Silent Engima

Chapter 1
Blood Stained Streets


I’ve never considered myself an evil man. But then nor have I considered myself a ghost of the past. But that’s what I am; I’ve seen humanities morals decrease over the centuries. Decency turned to filth, love turned to a ‘fuck’, the generations slowly descending into anarchy and chaos, every person slowly getting dumber and dumber, their minds turning to jelly. As they go about there daily lives, not noticing they’ve sold their souls, damned their world and taken every meaning from life.


The entire world is blind to our existence. Blind as long as the right people have fat pockets; yet we’re right there, we walk amongst you. As long as the right people are kept happy no ones gives a fuck. That’s why people like my place; the vodka’s not watered down you see, people get drunk. Cheap bastards, don’t give a fuck about a thing. And I personally know there are no rats here, they don’t survive long enough. They taste like shit though. Now I’ve heard the rumours, I’ve some high and mighty fucker who runs a drug rink. Then the next day I run a sex joint, personally I hate prostitutes. They’re so cheap, it shows. There giving there lives away one fuck at a time. I wouldn’t tarnish my name with them, though I know plenty of people who would. They can’t keep there pricks to themselves. It’s sad to say, there one sat at the table opposite me.


I forget how easily mortals scare, this one reeks of sweat. I guess he’s heard the other stories I’ve gained over the years. I don’t believe any of them, but then again is it really my opinion that matters.

-“But Roven…”

-“Shut up, I’m not interested.”

-“You don’t know what I was gonna’ offer ya’”

-“Isn’t it always the same with you. You’re selling sex. It’s all you ever want to discuss.”

“That’s not true.”


He cowers as I lower my glasses; the lenses refract the light at him. I not sure why that scares people, it’s probably another of those stories. He’s sweating, the living never could keep control of there own bodies. There so primitive… And to think some of them may one day become one of us. It’s disgusting.


-“The thing is you don’t see things in the right war Roven…” That line made me
crack up… the sheer humanness of that statement. “Can’t you see how much money you could make? Sex sells and you not it. My people follow you; they’ve seen you on the streets at night, walking with some cheap tart.”


Oh shit I thought. Does he know?


-“Now then don’t tell me you aren’t interested in prostitutes.”

I got to my feet with a grace no mortal could possess, I grab his throat, my knuckles bruising the soft flesh of neck; my ears ring with the sound of his heartbeat, thud-thud-thud. It’s so fast, almost a blur. The sound of his blood racing, coursing through his veins is almost distracting but the foul stench of his sweat is unbearable. “What I do with those people is my own business. You get that? You god damn fucker.” I push him backwards ignoring the sounds of glass shattering and a chair being overturned. There are sounds of people jeering, warnings in various dialects each s pointless as the next, this was unstoppable. The music continued around us, I pulled him up once more, his eyes barely centimetres from my own and I smiled…


Then forcing him backwards until his back hits the door, quickly I turn the handle with my left hand, and we’re in the street.


That’s when he did it…


From the depths of his coat and withdrew a meat cleaver. I dropped him; he retreated from me cautiously, waving the cleaver as he moved backwards. He had no intention of backing down. The streets were satisfyingly dark, for a man of his years this one was quick to react. It surprised me; the hard clang of metal on brick was my only warning as it reverberated into the cold air.


His hands were shaking but he was still more than I was prepared for at this time, the cleaver I had not expected…


I ducked my head, hearing the wind rush past my ears-

-As he swung again-

The cleaver sliced a long trail up the side of my face, the cold metal forced into my flesh. With reactions I know he never expected I grabbed his wrist, the flow of blood under my fingers was almost too much, I needed to feed. Did it have to be him? He sensed my momentary distraction; once again the swung the cleaver it was clumsy but I was to weak now to stop it, the cut was deep, his strokes were slow, like one who enjoyed his art. This was his art after all he is only human, and killing is what they do.


I can say that, I’m willing to accept my flaws. I detest them, I loathe them but I can admit to having them. What more can humanity say? Though I would have wished for a different end to this fight, I needed nourishment, he was more than I could handle with a weapon I had not put into my plan.


Sounds of blood, flowing deep; dark… I needed this, so badly. The bloodlust consumed me.


My hand easily grabbed his; I pulled him up against the wall, using my right to pull the cleaver from his grip. Was I willing to do this? My lips grazed his neck, slowly, his body reeked but from here I could smell blood, pure… My eyes burnt, and the familiar sensation of my fangs lengthening, they drove me onwards.
It was quick…my fangs punctured his neck with ease; once I found his jugular vein it was hasty. I moved my hand up to silence his frenzied screams and began to feed. Such a refreshing taste, the cool metallic taste as it flowed over my tongue; so different to that of rats… I speak to you of the differences but there are no mere words to describe the primal sucking of blood. It’s an art upon itself and one only few can master.




Chapter 2
Darkness

I watched the news today; god knows why I did. Perhaps it is my repentance, but… I do not believe in God, for I have never met him… God, I’m assuming he’s a man, who cares he could be a fucking duck for all I care. All I know is that silent agony of waiting for the words to spill out of the newsreader’s mouth. Words, that are in essence just air changed to something we have grown to hear, to believe in.


Sometimes it’s too much, the floor is unnaturally firm against my form, my lung capacity seems inadequate and then I hear the mistakes of man... Nothing of my own ‘sins’ they don’t care but I haven’t learnt that they don’t care. Not for those stains on society; people can sit in there homes and be grateful to me. But still those words may one day come; I hope to hell they never do.


