by Hunter Blain
I drained them both in record time and turned in mid-air while the SUV did a barrel roll around me. The last remaining man, who was in the process of urinating himself, was lucky enough to receive a more personal dining experience. I slammed my fist into his stomach and blood erupted out of his nose and mouth. I grabbed the blood in mid-air and forced it all into my mouth, a horrific stream of crimson connecting us like a morbid Lady and the Tramp. Once his blood started flowing, the rest followed suit like good little lemmings, and I drained him before the vehicle had completed another roll and came to a stop on its roof.
I burst out the back and saw where the other SUV had already stopped and had begun smoking under the hood. The two remaining men were out and fleeing on foot, stumbling as they ran due to their brains getting rattled in the Michael Bay style crash. They didn’t have the luxury of healing as quickly as I did, so I took my sweet time following them while their brains rebooted.
I skipped dramatically with my hands flailing at my sides and my head rocking back and forth as I creepily sung, “La la la. La la la,” like a haunting Victorian schoolgirl.
These tough men, who had committed countless crimes against their fellow man, screamed at the top of their lungs like stuck pigs. As I skipped, I let my tried and true blood ropes slither out of my palms, making cracking noises like whips as my hands moved front to back in rhythm with my eerie lullaby.
I lashed out both ropes and caught the ankles of the men. They tumbled to the ground, crying in hopeless dismay. As I stood in place with a serious expression on my face, I let the ropes begin to slowly retract towards me. The big tough men’s nails broke on the asphalt as they tried to prevent their fate while they screamed “No, No, NO!” Rivulets of blood trailed behind, marking where their breaking fingers had failed to find purchase enough to stop their demise.
“Oh yes,” I said slowly and without an ounce of humor, letting my voice grow deep. “We reap what we sow.” I let the ropes begin to crawl up their bodies like hungry tentacles until it had enveloped them like spaghetti on a fork, then I let the razers form. Little ones this time, I wanted to savor my delicious meal.
I let the ropes slowly uncoil while still pressing against their bodies, the razers providing a sweet death by a thousand cuts. I sipped their essence like a fine wine as I let my eyes close. I moaned as the energy coursed through my body.
Sirens rang out, breaking me from fully enjoying the rest of my meal. I squeezed the ropes as hard as I could, like draining every last drop from an orange. Only a single, exhaling cry escaped the whimpering men then before jagged bones pierced organs and the remainder of their life’s blood became mine. Finishing my food, I threw the men back into the car that had started to blaze furiously. The night blew the smell of burning rubber and gas into my nose, making my face screw up. I always hated that smell.
I was about to turn and make my way from the crime scene when I noticed the first vehicle hadn’t caught on fire. I could see the gas tank as it was bottom end up, and I focused my will, asking the molecules to excite. A small section the size of a lemon began to glow a faint red and then bright orange as I worked. Within a few moments, the tank exploded in a torrent of angry flames ready to consume everything it could get its hands on.
Red and blue lights illuminated the building next to me, chasing each other in a fast-paced dance and drawing my attention. I hurled myself down the street away from the approaching mortals., the wind tugging at my hair which made me acutely aware that I hadn’t been without my trusty beanie in several years. At least the 90’s I was sure of. Thank Lilith for Da and his seamstress abilities.
I felt alive and beyond strong, like when a mortal wakes up after being debilitatingly sick and realizing how great it is to not be ill. Food tastes better, work isn’t so drab, and even traffic is bearable for a day or two until you get used to being well again. Then it is all taken for granted again.
Heading in the direction of my home, I manifested my blood helmet and sprinted at impressive speeds, even for a creature of the night. I ran through open fields underneath the main roads and through residential neighborhoods until I made my way to the graveyard. I briefly considered stopping at Valenta’s to catch him up on…Depweg. Ulric had Depweg and here I was galivanting around like a drug addict on a huge high. This sobered me as I made my way downstairs and into my lair.
“Feeling better I see,” Da said to me as I closed the door and strode into the living room with my chest puffed out. I was impervious at that moment, ready to take on anything. Even Ulric who was several centuries older than I was. Hell, I’d take on Satan himself right now.
