When Darkness Comes

by Wilbanks, G. Allen

  Before I moved on, my guardian angel also showed me how to locate and contact other groups sympathetic to my needs wherever I traveled. This one piece of information has aided me more than any other whenever I move to a new location with no easily available shelter.

  In the month I stayed with this man, I never learned his identity. I knew him only as “Jack.” He offered nothing more, and I never asked. In return, he never asked for any information about me.

  The months that followed my meeting with Jack were still a struggle at times but they were at least safer. I had very little money, but I had managed to accumulate a pre-paid cell phone, some extra clothing, and a – mostly – reliable old beater of a car. Moving from place to place with a vehicle was easier, and with the resources to provide a place to hide from the sun, I spent fewer days squeezed into the sewers.

  Now that I wasn’t such a filthy, garbage covered mess all of the time, my existence became less hellish. I became more adept at interacting with humans without risk of exposure. I discovered that for several hours after feeding, my body temperature and color are very close to normal, allowing me to make more intimate contact with living humans without arousing suspicion. As long as I remembered to imitate the actions of breathing, and no one felt the need to listen for my heartbeat, I could move freely among them. I also discovered I could eat or drink regular foods and beverages. I have to chew everything very carefully as my body will not properly digest anything. Solids simply pass through my system in the same state they came in. It can be mildly uncomfortable, but it is often worth the discomfort to maintain appearances of normalcy. Besides, I found I still enjoyed the taste of many of my favorite foods despite my new gustatory preferences. Armed with this knowledge and a brighter outlook for my future, I began to enjoy myself again and even build a limited social life.

  But just as I began to believe that I had a handle on my situation and could start to relax, my life took another unexpected turn. A little over one year after Andi brought me into her world I experienced an uncontrollable desire to travel east.

  I did not know what compelled me, but I knew that I needed to move quickly. At first it manifested itself as an incessant restlessness that left me unable to concentrate on anything. It was like a nervous anxiety that I should be doing something or going somewhere but I didn’t know exactly what or where. It continued to grow more pronounced, and nothing I did seemed to help. I did discover that for some reason, when I faced to the east the feeling eased, slightly but perceptibly. Someone, or something, wanted me to travel east.

  I resisted for two days. I knew what I needed to do, but because I did not know why I was supposed to do it I was reluctant to follow through. I do not like to be forced into anything, even if it is my own body doing the forcing.

  The urge soon became physically painful, however. Whenever I attempted to move in any direction other than that of my compulsion a numb prickling feeling overwhelmed me as if every muscle in my body had gone to sleep and were just beginning to wake up. I was miserable, and it appeared it would only get worse the longer I fought the impulse. So, begrudgingly, I went. Better, I figured, to avoid the discomfort and find out what drew me so insistently than to continue to suffer in complete ignorance.

  I packed a small travel bag with my limited possessions, tossed it into the trunk of my twenty year-old Honda, and drove east. I don’t know how I knew, but I realized that I had a lot of distance to cover. My goal was not close by, and it could take some time reaching it. I spent the next three nights driving non-stop from sun down to sun up.

  I stopped only to find lodging to hide from the sun each morning, and once for a half hour to feed. Driving through a wooded area I spotted a deer crossing sign on the highway and figured this might be my last chance to find any blood for a while. Although the pull to keep driving was unwavering, my hunger had also grown into a need that had to be addressed. So, I pulled the car over onto a fire access road branching off of the main roadway and parked it away from easy viewing. After only a few minutes prowling through the woods on foot, I was able to turn up a fresh deer trail. My eyes, ears, and nose soon led me to a large buck that had settled down for the night in a cluster of bushes. It took only a few minutes to run him down, drink, and find my way back to the car. I pulled a clean shirt out of my bag, tossed my now bloody-beyond-rescue shirt off into the brush, then I was back out onto the road and on my way once more.

  As I neared my goal, the pull grew more focused, more directed, telling me I was getting close. Early on the fourth night, I drove through a peaceful little throwback of a suburb called Moreau, located in the northern part of Louisiana. My internal beacon had directed me to leave the highway and cruise through this sleepy, bedroom community. The buzzing in my head and the sick feeling in my stomach screamed to me that I was almost there. I had just turned onto a quiet residential street when I felt the urgent need to stop. Suddenly I was going the wrong direction. I braked and backed the car about half a block before bringing it to rest in front of a two-story Victorian style home. The house was unremarkable in comparison to the others on the street. With white painted exterior walls, a grey slate roof, and a neatly trimmed lawn surrounding the property, there was nothing out of place that would normally draw my attention. Curtains had been drawn shut on every window, and no lights illuminated the interior – or exterior for that matter – but I sensed without doubt that this was the end of my journey.

  When I stared directly at the house, the incessant pull in my mind cleared. It was completely gone. Curious, I looked away, gazing down the street and contemplating driving away and never looking back. The physical and mental imperative tearing at me came roaring back, louder and more insistent than ever. I almost doubled over from the muscles suddenly clenching in my gut. I turned my eyes back to the house, and again the feeling disappeared as if it had never existed.

