Destined To Keep Cumming

Copyright © July 2017 by CiaoSteve

CiaoSteve reserves the right to be identified as the author of this work.

This story cannot be published, as a whole or in part, without the express agreement of the author other than the use of brief extracts as part of a story review.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

Author's Notes

Foreword #1 : All characters in this series are over 18

Foreword #2 : This is pure fantasy and should be read as such. It is not intended to be factual and could not happen in real life . . . . well at least I would expect it could not happen, but maybe you can prove me wrong

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We are all fascinated by tales of the unexplained. Myths and legends from long ago. Witches, wizards, demons and devils. The unknown pulls at our conscious and leaves us delving for more. Yet at the same time we all know that such are tales of fiction, of events passed down through the ages, of folklore and imagination. Ask yourself this though, what if not every tale was pure fiction. What if somewhere, just somewhere, one of these creatures of fantasy did actually exist.

This is the tale of one young woman whose interests in such myths and legends led to a chance encounter. A potentially life changing encounter . . . .

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Emma Wilkes lived her life in history. As a child she had a deep love for literature, especially those classic horror novels from the likes of Bram Stoker, Mary Shelley and Ann Radcliffe. It was almost a no brainer that she went on to study the classics at University and even more of a no brainer that she took an option in mythology and folklore as part of her final year.

Now 26, she had landed her dream job as a research assistant in the Department of Classics, Ancient History and Archaeology at a prestigious UK university. For the last four years she had spent her time researching and lecturing on the stories of lore and legend which influenced the classics. For example, where was the inspiration for Frankenstein, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, The Castle of Otranto and, her favourite, Dracula?

It was the latter that Emma had focused on most closely, engrossed in understanding how a simple story could cross so many literary genres and spawn a plethora of adaptations across literature, film and theatre. Why does the story of Count Dracula still enthuse people with a sense of dread? Why is there still such an interest in vampires if they are purely a flight of fantasy (cue the movies Interview with a Vampire, Twilight, Blade and Van Helsing to name but a few)? Could there be more to the legend than just a simple story?

Through the years Emma had spent time in Transylvania and the surroundings (a region in the central part of modern Romania), visiting the castles of Bran, Poenari and Hunyad which had all been linked with the story. She had studied the history of Vlad (the Impaler) who has long since been seen as the inspiration for Count Dracula himself, but had drawn a blank in terms of tracking down any modern day descendents willing to share their story.

On another trip, time was spent in North Yorkshire, around the Whitby area, where Dracula was meant to have landed in the UK and on a third time was spent in the Netherlands. The purpose of these trips was to look into the inspiration behind the two main protagonists in the story, Dr. Seward and Abraham van Helsing. Both were well known fictional characters but who had inspired their involvement in the story.

As she expected this was a continual saga of speculation, exaggeration and ultimate dead ends. With almost four years spent on a single journey, it was about time to place the novel back on the shelf and consider another option. Almost time that was, but there was one last clue to follow, this time much closer to home. A contact had suggested talking to a Dr. Vincent Stewart. He was a bit of a recluse, living in a semi derelict manor house in rural Wiltshire, but the local old wives tales were that he was descended from a family with close links to the vampire myths of old.

Emma had done a little research on Dr. Stewart and indeed had found that there was a Dr. Vincent Louis Abraham Deacon Stewart registered as living just outside of Malmesbury, on the edge of the Cotswolds. Luckily she managed to obtain a phone number and gave it a call.

"Hello," came a foreign sounding voice down the telephone.

"Oh, hello. Is that Dr Stewart?"

"Who's asking?" came a rather abrupt reply.

"So sorry, let me introduce myself. My name is Emma Wilkes and I am a university research assistant specialising in folklore and classic literature. I've spent the last few years looking into the inspiration behind Bram Stoker's tales of Dracula, and was told that you may be able to throw some light on the legends and myths behind the story."

"I can't!" came another terse reply. "I don't take visitors any more."

