Red Willow: Prologue

The wind whispered, sending chills through downtown Savannah as if the city itself was aware of the darkness inside its borders. The trees could feel it, for that’s why they wept. The dogs could feel it, for that’s why this night lay eerily quiet, with nary the howls, yips or yaps that typically accompanied the wispy southern air. The water – madly lapping at the shore – could feel it, as the mist fled from its surface. The entire region was overcome by an oppressive dread.

The entire region - except for the people.

The people of Savannah remained ignorant to its presence even on this night while it looked them in the eye, spoke its split tongue in their ears and drank – through its pointed teeth – their aged, brown whiskey.

The whiskey flowed in Savannah on this night of jubilation, at the manor of Mr. James Haddam – head of one of the most successful families in Georgia. The Haddams fancied themselves royalty of sorts, and his wife and two daughters did all they could to propagate that image. Mr. Haddam had made his fortune in shipping American exports like cotton and tobacco across seas to ports he’d financed in Spain, France and England. Savannah was full of families built on the business of the ocean, but none had achieved the success or reach of the Haddam Shipping Company.

Georgette Haddam and her daughters would throw galas so often that the word gala began to lose its significance. Though extravagant, exhilarating, and grand, these galas had become commonplace in Savannah and the Haddam’s were well aware of it. Mrs. Haddam was notorious for her obsession with these parties, and the entire town grew weary of her constant need of attention. But the parties were fun, and the Haddam's weren’t a family you said "no" to.

Skylar Guthrie and her mother couldn’t afford to say no to anyone, let alone Mrs. Haddam, whom they were acquainted with through the first Presbyterian church. Ms. Guthrie, a widow, encouraged Skylar to be as social as possible to at least project the illusion of class and wealth. She wanted Skylar to meet a man, and the Haddam boys seemed like perfect targets. Her sights were set squarely on James Jr, the eldest of the three boys.

Skylar tugged at her corset as she stood in the corner of the room, observing the soirée, though not really taking in anything her eyes would see. How could I think about anything with this corset scraping at my ribs? She thought, her undersized breasts flopping around the cups anytime she tried to relax. She sat at a small table across the room from James Jr and his friends, or cronies you might say. As he told a story about his adventures at the dockyard, she could hear her mother’s voice volley through her head. “He’s going to be running that company soon,” her mother would say, “He’d make a wonderful husband. And he’s certainly the best looking of that bunch.”

Though she shared her mother’s opinion of his physical appearance – he certainly was the most attractive man in the family. In fact, she could see that he was the most attractive man at the party, probably even the town of Savannah. Heck, he was the best looking gentleman in all of Georgia for all Skylar knew, though she hadn’t seen much of the state herself. However, his masculine beard and broad shoulders only served to hide something that undermined all of it in her eyes. As was the case with the entire Haddam family, Skylar thought James Jr to be a conceited, drunken buffoon who didn’t know the world outside Savannah any better than she did.

No, tonight Skylar’s sights were affixed to another man – one she’d never seen before. He was standing peripherally to James Jr’s little entourage, but certainly not inside of it. It was rare to see a man in Savannah that she didn’t know. Had I just never noticed him before? She thought to herself, this was preposterous, she would’ve remembered someone of such striking looks. Not good looks, per se, least not by her standards, but there was something oddly intriguing about him that made her desire him as strongly as she could remember ever desiring anything in her life. From across the room, through the ornately decorated table of elaborate hors d’oeuvres and shining bottles full of various liquors – she caught his eye. Or he caught hers. It doesn’t matter, she thought. He’s coming over here.

He took her hand, kissed it, held his lips on her skin slightly longer than the average greeting and seemed to breathe in as if to capture her scent. “Good evening, my lady,” his voice exactly as she had imagined, a liquid baritone, clear and smooth, like water flowing through the air.

“Good evening to you as well” she said, trying to hide her pensiveness. Why am I trembling? He’s just a man – a devilishly handsome man, but a man nonetheless. Not something worth all this excitement.

“What brings you here to this menagerie of freeloaders and hangers on?” He said gesturing around the room. “Certainly, you don’t seem game to indulge the great and powerful Haddam clan’s collective ego – sitting in this corner by your lonesome. Striking, though you are.”

She tried to comprehend his words through his voice’s spellbinding flowing cadence. “You certainly flatter well.” She said “No, I’m not here to indulge anyone’s ego. Least of all, that rotten James Jr.”

“He is a rather detestable boy isn’t he? You still haven’t answered the question.”

“You must not be from around here.”

“I’m new to the area. Just taking in the sights.”

She nodded, understanding that she herself was ‘the sights’. “Well, if you were from around here, you would know that anyone who wants to be anyone in Savannah needs to align themselves favorably with the Haddam family.”