  I gave in to the inevitable. With a mental shrug of acceptance, I put the car in Park and turned off the ignition. This could not be avoided no matter how badly I might want to leave.

  I had reached my destination, and it was time to find out why I was here.

  CHAPTER 12

  I stepped out of my car and approached the house. A narrow concrete walkway led straight to the front entrance of the residence. Carefully manicured lawn lay on either side of it, and in the middle of the grass to the right grew a fully mature sycamore tree, green with the new leaves of spring. Along the face of the house, just to the left of the door, were two rose bushes, blooming with fist-sized white roses. The image was quite lovely. In my mind, however, I pictured a sterile metal hallway leading to a tiny room holding a gas chamber, or an electric chair. This was my death march. The final moments on my own feet before eternal oblivion.

  My imagination was not helping. With some difficulty, I pushed the depressing image away.

  Fifteen paces carried me up the walkway to the porch, and as I climbed the two concrete steps to the front door landing, the outside porch light snapped on. I froze. If my heart could beat it would have hammered in my chest in fright. I wanted to run but, like a moth unable to move away from the light, I could only wait, motionless, for what was to come next. Whoever or whatever had dragged me almost two thousand miles now stood on the other side of that door, and I sensed their looming presence radiating through the white-painted wood. Just as I knew they could feel me. They – he, she, it? – were studying me as I stood trapped in the glare of the porch light. When the door remained closed for several minutes but the feeling of anticipation did not wane, I understood that I would be required to initiate this confrontation.

  I raised a hand and knocked. Three brisk raps that echoed through the interior of the house. Then silence once more.

  As I raised my hand to knock again, the door swung away from me; the act timed for maximum effect. My tormentor wanted to make a dramatic appearance, and I am forced to admit was quite successful. The glow from the porch light reflected into the gloom of the house enough to
allow me to see a female figure standing in the entrance, her features now fully revealed. By that time, I did not need to see her face, however. The subtle scent of vanilla and lilac reached me the moment the door opened.

  Andi!

  In hindsight, I really should have known what to expect. Andi consistently seemed to be on the delivering end of unpleasant surprises. But in truth, I was completely surprised and stunned into speechlessness by her appearance. She looked as beautiful as I remembered her. She wore a blue T-shirt and a pair of jean shorts cut off at the knees. Her hair hung loose down her back and her dark eyes shone with amusement and … something else. Excitement? She stepped back from the doorway and gestured me in with a graceful wave of her hand. Closing the door and locking it behind me, she spoke to me for the first time since locking me out of the warehouse.

  “I’m glad to see you survived,” she said, with no great inflection in her voice. “I was not sure if I had wasted my time or not.”

  Before I could respond, she leapt on top of me, driving me to the ground onto my back. Sitting atop me, she pulled her shirt off over her head and tossed it aside. She was not wearing a bra underneath and her naked breasts pulled and flexed enticingly as she flung the shirt behind her. Next, she rolled to one side to kick out of her pants; she again was wearing nothing underneath. She had been anticipating my arrival with evident eagerness and had not wanted to waste more time than absolutely necessary stripping to her bare skin.

  Faster than I could move, she was back on top of me, pulling at my shirt; kissing my lips, my cheek, and my neck. Despite the nature of our parting a year before, my body responded willingly to her touch and I struggled to match her speed at removing my own clothing. I heard fabric tearing as I jerked my shirt over my head, but did not slow my efforts. My actions felt clumsy compared to Andi’s, sluggish, and I felt I could not move fast enough to free myself of the bonds of my tangled clothing. In reality, however, we were naked and embracing on the hardwood floor of the entry hall in only seconds.

  Our bodies came together and the last year of lonely struggle faded from my mind as we effortlessly fell into the familiar rhythms of our passion. Several minutes passed in a pleasant haze of sensations; her pale skin under my fingertips, the taste of her mouth against mine, and the divine friction where our bodies joined. Andi’s muscles tensed and she held herself tighter against me as she neared her peak, pushing me toward my own climax. Sensation exploded through me, starting low in my groin and radiating out through my stomach into my limbs. Andi cried out at the same time I did and her nails raked my chest leaving deep, bloody scratches.

  Our movements slowed with the ebbing waves of physical pleasure and, as the muscles of my body relaxed into the sensation, I let myself lie back flat on the floor, my arms spread out to my sides. Before I could fully enjoy the heady, hazy afterglow, or move to start the act anew, Andi sat up and struck me with her closed fist, hard to the solar plexus. My body tried to curl up around the sudden pain but Andi braced her hand under my chin and pushed my head viciously back to the ground. My skull struck the hard wood with a loud crack. Dizziness washed over me. I felt Andi lay down on top of me as her mouth sought my throat. Her razor-edged teeth tore effortless through the flesh of my neck sending new waves of agony crashing through my brain. I tried to fight back, but pain and shock at Andi’s ruthless attack had me mentally reeling. And though my strength had grown since I had been turned, I was still no match for Andi’s power and ferocity.

