Those Wylde Nights
Chapter 1
The Artist
Michael Aaron Collins
1988 - 2014
He was sitting in Thornside Park, the evening he first met her. Perched on one of the benches overlooking the pond, a sketch pad open on his lap. The sky was a magnificent shade of Orange-Red, almost as though the Sun had exploded, moments before dipping beyond the horizon. Michael’s pencil flew over the paper, in short rapid strokes, he had to work quickly, the very light that was creating the beautiful, perfect scene in front of him was fading fast. So lost in his own little world, he never heard Stephanie approach.
Stephanie had been wandering the park in search of a blood source. She liked the park for her feeding, it hosted a huge array of cover, where she could feed unhindered. Luckily, for Michael, Stephanie had only just finished that very thing. Having lured a dog walker into the trees, killing both him and his dog, draining them both. She hated to drink dog blood, for some reason it gave her the hiccups for a few hours, but when the blood thirst overtook her, she rarely had an option what blood she drank. Stumbling out the trees, looking like something from the last act of Carrie, she saw the young artist, smiling at the prospect of another meal. She silently stalked her would be prey from behind, her bloody teeth bared, ready to rip at his flesh, but when she looked over his shoulder the drawing made her pause.
“Ohhh! Pretty ‘hic’ picture” She exclaimed loudly, more or less in the unsuspecting artist’s ear.
“What the fu…!” Michael yelled, throwing the sketchbook into the air, which was immediately caught by Steph. Michael turned to see the blood soaked woman holding his sketchbook. Falling off the bench he scrabbled back in fear.
“Wh-who are you?” He stammered, looking up at her, the artist in him seeing past the blood on her face, his mouth hanging agape. It hit him like a semi truck. Despite the gore covering this woman, he was awestruck at her beauty. He felt his heart hammering in his chest.
“Y-you are a-amazing.” Turning his head, scanning the grass for his fallen pencil. Grabbing it he slowly gets to his feet, creeping towards her, his arm outstretched.
“I… I must draw you.” His fingers gently taking hold of the sketchpad. The gentle tug of the pad in her hands caused Steph to look up, into the eyes of the artist.
“You must ‘hic’ draw… ‘hic’ like one ‘hic’ of your ‘hic’ French girls?” She asked, tilting her head inquisitively, with a furrow to her bloody brow.
“Yes.. Well, not exactly.. Unless.. You.. Want um ah to that is.” Slipping the sketchpad from Steph’s hands, and steps back, flipping to a new page he began to sketch her.
“Why are you.. What is with all the um stuff all over you?” Michael inquired. “Part of a flash mob, maybe? Or a … movie? Is that it? You are in a zombie movie? Where are the cameras?” He was babbling now, and asking far too many questions for Stephanie’s liking.
“Silence your ‘hic’ noise hole Draw monkey! ’hic’ There is no ti’hic’ time for fornicating with trees! I ’hic’ have no punch in ’hic’ my glass Ambassador.” She leapt over the bench, striking the sketchpad from the man’s hand, and snatching the pencil from his fingers in the blink of an eye. Before he could process what was happening, Steph had him by the throat, the point of the pencil mere millimetres from his eye.
Who are ‘hic’ you? Where ‘hic’ is your colon? Where ‘hic’ man? Do they know where ‘hic’ we are? I lost them in ‘hic’ Zurich! I lost them… Do you ‘hic’ hear me? I lost them.”
“I… What? I don’t under… I just wanted to draw you!” Pleaded the artist. “You are just so beautiful and…” He fell to the grass, an instant after Steph released his neck from her death grip. Dropping the pencil too she flashed the man a bloody grin, smoothing out her bloody dress before toying with her hair, stroking it with her blood streaked hands, smearing streaks of red through her dirty blonde tresses.
