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Night Stalkers Vignettes
Needle fangs slid out from the dead boy’s cold lips and slid into the woman’s wrist, piercing her radial artery. Warm blood spurted up into the back of his mouth. The girl moaned in ecstasy where she lay, propped up against the doorway with the flaking paintwork in the middle of the abandoned inner city terraced street.
“Wendy? Where are you? Hey! HEY!”
Hoarse cries came from the far end of the road. Beams from bright flashlights stabbed through the fog rolling through the street, found him. A youthful face glowered from beneath a shock of red hair at the advancing men. The lights revealed more: slim frame, pallid skin pulled tight across the bone, barefoot and naked but for ragged green trousers.
No shadow.
Mist rose up around the boy, consuming him in vapor. The last the men saw of him was a contemptuous glare in his green eyes.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
‘It was like a summer’s day,’ Janice Robertson said, dreamily, on the leather couch. ‘I felt kinda warm, you know? Like all I ever wanted to do was just lie down.’
Doctor Agatha Karn nodded and harrumphed, jotting down notes. She looked up as the Grandfather clock on the far end of the room chimed softly.
‘Janice,’ Agatha said, ‘I’d like to try something different, try to get you to recall what actually happened, the night you were attacked.’ She got up and crossed over the office to the desk. She brought out a curious-looking antique hurricane lamp and sat it on the desk. Lighting the old oil lamp, it emanated a soothing rosy light which shone in a focused beam on Janice’s face. ‘Look into the light, please, Janice,’ Dr Karn said.
Agatha sat down and observed Janice’s reaction. A few minutes of gazing at the lamp, and Janice was lost in a trance, remembering. A moment later, Janice made a pitiable squeak, opened her eyes and trembled, her face pale.
‘You remember the fangs now, don’t you,’ Dr Karn said. It wasn’t a question.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Before Jameson lay his Mistress, a pale blonde vampire lying naked on the bare floor, little more than an incorrupt cadaver. She did not stir, as a mortal would in sleep; her face, her chest, were still as death.
Jameson knew the exact moment the sun set outside. His Mistress’ eyes flicked open. Watching her get up was like watching the fingers of a glove twitch as a hand enters it.
‘Clothes,’ the Mistress said. Jameson had already picked out tonight’s dress for her.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The old vagrant sat amid garbage bags in Dinsdale Alley, shocked and terrified, rubbing incredulous eyes with grubby hands.
He’d only settled down in his place an hour before, to drink away his life as usual. At the end of the alley, a tall man forcibly dragged a woman off the street. She’d started to scream, but one glance into the man’s eyes had reduced her to giggles and, when the man bit into her neck, moans.
‘What’s up, Tom?’ came a voice from beside him. Tom turned, saw his friend Jamal. ‘See something round here a moment ago?’
‘A man, and a girl,’ Tom said. ‘He bit her, but the cops spooked him as they drove past. Only ... he didn’t run off, like the girl did. He turned into mist and vanished!'
Jamal nodded.
‘I know you don’t believe me -’ Tom said. Two men stepped up behind Jamal, who shook his head sadly.
‘Easy, Tom,’ Jamal said. ‘We believe you, all right.’
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Alice stirred, moaned. She felt weird; exhausted, but full of afterglow. The sheets were wet with her perspiration, and her throat was harsh.
She was in bed, naked. She’d smoked something harsh from a huge bong. She couldn’t remember anything else.
‘Did you like that?’ Queenie Red asked, lying beside her. Alice started, her body sluggish.
‘What ..?. Where ...?’ The words came out as if in a dream.
Alice looked at Queenie Red. Memories returned. She was a reporter, sent to the Croquet Room – a nightclub tied to a string of disappearances. Queenie Red was the proprietor and founder of this place. That was in 1978. Alice stared. Queenie looked about her age – and Alice was only 19.
All she could remember of their meeting was Queenie’s dark eyes, and how Alice seemed totally unable to resist her.
‘How did you ...?’ Alice asked, trying to force the words out as sleep began to steal over her again. Queenie’s dark eyes again loomed large in Alice’s field of view. Her naked, emaciated yet heavy body now lay on top of Alice’s. Cool, dry skin. Not sweating.
