A Vampire Short Story #3

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
The third of my short vampire stories.

Submitted: August 21, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 21, 2012



Playing Games

As soon as I approach him, I can smell the blood on his hands. I am speaking metaphorically, of course. People can’t just run around with blood on their hands in normal society without unwanted questions being raised. What an interesting world that might be.

Of course, it used to be that way. I’d know, wouldn’t I? Yes, I would. Two centuries ago, a man with blood and dirt on him was normal in such a filthy place as this. I didn’t like being here, too much stink of the rotten and it makes my nose burn, but I needed to be in such places. Those here are humans whose humanity has begun to decay, like a carcass, and just as any corpse, it draws flies such as I, though I was closer to a mosquito than a fly. I just need the blood, you see. And their death.

It is always that way. I always draw the evilest of the bunch. The world still goes on if one killer dies, yes? It always has before, and it shall tonight. I catch and kill the ones who have escaped the justice system of the humans. The ones that escaped, or found loop holes, were mine to take. I wouldn’t stand the murdering of innocents without retribution.

Humans are always so confused about where they stand when it comes to justice. They are blinded by their own arrogance so they cannot see that killing a killer of innocent people is not wrong. They do not punish indiscriminately. If you have enough power, enough wealth, you can get away with more than those who do not have these things. There are ways to compromise the system. And killers get away.

What humans always fail to realize, is that their sense of justice is skewed. To kill an innocent person, that’s criminal, inhuman, but kill a killer and half of them think it’s good, the other half thinks it is playing God. Does the very idea of government, humans ruling other humans, not play the role of God? I believe this is where I sigh.

Now I’m only getting off task. Forgive my scattered mind and allow me to return to my story. There will be blood and death tonight. Hopefully more blood, though. I am hungrier than I originally thought.

I focus again on the man sitting next to me at the bar. The lights are dim, the conversations numerous and loud. I hear the crack of billiards balls behind me and the shouts of those watching sports. Many would have been smoking, but this place, dirty and horrible though it is, does not allow people to smoke. That’s all right; it always makes me choke anyway.

This man is not small, but not large either. Brown-blond hair, blue-grey eyes. Rather average, truth be told. No one would think from his initial appearance that he is the serial killer they all talk about; the one the televisions and radios go on and on about, warning people to stay inside. Yes, a perfect killer. Leave no traces. Don’t act suspicious. Oh, his thoughts are already pulling me in, how wonderful.

Well then, little killer, let the game begin. The stakes are high, but I have a feeling you won’t mind that, will you? The kill is the ultimate thrill for you, isn’t it? The highest high? That’s why you do it. That’s why you kill. The thrill of the hunt, the chase, the kill. Then there is the running, running from those who would condemn you for your killings, and that’s a whole new kind of thrill isn’t it! Well, let’s set the rules then, little killer.

I push into his mind, gently, gently, so gently he doesn’t notice. This is his fourth drink tonight, all real strong stuff. Wants to get good and drunk before stumbling home to a gorgeous home and wife and a life away from his crimes for a few days. Live the double life, he thinks with a smirk.

Digging deeper, I find older memories, ones of pain and torment brought down on him. Child abuse. I’ll never be like that to my kids, he thinks. He loves his kids, I can see that. Even in a murderer like him, the innocence in children brings out the good side of him, though that good is deeply buried.

His wife and children are unaware of his activities. Wouldn’t hurt them for the world, would he? Well, maybe I’ll just have to incorporate that as a twist in our game, hmm? I’ll give him a choice, though not one he might be expecting. That’s always good. I like surprises. I hope he does too.

I plant a thought into his head with force, though not enough to alert him that I am within his mind. From the corner of my eye, I see his slightly reddened face turn to me and a glint of murder appears in his expression. I’ve seen that expression. It’s one I’ve seen on my own face in the minds of my victims.

Now he wishes to hunt me. Good. It is begun.

I stand up without a word, not glancing at anyone or anything in particular. I leave and step out into the snow, slowly, trying to look like one of them. I pull my coat and scarf closer to myself and shiver. I am a good actor; I play the part of a human very well.

He has followed me outside. Wonderful, just as planned. I begin my walk to his home, but he is too intoxicated to notice it right at the moment. He sees nothing special about me. A mere man, alone and unarmed. He is armed. He has a knife and a gun hidden in a pocket of his coat, on the inside. I’d felt it there in his thoughts. He feels powerful. I need no weapons.

