The Heap Versus the Vampires of the Black Forest

A New Prose Comic Featuring The Heap by James Heath Lantz

The Heap in a comic book from 1945. Image via Public Domain | Digital Comic Museum

The airplane’s wreckage lit the mystical marshland of Wausau like a giant funeral pyre. The body thrown from the plane was twisted, battered, gnarled, and broken. All that remained of famed flying ace Baron Eric Von Emmelman was his powerful will to live. His thoughts were of his wife and newborn son. Baron Von Emmelman had to remain alive for his family.

The foliage, brush, and vegetation enveloped Baron Von Emmelman’s fallen, shattered husk. The Roman goddess Ceres’ magic combined elements of plants and human remains into something that defied nature while being part of it at the same time. A new lifeform had officially been born.

The creatures had awakened in that Polish swamp, their minds clouded with memory fragments. The Roman goddess Ceres watched over him in foggy glimpses like unremembered dreams. What she wanted from the beast was unclear. She was one of the Earth’s many mothers, and he was her soldier.

Only vague shadows of memory told the monster that he once had been Baron Eric Von Emmelman. The mists of the past revealed that his former self had been engaged in an aerial battle with an unseen enemy during the Great War. Emmelman’s refusal to die called to Ceres, allowing the birth of the shambling monster that folklore and gossip far and wide had called the Heap.

Shades of green, brown, yellow, orange, and white mixed with a very slight flesh tone on the shaggy Heap’s monstrous body. He searched for oxygen as sustenance. He took what he needed from humans and animals whom he did not wish to harm. However, his survival instinct had become too powerful to overcome.

The Heap was not sure how much time had passed, nor did it matter to him. Only his next meal was important to him. He took some livestock here or a human hunter there to feed his insatiable hunger. Trembling whispers of legend struck fear into the hearts of everyone who heard tales of a horrifying thing that was neither man nor animal.

The Heap’s journey brought him to the edge of the Black Forest in Germany near the village of Borgendorf. His ability to blend in with foliage allowed him to remain unseen by the populace. The Heap observed the men, women, and children all going about their daily routines.

The population of Borgendorf and the surrounding communities led simple lives. Tall, wiry, dark-haired Hans Trunderman had just returned home to Borgendorf. He had been honorably discharged from the army days before. He had seen that those he considered friends could change into cold-blooded killers when the orders came to gun down the enemy. He had joined a secret resistance cell in hopes of helping innocents mutilated by the war.

Hans’s return home to Borgendorf was greatly celebrated, particularly by his girlfriend, Frida. The frail, brown-haired daughter of Heinrich and Ilsa Tobin nearly knocked Hans over when she hugged him. She had missed him greatly and counted the days until his return. Hans also ached to be with Frida again. Coming back to her had kept him going while he was in the trenches. Her kiss felt like a dream from which he did not wish to awaken.

Hans’ grandfather, Wilhelm Trunderman, looked sternly at the young man. He did not approve of Hans’s leaving to serve in the military. The young man, however, like many his age, had no choice in the matter. Wilhelm grew angrier when his wife Bathilda died a couple of years before the war began. Bathilda’s passing was also the reason for Wilhelm’s heavy drinking.

Hans came to live with his grandparents when he was fifteen after an illness took his mother. Hans never knew his father, who, according to Wilhelm, was killed working on the railroad before Hans had been born. Hans’ mother, being one of great pride, raised him by herself. Wilhelm was the closest thing to a paternal figure in his life until he met Heinrich Tobin. Heinrich treated Hans like his own son and provided an equilibrium to Wilhelm’s more recent foul temper.

Wilhelm Trunderman shook his grandson’s hand. Hans knew Wilhelm missed him. At another time, the two men could open up and discuss their feelings. However, Wilhelm was way too stubborn to do such a thing now.

The Borgendorf village square was decorated for the festival. Like many Germans, the citizens of Borgendorf and the surrounding areas celebrated the life of legendary Baron Eric von Emmelman every year on October 12, since his apparent death in 1918. Something in the Heap’s befogged mind found the images shown at the annual Von Emmelman memorial service oddly familiar. He listened closely to the words of persons of great importance next to a large photograph of Von Emmelman.

