above ground, but below it. We have checked the living Paines. But we have not checked the dead ones.”
*
Caitlin was taken aback as they walked in the small graveyard, her mind still reeling. She had never been in a place this old before. When they had entered, a large sign had read “The Burying Point, 1637.” She marveled at the fact that people had been coming here for almost 400 years.
More than that, she marveled that there were a few tourists wandering the cemetery right now. She had assumed they would have been the only ones here. But after all, this was Salem. And this cemetery was an attraction. People seemed to come here and treat it as a museum. In fact, she noticed that there was an actual museum adjacent to the burial plots. It didn’t feel right to her. She felt that this place should have been more sacred.
The cemetery was small and intimate, the size of someone’s backyard. A cobblestone path twisted and turned its way throughout the place, and as she strolled, she marveled at how old the tombstones were, at their strange fonts, worn away with age. It was English, but it was so old, and so quaint, it almost read like a different language.
She carefully read the names, particularly scrutinizing the last names.
But she couldn’t find a single “Paine,” or any variation on the name. They had reached the end of the trail. There was nothing.
As Caitlin reached the end, Caleb beside her, she stopped and read a plaque. It described some of the horrific tortures that the witches had suffered. One of them, she read, was “pressed” to death. She was horrified.
“I can’t believe what they did to them,” Caitlin said. “It seems like all the witches met horrible deaths.”
“They weren’t witches,” Caleb said gravely.
Caitlin looked over at him, hearing sadness in his voice.
“They were our kind,” he said.
Caitlin’s eyes opened wide. “Vampires?” she asked.
Caleb nodded, looking down at the stones.
Silence settled over them, as Caitlin pondered that.
“I don’t understand,” she finally said. “How were they here?”
Caleb sighed. “The Puritans. They weren’t persecuted in England because of their form of Christianity. They were persecuted because they were our kind. That is why they left Europe, and why they came here. To practice freely. They were trying to escape the oppression of the old world, the European vampires. They knew that if they were to survive, they would need to found a new nation. So they came. They were the benevolent vampire race, and they didn’t want to war with other vampires, or with humans. They just wanted to be left alone.
“But over time, the darker vampire races followed them here, and in increasing numbers. The early wars in the colonies weren’t between humans: they were really wars between good and evil vampire races.
“And the persecution of witches in Salem was just a front for a persecution of vampires.
Wherever there is good, bad follows. A perpetual battle between light and dark. The witches who were persecuted and hung in Salem were all of the good vampire race.
“This is why it would make perfect sense for your father to be buried here. Why Salem, in general, makes perfect sense. Why your necklace makes perfect sense. It all points to the same thing: that you are the one heir. The key to finding the sword they hid, that will protect us all.”
Caitlin looked around the cemetery again, her mind spinning from all the history. She didn’t know what to make of it. But she did know one thing: there was no “Paine” here. It was another dead-end.
“There’s nothing here,” Caitlin finally said.
Caleb surveyed the graveyard one more time, and seemed clearly disappointed.
“I know,” he said.
Caitlin was afraid their search was really over this time. She couldn’t let it end here.
“The rose and the thorn, the rose and the thorn,” she said, again and again, whispering it to herself, willing herself to find the
*
Caitlin was taken aback as they walked in the small graveyard, her mind still reeling. She had never been in a place this old before. When they had entered, a large sign had read “The Burying Point, 1637.” She marveled at the fact that people had been coming here for almost 400 years.
More than that, she marveled that there were a few tourists wandering the cemetery right now. She had assumed they would have been the only ones here. But after all, this was Salem. And this cemetery was an attraction. People seemed to come here and treat it as a museum. In fact, she noticed that there was an actual museum adjacent to the burial plots. It didn’t feel right to her. She felt that this place should have been more sacred.
The cemetery was small and intimate, the size of someone’s backyard. A cobblestone path twisted and turned its way throughout the place, and as she strolled, she marveled at how old the tombstones were, at their strange fonts, worn away with age. It was English, but it was so old, and so quaint, it almost read like a different language.
She carefully read the names, particularly scrutinizing the last names.
But she couldn’t find a single “Paine,” or any variation on the name. They had reached the end of the trail. There was nothing.
As Caitlin reached the end, Caleb beside her, she stopped and read a plaque. It described some of the horrific tortures that the witches had suffered. One of them, she read, was “pressed” to death. She was horrified.
“I can’t believe what they did to them,” Caitlin said. “It seems like all the witches met horrible deaths.”
“They weren’t witches,” Caleb said gravely.
Caitlin looked over at him, hearing sadness in his voice.
“They were our kind,” he said.
Caitlin’s eyes opened wide. “Vampires?” she asked.
Caleb nodded, looking down at the stones.
Silence settled over them, as Caitlin pondered that.
“I don’t understand,” she finally said. “How were they here?”
Caleb sighed. “The Puritans. They weren’t persecuted in England because of their form of Christianity. They were persecuted because they were our kind. That is why they left Europe, and why they came here. To practice freely. They were trying to escape the oppression of the old world, the European vampires. They knew that if they were to survive, they would need to found a new nation. So they came. They were the benevolent vampire race, and they didn’t want to war with other vampires, or with humans. They just wanted to be left alone.
“But over time, the darker vampire races followed them here, and in increasing numbers. The early wars in the colonies weren’t between humans: they were really wars between good and evil vampire races.
“And the persecution of witches in Salem was just a front for a persecution of vampires.
Wherever there is good, bad follows. A perpetual battle between light and dark. The witches who were persecuted and hung in Salem were all of the good vampire race.
“This is why it would make perfect sense for your father to be buried here. Why Salem, in general, makes perfect sense. Why your necklace makes perfect sense. It all points to the same thing: that you are the one heir. The key to finding the sword they hid, that will protect us all.”
Caitlin looked around the cemetery again, her mind spinning from all the history. She didn’t know what to make of it. But she did know one thing: there was no “Paine” here. It was another dead-end.
“There’s nothing here,” Caitlin finally said.
Caleb surveyed the graveyard one more time, and seemed clearly disappointed.
“I know,” he said.
Caitlin was afraid their search was really over this time. She couldn’t let it end here.
“The rose and the thorn, the rose and the thorn,” she said, again and again, whispering it to herself, willing herself to find the
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