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It was an awful job, but a necessary one. It paid well enough, and the university was always incredibly grateful for what they called “contributions to science.” And it wasn’t like the bodies would be missed. They were already dead, after all.
Wriothesley hated the job just as much as anyone else. He always looked forward to the day that he would be able to stop slinking around the churchyard after dark. The day he could finally lay down his wooden shovel once and for all.
That day had not arrived. Food was still scarce, and boarding was increasingly expensive. The “boarding” in question was carefully teetering on the edge of the definition of the word. A straw pallet with a rough blanket that had never been cleaned, laid next to several others, each belonging to someone just like him, who could never afford the luxury of a true bed.
Still, Wriothesley hoped for a better future, and he would do anything to achieve it, including the dreadful job of grave robbing and body snatching.
Taking the body was always the hardest part. He would work at night, preferably when there was no moon in the sky to give him away. He would use a wooden shovel, lest a metal spade hit stone and cause a sound loud enough to alert the guards.
Fresh bodies sold for more, so he usually looked for graves that had just been dug. The dirt would still be loose above the coffin, so it would be much easier to dig through.
On this particular night, Wriothesley crept through the graveyard, wooden shovel in hand. He squinted his eyes against the darkness, scanning the graveyard for any sign of movement. Finding that he was alone, he ducked down a small path, wincing at each crunch of gravel beneath his feet.
He walked past the cells reserved for family burials, passing his hand over the metal bars that blocked the entrances. He came to a cell without bars, slightly surprised when his hand did not come into contact with cold metal.
Wriothesley peered through the open gates. The floor of the cell was the same dirt and gravel that made up the paths outside, but the dirt in the far corner appeared to have been freshly disturbed. The room was empty, save for a metal cage that sat just a few inches above the ground in the farthest corner, just above where the earth looked the freshest.
Wriothesley knew that the bodies here were all buried beneath the ground, so it was normal for the room to be empty. The strange thing, however, was the metal cage. It would sit directly over a coffin, but it seemed unnecessary. It was usually difficult to get into these tombs anyway, so the added layer of protection was out of place.
Looking to the large plaques that were carved in the wall, Wriothesley scanned the names of the dead. He wondered who was buried here, and why they warranted such measures. His eyes landed on the final name on the plaque, which had just been freshly carved.
H. Neuvillette
By the dates next to the name, it seemed he had been about the same age as Wriothesley, though he hadn’t been dead for a full week yet.
Wriothesley felt a chill creep up his spine. He backed slowly out of the cell, returning to the main area of the graveyard. Something about that particular tomb was making him nervous.
He did his rounds, quietly searching for any new bodies that he could salvage and bring to the university. He followed the path as it sloped down onto a large open space, where the grass had yet to grow in completely.
Wriothesley tended to avoid this section of the graveyard. Before the plague years, this area had been level with the ground on the other side of the walls that surrounded the churchyard.
But the plague had hit, and it had hit hard. Bodies had been brought in by the cartload. There had been too many of them, and the only logical solution was to pile them all together in a shallow pit in the ground. They had overflowed even that. The plague had hit the city several times, each wave adding to the collection of nameless bodies buried here.
After it had finally disappeared from the region, by which time Wriothesley had been a young child, the plague victims had piled up enough to increase the height of the ground within the graveyard. It was a bit eerie to think about, but it was the truth.
Wriothesley had been watching the gates of the graveyard for the past few days. He had only seen a few carts, and one of them had looked a bit fancier than the others. He supposed that had been the young man with the incredibly secure grave. H. Neuvillette, that had been his name.
He thought back to the fresh grave in the family tomb. It wasn’t uncommon for people to die at a young age, if they made it past childhood at all. But that still didn’t explain the metal cage over his coffin, which was already within a secure family tomb. If they had gone to all that trouble to protect their son, why hadn’t they done that for any of the other family members?
After circling the graveyard once more, Wriothesley was unable to find a suitable burial. The freshest ones were all out in the open, where he would be visible to the guards. All the others were weeks old by now, so they would already be decomposing. While the university would still accept those bodies, they wouldn’t pay as much for them. Not nearly enough for Wriothesley to afford food, and most definitely not worth the effort it would take him.