Hans Trunderman waited for Frida Tobin after the Emmelman Memorial speeches had ended. The festival honoring the baron would begin soon, and he wanted to go with her. Heinrich Tobin, Frida’s father, sat with Hans in the family cottage’s small living room.

Heinrich was a man in his mid-seventies. His once brown hair and beard had given way to gray. Both, however, did not lose their thickness.

“You must relax, Hans. I will not bite you,” Heinrich said slightly in jest. “You are a good young man who loves my daughter, and she loves you. You make her very happy. That is all any father could ask for.”

“Yes, sir,” Hans replied.

Heinrich smiled and placed a hand on Hans’s shoulder. “Stop being so formal, Hans. You’re family.”

At the mention of family, Heinrich recalled how his relationship with Ilsa began. He had worked as a logger before meeting her. Ilsa was a tall red-haired woman who, like her brothers, parents, and grandparents, worked many jobs, from farming to commerce, since she was a child. Heinrich had met Ilsa, who was a couple of years older than he, when he was about to turn thirty. They married a year and a half later, and their daughter Frida was born two springs later.

Frida looked a lot like her mother with her father’s hair color as she reached adulthood. She had fallen in love with Hans Trunderman when they were teenagers. Hans and Frida planned to marry next summer. First, Hans must finish building their home. Heinrich had said the couple could live with them after their wedding, but Hans’ pride would not permit that.

Heinrich asked, “How is Wilhelm?”

“I saw him head over to Gunther Drunderheim’s barn when I walked over here,” Hans replied.

Heinrich scratched his beard. “That means Constable Ordstein will have to stop Wilhelm and Gunther’s midnight song contest. After those two-drink whatever concoctions Gunther makes in his barn, the noise they make could wake my dead grandmother. She’d come out of the grave to pull their ears.”

“I think Gunther’s pigs wish they were deaf when he and Grandpa get together,” Hans chortled. Heinrich and Hans both burst into a fit of laughter until their stomachs hurt. This continued when Frida and Ilsa entered the room. Both ladies wore black dresses. Ilsa’s red hair was now silver. She looked at Hans and Heinrich like they had gone utterly mad. She and Frida joined in the laughter once Hans recounted his comment about Gunther Drunderman’s pigs.

Dusk came to Borgendorf as Heinrich, Ilsa, Hans, and Frida walked to the Baron von Emmelman Memorial Festival. The village square was brightly lit. People drank, ate, and danced. Hans and Frida walked around, held hands, and kissed. He then led her in a waltz. Their world seemed to move with them, in time with the band’s music. This moment was one of absolute perfection for the young couple.

The music had stopped much to Hans and Frida’s chagrin. The Burgomaster had gone to the podium. He said a few kind words about Baron Eric Von Emmelman. Hans had told Frida that the discourse was flowery, but accurate from his point of view.

The Heap was hidden in the trees and brush. Something, perhaps a hazy remnant of Baron Eric Von Emmelman, heard and may have comprehended the Burgomaster’s words. This only lasted a few moments, for the Heap moved deeper into the forest to sleep.

Frida whispered in Hans’ ear after the Burgomaster had finished speaking. They went for their nightly stroll through the Black Forest. Frida wanted to see some of the areas they had never set foot in. Hours that seemed like minutes had passed. The darkness deepened, as Hans and Frida reached the heart of the Black Forest. The wind was surprisingly warm. The couple had approached the gray stone edifice called Castle Untoten. The small amount of moonlight that peeked through the trees did nothing to ease its dank, eerie aspect.

Hans had almost fallen into the small moat when the drawbridge opened. Frida helped him regain his balance. A gaunt figure with ebony black hair, clad in a long, ornate, and crimson robe with gold trim, seemed to glide in their direction. His sinister face grinned maniacally, fangs showing above his pointed chin. His long-fingered hands sported tiny saber-like claws. The air suddenly chilled. Both Frida and Hans trembled due to cold fear.

“Forgive me,” The pallid man said, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I saw you walk near my castle and thought I should introduce myself. I am Baron Adolf von Untoten. Welcome, and by all means, enter my home. It’s been so long since I entertained guests.”

