Ani got out of the car slowly, trying not to alarm the little guy and scare him away. She kissed him softly on his plump little cheek and then pulled her head away from his neck. His cheeks felt like smooth putty in her hands and that was when she knew it was time to step away. His blood smelled unbelievably sweet; it was a cruel twist of fate that the little ones always smelled the best. His breath had become shallow, like she’d stolen it with her kiss. She waved at the boy with a sly smile as she went into the house, looking over her shoulder to take in his innocence. She didn’t want anyone to see her teeth had already begun to extend.
“See,” Ani said, standing in the doorway, beaming at Dana while she stood by her car. “I didn’t hurt the little one.”
“I certainly hope not,” Dana replied, not paying her attention-seeking antics any mind. She had seen them all.
Dana checked to make sure the car door was locked and then went into the house, rolling her eyes. She draped her small pink purse on the back of the brown lounge chair in the living room and turned to find Ani standing in front of her with a clear bottle full of a thick, purplish liquid. She immediately felt queasy. Drinking this blood concoction every month had not gotten any easier. However, it was something that had to be done to keep the strength of their bond alive.
“It can’t be time to drink this crap already,” Dana said as she shook her head. The wavy strands of her hair stuck to her forehead from the thin film of sweat that was glistening there. “Did you put a little sugar in it? That’s the only way I’m going to drink it.”
“You’re going to do it or you’re going to die, sugar or not. Now drink it.” Ani shoved the used Dasani bottle into Dana’s chest. Dana grasped the bottle in her hand and unscrewed the cap. Ani tapped the sole of her foot on the linoleum floor, hoping her sister would man up and chug the drink, but she was in no rush to swallow it and nothing Ani said could make her move any faster. Dana put the bottle to her lips and gulped the liquid as quickly as she could.
This clearly wasn’t a good idea, she thought as thick liquid slid down her parched throat. She worked the muscles in her esophagus to ensure that the liquid went down even faster.
“I didn’t tell you to do all that,” Ani said, chuckling and removing the bottle from Dana’s hand so that she could cough hard enough to get the air bubble out of her windpipe. Dana was trying hard not to throw up despite the liquid gurgling in both her chest and her stomach. She didn’t feel like cleaning up the blood and whatever else she just drank.
“What did you mix it with this time?” Dana asked, feeling like her mouth was on fire from the acidic taste.
“Pomegranate juice. You like that stuff, right?”Ani said, shrugging innocently and placing the plastic container on the counter.
“Not mixed with blood!” Dana said, still coughing.
“Well, next month, I’ll remember that, but for now go ahead and finish this up.” She placed the bottle back in Dana’s hand, hoping her little bit of sympathy would make the transition easier. Dana let a steady stream of the potent liqueur slide down her esophagus once again and she tried to let her mind wander into a world more pleasurable, like the long and hot summer days she used to spend with her mother and father.
About The Author
Janiera enjoys feeding her book addiction when she is not writing. Writing is therapeutic to her during her struggles with Fibromyalgia. Being unable to work a normal 9-5 is what encouraged her to write full time. When not reading or writing, she is freelance writing web content or articles. When trying to relax, she likes a huge yard sale on a Saturday morning, rainy days to read by, and nacho cheese is her kryptonite. Soul Sisters is her debut novel.
Feel free to visit her book blog where she loves reviewing books, interviewing, and promotional posting for other authors on her blog- http://janieraeldridge.blogspot.com. She loves feedback and welcomes any questions or comments to her email: [email protected], FB Page: http://www.facebook.com/authorjanieraeldridge or twitter:@janieraeldridge.
Other works of Janiera Eldridge:
Soul Sisters Series:
Soul Sisters
Dark Expectations
Good Ghost Gone Bad Series:
Good Ghost Gone Bad
Good Ghost Gone Crazy (Coming fall of 2013)
Zombie Vacation Series
Zombie Cruise
Zombie Honeymoon (coming fall of 2013/ winter 2014)
THE MERCIFUL MIRACLE
By
Cinsearae S.
