#catholic vampire story

[atlantic-riona]

Though I Walk Through the Valley

Written for @inklings-challenge 2024. A Catholic college student and a vampire take a trip to the Underworld. Shenanigans ensue. There are four parts.

I. A Visitor of the Vampiric Variety

I opened the door to find Malachy standing on the steps, one hand raised to knock. He looked about as surprised to see me as I was him, and after a few moments spent staring blankly at each other—vague remnants of thoughts regarding grocery lists and the possibility of afternoon naps still floating about my mind, Lord only knows what was circling his—he pulled himself together to give me a strained imitation of his usual annoying smirk. “Fancy a trip to Hell?”

I slammed the door in his face.

Honestly, upon later reflection, I should have left it like that. I still had no intention of getting mixed up in his world, even if Isa—well. My best friend and I were cautiously on speaking terms now, but the argument we’d had loomed forbiddingly in the background of every interaction, even though by silent, mutual agreement we didn’t acknowledge it.

But curiosity got the better of me, and I opened the door again, just a crack. “What.”

In the twilight shadows of evening, his slightly ominous expression would have sent shivers down any onlooker’s spine. Here in the warm afternoon sun, it merely looked out of place. “There’s a problem.”

“Yes, it’s called an irritating vampire refusing to get off my doorstep,” I retorted. “Was there something new, or…?”

“The Circle,” he said simply, and my blood ran cold.

“Goodbye,” I said, and shut the door firmly. I could hear him calling me through the door about needing my help, but I ignored this. And when I heard the windows rattling, I picked up my spray bottle, helpfully labeled “HOLY WATER,” and pointed it meaningfully (label side facing the window) in his general direction. He got the hint. At least I assumed he did, because the windows stopped rattling soon after.

Still, just in case, I went around the house, double-checking that all the windows and doors had crosses nailed above them, or rosaries wrapped around their handles. Call me paranoid, but I’d seen a lot of movies, and I was taking no chances.

I didn’t see Malachy for three days. And good riddance, said I. So when he showed up at my doorstep, looking inordinately pleased with himself, I certainly was not pleased myself.

I leaned against the door, which was open just a crack, and said clearly, “Go away.”

“Lili, you’ll want to hear this,” he said, grinning. Somehow he’d recovered his equanimity in the past three days, and I didn’t think it was for any reason I’d like.

The grin annoyed me. I pointed at the miniscule amount of space between the door and its frame, and said, “You see this? It’s about how much interest I have in whatever you’re about to say. And it’s only open so you can hear me tell you to go away, which means realistically my interest is much lower.” I had briefly considered shouting at him through the closed door, but regretfully had set that plan aside. I didn’t want him trying to crawl through the windows again.

“It’s about Isa,” he said. 

Through the opening, I gave him the old stinkeye.

He laughed. “Charming as ever, I see.”

“Did Isa send you?” I asked coldly, and not without a little pointedness.

His composure slipped a fraction. “No,” he admitted after a long minute. “I’m here without her knowing.”

I knew I’d regret this, but I still unhooked the chain and pulled it all the way open. “What is it, then?”

I had forgotten the secondary reason for keeping the door mostly closed, but it quickly sprang to mind when Theresa’s excited shriek from the living room deafened me. “Is that Malachy?”

“No,” I yelled back. “Go do your homework!”

But it was a fruitless endeavor to tell your little sister to do something as dull as solving for x when there was a live, breathing—well, dead and unbreathing—vampire at the front door, and it was doubly fruitless when said little sister had been obsessed with all things supernatural (especially the fanged variety) for years. Theresa came sprinting out of the living room, vaulting an armchair in her enthusiasm and skidding to a stop in her pink-and-white polka-dotted socks. “Malachy!” she cried happily. “Come in, come in, I have so many questions!” She’d already nabbed a clipboard from somewhere and was now squinting through her glasses to locate a pen.

As the point I wanted to make was already moot—namely, that inviting vampires into your house traditionally never ended well—I settled for giving Malachy a stare of loathing as I removed the cross hanging over the door, before stepping out of his way. He, in turn, gave me a brilliant smile, one that prominently displayed his sharp white teeth, before stepping inside.

