The Hunt

(http://youbentmywookie.com/wtf/1800s-vampire-killing-kit-sold-for-14850-1613)

"...and what you see here, boys and girls, is a beautiful specimen of the equipment Balkan vampire hunters used in the 18th and 19th centuries. The hunter who owned this particular case was a Sabbatarian, which means that he was born on a Saturday, a natural vampire hunter! According to local legend he could see an invisible vampire and was able to entice it with alluring music before stabbing it to death.
Hawthorn wood was used to make the stakes, which was the only wood that could kill a vampire, and the glass phials contain holy water, a very effective way of vampire disposal...."

" LOL! Vampires are very religious creatures who sparkle in the sun, everyone knows that!"
"What can a wooden stake do to our veggie vampires who wouldn't hurt a soul...."
"How old is that garlic anyway?"

"The garlic is recent...."

"Can we go now...I'm sick of this vampire crap!"

"I know it's hard to believe, but there are people who still believe in Vampires. Take the Serbian President Slobodan Milocevic for example. His body was vandalised not long ago. They staked him through the heart in order to keep him from returning as a vampire.....or the story of the Bloody lake in Iraq, just here

 and the the reasons the locals give to explain the incredible mansions built all around the coast of this gruesome lake...they believe that vampires have bought the entire area and have built amazing fortresses and castles while spending their leasure time swimming in the lake! So you see vampire folklore is not dead yet I'm afraid!"

"Does this lake really exist? I mean, really?"
"Oh yes, this was taken from Google Earth. The local people say that all the blood comes either from the slaughter houses or the vampire victims....."
"What do you believe?"
"Me....I really don't know..but for this area to have such value....who would want to live near such a thing?...I really don't know...Well, back to the case..."


"What about the bullets then, are they silver?"

"No, this kit is for vampires only. We are greatful that Mr Joss McMillian, chose our museum for this generous donation. Thank you Mr McMillan, we are most greatful."

All heads turned around for a glimpse of Mr McMillian..

"The pleasure is all mine Miss London." said a very young voice from the very back of the room.

"What a hunk..."
"He reminds me of  Edward Cullen, my baby and future husband."
"Shhhhh...I can't hear, be quiet!!!."

"You see this museum and my family go way back. This case belonged to my great -grand father who passed it on to my grandfatrher and so on. It is quite useless today so I decided to put it to some good use."

"Why is it useless? The stakes look functionable to me.. LOL!."

" Well, let's just say that stakes have been made redudant. Vampires, like witches, have evolved through time and have managed to live among us without causing problems. Vampires, if you get to know them, are quite peaceful creatures not to mention wise. They have blended so well in our society, they live and work among us so seamlessly that it has become very hard to tell who is a vampire and who is not."

". . . . . . ."

"Don't look so surprised. Vampires don't need to butcher people anymore, there are plenty of private blood banks that can suply them with the necessary amount of blood to sustain them, which is not as much as you think! The older a vampire gets the less he consumes you know..."

"Well thank you Mr McMillian, so now boys and girls...."

"Take Miss London for example, how do you know that she is not a vampire?"

"Vampires have fangs!"
"And they don't come out in the daytime!"
"They have red eyes!"
"And they are absolutely gorgeous!"

" You can't tell a vampire by how he looks, it's what he can do that makes him stand out and we rarely get to see that these days..."

"Thank you Mr McMillian but I am afraid we have run out of time.."

" Oh 'cmon, Miss London, we have so many questions....."

"Your buses are here kids but if you are so interested in vampire lore, why don't you all come to my cottage in Delphi next Sunday where I am organising a traditional vampire hunt with some friends where you can all get an idea of my great-grandfather's line of work, meet interesting people and see my collection.."

"Excellent!!"

"Oh Miss London can we go...."
"Yeah...please"

"I don't know.. I will have to talk to the director..."

"Summer school is such a bore, now that we've found something worth doing....."

"If you bring them Miss London I'll make sure the museum receives another generous donation..."

"I 'll let you know by the end of the week.."

"See you Joss....!!"
"Byeee!"

.              .                  .

