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It was Halloween night. The night the ghouls and ghosties were supposed to roam the land, only to be turned away by a gourd with a candle in it. Pussies. After a little run in with a vampiress named Nishaa, Thorne Andras was now one of the ghouls that roamed the night. And tonight he had decided he would bring a little true horror to some Halloween party goer's pathetic (and soon to be short) little life.

To be fair, this urge probably did not come from being a vampire. Thorne Andras (formerly Randall Thorne of Park Avenue West, NYC) had been a monster long before his transformation into a member of the undead community. The bodies he had left behind in New York were still being discovered. What a shame that it had all started to come crashing down. He had loved New York in the summer. The excitement of the city that never sleeps, where the coke had run almost as freely as the blood he shed there. Though, he supposed, if he had never come this little ****-kicker, Canadian town, he never would have met Nishaa, his sire. And boy, if he thought he had been having fun before as a human...

To the woman dancing with her friends that night at the Metronome Club, Thorne was just another face in the crowd. But to Thorne, the woman had, through purely random selection, become something more. She had become prey. It seemed the young mothers of Harper Rock had packed their little candy addled brats away for the night and decided to come out and celebrate Halloween in their own debauched manner. There were a group of them huddled together on the dance floor, all of whom, to paraphrase Kanye, looking like they "rocked Forever21 but just turned thirty." Though any one of these women would do for Thorne's purposes tonigh, for whatever reason the brunette in the Snow White costume had especially caught his eye.

Thorne watched and waited, pretending to sip a drink he could could no longer stomach due to his vampirism. Blood was the only thing he could keep down now, and he planned to have some tonight. He saw a mild discussion break out among the ladies on the dance floor that seemed to be aimed towards moving the group towards the restrooms, and he decided now was a good time to make a move himself. Like a knight on a chess board, he slipped easily around the group and into a darkened hallway just adjacent to where the bathrooms were located. It was in the this hallway that an emergency exit to the club could also be found. It might as well have been gift wrapped with a big bow on it just for Thorne. As the line of women headed to the restroom like ducks in a row, Thorne contented himself with taking whomever was foolish enough to be at the end of the line. As luck would have it however, this poor unfortunate soul turned out to be Snow White herself, who had paused just long enough to set down an empty on the bar as her friends headed quacking into the Ladies Room.

Just as the Disney princess was about to reach the door, Thorne stepped out from the shadows. "May I have this dance?" he intoned coolly, taking her by the wrist. Before the surprised woman could respond, Thorne leapt back with lightning speed, his grip tightening like an iron manacle and pulling the woman with him through the emergency exit and into the alley beyond. The alarm sounded almost immediately. Slamming the door shut behind him, Thorne grabbed the iron bar he had placed in the alley earlier that evening, and jammed the door shut. He wondered idly how many of those sheep in the club tonight would foolishly risk being crushed or suffocated trying to futilely force their way through the emergency exit before contenting themselves to leave via the club's front doors like everybody else. As he was thinking this, he had already lead the stunned and disoriented woman behind a dumpster and was hungrily latched onto her neck and sucking the blood out of her. The Snow White wig toppled off her head as it lolled back and Thorne was mildly surprised to see the woman was really a blonde. I knew there was a reason I liked you, he thought as he continued to slowly kill the woman. Thorne had always had a thing for blondes.

Though he suspected he could still get another pint out of her, Thorne's supernaturally adept hearing could detect that the crowd milling around the front of the club had started to ooze towards the entrance of the alley. Detaching himself from the the limp woman, he heaved her body into the dumpster with one effortless shove, not sure if she were alive or dead at this point, and not really caring either way. Smoothing out his suit and hair, Thorne walked briskly and effortlessly to the entrance of the alley, dabbing at his lips with a handkerchief. He smoothly inserted himself into the crowd of confused club goers, and mixed himself in with the crowd. Thorne noted with some sick satisfaction that Snow White's friends were standing not far away, looking somewhat frantic as they searched the crowd for their missing friend.

Deciding that that was pretty much it for Halloween, some of the crowd had begun to disperse. Thorne decided that the better part of valor would have to win out over gloating this time, and decided to head out as well, and find a quiet place to use his tome before anyone got suspicious. He casually strode down the sidewalk, and away from the club, satisfied with his own game of "Trick or Treat."

A hand reached out and caught the young writer's wrist in an iron grip. Marty could never have realized that it was his own heartbeat which had given him away.

Randall Thorne had begun to understand why vampires might shy away from coming out on Halloween. As he moved away from the scene of his crime, he couldn't help but feel somewhat conspicuous, dressed conservatively, though stylishly, in his tailored Saville Row suit, in the midst of the garish and sometimes obscene costumes of tonight's celebrants of a holiday which they did not even truly understand.

He had first heard the beating heart as he was wading through the milling crowd of curious club goers. Through the opiated masses, the heartbeat had begun to catch the attention of his supernaturally attuned senses. Though some may have been panicky at first when the alarm initially went off, the costumed party goers who crowded the street in front the The Metronome Club were now mostly curious, chatting casually as they waited for the opportunity to re enter the club and either resume their drinking or collect their belongings and move on to another location. Their casual pulses had formed a dull roar akin to their inane conversation.

So why was one of them so nervous? The thudding heart grew closer, pinging off of Thorne's ears like sonar. As he continued to move towards his path of egress at the outskirts of the crowd, Randall Thorne's eyes scanned the crowd, looking for an expression of terror to match the frantically beating muscle in said person's chest. Then Thorne heard the artificial "click" of a camera phone, and suddenly, the frantic organ and its owner were moving away from him again, the increasing distance creating a doppler effect. THUMP Thump thump thump.

