[Reiwa]

I wasn't actually looking for a new story. I wanted it to link a story that already existed.

AI Overview

Based on medieval Catholic lore, a vampire horror story would focus on the subversion of sacred rites and the corruption of the body and soul. Unlike the suave, modern vampire, the medieval revenant is a grotesquely bloated, plague-ridden corpse, brought back to an unholy half-life by a demon.

Here is a short medieval Catholic horror story about a vampire.

In the winter of our Lord 1349, the Black Death stole through the village of Ashworth, claiming first the weak, then the strong, then even the priest, Father Alaric. When the pestilence had passed, leaving more than half the village in the cold earth, only the hermit Brother Thomas remained to tend to their souls.

His prayers, however, could not contain the darkness that followed.

It began with the cattle. A dozen cows were found dead in their pens, their bodies pale and bloodless. Then the sheep, then the pigs. The villagers spoke in hushed tones of a phantom wolf that prowled the darkness, but Brother Thomas felt a deeper, colder malice at work.

The whispers began when Thomas's own servant, young Matthias, fell ill with a fever.

One night, the boy's mother woke to a wet, sucking sound from his bed. There, hunched over the feverish boy, was the ghost of her husband, who had died of the plague months earlier. His face was ruddy and swollen, his limbs plump and full, even though he had been thin and drawn at his burial. He gnawed on Matthias's arm, his eyes black and devoid of light.

The mother's scream brought the neighbors, who cornered the grotesque revenant. Despite being a corpse, it moved with a malevolent speed and power. They fought it with spades and clubs, but nothing could harm the unholy thing. Only when a man, desperate and terrified, thrust a burning torch into its face did the creature shriek and flee into the night.

The next day, the villagers gathered the strongest among them, led by Brother Thomas, and went to the cemetery. Thomas's own piety was shaken; the Church taught that the dead were messengers seeking prayer, not monsters seeking blood. Yet, he knew the devil could twist any holy thing into a mockery of God's will.

They dug up the husband's grave. The smell was like an open latrine, but the sight was worse. The body was unnaturally preserved, bloated and ruddy, as if it had only just died. Blood still glistened on its lips.

Thomas, trembling, raised a hand-carved crucifix. "In the name of God," he began.
Before he could finish, the corpse's eyes snapped open. It let out a guttural sound, part-growl, part-choke, as if trying to speak but only producing rot. It thrashed in the coffin, its limbs lashing out with surprising strength.

"The Eucharist," Thomas ordered, his voice unwavering despite his fear. "Get the Host."

A young villager, pale with terror, rushed to the small chapel and returned with a consecrated Host. Thomas crushed it in his hand, then sprinkled the fragments over the thrashing body.

The corpse screamed. The sound was not human, but a demonic cry of agony and hatred. The flesh of the revenant bubbled and smoked wherever the blessed bread touched it, as if seared with a hot iron. Its unnatural plumpness melted away, revealing the shrunken, plague-ravaged body it should have been.

They drove a stake through its heart, decapitated it, and burned the body on a pyre, scattering the ashes in the river. Thomas led the villagers in prayers, not just for the soul of the dead man but for their own salvation. They understood that the vampire was an "anti-Eucharist," a devilish corruption of the holy sacrament.

They did not know that the demon had already found a new corpse. And in the neighboring village, as the winter wind howled, a second death, pale and bloodless, went unnoticed.

Ah well, 'tis the Season. 🎃