"Google him, go on! I'm telling you! He is a BOOK character! It is not his real name!"
"Are you sure, I mean it can just be a coincidence, you know, these things happen!"
"I looked through all the city files, there is no such a name anywhere. Google it and see for yourself... Joss McMillian..see?"
"Ok so he shares his name with a book character.."
"I don't know, I think we shouldn't go.."
"I am going alright!"
"But I can't find him anywhere..."
"Miss London knows him and she lives here...."
"Yeah, but what do we know about Miss London anyway? She is a teacher and also works at the museum..."
"I don't care what you say! This is the closest I'll ever get to a vampiric experience. I am going to live my dream and you can stay here for all I care!"

.               .                    .

(http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&q=spooky+mansion#/d14ytfk)

"Oh Wow! This is an amazing place!"

"Yes...well Mr McMillian is a very wealthy man, therefore the donations..."

"So you've been here before Miss London?"

"Yes I have! Mr McMillian is a very hospitable and generous man. We are very lucky to be here tonight you know..."

"So has he done this...hunt before?"

"Oh yes, it is an annual thing, in memory of his ancestors. It's all very theatrical, and atmospheric...you'll see."

" The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

  but I have promises to keep,

and miles to go before I sleep,

and miles to go before I sleep!

Robert Lee Frost was right you know! This is going to be a very long night!!

Welcome friends to my annual Vampire Hunt here in my forefathers' house! We have some new guests this year, the student's of St. John's summer school, and though I expected around twenty of them I can see that only two are here! Where are the others Miss London?"

"They had made other arrangements for tonight, I'm afraid!"

"I wish the others had come! He looks so disappointed.."

"Shhh! He's talking about the hunt!"

"...what you have to do is simple! There's a vampire lurking in the forest. Your mission is to track down the enchanting, male vampire, use your map and your tool case to corner and capture him.

The one who manages to stay alive and complete the misson before dawn, is going to receive a prize worthy of a true vampire slayer. As always, the hunt starts at sundown. You have until sunrise to claim your prize!"

"An enchanting, MALE, vampire...how delicious!"

"Look at the kit, it's like the one in the museum..."

"....a few hours to spare until then. Please help yourself to the buffet, read the map and get to know your kit. The hunt will commence when the torches are lit and the forest gates open!"

.                     .                        .

                                              (photo by renq)

"So Miss London, why only two this time?"

"We need to be more careful you know or people might start to suspect! They are still looking for the one who went missing last year..Denise. I still don't know what you saw in her.."

"You smell so good when you are jealous you know, it'd be foolish of me to reassure you..."

"Joss... I mean it...."

" I miss old times my love...when the world was big and the women pure. I feel nostalgic, you wouldn't know...you are so young. And anyway, if it wasn't for the hunt you wouldn't be here now...my vampire queen... "

"Until the next one comes along...who is it going to be tonight the blond or the brunette?"

"It might be both you know....they are both crazy about sparkly, veggie vampires they might like the real thing..."

"And you say you love me..you just want me to lure young girls to your castle so that you can drain them and make them your whores..."

"They all like it you know...you like it, Denise liked it...you needn't have burnt her. It was just a fling. But still I am not angry. I can never be angry with you!"

"They way you looked at her was just unbearable..."

"My love...you are so scrumptious.. that you can have the brunette..."

"Really? Oh thank you my love, you are so sweet..Come here there's plenty of time before the sun dies..."

"I want your neck first."

Blood bath of love / Carpe Noctem.

(photo by DanielEyre)

"Come with me into a lover's blood bath,

with no other blood but yours and mine.

Why linger on the doorstep,

why don't you step inside?

 You're so full of Pretension, Hypocrisy and Pride.

Tell me: Do they all stem 

from a foul excess of phlegm?

This bodily humour will subside,

once I wrap your flesh around mine.

Intoxicated, sanguine and peaceful

in the tub of love, you and

    not sanguinary and blood thirsty,

like they say it will be.

.A little cut is all there is,

the rest will be all mine.

I'll bathe you in a pool of love,

Temptation, and Tenderness,

will be our only crime.

Together we will vanquish Death,

you'll never rot in grime.

Feed with me in a pool of blood,

I swear, it's worth your time..."

