by Matt Shaw
© Matt Shaw
The right of Matt Shaw to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any format without written consent from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for insertion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.
The characters, and story, in this book are purely fictitious. Any likeness to person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
With thanks to Mark Kelly for his cover design.
There are such beings as vampires, some of us have evidence that they exist. Even had we not the proof of our own unhappy experience, the teachings and the records of the past give proof enough for sane peoples.
~ Bram Stoker
Bite me.
~ Anon
B I T T E N
M A T T S H A W
Prologue
I remember the night I came upon her whilst driving home from an evening out. A vision of beauty clearly distressed at the road’s side. A car with hazard lights blinking and her frantic waving to force me to slow my own car. The clothes she wore, classic and elegant - a long pencil skirt, dark red in colour. Perhaps a lighter shade of red had it not been for the rain beating down hard. A matching jacket with a white blouse. The blouse see-through thanks to the heavy droplets of water saturating it. Heaving bosom that I must confess to noticing before I chanced upon her face - an image of striking beauty rivaled only by Helen of Troy. A name I shall come to think of her as. A pale face with only the smudged eye mascara offering any hint of colour to her skin tone. Strikingly blue eyes which seemed to somehow shine in the midnight moon’s bright light.
“Thank God,” she said as I leant across and wound down the window on the passenger’s side of my car.
“You okay?” I asked. Eyes distracted by her blouse and what hid beneath a lacy bra. Impure thoughts crossing my tired mind. Ones I choose not to ignore. Just an average man.
She leant into the car, “My car’s broken down and I don’t have any phone signal. I don’t suppose you have any signal do you?” she presumes I even had a phone.
Her face.
Helen of Troy.
I felt myself fluster, “Erm - I’m not sure,” I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled my phone out. A check on the screen revealed a distinct lack of phone signal. No surprises. I was with the mobile network which only gave you signal if you were standing directly atop of the phone mast and, even then, it was hit and miss. Helen of Troy, I wish I had asked her name, looked up and down the road and made a sound of disappointment in the back of her throat - as though she realised she could be destined to be there until the early hours of the morning when traffic would, once again, start to flow through the route. Unless, that is, I offered assistance.
“Can give you a lift somewhere if you need?” I offered. A gentlemanly thing to do which had nothing to do with her beauty. Okay, maybe a little to do with it. Had it been a man attempting to wave me down, I would have simply driven on by. Perhaps I would even have aimed for the puddle next to him.
“Really? Just to the next petrol station or something. It’d be a great help.”
“Sure, climb in.” I reached across to the passenger side once more and was hit by the alluring smell of her sweet perfume. A scent I’d never smelt before and wouldn’t smell again. A scent I’d never forget.
“Let me just grab something from the car,” she said.
I sat upright, in the driver’s seat as I watched her hurry back to her car. Not quite a walk and not quite a run - no doubt hampered by the red high heeled shoes she was wearing. She leaned into her car giving me a perfect view of how her skirt hugged her ass cheeks so tightly. Never before had I wished I was a piece of clothing material in all my life. Anything to feel that ass. I have no idea what she did in the car. She reappeared empty handed before she closed the door and hurried back to where I waited. She jumped in and slammed the car door shut. The rain water had thoroughly soaked her. Her beauty, her scent, the way the water trickled from her pale skin. I have to confess to remembering how badly I wanted to be inside her despite not even knowing her name. I cleared my throat. An act that I had hoped would also clear my tainted thoughts. Can’t forget I have a wife at home.
I didn’t think to ask her name as I watched her wring out her soaking hair. Hard to tell what colour it is; it’s so wet. A mousey blonde colour naturally but darker because of the rain? Or always a darker shade of blonde?
“Thank you for this, I thought I was going to be there all night,” she said. Her tone of voice is soft and delicate. A hint of an accent I don’t recognise and fail to enquire about - still stunned into a dumb silence by how perfect she is, despite having been battered by the harsh elements of a typical winter’s night.
That was last winter and I remember the night perfectly. Every little detail. Every little sound. Crystal clear as though I were still living those life-changing moments.
“What the fuck has this got to do with us?”
Her scream pulled me back to the present; standing in front of the door which separated the two of us. Me standing out here, free, and her in there - trapped for when the hunger sets in. Something which hasn’t happened as of yet even though I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.
I haven’t had my first taste yet. Not properly. I’m looking forward to when I feel the uncontrollable urge to though. I’m curious as to the taste. Different flavours from different types of people I’m guessing. There’s older blood in geriatrics, young blood in the youngsters, ripened virgin blood in the teens - although given the day and age I half expect to never find the blood of a virgin. Unless, that is, I pick them up when they’re young but that’s not my style. That’s a whole new breed of monster right there. There’s male blood, female blood and even animal blood for when times are desperate. Speaking of animals. They have a pet dog. I’m guessing it might make do for a snack if I do happen to get desperate. As the years go on I will, no doubt, find a personal favourite.