Frida and Hans wanted to decline Von Untoten’s invitation politely. Yet, something, a look in his eyes or the tone of his voice, had compelled them to follow Von Untoten. The sinister smile on the thin man’s lips grew eerily broader as he led the young couple into his abode.

In the days that followed, other young couples had disappeared from Borgendorf and its neighboring communities. The citizens of the once sleepy hamlets had become restless. Search parties were unsuccessful, and fear and anxiety gripped everyone.

Wilhelm Trunderman said that those who vanished have been taken to Castle Untoten to become vampires. Ilsa Tobin believed this, but Heinrich dismissed his observation as an alcohol-induced delirium. He said that Hans and Frida eloped to a distant place to escape Wilhelm’s temper. In truth, Heinrich was going mad with worry.

Heinrich inquired angrily, “Why do you insist on telling these tall tales of yours, Wilhelm?”

“It’s true,” Wilhelm insisted. “Castle Untoten is a den for vampires! Baron Adolf Von Untoten is their master!”

“Ridiculous! Untoten hasn’t been seen or heard from since before the war began. He’s most likely dead, Wilhelm.”

“He is undead, I tell you. Mark my words, Heinrich Tobin. You’ll regret not listening to me!”

“I regret listening to you, now, old man. You need to stop drinking. It’s affecting your mind.” Heinrich’s voice calmed a bit before he and Wilhelm joined the search parties.

It was dusk when Heinrich and Wilhelm approached the Tobin family cottage. The sun was preparing to rest after shining on the beautiful, autumn day in October. Heinrich knew the moon would call the night’s stars to shine upon Borgendorf. Old Wilhelm slowly moved beside Heinrich and sighed. Heinrich could see he was downtrodden. There was still no sign of his grandson, Frida, or any of the other missing. Wilhelm lost hope. Perhaps Hans will never be found. Heinrich placed a reassuring hand on Wilhelm’s shoulder.

“Come. Have dinner with Ilsa and me. Even a grouchy old goat like yourself should not be alone at this time.”

Wilhelm looked sternly at Heinrich at first. Then, he chuckled slightly. He didn’t get along with many people in the village, including his own grandson. The older man was short and stocky, with a single patch of silver hair in the center of his bald head. His gray eyes had a mean look even when he smiled. Still, Wilhelm meant well despite being set in his ways.

Hans clapped Wilhelm’s shoulder lightly. “If you say no, you old fool, I’ll drag you into our cottage and tie you to a chair while Ilsa feeds you.”

Wilhelm laughed heartily. “I’ll knock you to the ground first.” He paused and took a breath. “Thank you, Heinrich. I needed a good laugh.”

“That is what family is for, is it not?”

“I suppose it is,” Wilhelm smiled genuinely. His stern, lined face softened somewhat.
Wilhelm, Heinrich, and Ilsa ate a hearty meal and conversed. Wilhelm held back tears. It was rare to see him cry. He didn’t want Ilsa and Heinrich to see this. He preferred to let his heart out when he was alone.

Heinrich placed a hand on Wilhelm’s shoulder. “Do not worry,” he said to the old man. “Hans and Frida will return, and we’ll all live long enough to see their children playing at our feet.”

Night had fallen when Wilhelm returned home. Fortunately, his cottage was a mere few paces away. The older man yawned, stretched, and looked at a clump of trees. His face turned pale with fear. Wilhelm had caught a mere glimpse of the Heap, but it was enough to chill his blood. The musculature and vegetation of the creature’s gargantuan form were like something from Wilhelm’s worst nightmares.

The Heap knew his hidden form had been seen. His befuddled brain pondered his move when his survival instinct then kicked in. He needed to feed. His eyes, which saw differently from any human or animal, noted that the older man in front of the adjacent cottage was chock full of oxygen.

The beast lunged at Wilhelm. His eyes were maddened with hunger. Ilsa and Heinrich heard Wilhelm scream in terror. A shot was fired at the Heap, but the bullet had absorbed into his mossy flesh. It only slowed him down. Having seen Heinrich drop his hunting rifle, Ilsa reloaded the weapon. This projectile missed the Heap.

Wilhelm felt intense pain as the monster grabbed his arms. He felt like he was being suffocated a hundred times. Heinrich threw a flaming torch at the Heap, forcing the beast to release Wilhelm from its steel grip. The fire singed The Heap’s plant-like skin. He let out a roar of pain as he ran deep into the forest.