360 billion.. An open letter to the horrified mortals of this country.

(photo by Green Potter)


 Dearest Children of our ancient land,

Are we the only ones who care about you? Are we really the only ones who cry at the sight of your demented shapes, hopeless and angry faces, talking to yourselves as you pass in front of the empty shop windows, muttering, swearing, questioning, begging?
We can feel your anger, we can smell your fear,we can sense your despair, we can see your darkness, we can taste your bitterness, your blood is going sour, it thickens, it's going stale....Something must be done.

We, the ancient vampires of this land, are here for you!

It is common knowledge that mental illness makes the blood go bad, and with all this medication you are pushing down your throats you smell bad and taste even worse.
The happiness drawn on your faces when we come for you, when we sink our teeth into your olive complexions is unacceptable. It's pathetic!  Are you the children of your ancestors? Where are your ideals, where is your strength,

 WHERE IS YOUR PRIDE?


Your blood has kept us alive for more than 3000 years, your sweet-sweet blood has nourished us, made us immune to the sizzling sun, made us one of you. We have fed on your death and craved for your life, and so now the time has come to give some of it back.
Out of pity for everything you hear on the news every night, out of compassion for all the humiliating things that happen to you during the day, for your dying humanity and because we CANNOT make any more vampires. We are not like your public workers, we cannot be bought with blood-fountains and gall bladders (however fresh they might be), we are not doing favours in exchange for family members, beloved or not.

We have all the money you need and more, much more, in cash, without having to sell a single island, mountain or lake and we are more than willing, and happy to give it to you, right now.

No more debt, no more empty windows, no more humiliation.
Take this money and let us take care of you. Let us remind you how your forefathers ruled this land, let us show you the true meaning of Democracy. You can live - and we can re-live- the re-birth of this nation.

Just say yes, choose any monument and paint it red, and we'll come in with the money and do the rest!


With Kind Regards,

G.V.S







......................................................................................................................................................................

Till death do us part...

  FRED: the alive/ mortal groom.

"Some people are white

while others are black.

Some women are thin and some are really fat.

People are different,

 to that we agree,

well, my bride is dead,

 as dead as can be.

I knew that right from day one

she never, ever tried to hide that fact,

and I loved her even for that.

My bride is dead...and so what?

Her lips are cold,

I can see through her back.

She can't breathe, she can't eat

but her kiss is sweet

and so is her heart.

Being with her makes me feel so secure,'cause I know I can never endure, black, wet death tearing us apart.

Her being already deceased, 

means my hidden fear is at rest,

my sweet bride is Oh so dead,

death is conquered,

I have deceived death!                                                          

"The people around me are over- upset,

they can't perceive the major advantages of a bride that is dead.

No food nor drink, no ambitions

                     within,

subtleness, silence, obedience,

no desire for luxuries nor flirting from other men,

who in the world would desire a bride that
her ribs are hard to hide...

                    

"They say: Fred! The woman is dead,

worms come crawling out of the crown

                  of her head!

I say: Hold you tongue, you ignorant men,

she's more alive and caring than all of your                       

brides together when we are alone in bed!
To that they frowned, everybody knows
the turn-on of bedding the undead!

Today the church bells ring for Berenice and I,
my joy I cannot hide,
and those of you who ask why,
I tell you this,
the dead cannot lie and are not afraid to die!

BERENICE: the rotting / dead  bride.

 "I feel my insides rot,

but it's not my fault,

I wasn't meant to die,

and dead people can never lie.

He says death on me looks eerie and sweet,

he says he loves the gaping holes on my skin,

the worms racing around my heart,

he says he loves me even for that.

Being with him makes me forget,

the torture of knowing that I am all dead.

The darkeness, the distance,

the fear, the disgust,

the  craving for darkness

and the blood lust.

I want to forget

that my breath is all spent,

I want to let go of the dread, the despair,

that I will be labelled as a worthless undead.

This life feels like the echo

of my life that was,

the colours are dimmed,

the sounds are all hushed.

Tastes and textures

were left in the grave,

I give him a soft laugh,

 and pretend it's the same.

Dead....Dread............Fred, tells me it's fine,

he will love me so, till the end of his time.

