Easton, New York
1912

It was a dark and stormy night. The rain was pouring down in sheets, and the wind howled through the empty streets. The only sound was clicking my heels on the pavement as I walked through the deserted city. Cloaked in darkness, my features are hidden from view. I was on a mission, a mission my master, the king of the underworld, had given to me. My task was simple: to bring a soul to the gates of hell every single day. But this was no ordinary soul. This was the soul of a woman who was about to give birth.

That very minute passed in a blink. Or was it that time stopped? It was short, and I had to hasten. I stood in the shadows, watching the woman. She struggled to make her way down the dark, deserted street. She was heavily pregnant, and I could see that she was in pain. I had to decide, and quickly. ‘Should I take her soul and condemn her to an eternity of suffering in the underworld? Or should I let her give birth and allow her child to live, knowing that they would face a hard life?’

I had never faced such a tough decision before, and I was unsure of what to do. I closed my eyes and reached out with my senses, trying to get a grip on what was the right thing to do.

As I reached out, I felt a strange connection to the woman, a connection that I had never felt before. I sensed her pain, her fear, and her love for her unborn child. Not to take her soul, not when she was so full of love and compassion. I had to let her give birth and let her child live. My eyes lifted, and I watched as she made her way down the street, oblivious to my presence. My mind clicked on a green button, indicating that I had made the right decision, but I felt that my actions would have consequences. By letting the woman live, I was defying the orders of my master, the Almighty. And I knew that there would be a heavy price to pay.

A sacrificial one.

My willingness to take that risk is for the sake of the woman and her unborn child. I turned away from the woman and began to walk away, my thoughts heavy with the weight of my decision. As I walked, I wondered what the future would hold for the woman. And I wondered if I had done the right thing or if I had simply made a mistake.

As I walked through the rain-soaked streets, I felt a sense of loneliness and isolation that I had never felt before. I was no longer simply a creature of darkness, hunting for prey. I had chosen to be something more, something different. And that choice had come at a cost. I was an outcast, a rogue vampire, walking a path that was unknown and uncertain. I knew that I had made the right decision, even if it meant facing the unknown. The rain continued to fall, and the night seemed endless. I was a vampire in a world of humans, and I felt like a shadow in the night, a figure in the darkness. I was no longer part of the world of the living, and yet I was not a creature of the dead. I was something in between, a being that existed in the twilight between life and death. As I continued to walk, I heard a faint cry—the sound of a woman crying.

I looked over at the heavily pregnant woman and sensed the fear and desperation emanating from her as her water broke unexpectedly. The night held an eerie stillness as I halted in her direction.

“Make a wish.” My order presented her with a dire dilemma: to save her own life or the precious life she carried within. “Who do I save? Your life or your baby’s?”

Her resolute choice to prioritise her baby’s life over her own caught me off guard, given her troubled past of countless abortions from her life as a prostitute. I could tell all her experiences from just the pain in her voice. And her presence told me about the kind of life she lived as a prostitute.

“Help me. "Please help me!” Her lips trembled in the cold, night. “Save my child! Please.”

Despite her murky past, the woman expressed a sincere yearning to amend her ways and commit to raising this child, setting aside her history of dark deeds.

The sky was too azure and inky dark, the hills too lush, and the breeze too chilly and alluring for a day to pass without tragedy. Spitting out a salty mix of tears and saliva, her heavy eyes scanned the space. A single tear rolled down the corner of her eyes. I had never seen someone so pathetic. She didn’t realise her tears from the effect of the rain.

My fingers crossed and snapped in a blink. The splash between my fingers formed a saviour for her.

In a unique twist of fate orchestrated by my power, a ray of light beamed from a taxi’s headlight. An old taxi driver appeared inexplicably and guided the woman through the chaotic night to the hospital, ensuring she received urgent medical attention. The woman’s condition was grave; her body betrayed her in critical moments, eventually succumbing to unconsciousness and slipping into a coma that spelt her unfortunate end. Through it all, the baby fought for survival, emerging into the world as the mother tenderly departed from it.

I, who had long toyed with the boundaries between light and darkness, found myself wearied by the callous task of ushering souls to their destined afterlife. Despite my ever-present ability to navigate the realms of visibility and invisibility, my sense of reluctance was creeping in, a weariness that stemmed from the countless souls I had guided to their final abodes. Leading the woman’s departing spirit to the gates of hell, I observed the poignant scene unfolding as the child remained in the care of vigilant doctors, now orphaned by the loss of its mother.

In that moment of poignant finality, I grappled with a newfound weariness, a weariness that gnawed at his immortal spirit, yearning for respite from the relentless cycle of guiding souls towards their ultimate fate. The story of the pregnant woman, her sacrificial choice, and the child left behind resonated deeply within me, stirring a dormant compassion in his ancient heart.

The night was dark, a perfect shroud for my elusive presence to drift unnoticed among the living. I watched as the heavily pregnant woman stumbled along the desolate street, her steps faltering with each painful contraction. Her distress was palpable, a heady mix of fear and determination swirling around her like a cloak of despair.

As her water broke, a cruel smirk tugged at the corners of my lips, revelling in the cruel twist of fate that brought her to this pivotal moment. I approached her in a silence borne of centuries of existence, my voice a chilling whisper in the frosty night air.

“Make a wish,” I intoned, my eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. “Who do you want to save? Your life or your baby’s life?”

Her response was swift, a testament to the depth of a mother’s love. In that fleeting moment, I glimpsed the shadows of her sordid past, the echoes of sins long buried beneath layers of shame. Yet, her resolve did not waver as she professed her choice.

I granted her wish—a conduit between worlds, weaving threads of fate with a deft hand honed by millennia of practice. A passing taxi driver mysteriously appeared, his weathered face a mask of benevolent intent as he guided her trembling form towards the hospital. That was just a mile away.

The strange lady was fading, her life force ebbing with each laboured breath. I watched as she slipped into the waiting arms of unconsciousness, the barrier between life and death a fragile veil that whispered of finality.

The active human doctors rushed her into a coma for surgery. They managed to bring out the baby, and, in a desperate attempt to find any flickers of life or hope left for its mother, they encountered stony silence broken only by the warmth that upheld her.

Her hand slipped from her body, the warmth of life stolen by the stiff embrace of death. Her limp, lifeless body collided with the pattering of the showering rain.

As her essence hovered on the precipice of eternity, I, Easton, a vampire and the harbinger of souls, reached out to claim what was rightfully mine. Her soul, tainted by a lifetime of regret and misdeeds, shuddered beneath my touch, resigned to its inevitable fate. I guided her with a gentle hand, a silent escort through the labyrinthine corridors of the afterlife. The gates of hell, with a hunger that could never be endured, loomed large and swallowed her broken form.

Yet, as I stood on the threshold of damnation, a seed of doubt took root within my ancient heart. The innocent child lay cradled in the hands of mortal carers, a beacon of hope in a world consumed by darkness.

I turned away, the weight of my burden heavier than ever before. I, the relentless reaper of souls, was weary of such an eternal task. Leading her poor soul to the gates of hell, I watched as she passed beyond my reach, leaving the innocent child behind in the care of mortal hands—the doctors. At that moment, a sense of weariness settled upon me, a weariness born from centuries of escorting souls to their final destination.

As I vanished into the night, my form dissipating into the shadows, I reflected on the woman’s wish and the child she had left behind. Perhaps, in that moment of selflessness, he glimpsed a sliver of redemption for both himself and the tormented souls he guided. My once reckless and unyielding being now carried the weight of a newfound understanding as I drifted into the darkness, seeking solace in the quiet depths of the eternal night.