Alice couldn’t feel Queenie Red’s breath on her face.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
‘We’ll begin at your command,’ Surgeon Guyler said, looking up at the two way mirror.
Director Sheppard watched from the gallery above. He thumbed the intercom. ‘Stand by.’
Gideon rushed into the gallery, breathless, clutching a sheaf of papers. ‘Have I missed much?’ he panted. Director Sheppard shook his head.
‘They’re waiting on my order,’ he replied, looking down at the inert vampire on the slab.
‘There’s no stake under the sternum,’ Gideon said. ‘Why isn’t it moving?’
‘Let’s find out,’ Director Sheppard said, touching the intercom. ’Proceed.’
‘Beginning the first incision,’ Surgeon Guyler said, commencing the Y-shaped autopsy cut.
As the scalpel cut, Surgeon Guyler stopped, stepping back from the cadaver in alarm. A bright red maggot with a shiny black head had emerged from the site of the cut. Another followed. And another.
‘Stop the procedure!’ Director Sheppard cried. But it was too late. With a loud, wet ripping sound the vampire ruptured, showering gobbets of flesh and red maggots over the room and the surgical team. Alarms blared, red lights flashed and shutters fell across the entrance.
Director Sheppard listened to the screams. In moments, they had stopped. But then the cruel, mocking laughter began.
Director Sheppard changed intercom channels, cutting off the monstrous sounds. ‘Sheppard to Control. Wildfire breach in OR 13. Level Four Lockdown. Repeat: Level Four Lockdown.’
‘Level Four?’ Control asked. ‘Of OR 13?’
‘Of this section.’
Sheppard fingered the grip of his sidearm. They'd be coming for him soon.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Twelve men strode through the military cemetery, flashlight beams stabbing through the night as they approached a crumbling grave. One figure stepped into the light. He was young, about nineteen, and his raven hair was swept in a widow’s peak.
“Here it is,” he said, his European accent unplaceable. “Dig here.”
“You heard him, men,” a deep American voice boomed. The men put down their flashlights and dug silently. Presently, a shovel struck wood. Together, they hauled out the coffin and laid it beside the hole. The men unscrewed the lid.
The deep-voiced man peered into the open casket. “It’s him,” he said, his voice quavering. The mummified corpse lay curled inside the coffin, the lining and interior scratched and shredded. He still had his uniform on, though it was ragged.
“My brother. He’s been here for fourteen years,” the deep-voiced man said. “Thought he’d just gone AWOL. Buried alive.”
“No, Colonel,” the young man replied. “These scratches are post mortem.”
“What?”
“He was turned before he was locked in here, and, well ...” With a slow cracking of bones that hadn’t moved for fourteen years, the corpse shifted its limbs. Soldiers fled in all directions into the night, screaming. Only the Colonel and the young man stayed; the Colonel staring in horror, the younger man’s face impassive, almost disinterested.
The young man gestured. Flames sprang up around the vampire, burning it to ashes in seconds.
The young man and the Colonel looked at one another, and nodded grimly. Both men recognized that what lay in the box was, in fact, a casualty of war.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Clammy lips seek out the locations on the quarterback’s body where the major blood vessels lie close to the skin. The radial artery in the wrist. The femoral in his groin. One of the women goes for his carotid artery, fangs extending, expertly digging into the corded muscles in his thick neck.
With four vampires already crowding around the young jock in his student apartment, feeding off the best spots, the fifth vampire wonders where he can bite. The visible tenting of the jock’s shorts answers his question.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Teresa opened her eyes, looked around her. It was very dim, and cold. She felt terribly cold. She looked down, or at least tried to: somehow, she could only move her eyes. And even then, only enough to see a stake being pulled from her chest.
She was so hungry.
“You can’t move,” said a familiar voice above her. The sound echoed. Teresa realised that she was lying in some sort of cabinet, in a cold, echoing room with a high ceiling.
“Where ...?” Teresa said, her voice slurring: her jaw muscles and tongue worked only with much effort. ‘Where ...?”
“You know where, Tre; the museum where you work,” said the voice.
