Midnight Thirsts: Erotic Tales of the Vampire

by Michael Thomas Ford

  It’s my decision, I thought.

  Favreau, as I pictured him, would smile with delight and welcome me into his arms. He would kiss me into darkness with his thirsty teeth. He would welcome me as his new companion. What, then, would be the fate of Rocerres? I wondered. Would he be cast away from Favreau’s side? Why did he stay around Favreau? That point bothered me, but I reasoned that there were probably few other beings of their sort and—though Rocerres hated what he was—like any other creature, he needed to feel some sort of solidarity with a group.

  I didn’t even realize the passing of time. As the thoughts in my head were tossed back and forth, the sun had begun to rise, casting a pink glow over the surface of the river. I gingerly dangled the necklace from the switch and went out to the balcony, feeling the cool, moist morning air on my skin. I watched as the sky became lighter by degrees.

  When the sun had risen and the sky turned pale blue, I turned back to my bedroom with the resolve and enough exhaustion to sleep through the day. I woke, almost too perfectly, just as the sun touched the tops of the hills across the river. I suspected that it would be the last sunset I beheld.

  I stood on the balcony, then turned to the iron trellis that extended upward. I climbed up to the slate tiles and made my way to the peak of the sloping roof for a better view of the changing sky. I had already forgotten the life that had led to this moment. It was not a life well lived; at least I was trying to convince myself of that. I had cut myself off from my family and had almost no friends. I wondered if maybe I’d known that this moment would come, if I’d been holding out for something better. I’ll still be Roland Weir when I’m a vampire, I thought.

  I shook my head and slid slowly down the roof until my feet were dangling over the balcony. I laughed, thinking that if I became a vampire, I’d be able to leap from the roof without a trace of worry. Then again, what did I really know about vampires except that they’d really fucked with my head?

  Maybe I was asking the wrong questions. I probably should have been asking myself what I knew of Roland Weir. I looked around the bedroom as I entered it. There were very few traces of my past or myself anywhere. I had inhabited the life of my uncle. The only possessions that were truly my own were the books in my office and the painting given to me by Kyle. When I’d left my parents’ house, I threw out any sign that I’d even gone through the public school system. I kept no yearbooks, school literary magazines, prom pictures, or anything to remind me of where I’d come from. I had even thrown away my own journals. I threw them away as I wrote them, in fact.

  What was important to me was a larger scheme. I was enamored of the great events of European history, of the deeds of heroic men and women. The work of artists held me in awe. My own life was all that I was capable of, and I accepted it for what it was and had no aspirations to change the course of the world. As an immortal, though, I hoped to have a better understanding of the present world as it slowly became history, and I would witness those people and events with the power to withstand obscurity.

  I stood by the nightstand, looking at the necklace as it swung gently from the switch. I pulled it from its perch and held it in front of my face. I held the chain in both hands, ready once again to slip it over my head. I wanted to contact Favreau, to tell him that I was ready for him. I wanted to call him to kill me and revive me in my own bed. I closed my eyes. I slipped the chain over my head and let it fall around my neck. The stone came to rest on my sternum.

  Nothing happened.

  “Favreau!” I called out.

  I was answered only by the sound of the train approaching in the distance.

  I pulled my jeans from the chair and slipped them on, then my shirt. I did not remove the necklace but kept it on, hoping that Favreau would come to me on his own. I didn’t know what to do in the meantime. I had nothing to occupy me. All I could think of was to go into my office. I pulled the carved wooden box from my desk and turned it over in my hands, concentrating on the name carved into the bottom. It remained with me as I strolled to the bookcase and turned on the interior lights. All my fabulous books stared back at me, their spines glowing softly in the artificial light. I flicked off the switch and paced the floor, holding the gem in my left hand. Just as my frustration was becoming unbearable, I felt an electric tingling move over my skin. My hair stood on end, and I shook. My eyes watered. I groaned and collapsed on the floor. The entire world fell into darkness.

