Die My Darling

This is where I'll post my stories! Don't steal them, though. I mean, you can if you want me to hunt you down and pull out your intestines through your nose and hang you with your innards. 

A Short-Lived Affair

            Tyson Jones was just locking up his humble tailor shop for the evening when he heard something much like the squeal of a mouse when it knows it’s been seen by a predator, but more…how to put it…human-sounding. Tyson’s wife, Lydia, started in the direction of the noise. She was a very curious woman, and always seemed fascinated by the slightest happening, much to Mr. Jones’ irritation.

            “No, dear, we don’t have time for this. Come along, I’ll make you some tea when we get home,” prompted Tyson, pulling gently on the arm of his wife’s forest-green sweater that matched her eyes to an exact. The woman tugged against his hold futilely. She could sense that there was definitely something wrong.

            “It’ll take but a moment. Please?” whimpered Lydia from behind her sepia hair in the manner that always made him give in to her curiosity.

            “Gah, very well,” Tyson snorted in defeat. “But be quick about it.” Lydia’s rose lips parted in a disarming smile and she stretched up in order to kiss her husband’s cheek before darting away.

            Tyson watched the slender silhouette of his wife slipping out of the pool of light and around a darkened corner with a deepening sense of uneasiness.

            Lydia’s eyes slowly adjusted to the pale moonlight of the alley. Two humanoid forms stood face-to-face at the far end of the space between the shop and another building. One was a young girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen, and she was like a deer in the headlights of a speeding semi. The other was a very tall, very slender man with hair like a shadow, skin the color of the full moon, and eyes of ruby. Two long canine teeth were unsheathed when he grinned maliciously.

            At first, Lydia thought she was seeing things. That notion evaporated, however, when the catlike man sprang at the girl and sank his fangs into her delicate throat.

            Lydia gasped in horror, which caused the vampire to whip around in her direction. Lydia’s plain leather shoes clicked against the moon bathed cobblestones as she fled the gruesome sight. Though the vampire could’ve easily taken her, he rethought bursting into a human-packed street as he was, what with blood dribbling down his chin and that wild expression on his face. However, he did slip onto a rooftop in order to watch for a moment of opportunity to pick her off, leaving his old dinner to grow cold.

            Whump! Tyson almost fell over backwards as Lydia hurtled into his arms unexpectedly. She had gone quite pale and was sobbing into his grey jacket.

            “L-Lydia?! Whatever is the matter?” he demanded. For several minutes, all she could muster were shaken sniffles. Meanwhile, her mind was thinking as hard as it could. Unimaginative old Tyson would sooner send her to an institution than believe she’d seen a vampire. Lydia was usually a pretty adventurous woman with few fears. However, she did bear a fear of rats (or so Tyson had been led to believe. Personally, Lydia found them cute).

“A giant r-rat,” Lydia mumbled. Tyson, evidently buying the story, made comforting noises and led her towards their home. Little did they know, they weren’t alone…

Valentin Ysidro strolled nonchalantly across the rooftops, always watching the green-clad woman out of the corner of his eye. Her mate was keeping her too close, which would make this all the more difficult.

They arrived at a very average-looking whitewashed house, which the couple entered through the mahogany front door. Valentin silently slipped in behind them and concealed himself in the shadow of the chair that was thrown by the snapping fire. Presently, the woman (now in a mint nightgown and a creamy green bathrobe) came with a cup of tea and sat alone in a plush jade chair facing the fireplace. Excellent.

The vampire could hear the husband climbing into bed in another room, so he was now alone with his victim-to-be.

Hold on, his mind mused, why should we waste perfectly good prey? Toy with her a bit first.

Valentin slowly raised an icy hand and clasped the human’s small warm one in his own. He chuckled when he felt the woman instinctively tense up. In the time it took Lydia to open her mouth for a scream, the vampire had already clasped his hair-raising hand over her delicate mouth and was standing before her.

“Hello, beautiful.”