Teresa could see the silhouette of the man who loomed over her. A light suddenly illuminated him. Teresa saw her husband’s face; his salt-and-pepper goatee, his spectacles. A look of pity she’d never seen before.
“Marty?” Teresa asked, trying to move. “What – what’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, Tre,” Marty said. “I got the monster who attacked you, but it was too late. He figured he’d spite me by turning you into someone like him.”
“What? “Turned?” What’re you on about? Where am I? I’m so hungry. Let me out!”
“I can’t do that, honey,” Marty said. He propped a container on the side of the cabinet. Teresa tried to scream as she recognised the morgue beetles she used to clean the flesh off dead bones, but she realised, to her worse horror, that she couldn’t scream –because she wasn’t breathing. In fact, she hadn’t breathed since she woke up.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Rollins put his hand to his earpiece as the Director relayed instructions to him. He turned to the others, sitting on couches and chairs in the ready room.
“I just got word,” Rollins said. “The witness confirmed what we suspected.”
“It’s a hemophage,” Barnaby said, his lip curling. “Goddamn parasites.”
“The Director wants us out on the streets tonight,” Rollins said. “If we find this bastard, we bring him in.”
“I’ve got priority orders, I’m afraid,” said a voice behind Rollins. He turned. Agent Cassidy of Stearne had entered the room. He handed Rollins new orders.
“The Director says -”
“Fuck your Director,” Cassidy said. “Stearne Protocols trump his orders. It’s a B & T. We don’t expect to see your target again except as dust on the wind tomorrow.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Mike could feel the blood pulsing in Sarah’s neck. Since his return two nights back, blood was all Mike could think about. He couldn’t remember much at all about what happened. Something about a woman he’d never seen before, someone at John’s 21st. Yeah, that was it. That girl with the smile and those fuck-me eyes no man or woman could resist.
And now here he was, in Sarah’s room, with his fiancée, and all he could think about was the blood in her veins.
There was so much he wanted to tell her; so much he still wanted to do. But right now, as his fangs slid out unbidden, what he really wanted to do was drink.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I was the probie in my team. There was me, Harcourt, Wizbeki and that Limey brownnoser Chen who got transferred from the Company facility under Port Sunlight, England. He was supposed to be some sort of vampire specialist. Yeah, right.
We had tracked down a bloodsucker to her hole, nest, whatever. Chen led the team. We thought we’d be safe, attacking her during the day. I only survived cause Chen ordered me to stay outside, watch the area in case she had some minions we didn’t know about. Truth is, the motherfucker didn’t want me stealing his thunder, is all.
So I stood outside, while the others went in. They were barely in there five minutes when I heard that scream. It was like someone killing a steam calliope. Then there was the gunfire, and the screaming – this time, from the team. The last voice I heard was Chen, his strained hollering like a girl as something made this nasty, liquid, crunching sound. Then Chen gave this little gurgle and a sigh, and nothing apart from the crunching sound.
Chen ignored orders. He didn’t call for backup. I only escaped cause I lit out and ran like a bastard, called it in soon as I got someplace safe. I figured it was too late for Harcourt and Wizbeki. I’m sorry for that.
But I’m not sorry I ran from that place. From that scream. I hope I never have to hear that sound again.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
‘Will this work?’ Jan asked. Miu slowly got up from he silent, motionless corpse, looked around the echoing, empty space of the cavernous abandoned warehouse as if seeing her surroundings for the first time.
‘If I were still breathing, I’d be breathless right now,’ Miu replied, her Asian face looking more ashen than before. She ran her fingers over a waxy forehead. ‘Sweating, too.’ Her fingers were dry.
Jan watched as Miu licked the red spot on her right wrist, where she’d just bitten through the flesh. The red disappeared, leaving nothing but sallow skin.
Miu looked down at the man lying on the floor, smiled. Her brother stirred and opened his eyes; a dead man coming to life, still wearing the clothes he died in.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It looked like his late wife’s grave had erupted during the night, like someone’d buried a bomb in the coffin. Ted Nixon peered into the hole, saw how the shredded turf and loam had spread radially outwards from the crater. He saw a shattered bottle of rum, a cigar stub, some sort of dark brown residue that stood out in contrast to the black grave dirt, and something that gleamed dully in the daylight.