“Yes. Tanks are topped off and I’m ready to fight,” I said. “So, what’s the plan?”
“I think you need to go have a drink at Valenta’s,” Da said.
“But…Depweg,” I stammered.
“I think…” Da paused and looked at me for emphasis, “you need, to go have a drink at Valenta’s, John.”
“I agree,” Locke said. “Bring me back something tasty would ya?”
Brow scrunched up, I took the crystal clear message to go to Valenta’s.
Chapter 12
A fter donning a hoodie instead of my trademarked WWII era Nazi stolen trench coat, I was off. I scouted around Valenta’s to ensure the coast was clear as supes were still after me for breaking the accords. What really pissed me off is mortals had made up their collective minds that the footage had been a fake. In addition, those humans that actually did witness what I had done experienced what is known as, didn’t-fucking-happen-to-us. I’m sure there is a legit terminology for it, but I liked my name better. Basically, when a human see’s something they can’t believe, their brain skips a beat and doesn’t let its owner completely recall everything in clear detail. This happened to me once when I was mortal and I watched my mother trip and fall down a flight of stone steps. One second, she was walking while carrying a bucket of fresh milk or something, and the next she was writhing on the ground, stunned and disoriented. I just stood there, disbelieving what had just happened and had to convince myself that she must have just fallen right before my very own eyes! Once I snapped out of it, I rushed to her aide, but it had felt like minutes of just staring as my brain restarted.
I walked up the back steps to Val’s, noticing the missing chunks that the ogre had taken out, and pressed the button. I waited a full minute, or maybe it was three seconds, before pressing the button again, and again…and again. The door buzzed open angrily, or so I assumed.
Valenta met me in the kitchen where he nodded once. “Some boys out c’here I think’ll wanna help ya,” Valenta drawled while motioning to the main floor.
I went through the swinging kitchen door and followed Valenta to the farthest corner from the door. At a table were two identical twins who couldn’t even be old enough to drink, at least by their outward appearance. Well, I say identical, but there were slight differences about them. Judging by the height of the table, I could safely assume they were about 5’4”. One had a buzz cut while the other had a mop of brown hair. The twins were muscular and had black eyes that reminded me of staring into the orbs of a hungry shark. The buzz cut twin had tight clothing and a tank top that revealed lots of skin while the longer haired brother preferred baggy attire that covered all but his hands and head.
“Boys,” Valenta started, “this here’s John. John, this’s Dawson an’ Joey.”
“Hi,” said Joey while producing a slight smile. His lose clothing feeling out of place with how much muscle he hid.
“Sup bruh,” said Dawson with a huge grin. I could see over the table that he had a fanny pack on with pineapples on it.
“Um, hi?” I greeted, confused.
“John, these boys wanna help ya with yer current predicament,” Valenta said.
“And that is?” I had no idea what these twins wanted.
“Dude, were werewolves,” Dawson said while pointing back and forth between his brother and himself.
“Y
eah, we heard that Depweg was taken and we don’t like that, do we Dawson?” Joey said.
“Hell Nah, bruh,” his brother responded. Dawson was clearly more animated while Joey remained calm. It didn’t take me long to deduce they were identical but with completely different personalities.
“Plus, Depweg is kind of a legend among the wers,” Joey said admiringly. “He hasn’t had a pack in decades and is one of the oldest of us.”
“He’s a fucking celebrity,” Dawson said, his grin never leaving his face. “We wanna be in his pack.”
“We heard about you, too, John,” Joey said. “Is it true you killed Locke and saved Depweg?”
“Kinda a long story, but let’s go with yes,” I said, leaving out the fact that Locke was in my lair playing dress up with Da, or something along those lines.
“Cool,” they said in unison while glancing at each other and then back to me. I don’t speak twin but I do speak dude, and a single glance can convey entire paragraphs in an instant.
“So, you two are going to help me capture Ulric and rescue Depweg?” I asked.
“Heck yes,” Joey said.