  When I returned to consciousness, I couldn’t open my eyes right away. I was lying on what felt like earth, leaves, and twigs. I felt the ground with my fingers and touched something wet. I lifted my head and, with great difficulty, opened my eyes a sliver. My fingertips were covered in mud, and my hands clutched wet leaves.

  When I tried to push myself up, my muscles resisted. My body was as exhausted as if I had climbed a mountain. Everything in my vision beyond my hands was blurry. I mustered enough strength to roll onto my back. The sky was bright, but looked fractured. I breathed deeply and let my eyes close again. I relaxed my muscles, and the grogginess floated away.

  I fully opened my eyes and had to blink away the fuzziness. When I looked up, I could see that I was surrounded by trees. Branches, resplendent with leaves in the midst of changing their colors, cut the sky. I looked down the length of my body. My clothes were soiled. Twigs and leaves stuck to me. I pushed myself up on my elbows. The ground in front of me sloped downward. I pushed myself up farther to see if I could look over the edge. I squinted my eyes. Far below, I could see water. It caught the sunlight in small flecks. I shook my head.

  “What the hell?” I said out loud.

  I had expected no response, and none came. I turned my head and was astonished at what lay in front of me. I was startled and jumped up; my muscles burned as I stood erect.

  I was standing in front of a large stone Italianate house. It had fallen into disrepair but was still startlingly beautiful. Vines crept up the walls but did not cover the iron-framed windows. Most of the panes appeared to be intact. The double doors at the front of the house were closed. The metal around the doorknobs was completely rusted.

  On the right side of the house, a tree grew out of a curved sunroom. Most of the glass was missing from the panes, and nature had taken over. Tips of fern fronds peeked out of the windows. I could make out the edges of a fountain through overgrown bushes about ten feet away from the sunroom. What had once been a garden was now a jungle of vines and tall, unruly cedar trees.

  The shutters on the upper floors were askew, a few hanging on by only the bottoms of rusted hinges. Stone had fallen from the rim around the top left of the house, leaving a dark hole open to the elements. Birds flew in and out, twittering excitedly, probably at the sight of a human—perhaps something they’d never seen here, at least during the daytime.

  I began to walk toward the fountain with hopes that it still held water, even after close to a century of abandonment. I knew what this house was. In the mid-nineteenth century, great manor houses had sprung up along the banks of the Hudson River on both the east and west sides. The fortunes of the families who built them on the western bank of the river dwindled, and the mansions were left to rot. The great houses were too far from civilization at the time, and the cost of maintaining them had been staggering.

  My mind reeled. My home in Irvington was on the east bank of the river. If this house I was looking at was on the west bank, then I would have had to swim across the river, which was nearly a quarter mile wide at Irvington. The swim explained why my clothes were soaked, but how had I managed it?

  I pushed aside the overgrown bushes surrounding the decrepit fountain and peered down at the water. It was still clear, but dense algae reached from the bottom like great tresses of green hair. I sank my hands in the water and watched as the dirt and leaves swirled away from my skin. I cupped my hands and brought the cold water up to my face. I felt immediately refreshed. I removed my shirt and washed my arms. I then dared to stick my entire head in the fountain.
As I twisted my head back and forth, I felt something hit my crown. I pulled out of the water, shook my head, ran my hands over my eyes, then peered down to the water.

  I was frozen in place. The algae released a stiff body from its swaying green prison. The body floated upward from the bottom, rolling over as it did so. When the face came to the surface, I had to turn and release what little I had in my stomach. I recognized the face. It was my former client, Mr. Tarry. My eyes were bleary. I stumbled from the bushes surrounding the pool and wanted to run, but I didn’t know in which direction. I started to hyperventilate, and I doubled over until my breathing returned to normal.

  I turned toward the house and called out, “Why him?”

  There was no answer, of course, except for the fluttering wings of frightened birds as they took flight from the roof and the exposed interior of the mansion. I stomped heavily to the front doors. The necklace, still around my neck, responded as I drew closer to the doors. A jolt went through my body. I shook out my shirt and slid it back over my body. I grabbed a doorknob and turned. The door creaked open. Before I entered, I had to let my eyes adjust to the darkness that waited inside.