Disappointing as it was, Emma had come so far that she wasn't going to be put off. After all this was the last lead that she had.

"Please, Dr. Stewart. It would really help if you could spare me a few minutes. All I want is to listen to your anecdotes. It would really help me close out my studies."

"I said no and no,

means

no."

Emma persevered. It was almost as if he was being deliberately obstructive. Was he just a recluse or was he hiding something?

"Please, just a few minutes and I promise I won't disturb you again. It is for my research project. I promise I'm not a journalist or anything. It really would help me close out my study."

There was silence. Emma held on, waiting . . . half a minute . . . one minute . . . she was beginning to think he had hung up when suddenly his voice came down the line again.

"OK Emma, I will give you an hour, but please be warned that I don't have many visitors. Come around next Sunday at 17:30, but no cameras."

Emma was over the moon. Perseverance had paid off and she had a meeting with the one last person who may throw some light on her studies. Emma Googled the journey and reckoned it would take just over an hour from her place in Andover to Malmesbury. So that was that, all that was left was to wait for Sunday to arrive.

And so the big day did arrive. Emma had chosen to dress rather conservatively, not knowing what to expect from Dr. Stewart and wanting to look as professional as she could. She had tied her ginger locks into loose pigtails, held in place by small black bows just below the ears. Up top she wore a rather tight fitting black halter neck over which she had a loose fitting cream sweater. As happened quite often, and being of the smaller bust, Emma had foregone a bra in favour of feel of the figure hugging material over her breasts. Down below she wore a dark khaki green mid-thigh length skirt, buttoned up at the front, and black opaque tights. An autumnal look for a cool Autumn evening.

The drive to Malmesbury was uneventful but given the short days at this time of year it was almost dusk by the time Emma reached the town. Now all she had to do was find Dr. Stewart's house, the strangely named Prymave Manor. Twenty minutes of following the SATNAV into what seemed to be the middle of nowhere seemed to take an eternity . . . take the next left, after 200 metres turn right, take the third left and, finally, with the last embers of sunlight drifting away, you have reached your destination.

Emma slowed down, conscious of the fact that she was in the middle of nowhere, no house in sight but just a driveway through a large wooded area. Then she spotted it, a rather weathered nameplate at the side of the entrance. Written in gothic letters was the name "Prymave Manor" and underneath the words "Private, Keep Out". For sure Dr. Stewart was right when he said he didn't want visitors.

She turned into the driveway and drove slowly down the road. It was taking her through an area of dense woodland, obviously a way of keeping the house hidden from the road. The driveway ended in a small parking area but still no sign of the house. From the parking area the driveway seemed to continue as a narrow gravel path. It was obvious that the journey would have to be on foot from now.

Climbing out of her car Emma took a look around. By now the sun had just about faded over the horizon and the area was rather dimly lit with a combination of the last rays of sunlight being replaced with the silvery glint of the moon. There was now an eerie spookiness about her surroundings. The woods that she had driven through suddenly looked to have come to life as silvery shadows danced and played in front of her. She scanned the path to see where it led. It appeared to run a little further through the woods before opening into a clearing, at the end of which was the warming glow of lights. Emma was now reassured that she had the house in sight.

It was barely a few minutes walk but in the dimness of the moonlight Emma's mind started to play tricks on her. Every noise made her hair stand on end. The crack of a twig in the trees, the hoot of an owl, the scurrying footsteps of a squirrel in the branches above. With every sound Emma was drawn into the darkness of some of the books she was meant to be researching. She had suddenly become a character playing out one of the stories.

Another owl, this time close by, caused Emma to stop in her tracks and take a good look around. "Don't be stupid," she thought to herself "it's just the sound of the country." Plucking up courage Emma marched on at double speed, paying as little attention to her surroundings as she could. Then, without warning, something grabbed at her, pulling her arm back. Emma screamed. Breathing fast and deep, she looked around to see who was there. Who? No, not who . . . what. It was nothing more than a low branch that had snagged her sweater. What was she thinking of. There was nothing out there, nothing to be scared of, after all this was twenty-first century England.

