Status: Hiatus
Of Suspenders and Curls
The Soldier
What happened next was almost a blur. I immediately shoved Liam aside before he could pounce on Harry, pushing him towards Niall.
"Tend to him!" I cried.
Niall looked at me, slightly dazed, and quickly glanced at Liam lying sprawled on the kitchen floor. He flicked his gaze back to me and nodded.
"C'mon Harry, we've gotta go," he said, pulling the boy over his shoulder. The human was clearly in shock, simply letting Niall carry him.
"Lou! Help me!" Zayn shouted from the kitchen. He was trying to pin down a thrashing Liam.
I rushed to them, grabbing a blood pack from the table. Kneeling, I held Liam's head in place in between my knees. Nothing could be done to his flailing legs as he desperately tried to buck Zayn off.
"Li, you gotta drink this!" I tore the blood pack open, letting Liam latch on hungrily.
The red liquid flowed messily into his mouth and I watched as Liam's red irises slowly turning back into a warm brown. I reached blindly for another pack as he sucked at the last of the first one, knowing he couldn't be sated so quickly.
"Are you alright now?" Zayn asked worriedly. Liam stared up at him, the second empty pack falling from his mouth onto his chest, before his gaze shifted to me.
I'm fine. You can let go of me now.
I slowly released my grip on him, but Zayn kept his hands pinned.
Thank you, Louis.
I gave him a small smile and nudged Zayn to release Liam.
"Are you sure, Lou?" Zayn asked skeptically.
"Positive. He told me so."
Zayn glanced at Liam, who gave him a tiny nod, before finally releasing his grip on the lad and standing up. Liam clung to the empty pack on his chest.
There was an awkward silence between the three of us. I cleared my throat to break it.
"I'd better go check on Harry."
Before anyone could respond, I hurried towards Niall's bedroom. He was just finishing up with the bandage on Harry's arm.
"All done!" Niall said happily, tucking in the remaining stray pieces of cloth.
Harry whispered a thank you to Niall but his eyes stayed glued to the floor. The Irish lad stood up and flitted over to me, pulling me by the arm out the door.
"There's something about Harry," Niall spoke in a low, hushed tone. "I can't figure out what, but that boy's blood is intoxicating. I've already had my fill but I crave him desperately."
As he was talking, I noticed Niall's irises slowly turning red. "You alright, mate?" I asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I think it's best for me and the others to leave for the night." Niall gave me a half-hearted grin, walking toward the living room sheepishly.
Harry was still sitting on the bed, eyes downcast, when I walked back into the room. He looked like he hadn't moved an inch since Niall and I left.
"Harry?" I called out softly. There was no response.
"I made a mess, didn't I?" Harry's voice was barely a whisper.
"Hey, it's not your fault." I closed the door behind me and sat beside the curly-haired boy on the bed.
"I shouldn't have come back. You were right. I— I..."
I engulfed Harry in a hug, silencing him, but the boy turned rigid and tense. "It's not your fault, Harry," I said again, twining a lock of his hair around my finger. "It was an accident."
Harry visibly relaxed. "Thanks for trying to make me feel better, but I still think this is a mistake. I really shouldn't be here." Harry got down from the bed, collecting his things from the floor.
"What are you doing? You're not thinking of leaving, are you?"
When Harry said nothing and continued his packing, I gripped his hand and pulled him until he faced me.
"Harry, listen to me. You wanted to know more about my kind. That's why I called for this sleepover. What happened just now was an accident. Accidents do happen, even to vampires."
Harry stared at me, his green eyes filled with doubt. He let out a loud sigh and ran a hand through his hair.
"Fine. I'm letting my curiosity get the better of me," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
I grinned encouragingly at him. "So where do we start? Do you want vampire 101, or just jump straight into our turning?"
"Let's just go straight to your turning, since I already knew about the basics... more or less," Harry replied, uncertain yet inquisitive. He settled back on the bed, tucking his knees underneath his chin.
I sat down heavily next to him. "We'll start off with the youngest member of my coven then. The soldier."