In that instant, Valentin’s vampire mental abilities transfixed Lydia, and she was the mouse caught in the python’s hypnotizing gaze. Valentin willed her to love him, and so it happened.

The vampire gracefully leaned towards her, and Lydia branded his pale lips with a very passionate kiss.

So it was, night after night for a month that Valentin visited Lydia, and she grew increasingly attached to the vampire and, despite himself, Valentin grew attached to Lydia. Tyson eventually noted a subtle happiness growing within his wife, but he credited himself for it, as was his tendency.

Night had fallen, and Lydia was awaiting her vampire prince once again.

“Lydia, I’m here,” a whisper like feathers brushing softly, but audibly, across a page drifted through the room and suddenly Valentin was at her side. He swept Lydia into his arms and Lydia let out a schoolgirlish giggle.

“Hello, Valentin,” Lydia smiled and kissed him affectionately. The vampire swept her beautiful brown hair back so he could run his lips along her jaw line and down the side of her neck. Another bubbly laugh erupted from Lydia.

“How about a deal?” Valentin asked casually.

“Mmm?” murmured Lydia as she nuzzled his icy neck.

“How would you like to be a vampire, too?”

“Hmm…I wouldn’t mind being with you for the rest of eternity…” Lydia whispered sweetly.

“Ah, I was hoping you’d say that…” the vampire smiled and placed his lips over Lydia’s throat. He could feel her blood pumping faster through her veins, as if it could sense this would be the last time it would pulse so.

A pair of saber fangs pierced her flesh and drew out her blood at an almost painful rate. Lydia gasped with the sheer feeling.

From the hallway came a horrified squawk. Mr. Jones had become suspicious of why Lydia wouldn’t come to bed anymore, so he had followed her out here, and had witnessed all of that night’s affair.

 Valentin quickly finished and draped an unconscious Mrs. Jones over her favorite chair. He then proceeded to charge directly at a stunned Tyson.

Just in time, Tyson yanked off the cross hanging on the wall and brandished it at Valentin. The vampire stopped and, to Tyson’s absolute horror, began to laugh uncontrollably.

“You fool,” snorted Valentin, “you poor, stupid human. You should see the look on your face right now!”

Tyson seized this moment of weakness to strike a match lying on a nearby table and throw it at Valentin. Who knew vampires were so flammable?

Valentin writhed in pain, burning like a piece of newspaper thrown onto a fire. When there was nothing but ashes left, Tyson collapsed from the exhaustion of the fight.

Morning sunlight poured through the blinds, bathing the macabre scene in brightness. Lydia blinked into awareness. Everything seemed so much clearer, as if she had cotton in her ears and mud in her eyes before now. From afar, she could hear the freeway.

Events from the night before flooded her memory. Apparently, she was now a vampire. But where was her beloved Valentin? Her new hawk eyes soon found the pile of ashes that could only have been her vampire lover. Sadness washed over her, and Lydia spent a long time mourning Valentin.

As soon as the heartbreak eased its grip on her still heart, the woman realized that she was in the sunlight without being harmed in any way. However, her flesh was like a disco ball so far as that when the light hit it, prisms of color shimmered off of her. Normal people didn’t sparkle. Rats.

A new, overwhelming sensation took control of Lydia’s vampire body. A scorching thirst burned at the back of her throat. Now there was only the unstoppable desire for the metallic taste of blood on her tongue.

Lydia dashed outside and captured large rabbit. The taste wasn’t good at all, but it helped to dull the thirst a little. Over the course of the day, she ate many animals and one small child. What did it matter, there were plenty of humans to go around, right?

Around noon, Tyson groggily awoke. The vampire was dead, and his (possibly vampiric) wife was nowhere to be seen. Just fan-freaking-tastic.

That’s when reality knocked him down and started kicking him in the ribs. His wife had been cheating on him for a vampire for heaven-knows-how-long, and now she was one of them. Now that he knew about the existence of vampires, they would certainly want to silence him, probably in the form of his own wife.

