The wind howled through the darkened trees surrounding the fortress of Račeša, a crumbling edifice of stone, forgotten by time yet bound to the land by ancient secrets. Beneath the blood-red moon, the graveyard beside the fortress felt alive with unseen eyes, thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. In its center lay a grave unearthed too soon, the contents grotesquely disturbed. A middle-aged man, his body marked by years of violent conflict, sprawled in the shallow grave. His head had been torn from his body, pulled away with deliberate care, and the torso was positioned face down—an unnatural arrangement, as though someone wished to ensure he would never rise again.
Nataša Šarkić, an archaeologist driven by her desire to uncover forgotten histories, knelt beside the grave, her fingers brushing the cold, brittle bones. In the oppressive darkness, the soft glow of her lantern flickered weakly. Despite the heavy cloak wrapped tightly around her, a shiver ran through her, chilled by the unsettling discovery. Before her stood a figure marked by a life of violence—scars crisscrossing his face, each one a silent testament to battles fought, men killed, and victories earned at an immense personal cost. His broad shoulders, once strong from years in armor, now slumped beneath the weight of his history. Nataša’s heart skipped as she examined the dismembered body, noting the unnatural arrangement, the care taken in the desecration. No earthly force could have caused this; it had been done by human hands, posthumously, with malicious intent.
“This isn’t a regular burial,” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to Roberto, who stood a few feet behind her. His pale face glowed faintly beneath the lantern’s light, eyes wide with unease.
“Could it be...?” His voice trembled, trailing off as the chilling implication began to take shape in the heavy air.
“A vampire,” Nataša finished, her gaze fixed on the body before her.
Though the thought seemed ridiculous, the evidence continued to mount. Shortly after death, the corpse had been exhumed, its soft tissue still intact—enough for whoever had disturbed the grave to carefully remove the skull. Arranged face down, the body’s position served as a deliberate attempt to prevent it from rising again. Vampires, according to the legends, were not mere spirits—they were cursed creatures of death, driven by vengeance, feeding on the living. Nataša had heard the stories of how villagers in the region buried the dead in ways to keep them bound to the earth: a stake through the heart, burning the body, or decapitation. All measures taken to prevent an undead creature from returning to torment the living.
Nataša leaned closer, inspecting the disfigured remains. The man had died violently—two deep cuts to his head, the edges clean and precise, the wounds still fresh as if the sword had struck moments before his final breath. He had been a soldier, a knight perhaps, his life defined by battle. Yet, his death had been anything but noble. Jagged scars marked his body, each one a reminder of the violence he had lived through. The damage from his most recent wounds—broken ribs still in the process of healing—told a story of someone who had fought many battles. But the fatal blow, delivered swiftly by a sword, was what had ended him. No sign of recovery. No lingering illness. His life had been violently snuffed out in an instant.
Her fingers traced the outline of his skull, feeling the jagged edge of the wound. “This man wasn’t killed by a sword alone,” Nataša murmured, her voice quiet, weighed down by a sinking realization. "Something else ended him. Something far darker."
The wind shifted, a chill running through the graveyard as the fog crept in from the hills. Nataša’s lantern flickered, its light struggling to pierce the growing mist. A figure—a faint shadow—moved through the fog, its outline indistinct, shifting in and out of view. Nataša’s eyes narrowed, her pulse quickening. The figure’s form seemed to float, its movements unnatural. She didn’t need to see its face to know it was no ordinary being.
“Do you see that?” Nataša’s voice cracked, the question coming out as more of a command. Roberto stiffened, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of the sword at his side. He hesitated for only a moment, scanning the shifting mist.
“Is that...?” he stammered, but his voice faltered, a cold fear creeping into his words.
In the distance, the figure was clear enough to see: a spectral presence with glowing eyes, haunting and hollow. With every shift of the fog, its form flickered, as though not entirely anchored to the physical world, as if the very laws of nature bent around it. Moving with the unsettling grace of something unbound by time or mortality, it fixed its hollow gaze on Nataša. A deep shiver coursed through her as she stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest.
“By God,” Roberto muttered. “It’s him. The man from the grave. He’s still here.”
Nataša couldn’t answer at first. Her voice was swallowed by the oppressive air, thick with dread. The truth became undeniable: the grave she had uncovered was not just a relic—it had been a warning. This man, this soldier, had been cursed, buried not just to rest, but to remain trapped in the earth. Someone had sought to bring him back. Someone had ensured he would never be forgotten.
As the figure moved closer, its hollow eyes remained fixed on Nataša, the weight of the curse pressing down on her. Around her, the air grew thick, dense with an ancient malevolence that seemed to stretch out from the swirling fog. This was no longer a simple archaeological discovery—it had become a fight for survival. Nataša’s instincts kicked in. She grabbed Roberto’s arm, pulling him toward the path leading out of the graveyard.
“Run!” she ordered, her voice sharp, her feet already moving. But Roberto hesitated, his eyes locked on the figure in the mist.
“We can’t outrun this,” he whispered, fear evident in his eyes. “It’s coming for us.”
Nataša’s heart pounded in her chest, but she didn’t look back. She couldn’t. The grave had been disturbed, and the undead knight of Račeša was awake, its curse unwilling to let anyone go. The night had become a battleground between the living and the dead, and as the figure drew nearer, Nataša understood—there would be no escape from the vengeance of the past. The curse was upon them all.
Exciting news! My book,
Cumberland Chronicles, is now available at Books2Read! If you enjoy the supernatural, horror, and the weird, I’d love for you to check it out. Even if it’s not your thing, a quick share would help me reach the right readers. Thank you for the support!