Ted picked up the dull metal object. It was the remains of some sort of jewelry. A pendant and part of a chain, with strange swirly writing he didn’t recognise. The soft, dull, heavy metal was bent, twisted. Ted realised that it was made of lead.
Who’d want to make lead jewelry? Was this brown stuff blood? Ted frowned. What kind of sick, twisted shit had happened here?
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
You can see it in their eyes: the way they avert their gaze when faced with a shiny reflective surface. For a moment, they are caught unaware looking at their reflection ... and they see something awry. A broken or blurred image. Something tainted.
It takes a moment for them to realize that you’re seeing it too – and in fact that your cell put that mirror right there, knowing the effect it would have on them.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The raven-haired, clean-shaven man stood in the doorway of St Martin’s Church, looking up at the shiny new Bull Ring shopping centre that dominated the skyline – materialism outshining piety. Testimonial to the modern world.
The young man was slim, with a quaint widow’s peak. He was dressed in a conservative black turtleneck sweater, black pants and shiny black shoes.
A creature approached, wearing the face of the late Father Carmody. ’What are you doing with your life, young man?’ he said, giving the agreed-upon opening line he’d given on the online gay contact site.
The man turned, stared sadly at the vampire. ‘Disposing of bloodsucking imposters like you,’ he said, spitting onto the faux priest’s face. The man’s saliva sputtered into a flame that charred the vampire’s flesh and stank of sulfur. A flame which rapidly spread.
Within moments, “Father Carmody” was rendered up to sulphurous flames of another sort.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
“Hey, Herb, good job getting the demolition papers through,” Tom Menosky said over the cellphone. “That’s the thing about these damned night crawlers. All it takes is a little sunlight and they burn right up.” He grunted, pulled the lever before him. The wrecking ball swung back for another strike on the condemned warehouse. “Tell the Union we’re gonna have a whole buncha less bloodsuckers to worry about tonight.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
“She’s in here,” said Jameson, pointing to the door. His voice echoed in the subbasement. It had taken the cell two years to find a servant weak enough to turn against his dark Mistress. Today, their hunt was hopefully about to draw to a close, in the subbasement of an abandoned bakery just outside of town.
“Are you sure she’s vulnerable?” Agent Mathews asked.
“Oh, yes,” Jameson replied, obsequiously, wringing his hands. “I put the stake in her chest myself, as she slept this morning.”
The three hunters sneered at Jameson. “You go in first,” Agent Mathews said.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Thomas released his finger from the trigger of the Uzi, gasped in fear as the monster slumped to the floor with three large bullet holes in his chest. Thomas trembled as the vampire flopped down onto his face in the dirt track in the bayou back of the old house; he lowered the gun’s muzzle to the floor.
‘Th – that’s for my s- sister,” the boy stammered.
“Fair enough,” the vampire said, surging to his feet and closing the distance to Thomas in a heartbeat. Disarming the lad, by now too terrified to do more than stare, the monster flung the Uzi into the swamp one handed, clamping the other about the lad’s pretty neck.
“This one,” the vampire said, grinning to reveal his sharp, sharp teeth, “is for me.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Alice’s fall down the rabbit hole halted. She stirred, opened bleary eyes. She found herself looking up at Queenie Red, whose face filled her universe.
‘I only took a small taste from you, and gave you something back in return,’ the vampire said in her normal, old, voice. ‘Some of my blood is now in you.’
Alice felt something different about her. She felt smart, smarter than she’d ever felt before. She looked into Queenie’s monstrous face, and found something she never thought she’d feel for this bitch who’d brought her to the brink of death.
Love.
‘That’s right, child,’ Queenie said. ‘I need you to do things for me. Soon, you’ll graduate and you’ll be going for that position in the national newspaper you’ve been angling for for months. You’ll find the interview particularly easy.
‘And when you’re installed, you’ll watch out for me. Because you love me.’ Her eyes seemed to expand to fill Alice’s world. ‘But I don’t want you to remember this.’ Her eyes were like dark wells, bottomless. ‘Only when you’re in position will I let you remember.’
