WHEN DARKNESS COMES
G. Allen Wilbanks
Deep Dark Thoughts Publications LLC
Also by G. ALLEN WILBANKS
NOVELS
Testing Grounds
A Life of Adventure
NOVELLAS
Spiritus Ex Machina
They
SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS
13 Rooms
Not for Bedtime Stories
When Darkness Comes © 2017 by G. Allen Wilbanks
Cover Photo by Allison Wilbanks
Cover Design by Wallrich Creative Communications
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to the author.
Visit my website at www.gallenwilbanks.com
2nd edition by Deep Dark Thoughts Publications LLC: June 2021
ISBN: 978-1952630057
For Jennifer,
Without all your patience and support this novel would never have been written.
CHAPTER 1
How is a vampire born? Well, technically, a vampire is not born. It is created. A vampire is the once human victim of another vampire. But my question is of a greater nature than a typical conversion to the elite ranks of the undead. More precisely, how was the first vampire born? How was the race of Vampires – capital “V” – spawned? Who was Vampire Prime, and how did he or she come into this world?
I don’t know. That is why I ask the question. Was the first merely a human mutation? Was it an act of God? Or of magic? Was it the results of a virus? Again, I don’t know. I suppose the answer is out there somewhere, but it will probably be a more nimble mind than mine that discovers it. Why hasn’t the answer already been discovered? Well, probably because the vast majority of academia does not even believe that vampires exist.
I do, however. I have to.
I am one.
I don’t have the luxury of disbelief. I have felt the agony of my body dying. I have felt light burn my skin. And I have felt the undeniable need to drink blood from the living body of another. So, while I can’t tell you how vampires originally came to exist, I can at least tell you the circumstances that led to me becoming what I am today. My origin story, so to speak.
It was not anything dark or Gothic that led to my transformation. At least, it didn’t start out that way. I was not part of any cult and I didn’t experiment with black magic. I wasn’t trying to speak to ghosts or raise the dead or any of the B-horror movie crap that people watch today. Most importantly, I did not seek the vampires out; at the time I didn’t even believe they existed. They – or rather, she – found me. I was a college student, and I simply went to the wrong party.
I remember I was twenty-four years old, finishing up my second year of graduate studies. One of the fraternities on the university campus hosted a party, and I accepted an invitation to attend. I don’t recall which frat hosted the party; I wasn’t a member of any of the Greek houses, but I had friends at the school that would invite me periodically to their gatherings. I do recall the college, but I still have people there who know me, so I will not tell you which one it is, or go into details that may identify its location. For purposes of this story, it is enough for you to know I attended a very large party, with several hundred students and younger residents of the local community attending. And it was after sunset; a minor fact that is only important upon reflection. Daylight was not so precious a thing then that I took great note of its daily disappearance.
Alcohol flowed freely at this gathering as it often does at fraternity functions, and I felt more than a little drunk from several glasses of beer and spiked punch. I knew several people at the party and had no difficulty finding conversations or dance partners, so I was not desperate or seeking companionship. Frankly, with a red plastic cup of beer in my hand and a couple of classmates to shout stories with over the din of the blaring stereo, I was quite content with my life. I was not aware that I was lacking or needing anything. However, a petite blonde girl strolling through the room with her own drink in hand and no escort on her arm immediately caught my attention.
A voice from some shadowy hidden part of me insisted I had to meet her. I don’t know why I was so drawn to her, but there was an instant magnetic pull that would not be ignored.
It wasn’t just that she was good looking, either, although she was definitely that. She stood only about five feet five inches in her three-inch heels, but she dominated the room with her presence. All eyes were drawn toward her. She was beautiful, with delicate elfin features and a flawless porcelain complexion, but more than that, she carried herself with an attitude that demanded to be noticed. Her very existence almost defied you not to look. Wearing jeans and an overly-large red sweater that covered her to mid-thigh, her concealed form elicited my immediate desire more than any other girl there that night could have managed had she been stripped entirely naked. As she moved through the room, she didn’t wander. She moved with purpose, and as she walked, the three-inch, spiked heels of her shoes knocked on the wood laminate floors with a small bang, like a judge’s gavel demanding the attention of everyone in the room.
I decided to go talk to her. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I was moving toward her before I had made a conscious decision of any kind. The attraction was that tangible, I was surprised everyone didn’t feel it. Or maybe they did, but they simply had more self-control. I intercepted her as she made her way through the party goers and I cleared my throat to catch her attention. She glanced around and met my gaze.