He was awakened by a chill that was colder than usual. It swept over his entire body, causing an uncomfortable stiffness that pained him to the marrow. The first muscles to move were those in his face, as his mouth curled into a snarl of disgust. The extreme coldness told him one thing. It was that time of year again.
He took a deep, labored breath, icy air filling his dead lungs. The noise that escaped his lips sounded more like a wheeze. Soil poured into his mouth, and he coughed. His fingers twitched, grasping at the damp dirt around him. His coffin had been through years of earthly wear and tear; the wood encasing his body warped and rotted with time, full of holes from the merciless gnawing of insects.
He despised waking up during the winter season. It only made it harder for him to return back to his dreamless slumber. He still wondered why he had been damned to such a life, but a nagging thought in the back of his mind always reminded him that it was because of the listless, pitiless life he had lived.
It came as no surprise to him when people avoided him while he was alive. He was misanthropic, viewing people as nothing but mindless, simpering, self-absorbed dolts, eager to please only themselves. They were greedy, inconsiderate of others, rude, and faceless. He saw no point in associating with people of such stature. Humankind bored him as well as annoyed him. The only things he ever loved were his wife and daughter.
The energies of the Christmas season were such a nuisance. Humans had turned a holiday of mirth, thanks, and love into one of commercialism and avarice. There was more negativity in the air during this time of year than any other, and it resonated deep into the ground where he slept; a dull murmur that entered his ears, waking his brain from his yearly slumber.
Knowing that he would be unable to go back to sleep, he began to claw his way to the Earth’s surface, cursing the world as he did so. He emerged from a churchyard, shaking newly fallen snow from his matted hair.
His body felt stiffer with every passing year, and every year he damned being bound to the Earth for his cold, uncaring ways. His last memories while alive were of Christmas Eve. It was snowing hard, and he had just left a tavern. A young and stupid teen was speeding down the street and struck him; his body crumpling and flying over the car’s windshield. He awoke in his coffin exactly one year later, on the date of his death, bewildered and confused, not to mention terrifying everyone he came across. With no mirror to see himself, he didn’t realize he bore the pallor of the living dead. With eyes and skin that matched the icy, grayish-white season, his tattered funeral garments provided little resistance to the cold, not that he needed it.
He also did not understand his sudden urge to snatch a stray dog into an alley and tear into its throat, gorging himself with its life’s essence. The thick ruby-red substance filled his stomach as he drank, and he felt relief from the gnawing pain in his stomach. A passer-by spotted him in the alley and screamed, running away as he hissed at her, bearing bloodstained fangs.
This ritual continued year after year – rising on Christmas Eve, grabbing his first meal of the night, wreaking havoc every time anyone dared to bother him, and finally returning to his grave before the holiday came to close the following night.
This time, however, his clothing was in mere tatters. He’d be nearly naked if not for a few strategically placed pieces. Even the soles of his shoes had his feet touching the ground. He staggered his way to a thrift store, where a few donation bins outside of the building were overflowing with forgotten garments. As he walked, he comm
anded his joints to become limber; he felt more like a revenant than a vampire.
A few derelicts were at the bins, picking through clothing that would possibly fit them. They didn’t even bother to look up at the oncoming stranger. As he walked, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. People had become so egocentric over the years; they couldn’t even sense when they were in danger, whether they were young or old, rich or poor. Nearly drooling, he could almost taste their blood flowing from their veins into his awaiting mouth.
Once upon the crowd, about to attack, one of them tossed him a brown wool coat. He caught it effortlessly, almost taken aback.
“Looks like you need that more than us,” one of them said. The derelict didn’t face him directly; he merely glanced him over. Still, the vampire was astounded that someone actually showed concern for someone other than themselves.
He nodded at the derelict and threw the coat on. It hung loosely on his thin frame, due to his continuing desiccation, but it was better that it was too large than too small. He decided to spare the homeless group from their deadly demise and traveled onward.