Niall James Horan should have heeded his family's advice. He shouldn't have snuck out of his house and enlisted himself in the British Army. He was young and naïve; he didn't think rationally. All he wanted was to serve his country and bring honor to his family.
Now that honor was coming home in a body bag.
Niall had always been a patriotic lad. When the Great War was officially declared in August 1914, he was itching to run to the nearest recruitment centre and enlist himself. It didn't help that his hometown of Mullingar was littered with news placards, screaming 'We Want You!' in big, bold letters, and passionate recruitment speeches being made of the army. It was all too much to resist.
"Why are you so keen to throw your life away? You're barely eighteen!"
"I'm not throwin' me life away, papa. This is 'bou honor. I don't want 'ta be jeered by the Order of the White Feather."
His father and elder brother had been victims of the Order, and Niall didn't want that to continue. So one night he left his house with nothing but a small knapsack. It was filled with important documents and the few pieces of clothing he had grabbed. He knew his mama would be terribly dejected and his papa disappointed.
Niall was a member of the Royal Irish Regiment, placed in the second battalion. He didn't have much training before they deployed him to that godforsaken place as a trench boy. He spent his days cleaning and digging up trenches with the other younger lads, sometimes occasionally picking up weapons. He saw many of his comrades perish right in front of his very eyes; too many to keep track of in the end. That was when Niall realised being a soldier in the front line was not all it seemed. Every day he longed for the comfort of his family, his honor be damned. He was in another country and all he wanted was to get home alive.
"Private! Drop that shovel and get to Base Three! They're losing men there!" his officer shouted. Niall startled before hoisting his rifle higher on his back and shouting, "Yes, Sir!"
It was a disaster when he reached Base Three, a scene unfolded like he’d seen too many times by then. Niall was used to seeing dead bodies by now, but soldiers with half of their faces blown off and yet still alive, was what sent him reeling over the edge.
He was terrified.
"Private! Help the medics!"
"You! Get there and help them!"
There was another blast shortly after, and Niall fell flat on his stomach, hands over his ears. His ears rang as he crawled to the nearest injured soldier, hoping that he could offer some assistance.
The wounded soldier was clutching his abdomen, groaning in pain, eyes distressed. Niall was no expert in the medical field, but he pried the soldier's hand away from his wound to check. There was a piece of shrapnel the length of a forefinger buried in the flesh. Niall wanted to retch from the oozing blood and stench of death hanging in the air. Nonetheless, he braved himself and grabbed at the nearby first-aid kit.
"This goin' ta hurt like a bitch. Sorry." With that, Niall dislodged the shrapnel with a pair of tweezers, much to the agony of the injured lad. He screamed and grunted but Niall continued cleaning his wound the best he could and bandaged the hurt abdomen, something he learned in boy scout years previously.
He was about to sigh with relief when another blast was heard.
But Niall wasn't so lucky this time around.
"My mates and I found Niall in one of the trenches in the Western Front, barely alive, but still breathing," I said, remembering the condition I found Niall in. "He was buried under a pile of bodies."
"How did you chaps know that he was still alive? Surely you assumed he was dead?" Harry asked.
I stood up and started pacing in front of him. "That's when our vampire senses kick in. When you're a vamp, your senses are magnified," I explained. "We can tell the difference between a living person and a dead one."
Harry's green eyes widened slightly. "So..." he trailed off.
I stopped pacing and looked at him quizzically. "What? I can't read minds, ya know. That’s Liam's job."
Harry’s mouth dropped open slightly. "Liam can read minds?"
"Yes. But we'll get to that later. What do you want to ask?"
Harry swallowed dryly and licked his lips before continuing, "What I want to know is, how was Niall turned and who turned him?"
"Curious, aren't you?" I laughed. "I was just getting to that."
When Niall Horan came back around, his body felt heavy, his brain fuzzy. Every muscle felt ached when he so much as flinched. When he finally coaxed his eyes open, he found himself seated with his back propped up against a boulder.
It took him a moment to remember where he was and what had happened. He quickly realised that he was no longer in the trenches, but still within the warzone.