The girl screamed again, “I said what the fuck has this got to do with us?”
I’m not entirely sure why I chose to share all of that with her. I guess I just wanted her to understand what led to her getting drained of blood. The bad guy of a film explaining to the good person why they were going to die. The only difference between this and a film being that the good will not overcome the evil. Evil will win. Chaos will rule. And it’s thanks to that mysterious lady.
Chapter One
I opened my eyes with much effort. A feeling of waking up from a heavy dose of medication which had been meant to keep me sleeping. My eyes focused onto my surroundings; clinically white walls, various machines meant for God knows what, a television secured to the wall by an ugly bracket, tubes running from places unseen directly into my veins. What is this? I look down to my numb body - covered by a thin blanket which is surely so thin that it serves no purpose other than cosmetic. Metal rails on the sides of the strange bed I lie upon. Meant to stop me from rolling out of the bed onto what looks to be a hard floor - a hideous royal blue colour in contrast to the white which splattered the walls.
A window’s on the far wall. Blinds are shut but I can’t see any sunlight spilling through them. I’m thankful. My head is pounding; a degree of headache I’ve never experienced before nor wish to endure again if anyone is listening who can make it so.
Posters are stuck to the wall next to the window. One is clearly for the Samaritan’s helpline, obviously tacked to the wall to entice people to call for help as opposed to leaping from the window - something I’d consider doing if I had to stay in a room this depressing for any length of time.
I tried to move onto my side but my hand stopped me from being able to roll in the direction I wanted to. A quick look at my wrist and I could see a handcuff clearly fastened to the metal rail on the side of the bed. What the hell? They really don’t want me falling out of bed, do they?
I tried to think my way through the ever-pounding headache, trying to remember what had landed me here in the first place but I struggled to piece together my fractured memories. I remember waking up in the morning with my usual depression haunting my thoughts. I remember sitting at work faking my best ‘look at me, I’m working really hard’ expression whilst surfing the Internet looking up the weird and wonderful. Lunch was a tuna sandwich with mayo. If memory serves correctly there was even a little sweetcorn involved but I’m not sure whether to believe that particular memory. Sweetcorn isn’t something I usually opt for when I’m asking the local bakery to prepare my sandwich. I remember working late. No choice. Had to get the work done which I had so successfully avoided during the day. Clear forgot the deadline was looming. Too many days wasted on the Internet - a lesson learned. What else do I remember? A shitty text message from the wife who moaned I could have let her know sooner. As it was she’d already made dinner. I text back that I could reheat it. She text back it was already in the bin. We’re at that stage of our fragile relationship; if you can even call it a relationship anymore.
Come on, there must be more in my brain. Think. Try and remember. What else?
Rain.
I remember the rain. Running to my car with a case held over my head as I didn’t have an umbrella with me. I remember cursing the weather man - once I was in my car - who said it was to be a warm evening with little chance of the aforementioned rain.
A quick look back down to my wrist - did I find the weatherman and bludgeon him to death for lying? Doubtful. That doesn’t sound like something I’d do. I flicked through my broken memories again as they slowly flood back to me.
The girl.
I remember the girl. Helen of Troy stranded on the side of the road as the rain beat down hard. The perfume. The beautiful face. Sparking eyes. The breasts. The ass hugging pencil skirt. The breasts? Did I already think that? The offer of help. I remember offering her help - a drive to the next location we chanced upon where she’d be able to call for help. I remember the...
My mind flashes. Her teeth. Rage in her eyes. The scream. Sharp nails. Clawing.
I pulled my free arm up from underneath the thin blanket and instantly noticed the scratches. Hard enough to leave marks but not hard enough to pierce the skin. By morning they’ll be gone, I expect.
My mind flashed again. Her teeth. Her teeth. The way she growled as she leaned forward, close to my neck.
I moved my hand up to feel my neck. Cloth. A bandage?
I remember screaming. I even remember lashing out at her. It’s all coming back to me. The struggle. The fight for my life as I realised what she was doing. The blood - so much blood. I remember pushing her away and managing to open my car door. I fell from the vehicle backwards all the time holding onto the wound on my neck with blood spewing out - pumped harder and faster thanks to fear and adrenalin. I had landed hard on the road on my backside - not taking my eyes away from her just in case she lunged at me from the car once more. I remember hearing the passenger car door opening up and panicked that she was about to fly over the car to finish the job. I remember turning round as a pair of headlights fast approached me, the sound of tyres locking up. And then I woke up here.
My pounding head. Had I simply passed out or had the incoming car hit me? I raised my free hand from the bandages on my neck up to my thumping head. More bandages. I guess it had hit me. At least, with the car, I had a fighting chance. From what I remembered of the girl - I’m guessing, had the car not interrupted our struggle...One of us would have died and I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have been me walking away.
