The air smelled like dust and pinewood as Evelyn stepped out of the car. Her grandfather’s cottage stood at the edge of a sleepy village, where moss grew on every stone and time seemed to pause between heartbeats. It had been years since she’d visited, but everything looked just the same—peaceful, silent, and slightly odd.

“Go unpack, Evie,” her grandfather called from the porch. “Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

Evelyn nodded and dragged her suitcase up the narrow staircase. Her room overlooked the woods, where tall trees whispered secrets only the wind could understand. She liked it here. It was far away from the noise of her city life and even further from the people who never quite understood her obsession with forgotten places.

Later that evening, over warm soup and toasted bread, she brought up the topic she’d been holding onto since she arrived.

“Grandpa,” she asked, trying to sound casual, “what’s the old building near the churchyard? The one with the iron gates and the broken windows?”

His spoon paused midway to his mouth. “That place?”

Evelyn caught the flicker in his eyes—worry, maybe fear. “Yeah, the library, right? Or what used to be.”

“That building hasn’t been a library in over a hundred years. People avoid it now. Strange things happened there.” He shook his head. “Just an old tale. Nothing for a young girl to poke her nose into.”

“But—”

“No buts, Evelyn,” he said firmly. “Promise me you’ll stay away.”

She nodded. But her curiosity was already alive.

That night, she lay awake listening to the forest’s lullaby and thinking of the abandoned library. Haunted, he’d said without saying it. Strange things. Warnings were the best kind of invitations.

The next morning, Evelyn slipped out early, camera in hand and backpack slung over her shoulder. She found the place easily, nestled behind the thick undergrowth and a rusted gate. Ivy crept up the stone walls, and broken glass glinted like fallen stars beneath her boots.

She pushed the gate open. It shrieked, protesting her presence, but didn’t stop her.

Inside, the air was cool and thick with silence. Dust floated in sunbeams that streamed through shattered windows. Books lay scattered on the floor, their pages yellowed and torn. She stepped over a fallen bookshelf, heart pounding with excitement.

Then she heard it.

A faint whisper.

Not wind. Not rats. A voice.

“Who dares disturb my slumber?”

She froze.

The sound came from the shadows behind the counter. As she turned, her flashlight flickered, catching the glint of silver—chains.

And then she saw him.

A figure, tall and pale, sat slumped against the stone pillar. Shackles bound his wrists and ankles. His eyes were closed, but his lips moved slightly, as if waking from a long, bitter dream.

Evelyn took a step back, breath caught in her throat.

His eyes opened—glowing faintly red in the dimness.

“You,” he whispered, as if recognizing her.

“You’re late.”

---

Evelyn couldn’t move.

The vampire’s eyes—red as blood, yet startlingly calm—locked onto hers like he’d been waiting centuries for her. The silence between them deepened, thick and uneasy, broken only by the creak of her boots and the soft crackle of air thick with dust.

“You’re… human,” he said slowly, his voice low and rasping, like dry leaves rustling in the wind.

Evelyn nodded before she could stop herself. “What are you?” she asked, her grip tightening on the flashlight.

The man—or whatever he was—shifted against the cold stone pillar. Iron chains, old and cruel, rattled softly with the movement. “I’ve been many things,” he said. “But once, long ago, I was simply a man.”

She took a cautious step forward. “Why are you chained here?”

His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Because people fear what they don’t understand. And because I trusted someone I shouldn’t have.”

The pain in his voice was raw, but layered beneath it was a weariness that sounded older than time. She studied him—the pale skin, the black hair matted with dust, the sharp features that still held a strange elegance despite his condition.

“How long have you been here?”

He looked up at the crumbling ceiling, as if reading time in the cracks. “Two hundred and thirty-one years… I think.”

Evelyn’s heart skipped. “That’s not possible.”

“You wouldn’t believe how much is possible,” he murmured. “Especially in this place.”

She glanced around, noticing the strange markings carved into the stone pillars—ancient runes, faded but still humming faintly with hidden power.

“What’s your name?” she asked quietly.

He hesitated, then said, “Lucien.”

“Lucien…” She repeated it softly, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes. A recognition? A memory?

“And you?” he asked.

“Evelyn.”

