The Fishing Hamlet

He was the only one left in his tiny fishing village that was still human. He had been away, over at one of the much larger, more prosperous towns scattered across the countryside, attempting to sell his meager catch of some herring and a few small cod, and by the time he returned home the next day, at dawn, everyone in the tiny fishing village had disappeared. 

The dozen little homes built around the small inlet were still, lifeless. The shutters were all fastened. The fishing boats were still tied to the docks, and despite the light dusting of snow on the ground, no smoke rose from any the chimneys. 

He had entered his home in a daze. His wife and child were gone. There were no signs of violence. 

He had checked the rest of the houses. All the same. Nothing out of place. It's as if everyone had just walked into the ocean. 

He had fallen asleep that night, somehow. When he awoke, there was a piece of paper on his chest. It read: "Sell the fish. Return with the money." It was in his wife's handwriting. 

He stepped outside and his horse was waiting there, hitched to the wagon. In the back of the wagon was a large crate. He looked inside, and there, packed in snow, was a massive bluefin tuna. 

Not knowing what else to do, he did as he was instructed, and went to nearest town. 

That single fish sold for more than he usually made in a year. He brought all the money back, and left it on the kitchen table. 

And so it went. Every morning, he would awaken to find valuable and exotic fish packed neatly in his wagon, and he would sell them and return with the money. Every night, he was coming back with wealth beyond his wildest dreams, but he only felt the numb confusion and terror one feels only in nightmares. 

The notes, still in his wife's handwriting, would occasionally instruct other things.

He purchased land, and over time, built a grand estate on it. The agents who came to update him on the progress were baffled by this rough, sullen man in simple clothes who lived in a weathered cottage being the one in charge of and financing such a grand project. 

He had tried to leave, once. He had awoken at dawn, and ridden his horse until it collapsed from exhaustion, and then he ran and ran until his legs gave out. He fell asleep under a little copse of trees. 

When he awoke, he was back in the fishing hsmlet, in his own bed, There was another note. It read: "No."

Last I heard, the man was still working to maintain and expand that incredible mansion that he'll never actually see. And that's just one of the ways vampires make their money. Perhaps you're working for one, too. There may be no way to know for sure, anymore. You could try running away, if there's still anywhere left to run to. 

The End

Note: I was literally falling asleep at the end at I threw on this ending so that I would be furious enough to change it later. It was either this ending or "it was all a dream" but even I'm not that cruel.