Caves and Vampires

It was a dark and stormy night.

The sky was black, the rain hailed down, and in the distance lighting crackled. Sometimes there is no place better to be then in a cave. Jeremiah huddled by the fire, idly scrapping at his bowel of porridge. Laid around the cave, his companions slept on the hard ground. Wind blew through the cave spraying sparks off the open fire: the sky flashed.

The heavens thundered in response. Jeremiah starred off into the endless rain. Sighing he placed the bowl on the floor. All around him was no-man’s land. A barren wasteland filled with rocks and mud and swamps and vampires. One must never forget the vampires. Jeremiah chuckled.

The fire dimmed, the last few embers glowing a dim red. Shadows danced on the roof of the cave. Jeremiah laid back watching the flickering lights, listening to the pounding storm, hearing footsteps pound above him. Footsteps pounded above him.

Jeremiah sat up: eyes wide. The rain splashed on the small awning, the wind howled, and one of his companions snored. Jeremiah looked around. His comrades slept peacefully near him, bundled up on their robes on the dirt. After having walked a hundred miles in the desert, they slept.

Jeremiah felt sore. His legs hurt, his back ached, and his feet were numb. His body felt tired, but his mind felt awake. He gazed into the entrance to the cave as the lightning flashed.

A man stood at the entrance of the cave.

Jeremiah blinked, and he was gone. His heart pounded. He crouched.
The embers died. The shadows flickered above. The bodies of his comrades were devoured in the growing gloom. Jeremiah stood there, ready.

The cave went dark: a man laughed.