A Vampire's Rotten Heart

Mail to Mitford

    But that calm could only last for so long when hunger started to claw its way back.

    I had only been locked up for an hour, and I was already in a frenzy. The rocking of the private freight train I was supposedly on did nothing.

    Wood pressed against every inch of my body, from my wings to my shoulders to my feet. It didn't feel like a bed anymore. It was a cage.

    I pushed my whole body against the lid. It didn't budge. Normally I'd be strong enough to bust it open, but Wilford had sealed it with silver locks as per government regulations.

    This was a stupid idea.

    I did things in there I would never speak of again. I hissed. I screamed. I writhed and swore and cried.

    And it would be days before anyone opened the coffin.

    Or maybe no one would ever open it. Perhaps I would be lost. Perhaps I would lie and starve for all eternity.

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The train screeched and slowed. Its thundering wheels jolted.

I expected the train to be back up in half an hour at the most. The worst thing I could think of was a particularly large walrus carcass laying on the tracks.

But of course, that would be ordinary. And nothing ordinary ever happened to me.

    The wood of the coffin creaked and groaned. Rays of faint light peeked through the lid. Something tickled the edge of my wing.

    Roots.

    "You're making a mistake, child."

    Roots poked more and more holes into the lid until finally I was able to stand up. That was a relief. I didn't care that my tree friend was there.

    "Why is this your business?" I tipped my spine way far back and stretched my wings, delighted by all the little cracks.

    "I suppose I can let you in on something." The roots continued to crawl around the inside of the car.

    "I need a champion. A savior."

    "Alright." I sat up straight and crossed my legs. "What great evil am I saving the world from, eh?"

    "A... certain group of people are bound to orchestrate my demise."

    "Sounds like they're doing the world a favor."

    The roots clenched and spasmed like an earthworm. "Only a Noxy king would have the... influence to stop them. And so far, they're all against me."

    "You want me to raise a mind-controlled army to fight an unspecified group of people who are trying to kill you?"

    "Yes."

    "Ha! In your dreams."

    A root swiveled around my ankle and started growing upward. I shook my foot, but it wouldn't budge.

    "You will wait here, child."

    "Why are you so sure I'll be on your side once I've bursted?"

    "Times are desperate. I'm not sure."

    The tree's grip tightened.

    "I'll dig tunnels for you. I'll give you blood. I will protect you and your people for generations. Just please. Let me live."

    "No."

    "God is a fairytale written by scared men. There is no Heaven. There is no Hell. There is nothing after death. The whims and whys of the land are solely Mother Nature's domain. I'm not ready to die."

    "No!"

    "My roots have seeped into the earth for centuries. I've seen the way your kind has changed. It continues to change. And the direction it's heading in is absurd and destructive."

"Take your problems to someone who gives a shit!"

The gritting of saws and the glint of silver caught my ear from just outside the car. The roots twitched and retracted, then fell dead.

I stood up, took a breath, and untied the root on my ankle.

Sure, it was nice to be out of there, but would it be so nice when someone came to open the car?

And I wasn't any less hungry.

——————————————————

When the train made its slow, controlled stop, I rushed into the ruined coffin and played dead.

The car door slid open with a thunk. Two men muttered to each other. They both were breathing heavily.

A long tree branch rustled outside of the car, and soon, I was being poked in the face.

"You think it's alive, Steve?"

It. That was a new feeling.

The man swallowed his spit. "Why don't you unload it? You're the more experienced trainman, after all."

"Fuck no."

I couldn't tell which one was responsible, but the stick was being jabbed into my chest.

"Guess we'll both carry it. But you get the end with the teeth."

The sound of boots on snow became the sound of boots on wood. If I stayed still, this would all go off without a hitch. But I neglected one fact:

Their hearts were practically beating out of their chests.