by Virgil Moore
The coroner carefully backed into the personnel lockers on that side of the room. He left the intern staring at the dark creature standing in front of them. She was frozen with fear.
“I’m a little different from what you may be used to,” the creature’s booming voice was still horridly out of place with the content of his words. “Herald didn’t know what I was back then.”
The coroner slowly reached into his locker for a gun loaded with silver bullets. It was the only method useful to slow down a vampire with a well-placed shot. He racked back the slide, loading a fresh bullet into the chamber. He was nervous, not sure if he could even hit the creature. He raised his arms up, shaking as he moved. He fired before he could accurately aim. The bullet struck the creature just below its left eye. He had intended to shoot the chest, above the heart. It was a shot that he had been trained for. But this think was not what he was trained to face. He was shaking. He only meant to wound, not kill. He wanted anything just to slow this thing down and study it more. But that window was shut now. The casing hit the floor.
The intern let out a scream as the gun rang out in the confined room. She watched in horror as she began to realize what was actually happening next.
The creature didn’t flinch. The bullet passed straight through, embedding itself into the far concrete wall with a thud. The black plate under its eye shifted and instantly closed the newly created wound in its face. The demon didn’t move, it didn’t breathe. It stood. It stared at the coroner.
The coroner and the intern were frozen with anticipation of the horrors that were about to be taken out on them. He regretted his rash actions and she more completely regretted her entire career choice.
“Who? What are you?” the coroner lowered the gun, figuring it to be near useless. “You shouldn’t be able to heal from that. Not that quickly. Not from silver.”
“The power of silver and the weight of a name no longer hold any value for me. Perhaps one day I will tell someone, but not tonight.” The demon flashed out of sight and in front of the coroner. He squeezed the middle of the barrel with his thumb and index finger and pinched it shut. It folded instantly under the immense pressure.
The intern was barely able to gasp as she witnessed the ease in which the creature displayed its strength.
The demon turned to the intern, “my heart doesn’t beat anymore. My body doesn’t need it to.” He reappeared next to the bag and opened it and took out the mask. He turned back and slid it up, over his black, demonic face. The mask was perfect white with painted dark eyebrows lips and a half smile.
“Why a smile?” the intern asked, accidentally blurting it out through sheer curiosity.
“It’s not a smile,” the creature lowered his head for a moment. “It’s a memory,” he pressed his hand against the swinging door ready to leave. “It’s a smirk,” with his last words, he disappeared again. There was no sound. The door didn’t even sway as he left. He was only gone.
Out on the street, the moon above shined brightly as the creature looked up from a vacant road, “when I look back at how all this happened. How all this began. The fragmented stories that all came together within my mind. I would have never thought it would end up as it did. I think of what happened, what lead to where I am,” he reached into a fold in one of the black plates and pulled out a small journal. He looked down as he opened the red stained pages. He spoke to himself, under his breath, “I read these words and think about the lives they represent. The pain, the memories, the deaths they remember for me. After fifty years, I’ve found I regret everything except that first night.”
“Since it was a beautiful dream I had tonight. Let us begin with how it started fifty years ago. Let us begin with a dream.”
Chapter One
The Abomination and A Tainted Whisper
So sweet was the wet rain that flowed through the throat of life. It kissed the sky as a nimble tongue danced over a sharp tooth. This was the culmination.
The demon inside dripped with excitement. Wet senses, tense thoughts played in his mind. He leaned in, her neck was warm, tender, ready for penetration. This was his first in centuries.
His hand gripped her delicate shoulder. She sighed from the pressure. It was celestial. A brown cashmere sweater was all that kept the barrier between the touch. His skin was light, a contrast to her tanned olive tone. He stood slightly taller, nearly six feet to her thin five eight frame. Her face was oval, feminine. Her lips were glass. Her dark green eyes added detail to her perfect expression. He had induced a reaction within her. She was attracted to him. His sinewy build appealed to her. His hair was calm fire, down to his shoulders. The dark brown hues were the only remaining link to his humanity. A sudden breeze shed light to his black eyes, shielded in thorns. Her extended mortality had been his muse until that night. The clouds were about to tear open from above, the nightmare had almost come.
The field adjacent to them offered little cover to the anticipated events. The century oak was solitary in the night. The sun had abandoned them long before they had arrived. His breath on her neck was telling. It was going to happen. She knew that. She demanded it. He pressed as the hard bark pushed into her from behind. She drew him to her. The tree pitted her back with a unique sensation. There was ritual in this act, a feeling of events that had come together. This was her time to enjoy him. After many nights of catering to his whims, placating his desires. She was able to purely experience this act. This singular moment was hers.
Her long brown hair shifted as needles in the wind, exposing her supple veins, “this is what I want,” her voice almost silent, loud only to his ears. She panted, waited, wished for it. Her lips pale, flush with the idea of what was about to take place.
