Sire In The Night

Father was at work, as usual. Or as he liked to put it, he was socialising at the local inn. Mother had spent most of the morning ironing the clothes near the stove and I had been writing on my little pad. Mother said that I would never be a writer, that women didn’t publish books, that I wouldn’t be taken seriously. But still I persisted in writing. I hoped that one day I would make it into a newspaper. Perhaps a serial or something similar. A couple of short stories, even, would have made me wet myself with excitement.

But how could I be great when all I have at home is negation and abuse? I wrote through the pain, and somehow I think it changed my prose. For the better or worse I don’t know, but what used to be fluffy romances had taken on dark tones, death and torture. It wasn’t horror, not in the same vein as Mary Shelley, but it was close.

I heard the door slam behind me and turned to see father staggering in, his face red with the alcohol and his step unsteady. He stood there for a moment, framed in the doorway like a butterfly in a box, arms outstretched and holding onto the wooden surround. Mother looked up and I saw the fright in her eyes, but it was just another day, another punch, another bruise. Physically she was healing all the time, but mentally I could tell the hurt was killing her.

‘Did you have a nice time?’ she asked and his lips turned upwards into a snarl, his browning teeth showing. A thin trickle of spittle dripped from his bottom lip towards the floor and for a moment I had the image of a wild dog tattooed in my mind, for that’s exactly what he looked like. A wild dog. A werewolf. But werewolves didn’t exist. However, my father did.

‘Ah, shut up woman. I’m hungry… get my tea cooking or God help me…’

He stumbled past us and into the living room, collapsing onto the chair by the window and looking out into the street. He was breathing heavily and I saw mother dishing his dinner onto a plate. She handed it to me and I took it through, almost tripping on my skirts and sending father’s dinner into the wall.

I handed it over and he cut into the meat, looked at it, chewed it for a moment before spitting it back out. He stood up, towering over me, hands clenched into fists. He pushed past me and into the kitchen. Mother was drying her hands on a towel when he brought his fist round in a wide arc, sending her into the stove. Her hand touched it and she recoiled instantly. I heard the hiss as the flesh on the palm of her hand boiled.

There was a red mark across her cheek and father hit her again. Blood dripped from her nose, and I mentally drove her to fight back, but she stood there like a damned Stepford wife and let him do it.

I couldn’t watch any more. I ran for the door and fled into the street. It was dark and the street was mostly empty, and I didn’t know where I was going. My feet slapped the cobbles as I ran.

Can’t take it anymore, can’t take it anymore.

The mantra resounded in my head as I moved through the shadows. I could hear singing coming from the inn nearby. Lights were shining and I stuck to the shadows, just another silhouette among many.

Finally I stopped and panted, taking the breaths in fast and deep. Acid burned at the back of my throat and I felt a little sick, but as the minutes ticked by the sensation disappeared and I returned to normal. I heard footsteps and started to slide back into the shadows but the man saw me and beckoned me forth.

***

He was handsome. That was the first thing I noticed about the tall, thin brute of a man that stood in front of me. He was smartly dressed, with frills and lace, and a smile that made me feel almost comfortable in his presence.

‘You look frightened. Has someone attacked you?’

I shook my head and long blonde hair fell in front of my eyes. I pushed it back around my ears.

‘How old are you? What’s your name?’

‘Twenty-three. And it’s Vanessa.’

The tall man nodded, then swept down into an almost comical bow.

‘Well, my name is Michael. Would you like me to accompany you home? Women shouldn’t be out at night… it’s dangerous…’

‘I can handle myself,’ I said, looking him straight in the eyes. He nodded again.

‘That may be… but it is dangerous out here… come on.’

He took my elbow and turned me around, waiting for me to start walking. I was almost in love with him. He was around six foot, with short dark hair, dark brows and green eyes that almost glowed through the dark. There was stubble on his chin that made him look even more attractive, and even though he was thin I could tell there was the slightest hint of muscles. I walked and he followed. I didn’t mind him taking me home. I felt warm just being in his presence. He couldn’t have been much older than me. We walked past the mouth of an alleyway where I knew, much later in the night, prostitutes would stand there, selling their wares.