And then the excruciating pain hit him.
Niall gave out an agonizing wail, before looking down at his torso where he felt the tremendous pain. What he saw made him want to gag and pass out.
His stomach was embedded with shrapnel, blood stuck to every inch of skin.
"How you are still alive after that blast remains a mystery to me," a deep voice said. Niall couldn't tear his eyes off his mangled body to acknowledge whoever was speaking to him. He was grunting and crying and screaming in agony, and all he wanted was for someone to put him out of his misery right at that moment.
The person who spoke earlier came into view. He could be no older than Niall himself, but his eyes were hard and unwavering.
"Liam, you'd better hurry. He's dying," another voice spoke, higher-pitched and more urgent than the first.
As Liam bent down to Niall's eye level, the Irish lad squirmed and writhed from the pain. He knew he didn't have much time to live, so whatever this Liam wanted to do with him, Niall was ready.
"Just kill me already!" he sputtered, coughing up blood.
"I'm not killing you, mate. I'm merely giving you a second chance. What would you do if I'm to say that I can give you an opportunity to live again?" Liam brought his face closer to Niall's, his warm brown eyes slowly reddening.
The Irish lad's mind was clouded with impending death that he didn't notice the other boy's features shifting. What caught his attention was one word which Liam had mentioned: live. Niall would do anything and everything to be alive, and go home to his family back in Ireland.
He gave Liam a grin which looked more like a grimace, and gave his answer.
"Y-yes."
The word had barely escaped his lips when the older boy latched himself on Niall's jugular and sucked the remaining life out of him.
"Tend to him!" I cried.
Niall looked at me, slightly dazed, and quickly glanced at Liam lying sprawled on the kitchen floor. He flicked his gaze back to me and nodded.
"C'mon Harry, we've gotta go," he said, pulling the boy over his shoulder. The human was clearly in shock, simply letting Niall carry him.
"Lou! Help me!" Zayn shouted from the kitchen. He was trying to pin down a thrashing Liam.
I rushed to them, grabbing a blood pack from the table. Kneeling, I held Liam's head in place in between my knees. Nothing could be done to his flailing legs as he desperately tried to buck Zayn off.
"Li, you gotta drink this!" I tore the blood pack open, letting Liam latch on hungrily.
The red liquid flowed messily into his mouth and I watched as Liam's red irises slowly turning back into a warm brown. I reached blindly for another pack as he sucked at the last of the first one, knowing he couldn't be sated so quickly.
"Are you alright now?" Zayn asked worriedly. Liam stared up at him, the second empty pack falling from his mouth onto his chest, before his gaze shifted to me.
I'm fine. You can let go of me now.
I slowly released my grip on him, but Zayn kept his hands pinned.
Thank you, Louis.
I gave him a small smile and nudged Zayn to release Liam.
"Are you sure, Lou?" Zayn asked skeptically.
"Positive. He told me so."
Zayn glanced at Liam, who gave him a tiny nod, before finally releasing his grip on the lad and standing up. Liam clung to the empty pack on his chest.
There was an awkward silence between the three of us. I cleared my throat to break it.
"I'd better go check on Harry."
Before anyone could respond, I hurried towards Niall's bedroom. He was just finishing up with the bandage on Harry's arm.
"All done!" Niall said happily, tucking in the remaining stray pieces of cloth.
Harry whispered a thank you to Niall but his eyes stayed glued to the floor. The Irish lad stood up and flitted over to me, pulling me by the arm out the door.
"There's something about Harry," Niall spoke in a low, hushed tone. "I can't figure out what, but that boy's blood is intoxicating. I've already had my fill but I crave him desperately."
As he was talking, I noticed Niall's irises slowly turning red. "You alright, mate?" I asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I think it's best for me and the others to leave for the night." Niall gave me a half-hearted grin, walking toward the living room sheepishly.
Harry was still sitting on the bed, eyes downcast, when I walked back into the room. He looked like he hadn't moved an inch since Niall and I left.
"Harry?" I called out softly. There was no response.