Alice fell down the rabbit hole again. And kept on falling.
“Wendy? Where are you? Hey! HEY!”
Hoarse cries came from the far end of the road. Beams from bright flashlights stabbed through the fog rolling through the street, found him. A youthful face glowered from beneath a shock of red hair at the advancing men. The lights revealed more: slim frame, pallid skin pulled tight across the bone, barefoot and naked but for ragged green trousers.
No shadow.
Mist rose up around the boy, consuming him in vapor. The last the men saw of him was a contemptuous glare in his green eyes.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
‘It was like a summer’s day,’ Janice Robertson said, dreamily, on the leather couch. ‘I felt kinda warm, you know? Like all I ever wanted to do was just lie down.’
Doctor Agatha Karn nodded and harrumphed, jotting down notes. She looked up as the Grandfather clock on the far end of the room chimed softly.
‘Janice,’ Agatha said, ‘I’d like to try something different, try to get you to recall what actually happened, the night you were attacked.’ She got up and crossed over the office to the desk. She brought out a curious-looking antique hurricane lamp and sat it on the desk. Lighting the old oil lamp, it emanated a soothing rosy light which shone in a focused beam on Janice’s face. ‘Look into the light, please, Janice,’ Dr Karn said.
Agatha sat down and observed Janice’s reaction. A few minutes of gazing at the lamp, and Janice was lost in a trance, remembering. A moment later, Janice made a pitiable squeak, opened her eyes and trembled, her face pale.
‘You remember the fangs now, don’t you,’ Dr Karn said. It wasn’t a question.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Before Jameson lay his Mistress, a pale blonde vampire lying naked on the bare floor, little more than an incorrupt cadaver. She did not stir, as a mortal would in sleep; her face, her chest, were still as death.
Jameson knew the exact moment the sun set outside. His Mistress’ eyes flicked open. Watching her get up was like watching the fingers of a glove twitch as a hand enters it.
‘Clothes,’ the Mistress said. Jameson had already picked out tonight’s dress for her.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The old vagrant sat amid garbage bags in Dinsdale Alley, shocked and terrified, rubbing incredulous eyes with grubby hands.
He’d only settled down in his place an hour before, to drink away his life as usual. At the end of the alley, a tall man forcibly dragged a woman off the street. She’d started to scream, but one glance into the man’s eyes had reduced her to giggles and, when the man bit into her neck, moans.
‘What’s up, Tom?’ came a voice from beside him. Tom turned, saw his friend Jamal. ‘See something round here a moment ago?’
‘A man, and a girl,’ Tom said. ‘He bit her, but the cops spooked him as they drove past. Only ... he didn’t run off, like the girl did. He turned into mist and vanished!'
Jamal nodded.
‘I know you don’t believe me -’ Tom said. Two men stepped up behind Jamal, who shook his head sadly.
‘Easy, Tom,’ Jamal said. ‘We believe you, all right.’
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Alice stirred, moaned. She felt weird; exhausted, but full of afterglow. The sheets were wet with her perspiration, and her throat was harsh.
She was in bed, naked. She’d smoked something harsh from a huge bong. She couldn’t remember anything else.
‘Did you like that?’ Queenie Red asked, lying beside her. Alice started, her body sluggish.
‘What ..?. Where ...?’ The words came out as if in a dream.
Alice looked at Queenie Red. Memories returned. She was a reporter, sent to the Croquet Room – a nightclub tied to a string of disappearances. Queenie Red was the proprietor and founder of this place. That was in 1978. Alice stared. Queenie looked about her age – and Alice was only 19.
All she could remember of their meeting was Queenie’s dark eyes, and how Alice seemed totally unable to resist her.
‘How did you ...?’ Alice asked, trying to force the words out as sleep began to steal over her again. Queenie’s dark eyes again loomed large in Alice’s field of view. Her naked, emaciated yet heavy body now lay on top of Alice’s. Cool, dry skin. Not sweating.
Alice couldn’t feel Queenie Red’s breath on her face.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
‘We’ll begin at your command,’ Surgeon Guyler said, looking up at the two way mirror.