I was not a wallflower at parties. I didn’t just hang around in dark corners avoiding people and scanning the crowd, wishing I could be part of the group but afraid to mingle. At least, I didn’t back then. Now, for obvious reasons, my behavior is a little different. I used to be quite a socialite, always looking for the next conversation, or argument depending on my mood. And I’ve never been shy talking to women. But when this girl turned toward me, I froze. Huge, dark brown eyes looked up at me, one eyebrow raised to form a silent question. Her irises were so dark, almost midnight black, I couldn’t see her pupils. They gave her face a helpless, soulful appearance. I wanted to put my arms around her; hold her and protect her. I don’t know exactly how long I stood there, just staring into her eyes. Most likely only a few seconds passed, but it could have been hours or days for all I could tell. I might be there still, but she finally broke my trance – freed me from it, really – when she dropped her gaze and took a small sip of her drink. Lowering her cup, she looked back up at me and I could see an amused smile playing at her mouth. She knew she had gotten to me. Hard.
“Yes?” she asked, and waited patiently. Her voice was soft. Gentle and pleasant like a lover’s whisper.
I didn’t know if I could still talk, but I tried anyway. I was pleasantly surprised to hear my voice still sounded almost steady.
“Uh, hi. My name is Gregory. Would you like to dance?”
“Thank you, Gregory. But, no.” And she walked away.
That was it. That was my introduction to Andi. Brief and painful. I had very decidedly been blown off. I stood in shock, mouth open stupidly, and unable to do anything except watch her disappear into the crowd.
I don’t know if I believe in love at first sight, but something happened to me in those few seconds that I had her to myself. My heart was pounding and I felt a little sick in the pit of my stomach, like I was fighting a hangover or crashing down off of a particularly good high. The euphoria – or panic maybe? – of looking into her eyes was gone, leaving me instead feeling only dizzy and disappointed at myself for how badly I’d handled our brief c
onversation. When I approached her, I had already mentally played out the next twenty years of our lives together. There was an unwavering certainty in my mind that we had a destiny together. And when that fantasy hadn’t played out, the fabric of my reality tore a little bit. Like I had just learned that the world was actually flat, or that the people who raised me weren’t my real parents. I was reeling.
As I watched her walk away, I was already trying to mentally calculate how I could approach her again without getting the same polite brush off. Nothing useful came immediately to mind.
I spent the rest of the party thinking about her and looking over my shoulder every few minutes, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. I did see her twice more, briefly, but she quickly lost herself in the crowd each time, offering me no real opportunity to talk to her again. Besides, she now appeared to be with someone. A tall, muscular kid in a football jersey hovered around her, frequently taking the opportunity to touch her back or arm possessively.
I couldn’t focus on anything else that night. I ignored conversations, refused dances – very contrary to my nature – and in general acted like a pariah, keeping myself unattached in the hope I might have the chance to speak with this girl again. Even if it was only to hear her tell me “no” one more time.
Hour after long miserable hour passed with still no opportunity to corner her into another private conversation. I was slowly giving up hope that I might get a second chance to impress her. By three o’clock in the morning the party had mostly broken up, but still I lingered. Guests had been grabbing coats and saying their good-byes over the past hour, and there were now only a few small groups remaining in the house. Those too drunk to drive or find their way home had located beds, or couches, or even convenient patches of floor on which to pass out. I had not seen my tiny blond goddess for some time and was honestly not even sure if she was still at the party.
I was completely sober by this time, as my preoccupation had even kept me from making my typical trips to the bar during the evening. The night had become a total bust. I went to the front door and recovered my coat from the pile heaped on the floor and prepared to slink away in defeat with my tail tucked between my legs. There was no more reason to stay, so I figured why keep torturing myself. With one hand on the door handle, prepared to walk out and live the rest of my life wondering about the beautiful blond girl I had once met at a party, I was stopped by a light touch on my shoulder. Once more I heard the voice that will haunt my dreams for centuries.
“Excuse me, Gregory.”
I turned and found those eyes, those beautiful dark eyes, looking up at me.
“Yes. Hi. I, uh … hi.” I would like to say after spending the whole evening hoping and preparing for another opportunity to speak with my golden-haired angel, that I acted very smooth and debonair when my chance arrived. That I calmly unleashed a dazzling flow of poetic speech that I had practiced in preparation for this unlikely opportunity.
I can’t. The truth is I pissed myself like a nervous puppy. Not literally, mind you, although I wouldn’t have been surprised if I had.
She smiled at my nervousness. An amused little closed-mouth smile.
“I was wondering if I might ask you a favor,” she said, holding her hands together in front of her as though in prayer. Her hands were small and graceful, like the rest of her. I also noticed there was no ring on her left hand. A good sign.
I remember thinking to myself as she stood there in front of me that whatever favor she might ask I was going to say, yes. Without hesitation, I said, “Of course. What can I do for you?”
“My ride this evening is suddenly unavailable to take me home. Do you have a car here?”
