Vamp: The Novelization

CHAPTER 1

THE CEREMONY

It was a night of darkness that seemed never-ending. A night that suffocated with imposing, claustrophobic shadows in each and every corner—the next more impenetrable, somehow blacker, than the last. It seemed to grow thicker and faster with a predator’s confidence, as if it believed it was winning a battle against the daylight, as if the sun would never return to illuminate the earth, and extinguish its inky presence.

This time of night, where the shadows hung the heaviest, was what came to be known as ‘the witching hour’.

The more primitive and supernaturally-minded saw this ‘hour’ as the time when the veil between every world would fade into the background. Where bargains and sacrifices with gods and devils could be made with the greatest of ease. Where the dead could communicate with the living, and the living could lose their souls in the blink of an eye.

This was the kind of night that pushed the normally rational and moralistic of people into committing vile acts, all in the name of a sacrificial payment.

Some of these payments were in the name of their benevolent deity.

Some were in the name of their own murderous inner demons.

Some even in the belief that they were doing a greater good.

Most, though, committed such acts in the narcissism of their own value over others, normally using the religions of the world as excuses for their selfish deeds. These kinds of people merely believed that the oil-thick night was theirs to do with as they pleased, any beings they may pretend to praise were simply an affectation of their own devising.

Before the night had arrived, a violent storm approached the hamlet of Barker’s Folly from within its weakly-lit sky. The clouds multiplied and darkened as the Sun bid its nightly farewell, and torrents of rain began to fall down onto this township.

As a bell rang high in the church’s steeple, its tolling momentarily echoed over the slumbering buildings, until the cacophony of the intrusive storm rapidly consumed it, leaving only the thudding of rain and the rumbling of thunder in its wake.

With most of the townsfolk lost within their dreamland, seven hooded figures who shunned the call of sleep now marched in a single file procession. A procession toward their work within ‘the witching hour’.

Their path led across the cobbled square that sprawled out in front of the large church. At the head of the procession, the figure wore an opulent, blood-red robe. Around its neck hung a large ornate golden medallion that depicted the moon and the sun. Behind them, the trailing figures' robes were much the same, though theirs were made of a much simpler, white hessian.

As more thunder reverberated and echoed high above them, the darkness was quickly split into two, as several pale white streaks of lightning raced across the skies, sending out a silent strobing light.

Despite this storm, the figures marched on, ignoring the rain that soaked them, ignoring the violence of mother nature high above them. They continued on, with more important things at hand, across the cobbles and into a large old building at the far end of the square. The doors of which lay open in expectation of their arrival. The glowing light from within, beckoned them inside.

Within the building—deep within the bowels of its expansive basement—the seven figures marched down a long corridor, toward a small room lit with orange candlelight. Their hoods still up, masking their identities.

An eighth figure waited within—they too dressed in a white robe, though without the protection of a hood.

His name was William. An apprentice to this order, still in training to become one of them, hoping that one day he too would be part of the procession as a fully fledged brother.

William’s wealthy family had sent him here to learn the ways of the world. To bask in the intellect of academia. To prepare himself for a successful life. Instead, he had shirked the calls of education and instead chose to be indoctrinated into the arms of the order, whose sole aim was more base and debauched than could be found in any text book. This was a group who wanted nothing but ways to fuel their own desires. A group that although William did not personally like, he knew it was his best and only option. He knew that in order to succeed in this little world, a weak person needed to align with the strong in order to avoid becoming trampled by them. A lesson that no text would teach him, but one that he innately knew. The weak only succeeded on the shoulders of the strong. And William was weak. Very weak. Physically, at least. Yet, despite this, the order had taken pity on him, and enlisted him to train within their ranks.

William was barely a step into adulthood. His fresh face still lacked any ability to grow hair, and his body seemed that of someone many years younger. His slight, diminutive stature could easily be mistaken for that of a prepubescent child.

As the red-robed figure leading the processional approached, they held out their hand toward William, who in turn passed them a large, lit ivory candle. The candle’s yellowing-orange flame danced high into the darkness of the stone lined room they stood in.