He clearly thought Theresa was cute, but easily brushed aside, since immediately after greeting her with amusement, he turned to me, as if to continue our earlier conversation. How quickly he’d forgotten! I didn’t feel motivated to disabuse him of his misunderstanding, so I merely settled back, arms crossed, to watch the show.

“You remember how we found out that Isa’s condition is because she’s a descendant of—” he began, but broke off with a startled look when Theresa briskly pinched his arm through the leather jacket he was wearing. “What the hell?”

“Language!” I hissed.

Theresa ignored the both of us, scribbling something down on her clipboard. “So you’ve got pain receptors,” she said, clicking her tongue thoughtfully. “Which means your brain is capable of receiving and translating signals, even though it’s technically not alive, according to my research. Or is it alive? Does the blood you consume reanimate your life systems? Is that why you need to constantly replenish it?” She looked up inquiringly through the bright pink frames of her glasses at Malachy, who stared at her.

“Er—yes. I do need blood to…operate, as it were.” For the first time in my memory, he seemed discomfited.

Theresa nodded. “Right, blood’s very important to staying alive and operational, but it’s not really the only thing you need. How about oxygen? Do you need to breathe?”

He blinked at her, and then at me. Like I was going to rescue him from his flailing. I was enjoying myself too much. “To speak, mostly. And habit. I don’t actually require it.”

“Interesting.” Theresa scribbled something furiously on the clipboard, elbowing me when I tried to peer over her shoulder at what she’d written. “Then I wonder how you’re accomplishing cellular respiration. Of course, blood transports oxygen, so I thought that might be why vampires needed it, but if you don’t need to breathe, then how are you getting that oxygen? And how are your organs functioning? Or are they functioning? Are they rotting inside you right now?” She took a step forward, as if to start looking, and Malachy actually backed up a step.

“There will be no autopsies in this house,” I said loudly, “especially if you’ll be finding rotting organs. I just cleaned the carpets.”

“My organs are not rotting!”

“Didn’t ask, don’t care, they probably are, but that’s your problem, not mine.”

“They are not—”

“I have a scalpel, we could check,” Theresa piped up, beaming. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about your regeneration and healing capabilities, anyway.”

We both looked at her.

“How old is she?” Malachy asked me in an undertone.

“She’s turning twelve on Friday,” I said, not bothering to keep my voice down. “And speaking of, Theresa, if you want a party Friday afternoon, you’d better finish your homework ahead of time. You can bother Malachy afterwards.” I’d probably pay her to do it, if he was overstaying his welcome.

She gave me a pleading look. “Just a couple more questions?”

Behind her, Malachy was shaking his head no. I bestowed a beautiful smile on him, and told her, “Of course! You can have three.”

Theresa was physically incapable of sticking to three pre-planned questions. I let her herd him into the living room, talking at the speed that only middle-schoolers could achieve, and went into the kitchen to grab some supplies.

I came back out to find Malachy eyeing Theresa warily as she industriously wrote out calculations on her clipboard. He was sitting on one of the armchairs—the one that happened to be farthest from any doors or windows, I noticed. Coincidentally, these were all covered in crosses.

“Homework,” I said firmly, and she sent me a pleading look, but I shook my head at her, and she sighed. Collecting all of her things, she dragged herself out of the living room. As I set the vase down on the end table. I could hear her sadly thumping her way upstairs and into her room.

Malachy nodded at me, which was probably the closest I’d ever get to a “thank you” from him. Then he sniffed the air, and frowned over at the end table by the couch. “Is that…?”

I arranged the garlic flowers in the vase to display their purple petals a little more prominently. “Just testing out some questions of my own. Say, if I spilled some beans just now”—I had, there were a few on the floor by the couch—“would you feel compelled to clean them up?”

He had been regarding the garlic flowers with narrowed eyes, but turned away from his contemplation long enough to give me a scornful look. “I’m not a jiāngshī, am I?”

That piqued my curiosity. “There are different types of vampires?”

Malachy laughed. “As many as there are legends about them. Hollywood doesn’t have a copyright on the supernatural world, you know.”

