Boonfall
Short Story | Horror
Content Warning: Mild Violence
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Seriously? I was just here Monday.”
He removed his glasses and placed them on his desk. Pressing his back against his chair, he sighed and stared at me.
“Well? Do you have an update?”
“Mrs. MacCaa-“
“Miss.”
“Miss MacCaa, we have no updates on your mother.”
“It’s been three days!”
“These things take time.”
“We don’t have time.” I shot up from my chair and darted out of his office. My lips moved, but no sound escaped as I pushed my way through the crowd forming in the waiting area.
“Kenna!”
I slammed my boot against the linoleum tile and spun around.
“What are you doing here?” He arched his eyebrows as our eyes connected. “I told you to wait for my call.”
“And when was that going to happen?”
“Listen, I understand this is hard. But this isn’t the place.”
“What’s wrong? You don’t want everyone to know the truth?”
He grabbed hold of my arm and pulled me through the crowd and out the front door of the police station. Running down the concrete steps, we huddled in front of my car. “Are you trying to get me fired? I can’t help you if I don’t have a job.”
“You call this help?”
He turned away from me, shaking his head as he paced back and forth, his boots scraping against the concrete. His eyes darted up and down the sidewalk as he waked toward me. “Go home and wait for me there. I’ll be over after work. We can talk then.” Not waiting for my reply, he bolted up the steps and back into the station.
I removed my purse from my shoulder, twisting the straps around my hands. My first inclination was to run back inside and cause a scene, but finding my mother was more important. And that would hinder any further investigation.
Making my way around the car, I pulled open the door, tossed my purse on the passenger seat, and sunk into the cushion. A black car crept up beside me as I started the engine. My eyes drifted to the left as it passed.
I watched for a moment. My eyes squinting, trying to break through the tinted windows. The car stopped halfway up the street. The passenger side door swung open as an elderly woman exited the vehicle.
My eyes shifted to my hands gripping the steering wheel. A heavy sigh parted my lips as my fingers loosened. I pulled out and made my way up the street. Glimpsing in the rearview mirror, I smiled. I had her blue eyes. Her fiery red hair. Even my smile belonged to her.
We immigrated from Scotland to America when I was twelve. Me, my mother, and my sister came first, settling in New York, as agreed. My father arrived a few months later with other families from our clan.
We remained there for a few months before getting word from the other families. The letter arrived. My parents ripped it open and informed us the others had settled in Ohio. So we moved. Welcome to Boonfall greeted us as we entered our new home.
My ancestors are members of the MacCaa clan. Warriors. The ones who kept everyone safe. A new threat appeared, wreaking havoc on our towns. Slaughtering innocent people while they slept. The battle was long and hard. But when our numbers dwindled, we knew there was nothing more we could do.
We left Scotland. My father called it preservation. My mother said we simply had no other options. This was the clan’s way of making sure the bloodlines survived.
Not all of us left. Many remained. Fighting. Trying to find a way to bring us back. We were looking forward to being reunited with the clan. Stepping foot back on the soil where our ancestors were buried. But it never happened. Instead, we became trapped here, in our own battle, with the demons we escaped from. Or at least that’s what we thought.
My parents weren’t sure how they got here. Whether they hopped a ride with one of our caravans or were already here, hiding in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. My father was more inclined to the believe the former. But according to Detective Scobie, vampires had always been here.
Detective Ruairidh Scobie and his family immigrated here years ago. They were fighting them long before we arrived. His family documented their lines, locations, migration patterns–they recorded everything they could find. But no one knew their leader. They weren’t easy to find. They weren’t easy to kill.
Pulling into the driveway, I turned off the engine, grabbed my purse, exited the car, and ran inside the house. I tossed my handbag on the couch and plopped down on the cushion next to it. My eyes fell on the fireplace and traveled up the stone wall to the mantle.
I got up from the couch and walked over to the fireplace. My hand grasped onto the picture frame. Tears streamed down my face as my eyes connected with my father. His death came too soon. Shifting my attention to my mother, my eyes darkened as my forehead creased.
Placing the picture back on the mantle, I ran up the stairs, pushed open my bedroom door, slid open the closet door, and dragged my chest out from underneath the hanging clothes.
I clicked the lock. The lid creaked as I pulled it open. Kneeling in front of the case, I pulled back the green velvet fabric and removed my crossbow. Rummaging through the closet, I grabbed a pair of wide leg plaid pants, a black cashmere sweater, and a pair of black tweed boots.
I got dressed, placed my crossbow in a case, grabbed my daggers, and ran down the steps. Hesitation swept through me as I stopped at the end table. I picked up the ink pen and left a note for my sister.
Isla, I’m going to look for mom. Will be back soon. Love, Kenna.
I walked to the study and slid open the heavy wooden door. Shuffling through a stack of folders, I found the locations map gifted to us by the Scobie family. Leaving the door open, I grabbed my case, ran out of the house, tossed the case into the backseat, and headed down the road.
Going at it alone was forbidden, but I couldn’t risk losing my sister. She was the only family I had left.
After my father’s murder, we grew distant. I spent a lot of time studying his journals and learning as much as I could about our history. That left her to not only take care of the house, but help mom, as she took the loss hard. It wasn’t fair to either of them, but someone had to keep things going.
My mother eventually pulled herself together. A lot of it had to do with my asking her for help, as a lot of the information I came across was hard to decipher. My parents tried to keep us away from it, but knew they would never be able to fully hide the truth. We figured it out on our own, before we came to America, but they still refused to teach us what we needed to know.