Be strong, the red-robed figure quietly said as they took the candle from William, noticing a trace of worry on the youths face. What we do now may seem extreme, but the dark ones command us, and they reward us for our obedience in abundance. This male voice sounded almost regal, with a pronounced and over-enunciated English accent.

William replied with a nod and a thin appreciative smile, as he then continued to hand out the rest of the lit candles to the other figures. When he finished, he hurried over to a large oak door at the far side of the room. Grabbing its large metal handle, he pulled hard, opening it wide, then standing aside to allow the procession to enter.

Within, a dark room awaited.

The robed figure’s candles soon consumed the surrounding shadows in their comfortingly warm hue, illuminating all it touched.

Everything within this dungeon-like chamber had been draped with old white sheets. All except for the long table that lay at the far side of the room and the two nearly naked men standing bound and blindfolded beside it.

The top of this table was littered with empty chalices, burnt-out candles, open ancient books, loose pages and scrolls. All evidence of past conjurings and sacrifices.

From somewhere that sounded far away, a low chanting began. A monotone hum of male voices emanating softly around the stone walls.

Each of the hooded figures took their places about the room and faced the bound captives at the end of the table; These two men, with hands tied behind their backs, had been placed atop small wooden stools. With hoods over their heads, they could not see the nooses that dangled in front of them, affixed to the wooden beams high above them.

Beside these unwitting prisoners, three pale male bodies dangled motionless in the air, hanged by their own nooses. Each had been similarly stripped of most of their clothing, and were far from living. Even the warm candlelight did not hide the deathly blue hue of their lifeless skin.

The red-robed figure turned and nodded to one of his white-robed brethren, who—without a pause—stepped forward to the two bound men, now silently awaiting their fate.

Remove their hoods, the red-robed figure ordered with a stern determination. The hum of the chanting seemed to grow louder around them as the figure spoke. These paupers deserve to witness their own mortality, not in the comfort of darkness, but in the light of our infernal majesty.

As this command was obeyed, the captive’s hoods were removed, yet did not reveal any expected fearful faces. It did not reveal any expressions appealing for clemency. It merely presented two young men. Both with cocky smiles adorning their faces.

You are about to make the ultimate sacrifice, the red-robed figure continued as he motioned to the hanged men dangling beside the captives. Many have trod this path before you, yet only very few have survived.

The captive’s expressions remained unfazed by any of the words uttered, or by the fate that had befallen the hanged men beside them.

The red-robed figure continued. Nevertheless, glory awaits those who survive this supreme test of immortality... the trial of the demon rope.

The robed figure who stood at their side, dropped their removed hoods onto the table, then proceeded to place the empty nooses over each of their heads. As this was done, both captive men still continued to smile, not even displaying a solitary ounce of fear.

Welcome..., the red-robed figure said, to what may be your own worst nightmare, or your path to our world of our demonic glory. With this, he lifted his hood enough to display a hideous rope burn around the circumference of his neck.

Now! he bellowed, signaling his captive’s demise. Cast them—

Before he could finish, his words were cut off as the sound of the rising chanting chorus began to stutter and repeat. Over and over.

What the? The red-robed figure said in confusion as he turned to William, who now raced with a panicked expression on his face across to the other side of the room. There, hidden in the shadows, sat a record player, who’s needle now skipped on a vinyl album of Gregorian chants.

William grabbed the needle and skipped it forward with a large, audible scratch that spilled out through hidden speakers around the room.

The condemned men glanced at each other, both trying not to laugh.

As the next part of the song played, the red-robed figure tried to regain his stride. He continued, unsure. The... Supreme sacrifice and... uh... the ultimate test… will—

Oh fuckin’ hang me now, one captive exclaimed in a strong Brooklyn accent. This was AJ, rolling his eyes, shooting a glance to his fellow captive. I’d rather die than hear this shit again. Wouldn’t you?

