Evolve: Vampire Stories of the New Undead

by Unknown

  “Help me,” Ruth whispered to the woman checking her pulse. The mid-wife’s expression did not change and she did not speak.

  “You must help me. This child,” she gasped as another wave of pain struck. “This child cannot survive.” The mid-wife ignored her and Ruth cursed again as the door opened and Christopher entered the room.

  “How is she doing?”

  “It will not be long now, Master,” the mid-wife replied.

  Ruth only had time to shoot the mid-wife a contemptuous look as another wave of pain grabbed her attention.

  Hours passed and Ruth focused only on surviving through each round of pain, growling at the mid-wife’s incessant instructions. Drawing on all her hatred for Christopher and the universe for allowing this to happen, with one enormous push she forced the half-monster out of her. As she descended into darkness, Ruth heard the child’s first cries.

  She woke to find Christopher in the rocking chair, the baby wrapped in the blanket her mother had knitted. The mid-wife was gone. Christopher smiled and brought the child to the bed. Ruth heard a young voice inside her head, disjointed and violent. As Christopher held the baby out for her to see, she was relieved that the infant looked entirely human, although she knew he wasn’t. To her surprise he was as large and developed as a six month old. Christopher nodded, as if reading her thoughts.

  “He will grow quite rapidly,” he said. “That is why he needs to feed, often and a lot.”

  Again Ruth heard her child in her head, angry and hungry. This time she tried to communicate back, reaching out to him with her mind and heart.

  “Could I just hold him for a moment?” she asked.

  Christopher hesitated before lowering the baby into her arms.

  “You have been an excellent companion these years,” he said, as if she should find comfort in that. “It is a shame it must end this way, but this is our tradition.”

  “Traditions can be broken,” Ruth said, then began to sing softly to the baby. He locked his eyes on hers as she sang.

  “You must understand,” Christopher continued, “it has been this way for centuries. The bloodline is passed to the son; the human mother must be destroyed.”

  Ruth stopped singing. “Fed to the child, you mean.”

  The baby squirmed and fussed until she began to sing again, then he calmed and smiled up at her. She smiled back and hid her shock as she heard her child inside her head communicate its intentions.

  “It is how it must be,” Christopher said and he took the baby from her. He held the infant up in front of him, the perfect picture of a proud father.

  Ruth turned away at the first murderous shriek from her child. She did not want to see her baby in its monster form, but when Christopher’s screams filled the room, she forced herself to look. Both had now transformed. The child had attached its fangs to its father’s throat. The monster that was Christopher crumbled to the floor as blood gushed from his wounds. Ruth had to turn away again as her monster halfbreed child ripped out its father’s throat, then continued to tear off and consume chunks of flesh.

  When the sounds of feasting finally stopped, Ruth reached down to pick up her son. As she did, the fangs gave way to a toothless grin and the claws shrank to little human fingernails. She scooped him up and headed for the door.

  She poked her head out and glanced up and down the corridor. “Still hungry darling?” she cooed at her boy. He looked up at her and from the intensified glow of his red eyes she knew that he was.

  “Let’s see if we can’t find that mid-wife then, shall we?”

  Her son gurgled in delight as they headed down the hallway together.

  The Morning After

  By Claude Bolduc (Translated by Sheryl Curtis)

  It was so hard, so very hard, to get up from where she lay in the dark. The anguish of looking for something familiar that can’t be found, the sense of oppression as your body fights the stiffness that holds it in a vice.

  It takes so much willpower, so very much willpower to stand up, while the haze of sleep continues to swirl, carrying with it shards of thoughts and ghosts of confused memories. Deep within her mind, an immense black hole sucks up all the light that exists.

  As soon as she stands up, she knows something is not right.

  All around, a shell of shadows swallows everything, absolutely everything, including the hands she waves in front of her face. She opens her eyelids as wide as she can. Her entire forehead creasing into her scalp, she feels that she has opened her eyelids too wide, that this is not usual. She closes them immediately. Fingers touching her eyes, she finds nothing but two thin curtains of skin.