Curiosity eventually led him back to the one burial that was both fresh, as well as out of sight of the guards. It wasn’t an option for body snatching, since it was protected by the metal cage, but it puzzled him, nonetheless.
Wriothesley passes under the branches of a giant tree, slowly approaching the grave. He was about to enter the large cell, when he heard something that made him freeze in place.
The sound of muffled screams, and frantic clawing at dirt and wood.
Wriothesley peered into the cell, watching as the dirt beneath the metal cage was pushed upwards. A pale hand erupted from the earth a moment later, eliciting a startled gasp from Wriothesley.
The young man must have been buried alive. It happened, on occasion. Perhaps this man had been extremely ill, to the point where his family assumed that he was dead.
Wriothesley returned to his senses, and rushed over to help. He pushed dirt away from the cage, revealing the broken lid of a wooden coffin, and the startled face of a young man.
The man had dirt in his long hair, which was a shade of blond so pale it looked white. His skin was just as pale as his hair, nearly indistinguishable in the dim light of the stars. His clothing was very fancy, indicating that he was from a wealthy family.
The strangest thing about the man, however, were the strange marks on his neck and wrist. The one on his neck was simple, the remains of two puncture wounds. The one on his wrist was a mess of scar tissue, almost resembling the bite of some type of animal.
“Hey, are you alright?” Wriothesley asked, reaching through the bars to put his hand beneath the head of the man. His skin was deathly cold, colder than it should have been, even for someone who had been stuck in a coffin for an unknown amount of time.
The man only blinked his eyes — which were just as pale as his skin and hair — in a confused manner. Wriothesley guessed that he was in shock, and that his mind was still processing what was happening.
“Take a deep breath,” Wriothesley instructed. “Looks like you were buried alive, so I’m going to try to get you out of here. Does that sound alright?”
The man nodded slowly.
“My name is Wriothesley. Can you tell me yours?”
Finally, the man spoke, though his voice was raw from disuse. “Many people simply call me by my surname. So, you may call me Neuvillette.”
“That’s a cool name,” Wriothesley mumbled as he tried to search for a way to free Neuvillette. “Huh. When they buried you, they sure didn’t want anyone getting in. Or out, I suppose.”
Wriothesley stuck his wooden shovel into the loose dirt by the grave, reaching down to find where the bars ended. He found the rough end of a metal bar, pulling it upwards with all his strength.
He eventually managed to pry the cage up enough for Neuvillette to scramble out from beneath it. Wriothesley pushed the bars up a bit more, though he pulled his hand away when he felt a sharp prick. The metal had sliced a gash across his palm, and red blood was already begging to appear from the cut.
Wriothesley muttered a curse under his breath, moving to cover the injury with the fabric of his shirt. The cut wasn’t deep, but it would be dangerous for it to become infected, and any lost blood was bad.
“Are you alright?” Wriothesley asked, looking back at Neuvillette.
Neuvillette was slow to respond, staring intently at Wriothesley’s bloodied hand. He had a hand clamped over his mouth, and his brow was furrowed. Wriothesley almost could have sworn that his eyes had flashed blue for just a moment.
“Oh, I’m alright,” Wriothesley assured, gesturing at his hand. “It’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine, as long as it doesn’t get infected.”
Neuvillette let out a soft hiss, backing up against the wall of the cell. “Stay — stay back. I do not want…no, no.”
“Neuvillette?” Wriothesley slowly reached out his non-injured hand. Neuvillette shook his head, pressing both of his own hands over his mouth.
Neuvillette began to shiver. He shut his eyes, hissing loudly through clenched teeth.
“Hey, you’re really starting to worry me. There should be a pub or tavern that’s still open. Let’s go find something for you to eat,” Wriothesley offered. He lightly tapped Neuvillette’s shoulder. It seemed that was the breaking point.
Neuvillette’s eyes flew open. They were glowing faintly, a deep-blue color, almost like the ocean. He launched forward, and he was on Wriothesley in an instant. Wriothesley grunted, trying to throw Neuvillette off of him, but the other man was surprisingly strong for someone who had been so sick as to be presumed dead.