“Great,” I muttered. So not everything I knew about vampires would apply to every one. Lovely. Guess I’d better start stocking beans in my purse alongside garlic and rosaries.

“That’s not really important right now,” he said, and I stared at the carpet. Normally Malachy never passed up the chance to mock my understanding of the supernatural world—if he was doing so now, the world must be ending soon. And I didn’t want any part in the trouble he’d probably brought with him, but on the other hand—Isa.

Just because my best friend had started dating a vampire—and been drawn further and further into a world that seemed bent on killing her—didn’t mean I wouldn’t do everything in my power to help her.

And right now, she wasn’t doing too well. Apparently, one of her direct ancestors had been attacked by a very powerful vampire, one who’d been thought to have perished ages ago. But now he’d resurfaced, and Isa was experiencing side effects from it. Odd dreams and lethargy being the least of them.

That was my understanding of the issue. The Circle had other ideas. 

“What’s the problem?”

“You remember the Circle,” he said, and I grimaced. Yeah, I remembered them—the organization of witches that basically wanted to run the supernatural world, and the ones who’d taken issue with some of my critiques of said world. It was kind of hard to forget, since Isa and I had fought over her decision to work with them, among other things. The fight had culminated in some fairly harsh things being said on both sides—but I didn’t like to think about that.

Suffice to say, I disliked the Circle and the feeling was mutual.

“What about them?” I said, as neutrally as I could manage.

“They have a lead on Isa’s condition,” he said, “but it involves a trip to the Underworld.”

After a polite pause, in which I gave him ample time to crack a smile at his joke, I reluctantly concluded that he was being serious. “Underworld? As in Hades and the three Fates? Hercules?” I’d really only ever seen the Disney movie.

“Hades, Annwn, Hel, Yomi, Elysium—whatever name you call it by, yes. There’s a key there that might help in a ritual, apparently. Something about using a key from the land of the dead to break the connection between her blood and the vampire’s. Sometime in the next week, the Circle—and Isa—are going to try to summon this key. I’d really rather avoid the risks of Isa attracting the kinds of beings that populate the Underworld, and so I’m proposing to nip in and retrieve it before this becomes a mess of drastic proportions.”

I crossed my arms and resisted the urge to curl up on the couch. It wasn’t that cold, even for October. “Okay. So what do you need me for?”

He gave me a long look. “You’ve heard of Orpheus?”

I shook my head. 

“The state of education is shameful, these days,” he muttered. “To cut a long story short—Orpheus was a musician whose wife died. He traveled to the Underworld to ask for her life back. He got it, but at a price. On the way up, if he turned to look back at her, she’d be lost to him forever. Three guesses as to how the story ends.”

“With the redemptive power of love and faith leading to a happy ending?” I said defiantly.

“Wrong. He looks back just once, and no more wife. She was sent back to the underworld forever. Then he died.”

“Of grief?”

“No, actually, he got ripped apart by a group of madwomen later in his life. For disrespecting the gods, I believe. But I digress.”

I slouched back, the soft cushion of the couch dipping under my weight. “That’s a terrible story.”

“The point is, that you must have heard of any number of stories where human champions descend underground to a supernatural world. Alice in Wonderland? Labyrinth?” He caught my surprised look at the casual references to modern fiction and arched an eyebrow. “I’ve lived a long while. You fill up the time somehow, and television’s everywhere now.”

I tried to imagine Malachy sitting in front of the TV, watching as the cartoon Alice in her poofy blue dress spoke to Tweedledee and Tweedledum, and couldn’t quite manage it. For one, where’d he get the TV from? It’s not like he had a house—would the cable guys set one up in a crypt?

Did he even live in a crypt? When he wasn’t crashing on Isa’s couch, I mean.

“The point is that getting to the Underworld’s not so bad, dangers and guardians notwithstanding. In some cases, it’s disturbingly easy to do so. It’s getting out that’s the problem. See, you need someone who…well. Can withstand temptation. Strong moral character, and all that.”

“…” said I, staring at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Some people would take that as a compliment.”

