A/N: This is just a short story about Spike, er, William, and how he got his nickname.  Well, not really how he got it, but how it started.  Contains lines from "Fool For Love".

I'd Rather Have a Railroad Spike Driven Through My Head!

William stood in the shadows watching the man that made his life hell.  He'd been waiting for an hour for the man to come home.  He smiled, and moved toward the house, clutching his present in his hand.  Dru said he could do whatever his undead heart desired.  And tonight it desired blood.

He walked up and knocked on the door.  The man opened the door and gasped at seeing William.

"William!  You're alive!" the man exclaimed.

"Why yes, Mr. Henley.  May I come in?  I have some pressing business to discuss with you."

Mr. Henley looked William over.

"Yes, yes, of course.  Come in.", he replied, obviously flustered.

William's smile grew sinister at the man's invitation.  He walked in behind him, and shut the door.


William sat in the drawing room of his love's house, writing the latest piece of poetry devoted to his dear Cecily.

"Luminous…oh, no, no, no.  Irradiant's better." he said to himself, scribbling on the piece of paper.

He sat thoughtfully for a moment, until a waiter appeared with a tray.  William looked up at him.

"Oh, quickly!  I'm the very spirit of vexation.  What's another word for "gleaming"? It's a perfectly perfect word as many words go, but the bother is nothing rhymes, you see." William said to the man.

The waiter smiled and moved away into the crowd.  William looks up to see Cecily descend the stairs.

"Cecily.", he breathed, watching her move about the crowd.

He turned back to his poem, and eagerly scribbles a few more lines, then gets up and walks over to her.

There was a group of aristocrats talking, two men and a woman, discussing current events.

"I mean to point out that it's something of a mystery and the police should keep an open mind." the woman said.

As William walked by, one of the men, Mr. Weatherly turned to him.

"Ah, William!  Favor us with your opinion.  What do you make of this rash of disappearances sweeping through our town?  Animals or thieves?"

William turned to the man.

"I prefer not to think of such dark, ugly business at all.  That's what the police are for." William said, haughtily, glancing at Cecily.  "I prefer placing my energies into creating things of beauty." he said, holding up his poetry.

The other man, Mr. Henley, snatched the paper from William's hand.

"I see.  Well, don't withhold, William." Mr. Henley said

William's eyes widened.

"Rescue us from a dreary topic." the woman, Mrs. Henley, said.

William reached for the paper, but Mr. Henley held it back.

"Be careful!  The inks are still wet.  Please, it's not finished." William pleaded.

"Don't be shy." Mr. Henley told him.  "My heart expands/'tis grown a bulge in it/inspired by your beauty, effulgent."

Mr. Henley laughed.


Everyone laughed, mocking William.  Cecily glanced at William uncomfortably, and left the room.  William glared at Mr. Henley, and snatched his poem back.  He started to follow Cecily, but couldn't help over hearing the conversation between the aristocrats.

"And that's actually one of his better compositions." Mr. Weatherly said, chuckling.

"Have you heard?  They call him William the Bloody, because of his bloody awful poetry!" Mrs. Henley said, giggling.

"It suits him.  I'd rather have a railroad spike driven through my head than listen to that awful stuff!" Mr. Henley exclaimed.


William stood back, admiring his work of art.  It had taken almost an hour to complete.  The slower he worked the more pain was produced.  Blood was on his clothes, his hands, the floor, the wall…Mr. Henley.  Ah, Mr. Henley.  Mr. Henley sat in a chair, a railroad spike through his head.

'Well, he asked for it.'