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The moon was blood red, sitting low on the horizon,
an eerie backdrop to the dark night. A lone figure stood atop the
roof of a decrepit building, the wood bowing under his weight. He
craned his neck to listen for the sound of blood coursing through the
unsuspecting veins of his prey. He was on the hunt and soon he would
feed.
The sound reached his ears and he
smiled, his fanged teeth shining red in the crimson light of the
moon. It was as if the moon was a lantern, guiding him towards his
destiny, and his prey. He heard the sound of feet echoing off the
cobblestone road and his smile escalated into a grin so large that his
mouth seemed larger than his face. He exhaled sharply and took in a
breath of the dead air. He could smell the decay of the town, the
city's soul a dark morass that reeked of despair and solitude. Still
smiling the solitary figure leapt skyward.
He changed into a raven. His
black feathers disappeared against the starless sky making him nearly
invisible. He soared along the rooftops, the sound of the peasant's
feet leading him. The footfalls became louder until he could see the
hunchbacked figure of a young man staggering drunk down the street.
He cawed once, the shrill cry echoing loudly off of the dilapidated walls
of the countless shanties housing countless lost souls.
He soared past the man who had paused to look
into the night air for the cause of the cry that had set his heart beating
rapidly in his chest. The bird could hear that heartbeat and it
beckoned him like a memory. The sound of life rang loudly in his
ears and the bird dropped from the sky, flapping his black wings as he
came to stop in an alley just ten feet from the drunk man. Silently
he changed back into the creature he was and stood erect. He waited
for the man to begin stumbling his way again, smiling when he did.
The
blood coursing through the drunk mans veins was a song to the solitary
man, singing to him of histories past. It was a bard's song, singing
his praise, calling him God and a Saint, Demon and Devil. He was
none of these, of course, but he was all of them as well; a god to some,
and a devil to others. He had once been worshipped by peasants such as
this man staggering towards him in drunken ignorance, and he knew he would
be again.
But he had a score to settle, he hissed
to himself, reminding him of the centuries of torment he had endured
because of one of his kind. Can you believe it? he asked himself,
yet again. And it was again, wasn't it? Hadn't I asked myself
this same series of questions for decades as I regained my strength and
plColletted my vengeance? Yes, he answered somberly, nodding to himself.
The drunk man staggered by and he
pounced, his history briefly forgotten. A faint scream issued from
the drunk man's throat, but it was cut short as long fingers ripped
through the tender flesh, tearing the scream from his throat. The
drunk man collapsed against the hand that held his throat in a vice-like
grip. The vampire, his eyes glowing as red as the blood moon, hissed
in the air and sank his teeth into the gaping wound of the drunk's
neck. He drank deeply, tasting the coopery fluid on his tongue and
feeling the hot warmth of fading life.
He gulped the blood like the drunken
man had done to the cheap wine hours earlier. Drinking with no
regard to how savage he looked, or how inhuman. His eyes were fire points
in the dark, glowing with rage, burning with need. He pulled the
dead blood into his mouth until he could no longer taste the man's lost
essence, until only the dried body of the dead man remained.
He
dropped the body to the ground and stood triumphantly. He felt alive,
strong and invincible. He took a deep breath of the decaying city,
his eyes shut. He opened his eyes and smiled, his teeth reflecting
the limited light of the moon. He smacked his lips, still tasting
the thick blood of his victim on his tongue. He dropped to his knees
and staring into the ashen face of the warm corpse he whispered,
"thank you."
Standing again he spread his hands and
became a mist, falling to the ground. The mist rolled like a fog
away from the dead man. He knew the body would be discovered and
that the fear that permeated the city would escalate slightly.
Rumors were milling through the city streets, whispers of
"death," or "vampire," or "devil," all
reaching his proud ears. He lived on the fear, thrived on the terror
that seemed a tangible entity.
Rolling as a mist he slunk through the
city until he reached the docks. Drunken sailors with their
purchased ladies talked in slurred words about imaginary exploits.