“Wow, the undead creature of the night that makes it a habit to drain people of all their blood thinks I have strong moral character because I—tell him that what he does is wrong? Amazing. I’m truly astounded you managed to find one person to fit your criteria with that level of moral understanding.”

Then again, it was a world that apparently thought vampires were sexy precisely because of the undead blood-drinking thing, so maybe he had something there. Case in point: every time I went to the internet to research supernatural creatures, I had to wade through pages of supernatural romance shows, books, art, what-have-you, before I ever got to what might be considered even slightly academic. If not practical—somehow I doubted that the researchers at Harvard had ever had to deal with the problem of a vampire inviting himself over to tea once a week. I declined to share this thought with him, however.

He arched an eyebrow at me. “Well? Will you do it?”

“What kind of temptation are we talking about here?” I was reluctant to commit, even though I knew in the end I’d do it.

“Any and all.”

Helpful.

Actually, I’d share that thought with him. “Helpful,” I said. “Elaborate?”

Malachy gave me a thin-lipped smile. “Death’s more attractive than you might think. And if not that, then fear.”

“Of…?”

“The unknown? Being left behind? Of it all being a trick? Remember, Orpheus turned around.”

I narrowed my eyes. “And the chances of getting out?”

He gave me his most charming smile. “I have every confidence in your talents, Lili.”

I arched an eyebrow of my own.

“Being the most stubborn, uptight, Miss-Morally-Righteous woman I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet in death,” he said, still smiling. “Also, you know, very strong belief. And you know how important that is, when it comes to my world.”

I did. Crosses, as far as I understood, hurt vampires—at least the kind I was familiar with—because (depending on what belief one subscribed to) they symbolized the resurrection of the dead, which vampires couldn’t partake in due to their unnatural state, or the power of God, or Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross. Explanations varied. 

While crosses and other holy objects (Christian, so far as I had experienced—jury was still out on other religions, though with Malachy’s reveal of different kinds of vampires, now I wondered) all had the ability to make vampires flinch back, it was the item holder’s faith that gave it real power. And it wasn’t just faith in the item, but what it represented.

Months ago, Malachy had seen me keep back a vampire with nothing more than the Sign of the Cross and two popsicle sticks held in a cross shape. So I suppose to him, that was a sign—no pun intended—of my strong faith.

I wasn’t so sure about that. Somehow, I didn’t think that being able to hold back creatures of the night was more faith-filled than, say, volunteering my time at a soup kitchen, or helping old ladies cross the street, or any number of good works that I could be doing instead of coming home at the end of a day filled with classes and multiple shifts, collapsing on my bed, and promptly passing out, repeat ad nauseam.

But there wasn’t really any point to having a theological debate with this particular vampire about anything, much less Matthew 7:21-23.

“All right,” I said, “I’ll do it.”

That really should have been the end of it. I told him I didn’t have a day off until Saturday, two days from then (and conveniently for me, the day after Theresa’s birthday party, because there was no way I was planning, hosting, and then cleaning up a party for middle-schoolers after literally going to Hades). We set a time, he told me what to bring, and that was that.

Only it wasn’t.

Because Friday afternoon was when the school called to tell me Theresa went missing.

The first thing I did was—well. Panic, to be frank. This wasn’t the first time Theresa had gotten in trouble, and since the last time it had happened, it had involved a vampire of the non-Malachy variety—that is to say, not reasonable in any way and really rather bloodthirsty—I felt I was a little justified in doing so. Then, of course, I searched the house, called the school back, did all the normal things to check if her disappearance was due to something, well, normal.

Then, and only then, I called Isa.

The phone rang, and rang, and then—click!

My hopes were dashed when the voice I heard was the pre-recorded kind. I left a message, and then for good measure, texted her—though Isa had a flip phone, so I didn’t have real hopes of her texting back. And then I immediately called again. And again.

The other line connected, and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Isa. I know it’s not a great time, but—”

“She walks through the long dread valley of night,

hand-in-hand with the hunter and his queen.

She sleeps under snow, she sleeps under ice—

and she fades away from the springtime green.”

The voice on the other end was soft—almost mechanical in its recitation. Yet there was something mesmerizing in the quiet rhythm of the words, hardly discernable through the crackling of the poor connection. As soon as the last word was spoken, the voice started over from the beginning. I don’t know how long I stood there, listening to the strange voice.

