Rain whipped around them, she ran far ahead, "No!" she screamed in her french accent slipping and tripping over the wet rocks with her bare feet. "Stay away from me! Please!" He pursued her, his long cloak swirling in the wind behind, "Josette! Come back!" She neared the edge of Widows hill, a large cliff that stopped at the edge of a vast ocean. He caught her, she was in hysterics, he plunged his fangs into her neck, sipping her warm blood into his body. He released her throat as she collapsed against him, looking at his face with horror she used one last bout of strength and she ripped away from him, throwing herself off the edge of the tall cliff; she screamed a horrible sound as she plummeted downward, "Josette!" He shouted, it responded only with a sickening thrumping sound as she met the jagged rocks below, piercing her broken torso.
Horrified he skidded down the muddy cliff side to his love, her pale limp body was impaled on the rock, the water swept up towards her limp body clearing what little blood had been spilled. Her arm and back both twisted in an unnatural way, her hair tangled hiding her gentle features.
He ran to her, fearing the worst, he embraced her, weeping and shaking uncontrollably at what he had done, he wanted to give her life- not this... as he brushed her damp dark hair from her face... it was one of pure calm; as if this was the best possible ending for her.
Many years later
Nights had seem endless and eternal as the darkness had hovered for long years.
Barnabas Collins, the vampire within a heavily chained coffin in which his father had locked him inside to suffer with his never ending thoughts of misery which brought him great sorrow and pain.
He stared upward at the purple velvet, knowing every inch of it- from long hours of watching the material deteriorate before his eyes, as his mind had thoughts of vengeance and killing that had long-warped his trapped mind; trying to find a fault for his circumstances, he would blame anyone before himself. Faces swirled in his thoughts, his beloved little sister, only nine years old when she died, his dear mother, his stern father, and... the fairest of all, His lovely Josette, beautiful and kind, he could still remember her strong scent of Jasmine, the feel of her tussled curled hair... Jeremiah- his uncle, someone he had learned to hate; hate for getting to love his Josette as he never could. Would he ever be free again? To find his lost love, the beauty of his heart of hearts.
Collinwood had stood on the same hill for nearly two centuries; and the condition of the mansion was such that one would presume it would stay for many more years to come.
The town of Collinsport had been founded by a Collins who had come from England; many of the historical novels spoke of the trials and tribulations of the family, however hadn't mentioned the scandals that had taken place.
As many in the Collins family would say: the first Collins came to America with nothing but a penny in his pocket and pride; however the genetics of the Collins's had faded and resulted in just a inherited-rich family owning a small (yet wealthy) fishing village and living cooped up in their castle on the top of the hill, the landmark of the entire town.
1966 had been quite a year for the present Collins family, as they always paid-their-way' out of their schemes; a man by the name of Burke Devlin had arrived to stir up a bit of unsettled trouble between himself and Roger Collins due to a manslaughter charge that happened ten years previous to the date that was wrongly convicted to Mr. Devlin.
Growing close to the orphan governess that resided up at Collinwood Ms. Victoria Winters' Burke decided to omit the charges Roger had finally confessed to.
David Collins, Roger's son was quite the boy, rambunctious, unruly, and more than a little odd; the boy believed in the supernatural and thought that ghosts were talking to him, and claimed that many were his friends'. The very thought of that made Carolyn Stoddard giggle; a pretty girl of eighteen she was quite the rebel and enjoyed dancing at the local spot The Blue Whale' where all the other young people her age went to have fun and play some tunes.
However, Collinwood wouldn't be quite complete without the mention of the witch that lived there: Elizabeth Collins-Stoddard hadn't left the premises for eighteen years, ever since her husband Paul Stoddard had mysteriously left. Many rumors circled around the incident and resulted in many calling the head of the house the witch'. Carolyn and David both had to put up with the ridiculing faces of their peers in school. Which was why David was presented with Vicki Winters as a governess and Carolyn was very close to her mother; the one who held the family business and pride.
But now there was new trouble stirring up at Collinwood, many were surprised when hearing that an old friend of Liz's 'Jason McGuire' was staying up at the great house, but were overwhelmed by the entrance of Willie Loomis at the manor- a scoundrel sea-rat friend of the infamous Jason McGuire, charm, wit, and gentlemanly behavior was a perfect outward description of the Irish fellow McGuire- he seemed jovial and quite social with everyone in the town; however where McGuire was overbearing with his enthusiasm and charm, Loomis was lacking in all dimensions.