With flowers and perfumes, lace and satin scarves,

he covers my holes and the constant smell of dust.

He says I have jumped out of a poem of Poe,

worthy only for Vampire Lestat,

he buys me raw meat, and liver and heart,

I wish I could cry, Oh how I wish I could do that..."

I look at myself in the mirror,
this wedding dress is a bit large.
I turn around and hear the rib snap,
it tears the white silk,
the worms pour out like sour milk,
and breathe fresh air at last.

(photo by SamuraiChopStick)

                                                                                                                                  

Love lives on though Amelia is dead.

(photo by Oer-Wout)

I knew he would come for me,

that he wouldn't let go.

A love like that is not easily forgotten,

not when two souls merge and feel as one.

But I couldn't be with him,

not anymore,

he made me feel like I wasn't myself,

my once crystal dreams had blurred.

He shattered them with promises, plans and demands,

he made me feel drained,

a lifeless shadow behind his fiery passion, and darkest heart.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't feel,

I had to leave,

and so I did.

The whole Kingdom whispered that this would mean my death,

betrayal always has the smell of blood,

so I knew the day was near,

when he would take away everything I hold dear,

my golden youth, my fairy dreams,

his eyes when his seas are calm,

his flesh against my heart.

But though I knew, I just went on,

playing my happy song on the guitar,

singing along,

under the Poplar tree,

the tree of Death,

Hades' beloved tree.

My feet are turning blue in the winter stream.

"Oh, how I dream of countries far and wide,

to see them all before I die,

I am so young and fair and true,

my sons shall sing my happy tune.

Oh, mother Earth and Oceans wide,

I feel your tide rising inside,

Oh! Gods believe me,

I do not lie...

I do not wish to die"

My tear as cold as the melting snow, maybe I have already died.

I saw him from the corner of my eye,

my gleaming Prince holding his sword.

He had left his white steed not far behind,

the killing wouldn't take him long.

His once blue eyes were red and bloody,

stormy rings encirled both,

his skin was pale,

his lips looked dead and ash clouded his hair,

his clothes were torn, the gold was covered in blood,

what have you done,

my love,

what have you done...

-Amelia, you knew I'd find you... why did you linger?

He drew his sword and stood before me,

I felt its cold steel on my neck.

-Why did you leave me...WHY?

I did not speak then, I stood before the tree,

 closed my eyes and heard the water

gurgling through the mud and stones,

happy and free.

-Speak! Tell me why!

 His rusty breath filled my lungs,

I heard fiery wrath shattering the remnants of his heart.

- I want to be what I was meant to be,

not a figment of your dream.

I won't obey your commands,

that is not what true love does.

-If I can't have you, nobody will.

 Witch!

You shall taste my steel and wrath.

THIS is what true love does.

The coldest blade broke into my spine,

Amelia was no more alive,

and as I watched myself bleed,

I heard my old Prince weep,

not with remorse, not with relief.

He pushed his face in the gash

and drank my unfairly, spilt blood,

each drop a wail, a cry,

until my body ran dry.

But love lives on,

beyond Hades' halls,

loves lives on

among the dead souls,

He'll come to me,

soon enough,

love lives on,

beyond death and wrath.



The Therapist

(photo by Kingston Lounge)

All the agony and pain she gradually crammed between the books,
each spine, a bloody tale,
each cover a relived dream,
a bookcase, a shrine and a held-back tear,
a flash of memory, a gutted zombie walks out of its tomb.

And though she knows all the secret, magic words,
she never says them out-loud,
she is afraid of a heart beat out of tune,
and of death, himself - he might come out and collect-
and then all the words will die with her.

She keeps the words in a glass bowl,
like marbles and fish alive,
she feeds them hope and they grow fat,
but never comes round to the tedious task,
to write them down and pass them around,
like proper witches do.

The bookcase, ladden with facts and recipes of out-wordly tasks,
casts its shadow in the dark,
she feels it even when the lights are dead.
Does she dare, with paper and ink, to pull the volumes out,
to relieve the dreams and take the truth down?

