Feed, Page 3

hunts” led by a man name Van Helsing. Soon it was commonplace to open family mausoleums and drive stakes into the remains of ancestors. Feeling that the plague had been eradicated, the turn of the century passed without people needing to hang garlic on their doors and sleeping with crucifixes. As the 20th Century progressed, there came idle chatter of a new epidemic: a less powerful ghoul, still feasting on the blood but more covert due to having only slightly the powers or characteristics of the old idea of vampirism. Small communities were often found vacant in matters of days, leaving families searching for loved ones. It is rumored that the bloodlines are diminishing, leaving the new-age vampire a weak descendant of “The Old Ones”.

  Rubbing my chin, I read this paragraph and finally understood. I knew I was a vampire, this realization I had come to terms with, but a mere shadow of the legend. The book spoke of a dying breed of the undead, weaker and diminished. Figures, even in death I would draw the short straw. Checking my watch, I noticed that the bars were about to close. Tomorrow I would head into the city again for my buffet of fools, but tonight I had a date with an oak tree in a cul-de-sac. Maybe she really will dance tonight. The jazz played in my head.

  I hadn’t known that he was watching me until the motorcycle slid to a stop at the edge of my heels. Just arriving in the city, I didn’t even have a chance to scope out my main course for the evening. The hunger stayed at bay as long as I fed twice a week, and it was due. He removed his helmet and smiled at me — a nasty, toothy smile. His dark hair was pulled tightly to the back in a short ponytail. A small gold earring of a heart caught the streetlights and gleamed off his lobe. He had truly cold, dead eyes.

  “Hey, friend.” He accented the words almost sarcastically. “These are my streets, so why don’t you be a real pal and quit messing up my business?”

  As I started to speak, his eyes burned red. Standing with my mouth agape, it was only seconds before I realized he was gone. Damn, he was fast. I looked down at the key in my hand. The motorcycle stood propped up next to me. Something told me to heed the warning and accept the gift. I drove back home with the wind in my hair. I wasn’t looking forward to the hunger, but was truly enjoying this moment.

  The loading bay door was slightly ajar. I cautiously entered my sanctuary. She was tied to a pallet, a young street hooker with her mouth gagged. Fraying, thin twine that secured her dug into her wrists as she futilely attempted to scream. A note was pinned through her breast. GOOD BOY. Tears streamed down her face; somebody’s daughter. No, cattle. I covered her eyes with my hand and ripped out her throat. I don’t play with my food.

  Every three days, when I returned from my nightly prowls, I had a gift of some luckless streetwalker or bum. They were always trussed up but still very much alive. It was like an insane room service. If it kept me from having to deal with the stink of the city, that was fine with me. The empty field behind the store held a cache of unmarked graves. Digging them was a small price to pay, but definitely necessary. I could do the work with the sounds of the crickets singing in the night and lightning bugs flashing around me. Gotta love the suburbs.

  I tried to stay away but found myself perched up in the tree staring at her through the window a couple times a week. The nights had been cooler and she left her window open. The scent of her perfume played with my senses. Such a beautiful woman to be always alone. I would see her in the bars ignoring the consistent advances of man after man. She’d laugh and dance with them and even spend time at their tables talking. But she’d always leave the clubs alone to sit at her dressing table to brush her hair. Some would say I was obsessed; I’d say I was a dreamer.

  I befriended an older man who had the overnight shift at a small convenience store. Often we’d spend hours chatting about the problems of the world. He didn’t expect explanations of my life. He had just accepted me. I saw traces of my father in his eyes. Always a kind word when I walked in and he let me use the bathroom to clean up. Howard Jenkins was a respectful man. I often wondered if the bosses had ever watched the security tapes. Had they seen me or just Howard talking to himself in the middle of the night?

 

  I was washing my hair in the sink of the bathroom when I heard the shot. They had taken sixty-seven dollars from the register and the only friend I had. Howard Jenkins was a respectful man.

  I held him as he died. Who says ghouls don’t cry?

  It had been four years since I had been bitten. The memory of Penny looking at me with such pity had faded away. My gifts of food continued three times a week, although I didn’t understand it. Mundane evenings dragged on endlessly.