“I do,” I said, silently thanking every deity I could think of that I had decided at the last minute not to walk to the party. I only lived a mile or two away, but laziness had prompted me to drive. “It’s right down the street, and I’d be glad to take you home.” I still find myself amazed that I was able to string so many words together. My heart beat so hard and fast in my chest that it was physically painful. It left me a little short of breath. “I can’t believe your date left you behind. I can’t imagine anyone standing you up.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said, waving her right hand dismissively. “There were circumstances beyond his control. I don’t mind at all. But I do need a ride.”
“Are you ready to go now? Let me grab my jacket and we can leave.”
“Yes. But, um,” she paused, smiling and pointing at the coat in my hands. “Isn’t that your jacket?”
I stopped myself just before walking away to look for something I already had. My face reddened as I glanced down at the incriminating article of clothing and I felt like a first rate jackass. I wanted to run off and hide, but that would mean letting her out of my sight and I couldn’t risk letting her get away again. Surprisingly, she stayed as well. Perhaps deciding that my stupidity was endearing rather than disturbing. “Yeah. I guess it is.” This girl had really gotten into my head. I wasn’t thinking straight and every dumb thing I said or did put me further into panic mode. Before I lost her completely, I decided I should at least try to find out who she was. “You know, I just realized. Can I…? I don’t even know your name.”
“Andrea. My friends call me Andi. Are you a friend, Gregory?” She placed her hand on my arm, her touch delicate, like a butterfly landing. I almost passed out from the electricity of the contact. I stood motionless waiting for my feet to steady under me. Besides, I did not want to move away from her touch, and I was afraid the slightest action on my part would break the fragile contact. I would have been happy to stand there for the rest of my life if that meant her hand would stay right where it was.
Despite my wishes to the contrary, the touch was unfortunately all too brief. When she lowered her hand, I tried to clear my head of the disappointment and heard myself saying, “Andi. I like that. Great name.” Again, not my finest moment, but she did not seem to object. “Andi,” I said again.
I am not embarrassed to say that as we walked out the door to find my car I did not take my eyes off of her. I think I feared that if I glanced away, she would disappear. Maybe decide that she could do better than this stuttering, brain-damaged fool and run back into the house to find somebody else to take her home. I needn’t have worried. For some reason known only to her, Andi found something in me that she liked. She must have. She never would have wasted a moment of her time with me if she hadn’t. She certainly wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of making herself single and available just so I could be her second escort that evening.
Before she asked me for the ride home, she needed to disengage herself from the jock I had seen clinging to her during the party. The police discovered her previous escort for the evening the next morning passed out beside a grocery store dumpster where she had left him. He had difficulty remembering how he had ended up there due to the alcohol in his system and significant blood loss sustained from a large cut on his forearm; a cut that he was also unable to explain. The authorities, unsure what to do with him, bundled him into an ambulance and shipped him off to the hospital to be treated and to allow him to sober up.
But these were revelations for another day. That night, I remained completely unaware of her recent activities. And so, blissfully ignorant, I walked, stared at her lovely face, and wondered at my good fortune.
My car, a sixteen-year old Pontiac Grand Am, wasn’t far and it only took a couple of minutes to reach it. Although it was late, the early-spring evening was not uncomfortably cold and I had not opted to put on my coat. Instead I had draped it over my shoulder as we walked, wondering briefly if I should have offered it to Andi. She did not appear bothered by this lapse in manners. When we got close, I ran the last few steps to the green Grand Am so I could pull the passenger-side door open for her. She glanced along the length of the car before she climbed in, but whatever thoughts passed through her mind she graciously kept to herself. I appreciated her restraint.
&n
bsp; As she settled into the passenger seat, I asked her where she lived.
“It isn’t far from here,” she replied. “I’ll direct you.”
I closed the door and jogged around the car to the driver’s side.
Despite my excitement, we spent the entire ride in silence. Except for her occasional spoken direction, “turn left here,” or “make a right at the next light,” neither of us said a word. I wanted to talk to her but I worried I might say something stupid and convince her I was an idiot. So instead, I stayed mute. And probably accomplished the exact same results.
During the drive I was very aware of her presence in my car. I tried to watch her out of the corner of my eye without being too obvious, though I don’t know how successfully I managed it. Her face was doll-like in profile: her nose tiny and almost pointed, her chin soft and round, forming a perfect complement to the smiling shape of her mouth. I admired the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed, and noticed the strong musculature of her thighs where her jeans had pulled tight around them. I fought the sudden urge to reach across the space between us and brush my fingers against her cheek; to stroke her hair away from her face. Somehow, I managed to keep my hands on the steering wheel and, perhaps more amazingly, get her home without crashing.
She directed me to an apartment complex just off of the school campus, and as she had promised it was not located very far from the fraternity house. I pulled into the main lot and parked.
“So which apartment is yours?”
“Why, Gregory, I don’t know you that well, yet.” She laughed lightly, teasing.
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