The Last Vampire

by Mary Danganan

  "Father, am I craving for blood?" I asked in a frightened tone. My vulnerability showed every time I felt like I did something wrong, and I did not want to commit anything sinister. It was the thing I pledged I would do. I could not afford to hurt my father's feelings.

  "I'm really not sure about it too, son."

  By the way, he said those things, I felt like my father knew exactly the answer to my questions.

  And then my fear started to consume my entirety as he gave me a worried look.

  "What you are feeling right now can only mean two things, son. Let's hope it is the better one over the other."

  Chapter 4: Peyton Hunt

  I had been hibernating in my desk all day, browsing the social media websites and internet search engines for a clueless hunt. It had been days since I first saw his face, but his light, gray eyes haunted me for a couple of nights now.

  Despite my innate ability to find whatever that was impossible to search, this conquest must have been my downfall. He was too discreet to keep his identity hidden, ascertaining that whatever information about him would have been left unknown by the many.

  “Hey, buddy.”

  I looked up to realize that James was watching my pointless task, his chin cupped on his palm as his eyes met mine. I was startled to find him before me, scared of when was he able to surreptitiously creep on my workplace divider and observe my deed while I worked in incognito.

  “You frightened me!” I could not see my reflection but I could tell that my complexion had turned into pure white. All the colors on my face must have drained since I was busted of whatever illegal act I was doing.

  Basically, stalking was not illegal, especially for us journalists. It could be properly addressed as “finding facts,” rather than rummaging other people’s skeletons in their own closets.

  “Wow, Pey-nuts. I could mistake you for a vampire!” He kidded, but I was not in the mood to laugh at corny puns. I rolled my eyes and pretended to ignore him, turning my attention back to the screen of my desktop computer.

  “Peyton, hey. I’m sorry.” He felt the awkwardness in the air, followed by the sickening aura of guilt and regret dominating our surrounding. I could feel his gaze on me, begging for a sincere apology for whatever petty offense he had done.

  I answered him with a curt nod, cutting him off. As if he understood my bad mood, he walked away quietly back to his own desk.

  It had been a long day for me. I got filled up to the brim first thing in the morning after the chief editor struck the bell with his fiery, heart-slashing criticisms on my work. Again, he was pissed off at my write up. What’s new about that, anyway?

  And then, I could not get my chest to settle and relax. My head kept on picturing that mysterious man, triggering ideas in my creative and imaginative brain. I spent almost the whole day going to one workstation after the other, asking each of my colleagues if they happen to know a handsome, light gray-eyed bombshell hanging around Kingsville. After getting a couple of weird stares and disappointing shrugs, I resorted to relying on everything to Google.

  Maybe he was a random tourist going in for a road trip. He could have gone starving over the long drive and decided to eat out in the first restaurant he passed by. That man could be someone’s visitor, coming all the way from the city to see some native town folk. He should be anybody, but not a resident I knew living in this small town. Yeah, he was definitely a stranger.

  My consciousness returned after hearing the brief sound of the Bundy clock ticking. I looked at the machine and witnessed my co-workers piling in a narrow, long line. It was already past five, and work hours were over. I exhaled heavily as I picked my bag, throwing myself over the end of the line as we took turns in punching our time cards in the time tracker.

  After I heard the time clock tick successfully, I let one hand slip into my bag to search for my phone. When I realized that I had left it in my drawer, I walked back towards my desk. To my surprise, it was not only my phone that I found-- there was a red box daintily tied up with a black ribbon on the top. I looked around the office and knew that neither of my co-workers brought this present to my desk.

  I was torn between opening the box and throwing it far, far away from the publication. Although I felt my chest beating in tensioned, abrupt thuds, I decided to unload whatever that was inside of the creepy present.

  “What the hell are these things?”

  My eyes were bulging out of my eye sockets. I covered my mouth with both hands, stopping my urge to puke. Inside were photographs of gruesome murder victims not recorded or reported by any media person. These were first-hand pieces of evidence that not even a field reporter could have captured at the crime scene. It had opened a newfound angle towards the unbelievable, horrid killing spree done over the past years by whoever heartless serial killer.

  Also, there were news clipping of various unexplained deaths in Kingsville in the past, collated together in a neat folder. Most scoops were dated as early as the late 1920s, the first few years when Kingsville Daily was instituted.

  These were curious cases unanswered as if they remained to linger until the people stopped talking about them and the incidents ceased occurring. I scanned the entire parcel and found no answer to the riddle. The mystery was not unveiled. It was still existing through the vague memories of the people it left behind.

  Placing everything back inside of the box, I hurried out of the pub and went home to study these leads.

  *****

  “Did you capture everything?” I asked my photographer for the day while I was ticking the checklist I made for my event coverage report. Speaking of being small talked, I was tasked to cover a Cooking Contest sponsored by the mayor of the town. It was boring as hell, but I needed to abide by my chief editor’s commands. I needed to do something about my diminishing reputation.

  “Yeah.” Lawrence snorted, yawning loudly after he answered my question. He was wearing a colorful, hippie bonnet over his long, red locks. I could not blame him for getting all drowsy and spiritless. I myself felt my eyes shutting down themselves as the event progressed on.