As AJ leapt from the stool to the floor, the rope around his neck slid harmlessly down from the beam above, and he removed his hands from the loose rope bindings behind his back.

We haven’t got time for this kinda shit, he said, amused.

The other captive, Keith, shot AJ a wide-eyed grin as he too jumped off the stool and onto the floor. He then removed his hands from the loose rope behind him, and stepped besides his friend.

The robed figures watched them motionless..

William, still standing next to the record player, stared around at his brothers, shocked.

This ain’t no Frat House, AJ loudly stated, addressing the whole room. It’s a half-way house for total morons. He raised his hand, motioning to all of their robes, Spooky Halloween costumes? He then glanced at the hanged bodies beside him, now easily discernible as badly made props. And these cheap phony hangings?

And don’t forget the music... Keith added with a sarcastic tone.

AJ nodded. Yeah, that music? Who's supposed to be singing it, anyway? No-one’s here except us. Are we supposed to fear these hidden spooky singers? Gimme a break, guys. He exhaled loudly before continuing, I’m gonna file this whole experience as ‘must try a lot fuckin’ harder…’, sound fair?

The red-robed figure erupted angrily, "Silence pledge! The Emma Dipsa Phi initiation has only just begun."

AJ took a moment then chuckled to himself. A laugh that Keith only knew too well. One that AJ did when he knew full well that he had the upper hand.

Yeah, I get it, guys. AJ said softly as he turned and grabbed a bunch of balled up clothes from behind his stool. Lemme take a wild and random guess… This initiation is to do more cheesy shit, in order to bore us to death?

Separating the clothes, AJ tossed some to Keith, then looked down in his hands at a crumpled designer shirt. He shot a glance of annoyance to the robed figures. "I told you to be careful with my clothes, he held up the creased shirt toward them, shaking it angrily. Who wrinkled my shit? Morons!"

Intimidated, the white-robed figures slowly removed their hoods, exposing their youthful, confused faces. Shrugging their shoulders, they glanced at each other, like children caught with their hands in a cookie jar - all except for one; The red-robed figure, who did not look guilty at all. He slowly removed his hood, exposing a boyish, yet chiseled alpha-jock face. He glared angrily at Keith and AJ, then spoke sternly in his English accent, It looks like we've misjudged you two. You're obviously not Dispa Phi material—

Oh drop the accent, sparky. AJ retorted with a snorting laughter.

"You’ve ruined this whole goddamn night, you butthole!" the Frat leader shouted at them. His regal English accent now dropped to reveal its California origins.

Look, AJ said in appeasement tinged with sarcasm. "I’m really sorry to have put a kibosh on your little off-off-off Broadway theater show. I really am. We didn’t come here meaning to screw this… whatever the hell you’re intending here. But myself and my fellow initiate, Keith here... he motioned to his friend, who busily buttoned up his shirt. Well, we think we were mistaken. Am I right, Keith?"

Keith looked up and shared a telltale glance with his friend. Due to their longstanding friendship, Keith and AJ shared an unspoken shorthand, each always inherently knowing what the other’s intentions were. Because of this, Keith nodded at AJ with a smile, despite not really paying attention to what anyone had said, Yup. Fooled us completely.

Without skipping a beat, AJ continued toward the Fraternity. "Fooled us! Exactly! You see, we were under the impression that this was the house on campus. But you seem to be the kind of organization that takes in any adoring dickhole that’ll leap from a stool with a noose around their neck."

Before the Frat leader could reply, AJ held his hand up to silence him a moment longer.

Obviously, AJ’s tone turned softer before continuing. "Obviously, you guys don't recognize the true advantage of your position here. The power you really have."

The fraternity stared back in a blank unison, unsure of what the cocky initiate meant.

AJ glanced at Keith with a mock-confused look. Is it just us who get this?

Keith shrugged, Maybe they just don’t understand? Though in reality, Keith didn’t know where AJ was going with any of this either.

Both of them gathered up the remainder of their belongings as they finished dressing.