However, he did know a sure-fire way to kill them. As long as Tyson had a book of matches, he stood half a chance.

The rest of his day was spent preparing for the showdown of his life.

The sun sank behind the horizon, and darkness descended upon the land.

Lydia’s sadness had morphed into bitter rage and a thirst for revenge. She slunk determinedly towards what used to be a beacon of hope with a hardened resolve to kill her husband.

The door opened and Tyson’s grip on his varied “vampire-killing” equipment tightened. He remained calm as his demonic wife entered. They stared each other down for a tense moment before Lydia charged.

Tyson first tried to bluff by using the cross, which Lydia ignored. He then went through garlic, silver, and a wooden stake with no success. In desperation, Tyson lit a match.

All of Lydia’s instincts reeled against the flame, but her fury drove her onwards. Exactly as Lydia ripped Tyson’s heart from his vulnerable chest, the fire caught her in its searing grasp. Lydia fell, screaming like a banshee, on top of Tyson.

Both of them roasted until the only sign of human presence was a large pile of ashes and a great red stain on the amazingly fireproof rug.

In the morning, the maid simply couldn’t determine either what the stain was or why the house suddenly felt so empty, though as long as she got her paycheck, she couldn’t care less.

Scalpels and Skin

                Conrad tightened the straps around Eric’s wrists and ankles.  The man’s expensive top hat and silk gloves lay askew on the floor.

                “Now, Count Beckington, would you care for a sedative?”  the doctor asked, calmly.

                “Of course I would!  What kind of a doctor are you?!” snarled Eric snobbily.

                “It’s just that sometimes a patient will come along and insist he won’t be drugged up.  Relax your arm, this will only hurt for a second, “Conrad smiled, taking out a hypodermic needle.  He pulled back the designer jacket and injected the needle into Eric’s arm.  Eric stiffened, then he relaxed completely.  The man’s breathing slowed. 

                “The world will be better without him, pity…..I wanted him to suffer.”  Conrad looked at his array of tools.  From scalpels to hacksaws, almost every sharp implement of pain imaginable was there.  He picked up a cleaving knife, then put it back.  Eventually he decided on the giant shears hanging on the wall.  Conrad stumbled under the weight.  Yes, he could cut him right in half.  He went through Eric’s belongings before he began.   The man’s wallet was bulging.  Conrad pocketed it and continued.  On the ring finger of one hand was a silver engagement ring.  God pity his poor fiancé.  The mad doctor swiped it and kept looking.  Eric had a pocket watch, a monocle, and keys to his estate.  Of course, there was the hat and pair of gloves, which would fetch a good price on the black market, as well as the spare pair of eyes.  Speaking of which, he’d take Eric’s eyes out first, as he had forgotten to do this on his most recent patient.  Conrad took the keys, just for good measure, and chucked the rest in the “black market” box.  Now came the fun part.

                Conrad took out the eyes with a swift stroke of his favorite tool, and dropped them into an icebox.  Eric remained in a comatose state due to the very heavy sedative.  Blood streamed from his eye sockets like crimson tears.  Conrad picked up the shears again.  They were heavy and difficult to handle, but he managed to force Eric’s waist between the blades.  Conrad pulled together the handles and Count Beckington’s torso was separated from his legs.  Blood spewed onto the floor. 

                “Shit!  Maybe I can make Su clean this up….” Conrad grumbled to himself.  He turned his attention to the dismembered body.  Obviously he was enjoying himself.  Conrad dug his gloved hand into the torso, loving the familiar feel of organs under his fingers.  Using the same shears again, he spliced the torso open.  Then he used the scalpel to extract the organs, and he placed them in the ice box.