After my father’s passing, my mother knew that was a mistake, so she trained us. A fire ignited inside as the knowledge of what happened to our clan poured through our veins. Isla and I also took to a wide variety of weapons, everything from the crossbow to daggers and swords.
The other families began teaching their children as well. Every once in awhile they’d bring us all together and test our skills. It only took a few times getting reprimanded before we realized it wasn’t a game. A quick trip down memory lane–the bloodshed, the lost loved ones, our fleeing–was enough to straighten us all out.
But this was different. It was too close to home. No part of me wanted to wait. And that was my cross to bear. Impatient, like your father. My mother’s last words to me before she went out scouting Sunday evening. We hadn’t seen her since.
The police hovered around our house Monday morning like a horde of bandits, rummaging through our yard, asking questions that were none of their business. We’d gotten used to lying to the authorities about what we were up to.
Detective Scobie was our saving grace. He wasn’t the only one. A few Scotsmen were embedded in the department. His connection to our clan made him the best choice when we needed help. But he still had to follow the law. Otherwise, we all would be in jeopardy.
The sky darkened. A light mist formed, covering the glow of the moon. I pulled down the gravel road leading to the house. The wind howled. Tree branches snapped. A few pieces littered the street, crunching underneath my tires.
I parked the car by the one tree resting in front of the house. Exiting the car, I removed my crossbow from its case and made my way up the sidewalk. An owl screeched in the distance as the wind whipped around me.
The house stood by itself, surrounded by brush. The graying wood buckled, scraping up against other pieces as the wind slammed against the house. My eyes drifted to the second floor. Three windows stared back at me. My eyes gazed into the blackness, expecting to see something. What? I wasn’t sure. But the stillness forced my feet to hesitate.
The image of my mother popped into my head, forcing my knees to bend. I placed one foot on the step in front of me. The wood sunk underneath my feet. It held my weight as my other foot set on top of the next step.
A light penetrated through the darkness, creeping underneath the front door. My hand pressed against the wood as I grabbed hold of the knob and turned. The light flickered as a gust of wind crept in through the crack. Peeking inside, my eyes spotted the lit candle resting on top of a table.
I made my way inside, leaving the front door cracked for an easy escape. The wooden floors creaked. The windows rattled. The house trembled as the wind swept around it, beating against the battered wooden planks holding up the foundation.
Journeying around the lower level, I made my way into a room. A vanity rested against the far wall. A gold framed, smudged glass hung over the top. I glanced in the mirror. A shadow moved behind me.
I grabbed my dagger from my holster and turned. Nothing was there. My heart beat against my chest as my eyes darted around the room. Placing one foot in front of the other, I moved around the room, dagger in hand, ready to strike. But I was alone.
The house bellowed with every footstep, begging for someone to put it out of its misery. From one room to the next, I attempted to find the strongest spot on the floor to step, but failed. Besides the whistling wind, the first floor remained quiet.
A part of me wanted to turn around, but my mother…I had to know. Isla believed she was dead. I believed that as well, but I knew it wouldn’t have been a quick death. They would bleed her. Feed off of her, devouring her energy out of spite. They showed no mercy.
A rocking chair rested below the staircase. A light breeze brushed up against its back, sending it forward and then back. I place my hand on the top of the crest rail, stopping the motion. My eyes traveled up the steps. My feet followed, but stopped as the basement door creaked open.
I stepped down off of the stairs and walked toward the door, peeking my head inside. Lights flickered off and on as I made my way inside the room and down the stairs. I loaded my crossbow, steadying it on my shoulder, as I crept down the hall.
I spun to my left. The room was empty. I took a few more steps and spun to the right. The room was empty. Turning to face the main hall, it appeared. A grayish-blue figure. Its shiny flesh and muscular build ran toward me. Long arms stretched in front of its body, it swung its claws back and forth as it drew closer. I fired. The arrow landed in its eyes.
Crashing to the floor, it flailed against the concrete, trying to pull the arrow out of its eye. I slammed my foot down, thrusting it further inside, before removing my dirk sword and thrusting it through its heart.
Sliding the sword back into its sheath, I continued to make my way down the hall. Looking through my side peripherals, I spotted another one creeping toward me. I turned and raised my crossbow, but hesitated to shoot as another came into view.
The sound of feet slapping against the concrete came from behind. I turned. Many appeared, creeping out of side rooms and sliding between gaps in the wall.
To the left. I shot. To the right. I shot. I spun behind me, forward. Arrows and daggers flew down the hall in all directions. But it wasn’t enough.
A claw tore at my cheek. Another scraped down my back, ripping a hole in my sweater. Falling to my knees, I grabbed the blade from my boot, cutting off a few fingers of the one in front of me.
They scurried away as I rose to my feet. Footsteps beating against the concrete forced my head to turn. My eyes widened as she walked toward me. The dagger slipped out of my hand. The metal clanging against the concrete.
Tears streamed down my cheeks, mixing with sweat and blood as I looked into her eyes. “Mom.”
© 2023 Rena Aliston. All rights reserved.
I had this story in my head for a few days. After doing some research and figuring out the character’s surname, I decided to make the family Scottish. I’m not Scottish, so I had to do even more research. A few other ideas popped in my head, but I needed to get this part of the story written. I will be turning this into a novella (possibly a series), but it’ll pick up with her sister Isla (EYE-lah).