He rolled under the pair sitting on a bench furthest from the others and listened with misty
ears as the sailor groped at the woman and she pushed him away with words
of "pay me," or "not here." The water of
the ocean lapped at the breakwater, the sound hiding the soft thump of his
solidifying feet against the cobblestone path.
"Hello,"
he grinned, taking pleasure from their frightened gasps.
With drunken bravado the sailor rose to his unsteady feet, "how did
you sneak up here?" he asked, his words slurred.
Shaking his head the vampire replied, "does it really matter?"
The sailor took a shaky step forward, the alcohol coursing through him
spurring his courage, "leave us alone. We're busy."
He stabbed at the vampires chest with two clasped fingers.
The vampire reacted. He looked at the woman, her blouse unbuttoned
to the waist, her bare breasts peeking out from behind the thin cloth,
"don't move." His hands grabbed the sailor's fingers with
a quickness that defied belief. He twisted the sailor's hand and
spun him around until the sailor's back was pressed tightly against his
chest. His hands shifted, releasing the sailor's hand and reached up
to grip the sailor's throat. He could feel the steady, rhythmic
heartbeat in his palm and the feeling excited him.
He
breathed into the sailor's ear, "you are drunk," he spat,
"your blood is tainted. I will take my pleasure with you."
The vampire grabbed the sailor's pants
and ripped them from his body with a loud tearing sound. Naked from
the waist down the sailor struggled against the strong hand clamped
painfully against his throat. "Stop," the word snuck past
his tight lips, his throat painfully closed by the steel grip of the
vampire.
The vampire hissed in the sailor's ear, the
sound a shrill cry that frightened the immobile woman and caused the
sailor to release a stream of urine into the cool air. The vampire
released the sailor's hand and used his free hand to unfasten his
trousers. His mammoth cock sprung free, stroking the sailor's
leg.
Hissing again the vampire shoved his
cock into the sailor's ass. The sailor wailed in misery, the sound a
dry sob, barely audible due to the vice-like pressure against his
throat. Tears fell from the sailor's eyes as the vampire raped his
ass. His cheeks were stained with wet streaks as he cried at his
violation. He was wincing in pain as the vampire pounded into him
with savage strokes.
The vampire came with a muted hiss, his fangs bared to the
night. The sailor continued to weep as the vampire pulled his waning
cock from his ass. The vampire whispered into the sailors ear,
"sink." With that the vampire, grinning evilly, pushed the
sailor into the cold water. The sailor was frozen as he sank below
the surface. He gasped for breath and fell below the
surface.
The prostitute remained frozen,
her body no longer her own. The vampire sat on the bench with the
immobile woman, "where were you?" He reached over to her
and began pawing at her exposed breasts. He pinched her nipples and
her mind was screaming in pain and humiliation, her body held immobile.
Yes, his thoughts drifted into her mind, scream for me, suffer for me.
And she did scream, a soundless wail of agony and misery. Her mind
was singing to his with the sound of her despair, stop it, she screamed,
it hurts, God, it hurts.
Of course it hurts, he
thought to her, reading her thoughts as easily as he forced his thoughts
into her mind, it is supposed to hurt. He listened to her wails in
his mind, savoring her misery as he continued to abuse her breasts with
his hands and fingers.
"Your blood is clean," he whispered into her frozen
ear.
No, her mind screamed, catching his
meaning. I don't want to die.
The
vampire opened his mouth and clamped his teeth against her throat.
You can move again, he released her with his thoughts, struggle for me.
She flailed against his mouth as he drank her blood, her body once again
hers to command. She reached up and gripped his hair, pulling the
brown tresses. He didn't even wince at the assault on his
body. She could feel herself growing weaker, her arms losing the
energy of their attack. Her pulse was throbbing against his throat
and she could hear her heart beating loudly in her ears. A gently
fading throb that slowly ceased. Her eyes went wide and she exhaled
sharply, her lungs empty.