The red ink spills on the floor and makes the white sheets red,
she doesn't mind, she doesn't care,
she knows, she feels,
the stories are real,
and that even she, the most powerful witch, must not be spared.

What happened to the key story.

It was a really good story when I first came up with it, but each time I tried to put my hands around it and do something with it, it just went flat.
I feel very frustrated when something like this happens but I think there is no better way to deal with it than just letting the story rest for a while.

Maybe later on, the key will let me curl my fingers around it and squeeze its story out.

Electrosmog. The Ghost Story.

The small village of Crinkley Bottom stood just below the snowing mountain-top of Blankets.

It wasn't a particularly tall mountain nor one of extraordinary beauty, at least not in the daytime. It was at night that its curvy top lit up like a grand, all-weather, Christmas tree. Small red lights, easily seen from the village, blinked against the night sky competing even with the brightest of stars.

Those were the lights of the mobile phone masts that like a dense, petrified forest covered the peak entirely, creating a rather sympathetic effect of divinity and surveillance.

The people of Crinkley Bottom opposed to the masts at first but on second thought the constant visits from engineers and electricians did fill them with a sense of importance so they accepted them as something good.

The masts gave them something to talk about during the long, lonely winter nights.

Those lights became a beacon of advancement and opportunity; to leave, to be introduced, to leave..

After the 100th mast was planted among the 99 others our story begins because it was then that the disturbances began.

The wind became noisier and more deliberate, some windows opened with a crash while others never left their hinges, the single bell of the church rang all by itself, bee hives emptied, cows, hens and horses went missing and most importantly..the dogs started howling, like they were possessed, in the dead of night. All these made the once quiet village a place of madness. The people of Crinkley Bottom could not see the blinking lights at night because persistent mist covered the masts, night and day, even in the summer.

It was decided that an extra priest was in demand due to the increase of functions, services and confessions. Fear started to spread like a disease and the church was called in to cast it away. Despite all efforts however, the phenomena grew more intense as the year went by and so was the consumption of alcoholic beverages.
It was when the first electrician came to check on the masts that the people of Crinkley Bottom finally made the connection.
Mr Jack Bywater, a 45 year-old electrician working for Beaver Network was the first to visit the village after the disturbances became a real issue of concern. He arrived on a warm summer evening the day before he was to check on the Beaver masts and as usual he stayed at the local pub for the night. The men who were mostly drunk by the time he arrived told him what was going on but Jack, being a practical man who believed only in what he saw, shook his head sympathetically and bought them another pint. In a few hours he was too drunk himself to listen to the howling that made the sober people's blood curdle and the children run to their mothers' shaking arms.

The next day and a few hours out of schedule Mr Jack Bywater left the village. He was going to be back for dinner at the pub to enjoy the rooster that was on the menu that evening so he didn't take any food with him.
It was a warm, sunny day and he thought he would enjoy the exercise. He could see the mist obscuring the top completely but he was certain he could manage not only because he was a very experienced electrician but also because he loved a little adventure.

 45 minutes later and 10 degress less Jack stopped his climb right in front of the cold mist. He was very cold and a little apprehensive since he had never experienced such a peculiar kind of mist before. It encircled the top of Blankets forming a kind of dome, so round and dense it looked, he thought that he could cut it with his knife and take a piece back to Crinkley Bottom . Even from such close distance he still couldn't spot the forest of masts that were supposed to be not more than 10 metres away. However, what really upset him was a strong buzzing noise the was coming from within the dome which was so loud that Jack ran out of ideas of what that thing might be. It sounded like an engine, a motor and other electrical things.
He stood there for a few minutes contemplating on his situation and in the end he decided that there was nothing to it. He should go and do his job like the proper electrician that he was.
Taking a deep breath he stepped inside the dome.