                After he was satisfied with the gore, Conrad pulled out a couple of bones and tossed them to Saber, who crunched happily upon them.  The remains got in incinerated in the small wood-burning furnace.  Conrad turned on the tap and ran his blood-soaked arms under the water, scrubbing his hands and wrists furiously with a bar of soap.  Then he looked down at his feet.  His shoes were trailing the sticky red stuff all over the floor.  Conrad cursed under his breath and dried his hands.  He strode to the closet, which was unusually silent.  It had better be silent, he’d threatened  Suzette very sharply not to make a noise, or else.  Conrad unlocked and opened it, and Suzette came rushing out.  She gasped at the gore splattered about the room.   

                Conrad turned on the tap and ran his blood-soaked arms under the water, scrubbing his hands and wrists furiously with a bar of soap.  Then he looked down at his feet.  His shoes were trailing the sticky red stuff all over the floor.  Conrad cursed under his breath and dried his hands.  He strode to the closet, which was unusually silent.  It had better be silent, he’d threatened Suzette very sharply not to make a noise, or else. 

Lucien Duskfall

Lucien fumbled around in his jeans pocket and drew out a slender cigarette with slightly trembling fingers. He lit it and inhaled, drawing the smoke into his lungs before breathing cloud of grey. This was the building, alright. The Saint Corp offices loomed before him, a mighty beast waiting to swallow him whole.

                His black leather shoes made very little noise as Lucien entered the building. Inside, it smelled faintly of chemicals and smoke. Lucien glanced at the pen scribble on his wrist indicating which room he was to go to and mentally went over to map he’d looked at earlier.

                A freckled blonde boy, possibly twenty-three or twenty-four, with some heavy-looking medical textbooks under one arm came rushing into the entrance, looking slightly panicked. The boy glanced around nervously, then noticed Lucien coming his way.

                “Uhm, excuse me sir, I have a question,” the blonde said, clearing his throat.

                “What’s up?” Lucien smiled gently and leaned against a wall with his hands in his pockets.

                “Can you tell me where Mister,” the boy checked a slip of paper clenched in his hand, “Mr. Evan Wedgeworth’s office is?” The blonde gazed up at Lucien hopefully, his cerulean eyes shimmering.

                “Evan? Oh, take the middle hallway, walk all the way to the end, then take a left which’ll take you down another hallway, and once you’re going down that hallway his office’ll be on your right, okay?” Lucien flashed the young man a disarming grin. The boy’s features visibly relaxed.

                “Thank you so much, this place is so massive and I’m already almost late for my interview and just thank you.” The blonde boy smiled awkwardly and clipped off down the middle hallway, waving as Lucien departed for his own destination. He had to wonder, would that kid be able to survive in a place like this? It didn’t matter, his own interview started in (he checked his quartz watch) seventeen minutes.

                Lucien glanced at the dour numbers engraved on plaques secured to the wood as he hurried down the left corridor and up a short flight of stairs. His tight jacket hugged the lash marks criss-crossing his tightly covered back, reigniting old blazes of hatred for men like his father. He would get this job, no matter the cost!

                Lucien finally found the correct room and checked his watch. 3: 26. He had made it with time to spare. He opened the door with an air of confidence and looked at the red and black haired wiry man behind the large oak desk.

                “Lucien, am I correct?” Ace asked. Lucien nodded and Ace indicated a vacant cushioned chair across from the desk. “First things first. I’m Ace, leader of the Illegal team, and you’re Lucien Duskfall. Before we begin, Mister Duskfall, I will point out that nuisances like those false fangs are considered childish and are highly frowned upon.”

                “Excuse me sir, but I take them quite seriously. They don’t hinder me in any way and I insist upon wearing them.” Ace raised an eyebrow scrutinisingly.

                “Very well, maybe I should gather some information on you first. How old are you, Mr. Duskfall?” Ace began.

                “Twenty-eight, as of last October.”

                “And where are you from?”

                “I was born and raised in Philadelphia. Moved around a lot after finishing college.”

                “Mhmm…” Ace jotted something down in a notebook. “So which college would this be, again?”

                “Villanova.”

                “Ahh, good school. So what motivated you to join Saint Corp in the first place?”