***


Everyone turns round to watch me…they’re eyes say it all, they fear me. They would like nothing better than for me to be dead, well they have their wish. It’s not my fault they’re too blind to see. Doctors, lawyers; whatever they are- mortals. Mortals to blind to see death walk before them.


I’m not sure how I was talked into this, but I suppose…solitude draws attention; that I don’t need. But all those eyes watching…is doesn’t feel right. Not when my nature is to hide in the dark, to remain in the shadows. But here I am, the dark metal is oddly cold against my hand, its calming in a peculiar way that only touch can be. I raise the microphone to my lips. This is to be my message the mortals who fear me; even now I can see that sense of fear glimmer beneath their eyes. The eyes are supposed to be a window to the soul, and my words are to be an art. An art only a vampire could even begin to comprehend.


There’s a new feeling, I don’t understand it… I’m being watched but it’s different, deeper. It’s not so much paranoia but somehow I know he’s there. He’s been there before…I think.


I can’t think my body is weakening; with it my mind. I need blood but…I do not wish to venture out again this week. Last night was too risky; it will not happen again.
Perhaps...but to be degraded to such a level for my ‘image’ No, that’s what makes me like them; I do not wish to insult myself. I ‘m not one them; they walk and do not see as I see… They don’t understand anything. It is not my image, but rather simply that I am afraid…


Even vampires are afraid.


And so I degraded myself; why, for the sake of human lives? Please…mortals are nothing to me. The blood was thick, cold. Nothing to the sweetness and cool metallically taste of human blood…Rats blood is like mud; it’s so cold I will never be warm tonight; already I feel my fingertips beginning to numb. I need more, but that was my last rat. Like I’ve said before my ‘club’ is rat free.


***


I can feel him again, for now I am certain he is mal-although gender is of little importance to the dead. Death breaks all boundaries… even gender, that is something mortals cannot understand. Same sex couples aren’t natural to them, but to those who may walk the night…It is a whole new world. His gaze is strong, possessive…so male. It bored into me, how I wish I could see his eyes; look into the window of his soul.


Quickly I ascended the steps, coming up into the main room once more…all around people laughed, danced…Perhaps the only art we both share, though I dare say that dancing is far more beautiful when it is vampires dancing. The light was brighter than I was comfortable with; words were needed to be had with someone about that. Although in one corner it paled slightly, slowly I walked to it, counting my steps. My feet were cold…a deep chilling cold that was slowly filling my body…perhaps I should have forgotten my fears...


Something caught my attention as I passed a couple. Both male…one man was kissing the others neck. But from the look of horror and pain but that wasn’t quite the whole story. It was at that point he looked up at me…those eyes, they held me there in that spot, and I was as intoxicated as a small child would be…


His hand moved slowly upwards, towards me. His skin pale with death but their form slender, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such beautiful hands. His head raised just barely, I could see his fangs now, slowly pulling out, so painfully slow…His hair fell forward over his face with such elegance…it seemed unbelievably long…tied loosely at his back and fell with grace, nearly sweeping the floor. The mortal below him groaned in what I assumed was pain…did he not see the art in this? His head snapped forward quickly, his eyes wide. He slumped over the table, his head resting aside an empty glass; his expression was unreadable being the glass, distorting the shape of his emotions.


The vampire was gone…


And I was left with the body…”Shit” I whispered so quietly it all almost could have been a thought. I moved forwards slowly, not wanting to attract anymore attention than I needed. It was strange all the way id been under the vampires gaze I hadn’t heard anything…not even a heartbeat. Could he truly hold such powers over me? I grabbed the man’s wrist, pulling him harshly to his feet. “Oh God…” I breathed, his veins pulsed beneath my fingers he was still alive. There was something grasped in his hand, paper forced between his thumb and palm.


Suddenly he struggled against my grasp; I couldn’t do anything here…not now. Or…slowly I leant my face towards his, I had to make this look right. I could feel his breath against my lips it was so warm…gradually I moved closer, my lip brushed his. Instead of kiss I bit down upon them, my fangs pierced his skin with ease. Blood spilled from the cuts, I moved my hand up to cover them as I moved down to his neck, teasingly I nibbled slightly, tightening my grip on his mouth, not wanting him to make unnecessary sound. Already I could sense the glaze of eyes, they burrowed into my mind. It was distracting at the very least. I needed somewhere else.


Horribly aware of the new sets of rumours that were going to follow this event I lead, well rather forced the dying mortal to my room. It wasn’t easy as soon as I loosened my grip even the slightest he writhed against me. But I had no choice anymore, ‘he’d’ decided that, neither me nor the mortal truly held the blame of this charge.


It was over within seconds, already half drained he could do nothing more but weakly struggle as I plunged my fangs into his neck. I no longer needed to care. He didn’t matter…He was to die this night. I was to be warm it seemed. Well perhaps the night was not completely wasted.


It was then I remembered the paper, it was a note. I wasn’t surprised, although I do not remember him writing such a thing. Perhaps…no even vampires do not posses clairvoyant sight, do they?



Roven Hornath,
I have found you at last; you are not quite what I expected. But you will do. You will not find me; I will find you always though. Do not fear me, as those who walk without your sight will fear us.

Vincent.
p.s. I left you some.

The note was written in such beautiful handwriting, thin, sloped his y’s curled in perfection. But I do not understand it’s true meaning.