Director Sheppard watched from the gallery above. He thumbed the intercom. ‘Stand by.’
Gideon rushed into the gallery, breathless, clutching a sheaf of papers. ‘Have I missed much?’ he panted. Director Sheppard shook his head.
‘They’re waiting on my order,’ he replied, looking down at the inert vampire on the slab.
‘There’s no stake under the sternum,’ Gideon said. ‘Why isn’t it moving?’
‘Let’s find out,’ Director Sheppard said, touching the intercom. ’Proceed.’
‘Beginning the first incision,’ Surgeon Guyler said, commencing the Y-shaped autopsy cut.
As the scalpel cut, Surgeon Guyler stopped, stepping back from the cadaver in alarm. A bright red maggot with a shiny black head had emerged from the site of the cut. Another followed. And another.
‘Stop the procedure!’ Director Sheppard cried. But it was too late. With a loud, wet ripping sound the vampire ruptured, showering gobbets of flesh and red maggots over the room and the surgical team. Alarms blared, red lights flashed and shutters fell across the entrance.
Director Sheppard listened to the screams. In moments, they had stopped. But then the cruel, mocking laughter began.
Director Sheppard changed intercom channels, cutting off the monstrous sounds. ‘Sheppard to Control. Wildfire breach in OR 13. Level Four Lockdown. Repeat: Level Four Lockdown.’
‘Level Four?’ Control asked. ‘Of OR 13?’
‘Of this section.’
Sheppard fingered the grip of his sidearm. They'd be coming for him soon.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Twelve men strode through the military cemetery, flashlight beams stabbing through the night as they approached a crumbling grave. One figure stepped into the light. He was young, about nineteen, and his raven hair was swept in a widow’s peak.
“Here it is,” he said, his European accent unplaceable. “Dig here.”
“You heard him, men,” a deep American voice boomed. The men put down their flashlights and dug silently. Presently, a shovel struck wood. Together, they hauled out the coffin and laid it beside the hole. The men unscrewed the lid.
The deep-voiced man peered into the open casket. “It’s him,” he said, his voice quavering. The mummified corpse lay curled inside the coffin, the lining and interior scratched and shredded. He still had his uniform on, though it was ragged.
“My brother. He’s been here for fourteen years,” the deep-voiced man said. “Thought he’d just gone AWOL. Buried alive.”
“No, Colonel,” the young man replied. “These scratches are post mortem.”
“What?”
“He was turned before he was locked in here, and, well ...” With a slow cracking of bones that hadn’t moved for fourteen years, the corpse shifted its limbs. Soldiers fled in all directions into the night, screaming. Only the Colonel and the young man stayed; the Colonel staring in horror, the younger man’s face impassive, almost disinterested.
The young man gestured. Flames sprang up around the vampire, burning it to ashes in seconds.
The young man and the Colonel looked at one another, and nodded grimly. Both men recognized that what lay in the box was, in fact, a casualty of war.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Clammy lips seek out the locations on the quarterback’s body where the major blood vessels lie close to the skin. The radial artery in the wrist. The femoral in his groin. One of the women goes for his carotid artery, fangs extending, expertly digging into the corded muscles in his thick neck.
With four vampires already crowding around the young jock in his student apartment, feeding off the best spots, the fifth vampire wonders where he can bite. The visible tenting of the jock’s shorts answers his question.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Teresa opened her eyes, looked around her. It was very dim, and cold. She felt terribly cold. She looked down, or at least tried to: somehow, she could only move her eyes. And even then, only enough to see a stake being pulled from her chest.
She was so hungry.
“You can’t move,” said a familiar voice above her. The sound echoed. Teresa realised that she was lying in some sort of cabinet, in a cold, echoing room with a high ceiling.
“Where ...?” Teresa said, her voice slurring: her jaw muscles and tongue worked only with much effort. ‘Where ...?”
“You know where, Tre; the museum where you work,” said the voice.
Teresa could see the silhouette of the man who loomed over her. A light suddenly illuminated him. Teresa saw her husband’s face; his salt-and-pepper goatee, his spectacles. A look of pity she’d never seen before.