"I made a mess, didn't I?" Harry's voice was barely a whisper.
"Hey, it's not your fault." I closed the door behind me and sat beside the curly-haired boy on the bed.
"I shouldn't have come back. You were right. I— I..."
I engulfed Harry in a hug, silencing him, but the boy turned rigid and tense. "It's not your fault, Harry," I said again, twining a lock of his hair around my finger. "It was an accident."
Harry visibly relaxed. "Thanks for trying to make me feel better, but I still think this is a mistake. I really shouldn't be here." Harry got down from the bed, collecting his things from the floor.
"What are you doing? You're not thinking of leaving, are you?"
When Harry said nothing and continued his packing, I gripped his hand and pulled him until he faced me.
"Harry, listen to me. You wanted to know more about my kind. That's why I called for this sleepover. What happened just now was an accident. Accidents do happen, even to vampires."
Harry stared at me, his green eyes filled with doubt. He let out a loud sigh and ran a hand through his hair.
"Fine. I'm letting my curiosity get the better of me," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
I grinned encouragingly at him. "So where do we start? Do you want vampire 101, or just jump straight into our turning?"
"Let's just go straight to your turning, since I already knew about the basics... more or less," Harry replied, uncertain yet inquisitive. He settled back on the bed, tucking his knees underneath his chin.
I sat down heavily next to him. "We'll start off with the youngest member of my coven then. The soldier."
The Western Front
Somewhere between Belgium and northeastern France
Fall, 1915
Somewhere between Belgium and northeastern France
Fall, 1915
Niall James Horan should have heeded his family's advice. He shouldn't have snuck out of his house and enlisted himself in the British Army. He was young and naïve; he didn't think rationally. All he wanted was to serve his country and bring honor to his family.
Now that honor was coming home in a body bag.
Niall had always been a patriotic lad. When the Great War was officially declared in August 1914, he was itching to run to the nearest recruitment centre and enlist himself. It didn't help that his hometown of Mullingar was littered with news placards, screaming 'We Want You!' in big, bold letters, and passionate recruitment speeches being made of the army. It was all too much to resist.
"Why are you so keen to throw your life away? You're barely eighteen!"
"I'm not throwin' me life away, papa. This is 'bou honor. I don't want 'ta be jeered by the Order of the White Feather."
His father and elder brother had been victims of the Order, and Niall didn't want that to continue. So one night he left his house with nothing but a small knapsack. It was filled with important documents and the few pieces of clothing he had grabbed. He knew his mama would be terribly dejected and his papa disappointed.
Niall was a member of the Royal Irish Regiment, placed in the second battalion. He didn't have much training before they deployed him to that godforsaken place as a trench boy. He spent his days cleaning and digging up trenches with the other younger lads, sometimes occasionally picking up weapons. He saw many of his comrades perish right in front of his very eyes; too many to keep track of in the end. That was when Niall realised being a soldier in the front line was not all it seemed. Every day he longed for the comfort of his family, his honor be damned. He was in another country and all he wanted was to get home alive.
"Private! Drop that shovel and get to Base Three! They're losing men there!" his officer shouted. Niall startled before hoisting his rifle higher on his back and shouting, "Yes, Sir!"
It was a disaster when he reached Base Three, a scene unfolded like he’d seen too many times by then. Niall was used to seeing dead bodies by now, but soldiers with half of their faces blown off and yet still alive, was what sent him reeling over the edge.
He was terrified.
"Private! Help the medics!"
"You! Get there and help them!"
There was another blast shortly after, and Niall fell flat on his stomach, hands over his ears. His ears rang as he crawled to the nearest injured soldier, hoping that he could offer some assistance.
The wounded soldier was clutching his abdomen, groaning in pain, eyes distressed. Niall was no expert in the medical field, but he pried the soldier's hand away from his wound to check. There was a piece of shrapnel the length of a forefinger buried in the flesh. Niall wanted to retch from the oozing blood and stench of death hanging in the air. Nonetheless, he braved himself and grabbed at the nearby first-aid kit.