Neuvillette’s sharp nails dug into the flesh of Wriothesley’s arms, pinning him to the ground. His teeth were bared, their pointed tips glinting in the faint starlight. Perhaps fangs would be a better description?
Neuvillette hesitated for just a moment, almost as if he was fighting against himself. He was only paused for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Wriothesley to think of a plan.
Wriothesley reached for his wooden shovel, hitting Neuvillette across the face with the flat side of the spade. He kicked Neuvillette’s stomach, and succeeded in throwing him to the ground. Wriothesley scrambled away, backing up against the far wall of the cell.
Neuvillette was between him and the exit, and he was already mostly recovered from Wriothesley’s counterattack. He pushed himself upwards, looking down at his hands, fingertips stained with Wriothesley’s blood. He hesitated again, his eyes flickering with uncertainty.
His hand twitched, moving almost against his will. He brought his hand to his mouth, licking the fresh blood from his fingertips, almost like a small child would do after finishing a meal. He repeated the gesture with his other hand, before slowly turning his head up to face Wriothesley.
“I thought of death often while alive,” Neuvillette muttered. “Yet I never thought I would become this.”
“What…what do you mean?” Wriothesley stuttered.
“Undead. I had read stories of creatures like this — creatures like me, I suppose.” Neuvillette chuckled softly to himself. “Did you know that your blood is particularly delicious?”
With that, Neuvillette launched himself at Wriothesley again. Wriothesley managed to place the handle of the shovel between the glistening fangs that formed Neuvillette’s mouth. Neuvillette’s hands came to rest over Wriothesley’s, pushing back against him with all his strength.
Wriothesley quickly moved the shovel to the side, tossing Neuvillette to the ground. He used the opportunity to dash out of the cell, closing the gates behind him with a crash. He winced at the sound, silently hoping that the guards hadn’t been alerted. He quickly clicked the large lock into place, sealing the cell.
Neuvillette leapt at him again, his body slamming into the gates just as they crashed closed. He snarled, reaching for Wriothesley through the bars with his clawed hands.
“Please,” Neuvillette whispered, sagging against the gates. “You cannot begin to imagine how hungry I am.”
“Hungry for what? Blood? Yeah, not happening. You’re a vampire, aren’t you?” Wriothesley raised his wooden shovel, pointing the sharpened end at Neuvillette’s chest. “A wooden stake through the heart should do the trick. Or I could leave you here for the sun to finish you off.”
Horror spread over Neuvillette’s face. “No, please! I did not wish to die, nor did I wish to become this. Just give me a chance. Please.”
Wriothesley hesitated. Neuvillette wasn’t much older than him. He was practically still a child, only barely having crossed the line into adulthood. Wriothesley knew that Neuvillette could kill him in an instant. He knew that Neuvillette lived off of the blood that ran through his veins. But he could not bring himself to drive the sharpened end of his shovel through Neuvillette’s heart.
“Can I make a deal with you?” Wriothesley asked.
“Yes. I will do anything.”
“I’ll let you take some of my blood — only some, not enough to kill me — and I can break the lock on the gate. But you have to promise not to kill anyone. Second, you need to help me out a bit. Money is scarce these days. You, however, come from a pretty rich family.” Wriothesley held out his hand, though he was careful to keep his distance from the gate. “Do we have a deal?”
Neuvillette nodded. He waited for Wriothesley to step forward, quickly shaking his hand. He waited a moment more, but Wriothesley did not move from his position. He only stepped closer, so that his hand stuck through the bars of the cell.
“Are you going to open the gates?” Neuvillette asked. “I need to see your neck. That is where the blood runs fastest.”
“Yeah, that’s a no. You can have my wrist. I’ll open the gates once you’ve had your fill.” Wriothesley smirked. “It’s also my way of knowing that you won’t kill me. If you don’t show some restraint, you’ll completely drain me. Then who will open the gates for you?”
“Clever. Very clever,” Neuvillette hissed.
“Make it quick. We need to be out of here before the guards show up. They probably heard all that racket you made.”
“Fine,” Neuvillette huffed. He took Wriothesley’s hand, pulling him closer to the gate. He pushed back the sleeve of Wriothesley’s shirt, exposing the skin of his wrist.
Neuvillette glanced back at Wriothesley, before sinking his fangs into his pale flesh.