“Marty?” Teresa asked, trying to move. “What – what’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, Tre,” Marty said. “I got the monster who attacked you, but it was too late. He figured he’d spite me by turning you into someone like him.”
“What? “Turned?” What’re you on about? Where am I? I’m so hungry. Let me out!”
“I can’t do that, honey,” Marty said. He propped a container on the side of the cabinet. Teresa tried to scream as she recognised the morgue beetles she used to clean the flesh off dead bones, but she realised, to her worse horror, that she couldn’t scream –because she wasn’t breathing. In fact, she hadn’t breathed since she woke up.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Rollins put his hand to his earpiece as the Director relayed instructions to him. He turned to the others, sitting on couches and chairs in the ready room.
“I just got word,” Rollins said. “The witness confirmed what we suspected.”
“It’s a hemophage,” Barnaby said, his lip curling. “Goddamn parasites.”
“The Director wants us out on the streets tonight,” Rollins said. “If we find this bastard, we bring him in.”
“I’ve got priority orders, I’m afraid,” said a voice behind Rollins. He turned. Agent Cassidy of Stearne had entered the room. He handed Rollins new orders.
“The Director says -”
“Fuck your Director,” Cassidy said. “Stearne Protocols trump his orders. It’s a B & T. We don’t expect to see your target again except as dust on the wind tomorrow.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Mike could feel the blood pulsing in Sarah’s neck. Since his return two nights back, blood was all Mike could think about. He couldn’t remember much at all about what happened. Something about a woman he’d never seen before, someone at John’s 21st. Yeah, that was it. That girl with the smile and those fuck-me eyes no man or woman could resist.
And now here he was, in Sarah’s room, with his fiancée, and all he could think about was the blood in her veins.
There was so much he wanted to tell her; so much he still wanted to do. But right now, as his fangs slid out unbidden, what he really wanted to do was drink.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I was the probie in my team. There was me, Harcourt, Wizbeki and that Limey brownnoser Chen who got transferred from the Company facility under Port Sunlight, England. He was supposed to be some sort of vampire specialist. Yeah, right.
We had tracked down a bloodsucker to her hole, nest, whatever. Chen led the team. We thought we’d be safe, attacking her during the day. I only survived cause Chen ordered me to stay outside, watch the area in case she had some minions we didn’t know about. Truth is, the motherfucker didn’t want me stealing his thunder, is all.
So I stood outside, while the others went in. They were barely in there five minutes when I heard that scream. It was like someone killing a steam calliope. Then there was the gunfire, and the screaming – this time, from the team. The last voice I heard was Chen, his strained hollering like a girl as something made this nasty, liquid, crunching sound. Then Chen gave this little gurgle and a sigh, and nothing apart from the crunching sound.
Chen ignored orders. He didn’t call for backup. I only escaped cause I lit out and ran like a bastard, called it in soon as I got someplace safe. I figured it was too late for Harcourt and Wizbeki. I’m sorry for that.
But I’m not sorry I ran from that place. From that scream. I hope I never have to hear that sound again.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
‘Will this work?’ Jan asked. Miu slowly got up from he silent, motionless corpse, looked around the echoing, empty space of the cavernous abandoned warehouse as if seeing her surroundings for the first time.
‘If I were still breathing, I’d be breathless right now,’ Miu replied, her Asian face looking more ashen than before. She ran her fingers over a waxy forehead. ‘Sweating, too.’ Her fingers were dry.
Jan watched as Miu licked the red spot on her right wrist, where she’d just bitten through the flesh. The red disappeared, leaving nothing but sallow skin.
Miu looked down at the man lying on the floor, smiled. Her brother stirred and opened his eyes; a dead man coming to life, still wearing the clothes he died in.
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It looked like his late wife’s grave had erupted during the night, like someone’d buried a bomb in the coffin. Ted Nixon peered into the hole, saw how the shredded turf and loam had spread radially outwards from the crater. He saw a shattered bottle of rum, a cigar stub, some sort of dark brown residue that stood out in contrast to the black grave dirt, and something that gleamed dully in the daylight.