My heart skips a beat when it suddenly dawns on me that she may come back to finish me off. Now that she has had a taste of my blood. She? She? That wasn’t a she. It. Now it has a taste of my blood...What am I talking about? Vampires? Creatures of the night? Is that what I think she was? Really? What kind of shit are they pumping through my veins to get these kind of thoughts in my usually sane mind? For all I know she was just a loon. An escaped patient from some kind of mental institute - not that I’m aware of any around this area but that doesn’t meant they aren’t there. I’ve never had to look into where they’re located so - for all I know - there could be one right on my doorstep. Fucking vampires, Jesus. No wonder people get addicted to these drugs. Regardless, I can’t stay here, as much as I’d love to stay in this bed - even with the handcuff on my wrist - until this banging headache dissipates. And what’s with the fucking handcuff anyway? Criminal damage to the car that smashed into me? I can’t stay here. I can’t.
I started to struggle against the cuff. The straining is hurting my wrist but I don’t want to call out. Don’t want to bring attention to myself. Don’t want them knowing I’m awake although, having said that, there is a little part of me which is curious to find out why I’m cuffed. Not worth it though. Get out and then try and find out what is going on. Unless - maybe it’s as something as obvious as being arrested for criminal damage to the car that hit me? No - that’d be stupid. They can’t do that. Can they?
Despite my skinny wrist, it’s obvious I’m not going to be able to slide out of the cuff and even more obvious that, in my weakened state, I’m not going to be able to break the chain which secures the two parts of the cuff together. I started working on the bed rail which the second part of the cuff was attached to. Immediately I can feel this isn’t as secure as I’m sure they believed it to be.
I concentrated on tugging at where the rail was attached to the bed. The bolt holding it in place is already wobbly where it hasn’t been tightened for a long time - if ever. Mustering up all of my available strength I strained back as I tried to pull it clear from the bed. The way the cuff is attached, if I can get that bit off - the cuff will just slide away from it giving me the freedom I so desperately desire.
“Come on, you son of a bitch,” I muttered as I prepared myself for another sharp tug against the rail. “Come on!” I urged it.
I took another deep breath and pulled upwards as hard as I could. A little give but not enough to rip it away from the bed. Bastard thing. I released my grip and shook my hands which were starting to hurt where I’d been holding the bar so tightly. A little rest to gather some more much needed strength.
Okay I’m obviously going about this the wrong way. Need to rethink. Instead of pulling upwards - I should just push away from the bed. If the bolt is already loose, which it definitely is, maybe it will just pop out of the hole? Hopefully. Worth a shot at least. Especially given the fact I have no idea what the time is or when someone could come in - whether a police man or a doctor doing their rounds. Or even ‘it’. It has had a taste of me - I’m sure it won’t be long before it manages to track me down to where I lie. Okay, this is it. Another deep breath as I prepared myself to push away from the bed.
Three, two...One...
I pushed so hard that my head throbbed even more than it had done before. An intense pain either side of my eyes made me fear that the strain was going to make my whole head pop. It wasn’t my head that popped though as the bolt shot out from where it had been loosely placed. It bounced across the floor and rolled to a stop by the wall. I froze - worried that the noise, although fairly quiet, could have attracted someone. No noises outside of my room. No footsteps in the corridor. Just a deathly silence penetrated only by the gentle whirring of the various pieces of machinery. Thank God. Skeleton staff on for the night shift?
I sat up and slid the cuff away from the rail before lowering the rail until the free half was balanced on the floor. A gentle act so as not to allow the metal to fall hard on the floor causing an unnecessary din which, unlike the bolt, would surely attract someone skeleton staff or not.
Free at last.
I swung my feet away from the bed and placed them on the floor. Carefully I stood up. The room was spinning - no doubt due to the hit I took on the head - and I felt like throwing up but I had to ignore it. Couldn’t attract the attention and couldn’t let them find me passed out in a pile of my own vomit. I looked towards the closed door which, I presumed, led out to the corridors. Can’t go that way. Don’t dare. For all I know there could be an officer standing on the other side. I’m innocent of any wrong doing but clearly they don’t believe that, yet, or else they wouldn’t have cuffed me to the bed. Unless it was for my own protection but, somehow, I can’t quite see how such an act would protect me.
I scanned the room and noticed a collection of various instruments on a metal tray. I wobbled over to it for a closer look to see if there was anything there which might help me get rid of the handcuff which was still attached to my wrist.
Perfect, I thought as I discovered a small syringe amongst the various pieces of equipment. Can’t believe they just leave this kind of stuff lying around. Guess they didn’t expect me to wake up and get out of bed. Their mistake. No doubt some young intern will receive a lecture for leaving it here unattended. Too bad. I just hope it’s sterile on the off chance I accidentally catch myself with it.