Finally, and not a minute too soon, the woodland thinned out to a clearing, revealing the house. It was not at all what she expected. First of all was the house itself, somewhere between a Gothic Church and a small Castle. It was made of stone, very similar in style to that used for many of the ancient abbeys. A large porch joined on to a central vaulted hall, with wings spreading out to each side, finally ending in octagonal three story high towers at each of the four corners. The second thing that Emma noticed was the state of the house. For sure it was in need of a little tender love and care, crumbling stonework adorning many of walls. One time decorative carvings had now become strangely disfigured gargoyles, each one seemingly watching Emma's every move. Again her mind was playing tricks on her. How could stone figures be watching her?

She walked slowly across the clearing, towards the front door. Emma didn't notice a fallen branch across the edge of the clearing. She stepped on the middle of it, the wood snapping with a loud crack, loud enough to cause a flurry of activity as birds and bats flew upwards into the night sky from every direction. She could take no more and practically sprinted towards the front door. Now doubting her decision, maybe this had been a mistake after all.

Pleased to have made the relative safety of the house, Emma examined the entrance looking for an obvious knocker or bell. There wasn't one, just a large wooden door. The door itself was a heavy and looked untroubled by the years of neglect that the house had obviously suffered. Emma tentatively knocked and waited. There was no answer. She knocked a little firmer and noticed that the door opened slightly.

"Hello . . . Dr. Stewart?" she called in through the crack in the door.

Again no reply. So what was she to do? She could either walk back alone through those creepy woods, not a prospect she relished, or she could open the door further and take a look inside, again not a prospect she relished but probably better than the first option.

Taking a deep breath she pushed the door open and peered in. The warmth of a raging fire filled the entrance hall with an orange welcoming glow. Emma called out once more then took the plunge and walked inside. As if by magic the chill of outside had been replaced with warmth, the orange glow of the fire filling the huge entrance hall. Still there was no sign of Dr. Stewart, so Emma found herself wandering up to the fireplace where she stood simply gazing dreamily into the flickering flames. She was brought back down to earth by the slam of the door, spinning around quickly to see a dark haired gentleman, smartly dressed in black trousers and a white flared shirt, standing just inside the doorway.

In an instant two contrasting thoughts flew through her mind. Was this Dr. Stewart? From the telephone conversation Emma was expecting a rather older gentleman. The other thought though worried her more. How did he get there without her seeing? It was uncanny, he had just appeared from nowhere.

"Dr. Stewart?" a nervous Emma enquired.

The gentleman strode forward purposefully, smiling.

"You must be Emma, so good to see you."

He offered a hand and Emma did likewise, but instead of shaking hands he cupped her dainty offering deep in his own, lifted it to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand. He was such a gentleman, Emma thought to herself, and nothing like how he came across on the phone. He was a good few inches taller than Emma, exuded strength without being overly muscular and had the slightest Romany looks about him. The thing which stood out the most though were his youthful looks. For sure he was older than Emma but he didn't really look a day over forty. And it was this that confused Emma the most. She had arrived expecting a rather frail elderly gentleman and here was this burly debonair fellow.

"I am indeed Dr. Stewart, but you can call me Vincent." He smiled again before continuing. "I think you want to know about my family and their tales of vampires."

Emma was agog, staring at every word as it left the gentleman's mouth. She nodded but just continued staring. There was something about this guy, something about his looks, his eyes, something she just couldn't take herself away from. It was a good job then that he broke eye contact or she would probably have stood in that one spot for the whole evening. She didn't know what it was but he instantly seemed to have a power over her.

"Come with me, let me show you around. I am a collector of all things vampire. Maybe something will whet your appetite but do remember that I am only a collector of the stuff of lore."

