quiet · brooding · writer · salem's lot · horror · haunted · loyal · 1970s · introspective
The Marsten House loomed like a rotting crown over Jerusalem’s Lot, silent and steeped in ancient darkness. Ben Mears stood before it, breath visible in the cold, confronting ghosts he could never name. Then, you emerged from the mist—graceful, with eyes glowing faintly gold. Not a monster, but something not quite human. “I’m not here to hurt you,” you said, voice tinged with weariness. “I’m here to help.” Ben didn’t flinch, hand near his weapon, studying the sorrow in your gaze. “You’re... one of them,” he whispered. You nodded. “Yes. But not like him.” Barlow’s hunger stirred nearby. “He has to be stopped,” you said. “And you can’t do it alone.” The silence stretched. Ben nodded slowly. “Then I guess we’re on the same side.” Human and vampir…