“Why do you want to be anyone? I’m no one and I couldn’t be more content with that.” His words cut like a needle through silk, and she could feel herself slipping into a strange trance by them.

“I suppose sir, I’ve never thought of it that way. But if you’re nobody, then why am I even talking to you?”

“Let me show you.” He stood in front of her, stretching out his hand gesturing for her to dance. Without hesitation, she took it.

As he twirled her around that golden room, she wondered why she was dancing with this stranger and how it could be that she felt so right in his arms. His eyes pieced her and everything in the room seemed to disappear from her conscience. James Jr, her mother’s voice, the gaggle of hangers-on and that damned corset all seemed to vanish from her mind. She looked at his lips wanting nothing more than to feel them on hers. She could feel his fingertips travel down from her ear to her collar bone, but she didn’t stop him. 

Normally, she wouldn’t dare allow a man to touch her so intimately in public, but this man – this stranger – was different. And it didn’t feel so public.

They waltzed for a few songs, dipping and curtseying, but continuing to look in each other’s eyes. He was captivating and she was utterly, helplessly, captive. After a moment of pause, he halted suddenly, startling her out of her trance. The music had stopped. She looked around and realized they were alone. The moon was far past its peak and the night was not young. Most of the partygoers had either returned home or retreated to the cigar room with James Jr. and his entourage.

“You aren’t really nobody.” She said, her eyes looking up at him, the moonlight glowing on her pale skin and shiny curls. She could tell this man was cultured beyond anyone she’d ever met, but his age belied such worldliness. “You must be somebody. Any man who dresses as fashionably, and looks as… well, any man like you must possess some sort of wealth to their name.”

“Oh I’m wealthy, but that doesn’t make a man.” He said without a hint of righteousness, which made her even more enamored. It was as though every word he spoke opened a whole new world of wisdom, ideas and possibilities to her that she’d never imagined. “I can show you what I mean, if you’d like.” His outstretched hand awaited her approval.

She gave it without thought.

Moments later, they left the Haddam manor, crossed the courtyard and walked a few blocks as the mysterious stranger led Skylar to the weeping willow in the middle of the park downtown. The tree had lived there far longer than anyone she knew and was wiser and more beautiful than anything her young eyes had seen. Much like this man standing in front of me, ever closer, she thought. The tree hung over them oddly serene, yet austere at the same time. Much like this man, again, she thought to herself.

Something in her told her this was bad. Bad because he’s a stranger, she didn’t even know his name. Bad because she had left the party with a strange man and people might have seen them together. Bad because she wanted him in ways that she could never admit to anyone. Bad because she liked it.

The moonlight shone through the hanging branches of the willow, ensnaring her in its light, creating bars of blackness on her face and shrouding her acquaintance in darkness. Suddenly he grabbed her, brought his face into the light, and kissed her soft red lips. She felt a sudden rush and a tremble in her gut. His hand held her by the hair and he forcefully pressed her against the wide tree trunk.

She felt pain and confusion, for she was aroused. But she was also scared. For the first time since meeting him, she was no longer entranced by this stranger, but it didn’t matter. As his hands wandered her body, though she gyrated and moaned with pleasure, she no longer wanted this. It didn’t matter to him. He tore off her dress in display of strength that would’ve been impressive under different circumstances.

“Sir, we can’t. Not here.” She pleaded with him, but she knew it was futile. At that moment, all humanity had left him. His skin became an empty shade of white, his back arched like a cat pouncing on its prey and as he stared at her bosom, she could almost see white tips, like fangs jutting out of his top lip. I must be imagining this, she thought. I’m imagining all of this. This whole night has been a dream. A nightmare.

But it wasn’t. And in an instant, he grabbed her by the throat, pressed her against the tree so she couldn’t breathe. As her last breathes began to flee from her body, she saw something that would continue to haunt her through the afterlife and eternity.

Teeth. His hideous, daggered teeth, dripping with saliva and diving straight at her jugular.

She could feel it, despite being numb to just about everything else by this point, she could still feel those fangs puncture her flesh. In fact, Skylar could feel the life escaping her until the end. She felt it until the very last drop – an immeasurable pain. She convulsed in his grasp like an antelope in the maw of a tiger. As he sucked her blood through his pursed lips, her skin shriveled like a raisin in the sun, her hair curled into knots and her finger nails peeled right off.

Skylar Guthrie was dead.

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DISCLAIMER: THIS STORY IS SUBJECT TO CHANGE, BUT WHAT HAS BEEN PUBLISHED HERE IS THE PROPERTY OF DANIEL JONES. THIS CONTENT WAS AUTHORED, WRITTEN, AND SOLELY PRODUCED BY DANIEL JONES. ANYONE CLAIMING AUTHORSHIP OVER THE ABOVE MATERIAL WILL BE SUBJECT TO LEGAL ACTION.