In fact, I was still listening, transfixed, when I sensed something behind me.

I whipped around, one of the kitchen knives in hand, to find Malachy regarding me with a raised eyebrow. Without lowering the knife, I lifted the phone away from my ear. I could still hear the voice tinnily in the background. “What was the last thing I said to you when you were over here on Monday?”

“It was Thursday, and I believe it was the equivalent of, ‘go back to whatever hell you spawned from,’ only the politer equivalent due to attentive young ears,” he said, but his heart wasn’t in the banter. “Have you heard from Isa?”

Damn. So it was really him. With trembling fingers, I put the knife back in the block. “No. I’ve been calling. Listen to this.”

Without the usual malicious pleasure I would have taken in doing so, I shoved the phone up next to his ear. 

He listened to it a few times, ended the call, and scrubbed at his face, which was looking a little paler than usual. For a corpse, at any rate. “She’s missing.”

“So’s Theresa,” I said, feeling cold. I put the phone away, reluctant to even look at it. It was strange to have something so obviously supernatural happen over such a modern device as the phone. “What do you think is going on?”

“I found out that the Circle was ahead of schedule and carried out their ritual at midnight. Apparently, they lost track of Isa at noon today.” He said this in a way that indicated to me that someone in the Circle had been left very unhappy when he discovered this. “When did your sister go missing?”

“I don’t know the exact time, but the school called me around one.”

“Not promising.”

“Do you think—”

“—it’s related? Probably. At least, you’d better hope, because I only know a potential method to track Isa, not your little tagalong.”

“Oh, God,” I said. “Where do you think—?”

“Better grab your jacket,” he said. “Looks like we’re making an early start on our road trip to Hell.”

[mostlyvoid-partiallyflowers]

The most recent episode of Interview with a Vampire let's us see Lestat's side of the story and see how it compares to Louis' accounting of their relationship. As a result, it reaffirms just how unreliable of a narrator Louis is, but it also further illuminates elements of his character that the director and writers have been playing with since the beginning of the show.

There's this part in the episode where Lestat turns to Louis and apologizes and it's framed with Lestat turned to Louis on one side and Claudia on his other side. They're the angel and devil on Louis' shoulders, but who is the angel and who is the devil? And as my friend said, Armand and Daniel are placed into that same dynamic with Louis later on. We are being asked to decide who to trust, who's telling the truth, who's the good guy, but the fact of unreliability robs us of that decision.

This whole story is about Louis, he's the protagonist, though not the narrator, and he is constantly being pulled in two directions, no matter when or where he is in his story. He's a mind split in two, divided by nature and circumstance. He's vampire and human, owner and owned, father and child, angel and devil. He's both telling the story and being told the story. His history is a story he tells himself, and as we've seen, sometimes that story is not whole.

Louis is the angel who saved Claudia from the fire but he's also the devil who sentenced her to an life of endless torment, the adult trapped in the body of a child. He's the angel who rescued Lestat from his grief and also the devil who abandoned him, who couldn't love him, could only kill and leave him.

He's pulled in two directions, internally and externally at all times and so it's no wonder that he feels the need to confess, first to the priest, then Daniel, and then Daniel again.

He's desperate to be heard, a Black man with power in Jim Crow America who's controlled by his position as someone with a seat at the table but one who will never be considered equal. He doesn't belong to the Black community or the white community, he can't. He acts as a go-between, a bridge, one who is pushed and pulled until he can't take it anymore. He's a fledgling child to an undead father, he's a young queer man discovering his sexual identity with an infinitely experienced partner. He's confessing because he wants to be absolved, that human part of him that was raised Catholic, that child who believed, he wants to be saved. He wants to be seen.

Louis wants to attain a forever life that is morally pure, but he can't. He's been soiled by sin, by "the devil," as he calls Lestat, and he can never be clean again. Deep down, I think he knows this, but he can't stop trying to repent. He tries to self-flagellate by staying with Lestat and then tries to repent by killing him, but can't actually follow through. He follows Claudia to Europe to try and assuage his guilt. He sets himself on fire, attempts to burn himself at the stake, to purify his body, rid himself of the dark gift.

