Chapter 2: The Night Hunger

The Night Hunger,

I woke before dawn, heart hammering. The events of last night still clung to me like damp moss. In the guest room at Crimson Cypress, the wallpaper's cypress trees seemed to sway, their red leaves darkening to black in the pre-dawn gloom. I forced myself out of bed, grabbed my coat, and stepped into the hallway. Every floorboard creaked beneath my weight.

Outside, the air was cool but heavy with mist. I followed the moonlit path past the shuttered windows toward the servants' quarters, hoping to find Julia or maybe help from the few who dared break their superstition. On the porch, lanterns swung in the breeze, casting long spider-web shadows on the gravel drive.

I found Julia crouched beside the well, clutching the same dagger she had laid by her bed. Her face was ashen, eyes rimmed red. She looked up when I approached.

"Doctor," she whispered, voice trembling. "I… I couldn't sleep."

"Nor could I," I admitted. "I need to know more about what's here."

She nodded, wiping tears. "Come inside. Elias is waiting."

Savannah, Georgia — July 18, 1838, 5:12 AM

Elias Greenwood was a hulking figure standing in the kitchen, leaning on an old carving knife. His mixed Cherokee-African features were angular and weathered; his eyes held ancient knowledge. He had been caretaker here long before Julia's family arrived.

When I entered, he nodded curtly. "Mornin', Doctor." His voice was low and gravelly.

"Elias," I began, placing my notebook on the wooden table. "I need the truth. What do you know of this place?"

He took a slow breath. "Truth? White folks don't always want it. But I reckon you need to hear it. Crimson Cypress ain't natural land. It's cursed ground. My people spoke of a spirit here—one older than the trees."

My pen hovered. "A spirit?"

He looked out the window toward the swamp. "They called it Yạ́tálǎ, the Night Hunger. Born of desecrated blood and broken oaths deep beneath the cypress roots. When settlers came, planting their flags, they woke it. But I never believed until… until last night." He met my eyes. "You saw it, too."

I nodded. "I saw something. A tall figure… a whisper."

Elias snorted. "That was its herald. A creature bound to it." He tapped the knife's tip on the table. "Vaneiro Alcade. A man cursed long ago in foreign lands. He sought immortality in blood. They say he made a deal with the Night Hunger, gave his soul to it, and in return was granted eternal life, but only by walking between life and death."

My chest tightened. "You mean he's a vampire?"

He exhaled. "Call him what you will. I've seen the tracks: footprints without weight, scratch marks on trees not made by any animal, blood drained from goats, pigs, even folk who wandered too far. He bleeds life out of things."

I thought of Samuel on his bed, the puncture wounds, the gleam in his eyes. The memory turned my stomach.

Elias continued: "Julia's family discovered the bargain generations ago and kept the land secret. When her ancestors tried to banish him, Vaneiro slaughtered half the people on the plantation in one night and bound the rest with blood-oaths. That's why the walls bleed at midnight sometimes. The devil knows what he's done with that power since."

Julia covered her mouth. "That's… that's horrible."

He knelt, holding up a leather pouch. "I've got tools that might help you. Silver-tipped arrows, a stake carved from ancient oak, and some blessed salt. If you're serious about saving Samuel—and everyone else—you must face him in the swamp before the next full moon."

My pulse raced. "Before the next full moon… that's a week away."

He shook his head. "A curse grows stronger with each night. You need to act soon."

I closed my eyes. Duty and fear warred inside me. Samuel was dying—or worse, turning. I had to try.

---

I spent the next hour preparing. In my medical satchel I packed laudanum, opiates, bandages—my mundane tools felt pitiful against a monster. Elias wrapped the stake in oil-cloth. Julia handed me a vial of perfumed water she'd kept from her grandmother's chapel trip. "I… I pray this helps," she said.

Together we slipped out the back door toward the swamp. The dawn sky was streaked orange; dragonflies skimmed the water's surface. The swamp felt alive—a quivering membrane between our world and something older. Elias led us along a narrow boardwalk over dark water, each creak echoing like a death knell.

Halfway in, we paused by a clearing where dozens of horses had been slaughtered—blood turned the mud black. Their carcasses lay half-submerged, bodies torn by claws. The stench of rot made Julia retch. I knelt, examining claw-like gouges in a rib. These weren't from a wolf.