  The first thing I noticed was the smell. I knew the smell of abandoned houses, and that scent of mold and decay was not present. As my eyes adjusted, I could see outlines of objects in the dark. I could tell that the house was, unbelievably, still furnished. I looked to my left by the door. There was a shelf with two oil lamps on it. I pulled down one of the lamps. When I brought it into the light, I could see that it was still filled with oil. I ran my hand over the shelf and knocked a box of matches to the floor. After I picked them up, I removed the glass chimney from the lamp and struck a match to light the wick. I remembered my cigarettes, which were a soggy mess in my pocket. I took them out of the pack and set them on the shelf beside the remaining lamp so they could dry. I raised the wick to cast more light. I did not close the door behind me as I took a few steps farther into the house.

  I turned to my right and walked through an archway into a room scarcely lit by the dim light filtering through drawn drapery. A thin shaft of light fell on a settee and two facing chairs. I raised the oil lamp and scanned the walls, which were nearly covered by large paintings. I stepped closer to these and realized I was not mistaken: all the paintings were priceless. The furnishings would have fetched a great deal, as well. An impossible thought danced through my head. I imagined getting out of here, going back across the river, renting a truck, and fighting my way back to raid the place during the day. I could leave the necklace here and take everything else.

  As that thought flashed through my head, the reality before me seemed to flash as well. I blinked my eyes as the vision became something different. For a second, I saw the furniture as tattered, moldy pieces, the paintings falling away from the frames. The ground was covered by leaves and moldering carpets. Then the vision returned to the splendid delight I’d had at first. I shook my head and tried to calm my heart, which had begun to beat quickly.

  The sitting room led to a marble floor. Light flooded in, and the lamp was unnecessary, but I kept it lit. Marble steps led down to the sunroom I’d seen from the outside. In the middle of the room was a small fountain; water still fell musically into the pool. Trees grew out of the roof, and perennial flowers had grown to monstrous proportions. Vines tangled themselves in and among fallen logs, choking bushes and tree trunks.

  I turned the corner away from the sunroom and went into a dining room; doors on both ends of the room were thrown open. Eight chairs surrounded a large table, which appeared to be pristinely polished. A chandelier dangled above the table, and again, paintings covered the walls. These were portraits, which, I assumed from the style of dress, were from the late nineteenth century.

  From the dining room, I passed directly through the kitchen and into a hallway. Stairs at the far end led upward. I went past the stairway and into a library. The walls held built-in bookshelves from floor to ceiling, which were filled with books. I was entranced and studied the books closely, awed by the editions I saw. When I finally turned around, I realized the remaining daylight had faded. I walked to the window and pushed the velvety fabric aside to peer outdoors. I could barely see the outlines of trees. Anxiousness crept into my stomach, as did pangs of hunger. I left the library and walked back into the foyer, finding one of my dried cigarettes and lighting it from the lamp’s flame. The tobacco tasted as if it had been cured in swamp water, but I didn’t mind. I was immediately light-headed after not smoking all day. It felt wonderful.

  I finished my cigarette on the porch and listened to the night sounds. Crickets chirped, and unknown animals scurried among the trees. I didn’t feel frightened as I sometimes did at night when I was alone and let my imagination get the best of me. I had now met the real creatures of the night. Instead of finding them frightening, I found them fascinating. Enticing.

  A familiar sensation—an internal pull—came over me. I knew that the necklace was working as it had before. I fought it—or him—even as I turned to go back inside. I was astonished by the transformation of the house as I looked into what had once been complete darkness. Wall sconces in the foyer were suddenly aglow, and I noticed a double doorway that I hadn’t seen before. I walked through it to find a grand ballroom, its walls lined with glowing candles. Above me, a gigantic chandelier twinkled with small candles, illuminating statues of Italian design that were placed into recesses in the upper part of the walls between windows. Frame molding held lavish paintings depicting scenes from Roman and Christian mythology. I gawked for a moment, then came to a dead stop.