As the smell of burning foliage permeated the air, the Tobins checked on Wilhelm. He assured them he was okay upon regaining his breath.

“That was no vampire,” Heinrich said as he helped Wilhelm up. He wondered if the Heap was responsible for Han and Frida’s disappearance. Heinrich and Ilsa insisted that Wilhelm stay with them. First, they must gather the townspeople.

The sound of a gunshot came from the east of the Tobins’ cottage. Heinrich, Ilsa, and Wilhelm found the frightened, angry, short, portly, and bald Gunther Drunderheim holding a rifle. A pair of large dead pigs was near him.

“I-i-it snapped the necks of two of my best pigs,” Gunther stammered. “I fired a warning shot, and it ran in the direction of the forest.”

Gunther described the green/brown/yellow/white haystack-like mossy form of the Heap to Heinrich and the others. Wilhelm recounted the creature’s attack on his person. The feeling he had experienced was unforgettable. It was like all the oxygen had been squeezed out of his lungs.

The Heap’s hunger had been satiated for now. The creature ran to the Black Forest. As he went to rest in a clump of trees, a pair of bats had disturbed him. Curiosity made him lumber behind the winged creatures.

The Borgendorf clock tower chimed the Witching Hour. The bats flew into the bedroom of two children. The animals transformed into the gaunt, pale forms of Frida Tobin and Hans Trunderman. Their mouths were opened wide with fangs bared, poised over the necks of the slumbering innocents.

Their mother screamed. Frida lunged toward her. A shot from the father’s rifle missed Frida. She and Hans changed back into bats and flew into the black cloak that was the night.

Having heard the mother’s scream, Heinrich, Ilsa, Wilhelm, and Gunther ran to find the mother consoling her frightened offspring. The father had said Hans and Frida were in his children’s room as bats. Wilhelm nearly fell over from the shock.

Wilhelm didn’t want to believe his ears. Yet his grandson and Frida were now the undead, as his mother once called the creatures from the tales she told him in his youth.

“Per…perhaps,” Wilhelm stammered fearfully, “Perhaps it would be better if Hans and Frida were dead.”

Hans and Frida flew through the night skies, feeling pangs of extreme hunger. As luck would have it, they did not have to wait long for their next meal. The Fortenheim family was traveling by wagon. The three sons slept in the back while their parents, Frank and Hilda, led the pair of horses.

The Heap had followed Hans and Frida. His hulking presence frightened Frank and Hilda. Frank fired at the Heap. The bullet did not affect the creature’s mossy form. It had struck a tree behind the Heap. The beast’s distraction allowed Hans and Frida to bite the Fortenheim children, their blood satiating the undead couple.

Hilda and Frank did not realize they would soon become part of a macabre scene. Their three sons had bitten them. The parents were torn apart while Frida and Hans, drank their blood in a violent, ravenous feast.

The Heap suddenly moved toward the wagon with surprisingly great speed. Yet, he saw it was too late for the Fortenheims. The five vampires gloated in the monster’s direction. However, before the Heap could do anything more, a bullet passed through his back. The creature turned to see Heinrich Tobin.

Hans, Frida, and the three Fortenheim children changed into bats and flew away. Heinrich was frightened of the Heap. However, his determination overpowered his apprehension. “I do not know whether you brought the vampires with you or not, monster,” He said. “But the townspeople of Borgendorf and I shall destroy you and your undead allies.”

The Heap’s eyes looked confused. He and Heinrich went their separate ways. The Heap skulked deeper into the Black Forest. Heinrich, meanwhile, went to gather Borgendorf’s citizens.

Five bats circled their way to the upper windows of Castle Untoten. There was a smile of vicious glee on Baron Von Untoten’s face when they arrived. His army of the undead was beginning to take shape.

The Heap peered into the banquet hall’s grand center window. He saw people of all ages, shapes, and sizes enter the vast, elaborately decorated room. At least the creature thought they were people. Yes, they had oxygen in them. Something strange set them apart from other humans, however.