A streak of lightning set fire to the night, illuminating the privacy they had sought out so carefully. The shade of the oak held the last mystery as the sky gave away the secrets of nature around them. The area was euphoric, its flash of brilliant incandescence spread the dark dream even further into the night. Just as it came, it was seen and gone. It lingered in the eye for only a fleeting moment. Then everything went black in a hush that left a yearning.
Before he could answer, the demon within had spoken. His fingers were not his own as he stripped the fabric away. Her flesh was intoxicating. He grasped the back of her head with a pure intention. His hand cradled her slender exposed neck. The once gentle fingertips that were used to caress now drove into her, piercing the skin of this eerily beautiful girl. She tensed. She let the pain subside to her newfound pleasure. This was welcome to her. An essential feeling to obtaining what she wanted.
His face caressed hers in an embrace. A passionate deep kiss led to his tongue drawing a line away and down to her throat. His lips were speaking to her body. His fanged teeth wet and sharp. He entered her in one motion.
Her breath was quickened to the pace of her heart. Crimson flowed, soaking, flooding the once dry clothing that remained in the stormy night. Her bra the only intact article concealing her breasts from his piercing gaze. The warm red liquid cascaded down her chest. Her long black skirt absorbed the rest of the pain. Her inspiration was heavy, labored, she exhaled in ecstasy. Her arms wrapped his cold back. She loved this. With each mouthful, she softly sang the experience to the empty shadows.
The demon spoke without words. She heard his voice in her blood, “you are the sacrifice that will allow my rebirth. You are the gateway to my desires. Your blood is my road.” The phrase didn’t mean much to her completely focused and enthralled mind.
He smiled as he drank her life. She shifted her hips towards his attempting to connect them further. He pulled her leg up high and tight. Close to his side. Her quiet moans filled his keen ears with music. He pinned her to the tree with excessive force.
This was exactly what she had asked for. To be with someone that needed her as she was, as the inhuman monster she really was. This was ephemeral, but needed. She wanted something more than the normal vampire,
a difference in power. To be influenced, to be controlled, a pressure that could be felt instead of told. She wanted a demon within the nightmare of her world.
He continued to devour her, to let the blood flow. She gasped, trying to ask him to stop. Her mouth dry, unable to speak. The words lost on her glazed mind. Her arms failed her. It terrified her, yet it was enticing. It felt eerily good. The intensity climbed and washed over her as he bore deeper. The sensation filled her being. She stared into his black eyes as she lost consciousness.
Chapter Two
The Sweetness Of The Dream
The storm descended. It wet their bodies through the filter of the leaves. The blood spilled, mixing into the roots below. This was not unpleasant in her mind. Only unexpected. It was a way out of her existence. Finally an end to the greater expectations held by her disappointed father. She accepted this death.
He had consumed her. Her body stood soulless and broken against the tree. He eased back to reveal her torn neck. It flopped in the increasing weather. With her stained skin void of life he held her in place. His eyes examined her. She was beautiful. His palate was quenched. This was the result of too many nights of temptation.
“Amber from the vein,” his voice was dark and piercing.
Her blood painted the tree.
The night sky bled and obfuscated the loss. With a glass moon high in the heavens he set her to rest. He propped her low against the tree where she lost her once extended life. Turbulence shook the leaves from above attempting a simple burial. Wind rustled the field throwing her tattered clothing from her eviscerated body. She laid there, empty. The flesh now a shell of the person who had once trusted him.
His eyes gleamed black in the solid midnight beneath the oak. The crack of the thunder marked his soul. The spark of the lightning jolted his memory. There was a small seemingly insignificant remnant willing to accept the evil he had done. It tried to convince him the blood was a necessity. That she had to die, that she had wanted it. It persuaded him to eat. To feast and siege conquest on the world for more. Its insatiable will whispered softly to the dreamer inside the dream. It influenced him with a vision of things to come.
His voice echoed through his lips. He stared at her with all his guilt, “this is what you are. The intriguing flavors you secretly salivate and intensely lust for,” he smiled. It was becoming a part of him. It tasted pure, coating his tongue. Silky, it quenched his thirst as he remembered the joy of the moment again.
He viewed the once animate youth ravaged before him. It was done. His fists shut tight against themselves. He knew this was wrong. He wished his closed lips would obey. That he might feel any measure of sorrow for this evil. He wanted to prove he was not the monster he had become. There was deception here. Deep inside the corners of his mind he enjoyed the depravity. He sweetly craved it, aching for its presence. His mind was torn to the solace of the finished sanguinary act.
His eyes closed. The red fleeting apparition somehow soothed and calmed him. It was murder. He could hear it above the raging storm. It coursed through him. It forced echoed visions of her dead body to torment into his soul. It spoke again, “the vast ocean of power I can grant you. The absolution I offer, to walk without equal as an abomination among monsters. To be feared as no other,” the voice sighed inside of him. There was a warm breath in the back of his thoughts, “am I truly so disgusting? Is this not what you asked for? Do I not tempt you? Offer you what you need? Do I not wet your tongue with my invitation?”