  “Well then, I guess it’s a wrap.”

  We were packing up our pub’s equipment and stuff until a commotion arose. I dropped one of my bags on the ground as I heard the rumbling noise of people running to the nearby house. I shot Lawrence a pumped stare and together, we followed where the crowd was going.

  Only then did I come to my senses and realized that they were pushing each other in front of Mr. Lovett’s house, a widower who was living alone in his big home. Lawrence and I stood behind the thick group of people, elongating their necks as they hoped to see what was going on inside of the house. I pulled Lawrence’s arm as we squeezed through the tight spaces.

  After we managed to bring ourselves upfront, I felt my knees trembling hysterically. I wanted to vomit everything I ate that day. It was as if my guts were simultaneously punched and knotted in complex, tight locks.

  In front of us laid Mr. Lovett’s body, eyes and mouth opened. His body was ripped down horrendously from the throat down to the stomach, his remaining blood spraying like a sprinkler from where his heart was supposed to be.

  Chapter 5: Jorge Savage

  Locking myself up in the library to obsess over the newly bought stack of books was a competitive tease, but I would not fall into the trap. It could have been a clever idea to isolate myself over knowledge and distract my mind, but I knew I would eventually think of that woman. The idea of her face and my unsettling cravings whenever she was around me consistently ruined my focus.

  So, what could be the best course of action for this? Well, my father had raised me to become a valiant man, so I heeded his advice. I faced my fear and strolled around the town more often.

  Only then did I use and apply everything I had read. The wondrous world was indeed lovely, and the people of the earth were truly kind and alluring. I sniffed the sweet scent of flowers as I walked past the flowery spot of the park, enjoying na
ture’s beauty and serenity.

  Socializing with humans became natural as each day passed. The books spoke the truth-- they were wise, funny and vulnerable. No doubt the other predators took advantage of their weak links to exploit their fresh flesh.

  “Hey.”

  My feet were anchored on the rich, fertile soil. It was as if the world before me stopped, and my body froze in response. The same, familiar feeling spread over my skin, gnawing me slowly until I was consumed fully, controlling me.

  I could see her through the side of my eyes, hopping merrily as she moved to face me. She was grinning beautifully, her pearly white teeth were a composition of a precise and perfect set. Her dark hair was tied loosely in a knot, several strands falling carelessly over the side of her delicate face.

  She was breathtaking. For some reason, I felt defeated, uncertain as to what game I was losing. It was still a mystery why I felt odd around her. Was her blood pure, delectable and irresistible for me to act this way?

  “Hello.” I mustered every strength I could gather to move at least a muscle from my body. It was an effort to stand upright, but I forced myself to look unsuspicious.

  “I thought you were a tourist.” The woman from the diner was smiling at me, the bright sunlight rays lightening her up. She was a star, shining brightly in the peaceful, dark sky.

  “Ah, no. We just moved here.” I had prepared myself for this question long enough. I had practiced it, again and again, trying to sound realistic. I guessed I managed to convey the message to her, nodding lightly as she kept her eyes on mine.

  “Oh, that explains it. I’m Peyton, by the way.” She extended her hand, waiting for me to drop my name and shake it with zeal. I did not want to disappoint her so I shook the hesitation away, took her hand, and smiled back in the most real way I could.

  “I’m Jorge Savage.”

  “Savage? Wow, that’s a pretty cool surname.” As I released her hand, she raised her arms and welcomed me with a gleeful greeting. “Welcome to Kingsville, Mr. Savage.”

  My worries melted away. She was hilarious as ever, making my lips curl up without me knowing it. The stirs inside my stomach were difficult to ignore. My brain cells were in a chaotic debate whether to flee or stay.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee over a bright, sunny morning?” I decided to push my boundaries and ask her out. I bit my tongue as I waited for her response, anxious about what I was getting for that fearless move.

  “Really? I’d love to.” Her eyes sparkled before she turned her back, leading our way towards the nearest coffee shop. The beating of my heart was borderline painful and pleasing as if it was to pop out of my chest.

  *****

  “So you like science?” Peyton was staring at me like a preschooler, impressed by the amount of knowledge I acquired from the millions of books I had read. Her palm cupped her chin, her lips parted a little as her doll eyes were on mine. She was testing me, knocking me off with my weaknesses.

  “Yeah, but I love reading a lot of other books too. I’m a self-confessed bookworm.” Peyton’s smile was so big as if she loved whatever I said about myself. I assessed my words, but nothing, in particular, could have picked a woman’s interest. I was a geek, a nerd, and a dweeb. Simple and boring, that’s what I could describe myself as an individual.

  “You are amazing.” She blurted out right before she threw a mini cookie in her mouth. Her lips were supple and naturally pink, inviting me to a bite of her soft flesh. I took a deep breath, controlling myself as she continued on her comment.

  “As a writer, I believe that’s the thing I want to hear all day. People loving to read and appreciate ideas. It’s just that, it’s rare for me to meet someone who does so.” Her smile was unwavering, but by the tone of her voice, I knew she was going through something. Her pain resonated through every word as if daggers were shot in her chest simultaneously.

