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Posted this over at another forum a few days ago, and thought I'd post it here too. The premise is pretty simple: during the Civil War, the floundering CSA received assistance from an unexpected, and diabolic, quarter. - MEL
THE DAMNED & THE YANKEE
The Tomb was bigger than Victoria had imagined it would be, colossal in fact, and did not resemble a place of last repose so much as a fortified position. It was also, Victoria had to admit, impressively ugly. In the flickering light of the eternal flames, the inscription on the iron doors could be read quite plainly:
Vlad Tepes
Prince of Walachia
Savior of the South
May He Never Rise Again.
"Are you a historian?"
The question came from her right, from a pool of shadow untouched by flickering torchlight. Victoria turned toward the dark and saw a man standing there. She had an impression of height and slimness, but that was all.
"No," said Victoria. "Just a tourist, taking in the sites."
The stranger stepped out of the shadows. Victoria gave him an appraising glance. He was tall and thin, with skin the color of fresh snow and straw-colored hair crowning an angular face. She very carefully did not look at his eyes.
"Then welcome to our fair city," said the monster. "What do you think of it?"
"Honestly? You could do with more street lamps."
The monster chuckled. She glanced at his face, at thin lips stretched back, revealing a hint of sharp canine teeth. "I understand that’s a common complaint among outsiders."
"And not among the locals?" Victoria asked. She had a crucifix in her coat pocket. Vaguely, she wondered if she could pull it out in time, if she needed it.
"Not among the ones whose opinions matter," the monster said, frankly. He inclined his head, touched his breast. "Allow me to introduce myself. Timothy Sawyer of Atlanta."
She nodded. "Victoria Gratham. I’m from New York."
"Ah. Atlanta must seem quite provincial to you."
"It’s quieter than I’m used to."
He smiled. "How diplomatic of you."
She turned back to the Tomb. "Did you know him?"
"No, but I know people who did."
"Was he really as terrible as they say?"
"Worse," said Sawyer, flatly.
"Oh?"
"I was there when Sherman fell," said the monster. "You know the story?"
"Yes," said Victoria. "Was it true?"
"Oh yes. The Prince impaled over four thousand men at the end of the battle. Many believe that was the point that turned the war, giving the Confederacy the advantage."
"It must have been awful."
"Terrible," said Sawyer. "I was still alive then and remember feeling. . . ." He hesitated, frowned, then shrugged. "It’s difficult to express."
"Sympathy?" suggested Victoria.
"No," said the monster. "Not then. Awe, maybe. Horror certainly. Many of the men were still alive when they were impaled. The earth, it turned to red mud beneath the stakes. And the smell, the smell was appalling."
"May I ask when you died?"
"A few weeks later," said Sawyer. "My horse threw me and I broke my back. Three days later, I came back."
"What was it like?" asked Victoria, quietly. "Being dead?"
"I don’t remember," said Sawyer. "No one does."
"My grandmother died for a few minutes on an operating table. She saw a tunnel of light with her loved ones waiting for her at the end."
"A hallucination," said Sawyer.
"Are you certain?" asked Victoria.
The monster scowled. "May I ask what brings you to Atlanta, Miss Gratham?"
"I’m giving a paper at the University."
"I thought you weren’t a scholar."
"I’m not a historian," said Victoria. "I’m a biothanatologist."
"Interesting. Would you like to go for a drink, Miss Gratham?"
She glanced at him, considering. "Would that be safe?"
He offered a toothy grin. "Are you asking if I’ve already eaten?"
"Yes."
"I have," said Sawyer. He reached inside his gray coat and produced a silver flask. "And if I get peckish, I have this."
After a moment’s thought, she nodded. "Very well. Where do you want to go?"
"There’s a Night Owl’s Café a few blocks away," suggested Sawyer. "Have you been to one yet?"
She shook her head. "No, we don’t have them up north."
"Pity," said Sawyer. "They serve some excellent wines."
"I don’t drink wine," said Victoria.