Louis is a man endlessly trying to account for the pain he has caused and he ultimately fails, over and over again, because he can't get rid of what he is. A monster. He's an endlessly hungry monster. He's hungry for love, for respect, for power, for forgiveness, for death. He's a hole that can never be filled. He can never truly acquire any of those things because he will always be punishing himself for wanting and needing them in the first place. He will never truly believe he deserves them and as a result, can't accept them if they are ever offered. He can never be absolved for he has damned himself by accepting the dark gift and thus has tainted himself past the point of saving.

[arcadianambivalence]

Started reading The Vampire Armand to help me understand the backstory for a fic I've been planning.

I knew what was coming. I'd read the summary. I was warned by so many fans, but still...this is one of the saddest fucking works of fiction I've read in a long time...and I'm only on chapter three.

[simsdaughters]

We have a dire lack of good occult/goth cc for children 😔

[louisetaylor]

hmmm...lestat just broke into the church...he punched through a guy's head, how romantic..."I can free you of this life of shame..." yeah right lestat, do it by force and he will resent you for decades as I know he will...

ok now louis is drinking from him and I kind of wish he was drinking from lestat's neck, somewhere more intimate than his wrist...or it would be nice if lestat held him while he drank...oh well

[charmingradiobelle]

I remember back in elementary school my friends and I would play pretend and we’d be characters from whatever show or movie we were into, and I once suggested we be Mario characters (I was Toadette) and I don’t remember exactly what the plot was but I’m 90% sure it was the most bizarre game we ever played

[monsieurenjlolras]

The reason Bella and Edwards relationship dynamic doesn't work as a vampire romance is because they're louis and lestat but she's lestat

[winters-tales]

Yo, Beg My Forgiveness sounds awesome. What's that about?

Thank you! It's a little bit of blasphemy from an ex-Catholic.

So, I like my vampire stories. I like how far they go back into various myths and legends and folklores, I like the different takes on them, I like it all.

Beg My Forgiveness is the idea that the first vampire is Lazarus, after the miracle of Jesus raising him from the dead didn't quiiiite work.

Because sure, God is infallible and all-powerful etc etc... but Jesus was still just a man, and humans are not infallible, no matter how much divine power they have.

Did you know that with the story of Lazarus, Jesus specifically waited until he knew Lazarus was dead, specifically waiting until the traditional period of waiting with the body (iirc it was 3 days) was over and the body was prepared, before he even started the return journey back? He deliberately waited until there would be absolutely no doubt at all that Lazarus had died, before he went to go and bring him back. This man was supposedly his friend.

What would that do to someone? To know that your friend had let you die just to... what? To prove himself, when he's already done that a thousand times over? How much pain was Lazarus in when he died?

How much pain would he be in, knowing that his death was down to one person's choice?

TL;DR: it's mostly just me finding new ways to spite my Catholic upbringing. Or work through the religious trauma.

[thebloodofsaints]

What is The Blood of Saints?

So, if you're here, on this page, then you have probably heard about the story I've been working on. Hello! I appreciate your company. I realize that perhaps I should give some sort of a synopsis of this story, and what it means to me as the author.

So... what is The Blood of Saints?

It is a passion project, above all else! I really have no desire to publish it in a professional setting, or seek out financial gain from it. It is, quite literally, just for funsies.

It is also a means of exploration for myself. An exploration of religion, guilt, trauma, loneliness, and sexual liberation. The setting is no accident, either, it was not random. Setting this story in rural Tennessee in the early 1980's was deliberate. While there may be some of the classic elements of horror and suspense in a vampire story, the real horror comes from the regional conflict between Catholicism and Protestantism (particularly, Evangelical Fundamentalism).

My father is a lapsed Catholic from Northern Pennsylvania, my mother a former Christian of the Church of Christ, from Tennessee. I was born and raised in Tennessee, and they both made the decision early on to raise me without any religious affiliation, because all of the churches they attended in the area as a means of testing the waters conflicted directly with their morals.

