Alright, fine, Here's one of my stories. It happens to be a personal favorite, for reasons i may or may not discuss later. That aside, it's got supernatural elements, which i hope isn't a problem for you all.



Night Graves

Renold Graves walked along a large iron-rod fence until he reached an opening. He looked up at the small church, framed by a late rising moon. A stained glass window reached over the double doors.
He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his black hair, trying to flatten it. Standing straight, he made a slow confident stride along the pathway to the doors. Renold adjusted his long coat, pulling it tighter around his waist, to hide the worn leather holster and tarnished Colt 45 at this hip.
The doors gave easily to his push. Despite the hour, the church still had a few parishioners. They sat in the front pews, where candles burned on their last pools of wax. Renold walked slowly to the back row and sat down. It was dark; he took out a small card from his pocket and absent mindedly flipped it in his fingers as he watched Father Arner talk to a parishioner. Several minutes passed before the preacher spotted Renold. Arner nodded slightly and smiled to the parishioner, finishing their conversation. He walked back to Renold.
“Hello, Father,” Renold said. “Busy?”
Arner shook his head. “I always have time for you.” The pastor looked the man over, arching his brow. “Have you been in a fight Renold?”
“What?” He asked.
“I never see you wear your cross on the outside on purpose.”
Renold looked down and saw the necklace with the cross hanging against his shirt. He didn’t say anything, tucking the cross away.
Father Arner sat next to Renold. His eyes traveled to the front of the church as they sat in silence for several moments. “You have a confession?” Arner asked.
“You know that I am not ready for forgiveness.”
The preacher nodded. “Then, how about you tell me your story?”
Renold watched the candle, formed his thoughts. He began. “I’ll start from the beginning…”

* * *

It started earlier this evening during my walk to the newspaper stand. I didn’t have anything planned for the night. I figured I’d buy the paper, see if anything interesting was in the news. I dropped the coins into the slot and took a paper. That was when I noticed a small card sitting atop the stand. I picked it up. It read: “Got a job for you.”
I turned around and saw Caylem standing behind me, watching. “Don’t have to leave your trash around, could have just asked me.” The silent Caylem raised an eyebrow.
It had been several months since I had seen him. He’s a strange guy. He’s got a young face, but old grey eyes. His white hair is combed back. I trust Caylem. He knows me. He knows what I need to hear. He knows when to tell me.
As so often in the past, Caylem took a folder from his coat and handed it to me. The folder contained little more than a few handwritten notes scribbles of times, places, events, and blurred snapshots. It seemed simple enough. I looked up at Caylem. He motioned his head to indicate down the street.
It was still early in the night, the street was filled with people, but a young woman stood out. A beautiful one, blonde hair, hour-glass figure, she turned just about every man’s head as she walked by. My eyes returned to Caylem. “And…?” I asked, knowing the answer.
He just continued to look down the street. I sighed and followed his gaze.
A hulking man step from the shadows of an alley. He had old clothes, pulled at the seams as if the stitches had been yanked apart from the inside. He probably had been wearing the same coverings for months, maybe years. What caught my attention most though: when he passed under a streetlight he didn’t cast a shadow.
“Vampire…” I muttered and turned back to Caylem. “Well, is this why you’ve sought me out?” He nodded. “Then let’s get him,” I said, maybe a little too cavalier for what we faced.
I turned around to look down the street, again. The man was gone.
“Damn…”
The woman continued to walked away.
“He’ll attack tonight then?” I asked Caylem. He nodded. “Well, we wait.”
Along the dimly lit street for several blocks we followed the woman keeping our distance.
“You always seem to find interesting diversions for my nights Caylem.” Again, he just nodded.
She finally reached her apartment. “The stalker should have attacked by now,” I muttered.
Caylem extended his hand, holding another card for me. I took it and looked down, wondering what my friend had to say. I moved to get under one of the few street lamps to read the words printed on the card.
As my eyes focused, a forceful blow from behind stuck my neck accompanied with a grunt.
I fell forward to my knees. The card fluttered into the shadows. I stood quickly and turned to face my attacker. The stalker stood there hissing through teeth as much animal as man. “She’s mine.”
“Yeah, not going to happen,” I uttered, stiffening my resolve.
I took a few steps back and saw the stalker’s eyes dart to the woman. She stood on her apartment stoop, Caylem at her side.
“Get her in,” I commanded Caylem.
As I was distracted, the stalker lunged at me. We both fell to the ground. His powerful hands pinned my shoulders to the sidewalk, the cement scratching against my back.
“Do you know who I am?” he hissed inches from my face.
“No,” I declared. “Nor do I care.”
In a quick, practiced and masterful move, I jerked by right arm free, reached to my hip, ripped out my six-gun and fired. The stalker’s eyes went wide. He rolled off me in a devastated grunt of pain.
“You aren’t really anyone special.”
I stood over him. He stared back at me. I pulled the trigger again; the bullet went through his heart.
“Killer! You killer!” came a scream from over my shoulder. It was the woman, aghast. Her mouth still wide from the cry.
I watched her for a moment, but didn’t respond to the accusation. It was true after all.
“You killed him,” the woman cried again.
I looked at the body, then at the gun still in my hand. “I did.” I shrugged, slid the Colt into the holster. I saw Caylem’s card a few feet away and picked it up.
“Why…Why do you think you have the right to take his life?” the woman demanded.
Our eyes met, and I could see past the brown into her soul. I could see the innocence behind her eyes. I knew nothing I could say would change her mind over what I had done. I shook my head and turned away. I moved quickly down the street, trying to push her from my mind. Caylem had already disappeared into the night. My hands sliding Caylem’s card into my pocket.

* * *

“That’s what happened.” Renold calmly told the preacher.
Arner didn’t say anything; again his eyes found their way to the front of the church.
“You’ve been coming to me for years,” he said after a long silence. “You tell me your stories, yet you seek no absolution.”
“I suppose,” Renold said. “Is this becoming a burden for you?”
The preacher sighed and looked at him. “No, I understand what you need. It is not forgiveness, but relief. All I can do is help you through your burdens.”
Renold shook his head. “Are you trying to comfort me?”
“Should I not? You feel guilty. To go out and kill one’s own kind, whether to save the innocent or not, is a difficult task.”
Renold stood up.
“I do what is right,” he said, not noticing Caylem’s card had found its way from his hand to the tile floor of the church.
“We’re done now father,” Renold said as he reached the end of the pew.
“Renold…” Farther Arner said standing as Renold Graves slipped through the church doors. Arner sighed and leaned over to pick up the fallen card.
“We all do God’s work,” Arner murmured tucking the card into his robe.


See...there it is...hope you enjoyed.