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The Vampire Servant's tale.

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Summary

I am Sophia and this is the story of how I became servant to the Vampire Marcello. But it is mostly the story of tragedy and redemption.

Genre:
Horror / Thriller
Author:
Thewriter.
Status:
Ongoing
Chapters:
16
Rating:
5.0 2 reviews
Age Rating:
18+

Sophia.

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. Most of the historic detail in this story might not be accurate, which is my fault.

I'm going to breeze through this story while it's flowing through my mind and so there will be mistakes, plot holes, poor grammar.

E.t.c, so I'm asking you to forgive the mistakes and please bear with me.

The Writer. 10/7/20


01.

St. Luke's Parish, 1848.

My former master, David Wilkes, has recorded in the "book" that my father was a mulatto slave born on another plantation and that my mother is Essie, one of the chamber maids in his own household.

Wether this is the truth about the identity of my father, I can not say because the old records were destroyed in a fire.

I was born on the Magnolia plantation in the small, Parish of St. Luke's, in the winter of 1830 and I looked so much like Mister Wilkes children that there was no question who my

natural father was, despite what was allegedly recorded in the "book" and because of this his wife hated me with a jealous passion and would assign to me the dirtiest work.

"No high yellow, bastard child is going to hold a high position in this house." Missy would snarl whenever we were together.

"Here gal, take this chamber pot and empty it. Mind you, don't spill any of it or I'll take a whip to you."

So, I would dutifully carry the foul thing outside, slowly make my careful way down the long stairs of the wide front veranda while trying my best not to trip and spill a drop of the sludgy contents.

Missy was my worst nightmare come to life. A native Georgian, she was haughty and beautiful and hateful to all but her husband and their two children.

There was not an ounce of grace running through her entire body but she especially despised my mother and I.

My mother herself was the child of a white man, who had sold her to a sugar cane plantation in New Orleans to pay off a gambling debt.

Her new owners were a Italian family who'd once owned one of the largest plantations in the county until it was mysteriously burned to the ground, forcing them to return to Italy, leaving

their one hundred slaves in the care of their lawyer who systematically auctioned them off and this is how my mother became the property of Mr. David Wilkes.

So there I was, a child barely old enough to count from one to ten, tasked with the job of emptying Missy's disgusting chamber pot.

As I grew older, she begged her husband to send me to the dreaded cotton fields which is the lowest job on any plantation.

The field hands were treated poorly and were only valued for the amount of work which they could produce at the end of the day and they were beaten if their quotas were even a half pound off on the scales.

Fear seized my entire body at the mere thought of working in the fields, it would be the worst Hell and so I planned to run away.

It was later that evening when I brought my fears up to mama, to whom I shared every secret because she is my best friend.

We were alone together inside our cabin in the slave quarters behind the "Big" house. It's what we called the Wilkes mansion.

A fire crackled in the hearth, sending bright sparks up the smoke blackened chimney.

Mama was seated in her rocking chair next to the cot which we often shared on very cold nights, when even the fire couldn't warm our small, drafty cabin.

"Is you gone plumb crazy, gal?" Mama scoffed. "Mast' Wilkes ain't sending you to no field."

She sounded so sure of herself that my fears were soothed and I gratefully kneeled on the floor at her feet and laid my head in her lap.

Mama seemed to know things, secret things, as if she were a mind reader and if she said that Mister Wilkes wouldn't send me to the fields then I knew it to be true.

Essie was only fourteen when she birthed me, and so she was still a young woman, although her hazel eyes were weary from the burdens of a hard life and already the lines had formed in her high forehead.

Missy made all the serving girls hide their kinky hair beneath clean head scarves whenever they worked inside the Big house including Mama, who's hair didn't kink.

After work she'd unwound the scarf and shake free her fine, black hair which framed her thin, high cheek boned face like a silk curtain.

I felt mama's gentle fingers playing with my own hateful red curls and her touch was making me drowsy so I didn't really hear her when she whispered,

"Don't you worry 'bout nothing. Who ever heard of a man putting his own chile out in the fields?"

And she was right, I hadn't needed to worry because David Wilkes refused to send me to the fields which infuriated his wife even more.

"Sophia is a bright girl, have Cookie train her for the kitchen." He instructed his livid wife and then left for another one of his many long "business" trips away from the plantation.

David Wilkes left his wife in charge of the plantation in his absence, and a man named Sam Hightower was the overseer of the field hands and generally ran everything else whenever the master was away.

Now Sam made no excuses about his feelings for the slaves.

To him we were beasts of burdens and as such he wouldn't back down from wrangling every inch of work from our tired bodies with or without the threat of the whip.

Missy called me into her "sitting room" later that morning where she was seated upon her favorite throne like, green velvet chair in front of the tall, French windows.

Today she was wearing a yellow silk dress with tiny roses embroidered at the ruffled neck line and her black hair was scraped back in a chignon and decorated with real rose buds.

"You think that you're so special." Her tone was scathing and the look in her eyes was cold and filled with hate.

"But you're nothing. Mr. Wilkes wouldn't allow me to banish you to the fields, even though it's where you rightfully belong, you and that slutty mama of yours.

So I'm sending you to the kitchens to empty slops and carry garbage for Cookie, now go."


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