The rooster was getting cold on the plate and its buttery sauce was turning into a crust made of fat, so many hours was Jack late for dinner.
The patrons were already telling stories trying to justify his disappearance:

the spirits must have got him
the devil himself must have devoured him
the mist is a porthole to another dimension
the masts must have fried him to bits

In the morning the people gathered at the school to discuss what should be done for poor Jack. It was decided that he shouldn't be left alone up there.
 They thought about calling the local authorities but the nearest town was more than a five-hour drive away. By the time the police arrived, Jack would surely be dead.
Some of the bravest men of the village; Milton the baker, Timothy, the school teacher and John, the pub owner's son volunteered to go and have a look. In the meantime the police would be called as well as an ambulance just in case.
The people waved goodbye to the three brave men lookιng at the thick mist on the top of the mountain in horror wondering if their people were ever coming back.
Now, these men knew the mountain and all the shortcuts to the top very well, and so they arrived at the misty dome far quicker than poor Jack had.
"What in the world is this strange sound?" asked Milton the baker.
"I don't know but we'd better stick together." said Timothy the school teacher.

One by one they stepped inside the dome.

It was like stepping inside a cloud. The sun disappeared and nothing could be heard except a monotonous, sinister buzz that seemed to attack their nerve systems making them cold and sweaty at the same time.

Timothy the school teacher stretched his arms before him and like a sleepwalker walked a few steps towards the masts. He was having difficulty breathing and the noise must have been making him dillusional because he thought he could see shapes gliding inside the mist, ghostly things with mouths open, sucking the air around them. He thought they were coming for him, just like that American movie he had seen not many days ago.
"I shouldn't watch stupid things like that" he thought and tried to shake his fear away.
Timothy took a few steps backwards, turned around and started to run as fast as he could away from this damn place, to the fresh air but BANG! He smashed his face against one of the masts so hard that he lost his balance and realised that he was about to fall backwards.. but didn't. His face was stuck on the mast which was covered in a gluey substance, and then something started to crawl on it making the buzzing sound grow louder. Insects crawled on his face and hands as he tried to push his head away. He felt their stings all over his face, on his eyes and mouth. The whole mast was covered in bees. Soon they were crawling on his arms and legs, in his hair and underneath his jacket.
Then something airy and very cold started to curl around his waist..
"Please no...." he begged and tried to open his mouth to scream.

Milton the baker and John the pub owner's son remained together. Milton was feeling protectively for the boy, being the same age with his own son, who had left the village three years before to go to University. Milton wanted to be certain that nothing would happen to the boy so he held him by the left shoulder and told him not to move before they decided what the hell was going on.
Since Timothy was nowhere to be seen and shouting would be useless with all the racket they decided to move towards the masts to check that everything was in place.
"Look!" said John pointing at a strange shape that was coming towards them. They didn't move only stared at the figure coming closer.
"It's Jack, I think it's Jack!" said Milton who looked at the man approaching apprehensively.
"There's something wrong, don't move.."
"What's wrong with him?" asked John who took a step backwards in shock.
If they hadn't seen the familiar plump outline, the dark beard covering his face, they both would have sworn that a huge puppet was coming their way. Though his strings could not be seen, the way his feet seemed to barely touch the ground while hopping towards them, the way the arms swang from right to left and his head tilted a bit to the left, all these made them wish they had never found Jack or even gone looking for him; he was Jack no more.
The both of them watched 'Jack' as he was approaching. Just when the details of his face were starting to show the thing stopped and like a banana peel his body fell on the ground, a side at a time. First his right side then the front and finally the two men saw his left side collapse.

Their screams froze on their petrified faces, the shell that used to be Jack was occupied by a horrid, gliding spirit who slithered towards them. As they turned on their heels and started to run the buzzing noise surrounded them. They were attacked by a million bees which as if they were following orders covered their bodies and faces in a second. The two men fell on the ground writhing in pain and agony until they felt something cold curling around their dying bodies.

Several months later there was nothing left of the quiet village of Crinkley Bottom. Most of them had perished trying to find out what had happened to all those people who had gone to the mountain top, the rest had fled out of fear.
The masts however, continue to function admirably and without fail.

The Fall. A story written by 11-year-old Orestis

   (digital art by Natiq Aghayer)


It was a sunny day. I woke up and got dressed. I thought that it would be a simple day. I took my breakfast and I got out. It was Sunday so I thought I should relax and have a bit of fun.
After double-locking my door I started to walk. For ten minutes everything was going all right; a lot of people were walking on the pavement and in a little open-air market people were selling their products.
Suddenly, everyone disappeared and the buildings started to fall.
 I ran as fast as I could because I was afraid that if I stopped somewhere even for a minute, a big stone would crush me.