Should have gone to Kappa Lamda, Keith, AJ said, intentionally louder for the fraternity to overhear.

Okay. Fine. I’ll bite, the leader said, annoyed yet confused. "What advantages don’t we recognize, then?"

Gottcha ya dumbass. AJ muttered under his breath. He looked at Keith and winked. Right into my trap.

What are you gonna do? Keith whispered, unsure of what this trap was exactly.

AJ quickly spun around and flashed his killer smile toward the fraternity. A smile that had helped him and Keith out of many sticky situations, many, many times. Whether it was trouble from the cops, or from bullies, or even the opposite sex, it was a smile that could win anyone over.

Well, gentlemen, AJ began. "And I can see that you are indeed gentlemen. Pausing, he took a breath. A quick moment to look at each of the frat boys, one by one, ending on the leader. Let us start with the basic situation in front of us, shall we? You have something I and my good friend Keith here want: plush accommodations, cable TV, alcohol, better food than the slop in other houses—"

So? the leader interrupted.

With a flash of disdain across his face, AJ solely addressed the leader. Now instead of making us go through these stupid, immature... uh, he turned to Keith. What's the word I'm looking for?

Asinine? Keith proffered.

AJ continued with a nod of thanks to his friend."...Asinine tests which, by the way, we find incredibly boring, if you didn’t get that message by now."

Behind him, Keith mocked an illustrative yawn.

Wouldn’t it be smarter, and better for you all, AJ continued. "If you used this situation to your best advantage?"

The leader couldn't help but look intrigued, even if still confused. A confusion that AJ enjoyed immensely.

What potential benefit do you get with this sideshow dime-store bullshit? We can make this a much more lucrative partnership. Look, you're having a big party tonight, right? AJ’s demeanor turned more assured, as he saw his plan falling into place. "Now you gotta need something for it, right? So what is it? Beer, music, entertainment? Keith and I can provide that for you - It’s our speciality. You name it, anything you want - and we're gonna get it for you. All in exchange for our membership into your fine establishment. Simple, right? Better than this hocus pocus bullshit, ain’t it?"

The fraternity turned to each other, conferring about AJ’s proposition in overly hushed tones.

Keith reached out and pulled AJ to one side. Two things, he whispered.

AJ smiled. Sure... What’s the first thing?

"You get that we could have just shut our mouths and jumped off these stools, right? Then we would have been right there in the fraternity. Instead you’re making this whole initiation that much more annoying by making us do more shit for them?"

You know me, my good friend, AJ replied. Have you ever known me to take the road less-travelled?

You mean, have I ever known you to make my life easier?

You love me, you know it, AJ laughed as he spoke. Now what’s the second thing on your oh so inquisitive mind?

"Why the hell did you say anything? Couldn't you have said one thing instead? Or something? Why any? You had to offer them anything?"

Relax, will ya? AJ patted Keith on his shoulder. These guys are operating’ on empty here, not really bright sparks, are they?

Keith spoke his words deliberately and slowly. We just had to jump. That’s all.

Relax. AJ then turned his attention toward the fraternity, addressing them, Whatta ya say, guys? We got ourselves a deal?

"You did say anything, right?" the leader asked with glee.

Keith closed his eyes then shook his head. Goddamn it, AJ. he muttered loud enough for AJ to hear.

The leader stared hard at them for a few moments

"Anything. AJ reassured them. Anything at all."

At ten years old, Keith Emerson was smaller than most his age. This was not a disadvantage to him, though, as it may have been to others. Where anyone else may have believed they were weak and underdeveloped, young Keith knew that the true strength was both in his mind and in his heart. He did not see any value in how much he could lift or how hard he could punch.

At Valemore Elementary, the traditional bully system existed. One that was mostly ignored by the parents and teachers, as it was in most schools. Indeed, Valemore was a standard educational establishment in this respect, where insecure larger children beat on the smaller, more intelligent ones. Whether this bullying was out of a subconscious jealousy, or a hidden love or just plain sadism, anyone looking weak or vulnerable meant easy pickings to the bullies. Those unfortunate to be slight were destined to lose their money or limp home with a black eye and sore ribs.

