Nevin and the Bounty Hunters

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It was a particularly beautiful day in the Black Forest. The leaves rustled as the slight breeze blew through the trees. Birds chirped cheerfully, blissfully happy in the new day.

 

And then everything got quiet. Something was afoot in the Schwarzwald. Something weird. And rightly so, as a strange and warble-y voice drifts over the hills and across the mountains.

 

“Spent some times in stormy weather,

Under clouds of my dilemma…”

 

From amongst the pines and firs the ballad continues, completely out of tune, with no real rhyme or reason.

 

“Now there’s nothing much to do,

But sit and rot in front of televisions… televisions… and televisions… televisions, indeed!”

 

A maniacal laughter suddenly rips through the air and a flock of birds, once quieted by the noises, now take flight into the sky, away from whatever maddening nonsense is stirring within the woods.

 

“… rot in front of televisions,

Staring back at me,

I’m just waiting for the microwaves,

To wash me into the sea…”

 

And it is there, on a stone slab, in a clearing amongst the trees, there, upon a rock of ages, sits the creature they call No-one. He appears as a man, dressed in a ragged rain poncho and dirty, ripped slacks. His light blond hair is dark with dirt and matted to his head. Yet despite his appearance, he lounges on the rock as if he were king of all around him.

 

“… to wash me into the sea… how’s that tune go again?” he asks, appearing to look over his right shoulder into the trees. He shrugs after a moment and his voice is low again, “Waiting for the microwaves…”

 

He is Nevin the vampire. And he’s totally off his rocker.

 

“To wash me into the sea… so they are, eh? I’ll hide, shall I?”

 

Inexplicably, the vampire stands, hops high into the air, off the rock, disappearing into the trees. Moments later, three men enter the clearing, men with dark looks about them. Their faces are rugged, their eyes small, windows to their dark purpose. The plasma rifles they carry accent their malevolent appearance.

 

The one wearing a black cowboy hat sniffs, the ends of his mouth curling upwards in disgust. When he talks, he speaks in German, “He was here. Just now.”

 

“Then he can’t be further,” the middle-man replies, bringing his rifle up to his chest and checking the ammo canister.

 

“The stench is revolting,” the cowboy says, his nose crinkling in repulsion, “It makes me want to vomit.”

 

“Save your lunch,” the third man, wearing a black jacket, finally speaks, “Our job will be over soon, then we can go back into town for a drink. Do we split up?”

 

“Negative,” the middle-man replies, “We press onwards, pick up the pace. We’ll not leave until the job is done.”

 

The three men jog across the clearing, heading deeper into the woods beyond. From his perch above them, Nevin’s eyes and grin glow eerily in the tree before suddenly vanishing.

 

The bounty hunters trudge along in the dusk, night rapidly approaching. They don’t fear the darkness, for they are men of ill-intention. Little do they know their prey is far from any ordinary bounty.

 

The middle-man pauses, “Which way?”

 

The hunter in the cowboy hat turns and grimaces, sniffing the air. He sneers, “He’s not here.”

 

“What happened?” the third man speaks, “Did you lose the trail?”

 

“No,” the cowboy says, “He was nearby earlier, but…” the man suddenly turns his head and fires wildly as a dark shape swoops out of the tree and snatches him up. Both the cowboy and the shadow fly up into the trees to the sound of screams and a scatter of plasma fire.

 

“Where? WHERE?!” the middle-man says franticly, shining a rifle-mounted light into the foliage. The man in the black jacket pauses and stoops down. When he stands, he holds a black cowboy hat in his hand.

 

In the distance there’s a maniacal cackling and the two men look around, back-to-back, rifles at the ready, lights shining into the trees.

 

As the man in the black jacket continues to search through the darkness, he sees the glint of a pair of wide eyes in the branches and suddenly fires.

 

“What is it?!” the middle-man turns around to follow as both run towards the tree, “Did you get him— ?”

 

Both suddenly freeze in terror. The man who wore the cowboy hat lies on the ground, motionless, the hole in his head smoking from the plasma shot that killed him.

 

“You killed him,” the middle-man whispers, “He used him like...”

 

“Like bait,” a voice finished. The man in the black jacket whipped around in time to see his friend disappear into the night as if dragged off by the darkness itself.

 

“NO!” the man yells. He is frantic now, searching, then running faster. Through the woods. Panic grips him. He feels fear breathing on the back of his neck. This is no ordinary man. This is no ordinary bounty.

 

He turns to glance behind him and trips on a tree root, falling to the ground. He scrambles to stand up and freezes. He sees his plasma rifle in front of him, stopped under a ragged-looking boot. He slowly looks up and stares into the glowing eyes.

 

“Oh God…”

 

“Far from it,” the creature grins. It is the last thing the man in the black jacket sees.

 

Nighttime in the Black Forest. Nevin is lounging idly on his rock again, adorned in a black cowboy hat and black jacket. As the stars burn brightly in the black night sky, the vampire basks in the darkness.

 

“Now there’s nothing much to do,

But sit and rot in front of televisions,

Staring back at me,

I’m just waiting for the microwaves,

To wash me into the sea…

“… wash me into the sea…” 

 

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