  There is a sidewalk beneath her feet. She decides to follow it, weeping as she walks, arms stretched out ahead of her like a zombie, bumping into obstacles, stumbling down off the curb every dozen steps or so. Silence everywhere. The silence envelopes her in the same way the darkness does, cutting her off from the world, like a nightmare. Suddenly, tenuous, lost in the distance, the sound of a car. The strident shriek of a police siren. It’s night, a small voice inside her whispers. Chirr, chirr, chirr, a nearby cricket confirms. Many noises hide in the silence of the night.

  Nothing comes to pierce through the shadows, not the tiniest drop of light, not the slightest reflection, not the most timid star in the sky.

  Why walk in that direction? She could have chosen another. Why not turn around, head left? Because it’s this way! her instinct replies. Instinct wants to take her to people, where she can find help. Surely, there must be someone somewhere. If there’s a sidewalk beneath her feet, she must be in the city. There’s always someone in the city.

  She reassures herself: Her name is Jacqueline and she has just woken up. She’s walking in the dark because she’s lost her eyes. They were still there last night, just like always. What happened? How could someone wake up without their eyes?

  Walking, walking. In the dark, in the dark. Little by little, a multitude of noises surrounds her. There are cars, voices, music. Downtown. The curb. Be careful! Beside her, a brick wall. She follows it by fingertip. Then, the wall ends. Detour left.

  The ground is uneven, as if it were made of cobblestones or riddled with potholes. Take care! Anything can happen, but Jacqueline is no longer as worried. What? She’s lost her eyes and she’s not worried? It’s because there are people around. She’s not lost, she’ll be able to find help, they’ll take her to the hospital to see a doctor, to get treatment for her eyes. There is someone somewhere. She knows that for a fact. But why that way? The noises are all coming from behind her. She’s walking away from the main street, where help can be found.

  What will people do when they see her? Is her face…? She stops, runs her hands over her clothing. And her … face, what does her face look like? In her mind’s eye, she sees eyelids swaying like sheets on a clothesline. It will be better if she doesn’t touch her face.

  There are obstacles everywhere, debris, garbage bags, invisible things, stacked every which way. Her foot recognizes a cardboard box, her hand a metal garbage can or a plastic bag. The smell of old meat, hot food, cat piss. All sorts of smells. An alley. She’s in an alley. Occasionally, alleys lead nowhere. Wouldn’t it be better to head back to the street she was on earlier? Here, the noises, the voices, life seems so far away…

  But her instinct insists — This way! — driving Jacqueline into the alley, hunting for a noise, a presence, subjugated by the odours that run across her senses one after another. Tap, tap tap! The minute sound of running. She turns her head to the right, where there is nothing but darkness. She thinks of a cat and an image forms in her mind. Yes, it smells of cat piss.

  The obstacle catches her off guard. Yet, despite trying to keep her balance, she collapses among the boxes, which scatter through the alley with an infernal noise. The scent of food rises up from the heap. She gropes about, but finds none. It doesn’t matter. She’s not hungry even though she feels an emptiness within that she’s unable to interpret. Once again, so
mething is really not right.

  Suddenly, close by, a voice rings out.

  “Hey! What’s all that racket?”

  Jacqueline leaps to her feet.

  “Please! Help me!” she cries out, without thinking.

  Saved!

  She reaches her arms out, stumbles again.

  “Who are you?” a man says, hoarsely. “Hoo-ah! I’m not the only one out late! How did you get yourself into such a state?”

  She feels him looking at her; like a little spot on the side of her face that itches. The sound of footsteps, breathing, the rustle of fabric advances toward her, moving around the scattered boxes, marking out a darker route in the dark in her mind’s eye.

  “I can’t see anything! You have to help me!”

  The sound of footsteps stops. Nothing left in the alley but the sound of panting.