Fear swept him. His mind was sovereign no longer. His gut knotted in indecision. The hot blanket of seduction that had cloaked him was convincing enough. It was generously welcome. He hesitated, not knowing the demon’s destination or his own. He could feel his soul slipping. A grip once tight now failed him.
“Let it happen. Give yourself to me. All you ever have to do is acknowledge me. Your soul will satisfy my desires, my requirements,” the voice was commanding. It spoke as a god dwelling in the recesses of his senses. It continued, “rip, tear, rend, and swallow the blood like milk,” the demon inside beckoned with a sadistic suggestion.
He was unsure. The deal was tempting. Even acceptable in a sick flight of fancy. The power was enthralling. His confliction was disturbing him. He was not a murderer. He knew as much as he doubted his own integrity. It was still tempting. It did wet his mouth to think about it. It was keen on his fingertips. Absolute strength on a level unrivaled. The knowledge that no other being would ever be able to contest him. It was a spectacular promise, remarkably seductive.
The voice posed its question a final time. Its confidence unrelenting, “is my simple price so steep, so dire? Costly? That you would die a fool’s death to deny me the path fate has allowed me to etch in the stars?”
Chapter Three
Sway With Me
The club was packed with dark and dreary souls as the lone singer took the stage. She wore a long black gown with her hair to match. The bass picked up. The drums tapped. She counted a measure. She wanted a moment to see who was in the crowd. Who would be watching her tonight? Her eyes combed over the room. Nothing. Just the same thirty or so people that were always there. Another measure began. She sighed before the microphone. Her tone was felt by the whole of the crowd. They began to pay attention. The eyes were descending on her. The complacent stares of youth that she was so familiar with. Another measure and she drew her breath at its end. The bass thumped louder. It signaled her to begin. And she did. With her low sultry tone she lulled the crowd. The words of the song were like a magic spell that soothed everyone in the room except for her. Promises of intimacy, romance, embrace. The lyrics were hers to project on everyone. But they were meant for no one there.
It had been weeks since she had any real interest in anyone there. The same faces no matter how intricately painted bored her. She wanted something better, something more to her life than the usual trouble that walked through the night and into that tiny door at the other end of the room.
The bass thumped on as she stared at the empty table in front of her. There was never any one there. The population of the club was either on the dance floor to the side or at the bar near the back. No one ever sat down. No one ever interesting enough to break the cycle and stare back at her on the lonely stage.
The last words rang out from her soul as the beat came to an end. The drums stopped. The bass lingered and faded. She closed her eyes hopping for anyone to appear at the table. When she opened them a moment later it was still empty. Her heart sank. She whispered to herself, “I wish there was something more than this. Someone more.” She stepped down off the stage. She made her way to the bar and picked up her purse. She was leaving. She had other plans that night. As she walked out she turned and thought of that lonely table again and let the door close slowly behind her.
Chapter Four
Getting Up To Speed
A young man was quickly roused from a bad dream. Sweat beaded off his forehead and back to his short black hair. His breath eased. He believed the nightmare was behind him. He opened his deep brown eyes to a white ceiling. The same he had seen when he last slept. He lay motionless for a moment. He thought about the dream he had. The seductive nightmare that he couldn’t look away from. He felt each sensation, every caress, every bite. It was a visceral dream, almost a hallucination. But it couldn’t be real.He sat up. His sheets fell to the end of the bed. His dampened clothing was the only layer that kept him cool through the prior night. It all clung to his thin fit physique. He was attractive, but his five foot seven frame was less than average for his age. But his demeanor was not. He was calm and calculating as he thought about the nightmare. It didn’t disturb him for the same reasons that it might someone else. He was unsure of it. The feelings were too real. He wasn’t sure if he had begun to enjoy the sensations or if he was still dreaming.
He lived in a mostly normal room for a teenager. A dorm style set of furniture and a limited wardrobe. The room was pain
ted a light sky blue with a white ceiling for contrast. It was simple. He liked it that way.
Three pictures hung on the wall by his tiny bed. The first was framed in a dark cherry wood. It was of his parents when they were younger. A tall young man with brown hair and a small thin woman with short nearly pure white hair stood lovingly together. The flash of the camera gleamed red in her eyes and not his. The second picture was in a newer, cheaper frame. It was of him as a boy, riding an old bicycle for his birthday. The kind you might find at a local garage sale. He was eight in the image as it proudly proclaimed at the top of the photograph in black crayon. The third was in the same type of frame as the first, an expensive cherry. It was of him and his father in a large field of farm wheat. He was ten. They were running as the picture was taken at the length of his father’s arm. He appeared to be very happy and content in the scene. A memory from when he could let go and enjoy his childhood. It was a surreal memory compared to the others. It calmed him.
It was the last days of May. Spring had loosened its grasp on the season. Summer had come and begun to set in. The temperature had risen. It broke into the high nineties on an average northern Florida day. The light had fled from the sky. Though it influenced his room little. He had no windows. It was a cheap apartment. The kind sandwiched in between other units. He had been asleep through most of the day. The near absolute black provided a wonderful environment for rest.