The
vampire rose to his feet. His once pallid face was alit with a
healthy glow, the blood he had taken from the woman and drunk peasant
earlier had rejuvenated him. He chuckled into the water as he stared
into its depths. Tainted blood, he laughed at the joke, looking into
the water where the now dead man sat on the sandy bottom of the cold
ocean. He knew he could have drank the blood with no ill effects, he
had, in fact, drank the blood of a drunk man just an hour earlier.
It was just more enjoyable for him to hear the screams of the drowning man
in his mind than to savor his blood when other sustenance was available.
Shaking his head slightly with a smile he turned from the bench. He
stretched, reaching his hands into the night sky, the moon illuminating
him in its dead glow. He could smell the fear in the city as he
reached out with his thoughts. The body of the drunken peasant had
been discovered, and as he had predicted the terror of the townspeople had
escalated slightly. He savored that terror, strived on it, lived for
it, longed for it.
He scColletted the dock looking for
lone sailors walking along the water's edge. He was not looking for
food, but instead he was looking for a victim to torment. The fear
that permeated the city send chills racing down his spine, terror racing
through the streets caused by his actions. He lived for that
feeling, that almost orgasmic feel of pleasure caused by his
actions.
Tormentingthe townsfolk had proved an enjoyable respite as he recovered
from his eternity in hell. He still spat at the thoughts of the
centuries he had spent trapped in the stone walls of the church, his
church. He laughed again as he thought how easy it was to dupe the
common person, how all you had to do was don the black chemises with white
collar of the clergy and you were immediately regarded with reverence and
respect. Just by wearing the smock of the cloth he had gained the
trust of many.
He did make a mistake, he knew
now. A century pondering his actions had shown him the errors of his
ways. He had foolishly believed that he was more powerful than the
woman that had trapped him within the confines of the stone. She had
trapped him and he had felt the weight of the church crushing his bones,
snapping loudly under the weight. Each breath had been excruciating,
his cracked ribs irritating his deflated lungs. Yes, he thought, his
smile fading into an contemptuous scowl; his hatred rising and his fangs
flashing in the moonlight, I will kill her.
He
immediately corrected himself, no, he thought, I will not kill her.
I will break her, torment her, and make her suffer as she had made me
suffer. He had spent half a century imagining her demise. He
had taken solace in those thoughts, envisioning her body held immobile as
he ravaged her body for hours. How he longed to make her
suffer. The terror of the peasants that lived in the city was only a
stepping stone. While he did savor the terror, he had to admit to
himself that he did not live for it, he lived only for vengeance.
The rest was just an means to the end. And she will suffer, he
promised himself as he had for centuries, she will suffer.
From the corner of his eye he spotted
her. No, it wasn't her, it was a common peasant, but she looked like
her. Her brown hair reaching down her back and the soft shape of her
breasts; it wasn't her, but he could make the young woman suffer. He
collapsed in a mist and rolled like a lazy fog towards the woman who held
her head down as if afraid to look up and face the world.
The woman felt cold as a mist ran over her bare feet. The
cobblestone road had grown cold as the fog appeared and she shivered involuntarily.
She pulled her dirty shoal over her shoulders and shook slight, a silent
protest to the chill the threatened to overwhelm her.
"Cold?" A voice rang out beside her.
She
jumped, her heart tripping like a jackhammer in her chest. She
pondered where the handsome man wearing the black tunic and pristine white
collar of the clergy had come from. She looked at her feet, the
missing fog lost on her frightened mind, "a little," she
admitted, talking to the road, comforted by the attire of the stranger,
her head hung down again.
He smiled at her, "here, child, let me warm you."
He reached out and gripped her arm. The fires of hell burned in that
grasp and she screamed, trying to pull away. The skin on her arm
blistered as it burned and her screams escalated. He released her
arm and watched as steam floated from her skin. He pushed her
against the ground, knocking her flat.