  “You are talented and witty, Peyton. Don’t ever forget that.” I placed a consoling hand over her hand, tapping her gently as I rebuilt her self-confidence. She nodded at my words. It was an obvious fact, and if people did not understand her potential, then that’s their own problem.

  I watched her finish off her cup. After she put the porcelain on the wooden table, she wiped her caffeine-stained lips. I gasped as her lips parted once more, watching her delicate, silent breathing as my body vibrated with anticipation.

  “Thanks for the treat, Mr. Savage. I loved the coffee, the cookie, and the tales.”

  My heart was breaking into pieces as the farewell approached.

  “No. I should be the one thanking you, Peyton.”

  She wrinkled her brows but receded in a shrug. As we exited the restaurant’s facade, I looked at her as she waved her hand before she jogged away.

  “Peyton!” I shouted her name, causing her to stop and face me with a smile. My voice was fading, but I braved to say these words before my own body failed me.

  “Let’s do this some other time again!”

  As I stared at her adorable smile, I felt all the pain in my body washed away.

  “Sure.”

  Chapter 6: Peyton Hunt

  It was already two in the morning and my eyes were shutting close, but my brain was playing some crazy The Carpenters song on loop. Perhaps my chief editor was correct. I was dumb and stupid and full of delusional thoughts.

  I had to come to work early tomorrow. No, this day. I had been lying in bed since nine, but my head kept on flashing pictures of Jorge at random sequences. Those icy, gray eyes were special and that’s undebatable, but why do I think so much of that new boy in town?

  I could still remember the day at the park. Silly man, he wore a buttoned polo shirt and slacks at an early, morning jog. Was he some kind of an archaic dynasty fanatic? It was a bit over the clouds, but still, he managed to look good in those clothes. Okay, maybe also hot.

  But why? I just met him twice in my entire life, but why was his impact on me this severe? No. I decided to shove away all these ideas and sleep for good. I should get some rest because tomorrow’s going to be my report submission schedule. I should conserve some strength and energy to tolerate the drastic mockery of my boss.

  Just when I felt my eyes beginning to close, I heard my alarm clock ringing loudly. I sat up straight like a robot and punched the silver, metal thing. Despite my deprivation of sleep, I was alive and kicking without any trace of bad morning tantrums.

  Singing in the shower and eating with a good appetite were other rare occurrences, but I decided not to count further. Noticing them would trigger anxiety on my part. Embracing these energetic and joyous vibes would help me go through the upcoming stress of the day, anyway.

  Just when I was to enter the pub, I noticed another eerie combination of black and red colors on my desk. And then the traumatic murder scene of Mr. Livett flashed before my eyes. Whoever was sending me these presents was an important source. I hurriedly walked towards my desk and saw that another present was sent by the mysterious informant. Without putting my shoulder bag down, I unwrapped the gift.

  It had nothing in it except for a small, handy book. The cover was dull and old as if it had been published a thousand year ago. I took it from the box and looked closely at its fading title. The letters were almost unrecognizable, causing me to squint hard as I decoded its title.

  It was written in foreign letters I could not understand, but it was engraved on the hardcover as νυκτερίδα.

  Clueless about the word it meant, I tried to run through the pages, searching for any photos or illustrations in it, but there was nothing. The letters in the body of the book were also of another language I could not recognize. My head was filled with questions. I wanted to know what that strange book meant. I needed to discover what my informant desired to imply.

  Although my work submission was at stake, I stood up and walked out of the pub. I slid the book inside of my bag, keeping it away from anyone to see.

  “Hey, where are you going?” I crossed pa
ths with James who was running late for work. I did not mind to glance at him nor mouth an answer to his query. There were more important things on the line, and I should do something to prevent them from happening.

  *****

  “Where did you get this, Peyton?” Kirsten adjusted her glasses, her eyes swimming all over the foreign characters printed in the old book. She had been asking the same question for over an hour now, but I did not dare to answer. She was busy reading the book though, occupied by whatever was written in it.

  “Peyton Hunt, are you deaf?” She changed her words for the first time since I arrived at the town’s library. Kirsten was my high school best friend who currently worked as the librarian and historian of the small town of Kingsville. She had not moved her attention away from the book though, flipping one page after the other in a flash as if she was not reading it at all.

  Finally, she lifted her head and stood up from her stool. Her hands were on her tiny waist, posing like a beauty queen except that she looked much of a terror professor in my opinion.

  “One last time, Hunt. Where did you get this?”

  Her green eyes were like that of a boa constrictor, guarding her prey before it proceeded with its fatal, restraining attack. She could resemble it though. If ever I did not give her the answer she hoped for, she might strangle me to death.

  “Somebody gave it to me.”

  “Who’s this somebody?”

  “I don’t know who.”

  “Hunt, I’m not playing any games. Spit it out.” Her eyes were on fire. She was dead serious and I could tell how impatient she was right now.

  “It’s the truth! Someone keeps sending me these weird black and red themed presents containing weird stuff I could not relate much. First were the vintage photographs of gruesome deaths in Kingsville plus news clippings about mysterious murders around the town. Now, whoever it was sent me that one.”