  “Well, it looks like you’ve gotten into something you should have passed up! I only have good stuff. Want some? Hair of the dog that bit you, eh?”

  Jacqueline says nothing. The man is very close now. His shoes scrape along the pavement, his jagged breathing produces a small current of air, his voice is … raw with emotion.

  “Come on now, I’ll give you a line. Too bad, it’s not lighter. I’d like to get a better look at you. I just know you’re beautiful. In a bad way, maybe, but beautiful. You coming?”

  Fabric rustles, the sole of a shoe slides. A foot pushes a box out of the way.

  She jumps just as their bodies touch. Because of the contact or rather because of that heat so near, that scent that has suddenly become so intense? The man pushes her up against the wall and then lays her down on a bed of boxes, falls onto her.

  “This is fun, eh? Dark little corners like this one? The night isn’t over yet, we might as well make the most of it. Whaddya think?”

  His breath on the side of her face. The odour of his breath, laced with alcohol, but other scents as well, the smell of his body, something hot and alive, animal. The man’s hands race everywhere in the dark. Without seeing them, Jacqueline tracks their slightest movements perfectly.

  “You’re cold, you know. But don’t you worry a bit. I’ll warm you up.”

  The man grabs Jacqueline’s clothing. What is she wearing anyway? A dress … yes a dress… And he pulls in one hard tug. The fabric tears. Jacqueline grows tense, feverish as the hands kneed her breasts and fingers wriggle into her vagina. He pants faster and faster, his burning breath caressing Jacqueline’s neck, her face, her chest.

  The rustling of fabric. A hot appendage on the skin of her belly, slipping and sliding until it worms its way into her like a fiery snake. Salty drops fall on her mouth. An animal pants near her face. His odour overwhelms everything. A whirlpool forms in Jacqueline’s mind. Her thoughts collapse in the dark. She can’t take anymore, her head turns, she grabs the man around the waist.

  “Good! So, your blood is starting to thaw!”

  Confused, on edge, as if something is welling up within her, wanting to get out, Jacqueline clasps the man tightly in her arms.

  “Yeah, that’s it. That’s good. You know what to do, don’t you, bitch!”

  Tighter, tighter, tighter.

  “Hey! Take it easy! Are you crazy or what?”

  Hold tight, hold tight, hold tight!

  “Hey! Stop! You’re… Ehhh!”

  He screams.

  Hold tight, hold the heat close to you, bring the odour closer, until the shriek fades into a squeal.

  Eeiiiiiiiii…

  Jacqueline holds tighter and tighter, overcome with excitement at this proximity. Crick! Crack! The man is trapped in her arms. Tighter and tighter again, until his rib cage is nothing more than a limp envelope.

  Then, the most marvellous thing of all, hot and thick, flows down Jacqueline’s face. The odour is so intense that, deep within her, it soothes the unpleasant sensation she’s experienced since waking. She opens her mouth, places her lips over those of the inert man. More, more, more! Lost in her fever, she bites. Then she allows herself to be carried away in the maelstrom of sensations, while flashing stars pulse in her mind. It’s like coming back to life. Remembering, the painful memories pour in as the vital liquid flows into her, images of a past so near and yet so far…

  With small, hurried steps, tap, tap, tap, like the invisible cat earlier, Jacqueline walks. She can walk now because there are eyes in her face, real eyes, her own eyes, but they’re worried since she shouldn’t be here, not in this magnificent park where they look at everything the moon deigns to show them. Her big beautiful eyes are worried since Jacqueline is no longer convinced she has made the right decision. With them, there’s no law, too bad for the unconscious, the fearful, the suicidal.

  Before she feels like turning on her heel, a rustle makes the leaves shiver, somewhere in the dark — dark so deep she sees nothing. Then, stepping out of the forest, that man, his face as white as the moon, smiling, stepping ahead, attractive, magnetic… Afraid? Is she afraid? Before the answer comes he’s there, so very close, self-confident, his arms draped over Jacqueline’s shoulders, his lips — so cold — on her throat.