“You.. You ’hic’ think I am pretty?” She asked, her smile fading, she pointed an accusing finger at him. Her lips curled into a snarl. Her eyes rolled back, momentarily, her body shuddered twice, before her eyes rolled back, the once blue gray they once were, were now a bright emerald green. “You just want to do ’hic’ stuff to me, Don’t you? Like those ’hic’ men in the underworld, they all ’hic’ say the same, say I am ’hic’ pretty but ’hic’ you know what? They just ’hic’ want to put their filthy ’hic’ things in me. Are you one ’hic’ of them? Mr Artist? ’hic’ Are you!?” Her voice different, more serpentine. With a flutter of her dress Michael was suddenly confronted with the barrel of a Glock handgun.
“No! No! I just…I Just wanted to draw you.”
“Nothing more?” She hissed.
N-Nothing more. Just to draw you. S-see..” Michael picked up the sketchpad, showing Steph the drawing.
It had been so long, since she had seen herself. She had even once sat in front of a mirror, for several hours, willing her reflection to appear. But alas, it never had. Now, this man offered her a face, her face. She lowered the gun, dropping it to the ground. She took the sketchpad from him, running her fingers over the paper.
“This… Is me?” She asked, the hiss fading from her voice, blinking her eyes they turned from green to brown. The woman’s demeanour changing drastically.
“Your technique is ’hic’ excellent. Bloody ‘hic’ cups I keep telling her never ‘hic’ feed on dogs, she knows ‘hic’ dogs blood gives her ‘hic’ hiccups.”
“Why would you not know.. Wait.. Dog’s blood? Wh.. Hold up, what the hell is going on? Who are you?” Michael demanded, becoming more and more confused. “What are you? Some kind of vampire?” He added emphasis on the word vampire with a spooky gesture with his hands.
“Yes.” Steph replied, waiting for a gap in her hiccups to answer him.
“Wha! For real, a vampire? Sure, cause vampires carry guns and .. And exist!” The disbelief apparent in his voice.
Stephanie just smiled, locking eyes with him trapping him with her gaze.
“You disbelieve? I guess you want proof?” She thought, the words somehow echoing inside Michael’s head.
“How did you? Whoa! Hold on a minute there. How… What the.. No way!”
In an instant Stephanie was behind him, her hands on his shoulders.
“Perhaps ‘hic’ I can rip your throat out and ’hic’ feast on your blood? Yessssss?” She whispered threateningly in his ear.
Michael wrenched himself free of her grip, taking a step forward, tripping over his own foot, he crashed to the grass once more. He opened his eyes at the sound of Steph’s maniacal laughter, to see the gun lying inches from his face.
“Poor little ‘hic’ mortal, still learning to wa…” She stopped mid-sentence, this time it was her facing down the barrel of her own gun.
“Don’t you come near me! I’ll do it!” Michael screamed at her. Holding the gun in two trembling hands.
“What? You are going to ‘hic’ shoot me?” She opened her arms out, pushing her chest out. “Go on! ‘hic’ Do it! Shoot me in the ******* heart ‘hic’” Laughing she traced a cross on her chest over her black heart. “Right here.”
Michael closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.
The loud explosion he expected never happened, something was stopping the trigger from moving fully back. Opening his eyes he looked at the laughing woman, then to the gun in his hands.
“The safety you ‘hic’ foolish human! The safety!” Steph laughed, moving towards him.
Michael frantically began searching for the safety turning the gun over in his hands he found the switch, his fingers flicked it.
BANG!
Steph stopped in her tracks, staring in disbelief at the young artist. The pain wasn’t as bad as they say, sure it hurt to begin with, but it was soon replaced by a numb throbbing and the itching. An itch deep within the body, beyond the reach of any satisfactory scratching.
Michael blinked several times, trying to comprehend what he had just done. He dropped the gun, his hands going to the wound in his stomach, trying desperately to stop the flow of blood seeping out the hole and staining his clothes.
Michael Collins fell to his knees, mouth agape, trying to plead for mercy to the cackling vampire, standing over him. She stopped laughing as the smell of fresh blood reached her, she sniffed the air several times, grunting with each exhale. Her eyes were no longer the soft brown of her intelligent self, the blood had unleashed the beast within her. The pupils of her eyes dilating turning her eyes almost black.
She was upon him in seconds, her teeth ripping at his flesh.
“Fangs…I thought vampires had fa….” He breathed his final words silenced forever from a vicious bite to his trachea.