Sawyer simply smiled and offered her his arm. After a moment, she accepted it. Together, they walked away from the Tomb and into the dark city.
THE DAMNED & THE YANKEE
The Tomb was bigger than Victoria had imagined it would be, colossal in fact, and did not resemble a place of last repose so much as a fortified position. It was also, Victoria had to admit, impressively ugly. In the flickering light of the eternal flames, the inscription on the iron doors could be read quite plainly:
Vlad Tepes
Prince of Walachia
Savior of the South
May He Never Rise Again.
"Are you a historian?"
The question came from her right, from a pool of shadow untouched by flickering torchlight. Victoria turned toward the dark and saw a man standing there. She had an impression of height and slimness, but that was all.
"No," said Victoria. "Just a tourist, taking in the sites."
The stranger stepped out of the shadows. Victoria gave him an appraising glance. He was tall and thin, with skin the color of fresh snow and straw-colored hair crowning an angular face. She very carefully did not look at his eyes.
"Then welcome to our fair city," said the monster. "What do you think of it?"
"Honestly? You could do with more street lamps."
The monster chuckled. She glanced at his face, at thin lips stretched back, revealing a hint of sharp canine teeth. "I understand that’s a common complaint among outsiders."
"And not among the locals?" Victoria asked. She had a crucifix in her coat pocket. Vaguely, she wondered if she could pull it out in time, if she needed it.
"Not among the ones whose opinions matter," the monster said, frankly. He inclined his head, touched his breast. "Allow me to introduce myself. Timothy Sawyer of Atlanta."
She nodded. "Victoria Gratham. I’m from New York."
"Ah. Atlanta must seem quite provincial to you."
"It’s quieter than I’m used to."
He smiled. "How diplomatic of you."
She turned back to the Tomb. "Did you know him?"
"No, but I know people who did."
"Was he really as terrible as they say?"
"Worse," said Sawyer, flatly.
"Oh?"
"I was there when Sherman fell," said the monster. "You know the story?"
"Yes," said Victoria. "Was it true?"
"Oh yes. The Prince impaled over four thousand men at the end of the battle. Many believe that was the point that turned the war, giving the Confederacy the advantage."
"It must have been awful."
"Terrible," said Sawyer. "I was still alive then and remember feeling. . . ." He hesitated, frowned, then shrugged. "It’s difficult to express."
"Sympathy?" suggested Victoria.
"No," said the monster. "Not then. Awe, maybe. Horror certainly. Many of the men were still alive when they were impaled. The earth, it turned to red mud beneath the stakes. And the smell, the smell was appalling."
"May I ask when you died?"
"A few weeks later," said Sawyer. "My horse threw me and I broke my back. Three days later, I came back."
"What was it like?" asked Victoria, quietly. "Being dead?"
"I don’t remember," said Sawyer. "No one does."
"My grandmother died for a few minutes on an operating table. She saw a tunnel of light with her loved ones waiting for her at the end."
"A hallucination," said Sawyer.
"Are you certain?" asked Victoria.
The monster scowled. "May I ask what brings you to Atlanta, Miss Gratham?"
"I’m giving a paper at the University."
"I thought you weren’t a scholar."
"I’m not a historian," said Victoria. "I’m a biothanatologist."
"Interesting. Would you like to go for a drink, Miss Gratham?"
She glanced at him, considering. "Would that be safe?"
He offered a toothy grin. "Are you asking if I’ve already eaten?"
"Yes."
"I have," said Sawyer. He reached inside his gray coat and produced a silver flask. "And if I get peckish, I have this."
After a moment’s thought, she nodded. "Very well. Where do you want to go?"
"There’s a Night Owl’s Café a few blocks away," suggested Sawyer. "Have you been to one yet?"
She shook her head. "No, we don’t have them up north."
"Pity," said Sawyer. "They serve some excellent wines."
"I don’t drink wine," said Victoria.
Sawyer simply smiled and offered her his arm. After a moment, she accepted it. Together, they walked away from the Tomb and into the dark city.