"I
suffered for centuries because of you," he spat, seeing Collette's face
in the woman's visage. "Now I want you to suffer for
me." He grabbed her hair and began beating her skull against
the wet cobblestone road. Her head cracked like a watermelon,
spilling her blood onto the ground. "Die, die, die, die,
die," he chanted, screaming the word into the darkness.
The moon had grown brighter and was now smiling down, bathing the street
in its light. He could see the girls dead eyes staring up at
him. It wasn't her, he thought, it wasn't her. His rage faded,
no longer evident, just bubbling below the surface of his thoughts.
I will kill you, he thought into the night. He could feel that Collette
was alive and he was certain that she knew of his freedom. He would
not make the same mistakes he had made before, he knew her power. He
could not see his victory and that frightened him somewhat. He
usually could easily see the outcome of his encounters. Oh well, he
though, the victory will taste sweeter this way.
He
exhaled heavily, fatigue washing over him. It had been a long day
and he was tired. He was well fed, that yearning sated
briefly. He glanced at the brightly shining moon and shut his eyes,
basking it its light. He listened to the darkness, hearing the
sounds of insects as they scurried along the street. He heard
mosquitoes buzzing in the air and smiled at the thought of them feeding as
he did; sucking the blood of the innocent.
He twisted
around and became a raven, his black wings outstretched. He flew
above the city, racing home. He was tired and needed sleep, the
nights activities weighing on his body. He swooped over the docks
remembering the feel of the woman's breast and the panicked screams of the
drowning man. He cawed happily and flew towards the cathedral that
served as his home.
The century had changed, but the
nature of man had not. He had learned long ago that the robes of the
clergy immediately instilled trust in people and that disguise served him
well today. He landed on the stone steps of the church and retook
his human form. He appeared dressed in the dark clothing with white
collar of the cloth, appearing instantly as if he belonged. He
crossed the threshold into the church, smiling at the ruse he perpetrated.
The stained glass cast colorful lines across the wooden
pews. He walked down the center aisle, his eyes looking at the
crucified Christ hanging above the alter. Candles were burning
against the back wall, their light flittering across the golden pipes of
the organ. He chuckled slightly, savoring the feeling of power that
was coursing through him; he had fed, he was tired, and he was growing in
strength.
He turned left behind the alter
and entered a small ante chamber. Two doors were closed to his gaze,
he opened the right hand door and climbed a small set of stairs. He
walked along a hallway behind the organ's pipes and opened another
door. His bedroom was sparsely decorated, a bed and a small desk
with a wooden chair sitting before it. A single candle was burning
on the desk, bathing the small room in its warm light.
He undressed and draped his clothes over the single chair. Blowing
out the candle, the room was plunged into darkness. He crawled into
bed and pulled the wool blanket over his naked body. He lie there in
the dark, hearing the screams of the drowning man in his head and tasting
the blood of his victims on his tongue. "I'm coming for
you," he whispered into the air, seeing Collette's face in his mind.
And he slept, his mind empty, undisturbed by dreams.
*
* * * *
The sun was shining down on the
cathedral, bathing the statue of Christ in it's colorful light. The
vampire was looking into the church, his mind on the future. He
could see a new person with Collette, a man with brown hair, learning the way
of the vampire. So, he thought, she has chosen her
replacement. He smiled at the thought, remembering how he had
quickly learned the ways of the vampire. The taste of his teachers
blood was still vivid in his memory.
The thought of her training another
filled him with pleasure that he shuddered in delight. A
replacement, he thought, imaging the possibilities She has decided
that she was ready to pass into death, to relinquish her grip on the
undead life she lived. Is that why I can't see the outcome of the
fight with her? Will she be gone before I am ready? He shook
his head, no, that is not it, I have seen the beginning of our
confrontation; just the ending was unclear, shrouded in a fog.
His smile faded, he was perplexed by
this stranger dancing behind his eyes. Who was he? What roll
would he play when he sought out his revenge? Could he be corrupted?
