The Vampire Affair

Начало книги

It had begun to snow. The bare black branches of the trees clutched at the lowering white sky with bony fingers, and the dark earth was flecked with bright patches like a leprous mold. The sparsely scattered pines spread impenetrable shadows in the dimness, and the wind whispered rumors of ancient and instinctive fear among their hissing needles. The rustling of air seemed to be the distant voices of spirits of the darkness, filling the forest silences with an undercurrent of unease. Nothing moved in the cold stillness except the textured white blanket above and the softly falling flakes.

Then a sound began, very faintly. It was a quick soft thudding of feet on dirt, like the beating of an overstrained heart. There was a slight irregularity to its rhythm, and an occasional cracking of a twig. As it grew, a figure appeared between the trees — a figure running, stumbling as though exhausted, and finally stopping, slumping against a pine trunk.

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