Stores had their Christmas lights adorning the windows and doors with their rainbow array of colors. Street poles were wrapped with pine garland, thick red-and-gold ribbons, and huge bows to match. From out of a few bars, he could hear the all too-tired Christmas classics of “Santa Baby,” “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” “O, Holy Night,” and “Little Drummer Boy” all meshed together in a single, annoying din. He gritted his teeth so hard, one of his molars cracked. He didn’t even flinch from the pain, but someone would have thought he was in pain anyway, with how he grimaced at the cheerful melodies. He absolutely hated Christmas, despising the fact that he woke up every year like clockwork and dealt with the hassle of it all.
He walked along the slushy sidewalk, a few adults running like chickens with their heads cut off, trying to buy last-minute gifts. A few rushed by, bumping into him, not even bothering to apologize. He growled, the noise catching the attention of one of them. A young man in his twenties.
“Fuck off, old man, or get out of the way!” He smirked and continued walking down the street.
I’ll show you an old man, he thought, skulking off into a alley, moving with fluid speed. He caught the young man at the opposite end, stepping out from the darkness and right into his path. The young man stumbled back, surprised.
“What the--?” His jaw dropped, incredulous to whom he was seeing in front of him. “I left you back there!” He pointed up the street as he trembled in nervousness. “How’d you—?”
The vampire grabbed him by the collar and shoved him back into the alley, slamming him against the brick wall, raising him off his feet a few inches.
“Where’s your soul, boy?” he snarled, his eyes glowing a solid red. The young man was speechless. “You, who cares for nothing; too cold to be considerate, too blind to the world’s decay. You all are nothing but worthless parasites!”
The young man scrunched up his face in terror. “Please, let me go…let me go!”
The vampire looked down at the small bag in the man’s hand. With his other free hand, he snatched the bag from him. He took out a very small, colorful wrapped box, in pink paper with a royal blue ribbon, and shook it to his ear. Something tumbled about inside.
“Who is this for?” he asked in a gravelly voice, still staring at the present.
“M-my girlfriend. Please, sir, I’m sorry; just let me go. I’ll give you money if that’s what you want!”
“Let you go? Why, when we’re getting along so well?” He chuckled, then gave a big smile, exposing rows of pointed teeth to his victim.
The young man screamed as the vampire lurched forward, tearing into his neck. Blood spurted from his wound like a fountain, splashing onto both of them. Once he had his fill, he dropped the man to the ground like an unwanted rag doll, and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at the spattered red mess on his collar and frowned.
“And I was beginning to like this coat,” he mumbled to himself.
He looked down at the dead body at his feet, bent over, and removed a wallet from the man’s back pocket. He flipped it open, reading his driver’s license, making a mental note of his home address, then picked up the gift he intended to give his girlfriend, and pocketed it. He’d be paying her a visit soon enough. Why not spread the love he had just bestowed to her boyfriend to her as well? ‘Tis the season to be giving, wasn’t it?
~ ~ * ~ ~
The moon was round and full in the sky, but the vampire couldn’t even see its glow for all the garish Christmas lights coming from every direction. A homey little bistro had the most wonderful smells of butter cookies, chocolate, and hazelnut coffee wafting from its location, inviting many people in to warm up and sit for a while. He glanced into the windows from a distance, watching people talk amongst each other, tons of shopping bags at their feet, munching on goodies or sipping drinks from their mugs. He could hear the buzz of many conversations, most of them bitching and complaining about gifts they had to buy for their ungrateful children or picky significant others, problems with returning items after the holidays, getting hideous, unwanted, or useless gifts, the impersonal feel of getting a mere gift card, or the insult of getting a present that was regifted back to the same person who gave it.
He leaned against a pole that was wrapped in gold-colored garland and a few glass ornaments, listening to their idle chatter. The garland made a crunchy sound as he crushed it, and he rolled his eyes. He snatched it off the pole, popping it in half, and draped it around his neck as a sort of mockery. The ornaments had dropped to the ground, two of them breaking with a tiny clink against the icy patches of sidewalk. Sounds of “Oh Come, Ye Merry Gentlemen” drifted from a small speaker hanging outside of the shop. The vampire grimaced again.