Baron Von Untoten stood tall in the center of the banquet hall. His long, thin, bony arms were outstretched over his head. The oversized sleeves of his crimson robe resembled the skeletal structure of a bat’s wing. This fearsome aspect became greater when his long, clawed fingers opened.

“Bring forth the new arrivals,” Von Untoten hissed through his long fangs.

The three Fortenheim boys looked at Frida and Hans. Then, the three pallid lads walked eagerly towards Von Untoten. He felt great pride in seeing them.

“Go,” Von Untoten ordered the boys, “Lead the mortals to us. We shall turn the Black Forest red with their blood.”

The Fortenheim children changed into bats and flew away. The Heap followed them. Did the Heap want to see how these events played out? Whoever survived this ordeal could provide the monster with his next meal. Then again, the Heap could have seen the great evil within Baron Adolf Von Untoten. Something, perhaps even Ceres herself, guided the gigantic mixture of human and plant life to stop Baron Von Untoten from turning people into bloodthirsty maniacs.

The Burgomaster yawned as the clock struck two in the morning. Heinrich Tobin stood to his right. The townspeople, like the Burgomaster, were half asleep and full of tension. Many had pitchforks, rifles, torches, and even swords in hand.

While hidden in the shadows, three bats changed into Rik, Franz, and Tobias Fortenheim. Their pale, chubby features could barely be seen in the torchlight. They moved closer to a short, robust woman in the back of the crowd. Franz tugged at the skirt of her sleeping gown.

“Franz,” She said, “Where are your parents? What are you doing up at this hour?”

“Mommy and Daddy were hurt,” Franz replied innocently.

“Where are they? Take me to them.”

Rik responded, “They’re in the woods.”

“A monster made of grass did it,” said Tobias.

The children led the woman into the woods. The Heap followed them. His footsteps were surprisingly quiet. Rik, the huskiest of the three Fortenheim brothers, picked up a thick tree branch and struck the woman in the knees. Her hands stopped her from falling face-first. The woman tried unsuccessfully to regain her balance. The ground was too slippery.

The Heap was behind the woman and the Fortenheim brothers, who bared their small fangs. A bullet passed through the shaggy beast’s chest and hit Tobias in the shoulder. The living dead boy felt a burning sensation and let out a blood-curdling and shrill scream. Tobias’ brothers looked up to see old Wilhelm to the Heap’s left with his rifle in hand.

“Fortunately,” Wilhelm said, “I listened carefully to the tales my mother told me of you, Nosferatu. Silver hurts you.”

Wilhelm reloaded his rifle. However, he slipped, dropping the weapon. The Heap grabbed the older man’s arms from behind. Wilhelm feared the monster would kill him, but the mossy freak of nature merely stood him upright. A bullet rocketed through the Heap and whistled above Wilhelm’s head as he bent over to pick up his firearm. It hit Franz, who felt nothing.

A lit lantern hit the back of the Heap’s head. His mammoth body fell over, forcing Wilhelm to dodge him. The flames spread, engulfing the creature. Wilhelm had no time to congratulate himself. He shot Franz again. The injury angered the boy.

“You’re lucky I followed you and Gurda, Wilhelm,” Heinrich said with his smoking rifle in hand. “You have a knack for getting into trouble.”

“At least I’m sober this time,” Wilhelm replied as he shot the other two Fortenheim children. They screamed in pain and hissed like angry cats.

The trio of undead cherubs retreated deeper into the Black Forest. However, Heinrich was only concerned for Gurda and Wilhelm’s safety. Wilhelm offered her his hand to help her stand up.

“I feel like such a fool,” she said.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Gurda,” Wilhelm said. “Anyone with a heart would have fallen into their trap.”

The Heap’s fallen body smoldered. Heinrich stared at it for some minutes. He walked deeper into the Black Forest. Wilhelm and Gurda followed him closely. They found the Fortenheims’s wagon covered in blood. Wilhelm looked quizzically. Something should have been left behind if the boys fed on their parents’ life essence.

There was movement in some bushes to Heinrich’s left. The rustling and bristling continued and grew more intense. Frank and Hilda leaped out of the brush, their drooling, fanged mouths wide open. They were ready to rend and tear Heinrich’s flesh.