To put bluntly, they were all a bit horrifying and cultish. This was, of course, the rural American south, post-9/11.

Unfortunately, due to some lingering prejudices, my mother told my father directly that I would not be raised Catholic.

All of these factors led to a very interesting upbringing, a focus more on doing good and being kind just for the sake of it rather than out of fear of my eternal salvation. It also led to some pretty relentless bullying and an intense feeling of isolation that lasted all my life. Couple that with being trans and queer and knowing that I was different in some way, but being unable to place just how I was different, and you've got... a bit of a neurotic mess.

A lot has happened in the last two and a half decades for me to be here, but I ultimately wouldn't change it for the world.

What else inspired this story?

Glad you asked! Besides my kind of weird agnostic upbringing in the deep south Bible Belt, it was, admittedly, inspired by a lot of the media I consume. I've been fascinated by vampires since I was a kid. But it should come as no surprise that Midnight Mass was the biggest catalyst in me even starting this story. The way it delved into religion, loss, love, and evangelism spoke to me. As I said, I've always been agnostic, but make no mistake, I am actually pretty religious. But... just sort of in my own way.

Another piece of media which spoke to me was Wise Blood, both the book by Flannery O'Connor and the movie directed by John Huston. The tone is almost absurdist, and the setting threw me right back into my small town where I grew up, where nothing at all seems to have modernized.

The Exorcist and The Exorcist III were also inspiration for me, the first for the horror elements and the questioning of faith, and the second for its strange and Lynchian tone and imagery.

In terms of music, I was inspired particularly by artists such as K. D. Lang, Nick Cave, Neil Diamond, Simon and Garfunkel, Townes Van Zandt, and Colter Wall.

What else is there, besides religion and vampires? Are there any other horrors?

Possibly. I'll be honest, I'm sort of making this up as I go, but there may be more to everything than vampires and priests and preachers and love and folk music. The Appalachians are an ancient and strange place. Who's to say?

How does it end?

With love. But you'll just have to find out the rest for yourself!

[lady-starkiller]

obsessed with the Missing in every line of dialogue in “interview with the vampire”…like you know there is Something Else lurking and it’s seeping through the pages!

[atlantic-riona]

on the plus side? I think this is the most I've written for a story in forever.

on the other hand, we're barely at the portal part.

Just write something short for the Inklings Challenge this year, I said to myself. Something fun and easy. No need to make something unnecessarily unwieldy.

Nearly a thousand words later, I'm eyeing the beginning of the story and asking it firmly, "Are you trying to become a novel?"

"No," it says innocently, obviously lying. "Just keep writing, I'm sure the end will come soon."

Reader, it did not.

[myfanfictiongarden]

Just one more thing to add: ep2 proved that Sister Agatha is the most badass there is.

[vampthropologist]

I love having anthropological knowledge on hand. I just set up the basis for two separate fictional religions, and the sects that would sprout from them.

[mayhemchicken-varneyposting]

in Varney the Vampire, there is approximately 1 female lead per story setting, but discounting all the little vignettes there are 2 main ones (Clara Crofton and Flora Bannerworth). clara dies in her section, but flora lives, begging the question...

in dracula there is a cowboy and the female lead lives. in nosferatu there is no cowboy and the female lead dies. ergo, the existence of a cowboy is highly important for the survival of the female lead in a gothic vampire story.

[byou-shin]

These sims are characters from my story "Paradise Prison". I like gothic story with religious theme plus with vampires, so I made it for my own satisfaction :) my fantasy life wouldn't be complete without these cc makers, so big thanks ^^

poster 1 : dress 1 & 2 by @miro-sims ; hair 2 by @jino-sims ; stocking 1 by Cheryl sgly ; stocking 2 by @arltos

poster 2 : hair 1 & 2 @jujujam-juice

poster 3 : veil by @yaya-maya-sims ; dress @vintagesimstress ; necklace by @ Cheryl sgly ; glasses @kaguya-fox

poster 4 : hair by @zaozzaa ; veil @yaya-maya-sims ; dress @kaguya-fox

poster 5 : dress by @lin-dian ; blouse by @yaya-maya-sims ; necklace @yuyulie

poster 6 : suit by @lin-dian ; hair by @ Kotehok + @jino-sims

poster 7 : military uniform by @simnasimsworld ; suit + vest @lin-dian

poster 8 : suit by @natalia-auditore ; hair by @wingssims

thanks to @miwksowp for helping me with my english for Adam's character profile :D (poster 5)