                “There’s a terribly long and macabre tale pertaining to that, I’m afraid,” Lucien sighed.

                “We’ve got nothing but time, and I assure you all of this is strictly confidential, so if you would care to elaborate…” Ace said rather pointedly.

                “Very well then. When I was quite young, I witnessed my father murdering my mother.”

                “Certainly you must be hesitant to reveal such information,” noted Ace.

                “No, my father is dead and gone. All that will come in good time, though. Anyways, my father began to whip me in order to silence me.” Lucien forced back his jacket, and dark lash lines glared from the pale flesh on his arms and back. “Father also gave me this scar on my right eye to remind me I was a disgrace every time I saw my reflection,” he explained, returning his jacket to how it was before. “There had to be some escape from that hell, and I found my refuge in vampire novels. Now my father, he hated anything factual. I remember loosing valued fangs, vials of fake blood, and, most importantly, my treasured stories. I was so enraged and bereft that I swore vengeance for the vampires lost and strained myself to the limit, both physically and mentally.

” After I graduated from Villanova, I learned that my father had remarried years ago to a woman who believed in vain that he could be salvaged. Of course, he was abusing her horribly. That was the last I would tolerate from that bastard. One night when he was coming home late from ‘work’, I dragged him into a side alley and stabbed him to death. The body was never found since I hid it so expertly, but I assure you no tears were wept for him.

“I then took to wandering, not caring where I went as long as it was away from there. Soon enough, I started killing those I regarded as unworthy in my eyes. Eventually I wound up here and figured I might put some method to the madness, so here I am. That’s about it,” Lucien smiled, his back popping as he straightened in the chair.

“Interesting…” Ace mumbled and jotted down more notes. “So what leads you to believe I’m going to allow you to join?”

                “I’m street-smart, I’m willing to kill, and I can hide a body perfectly. Do you need a better reason than that?” Lucien smirked.

                “No, I suppose not. Just one question. Lucien Duskfall can’t possibly be your real name,” Ace pointed out.

                “That’s not a question, it’s a statement. And yes, I changed my name. That’s all you need to know.”

                “Hmph. I guess we’ll consider you as an option. Expect a call within the week.  You may go.” Ace turned back to his paperwork and Lucien left in the awkward silence that followed. He exited the building and headed for his rather dingy, run-down, dungeon like apartment.

                Several days later, the phone rang.

                “Lucien? You’re in.”

About Lucie:

Lucien Duskfall's original name was Edmond Wilson, and that didn't sound "vampirey" enough for him, so he changed it later. As a child, Lucien was whipped and abused by his father. He witnessed his father murdering their mother when he was young, and since then his father, whose name was William, beat him in order to keep him quiet. Lucien then started to read vampire books as his escape from his personal hell. At the age of ten, he started wearing fake vampire fangs. He hid them whenever his father was around, though. William didn't approve of fantasy of any sort, and took personal satisfaction in destroying anything he might find of Lucien's that was related to vampires. When he burned Lucien's vampire books right in front of him, that was when the boy got angry. Granted, there wasn't much to be done, seeing as Lucien was small and weak back then. From that day on, Lucien swore his vengeance for the lost vampires and started training himself, both physically and mentally. Lucien struggled through junior high and high school due to the fact he was taunted more than anyone ever should be, which led to his addiction to cigarettes at an early age. He got mostly A's and B's and was accepted into the Gothic college Villanova in Philadelphia. He passed with flying colors but hadn't really figured out what he wanted in life. He then learned that his bastard of a father had gotten remarried quite a few years back and was abusing this wife too. Her name was Susan Croft, and she was the sort of woman who came back for more, the type who believed men like William could be changed. Poor, innocent Susan. Well, Lucien wasn't about to put up with any more of that, let me tell you what. Late one night he stabbed William to death in a back alley and fled. He did whatever he could to get away from it all, letting life carry him from place to place. Of course, he didn't feel bad at all about killing the man who spawned him; the man was doing harm to an innocent person. Fueled by his own sense of justice, he began to assassinate those he deemed unworthy in more artistic, in more vampire-like ways. Lucien eventually learned of old Saint Corp, and though he didn't always agree with everything done there, he decided it could be the only place for a cold-blooded murderer like himself. He did some background research, and decided that the Illegal wing was suiting for himself.