The wind becomes stronger, the snow falls harder. If I can get him somewhere secluded in this weather, the possibilities on how long he would scream for help with no answer would become endless. I really do think it funny when they scream for help when they know no one can hear them. Isn’t it what they deserve when it comes right down to it? If a man murders an innocent young woman simply for the sake of killing, is it wrong to wish him ill? Is it wrong to want to bleed him dry?

We are closer now, so I step into the woods next to the house. The wind has become a gale, the snow fall, a blizzard. Snow blocks out noise easily and the wind will carry his voice away. What a perfect night this was turning out to be.

He remains on my trail, though he doesn’t understand why I would go into the woods. He’ll find out soon enough.

I step into a clearing and stop in the center of it, my back to him. This is where the fun begins. My hunger is getting impatient with my game, short as it has so far been. I am getting irritable.

He stops as well, and pulls out his gun. He senses something wrong. I am wrong. Something about me is wrong. He doesn’t like it.

Suddenly I am beside him. I take the gun from him, pluck it right out of his hand. The face he makes! The shout of surprise and horror! I laugh harshly.

“So, little killer, I know who you are. I know where you live. More importantly, I know where your family lives.”

“What do you want?!” he shouts. My dark chuckle answers him.

“Your life. Your blood, if I must be specific. But mostly it is your life, as I have seen you kill innocent people. I’ve read it from your mind. You enjoy it. But you love your family. You were abused, so you love your family. You wouldn’t want them to hurt, would you? No? Well, then, let us set the rules of this game, shall we?”

“Freak,” he shouts in response, standing ready to flee. “You’re a crazy f—” He cuts off when he hears my laughing.

“You can deny all you like. In the end, it’s all up to you.”

“What the Hell are you talking about?” he growls, slowly backing towards the trees. I see it. He won’t get away. Once he hears my rules, he’ll play my games.

“I am talking about your life. And your family’s lives.”

“Don’t you touch them!” he shouts.

“Oh, I have no intention of harming them. But do you? Will you be the hero tonight? Or the villain?”

“What do you want?”

“I’ve already answered that question!” I shout. This man is making my hands itch. I want to crush his skull, break his little neck, but I won’t. I want his blood more. I will myself to calm.

“The rules are simple. I only have two. May I take your silence as a sign that I may tell them to you? …Fine.

“Rule one: I love screams. Loud screams. I want you to scream very loudly for me. Like that woman, the one outside of the supermarket, do you remember? Scream like that. You will be in her shoes tonight, little killer.

“Rule two: Don’t run. If you run, I will be forced to snap your little twig neck right in two and alert the authorities of your killings, ruining your family’s life, and then I will be sorely put out with you. Do you have those rules?”

“Yes,” he spits with rage.

“That is the twist in tonight’s game. You getting to choose between your life or your family’s lives. Would you want to hurt your little boy? He’s only a baby after all. Or your pretty little daughter. She’s turning six, isn’t she?”

“Stop it! Just get on with it!” I glare at him. He is irritating me. My lengthened fangs ache. He needs to die soon.

“So choose. Do you go out as a hero or a villain? Well? Choose! Will you ruin the lives of your children and wife by allowing me to expose you as the killer? Hmm? Or will you choose to die as a man, simply a man, a husband and a father? Choose!”

“Shut up! Leave my family out of this!” He rushes at me, brandishing the knife. He knows how to use it, but I know how to make him not use it.

He comes forward, so I twist around and rap my knuckles against his wrist. One loud shout echoes through the trees. I’ve snapped his wrist with that gentle tap? So frail…

How many had felt the touch of this blade, been murdered with this knife; the very knife I am turning over in my hands right now? Two, five, a dozen? Does it matter? He has taken another human’s life from them, a child, only nineteen years old with so much ahead of him, so much of his life left to live and it was all ripped away with this knife. Does the little killer deserve to live his life with so much innocent blood on his hands?

Clutching his wrist, he backs away from me, eyes narrowing in undisguised hate.

“So, what do you choose?” I ask him, grinning.

With that look of hatred, he submits, kneeling down in the snow before me. His glare is venomous as I approach, triumphant. I have his weapons and he is so fragile, so weak and defenseless, just as his victims had been. I relish in the moment, the smell of fear, and the air around us fills with his screams.

Afterward, when my mind becomes clear again, I take the dead man’s knife and slit his throat, not that anything was left to spill. There was no blood left, save for the small amount left stuck in muscles and tissues within him. I am satisfied, though, so I drag his body to a ditch and throw him in, tossing a few scrapes of his shredded clothing after him.

I am now genuinely becoming annoyed with the snow. It is cold and I am soaked through. My stomach is full, and the sun is rising. Time to go home.


I wrote and read this for a writers' class and got positive responses, so I figured I'd post it. :)

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