  Four figures slowly emerged from the dark corners at the far end of the ballroom. They swayed as they walked, as if dancing to music I could not hear. They were four men with pale, naked torsos, wearing only loose-fitting, ratty brown linen pants. All had dark brown hair and were about the same height, so similar that they looked like brothers. They whispered to one another in soft, hissing voices. Their graceful steps, liquid arm movements, and beauty transfixed me. As they waltzed closer, I could see they were not entirely human, yet they lacked the glow that Favreau and Rocerres had. They smelled of earth but did not emit the sweet, almost winelike scent of my vampires. Perhaps I should have run, but they were too enchanting. After a moment I could make out what they were saying.

  “He must be the one,” said the one closest, his eyes locked on me. He had a wolf tattooed on the left side of his muscular chest. I speculated that he was in charge of the other three.

  “He was promised to us,” hissed another, whose hair was pulled back in a ponytail rather than close-cropped like his companions’ hair.

  “I knew he would come,” said the one to my left. He was probably the most beautiful of them all. His eyes were light, gray-green as chrysoprase.

  Soon the four of them circled me, each one staring into my eyes. They began to touch my face and the back of my neck. They gasped and groaned and began to chant, “He will be sweet…. Let us feed him…. Who will go first?…His skin is soft…. Feel his veins….”

  The one with the tattoo moved in front of me. He bent his head down until his nose nearly touched me. He parted his lips slightly and placed them over my own. He sucked my lower lip into his mouth a little. Then there was a quick pain as he sucked on my lip. He groaned; then the others protested.

  “Why did you do that?…Wait your turn…. Feed him first!…Is he sweet?”

  “Delicious,” said the tattooed one as he whirled away from me.

  Soon the four of them began to dance out of the ballroom, holding me aloft by their invisible force. As they walked, they continued to caress me, then began to kiss my arms and hands. The one with long hair pulled the index finger of my right hand into his mouth. He sucked on it gently and lightly grazed my flesh with his fangs. He looked me in the eye with a devilish expression, then nipped the end of my finger and sucked out a drop of blood. The others scolded him.

  “You’ll scare him…. He’s hard
to resist, isn’t he?…He’s so soft.”

  They took me into the dining room, where the lamps and candles were at full blaze. The table was set for one, with fine china, silver, and crystal. Two candelabras illuminated each end of the table. They sat me down to a mouthwatering feast. The smell of the meat was intoxicating; a glass of wine tempted me with its deep-purple body. I began to eat without question, feeling light-headed and dreamy as the four boys began to shiver excitedly. They took turns caressing me as I gorged, hunkering down and laughing with delight when I lifted the fork to my mouth over and over again.

  “He’s enjoying it…. Now he’ll really be irresistible…. He’s a superb gift…. Should we tell the others?…No.”

  When I’d eaten the last mouthful, I pushed away from the table. A gold cigarette case appeared beside my plate. I popped it open, removing a cigarette and lighting it from the candelabra closest to me. I reclined in the chair and smoked. The four beautiful monsters moved away from me as the smoke I exhaled rose up and played with the light. I felt powerful and masterly. I looked at the four boys and narrowed my eyes. They gazed back with seeming adoration. It could have been hunger. I smoked the cigarette down to the butt and extinguished it on the empty plate. I suddenly noticed spots of blood up and down my arm. These creatures had been nipping at me the whole time without my notice. My anger flared for only a split second before some other force seemed to squelch it. It could have been the wine but was more likely their crafty use of telepathic powers.

  “He is ready…. Shall we take him?…He’s seen the blood.”

  They gathered around me once more and lifted me high above their heads, walking in line beneath me to carry me through the house and up a stairway. The halls were dimly lit. I marveled at the intricate details of the house, forgetting that I was in the hands of four vampiric men. Circular tin plates embossed with floral patterns surrounded every overhead light. Cream-colored walls rose up to meet a hand-painted border that stretched the length of the hall. After we entered a doorway, they set me down. I looked around the room and saw a large bed, its covers crumpled against the footboard. The monsters pushed me forward.