“Ya man, we are gonna rip that Ulric fucker a new sphincter,” Dawson said. I chuckled and immediately knew we were going to get along just fine.
“Can’t kill Ulric,” I said. A look of confusion crossed their faces while Valenta’s gaze shifted to the ground where he nodded, understanding the immense difficulty of the situation.
“Um, why the fuck not?” Dawson asked.
“Because when there is only one of us left, the apocalypse will begin.”
Valenta chimed in, his gaze never leaving the ground, “When the last vampire walks the Earth, the gates of Hell will open.”
“Exactly. So, we will have to subdue and imprison him for, oh I don’t know,” I looked down at my bare wrist, “mmm, forever.”
“Well, this shit just got heavy didn’t it Joey?” Dawson asked, his huge grin fading to a close-lipped smile.
Joey considered for all of three seconds before shrugging and saying, “Yeah but I’m still in. It’s Depweg, man.”
“Bet!” Dawson responded with enthusiasm.
“Bet what?” I asked. The twins looked at each other for a moment, and then back to me before they both burst out laughing.
“It means ‘yes,’ dude,” Joey explained.
“Ah. That word is light alright,” I said. Dawson and Joey barked out laughter while slamming their hands on the table in pure mirth.
“Lit! The word is lit, bro!” Joey informed.
“Damn kids and your 8-tracks,” I muttered. Even Valenta cracked a rare smile at that one. “Well, come along then, puppies.” As if I had hit pause, their laughing and table banging stopped. Their eyes stared into me, calculating. “Just fucking with you, kids. Now, shall we then?”
“Sure thing, mosquito,” Dawson said as they both got up from their seats to stand in front of me. They were a full ten inches shorter than me but they were just as wide as they were tall. Joey and Dawson stood with their massive chests puffed out, stern faces dared me to push more. Words don’t bother me. I actually laugh when demons and their ilk try and offend me with name calling— but these two had intentionally disrespected me. Maybe it was youthful rebellion or an attempt to establish dominance, either way, a lesson must be taught. Since they were wolves, I assumed a show of hierarchy was due; better sooner than later.
With a blur of motion that was too fast for their human skins, I appeared behind the mouthy twins. I moved my palms to their necks and willed out my ropes that curled around their necks like a noose. I could feel them about to turn which prompted me to lift them off their feet and say, quite authoritatively, “I am more than half a millennia old, children. I have seen civilizations rise and fall. I was on one of the first rickety ships to the Americas. I have walked this earth longer than either of you can even fathom.” I willed tiny spikes to push against their skin but not break through. “Might I humbly suggest a quantum amount of respect? Hmm?” Neither twin responded. They simply let their hands fall from my ropes in a simultaneous show of submission and defiance. It impressed me because I knew they had to be severely uncomfortable being held up by just their throats.
After a few moments of silence, Valenta interjected, “Boy, think they understand. Now yer lil show’s over. Don’t skirt ‘round the rules an’ more.”
I willed the ropes to dissolve into a singular mass and retract back into me rather than letting the ropes slither over their necks in the opposite direction. Then I blurred back in front of them, a smile plastered on my face that stopped just under my eyes.
“Dick,” Dawson said.
“Seriously, dude. Can’t just use your words?” Joey added as they both rubbed their necks.
“Apparently not,” I said “Now then, I invite you both back to my super-secret lair that you must swear to the utmost secrecy, should I let you see where it is.”
“You mean the train cars buried in the graveyard? Pretty sure everyone knows about that,” Joey said.
My mouth dropped to the floor.
“Ev…everyone?” I asked, deflated.
“Pretty much, dude. I can basically smell the iron from here,” Dawson said, pointing to his nose.
“Great. That’s great. Just, super,” I said, annoyed. I nodded to Valenta and turned to walk out the back door, the twins in tow.
“Shipping containers,” I said.
“Huh?” Dawson asked. Joey let the question speak for him.
“Not train cars, shipping containers,” I corrected.
“What’s the difference?” Joey asked.
“I don’t know. It’s just what the ad had said.”