  And life ebbs away, drop by drop.

  As the vision gently wanes, Jacqueline pushes the body she has just crushed aside. She stays on her back for a minute, facing a sky she can’t see.

  It doesn’t matter when, it doesn’t matter why, it just happened. The impression of knowing a terribly unhappy fate then, during that final second… And then…

  A smile pushes the flesh from her cheeks up into her hollow eye sockets.

  The limp curtains of her eyelids hang in front of her sockets. Paradoxically, thanks to her eyelids, she can see much better inside herself. Revived, her mind continues to wake and organize the memories of a life that was once something other. And as she thinks, analyzes, makes connections, the fog that has enveloped her lifts. She finally understands how they were able to steal her eyes.

  She has no one but herself to blame for this overwhelming misfortune. For reasons as grotesque and futile as altruism, good intentions and so many other things that now seem void of meaning to her, people sign that form, year after year, then go on with their lives without a second thought. And if, by chance, they’re victims of an accident, a disease, a murder, when they do die, their organs are harvested without further ado. Too bad for those who are called to come back.

  The unpleasant sensation Jacqueline felt within has completely gone, making way for a gentle shiver that runs over her skin. She’s surprised at how calm she feels. And it is this very calm that gives her time to consider the issue of her blindness.

  She’ll never be able to manage without her eyes. In one life much as another what can you hope to do without eyes! Help! She needs help! Not here, not in some back alley, not here, not among men, where she no longer has a place. She has to go back there, to the park where it all started, to their place, to her place. Such a long way to go. She has to start. She listens: over there, in the street, the music from the bars has fallen silent, but there’s something good about the car noises; there seem to be more cars.

  As for the man that now lies inert near her… Perhaps he’s part of the solution?

  Once again, using her fingertips, Jacqueline maps out a face. Like ants, her fingertips trace the contours of two small globes well encased behind their curtains of skin. She presses two fingers down, one in each corner of a socket. All it takes is a little pressure and, slowly, her fingers dig in, fold under the small globes. Then she hears it. Pop! And, all of a sudden, hot, round, wet, they spurt out of their nests. Wet, like the cold lips that, one certain evening, in a certain park, ran up and down her neck.

  How can she release them? If she pulls too hard she might damage them. After stretching out over the man’s body, she takes the first eye into her mouth and, using her tongue as a guide, starts to nibble at the nerve that holds it prisoner. A few seconds … a few delicious efforts … and both eyes are rolling in the palm of her hand. Invisible, yet s
he can finally caress them. And use them.

  Jacqueline lifts the two little globes up to her empty sockets and then pushes, pushes, pushes until they fit into their new nests. But she still can’t see anything, apart from the images in her mind. What does she have to do now? Does she have to connect the eyes to make them work? And, what if that’s not the solution? And what if what she so desperately needs is her own eyes? The eyes they took from her because she signed some stupid paper? Her beloved eyes, that turned opaque in a park, one evening…

  The noises of the city are there, waiting for her, and beyond that, the territory of her kind. One hand, sliding along a wall, Jacqueline walks down the alley until she reaches the street where she will find her way, stumbling over obstacles, kicking away debris and waste. She has to pick up the pace, leave this place. A sense of urgency pushes her faster. She’s almost running. Her fingers grow hot as they race over the rough brick.

  Then, the wall on her right disappears. Carried away with her momentum, Jacqueline trips and crumbles to the ground. And, suddenly, the pain explodes, with lightning power, piercing through her very being.

  She screams.

  Fire, the flames of hell, plunges her into the boiling lava of a volcano. She presses the palms of her hands against the sidewalk in an effort to push herself up, but her arms break like straws and her face crashes against the concrete. Jacqueline raises her hands to protect herself, but there’s nothing there. Nothing but fire, burning, annihilation.

  And the screams of a few horrified, early morning passers-by.

  All You Can Eat, All the Time