Agent L’s Report:

            I regret to admit that it took me five weeks to locate the target.  Regardless, I found him eventually.  At 9:47 p.m., I spotted Ysidro leaving a train station.

            Even though I was farther behind than the normal distance I usually keep, he picked up his pace.  He moved impossibly fast, and within seconds Ysidro was gone.  I used my dusting kit that always travels in my suitcase with me to find Ysidro’s footprint.  I followed the prints to an abandoned-looking house a very far distance from the station, but decided to stake out the area in case he came back out.

            I waited until dawn was almost upon London, but there was no visible activity.  If Ysidro had left the building, there was no sign of it.  I cautiously entered the house at 5:58 a.m.  There was the faint sound of something slamming shut, but I could tell it wasn’t a door leading outside.

            I tracked Ysidro’s footprints to a deep cellar.  The tracks ended at a coffin.  When I peeked in the coffin, I saw the ghostly form of Ysidro lying there with his arms crossed over his chest.  Even when I attempted to wake him, Ysidro would not stir.  He wasn’t breathing, didn’t have a pulse, and his skin was cold to the touch.  There were no signs of a wound or any other means of death.

            This unexplainable occurrence puzzled me, so I decided not to report him as officially dead just yet.  That day I spent hunting for information on Ysidro and chugging espresso.

            It turns out that some other humans had encountered Don Simon before.  James and Lydia Asher met him, and Lydia wrote a good report on Ysidro.  I was skeptical at first because I was certain vampires didn’t exist.  However, there really was no other explanation. 

            I went back to the abandoned house the next dawn after Ysidro (who had been walking about as if nothing had happened) got into the coffin and fell into his comatose state.

            Peeling back the pale lips, I noticed two abnormally long canine fangs.  Ysidro’s cobweb hair framed his face like feathers plucked from an angel’s wings.  Under his eyelids rested pale amber eyes.

            My heart pounded in my ears as I drew out a small silver button in the shape of a crescent moon.  I pressed it to the side of his neck.  To my macabre fascination, the flesh began to sizzle and burn.

            A cold hand grabbed my wrist and tore it away from Ysidro’s throat.  The sun was starting to slink down the stairs through the door I had left open.  Angrily, Don Simon pulled me into the coffin on top of him.

            “Stay in here and don’t move!  If you touch me with the silver again or open the coffin, you’ll wish you’d never been born.  Got it?”  the vampire snarled.  I nodded solemnly, and Ysidro made his hands like icy shackles about my wrists before slipping into his daytime rest.

            The moon button had left a deep red mark, like a brand, and I smiled at that thought.  Ha!  My very own vampire!  How droll. 

            Lying on top of a vampire for twelve hours straight is not comfortable at all, take it from me.  My teeth chattered, my hands were asleep, and I had a horrible itch right between my shoulder blades.

            When Don Simon woke up, he let go of the hand that wasn’t holding the silver button and pushed open the lid of the coffin.  He, obviously being untrusting of me, insisted he keep a hold on my button-holding wrist while he interrogated me.

            We got to talking, and it turns out we have a lot in common.  We both enjoy long moonlit walks and dramatic poetry by candlelight.

            “It really is a shame…,” sighed Ysidro.

            “That you’ll have to kill me?”  I asked.

            “Indeed.  Why don’t we go enjoy London a little first?”

            “Sounds great to me,” I smiled.

            We had quite a night out on the town.  When we were through, we returned to his house where he had a rodent bled into a wine glass, and I enjoyed some fine wine.

            “You know…..I did let that Asher fellow go….”  Ysidro murmured.