After hours of running the buildings finally stopped falling. I sat down breathless. I looked around me and I couldn't believe that London had just turned to ruins. It was just wrong and I was lost in the middle of it!

I started walking again with nowhere else to go to and with no one to help me. I was thinking about what I should do. I was scared. I kept walking until I finally reached the end of the road. With a big disappointment I saw that there was a big cliff full of blood, bones and rotting bodies. It was so disgusting! But I was ready to jump....and I did.
I knew that the feeling would be terrible and that I would die but I didn't care. I thought that my life had been destroyed!
 However, I found myself in another dimension.
There was fire everywhere and a lonely, empty, feeble path. I didn't know what I was going to face but there was something that was attracting me. I followed the path. It was very long and dark. After hours I sat down to get some rest and that was when I got scared the most.
I heard a strange noise and then something hit me on my head. While I was falling down senseless I heard someone scream.
When I woke up I realised that I was in a cell. The cell had a powerful lock with a fingerprint combination. Suddenly the cell opened. There was a door which they probably used to bring me here but it was locked.
I walked towards it. Suddenly I heard footsteps. I was terrified. I saw a trapdoor on the floor. When I got inside I saw an old man sitting on a chair.
I asked him how I could escape from there but he gave me no answer.
"Perfect" I said "You don't know my language and I don't know yours."
"Who told you that I don't know your language Mr. Someone?" asked the old man. "Do you know who I am?"
"No" I answered
"Neither do I" said the old man.
"Anyway, how can I escape from all this nonsense?" I asked
"You can't, my boy. Now you are trapped in the smallest part of your mind."

I realised then that I was dreaming very deeply inside my mind.

"Now, you can't escape from here" said the old man "In the real world you're something like dead. You can only return to your world if you kill yourself again. But it's very dangerous because you might never wake up again" said the old man who suddenly disappeared...

How lovely, sweet Adeline became their Queen. A story written by 10-year-old Ageliki.

Ageliki wrote the prelude to the story you'll find if you scroll down about River Fleet and Lovely, Sweet Adeline.
Knowing Adeline, I must admit that this story is very close to what really happened to her, how she became the Queen of the Vampires and came to dwell under River Fleet.

It was a very warm night and a man was walking alone.
10 minutes later he arrived at a square and he saw a girl; she was a young girl in the village square, all alone and she was shouting a single phrase" "asaka Tirana kila etoua"
The man went to her and asked her a question.
"What is your name?" Then the girl stopped.
"My name is Adeline"
"Can I ask you another question?"
"Yes" answered the little girl.
"Why are you shouting this phrase and why are you alone?"
"I am here alone because my parents died a year ago when I was 4 in this square. Their blood and flesh are here. I am saying this phrase when there is a full moon because then I can see my parents. But only on one night...only on one night.." she whispered.
For two minutes they were looking at eachother's eyes. Then she started walking and accidentally she pushed at a stone on the square floor and a trapdoor opened.
They went down and walked along. They saw skeletons, a lot of blood and some skulls. Then they saw a door half red and half white. Adeline put her eye in the keyhole to see what was on the other side. She looked but nothing was there. Then she opened the door and went inside.
After a short time they heard a noise. It was the Vampires!
The first to enter the room was Tirana. The Vampire Queen! The girl asked Tirana:
"Why did you kill my parents?"
Tirana thought for a moment and then said: " I killed your parents because I am a vampire and I need blood to live."
"But why my parents?"
"Because your parents had royal blood and so do you."
Adeline became so angry she started hitting the powerful queen. Then the man picked a pointed piece of wood and drove it to Tirana's heart.
Tirana, the vampire queen was dead. Then Adeline's parents appeared and told her that she must become the vampire queen now.
"But why me?"
"Because you have royal blood!"
"Ok, let's do it!" answered Adeline and then her parents hugged her. The man was very tired and frightened. Perplexed, Adeline wondered what will happen to the man.
The vampires let him free to go because he had helped her and they had become friends.
Once a year on the same day they meet at this square.