He slammed the door behind him as he threw himself on to the bed, he could feel his pocket watch jangle in his waist pocket and pulling it out he looked at the time. Three o’clock it said and Philippe could feel his brows furrowing together in confusion. Where in the world did the time go? He was sure that when he got up it was just seven o’clock, far too early for anyone to be up and he was sure that the ‘exploration’ had only taken a half hour. Cursing in frustration Philippe threw his pocket watch at the wall, but as soon as the watch left his fingers he regretted the action immediately. But regret did not slow the watch as it hit the stone wall with a clatter and sent parts of it flying through the room.   

Slowly, Philippe got up to and walked to where the watch had landed. He knelt down beside it, the face of it was cracked, the hands no longer moved and the back of the watch was completely missing. Shoulders slumped Philippe stared at the watch, it was just a shell of what it once was and looking at it Philippe could not help but be reminded of his Father, who had given the watch to him on his sixteenth birthday.

Philippe remembered everything about that day; he remembered how sick his Father looked with paling skin and sweat that seemed line his forehead permanently. He remembered hearing his mother and the doctor talk behind closed doors, “a fever,” the doctor had told her and he had said something else, but the cat meowed too loudly for Philippe to catch and the next moment his mother was crying. Philippe remembered how weak his Father was, he could barely lift his hand to give him the pocket watch, but the action seemed to sap the last of his strength so that when he closed his eyes he was instantly asleep. And he remembered blood, lots of it; his Father either coughed it up or threw it up until there was nothing left in him.

It was that day when he had reading the newspaper to his Father that the man threw up blood all over Philippe, covering the newspaper and his shoes with thick, almost black blood. Philippe remembered how hard his mother had scrubbed him with soup, cursing to God that He would not take her son as well.

The newspaper,Philippe’s mind spoke excitedly and in an instant his memory of that particular newspaper became vivid and clear. He remembered reading it, reading about how Amelia Moers, the youngest daughter of the Moers family had been taken ill and died within the night. He remembered the gossip that surrounded the family; that people thought the mother, Maria Moers, had poisoned her own daughter out of insanity. Philippe remembered it, he even remembered seeing Edwin’s name within the story and how he had claimed that Vampires made his sister sick. That was what cemented the gossip into gospel, that the Moers family, or at least Edwin had turned insane because of the horrific death of Amelia.

Fear and panic struck Philippe as he realised that he had been captured by Edwin Moers, an insane person, who knew what the man could do to him or be capable of.

Goosebumps trailed up on his arms, but Philippe rubbed his hand over them, chastising himself for getting carried away by a fools fear. Most of those stories about the Moers family were just gossip getting out of hand and besides, no one actually knew if Edwin really did say all those things about Vampires and for all he knew an enemy of the Moers family could have easily just created the story.

But still, Philippe couldn’t reason the fact that Edwin Moers had basically kidnapped him, which in itself was enough to call him insane and have him arrested.  

No, he needed to escape, he didn’t want to find out what “dinner” had in stall for him. 

The End

0 comments about this story Feed