“Merry? Merry? There is nothing merry about this time of year,” he said to himself, then glanced at the smashed ornaments on the ground. One of them managed not to break. It was an angel, blowing into a trumpet. He picked it up, observing it closely, deciding to hold onto it as he made his way into the shop.
The little bell that hung over the door tinkled as the vampire walked in. Without a word, he flipped over the sign hanging on the door that read “OPEN” to make it read “CLOSED.” Immediately, all chatter fell silent as everyone stared at this hideous-looking, homeless person that smelled as fetid as a sewage plant. The owners of the shop wanted to tell him to leave, but their words were caught in their throats. There was something about this man that made everyone’s blood run cold.
The vampire smiled at their obliviousness, and purposely took a seat at an empty table right in the middle of the shop. He observed the looks on everyone’s faces, from dumbfounded to disgusted. He narrowed his eyes at them all, giving a mocking grin, then ignored them for a moment as he fished through his coat pocket for the angel ornament. Once it was in his grip, he gently placed it on the table before him, and stared at it for a moment. The silence in the shop was so deafening, the dripping sounds of the coffeemakers could be heard.
His deathly stench slowly began to overpower the sweet, hearth-like scents of the shop, but the people dared not to make a move. Still staring at the angel, the vampire spoke to no one in particular. “Care to offer a penniless man a cup of tea?”
One of the workers behind the counter went to work right away, preparing a mug for him. The vampire grinned as the counter guy briskly walked over to his table and placed the tea before him.
“A-anything else, sir?” he asked, wringing his hands in nervousness.
The vampire glanced up at his host with steely grey eyes and gave a quick sniff in his direction. “No, my boy, but please, be calm… you reek of fear.”
A patron towards the back of the shop snorted at the remark and leaned towards her friend. “The only thing that reeks is him,” she whispered. Naturally, the vampire heard it.
“And it is your very demeanor that reeks most of
all,” he retorted, staring directly at her. The woman swallowed hard and kept her mouth shut. He continued looking at the rest of the crowd, into the empty eyes of so many empty people.
“You humans are more lifeless than I am. How ironic it is to see that the dead are more alive than the living.” He fiddled with the angel on the table for a moment. “What does this symbolize?” the vampire asked, picking it up and showing it to everyone. “What does this represent to you?”
Everyone remained silent, so he rolled his eyes.
“Please, people, this is not a trick question… or are you all too stupid to answer?”
“They’re messengers of God,” a young boy replied, and the vampire smiled.
“Very good, my young man. I wonder why no adult could answer that one simple question.” He leered at the patrons of the shop again before placing the angel back on the table, gazing at it once more.
“Messengers of God…” he said to himself, his voice trailing off. “Spreaders of good tidings and joy. Messengers of love, hope, and faith. Isn’t Christmastide a time for such things… as it should be year ‘round?”
In one swift motion, he brought his hand down on the ornament, smashing it into pieces. Parts of the angel skittered across the table and fell to the floor. The people jumped in surprise and small murmurs of nervousness could be heard.
“You all make me sick,” he spat, his incisors slowly extending in repulsion. “Through the years, you humans besmirched the true meaning of this time of year with your materialism, your gluttony, your senseless minds for ‘me, me, me’ and ‘I want, I want, I want’! I can’t stand to hear your weak and petty whining for more, more, more, when there are so many others out there who wish they could have an iota of the things you use in one month, and dispose of in the next! You’ve lost the meaning of charity, kindness, and goodwill, either hoarding things you’ll never use, or throwing them away, when they could be given to those in need! To give something out of the pure kindness of your heart doesn’t exist. Anything that is given comes with a price, doesn’t it? Gifts have become bribes, tokens from debtors, and trinkets from apologetic persons to alleviate the guilt of something they’ve done wrong! What happened to the spirit of giving simply for the joy of it?”
Vampires Romance to Rippers an Anthology of Tasty Stories Page 17