The night was humid and had the distinct smell of salt from the nearby gulf. Dark clouds rolled overhead, unsure whether to drop their payload over the city or not.
After a few blocks of silence and the wer-twins walking just behind me, I broke the tension and asked, “You boys hungry? Got some fresh meat back at the crib,” I said the last word with an emphasis of coolness. Or was it lit? To my surprise, the boys didn’t snicker this time. Instead, they perked up at the mention of meat.
“Oh man, I’m so hungry I could eat another horse,” Joey said.
“Yeah, that first one didn’t fill us up,” Dawson said. The twins were walking on either side of me now.
“I had a pretty big meal tonight and I am stuffed to the rafters,” I said, adding nothing to the weird conversation. A thought hit me like a drunk standing in front of a dartboard, “Hey, what happens if you bite a dog?”
“No idea,” Joey said.
“Yeah, we like dogs,” Dawson added.
“But not horses, got it,” I said. “What if you bit me?”
“Probably nothing,” Joey said.
“Maybe some Underworld shit? Remember that old movie?” Dawson said.
A puff of air shot out of my mouth in reflex, “Phh, old? Old movie! How old are you two?”
“Twenty,” they said in unison. “What about you, old man?” Joey asked.
“I don’t really know. I’m bad at time. But let’s see, Ulric turned me in 1488 when I was already a man.”
“An old man,” Dawson said.
“Dude, I was like in my mid-twenties.”
“Must have been a tough twenty years,” Joey added, burning me further.
“Times were tough back then, kids,” I said, and then added, “How old do I look?”
“Early to late, mid-thirties at least,” Dawson said, cracking a smile.
“Well gee guys; just five minutes ago I was thinking to myself ‘self, we just aren’t self-conscious enough.’ Thanks for fixing that for me.”
“Maybe if you shaved the beard and got a haircut? You look kinda like a metalhead.”
“Good!” I said, “I love metal. Plus, I can’t shave. It’ll grow right back. I’m just super glad beards are in right now. The fifties were especially hard.”
“So, you can never ch
ange how you look?” Joey asked.
“If I really needed to, I could will mortals minds to see something else.”
“You mean like a glamor?” Dawson asked.
“No, uhg, I hate that word. Sounds all…Twilighty. I prefer, mind-fuck.”
“So you don’t sparkle in the sunlight?” Joey asked.
“I basically melt in the sunlight. Or maybe it just burns the preternatural essence that is entwined with my human DNA— and if that burns, the rest of me burns too. I’m mostly just spit-balling ideas right now cause I have no idea what the fuck actually happens.” My mind flashed with the memory of being consumed by sunlight after I had first been made. I had buried my head in the dirt, but the rest of me burnt and smoldered – quite painfully, I might add. Ulric was always one to teach the hard lessons.
“Um, you alright?” Joey asked, worry in his voice.
Returning to reality, I responded with, “Huh? What do you mean?”
“You, uh, zoned off pretty hardcore for a moment,” Joey told me.
“Yeah dude, you were making weird faces and shit. The hell dude?” Dawson added tactfully.
“Oh, I was thinking about the ending to Dexter. Yeah, I’m still pretty pissed that the writers turning him into a fucking lumberjack,” I made up— but not really. That was a bullshit ending.
“Ah. Cool. As long as you’re alright, bro,” Joey said.
We arrived at the Fortress of Solitaire and I led the twins downstairs. As I was about to open the door, something struck me.
“Wait here a sec,” I said as I motioned for them to stop just before I opened the door and went inside, “gotta make sure the place is, you know, um…clean! Yes clean.” A look of annoyance crossed Joey’s face while Dawson’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. I made my way inside and shut the door.
Locke sat on the couch, still fastened to his mannequin body, and was watching something on Netflix about serial killers. I ran over to him and grabbed his head while putting one hand over his mouth. He tried mumbling but I motioned for him to be quiet with my index finger over my mouth. Then I used my thumb and pointed at the door, signaling our guests who might not understand why the head (see what I did there?) of the regional supernatural gang affiliated with Satan was sitting on my couch. Oh yeah, and he was my arch nemesis.