He smiled, faint and tired. “A name I haven’t heard in a very long time.”

Evelyn stepped closer, against every rational thought screaming in her head. But something about Lucien didn’t feel evil. Dangerous, yes. But not cruel. Not monstrous.

“These chains,” he said suddenly, raising his bound hands, “they’re enchanted. Forged in blood magic. No mortal blade can break them.”

“Then how can they be broken?”

He looked at her, eyes solemn. “Not by strength. By understanding. By truth. But no one has tried for centuries.”

A sudden scraping noise echoed from deeper in the library. Evelyn turned sharply. “What was that?”

Lucien’s expression hardened. “This place is cursed. Not everything in here sleeps quietly. Some of the magic left behind still moves.”

“Magic?”

“This library wasn’t just a place of books,” he said. “It was a sanctuary for the gifted… and a prison for the damned.”

The shadows beyond the broken shelves stirred. A cold gust brushed her neck. Evelyn’s pulse quickened.

“Will they hurt me?” she asked.

“If you stay too long,” Lucien said grimly. “Yes.”

She hesitated. “Then why are you still here?”

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

Evelyn took one last look at the shadows behind her, then back at the vampire bound before her.

“I’m coming back,” she whispered.

Lucien looked at her with something almost like hope.

“Then be careful,” he said.

“The library remembers.”

---

Evelyn burst through the rusted gate, heart pounding like a drum in her chest. The morning sun felt too bright, too warm, after the chill of the library’s darkness. She didn’t stop running until she reached the edge of the woods, where her breaths came in sharp gasps and her thoughts spun like leaves in the wind.

She had spoken to a vampire.

A living, breathing—well, sort of breathing—vampire, chained inside an abandoned library for two centuries.

Her mind refused to settle. It was impossible. Yet she had seen his eyes. Heard his voice. Felt the truth hanging heavy in the air like cobwebs.

By the time she returned to her grandfather’s house, her hands were trembling. She didn’t speak during breakfast. Didn’t mention the chains. The glowing eyes. Or the whispers in the dark. He watched her from across the table with knowing eyes but said nothing.

That afternoon, she sat beneath the willow tree in the backyard, clutching her notebook. Its pages were filled with half-finished stories and wild ideas. None of them compared to what she’d just lived.

She flipped to a new page and wrote one word at the top: Lucien.

Who had imprisoned him? Why did he say she was “late”? And what kind of magic lived in that place?

She needed answers.

That night, she returned.

The sky was deep blue, streaked with stars, and the library stood silent, its broken windows gleaming like dark mirrors. She hesitated at the threshold, her flashlight tucked in one hand, a scarf tied around her neck to block the cold.

Inside, the air felt thicker, heavier, as if the building exhaled with every step she took. She followed her earlier path—past the fallen shelves, over the cracked marble floor—until she reached the central pillar.

Lucien was still there.

He looked up the moment she entered. “You came back,” he said softly.

“I said I would.”

For a moment, something flickered across his face. Relief? Surprise? It vanished too quickly to name.

Evelyn crouched a few feet away. “I have questions.”

He gave a small nod. “Then ask.”

“Why me?” she said. “Why did you say I was late?”

Lucien tilted his head. “Because I saw you once. In a dream. Or perhaps a memory not yet lived.”

“That’s not possible.”

“With magic,” he said gently, “everything is.”

Evelyn swallowed. “Who cursed you?”

“A friend. Or someone I thought was one. He feared what I had become… and what I might reveal.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Reveal?”

Before he could answer, the walls groaned. A cold breeze swept through the room, and the runes carved into the pillars began to glow faintly.

Lucien’s face turned grim. “They’re waking.”

“Who?”

“The Watchers. Spirits bound to this place. Guardians… or jailers. They don’t like visitors.”

A whisper brushed past Evelyn’s ear. She spun around, but nothing was there.

Lucien’s voice was urgent. “You need to go. Now.”

“But—”

“Come back tomorrow. While the sun still touches the walls. It’s safer then.”

Evelyn nodded, backing away, heart racing.

As she reached the door, she heard him call softly,

“Thank you… for remembering me.”

She paused. Then disappeared into the night, the shadows of the library curling behind her like a warning.

---