The group of tourists stood at the edge of the cliff. In the distance, thick layers of mist rose and fell among the endless green slopes, covering the valleys. The last rays of the sun spread yellow streaks across the rivers' surface, but no one noticed how the shadow stretched quickly, deeper, darker.
Among the group was a young man, about twenty-two years old, notebook in hand. His name was David. He hadn't come just to hike, but with a special purpose: he wanted to count all the valleys. The locals said there were three hundred and sixty-five of them—like the days of the year. If someone could count them all, they would uncover the Secret of the Last Valley. David believed in that legend.
He raised the notebook, pressed the pencil between his fingers, and began to make notes.
— One… two… three…
The wind swallowed his voice. The other tourists were taking pictures, laughing, loudly discussing the distant church they could see. They noticed nothing. Yet only a few meters away, a shadow was beginning to move.
The black cloak blended with the dark rocks of the mountain. Its eyes glowed with a violet hue, but no lens could ever capture that light. The vampire silently watched the boy's counting. A faint smile curled at the corner of his lips when he heard:
— Fifty-one… fifty-two…
With every number, the boy's heart began to beat faster. He didn't realize that each step of his counting was drawing him closer to death.
The guide called out:
— "It's time to go down. Darkness is coming."
The tourists gathered together. David reluctantly closed his notebook. He thought to himself, "Tomorrow I will continue, until the very last valley."
They descended the rocky path. Night was falling quickly. Only the dark blue sky still held its fading light.
At that moment, the shadow detached itself from the cliff and slid silently after them. No one heard. No one saw.
---
That night, David stayed in the guesthouse. A small room, wooden walls, a low ceiling. Outside, dogs howled and the wind tapped against the doors. He sat on the bed, opened his notebook. Under the dim light of the lamp, he began to count through his notes again.
— From one up to ninety-nine… tomorrow I'll go on.
His eyes closed. The room went silent. But through the window, the darkness slipped inside. The same shadow, the same eyes. The vampire stood beside his bed.
Soundless. He simply inhaled deeply. For him, that scent was stronger than the finest wine. Beneath the skin of human feet, in the thin veins—there was hidden the sweetness of life itself.
David never felt how the darkness settled on his chest. In his dream, he only heard someone counting for him:
— One… two… three… until the last one.
In the morning, when the tourists gathered at the breakfast table, David did not come down. His room's door was locked. They knocked. Silence. Finally, someone opened it.
The sight froze terror in their souls. David was lying on the bed. His face pale, his skin cold. On his feet—dark marks. No traces of blood, but his body seemed unnaturally empty.
The notebook lay on the floor. On the last page it was written:
— "One hundred valleys… three hundre
d sixty-five remain… I will finish them."