Keith fit into all the usual categories for being preyed upon by the dumbest bully of all - Waylon McCafferty. A behemoth of a lug head, molded in the image of his lug-headed moron of a father, who had no issues beating on anyone smaller or different than him. All except one; Keith. Waylon would not beat on Keith under any circumstances. Not anymore.

It had all changed on the fateful day where Keith had simply had enough of Waylon. The day he had had enough of being chased down, punched to the ground, and having his lunch money stolen. This was the day when Keith took the words of Travis Bickle and used them for his own purpose.

In the summer of ‘76, Taxi Driver had hit the local flea-pit theatre down the street from Valemore. With his cousin working there, young Keith could sneak into all the adult rated films he wanted to see. No other kids his age did that—Especially not for a film like Taxi Driver. If his friends had wanted to sneak into the theatre and risk getting into trouble for their efforts, it was gonna be for a film like The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, Alien or The Exorcist. But for Taxi Driver— which his classmates saw as being too boring—no chance. It was something Keith took full advantage of on that day.

And when Keith, then nine years old, turned the tables on Waylon during one of his many beatdowns, things changed.

Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets. Keith snarled, as he turned to Waylon with an intense stare. Though the ferocious demeanor on his face looked real, it was merely a mask. He was terrified, channeling his best Bickle at the bully, trying to ignore the very real chance that this plan may not work.

But it did work.

Taken aback, Waylon suddenly halted his beating.

What d’ya say, squirt?

You talkin' to me? Keith retorted, suddenly getting to his feet and adopting the same stance that De Niro did up on the theatre screen.

Waylon had no time to process anything, before the usually mild-mannered Keith continued.

You talkin' to me?

Waylon had no answer. He just stared wide-eyed..

Keith's impression got louder and louder with each word he uttered. Then who the hell else are you talking' to? You talkin' to me? Well, I'm the only one here.

I’m gonna... Waylon started to say, trying to keep his bullying tone, but failing miserably as Keith deftly interrupted.

Who the fuck d’ya think you're talking to? he yelled. Before Waylon could react, Keith’s volume lowered, I got some bad ideas in my head, Waylon.

What? was all that Waylon could reply before Keith continued.

"Listen, you fucker… you screwhead. Here is a boy who would not take it anymore. A boy who stood up against the scum, the cunts, the dogs, the filth, the shit. Here is a boy who stood up."

Waylon’s nine-year-old brain could not comprehend that this little object of his cruelty—the boy who normally was a compliant punching bag—would say these things to him. Say these terrifying words. Even Waylon wouldn’t swear like that in fear that his dad would somehow hear him and beat his ass. But it was the next line that Keith adapted from the film that sealed the deal. That made Waylon vow to himself to cease any further bullying of Keith.

My Dad has a .44 Magnum pistol, Waylon. Keith said suddenly calmly as he took a step forward. "I’m gonna kill her with that gun, Waylon. If you ever even speak to me again."

Now Keith did not know who the ‘her’ in this empty threat was, but Waylon must have assumed it was someone close to him. As without another second passing, the bully turned and ran—tail tucked firmly between his legs.

From the moment he summoned his inner Bickle, this was the new dynamic. Keith then enjoyed a peaceful existence in his school. Anyone with a keen eye could see that this was strange and exceptional. Physically, he should have looked as brow beaten and scared as the rest of the classmates his size were.

You and I are gonna be buddies.

Those were the words that made Keith stop daydreaming, and jolt with fear as he walked in the corridor, as a strange boy’s arm clasped over his shoulder.

Thinking his non-bully streak was finally over, Keith winced as he glanced to his side—to the boy that spoke and grabbed him—fully expecting to see Waylon. Instead, he was shocked to see that it was the new kid at Valemore. The kid from New York who had just arrived that week.

W-what? Keith asked, as this new boy walked with him toward the playground, his