Wilhelm fired his rifle twice. Frank turned to ashes, but he missed Hilda. She landed face-first into the damp ground. Before she had gotten up, Wilhelm shot her. Her robust body became a pile of dust before the older man’s eyes.

“I won’t make fun of your tall tales anymore after tonight, Wilhelm,” Heinrich said breathlessly. “Were those bullets made of silver?”

“Yes,” Wilhelm replied. “I melted some of Bathilda’s silver to make bullets and a couple of daggers.”

“We’ll need them greatly if I remember your stories correctly.”

Heinrich looked at the powdery remains and the smoldering body of the Heap. “We’ve taken care of one problem,” he said, indicating the Heap. “But there’s another we must deal with after we talk to the townspeople.”

Smoke still wafted from the dormant and still Heap. Heinrich, Gurda, and Wilhelm believed him to be dead. The smoke coming from the Heap’s body slowly died down. Roots brought forth by the goddess Ceres emerged from the creature. They burrowed underground. The roots poked their way out of the ground, entangling Tobias, Franz, and Rik. They grew thicker, squeezing the undead boys. Branches enveloped them as their high-pitched screams brought about their final breaths. Tips as sharp as daggers impaled the blood-drinking tykes’ hearts.

Ceres left the Heap before he awakened. She had gone when the monster returned to observe Borgendorf.

The crowd in the Borgendorf village square had become restless when Heinrich left to find Gurda and Wilhelm. The Burgomaster was doing everything he could to calm them down. They cheered when Wilhelm returned with their friends. The Burgomaster asked Heinrich about what had occurred in the Black Forest.

Heinrich cleared his throat. Hundreds of faces looked at him. They waited for him to say something, anything, to reassure them, to motivate them, to give them answers.

“My friends,” Heinrich said, “We have killed the monster who attacked Wilhelm and killed Gunther’s pigs. However, a greater problem plagues Borgendorf. Many of you have dismissed Wilhelm’s stories about vampires as fantasy. I did not believe them. My mind was changed when the Fortenheim family attacked Gurda, Wilhelm, and me.”

Joseph Bruckmeier asked, “Did Hans and Frida change the Fortenheims? They tried to bite our Bartoz and Wilma.”

Hans heart hurt when the answer came to him. “That is a possibility,” He said as he held back tears.

The Burgomaster asked, “What can we do, Heinrich?”

Heinrich put his arm around Wilhelm. “Listen to Wilhelm. That’s something I should have done before.”

Heinrich allowed Wilhelm to move to the center of the square. The older man looked at the anxious faces awaiting his words. His hands shook, then stopped.

“My friends,” Wilhelm said nervously. “There is a frightening truth. Our missing loved ones have been changed into what my mother called Nosferatu – vampires. If the winds of legend are true, then Baron Adolf Von Untoten is the one who made them into his army of the undead.”

Wilhelm cleared his throat. “If we are to stop the vampire plague, bullets or weapons made of silver, a wooden stake, or a blunt object, and sunlight can kill them. I can make anything from whatever silver you may have. However, even a pitchfork or a scythe’s blade is effective against the vampires.”

Someone in the crowd asked, “Is there a chance to save our friends and family?”

“It is possible,” Wilhelm replied, “But we must kill Baron Von Untoten to do so.”

The Burgomaster looked doubtful and worried. “We are but a small community. What hope do we have against these Nosferatu, as you call them, Wilhelm?”

Large groups of men and women had arrived from all directions as if to answer the Burgomaster’s question. They carried pitchforks, torches, and various weapons. A large bearded man held a torch in his meaty left hand and a sword with a blade coated in silver in his right hand.

“You are not alone,” He said boisterously. “We have lost many to these Nosferatu. We will help you fight this Baron Von Untoten and his army of vampires, or we shall die trying!”

The people were whipped up into a frenzy. Their screams sounded like a pride of a thousand lions going on a hunt.

Baron Von Untoten’s soldiers of darkness were about to cross paths with the angry mob. The vampires were ravenous for blood and moved through the woods with a speed that rivaled the cheetah. Even at a great distance, their heightened senses could see, feel, and smell the fluid they needed to sustain them. It was just a matter of time before they would feed again.