Suddenly, a whisper rippled through the cypress knees—a low, sibilant voice just beyond hearing. Elias held up a clenched fist. "Here."

I saw a shape: something tall, hunched beneath the trees, limbs too long, head obscured by moss. Its breathing was like wind through dry leaves. I felt it watching us, hunger thrumming in the air.

Elias whispered, "Stay silent."

We pressed on. At the heart of the swamp rose a circle of ancient cypress, crimson-hung with drifting Spanish moss, as if soaked in blood. In the center was a shallow pool, water black as oil.

"This is where he waits," Elias said.

My skin crawled. I gripped the stake. Julia held the oil lamp high. We advanced together.

From the shadows, the ground vibrated with low footfalls. Vaneiro emerged in the lamplight—tall, impossibly thin, skin stretched over angular bones, eyes glowing like embers. His coat was dark velvet, age-torn, and around his neck a crimson scarf clung.

He smiled, lips pulled back to reveal elongated canines. "Doctor Rowan," he intoned, voice rich as decay. "And the dear lady Julia. How gracious of you to visit."

Julia gasped. Elias glared, brandishing his knife.

I swallowed, stepping forward. "Samuel… stop this. Let him go."

Vaneiro's laugh was a hollow echo. He turned to the pool and dipped a finger into the water, stirring it. "Samuel… is mine now. He tasted the Night Hunger's gift. He belongs to me."

The water rippled, and I saw—too briefly—Samuel's face twisted in agony beneath the surface. Then the pool went still.

Vaneiro flicked his finger; droplets of oily liquid clung to the moss. "One drop is all I need to sire another." He approached, each step silent but heavy. "Ambrose Rowan, you have meddled in affairs beyond your ken."

My heart roared. "Release him, or I swear—"

He held up a slender hand. "Or you swear what? To summon your servants? Your militia? They'd flee long before they arrived."

Elias growled and lunged. Vaneiro moved with inhuman speed, sidestepping and leaving Elias' knife to slash only the air. The vampire's eyes glowed brighter as he advanced on Julia, who staggered back.

"Stay back!" I shouted, raising the lamp. The light painted his pallid skin in fiery streaks. He recoiled, snarling.

I lunged with the oak stake. Vaneiro caught my wrist, cold as death itself. He bent my arm back and whispered in my ear, "You cannot kill me."

My breath caught. Pain lanced through my bones, but I didn't scream. I twisted my wrist, dislodging his grasp, and drove the stake toward his heart.

He convulsed, a keening howl tearing from his throat. The swamp around us trembled. For a moment, I thought the stake had struck true—his eyes dimmed, and he staggered backward.

But then he smiled again, a cruel, victorious grin. The stake shattered in his chest like glass, splinters falling at his feet. Blood bubbled from the wound—but instead of dying, he inhaled sharply, absorbing the red life-essence. His chest knit together in seconds. He straightened, stronger.

Julia screamed, and I felt despair crash into me. Elias fought off tears.

Vaneiro laughed, a sound like rusted hinges. "Futile," he said. "Futile." He raised his hand, and a gust of icy wind knocked us off our feet.

In a blur, he was gone—slipping into the trees with impossible speed. The swamp fell silent once more.

We lay there, shaken and bleeding. That last glimpse of his face—eyes glowing with triumph—haunts me still.

---

Now, I'm back in this cursed house, sitting by the same well Julia and I visited hours ago. My hands tremble so badly I can barely type. Elias refuses to stay here another minute; he's headed back to the mainland to gather what help he can. Julia barricaded herself in the main house with the servants.

I don't know what to do next. Vaneiro Alcade is stronger than I imagined, faster than any beast, and he laughs at my oak stakes and silver arrows. He has Samuel now—either as his blood-slave or worse.

I should feel rage, but it's replaced with a cold dread. If he can heal from a wooden stake, what hope have we?

I will not abandon my friend. I will not cower.

But right now—for the first time since this nightmare began—I'm afraid I might be trapped here forever.

There is something moving outside my window. A scraping sound… like fingernails on glass.

I'm going to investigate. I have to know if he's coming for me.

Wish me luck. I fear I'll need more than luck to survive.