The two guards stayed closed together as they walked the streets of their village, torches held high to ward off as much of the darkness as they could. It was a lovely summer night, comfortably warm with the stars twinkling brightly in the clear sky, but as of lately no one who lived in the hamlet of Sparrow's Point was able to enjoy a night of any sort.

"I still think we'd all be better off lockin' up in our homes until that paladin gets here," muttered the younger of the two, a young man who was barely more than a boy.

"Aye," his companion agreed with a nod. "But the council would have our heads if someone got robbed by a regular crook because we were all inside, hiding with our crosses."

The young man spat derisively onto the ground. "Anyone who's out and about at night when there's a bloodsucker in town deserves whatever they get, and is prolly the sort of wretch we wouldn't even miss."

"Ayden, you know that's not true."

Ayden winced at the older man's tone, looking off into the dark beyond the glow of their torches and the occasional lamppost, lit well before sunset, hours ago.

For three months now, the tiny village of Sparrow's Point had been plagued by a vampire. Nine people and three times as many livestock had been attacked, though as of yet only some of the animals had died from the attacks. All attempts to track the creature down had failed. It had not risen from the local cemetery, as all the graves were undisturbed, and there were no unoccupied houses for it to take shelter in. No one could figure out where it went during the day, but everyone knew when it came back.

Only about three hundred people lived in Sparrow's Point, and everyone knew at least one of the poor souls that had fed the nightstalker's hunger. One look at the haunted eyes and scarred neck-wounds of one of the vampire's victims was all it took to be convinced of the creature's existence. Not even fools believed that surviving a vampire's attack was a blessing, for once bitten, the victim lived with the knowledge that upon their own death--no matter the cause, be it natural, accidental, or deliberate--there was a great likelihood that they themselves would rise again as a vampire. The bite of a vampire was an eternal curse that only a holy man could dispel.

A holy man like the paladin now awaited by the hamlet. Though the town council had sent a plea for aid to the nearest temple within days of the first attack, Sparrow's Point was a full month's travel from the closest city, or three weeks if one could press their horse enough. These three months that the vampire had vexed the hamlet had all been ones of nervous waiting: one waiting for the courier to reach the city of Earthford, another waiting for her to return, and another waiting for the arrival of the paladin she'd said the temple had promised to send.

Their world was a world where demons, undead, and other evils were common enough that they were not merely bedtime stories used to frighten children, and that there were entire religious sects devoted to battling the unholy monsters. But the demons always seemed to outnumber those that rose to fight them, so it was both disheartening and expected that a hamlet as tiny as Sparrow's Point would have to wait so long, and waiting was the only choice they had. To be rid of their vampire, they needed one of the holy men who knew how to track and slay the beasts of the night.

The pair of watchmen reached the outskirts of their little community, and paused a moment to look out into the night. There were no walls around the sprawling hamlet, and instead the town was surrounded by fields of farmland, with rolling hills and forests beyond those. It was an island of civilization in the middle of nowhere, with only a single, deteriorating cobbled road--winding in from the hills, wandering through the center of the hamlet, and then leading off into the distance again--to remind them that other towns and villages existed beyond the horizon. Caravans passed through only once a year, though wandering merchants were more common. The former usually came with tax collectors in tow to collect tithes for a king they knew only in name, and for the most part that was their only contact with the outside world.

Thank the gods that the holy warriors of the temples fought in the names of those gods, rather than at the whims of man. If that had been the case, Sparrow's Point would certainly have been too trivial for anyone to want to waste time and effort on aiding them.

The watchmen turned back towards the heart of their home and began to retrace their steps. They would walk this route many more times before their shift was over.

Or they would have, if the night had proved uneventful.

The elder watchman suddenly stopped, blocking Ayden's path with the spear he carried in his other hand, forcing the boy to a halt.

"Wha-?"

"Shh!"

Eyes wide, Ayden fell silent. They had arrived at the part of the village where the buildings were all shops, dark and locked up for the night. Even the settlement's only tavern was closed at this hour, though it had once been a place of nocturnal revelry before the vampire came.

Beyond the crackling of their torches and the chorus of nighttime insects, the strange sound came again: a sound of something scuffling in the dirt.

"Marcel...."

The older man gave Ayden a fierce glare, but the noise suddenly stopped and the silence turned attentive. The watchmen were still, their eyes finding the little alley-gap between the store they stood in front of and the next building ahead. Marcel's throat clicked as he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, but he lifted his torch high and stepped forward, adjusting his grip on his spear. It was probably just a rat or a stray dog, but....

Suddenly he heard the sound of a blade being whisked from its sheath, followed by a gasp and a wet-sounding gurgle. Goaded by the very human sounds, he turned into the alleyway, but then leapt back with a yell as golden eyes and beating wings leapt into the circle of light shed by his torch.

The owl screeched in turn and its mighty wings buffeted his head as it flapped past him. Ayden fell backwards, fear stealing his voice as he tumbled to the street, dropping both his own torch and spear. The watchmen stared as the night-bird soared up into the night sky, its feathers gleaming silver in the moonlight.

Ayden laughed nervously. "Aw, Marcel, it was j-just an owl...."

But Marcel hadn't forgotten the sounds that had come before, and kept trembling. He turned back to the alley and in the layers of shadows, spotted what was unmistakably a man laying on the ground, in a large puddle.

It had not rained in days.

Clenching his teeth, ignoring Ayden as the boy got back to his feet and came up from behind, Marcel approached the fallen man, slowly bringing him into the torchlight. Marcel recognized him: it was Hal Dobbin, a man liked by few and who would be missed by none, except perhaps his drinking "buddies"--the folks who sat with him in the tavern only because of his tendency to buy rounds for his whole table once he was quite drunk and in the middle of his latest bigoted rant.

Ayden dared a peek past Marcel's shoulder, only to turn away with a hurk! as he fought back the urge to vomit. Hal's throat had been slit, and gaped from ear to ear as his blood pooled around him. Marcel very deliberately turned away and walked back out of the alley, taking deep gulps of air once he was away from the bloody stench.

"Go report in," he managed to choke out as Ayden followed him. "I'll...stay here."

"But what if the vampire-"

"It's fed. It's...done for tonight. You'll be alright."

Ayden swallowed nervously, but he nodded and hurried off at a run. Marcel kept his back to the alleyway until the boy returned, several long minutes later, with the rest of the volunteer watchmen. His wife was right. No more night watch for him.