally her mouth.
Rubuska: cough Blrrrghh!
Her nose fills with the stench of blood. She collapses halfway to the floor, retching violently.
Stew, frozen berries, honey bread, lark cake ...
Everything she's eaten pours out with each spasm, mingling with the foul blood and shredded organs on the ground.
Pyrrhos: Not so demure at the table, are we? tut How embarrassing. I knew you weren't one of us.
Rubuska: pant You ...
She lifts her pale face and meets the man's horrid gaze.
His eyes are pure crimson, flawless, like a sea of blood flowing under moonlight.
An undeniable bloodline. An undeniable identity.
Rubuska: You're a vampire, too?
Pyrrhos: Through and through. But you? It seems not to be so.
Pyrrhos: Still lost in your dreamland, little imposter?
Rubuska: Don't call me that.
Rubuska: My family—my blood—they'll rise from the grave soon, you'll see! We'll be together again.
She chokes and swallows the blood until her face and body are smeared with scarlet.
A lie—that day will never come.
Rubuska: ...
Pyrrhos: Hahahaha ...
The man cackles.
Pyrrhos: Aren't you a sorry little thing? It almost stirs something in this useless old heart.
Pyrrhos: In fact, I've almost come to like you. Tell you what, I could make your wish come true.
Rubuska: My wish?
His blood-red eyes gleam with unfathomable danger.
Pyrrhos: You heard me. I can help you ...
Pyrrhos: Become a real vampire.