"This goin' ta hurt like a bitch. Sorry." With that, Niall dislodged the shrapnel with a pair of tweezers, much to the agony of the injured lad. He screamed and grunted but Niall continued cleaning his wound the best he could and bandaged the hurt abdomen, something he learned in boy scout years previously.
He was about to sigh with relief when another blast was heard.
But Niall wasn't so lucky this time around.
"My mates and I found Niall in one of the trenches in the Western Front, barely alive, but still breathing," I said, remembering the condition I found Niall in. "He was buried under a pile of bodies."
"How did you chaps know that he was still alive? Surely you assumed he was dead?" Harry asked.
I stood up and started pacing in front of him. "That's when our vampire senses kick in. When you're a vamp, your senses are magnified," I explained. "We can tell the difference between a living person and a dead one."
Harry's green eyes widened slightly. "So..." he trailed off.
I stopped pacing and looked at him quizzically. "What? I can't read minds, ya know. That’s Liam's job."
Harry’s mouth dropped open slightly. "Liam can read minds?"
"Yes. But we'll get to that later. What do you want to ask?"
Harry swallowed dryly and licked his lips before continuing, "What I want to know is, how was Niall turned and who turned him?"
"Curious, aren't you?" I laughed. "I was just getting to that."
When Niall Horan came back around, his body felt heavy, his brain fuzzy. Every muscle felt ached when he so much as flinched. When he finally coaxed his eyes open, he found himself seated with his back propped up against a boulder.
It took him a moment to remember where he was and what had happened. He quickly realised that he was no longer in the trenches, but still within the warzone.
And then the excruciating pain hit him.
Niall gave out an agonizing wail, before looking down at his torso where he felt the tremendous pain. What he saw made him want to gag and pass out.
His stomach was embedded with shrapnel, blood stuck to every inch of skin.
"How you are still alive after that blast remains a mystery to me," a deep voice said. Niall couldn't tear his eyes off his mangled body to acknowledge whoever was speaking to him. He was grunting and crying and screaming in agony, and all he wanted was for someone to put him out of his misery right at that moment.
The person who spoke earlier came into view. He could be no older than Niall himself, but his eyes were hard and unwavering.
"Liam, you'd better hurry. He's dying," another voice spoke, higher-pitched and more urgent than the first.
As Liam bent down to Niall's eye level, the Irish lad squirmed and writhed from the pain. He knew he didn't have much time to live, so whatever this Liam wanted to do with him, Niall was ready.
"Just kill me already!" he sputtered, coughing up blood.
"I'm not killing you, mate. I'm merely giving you a second chance. What would you do if I'm to say that I can give you an opportunity to live again?" Liam brought his face closer to Niall's, his warm brown eyes slowly reddening.
The Irish lad's mind was clouded with impending death that he didn't notice the other boy's features shifting. What caught his attention was one word which Liam had mentioned: live. Niall would do anything and everything to be alive, and go home to his family back in Ireland.
He gave Liam a grin which looked more like a grimace, and gave his answer.
"Y-yes."
The word had barely escaped his lips when the older boy latched himself on Niall's jugular and sucked the remaining life out of him.
♠ ♠ ♠
Like what I had promised, here is Niall's history. Truthfully, I had a hard time writing the war parts.I did quite a lot of research on WWI and the Irish soldiers, and have kept the facts as real as possible. For those who are unsure what The Order of the White Feather is about, here it is:
In August 1914, Admiral Charles Fitzgerald founded the Order of the White Feather. With the support of leading writers such as Mary Ward and Emma Orczy, the organisation encouraged women to give out white feathers to young men who had not joined the British Army. - taken from Spartacus Educational website. Those who were given a feather was symbolised as a coward.
In the upcoming chapters, I shall delve into the other lads' backgrounds (Who's next? Not telling ;p). Unfortunately, I'm currently involved with a few other co-writes, so updates for this story would be back to being slow. I apologise for this, but hey, you all can check out those instead!
Lastly, do leave your comments (especially for this chapter) because I want to know what are your thoughts about this story. Please? Thank you!