            “And I agree that it would take too many years and too much obsession in order to hunt down and exterminate all the vampires,” I whispered.

            “Maybe I could just let this slide, again……”

            “Thanks, Don Simon……”  I smiled and kissed him gingerly on the cheek.

            The next day I packed up and headed for my plane.

            As I sit here and think this over, I realize that I can’t expose the vampires.  When I get home, the first thing I’ll do is hide this report and tell the Organization my search was unsuccessful.  Perhaps someday I shall look upon this report and sigh on the ancient memories of that vampire trapped at twenty forever.   

Abel Wolff                   

Crunch!

“I’m sooo sorry,” Brittany sneered sarcastically as she watched Abel frantically scoop up the shattered fragments of what used to be his new pair of glasses. Through a blurred world that jostled the fifteen-year-old boy like flotsam after a storm Abel could see Brittany’s bleached blonde mop evaporating into the ocean of students.

Abel Wolff choked back an insult and blindly fought his way upstream to the boys’ restroom. He couldn’t see his reflection in the long mirror at all. However, he knew that the outcast teenager glowering back at him would still be the lanky, pale, ebony-haired boy he’d always been. Even though he could no longer see a foot in front of his face, his amber-green eyes with heavy rings under them to pierced Abel’s soul. They seemed to do that regardless of whether he could see or not. Perhaps that’s why everyone hated him…

Orochi Junior High School was always horrible on Mondays. Actually, it was terrorizing just about any day of the week, for that matter. The classes had just enough time to assign homework, the food could be heard letting out mysterious and repulsive noises, and the snobs were constantly harassing anyone within earshot, at least when the teachers weren’t around.

The bell screeched at Abel, alerting him that he was now late for class. That was just wonderful; the last thing he needed was detention with the trouble students. He could envision it perfectly because this was a frequent scenario in Abel’s life. Bert, or “Killa B”, as he liked to call himself, would sit behind him in order to shoot spit wads at the back of his head and laugh, whereupon Abel would be reprimanded for talking and get into deeper trouble.

“Why me? Of all the students at this school, why am I always the one at the short end of the stick?” Abel whimpered, sinking to his knees. Tears fell like rain upon the grimy bathroom floor.

“Little boy, why do you cry so?” a mysterious voice like the sound of footsteps in the forest at midnight echoed through the room.

“W-who’s there?!” Abel asked, looking around for the source of the voice.

“Why, I am,” the voice replied. The vent in the ceiling shuddered and broke; something fell from where the vent snapped. Abel could make out a fuzzy female shape before him. “Why do you cry?” she asked Abel gently.

“E-everyone h-hates me and my glasses are broken. Now I’m late for class, which means I have to d-deal with more bullies,” blurted Abel without thinking.                

“Shh…” the young woman soothed, pulling Abel to her. Her skin was cold to the touch and was extraordinarily pale, almost bluish. There was no movement of her body at all, she didn’t even breathe.

“Who is it that troubles you so?”

“Brittany a-and Bert…” sniffled Abel.

“Would you like to have them punished? I’ll kill them for you.”

“Ha, don’t make me laugh. We’re in the middle of school and there aren’t any weapons allowed. There’s no way...”

“And what if I could?” she pondered. “If I do, right now, will you agree to let me do whatever I want to you?”

“Hmph, it’ll never happen. Go ahead and try it,” snorted Abel. In the bat of an eye, the young woman had disappeared. Several minutes later, she returned with two blurry objects in her hands. Noticing Abel couldn’t see, the young woman pulled out a pair of glasses and put them on the bridge of Abel’s nose.

In the woman’s palms were the decapitated, gore-streaked heads of Bert and Brittany.

“N-no! What are you?!” gasped Abel as the young woman revealed a pair of razor-sharp canine teeth and started towards him. He was cornered between a wall and a bathroom stall.

“You agreed that I could do anything I wanted. I guess revenge doesn’t pay…” the vampiress grinned and sank her fangs into Abel’s throat, drinking his life away.