The Heap saw the mob of humans at a slight distance. The smell of smoke assaulted his branch-like snout, causing the creature to shudder slightly. The Heap chose to remain in the shadows to avoid being burned again.

The goddess Ceres looked at the scene from one of the three highest hilltops. Vampire and mortal alike seemed like insects heading for the nest to impress their queen. Each group made screaming, chattering, and, at certain points, screeching noises. Ceres pondered the scene with great preoccupation, for Mars, the god of war, would most likely use this incident to attempt to control the Heap.

“Humans and vampires,” a voice behind Ceres said, “They’re all the same. War beats in their hearts like a soldier’s drum.”

“Begone, god of war,” Ceres protested. “I will not permit you to usurp the Heap from my protection.”

“You may not have a choice, Ceres,” Mars said gloatingly. “If his feeding on oxygen brings about a war between mortal man and the undead.”

“We shall see, Mars,” Ceres responded with determination. “We shall see.”

Both Roman deities watched everything with keen interest. The Heap used the browns and greens of the Black Forest as camouflage. They were amazingly well-lit by the moonlight and the villagers’ torches. The hues blended and contrasted well with those of the woodlands.

Starving vampires and angry townspeople are prepared to clash for survival. Mars awaited with glee while Ceres wondered if the Heap would be a force for war or peace. Fangs ripped, and claws tore flesh off human villagers. Silver pierced and burned the dry, undead skin of vampires. This conflict was about survival, but Mars believed that the hearts of each combatant were the same.

The god of war’s laughter would have cut another like a knife. Yet Ceres would not permit her adversary to distract or get the better of her. She silently watched the Heap blend in with the vegetation.

Certain vampires had gained the upper hand over the humans, transforming them into the bloodthirsty living dead. Heinrich, Gunther, and Wilhelm seemed to be faring well despite the number of vampires increasing. Eight vampires surrounded the large, beefy man who led the citizens of other communities. They hissed at him like a group of rattlesnakes. His sword sliced through the necks of two attackers. Their heads fell to the ground, and their bodies turned to dust. The man moved back slightly. A rock behind him caused him to stumble. The other half dozen blood drinkers closed in on him as he dropped his sword.

Six pairs of scimitar-like fangs closed in on the man. A look of panic filled his face. One vampire placed his foot upon the fallen sword’s hilt. The man thought these would be his final moments on Earth. He prayed as sharp teeth moved closer to his person. All hope seemed lost for him. An ax blade hit the skull of the vampire closest to the man. Its silver glinted in the moonlight. The vampire became ash, allowing the man to retrieve his sword and behead the other attackers. He dusted himself off before impaling the right eye of an undead soldier behind Heinrich.

“Many thanks to you, Ambrose” Heinrich said.

“None are necessary, Heinrich,” the man replied boisterously. “We help each other. It’s what we do.”

The Heap moved about unnoticed. The humans fighting the vampires were winning despite their numbers decreasing. The Heap was not needed here. He had to deal with Baron Adolf Von Untoten. The trees and brush were not as lush and full when the Heap lumbered closer to the grounds of Castle Untoten. Death seemed to surround the entire area. Sights, smells, and even the lack of sound from the local wildlife told many to avoid this place at all costs.

Baron Adolf von Untoten’s supernatural abilities obscured the truth from this mind. Mortal minds were so easy for him to manipulate. Once someone entered the castle, he and/or his undead followers would feed. Von Untoten took great joy in this.

The sights, sounds, and smells of death assaulted the Heap’s enhanced senses. Insects milled about various carcasses that had been discarded behind some bushes around Castle Untoten’s moat. The overpowering odor of rotten meat permeated the Heap’s snout. Yet, he merely looked on as if the remains were nothing more than something an animal had left behind.

A trio of bats flew around the Heap’s head: his mammoth, shaggy paw-like hand swatted at them. One had bitten him there. It became a rail-thin, almost skeletal short man with raven-black hair. The other two flying rodents followed suit, becoming Hans and Frida.

“It has no blood,” The frail vampire said to Frida and Hans. The three undead figures were shocked.

The vampires and the Heap heard the clangor of battle. Both mortals and the undead had suffered losses, and both had persevered throughout the conflict. However, thanks to the advice and strategies of Wilhelm Trunderman and Heinrich Tobin, the human populace had gained the upper hand somewhat.

