Author: RavenclawMoose PM
The new moon calls to each of us in a different way. Sometimes, the call is rather... bloody. Warning: contains a vampire.Rated: Fiction M - English - Horror/Supernatural - Words: 854 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 3 - Published: 12-01-08 - Status: Complete - id: 2603099
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A dark night and a certain smell upon the air have brought me out of hiding tonight. The city sleeps, a perfect backdrop for my wanderings. As I step out of my home, I breathe deeply, savoring the night air. It's play time.
The sweet scent swirls around me, leading me onwards through a network of alleyways. These roads are the paths I follow on my nighttime adventures. Few people venture down them; they can sense what hides away in the black depths that lead away from more traveled roads. I have no need to fear the other monsters; I am the greatest of them, those simple fools who play at the horrors I revel in. I steal silently forwards, staying in the shadows, keeping my eyes down so as not to give myself away even by gleaming eyes. I have sound and scent anyway, and do not need sight. The night leads me forth, and the new moon calls to me in her dark glory. She sings a song of nighttime, and I dance.
Another sound in the dark; I pause.
Someone comes close to my shadows, and I shrink back, flush against the wall behind me. Another creeper, come to dump his prey in my alley. His screams are heard by no one, and his body will never be found. But still, the night is yet young, and my mistress the moon still sings her song.
I follow the delicious scent that first drew me out on this night. It leads out of the alleys and up to a butcher's shop: how fitting. A small smile tilts the corner of my lips upwards, but I allow no teeth to show. It would not do for the gleam to give me away to a silent watcher I may have missed, not when I am so close. I knock twice, my eyes downcast and my hair hanging in ragged dirty strings around my face. The door opens hesitantly, and the heavenly scent strikes me full on. But no, I have not quite found it yet.
"Please sir, I am hungry. I have money." My voice comes out a pitiful croak, and my hands come up, pale and shivering, a coin clutched in the left hand.
"We're closed." The words are harsh and unyielding, but I am better at this game. I am no monster, beautiful and seductive. Rags flutter against my tenuous frame, grease clumps together my hair, and quiet pleas come easily to my dry lips. I beg again for a simple scrap of food and hold out my coin as proof that I can pay. Finally, he moves aside, slow and suspicious. The invitation is silent, most likely he does not even realize he has issued it. An invitation is an invitation, though, and beggars can't be choosers. I step inside and smile wide in thanks. Light from a guttering fire illuminates my grin, and the butcher grabs for a knife. I am quicker and fueled by the hunger of which I spoke, and this one does not even scream. I have no time for games now, with the delightful scent so near.
The steps do not creak under my soft footfalls. The shadows are my friends and mask my form. Upstairs, I spot light leaking out of a half open door. A sigh escapes my lips despite my control, and a voice floats out, innocent words carrying the sweet and blissful smell that nearly tears away my self control entirely.
"Amos, what is taking you so long? I am tired, and Johnny has finally gone to bed. Come join me, and leave any more knocks at the door for morning."
The voice is weak, and I smell only her and the one, insignificant other in the room. So close now, I allow myself a deep, hungry breath. The door creaks upon its hinges, and the butcher's wife looks up, a smile dying on her rosy lips. She clutches a baby to her breast and screams at my smile. I respond quietly, calmly, as a smile grows across my pale features.
"I have no need for your child. Children taste much too sweet."
Some time later, I am finally satiated. Standing, I inhale the scent that still lingers in the room. It no longer draws fire through my wet throat. I enjoy a silent moment of fulfilled desire as I glance about the room.
The baby at first made a great deal of noise, but now lies happily silent in his cradle, little red polka dots newly decorating his blanket and keeping him in slumber. The butcher's wife lies on the floor, her once rosy skin now nearly as pale as mine. Though faint traces of the scent that called me here still remain, I am finally full on the pure blood of a new mother. I grin fully on my way home, starlight shimmering against my fangs in the darkness of the new moon's night. Her song is ending as I reach my hidden home. My dance is ending too, and I am tired.