Blood Red Sunset

The heat hit her first, then the smell of burning hay.

Blackwood Manor sat on a rise overlooking the valley. Below, a semicircle of men stood behind rocks and wagons. There were twenty of them—miners, drifters, and deputies.

In the center stood Sheriff Graves. His arm was in a sling, his face purple with rage and heat. He held a torch in his good hand.

"Clara!" Graves shouted when he saw her. "Get down here! Get away from that thing!"

Clara stood tall on the porch. The white nightgown Silas had given her billowed in the hot wind. She didn't look like a victim. She looked like the lady of the manor.

"Go home, Graves!" she shouted. Her voice was steady. "There's nothing for you here!"

"He's bewitched you!" Graves yelled. "He's a demon! We're burning him out!"

He gestured to the men. "Fire the house!"

A deputy raised a rifle, aiming at the windows.

Clara raised the Colt. She didn't aim at the deputy. She aimed at her husband.

*BANG.*

The bullet kicked up dirt at Graves' feet. He jumped back, dropping the torch.

The men froze. The Sheriff’s wife was shooting back.

"The next one goes in your teeth!" Clara screamed. "I am not bewitched, Graves. I am done!"

"You whore!" Graves roared, abandoning the pretense of rescue. "Kill her! Kill them both!"

Bullets began to smack into the wood of the porch. Clara dove behind a stone pillar.

She fired back blindly. *Bang. Bang.*

She looked at the sky. The sun was a sliver of gold on the horizon. It was sinking.

*Come on,* she prayed. *Just a little more.*

Splinters rained down on her. A bullet grazed her arm, stinging like a wasp.

"Silas!" she screamed.

Inside the house, the shadows were lengthening.

The sun dipped below the mountains. The world turned grey, then blue.

The shooting stopped.

A sudden, unnatural silence fell over the yard. The crickets went quiet. The fire in the stables seemed to dim.

From the dark open doorway of the manor, a mist began to spill out. It was cold, heavy fog that rolled down the steps like water.

"What is that?" a deputy whispered.

From the mist, two red eyes ignited.

Silas Blackwood stepped onto the porch.

He wasn't the weakened, pale thing from the hallway. He was a titan. Shadows clung to him like a cloak. His fangs were fully extended, glistening in the twilight.

He looked at Clara, huddled behind the pillar, bleeding from her arm.

He threw his head back and let out a sound that wasn't human. It was a roar of pure, prehistoric hunger.

"Run," Silas whispered to the wind.

He blurred.

He hit the posse like a cannonball.

It wasn't a fight. It was a slaughter.

Silas moved too fast to see. He was a streak of black and red. Men screamed as they were thrown through the air like dolls. Guns fired at nothing.

Silas didn't drink from them. He simply broke them. He tore the rifles from their hands and bent the barrels. He tossed grown men into the horse troughs.

He was the Yandere unleashed. Every blow was a punishment for looking at Clara. Every broken bone was a receipt for her pain.

In two minutes, the yard was silent, save for the groans of the injured.

Only one man was left standing.

Sheriff Graves.

He was backing away, clutching his sling, his eyes bulging with terror.

Silas materialized in front of him.

"Please," Graves whimpered. "I have money. I have—"

Silas backhanded him. Graves flew backward, landing in the dust at the foot of the porch stairs.

Silas didn't finish him. He walked back to the porch. He offered a hand to Clara.

"Are you hurt?" he asked gently, ignoring the carnage behind him.

"Just a scratch," Clara said, taking his hand.

Silas pulled her up. He led her down the stairs.

He stopped in front of Graves.

Graves looked up at his wife. She towered over him, silhouetted against the rising moon.

"Clara," Graves gasped. "Honey. Please."

Silas drew his own revolver—the one Clara had dropped. He checked the chamber. One bullet left.

He handed the gun to Clara.

"He touched what is mine," Silas said softly. His eyes were burning with that terrifying, beautiful devotion. "He broke you. You should be the one to break him."

Clara took the gun. It felt heavy.

She looked at Graves. She didn't feel fear. She didn't feel love. She felt nothing but the cool night air.

"I'm not yours, Graves," she said. "I never was."

"Clara, don't—"

*BANG.*

The shot echoed through the valley.

Sheriff Graves fell back into the dust, silent forever.

\---