Willie had probably 'hit on' every girl in town at least twice, his tongue got him in trouble more than once and his manners were quite atrocious, saying uncomfortable demanding and hinting at things that needless to say any gentleman would ever utter. Willie Loomis was the kind of man that would be hard to get to know. His demeanor was unbecoming to others; if he didn't like you he'd stare you down or pick a fight.
The most scary thing about the young man- you never knew what he was thinking. Sure, he'd been down a few roads, seen a few things- he thought he knew everything that was needed to know.
Despite it all, even Burke Devlin was worried about the strange behavior of Elizabeth Stoddard, he didn't know Mrs. Collins Stoddard, yet he knew enough that this was quite out of the ordinary, and just plain odd that she would invite such 'guests' as the sickeningly charming Jason and scruffy Willie character.
Removing his feet from the couch where he lazily reclined, Willie Loomis (a young man of twenty-five years) stood, yawning and stretching as he placed his empty wine glass on the table in the study at Collinwood.
Nearly three hours had passed and he hadn't seen any sign of life in the manor house- save of course Roger Collins who scowled and frowned, eying him critically. Willie pretended not to notice which annoyed Roger to such the extent that he left without saying a word, slamming the door behind him. Ha- if I were in the Collins club, I'd probably look as ugly as Roger Collins does every time he sees someone else enjoying the privileges that they deserve more than he does. Willie thought bitterly to himself; Needless to say it wasn't the type of 'life' Willie was waiting to come around.
Willie sighed, now without even the company of Roger Collins the house was about as interesting as watching grass grow. He scanned the room with his eyes although he already knew the contents of it from throughly searching every nook and cranny the day before.
There was no trace of jewels or ANYTHING he could see worth stealing in any of the drawers or behind the clock on the mantel. Not even a measly cent could be found under the cushions. Only shelves of books. Books, books, books!
Is all they do around this place is read?
He even went as far as taking several of the books off the shelf and shuffling through their yellowed pages- nothing. Just a bunch of wasted ink on rotted paper; boring old books no one cared about reading.
He frowned as he had an urge to have a smoke now, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the expensive foreign cigarettes he always smoked. He lit up and sauntered out of the small study and into the entrance hall, taking a few puffs of his cigarette he ambled over to the staircase and leaned on the railing staring upwards.
No one there, the house apparently was empty. He shrugged to himself as he placed his still burning cigarette on the edge of the table and moved to go over to the door and put his coat on so that he could find some night life. Only a few paces starting over to the exit a noise sounded towards the direction of the study where he had just come from.
THUMP-THUMP. THUMP-THUMP. THUMP-THUMP. THUMP-THUMP.
Over and over again rhythmically, the noise throbbed inside his head as if it were trying to talk to him, beckon him. Intrigued he began towards the sound slowly.
THUMP-THUMP. THUMP-THUMP. THUMP-THUMP. THUMP-THUMP.
It seemed to get fainter as he went towards it, suddenly it stopped altogether- he felt as if he had just been hit on the head with a hammer- almost like a trance he had gone towards the sound.
The silence now startled him, he almost felt as if he were in a dream- it was so surreal. He looked around looking for something that could've made the beating sound.
The painting on the wall caught his eye, he was unaware that he was standing right in front of it when the thumping had stopped. He turned towards the picture, gazing at it intensely.
The man in the picture sat proudly, chin held high to signify confidence. He was
grasping a dark cane with a large hand that rested a large ring on his index finger- either of onyx or bloodstone- by the painting Willie couldn't discern.
Jewels are so pretty, sometimes you can tell how pretty they are- just by touchin' em.
With a trembling hand he reached out to touch the portrait...
THUMP-THUMP. THUMP-THUMP. THUMP-THUMP. THUMP-THUMP.
It started again! As if his hand had been burned he retracted it quickly as he realized it was coming from the picture! Willie stood gaping, he could swear the eyes seemed to be looking at him...
Glowing and beckoning, the eyes watched him, sizing him up, determining his fate...
"Come to me." a small voice in the back of Willie's mind ordered, he drew closer to the picture...
"Willie!" He jumped nearly out of his skin as his friend Jason McGuire grabbed him, Willie looked startled at Jason, "What?" his mouth seemed dry for some reason.
Jason held up a cigarette in his hands, "What were you trying to do set a fire?" Willie looked puzzled up at him and then remembered he had left his burning cigarette butt on the table; yes... how long ago was that? it seemed like it had been forever...
"What were you doing Willie?" Willie slowly looked at Jason, "What? What doya mean?"
Jason frowned, "Willie, you were just standing in front of that picture for the longest time- just staring at it... you didn't even look up when I came in and you acted like you didn't even hear me when I said hello... and then when I smelled smoke and saw that you left your cigarette burning... Willie..." Jason looked worriedly at him.