  Getting bored with the small town entertainment, I decided to venture into the city for a change of scenery. All-too-familiar smells attacked my olfactory senses as the motorcycle passed the city limits. A misting rain had wet the streets, which reflected the neon bar signs, leaving roads aglow with reds and blues before my headlight. The muffled music exploded from the doorways. Couples laughed and chatted as they made their way into the clubs. I found a sports pub and perched with my back propped on a wall. The taste of beer floated in the air as I breathed. I bought one but it sat untouched in front of me while I watched the eighth inning of a rather boring baseball game. A pair of young men talked nastily about a couple girls on the other end of the bar. I found myself smiling, enjoying the normalcy of it all. I missed that.

  Walking out the door as the bar closed, I found my way to my motorcycle. A large dog lay across the seat. Entrails were ripped out and hanging from its carcass down the sides of my bike. The gore steamed in the night air. It slid off with a grotesque shlop. I shivered as I drove back to my home. The dog was laid on the floor when I entered. A sign was stabbed into its side with a fork. YOU FORGOT YOUR DINNER.

  I had quickly buried the dog before daylight with mosquitoes buzzing around me. I was never bitten by them anymore; I guess they knew. Yet their drones filled my head louder than ever. I lay that day in the cool darkness, but sleep would not come. Every sound, every smell, treated me to a greater awareness. I could hear the cars driving on the highway four miles away, and smell the rotting bodies underground. It was unpleasant, although bearable for now. I probably could have slept if I didn’t have such a pain in my mouth. Biting down on a rag, the pressure seemed to help. I drifted to slumber listening to my heart beating. It had slowed quite a bit in the last week. I felt something was changing.

  When I woke that evening, I spit out my canines with the rag. I could feel pointy tips on my gums. Little too old to be losing baby teeth.

  Two days later, a restrained hooker appeared on my doorway. I was starving. I had learned my lesson. Her eyes grew wide as I approached, then closed forever.

  I had seen it one night waiting in the field in the shadows of the evening. I do not know if my visitor was just watching me feed, but the ghoul was aware that I seen it. Red eyes cut through the dark; perhaps a warning to show me the end of my leash.

 

  Fireworks rained in the sky as the townspeople celebrated their independence. Multitudes of cascading colors were a welcome backdrop as I buried another drained carcass. The distant sounds of firecrackers brought a smile to my face, reminded of my youth. Fleeting memories of family and friends I had thought I had forgotten. Even though I was alone, they were all with me that night.

  I had never felt so … alive. Every breath, every motion as the beautiful redhead danced across the floor, I had to lean over to watch from my limb. Her ruddy hair twirled behind as she gyrated to the music for my personal show. Like fire, it flowed catching the light. She had come home early that night and had almost caught me as I scurried up the old tree. Pausing before she opened her door, I thought I might have been discovered. It was like she was sniffing the air. Odd. Her green eyes flashed, catching the light from the entryway as she entered. The music began before the light came on. I couldn’t have left if I wanted to. Damned if she didn’t smirk closing the window later. Looking at my watch, I knew I had to rush to make it back
before daybreak and ran in the night air, faster than ever before. Made it to my sanctuary in minutes; I was a god.

  Dreams came. Beautiful images of daylight and beaches. The paradise of walking into the surf and the water licking my shins. Blue skies with hazy clouds floating by, all so perfect. A life I wanted … a life. Wiping my brow, I looked up at the sun. The heat coursed over my face. Penny was bent over watching her son building a sand castle. She looked at me and smiled, then looked up and screamed. Fire crept out of her open mouth as her lips blackened and she exploded into a spray of scalding, melting flesh. It covered me as I felt the heat boiling up inside my own body. Screams turned to laughter; my own. A horrific jest that the world had played. I woke laughing still, yet my face was still wet with tears.

  That night, I felt my heart slow even more. My skin grew colder and I was without limit. I was tired of being a kept man. I needed to hunt. A hunger burned in my stomach that had to be quenched, tonight. As I stepped out the door, the sound of a man cussing drifted across the field. Not