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The Capture of the Vampire

A cold autumn wind caught the leaves and made them dance. In the distance gathering storm clouds flashed and rumbled as they wound their smokey way through the Bavarian Alps. The night air carried the scent of that distant rain on the wind. That wind blew cold and wet. It blew at their coats, made their torches sputter. Shadows danced across the tombstones and crosses. Mausuleums were starkly silhouted in the shifting orange light. A single bright flash of lightning lit the cemetary in blue, bringing out the faces of leering gargoyles and quickening its cold stone statuary into strobing life for just an instant. Thunder rumbled. Shovels bit at the earth. Frantic hands reach down into the uncovered grave. A man jumps into the pit.

"Haul!" Grunts of effort.

"Schweinehunds! Put your backs into it!" Their was a wet sucking sound as the grave gave up its casket. More sounds of effort, as the coffin was hauled onto the cemetary lawn.

"Open it!" The cemetary's seneschal stopped a man with his pick-axe raised, stopped him with an open hand.

"It has latches", he said. His voice betrayed his unease. He was desecrating a grave. _But these fool peasants will kill me and open it anyway if I don't_, he thought. Quickly he undid the latches. With a final breath of trepidation, he threw open the lid. It was empty.

Otto Olandorf pulled his spectacles from his round, pale face, and cleaned them on the sleeve of his black SA uniform. He perched them back on his nose and peered into the cold Bavarian night from the window of the towns small Staatspolizei station. A torchlight procession was winding its way through the dark forest roads.

"What do you think those fool peasants are up to?", he wondered aloud.

"Lost sheep again, no doubt", came the reply from the duty seargent. He didn't even bother to look up from his newspaper. He took a sip from his coffee, and turned the page.

"Not this time, I think." Otto turned to look at him. The man was reading the Ostara, a magazine whose subject matter touched on everything from racial anthropology to the occult. Otto grabed it away from him with a look of disgust. "Get first squad into the 'track. We might as well have a look at this."

"Why not?", replied the seargent. "It's a good enough night for a ride." He got up and turned towards the door. His footsteps resounded on the stairs as he tread down to the barracks. Otto watched him leave, a sour expression on his face. He droppped the magazine into the trash. Then he turned and stared back into the darkness.

The wooden door of the cottage splintered beneath a single heavy axe blow. Torches crowded in. Beside the silent fireplace, a single figure raised his blood stained face from the neck of a woman in a blue dress. He was dressed in a suit - with lapels and tie - exactly like the dead womans ex-husband the day they had buried him. Only he hadn't stayed buried....

"Anna...", someone gasped. The bloody figure hissed.

"Vampire", a man named him, then rushed, pick-axe held high. The figure moved like lightning, and their was a loud -Crack- as an open hand struck the mans neck, the force of the blow staggering him. Head hanging at an unnatural angle, he dropped to the ground. They stared at each other, peasants and predator. Hands moved into coats. Out came the crosses.

The rumble of deisel and the clank of tracks came first, then the low gray shape of the half-track as it rounded the last curve of the road. Torchlight spilled from the splintered door of the cottage. A crowd of villagers stood around it.

"Snell! Snell!" the leutenant cried, looking at the half-track's driver and pointing towards the cottage home. The gunner pulled the charging handle of his machine-gun back and released it with a solid ka-chunk, and gazed, crouched, behind the optics. The vehicle pulled to a stop in front of the house. _What is this?_, thought Otto, slowly dismounting. Calmly, he approached one of the townspeople gathered around the scene. The flames of their burning torches lit his sweat slickened face. Otto's eyes were calm, his manner was calm, but his whole body had begun to quiver and shake with rage.

"You!", he addressed a swarthy looking fellow still in his nightclothes. The man nearly jumped out of his skin.

"It is... it's the.... Leutenant, they say they have...", he seemed to choke, then looked up, a weak smile on his face. "They say they have cornered a vampire." They stared at each other.

"A WHAT?!" Otto nearly exploded. "Superstitous bourgeoisie peasant rabble burning down my town to CAPTURE A DIMESTORE-NOVEL MONSTER!!!" he screamed. He raced into the cottage, his men behind him. And walked into a scene from a horror story. A dozen men with torches surrounded the cowing, shivering form of - was that Kurt? It couldn't be - Otto had been present at his funeral! Then he saw the crosses. The corpse. The blood on Kurts face.

"Gott in Himmell....", he muttered under his breath. Then: "Shoot him." MP-40's spat fire. He stared in shock as dozens of rounds passed through its body, kicking up only dust from their passage through him.