He strode off with Emma closely following. As they walked through room after room of the old house, Vincent gave a potted history of its beginnings, how the house was built from stones saved from the old monasteries and how it had stayed in his family's possession since they arrived in the late nineteenth century. There were pictures of his ancestors on the walls and many artefacts relating to the period and to the stories of vampirism.

Emma was in her element, it was almost like a museum dedicated to her favourite subject. He told of the persecution of his family given that they had travelled to UK from Eastern Europe and the way in which the locals had even accused his own of being evil, of being vampires themselves. At this point he just laughed and explained that as being the reason he didn't have many visitors.

By now Emma should have been putting her grey cells to good use. All the clues were there . . .

- arrived from Eastern Europe

- late nineteenth century

- persecuted

- reclusive lifestyle

- the name of his house itself

- his initials V L A D Stewart

. . . but still she was enthused with Vincent's charm, you could say she was intoxicated by him.

Everything she wanted to see was there . . . . books on vampires, paintings of vampires, a cabinet dedicated to vampire catching, even the proverbial coffin. She hung on to his every word as they sauntered around the house, eventually finishing back in the entrance hall where they had started.

"So you see, my dear, I am little more than a collector. Like you I just have a vivid interest in the unknown. Now, I promised you an hour and I have given you an hour. It's getting dark so I should encourage you to get back on your way. It's so easy to lose your way around here and we wouldn't want you coming to any harm, would we. Not a cute wee girl like yourself."

"Please Vincent, I hope you don't mind me using first names, I really would like to stay a little longer and get to know more about you and your interest in vampires. I think we are peas from the same pod, so to say."

"My dear, I'm flattered with your interest but I . . . "

Emma cut him off in mid flow.

"It wouldn't harm, would it. All I want is to get a little closer to the true you."

There it was, what Vincent had been waiting for. Emma had openly invited him to get closer. What every vampire needed was an invite and he wasn't going to turn this one down. Such a sweet young thing as well.

"When you put it so nicely,

how

can I resist?" Vincent replied, smiling widely.

It was then that something caught Emma's eye. A reflection in the glow of the amber flames. There was something about his smile, something a little unusual but, in her almost transfixed state, Emma couldn't quite put her finger on it . . . . no, she couldn't quite put her tongue on it. That was it, the teeth, two pointed teeth, slightly longer than the others. The penny dropped and Emma struggled to regain her composure.

"V . . . V . . . Vin . . . Vincent. . . . " Emma stuttered in an almost incoherent way. "You're a v . . . v . . . vampire."

He laughed, a deep hearty laugh.

"Oh, you are so observant my dear. And having invited me to come close then I'm afraid to say that you are all mine now."

Emma panicked and bolted for the door. Grabbing hold of the huge door knob, she turned with all her might but there was no way it was moving. She spun around looking for a way out. There were doors off to left and right but for all she knew they may just be broom cupboards. Then there was the stairs they had climbed earlier. Not ideal but maybe she could escape through a window.

She made a dash to reach the stairs but Vincent had already anticipated the move and was waiting for her. Without looking she ran straight into his waiting arms. Emma started flailing with all her might but in an instant she found each wrist held tight. Vincent was just too strong for her.

"Come my dear, that's no way to treat your host is it. You are the one who wanted to get closer after all."

As he spoke Emma made the mistake of looking him in the eyes again. Those eyes, those beautiful dark eyes. She was smitten once more, transfixed in the gaze, sinking deeper and deeper into every word.

"You want to know a little more about vampires and what better way to find out than to get up close and personal."

Emma's struggles had subsided and she was now transfixed once more, simply gazing at the handsome man standing just in front.

"What are you going to do to me?" she plucked up the courage to ask. "Are you going to feed on me? To drink my blood until I am no more? Is this the last I will see of the outside world?"

Vincent laughed again, the same deep hearty laugh.

"Oh Emma. You really don't know anything about us, do you. That is so nineteenth century. That is an unfair reputation that all vampires are tarnished with and all because of that damn book you have been studying. I am much more civilised than that. Cum with me and why don't you see for yourself."