Thorne knew immediately what had just transpired, but he also recognized that he could do nothing about it under these circumstances. So he continued on his designated path, but somewhat more slowly, as he watched the retreating back of the stranger who had been so determined to take his picture. He was rewarded with seeing the stranger break from the crowd and head in what he must have assumed was a safe direction. The poor fool could not have realized that safety was now forever more a thing of the past.

Thorne slipped past the outskirts of the crowd. Knowing his frantic admirer would probably be casting furtive glances backwards to check for pursuit, Thorne noted the direction of the amateur photographer's intended path, and then headed in the opposite direction, moving around a corner and heading down a street that ran parallel to the path of his prey. Checking to make sure there would be no witnesses, and satisfied that he had successfully left the other exiles from the club behind, Thorne began moving with inhuman speed to each upcoming corner. Upon reaching a cross street down which he could observe, Thorne waited, watching, until he saw the lone figure hurrying down the parallel street. Then, when the stranger was once again out of sight, Thorne repeated the pattern.

They had gone about four blocks, when Thorne came to the mouth of an alley. Though the view was blocked with dumpsters, fire escapes, etc., Thorne could tell that the alley must run perpendicular between the two routes he and his prey were taking. Years of instincts acquired from hunting and killing human prey told Randall Thorne that this was an opportunity not to be missed. Using his vampiric celerity, he once again moved faster than any normal human could, dodging overturned trash cans and debris with the grace of a ballet dancer. Finding an opportune spot to hide, he waited for the soon to be dead man to pass by the mouth of the alley. This would be the moment when Thorne would strike and end this little game.

So it was with no small delight when Thorne heard approaching footsteps and realized that his prey was actually entering the alley. Like a fly into a web. In less than a second Thorne was on the man, not caring if the soon to be corpse saw him move more quickly than a human should. A cold white hand snaked out and took hold of the stranger's wrist in a crushing vice. Thorne had studied pressure points, among his other pursuits, finding them eminently useful in the torture of his victims. Applying one now, he firmly pinched two of his fingers together until they almost met through the soft flesh of this young man's wrist. The ensuing spasm caused the phone to tumble from numb fingers and clatter to the dirty pavement. It had not broken, Thorne noted, with some disappointment, but there was time enough for that later.

Looking over his newest victim, Randall Thorne cocked his head slightly. The bespectacled young man looked oddly familiar to him. As Thorne inspected the man's features for further clues to his identity, he spoke. "I am a man who values his privacy. I do not appreciate you taking my picture without my permission." His words were accented by further crushing pressure placed upon the young man's wrist. "Please tell me who you are and what the **** you think you were doing back there!"

As the silly little spectacled man had been speaking, Thorne had been lost in thought, running through all of the delicious ways that he could end the man's life. Thorne doubted he would feed off of this ridiculous mortal. Snow White had been quite the feast, and the edge of his hunger was temporarily abated. Minus the desire to keep him intact enough to drink his blood, the possibilities were endless. Thorne had just reached option #5 in his mind (skinning him alive!) when something clicked. Thorne cocked his head quizzically and inspected the man's face as the fool continued to spout worthless threats. Mack the Knife, Thorne thought with distaste. I always hated that name. Then suddenly, recognition was there.

"Martin!" Thorne beamed as if greeting an old friend, even as his fingers continued to dig into Marty James's wrist, creating ugly welts and threatening to crack the bones underneath. "How are you old boy? Well, other than the fact that I'm about to kill you, obviously!" Thorne chuckled genially. "Still writing for that shitty little magazine and pretending you're a journalist? I read that piece you wrote on me and Paris Hilton and the others. Pure crap. I used to keep it on my coffee table and show visitors just so we could laugh at it."

Thorne was still speaking in the pleasant tones of a man making friendly conversation. However, as his grin widened. His teeth had begun elongating. sharpening. The fangs were unmistakable as the revealed themselves right before Marty's eyes. Thorne's eyes shone in the darkness, their murderous intent in contrast to the jovial lilt of his voice. But the eyes were like thunderheads announcing the approaching storm. Like a darkening sky, the tone of Thorne's voice changed to one of pure menace. "Now then, you pathetic little worm. Let's get down to brass tacks, shall we? I'm not leaving Harper Rock. This town has made me into something you can't even begin to understand. New York is a distant memory for me now. Randall Thorne is dead, and this is what rose from the ashes." Thorne had maneuvered his prey so that he was now between Marty and the entrance to the alley. He released Marty's wrist, and with his other hand, simultaneously gave the young writer a superhuman shove that sent him flailing back further into the darkness, further away from any hope of rescue. With an incredible burst of speed, Thorne was on him in a second, standing over Marty's sprawling frame.

"So, what are you going to tell your editor now, Martin? That you spotted Mack the Knife, and he's a vampire? Enjoy spending the rest of your days working for the Weekly World News." Thorne smirked as he spoke, his contempt obvious on his face. "So let me tell you what's going to happen instead. I'm going to leave you alive, for now, as much as flaying the skin from your body had a certain appeal. But trust me, it will be more fun to watch the torture you endure having this story and never being able to tell a soul. Because I will be watching you Martin. And I will know if you tell anyone."

Thorne strolled casually back to the mouth of the alley, and picked up Marty James's phone. "I'm going to borrow this, just for a little while. Tomorrow you will find it delivered back to the front desk of whatever sorry little flea dump of a hotel you're staying at. In that time, I will have gone through your contacts, I will have identified and traced all the numbers, and I will have a list of people who I will be killing slowly and horribly, if I ever discover that you've revealed my secret. Do you have a wife Martin? She'll be first on my list." Thorne beamed like a summer day. Watching the fear on his victims' faces was his bread and butter. He didn't bother to ask whether Marty James understood all the things he had just said. He didn't really care. He would have fun either way.

Thorne pocketed the phone, and with a wink and a grin at Marty, he was gone.