  For the second time, I had no choice but to submit to Andi’s hunger. After only a few moments of futile struggle, I surrendered, closing my eyes and enduring the pain as best I could. She fed like a wild creature, grunting and sucking noisily at the bloody wound in my neck. I lay on that hard floor, helpless, feeling angry and betrayed. And foolish. Why had I imagined I could ever trust Andi’s motives? I had enough experience with her to know better. A moment ago this had felt like a wonderful homecoming but it had quickly turned hellish. And I still had no idea why this was happening. I could only lie there, immobile, and endure the humiliation as Andi took what she wanted from me. Again.

  When Andi finally pulled away I remained motionless, supine on the floor, drained and weakened. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine as I flashed back to the moment of my death just one year prior. I recalled the oily touch of the blackness that trapped my soul and dragged it back into my murdered body. I half expected to feel that presence again, but my body could not die a second time, and my soul remained firmly held and hopelessly polluted in my animated corpse.

  Noting that I had no apparent intention of moving, Andi remained sitting on me, her naked thighs straddling my hips. She braced one hand on my chest and leaned in toward me, peering into my face. Her beautiful, dark eyes regarded me; wide and bright, and childlike. They were the shining eyes of an angel, I thought. From the nose down, however, she was something straight out of hell. Her mouth and chin were a horror show covered in red gore. Her face was painted with the slick crimson of my blood, and I could see several stray strands of her blonde hair plastered wetly against her cheeks taking on the same scarlet cast.

  I did not say any of the things I was thinking. I only stared back, resigned and oddly calm about my fate.

  “Hello, Gregory. I think you and I have something very serious to discuss,” she said at last. I did not respond, but seeing that she had my attention, Andi continued. “I want to explain to you about something called a ‘thrall.’ You, Gregory, are a thrall. My thrall.

  “You were created from my blood and so we are forever linked by that blood. I can find you anywhere in the world and draw you to me whenever I choose. Because I made you, I control your freedom.” To emphasize her point, Andi placed her hands on my shoulders and shifted her weight forward, pinning me securely to the ground.

  “Why do I want this? The answer is very simple. I want your blood. The blood of a vampire is exquisitely pleasurable, very powerful, and it can strengthen and sustain us like no human blood ever could.” Andi touched my neck with her fingertips. They came away dark with a few small drops of my blood. She brought her fingers to her mouth and closed her eyes briefly, reveling in the taste. “Draining you is better than taking ten human victims and requires far less effort. Therefore, tonight you will go out back. I have a storm cellar where you will stay for the time you are here. There is a small refrigerator with six pints of blood in it. Pig’s blood, I am sorry to say, but it is better than nothing. Drink only half of it.” Andi grabbed my chin in her hand and made sure I was looking at her; paying attention to what she was telling me. “You can hide in the storm cellar during the day. It is safe in there; I saw to that myself. Then tomorrow night I will feed on you again and you may finish the rest of the blood in the cellar. After three nights you will be too weak to do me any good, so you will be free to go about your own business once more.

  “Until I summon you to me again.”

  Andi stood up, her feet still on either side of my body. “You can try to fight the summons – Lord knows I have – but it will not do you any good. And, in case you get the urge to kill me, remember my blood created you. If I die, you die. My life sustains yours. Yes … I see in your eyes that thought had occurred to you. Well, forget it, unless you are feeling suicidal. You’re trapped. You belong to me, just as I belong to the vampire who created me.”

  She was right. I had briefly considered killing her as she fed from me. Now, unless I was willing to die for my revenge, I had no choice but to submit. At least for now. Maybe the day would come when her death became more important to me than my own existence; but currently my survival remained paramount to any other considerations. I had just begun to enjoy my immortality, and I was damned if I was going to give it up so soon.

  I wish I could say I outsmarted Andi with a brilliantly conceived plan; or at the very least that I resisted her plans for me and was able to escape. But the truth is the next three days passed exactly as she had predicted.

  After her
short speech, Andi stepped away from me and pointed toward the rear of the house. I climbed to my feet, not bothering to gather my clothing from the floor, and followed her directions. I staggered, unsteady on my feet from the loss of blood, but made my way to the back door and let myself outside. Standing in the night air, I briefly considered running, but I knew I could not get far in my current condition. And besides, where could I go that Andi would not simply call me back to her?

  I looked around for only a moment before locating the wide, heavy wooden door of the storm cellar where it lay propped open against the side of the house. The steady glow of some type of electric lighting radiated up from the opening. The light had a pale reddish cast to it that, in other circumstances, might have seemed inviting. Tonight, it only made me think of firelight flickering up from the deepest of hell pits, as the Devil himself waited to greet the next unlucky soul to step into his demesnes.

  Still, there was no other option but to go. Descending the concrete steps, I pulled the door down behind me and heard it slam shut.

  The following night, I awoke to someone shaking my shoulder and calling my name. I was lying on a faded army cot that I had found tucked into a corner of the cellar the night before. The cot had a small pillow, but I could not find any blankets. That hadn’t mattered much, though, as I had discovered over the past year that one of the advantages of being dead was that I could sleep pretty much anywhere and in any situation. The cot was relatively comfortable compared to some locations I had found myself.