As we passed I felt something suddenly push against me and I stumbled deep into the darkness, hitting the wall hard and feeling someone touch my neck.

Where is Michael, I thought as I tried to turn around. Why isn’t he helping?

Then it hit me square between the eyes. Michael was attacking me. Why? Was he going to rape me? I didn’t know but I felt him sweep the hair from my neck, and I could have sworn he kissed me. Then there was just pain.

He was sucking my neck, sucking it hard. I felt his teeth dimple the skin, and then something warm running down my shoulder. I didn’t know what it was but I was starting to feel light-headed. I fell against the wall before crumpling to my knees. White spots flew in front of my eyes and then the annihilating darkness took me to the Bad Place.

***

Dreams, visions, psychedelic light swirling and twirling like a merry-go-round. Life flashing through the darkness, a sense of entombment. I could sense tears, hate, grief. I could sense it all yet I couldn’t quite reach out and touch it…

***

I woke up the next day. My parents were gone, and I sat up suddenly, as though roused from a deep sleep. I was disorientated, and there was something flowing through my veins I couldn’t quite understand. Adrenalin perhaps. Or something else. I went to get out of bed and hit my knees hard on something, tumbling down to the floor. I hit my head and pain roared through it. I turned and looked up, and my heart darted into my mouth.

Why the hell was I sleeping in a coffin? I thought as I looked at the slender wooden box. It was in the main room, away from the fire. Flowers had been put in there with me, and they were now scattered across the carpet like beautiful husks, already drying out.

Am I dead? I thought as I stood up, my head throbbing, the room a distortion of objects. I held onto the rim of the coffin and realised that I was alive, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to touch anything. Ghosts don’t touch things, I thought and walked over to the mirror.

I was dressed immaculately, liberal make-up applied to my pale face to ward off the death-look and there were two teeny holes in my neck.

Oh my God, I thought as I realised what they were. Teeth marks. Were they… it wasn’t possible…

I’m a vampire, I thought as I opened my mouth and saw my two top incisors had grown, curling downwards. One moment they were there, the next they weren’t.

How can I see into a mirror, I thought. Vampires can’t see into mirrors. But then again that was myth, nothing more than fog and dreams. Perhaps vampires could see into mirrors, see their reflections. I froze when I heard the door open, heard my mother’s voice drift through from the hall.

I ran into the hall at the other end as they came in. I heard a crash of something being dropped. Then my mother screamed.

***

I managed to escape outside into the street and I ran down a little. I thought I would feel the familiar burning but instead there was nothing. Instead, I felt a newfound sense of freedom, of bliss. There was something different, something totally new.

I thought I might have wanted to bite, to feed on someone. Instead, I didn’t have that particular urge. I walked into the graveyard by the church and sat down. Sacred ground doesn’t touch me, I thought and smiled. I really was a vampire.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned around. Michael was standing there, looking at me. I stood up and walked over to him. He looked a little scared and I stepped up close to him.

‘Why have you done this? What have you turned me into?’

‘I didn’t mean for you to… come back. You should be dead. My blood… mixed with yours… it was an accident, Vanessa.’

‘But you have turned me into a vampire, haven’t you?’

He nodded slowly and I felt anger build up inside me, a fury that was almost uncontrollable.

‘You bastard!’ I spat and slapped him. His head turned to one side but he didn’t move, just looked back at me with those brooding brows and green, gold-flecked eyes. I wanted to hit him again, to pound on him until he was bleeding and battered. But I didn’t have it in me. Alive or dead, I wasn’t a violent person.

‘You need to learn about it, Vanessa. It’s not as easy as you think…’

‘I will learn about it… in my own time. Now leave me alone. Don’t come looking for me. I hate you!’

I turned and walked under the archway and into the crowds in the street.