“If I recall this area correctly,” Wilhelm said to Heinrich as they neared the heart of the Black Forest, “We are but a few kilometers from Castle Untoten’s grounds.”

Vampires jumped over one another like they were playing a demonic game of leapfrog. They had not counted upon the resolve and preparation of Heinrich and his friends. Blades, pitchforks, and silver bullets all cut through the undead soldiers like a scythe through grain.

“Look upon the scene, Ceres,” Mars gloated under his bearded, devilish grin. “Human and vampire alike follow their hearts and wage war for me.”

“Your arrogance shall be your undoing, god of war,” Ceres replied. Her left index finger pointed at Castle Untoten. “Shift thine eyes to Castle Untoten.”

Castle Untoten’s drawbridge opened like the maw of a great beast. Baron Adolf Von Untoten seemed to levitate as he moved toward the Heap. Hans, Frida, and the thin vampire fell to their knees in adulation. Untoten’s fanged mouth formed a vicious sneer at the sight of this action. He believed all of the human race would become like these three before night’s end.

Heinrich and Wilhelm made it to the edge of Castle Untoten’s grounds. Heinrich saw Frida, Hans, and the thin vampire kneeling in a semicircle around Baron Von Untoten. He and those with him also noted the Heap shambling toward the vampires. However, Wilhelm pointed out something else.

“Gunther Drunderheim’s nephew Anton is with Hans and Frida over there,” Wilhelm indicated.

“And there,” Said Heinrich, “Is the plant monster I thought I killed with fire. Is he moving toward his master, or does he want to attack him?”

Von Untoten faced the Heap. His look was maniacal and calculating. His sinister smile was one of bragging assurance. Von Untoten was extremely secure of his total victory as he edged closer to the gargantuan Heap.

“I do not know why you are here, monster,” Von Untoten smirked confidently, “And I do not care either. You have no hope of stopping me from becoming master of these mortals.”

Wilhelm wanted to run to Hans. He, Frida, and Anton seemed frozen in place around Baron Von Untoten. Heinrich gripped Wilhelm’s arms firmly to stop the older man.

“Wait, my friend,” He said to Wilhelm. “Let’s see what happens with the monsters next.”

“But Hans and Frida.”

Heinrich interjected, “Will return to us if you’re right about Von Untoten being killed. The plant creature could do that.”

“Or he could be in league with the vampires,” Wilhelm reasoned.

“For that,” Heinrich responded, “We must wait and see.”

Baron Adolf Von Untoten sneered confidently as the Heap lumbered closer to him. The vampire’s expression changed as the Heap looked. Pangs of hunger kicked in alongside the creature’s instincts. His eyes told Von Untoten that he was wildly ravenous. Von Untoten became uncharacteristically frightened.

Wilhelm fell to his knees. Hey, I hoped that things would end with Frida and Hans free of the undead curse. Wilhelm reloaded his rifle with silver bullets with a silent prayer in mind. He didn’t want to have to shoot his grandson and his future granddaughter-in-law. However, he may have no other choice.

Baron Adolf Von Untoten asked with false bravado, “What are you going to do now, monster?!”

The Heap took Von Untoten’s arms in his iron grip. His unique eyes saw that his prey contained the oxygen the beast needed to feed upon. The Heap drained Von Untoten, turning the vampire into a dry husk. The creature threw the baron’s body in Wilhelm’s direction. The older man fired a silver bullet that struck its target in midair, turning Baron Adolf Von Untoten into ashes.

Heinrich and the villagers laid down their weapons, and Ceres gave Mars a victorious look. The god of war vanished, promising to one day control the Heap. His laughter echoed in Ceres’s ears.

Frida, Hans, Anton, and the other vampires returned mortal after Baron Von Untoten’s death. They had no memory of anything after their disappearance. Perhaps that was just as well. Such things could scar even the strongest mind. The group hugged Heinrich, Wilhelm, and the others who had been with them. The Heap looked at the scene briefly with an animal-like curiosity. Heinrich, knowing he had somewhat misjudged the monster, thanked him. Upon hearing this, the Heap shambled into the woods with the early light of dawn’s morning sun rays to guide him along the way.