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Blood Moon

Blood Moon

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Published by Brandon Terrell
Written waaay back when I was in 8th grade for a creative writing course, about a man who traipses into the lair of a vampire in search of his kidnapped wife. I've transcribed it in its entirety from its typewriter origins, typos and all.
Written waaay back when I was in 8th grade for a creative writing course, about a man who traipses into the lair of a vampire in search of his kidnapped wife. I've transcribed it in its entirety from its typewriter origins, typos and all.

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Categories:Types, School Work
Published by: Brandon Terrell on Jun 21, 2011
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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By Brandon Terrell
He crouched there, quivering. Deep in the shadows of a far-away corner of the castle, he sat with his head between his knees and his arms wrappedaround his legs. His body ached from the amount of time he had hidden there, inthe abandoned room in a cobwebbed corner. His mind, filled with fear, ran backthe dreadful events of the night so far, fearing the end of it.Just a mere four hours earlier, young Dimitrian Othena was at his usualSaturday night hangout, the small town pub at the end of the main road. He satat a table with a group of five chums, guzzling down tapped brews and laughingheartily at Artrives, a small, plump man whose life had been full of hilariousadventures. Artrives had been telling a tale of his he was climbing atop hisbeautiful white stallion. He was just about on when the horse took off at a briskpace, Artrives hanging on for dear life. His efforts were futile as he flew off thehorse and landed face first in a steaming pile of fresh horse manure. His storyended with a mighty cheer as they all downed the hard liquor.“Hey, Dimitrian!” Artrives called boisterously. “Where is thou bride to be,the voluptuous Gwendolyn?”“At the cottage, fixing house,” Dimitrian replied. Gwendolyn was his onetrue love. He still remembered the day he had met the brown haired, fair skinnedbeauty.He was kneeling before a large marble stone in the cemetery across town.
The stone was located beneath a weeping willow and the wind howled throughthe branches. His eyes closed, he recited the religious prayer his mother hadtaught him as a young child. The sky above him was cloudy, a storm soonapproaching. The stone in front of him was that of his parents, who had beenkilled when their house had burnt down only a year earlier.Through the wind and blowing leaves, he heard another voice far away. Itwas a female voice. He thought that it was just his ear being fooled by the wind,but he stood up, opened his eyes, and gazed around the old hills, covered withstones similar to that of his parents. Fifty feet away stood a beautiful brownhaired woman. She was clad in black, and her hair was blowing in the wind. Sheseemed to be talking to someone but there was no one there. Dimitrian frownedand weaved between stones to stand next to her.“Good afternoon,” Dimitrian greeted her.“Good afternoon,” she answered. He could see tears welled up in her stunning green eyes. He glanced slowly over at the stone and read the namesengraved into it: Othos and Patrica Fuhr. The deceased must be her parents aswell, he hypothesized. He extended his hand, palm up. “Dimitrian Othena,” hesaid, bowing his head slightly.“Gwendolyn Fuhr,” she answered monotonously, not extending her hand.“I couldn’t help but overhear you talking to someone, and I thought thatyou might be addressing me,” he said, his arm falling back to his side.“I’m sorry,” she blushed slightly. “Sometimes I think that they can hear mebetter if I talk to them aloud.” She gestured to the stone.
“I haven’t seen you around town before. Are you new to the area?”“No, I live in the country west of town. My grandmother owns it and Imoved here after my parents passed on three years ago.”“Well, I hope to see you again—“His mind was slammed back to the present as a large, burly man burstthrough the front door. “Dimitrian!” he yelled frantically. “Me wife just told me shewas a visiting that there cottage of yours and suddenly the door was knowcked tothe ground by that loner Batharie, He whisked in, abducted your Gwendolynwithout saying a word and dashed off to his castle!”“Dear God in Heaven,” Dimitrian muttered. Count Batharie was a town legend.He lived in an old mossy castle overlooking the town. Years ago, the same thinghappened to another girl. That night, the moon had turned a bright red, hideousin sight. The next day they found her at the foot of Batharie’s hill, pale andbloodless.Dimitrian, angry and determined, turned to his liquor drinking friends.“Gents!” he yelled. “Who here will go with me to Batharie’s castle and retrieve mydear Gwendolyn?!”The crowd, wide-eyed, exchanged glance with one another untilJamieson, the burly man who had relayed the message to Dimitrian said, “I willhelp you, friend.”Artrives called out, “Tis after dark. How will we ever find our way?”“What are you, a coward?” Jamieson inquired.“I have four torches in my shed at my cottage,” said Tyrrell, another of 

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