CRASH! The main support beam fell, along with the rest of the roof. There was no time; no place to go. His eyes were darting for some escape, but there was no hope of any. There was no one to call out to, to scream to for help. Trapped between the flaming pews of the church, John immediately fell to the tiled ground, doubtful of protecting himself from pain and certain death. He slapped his pale hands on the back of his neck tightly. He could hear the steeple crashing though, right above his frail body. Then, as he felt the flaming tower nearing, he braced for impact.

Then everything was jet black.

Where’s the pain, he thought. Reluctantly, John slowly brought his head up to survey the damage, but there wasn’t anything to survey. Instead of cackling flames, searing heat, falling debris, intense pain, and being covered in pools of his blood, there was nothing. It seemed as if though he never opened his eyes; he was in a frozen blink. He was still. It felt to him that if he were to make a sound, it would disrupt the balance and throw everything into chaos. As the seconds ticked by, he gathered enough courage to extend his arms slowly in front of him to see if something was there. He felt he was being watched. Eventually, he brought himself to start moving. He dragged his feet while walking through the darkness, lest he should walk into something.

Why am I here, he thought to himself. He took extreme caution walking through the black, moving as slowly as possible. He felt completely lost. The lack of everything and anything befuddled him. He was thinking more than ever. He felt a headache coming on. There were so many questions floating in his head—where is everything? What’s going on? Why am I here? Where is “here?” and so on. But the question that drilled his mind was the one he didn’t want answered…Am I dead?

He gradually came to a stop, letting his arms fall to his sides, hesitantly and slowly.

Yes, he thought as a mixture of feelings welled up inside of him, I am dead.

He froze, unsure of how to react. Then he did the first thing that came to mind. He fell hard and fast to his knees onto the surface beneath him. Bringing his soft, pale, cold hands to his eyes, he sobbed. He’d never felt so vulnerable.

As he cried, he refused to look at the abyss surrounding him, to even acknowledge it. He hated this place so much, and he just got here. But then he heard a peculiar noise; a whooshing sound from in front of him. Reluctantly, he wiped his eyes to see what the noise was. The whoosh came again and birthed pillars, three of them. Curious, he stood, albeit slowly. Quivering with sadness, he strode over to the pillars.

The pillars seemed to be infinitely tall; they faded into the sable sky above him. They were so illustrious compared to the black around them. They shone with no light assisting, as if though they were so proud of there existence, and defied their surroundings to show their beauty, their mystery. Carved into them at eye-level were different figures. And a gold plate underneath each work of art. Intrigued, he moved towards the first one on his left.

The first carving was of a hooded figure with enormous wings attached to its back. The label underneath said, “Angel of the Heavens.” He looked at the intricacy of the feathers. Very high detailed, he thought, as if though the angel depicted sculpted it. He lifted his left hand and ran his thumb over the hood, and down the robe of the figure. The texture on the robe was smooth, like silk, and the wings felt like the feathers carved into them. He was suddenly very calm, but still apprehensive and leery. He had yet to understand what was going on. And he was still distraught, but at least he could stay somewhat entertained.

The next work of art was a repulsive conglomeration of animals. John winced away from it. They had the most fearsome facial expressions. As if though, in reality, they were homicidal and pugnacious. “Mystical Creature,” it read. It looked just as detailed as the feathers on the angel, but not nearly as beautiful and attractive. He quickly moved along, so as not to have the image burned in his head.

Advancing on the final pillar, he wondered, I still don’t know what this is for. Or why I’m even here. I don’t know anything anymore. He started to sigh, but as the sculpture came in to view, he took it back in and gasped, covering his mouth with his right hand. This was the most interesting piece.

On this pillar was carved two figures. One of them, the left figure, was rather hideous, and was shying away, as if from the natural light of the pillar. The other one on the right, which intrigued him the most, was of a handsome, normal-looking, young man. He wasn’t shying away from anything. The label underneath read, “Vampire—two ways.” This did not help. The label didn’t explain what both represent. Then there was a soft, feminine voice, so quiet, John had to strain to hear it.

“Hello John. State your death.” Startled, John hesitated. He looked around for a source, but found none. Why didn’t they say “state your purpose,” he thought to himself.

“Uh, ok?” So he began with his explanation of him working at the church. He was orphaned at birth and lived there with the nuns. Some of the altar boys were to clean up the church, and he was to watch them. And he did, right up until he fell asleep. One of the little boys must have dropped a candle on accident, and ran for it. No one woke him up. He woke because he was coughing from the thick smoke in the air. Then the church was coming down, and that’s all he remembered.

There was a ponderous silence. Then, “Thank you. Now if you will please tell me what you’ve decided…”

“Decided?” He was starting to put two and two together. He looked at the pillars, and then assuming it was an ominous source speaking, he looked at the abyss above. “Am I being given another chance to go back? Those pillars—are those pillars my choices as to what I’ll be going back as?”

“Yes. But you will be starting over.” The voice clearly annunciated every word and was careful to not use contractions. “Not from birth. You will go back as you are, but with your choice applied. You will be placed in a town new to you, but you will be placed with one or more like you. They will help you to better understand your surroundings and newly received powers. Eventually, you will also start school, and blend in with other mortals.”

Mortals, he thought. “So…I have to choose?”

“Yes.”

He glanced at the pillars again, thoughtfully. His eyes hung on the normal vampire. It was…alluring to him is a sense. The sculpture seemed so handsome, so attractive, so…worry-less and care-free. Not a second later, he titled his head towards the sky and said, “A vampire. The normal appearing one,” then he added quickly remembering his manners, “Please.”

“Thank you. Now you need a new name for your new beginning.”

“New beginning…” he whispered. He wrote his own little fantasies at the orphanage about his own creation, ‘Shroom. It was his only personal escape from the church and the kids. Through ‘Shroom, he had experienced school, friends, and family. He thought that’d be a fitting name. So he confidently said, “‘Shroom, if you will.”

“Then ‘Shroom it shall be.” He felt a small vibrating start from underneath his feet. “‘Shroom,” the voice began to grow louder as the vibrations grew more rapid, “you are a vampire who will blend with mortals at all times. Your new family is with fellow vampires Lestat and Louis, both of whom are very experienced. One of your tributes from your past life will be magnified in this new life. This decision is final, and cannot be changed in the future. This is the path you have chosen, the path you will follow, and the path you will lead. When you are awakened by Lestat or Louis, you will feel severe pain, but you will endure.

‘Shroom, this is the beginning of your immortal and unchanging chapter.”