Ted picked up the dull metal object. It was the remains of some sort of jewelry. A pendant and part of a chain, with strange swirly writing he didn’t recognise. The soft, dull, heavy metal was bent, twisted. Ted realised that it was made of lead.
Who’d want to make lead jewelry? Was this brown stuff blood? Ted frowned. What kind of sick, twisted shit had happened here?
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You can see it in their eyes: the way they avert their gaze when faced with a shiny reflective surface. For a moment, they are caught unaware looking at their reflection ... and they see something awry. A broken or blurred image. Something tainted.
It takes a moment for them to realize that you’re seeing it too – and in fact that your cell put that mirror right there, knowing the effect it would have on them.
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The raven-haired, clean-shaven man stood in the doorway of St Martin’s Church, looking up at the shiny new Bull Ring shopping centre that dominated the skyline – materialism outshining piety. Testimonial to the modern world.
The young man was slim, with a quaint widow’s peak. He was dressed in a conservative black turtleneck sweater, black pants and shiny black shoes.
A creature approached, wearing the face of the late Father Carmody. ’What are you doing with your life, young man?’ he said, giving the agreed-upon opening line he’d given on the online gay contact site.
The man turned, stared sadly at the vampire. ‘Disposing of bloodsucking imposters like you,’ he said, spitting onto the faux priest’s face. The man’s saliva sputtered into a flame that charred the vampire’s flesh and stank of sulfur. A flame which rapidly spread.
Within moments, “Father Carmody” was rendered up to sulphurous flames of another sort.
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“Hey, Herb, good job getting the demolition papers through,” Tom Menosky said over the cellphone. “That’s the thing about these damned night crawlers. All it takes is a little sunlight and they burn right up.” He grunted, pulled the lever before him. The wrecking ball swung back for another strike on the condemned warehouse. “Tell the Union we’re gonna have a whole buncha less bloodsuckers to worry about tonight.”
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“She’s in here,” said Jameson, pointing to the door. His voice echoed in the subbasement. It had taken the cell two years to find a servant weak enough to turn against his dark Mistress. Today, their hunt was hopefully about to draw to a close, in the subbasement of an abandoned bakery just outside of town.
“Are you sure she’s vulnerable?” Agent Mathews asked.
“Oh, yes,” Jameson replied, obsequiously, wringing his hands. “I put the stake in her chest myself, as she slept this morning.”
The three hunters sneered at Jameson. “You go in first,” Agent Mathews said.
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Thomas released his finger from the trigger of the Uzi, gasped in fear as the monster slumped to the floor with three large bullet holes in his chest. Thomas trembled as the vampire flopped down onto his face in the dirt track in the bayou back of the old house; he lowered the gun’s muzzle to the floor.
‘Th – that’s for my s- sister,” the boy stammered.
“Fair enough,” the vampire said, surging to his feet and closing the distance to Thomas in a heartbeat. Disarming the lad, by now too terrified to do more than stare, the monster flung the Uzi into the swamp one handed, clamping the other about the lad’s pretty neck.
“This one,” the vampire said, grinning to reveal his sharp, sharp teeth, “is for me.”
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Alice’s fall down the rabbit hole halted. She stirred, opened bleary eyes. She found herself looking up at Queenie Red, whose face filled her universe.
‘I only took a small taste from you, and gave you something back in return,’ the vampire said in her normal, old, voice. ‘Some of my blood is now in you.’
Alice felt something different about her. She felt smart, smarter than she’d ever felt before. She looked into Queenie’s monstrous face, and found something she never thought she’d feel for this bitch who’d brought her to the brink of death.
Love.
‘That’s right, child,’ Queenie said. ‘I need you to do things for me. Soon, you’ll graduate and you’ll be going for that position in the national newspaper you’ve been angling for for months. You’ll find the interview particularly easy.
‘And when you’re installed, you’ll watch out for me. Because you love me.’ Her eyes seemed to expand to fill Alice’s world. ‘But I don’t want you to remember this.’ Her eyes were like dark wells, bottomless. ‘Only when you’re in position will I let you remember.’
Alice fell down the rabbit hole again. And kept on falling.
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