Suddenly he felt the need to feed, to hunt on an innocent and savor the
fear that would leak from their pores. He walked down the center of
the church, the eyes of the Christ statue boring into him. He opened
the doors of the cathedral and stepped into the cool air.
The smell
of fear was heavy in his nose. He could sense the terror his
presence wrought, the fear that permeated the very heart of the
city. He smiled, his white teeth flashing in the early morning
sun. I brought that smell, he thought. They are afraid of me,
of the pain and misery I bring with me. The thought pleased him and
his need to feed escalated.
He looked around the empty
street. It was still too early for the morning peasants to be
running their errands. They would be eating their breakfasts, getting
their children dressed, and planning their days. The smell that
aroused him was caused by their fears, hiding just under the surface of
their conscious, they knew that death awaited and though they didn't want
to acknowledge it, the had to admit it to themselves.
He strained to listen for the sound of
blood and found it easily. A couple were lying comfortably in their
beds, their hands clasped together in a tender embrace. He could
imagine their screams when he fed on their innocence, when his teeth sank
into their necks to pull their life from their body. He shook in
anticipation and turned towards them.
The
blood sang to him, leading him towards the couple. He
stopped outside a wooden door of a ramshackle, dilapidated shack.
Smoke poured out of a small chimney that jutted proudly from the roof of
the shanty. Smiling, he knocked on the door. He heard motion
behind the door and could hear the blood of the man growing closer.
A young man of about twenty opened the door. He was unshaven,
scraggly looking with blood shot eyes and unkempt hair. "Can I
help you," he asked, and then noticing the collar of the cloth he
added, "father?"
"Yes," he said, stepping forward slightly, "I am here to
feed." He eyed the attractive woman sitting up in the bed of
their one room home, her thin sheet pulled up to barely conceal her
breasts.
The man tilted his
head slightly in confusion, "I'm sorry father," the man
stammered weakly. From behind him, his young wife was watching him
with her cheeks flush red with shame, "but we don't have any food
here. I..." he tripped over the words, "...we don't have a
job and have no food to offer you. I am looking for work, and hope
to find some soon. I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," the vampire said, "you misunderstood
me." He stepped into the room, his large frame bullying the
young man backwards, and shut the door.
The
man stepped back, his face changing from shame and turning into surprised
anger, "I would like for you to leave," he choked, his voice
strained.
"Don't move," the
vampire said, staring into the mans wide eyes. The vampire stepped
around the immobile man and said, "silence," stifling the scream
that was welling in the young woman's throat. He looked around the
barren shack. The bed was small, barely large enough for the
couple. A tiny table with three chairs sat in one corner near the
wood-burning stove. The stove was on, providing heat in the room,
the chimney rising through the roof.
The vampire crossed the room and sat on the bed next to the woman who was
shaking in fear, "your husband misunderstood me," he said,
"I am not here to eat with you. I am here to feed on your
blood."
She opened her
mouth to scream but no sound issued forth. She tried to speak, to
beg, but her voice was as absent as the vampires compassion. He
could hear her begging in his mind, pleading with him not to kill them, to
let them be. The sound aroused him, his cock growing turgid with the
weak pleading. He reached out and pulled the thin sheet back that
she had been using to cover herself.
He gripped her breasts, kneading them
roughly. He pinched her nipples, pulling them from her body, lifting
her breasts by the tender nubs. He could hear her whimper in his
mind, could smell her fear, and taste her pain. She was screaming in
agony as he manhandled her breasts, abusing them in his hands. Stop,
please stop, she whimpered behind her silent tears.
He pulled the sheet fully away from her body. She had pale skin and
a slightly large build. Smiling he turned to the frozen man,
"turn towards me," he commanded.
The man's body obeyed, inching around to look at the vampire and his
exposed wife.
"Watch me
as I take your wife," he hissed, hearing both of them protest in his
mind. "Watch me fuck her."