-> character names ->

Adam & Annabeth

Glenn & Adam

Sharon

Loretta

Adam

Xion

Adam, Gabriel, Morgan, Glenn

Gabriel

---------------------==============---------------------

mini Character Profiles (at the moment~)

Year : mid 1800s

Adam

Born name : - Given name : Adam, Adam Noir Sangriento Nickname : Adam, Noir, the Messiah Age : 13 years old (beginning of the story) - 16 years old (ending) Species : dhampire-methuselah Affiliation : Catholic church, the Vatican, Sanctus Dei testis Annuntiatio Evangelii, Sadisgate "Schwazer Anfang", Isten kegyelmének bizonyítéka, The House of Vogt Status : alive

Annabeth Vogt

Nickname : Anna, Annabeth Age : 14 (beginning of the story) - 16 (death day) Species : human Affiliation : The House of Vogt Status : deceased

Gabriel Tenebress

Nickname : Gabriel, Gaby, Brother Gabriel, Angelo Age : 30 years old (beginning of the story) - 33 (ending) Species : human Affiliation : Catholic church, the Vatican, Tenebrae Exterminatio Sancti Exercitus, Isten kegyelmének bizonyítéka, Orientem Canis Status : alive

Morgan Tenebress

Nickname : Morgan, Mauros, Father Morgan Age : 29 years old (beginning of the story) - 33 years old (ending) Species : human Affiliation : Catholic church, the Vatican, Sanctus Dei testis Annuntiatio Evangelii, Isten kegyelmének bizonyítéka Status : alive

Glenn Tenebress

Nickname : Glenn Age : 18 years old (beginning of the story) - 21 years old (ending) Species : human Affiliation : Catholic church, the Vatican, Sanctus Dei testis Annuntiatio Evangelii, Isten kegyelmének bizonyítéka Status : alive

Zion (styled as "Xion")

Born name : Adam Alias : Adam Zion Sangriento Nickname : Adam, Zion, Marquis of the Hungary, Duke of Transleithania, the Messiah Age : 1500+ years old (beginning of the story & death day) Species : vampire (methuselah) Affiliation : Sadisgate "Schwazer Anfang", Madam Zoftig's House of Exotica, Fekete Vér Hadsereg Status : deceased

Sharon Valadez

Nickname : M'Lady Sharon, Sister Sharon, St. Sharon Age : 35 years old (beginning of the story) - 38 years old (ending) Species : human Affiliation : Catholic church, the Vatican, Sanctus Dei testis Annuntiatio Evangelii, Isten kegyelmének bizonyítéka Status : alive

Loretta Bernadi

Nickname : Loretta, Sister Loretta Age : 26 years old (beginning of the story) - 29 years old (ending) Species : human Affiliation : Catholic church, the Vatican, Sanctus Dei testis Annuntiatio Evangelii, Isten kegyelmének bizonyítéka Status : alive

the description profiles might change since I'm still thinking about it but these are some core or major profiles~~

[nightcolorz]

the main reason why I prefer the vampire chronicles books over the amc interview with the vampire show is bcus the books were created by a genuinely insane goth woman with terrible morals and a sexual obsession with the Catholic Church while she was going through multiple manic episodes and doing coke in her pajamas over the span of 42 years and the amc show was created by a team of writers working under a tv network who really really needed a recognizable property under their belt to get people to pay for their streaming service.

I like the show too but it just feels like I’m watching the sanitization and commercialization of a story truly from the depths of a freak bitches’s soul and I can’t rlly get behind the whole “omgg we r so crazy with our psychosexual vampire sex show 🤪🤪” identity the amc iwtv fandom has when it’s just like, a stripping down of smth truly fucked up and crazy and deeply personally into around 15 hours of more palatable and condensed + acceptable content that can be enjoyed by ppl who want to commit to smth weird but not that weird