Their screams were musical, erotic and delightful. He
inched up onto the bed and pushed the woman backwards, her head banging
noisily against the wall. He forced his hands between her legs,
fondling her crotch. He bent forward and licked her cheeks, pulling
her salty tears into his mouth, "cry," he smiled, "I love
tears."
She was sobbing in
humiliation and misery, tears leaking from her eyes, a silent display of
rage and shame, her voice still stolen. The vampire heard it all in
his mind as his hand forcefully groped her sex. He slipped two
fingers into her dry pussy, hearing her wincing in pain at his rape.
Smiling at her misery he climbed into bed and supporting himself on one
hand he freed his erect cock.
"Watch," he said, looking back at her immobile and seething
husband, "watch me take her." With that he slipped his
cock into the woman's sex. He pounded against her pussy roughly, her
tears flowing freely. She was bleeding as he raped her and the scent
aroused him. He moaned loudly as he ejaculated, hissing
loudly. He slipped his cock from her pussy and slowly shook his
head, "too bad," he whispered, "you're not
pregnant."
She
was moaning in painful misery and did not hear his lament, "if you
were," he continued, "I would have saved you from
this." With that he bit into her throat. His teeth
punctured her skin and the thick, coppery taste of her blood filled his
mouth. He drank her life's blood, savoring her taste, enjoying the
thick fluid as if flooded his mouth. He moaned as he continued to
feed, pulling her blood into his mouth until she was lifeless in his arms.
He stood and crossed the room to stand before the immobile man.
"Your wife was delicious," he taunted, listening to the man
sobbing for his dead wife. He was crying for her rape, her death,
and her shame. He was not aware that he was about to die, his
sobbing shook his soul, his immobile body sweating in its frustrated rage
and despair.
"Will you taste as
sweet?" the vampire teased. "Let's find out, shall
we?" He stepped in and bit the man's throat. He pulled
the captive man's blood into his mouth. The warm fluid pouring down
his throat, giving him strength, making him feel invulnerable. He
moaned again, the blood an aphrodisiac, exciting him, making him feel
alive.
The man fell into his arms as he died, his minds screaming
growing weaker as his strength faded. He died in a crumpled heap at
the vampires feet. The vampire stretched, reaching towards the thin
roof with the single chimney opening. He felt vigorous, strong and
able to take on the world. Yes, he thought, feeling powerful, I am
ready to take her on. Her and her new consort. His smile
twisted into a rictus of rage as he thought of the help that Collette would
have.
His mind was racing as the couples
blood fueled him, could he be turned? Probably not. He was
new, he knew that from his visions, perhaps only a month into his
training. He knew that he would have to attack soon, before this new
protégé was strong enough to hinder his activities. He would have
to move towards her soon, very soon.
He shut
his eyes and could see her castle rising above the ocean in graceful
splendor. The small flags flapping in the ocean breeze were
screaming noisily in the wind. He tried to see within the stone
walls and found his site blocked from his gaze. He hissed angrily at
the fact, rage seething behind his eyes. He scColletted the surrounding
countryside and saw a small town with small, wooden houses running like
spokes from a wheel away from a centralized church. Perfect, he
smiled, his ire fading, a place to settle into.
He knew from countless experience how easy it was to win over
the trust of simple peasants by donning the cloth of the church, and
seeing the steeple rising above the town center he knew what he had to
do. It was time, he decided, to move closer to his prey, to make his
move towards his destiny. He would arrive in town and spend a few
weeks studying her castle and gaining the trust of the town. They
would help him, he was certain of that.
And she would pay.
He exhaled once and
left the room, the two bodies lying discarded in the tiny shack. He
returned to the church and climbed the stairs to his room. He
grabbed his spare clergy garbs and threw them into a small leather satchel.
He left the room and returned to the main room of the cathedral. He
looked behind the hanging statue of Christ and spoke to the skeleton
rotting there, "thank you for the use of your church," he said,
feigning humility, "but I am afraid I must leave
now."
Laughing, he
exited the cathedral, turned left, and headed out of town. |