Wednesday, August 8, 2012

DINNER AFTER MIDNIGHT....the Vampire Tomas/Jonathon comes to dine.

Under certain conditions, when the barometric pressure, temperature and humidity are just right, vampires produce a momentary, fiery trail, as they plummet toward the ground. some say it's rather like a meteor.

The body of the life-eater in question is not harmed in any way, for the actual physicality of the supernatural being lies beyond the nuts and bolts of our quantum universe. It is the air surrounding the vampire that burns. Some avoid sublimating when the atmosphere is like that to prevent being seen. But it was late. Tomas was hungry. There'd been a vision. He had no choice. Fortunately, in this predominately working class district, few souls were about. Most snored under covers, gathering strength for tomorrows labors. A patrol car rolled by from time to time, but the cops rarely looked up. They studied the cars parked in tiny driveways (parking pads, really) fronting each narrow row house, searching for slashed tires. A 'rubber-ripper' was abroad in the land and he was their first priority.

Tomas materialized just as he hit the ground...In this case, a small patch of grass, bordered by a six foot tall, wooden 'privacy' fence. Such were the backyards in this highly conformist neighborhood.

There was a man there snoring away on a flimsy, folding, chaise lounge, deep in the midst of a clammy, beer-sleep. He was 'the husband.' He was the wife beater. He was the quarry. Tomas bent over him. He studied the man's features..... how coarse..... how basic. Then he shot out his tongue and ever so slightly licked the tip of the man's nose. The sleeper stirred. He did it again. The sleeper moaned, attempting to turn over, but the chair was too narrow. Tomas took hold of the aluminum arms and shook it. More snoring. He shook it again. The man opened his eyes. Tomas grinned.... a practiced, stylized grin meant to scare and beguile. His fangs, rather small, well-formed and discreet, reflected the starlight like mirrors. The wife beater gasped, instinctively raising an arm in defense. But before he could emit even the slightest noise, Tomas cracked off the hand and jammed it down his throat. There was some thrashing about...a few moans... but thank God for the din of cheap, window air conditioners. Then, before the man could choke on his own blood... and perhaps an errant shard of wrist bone, Tomas tore into his belly, just below the diaphragm, buried his head in the gore and manically ate his way up to the racing heart. That's where the blood was richest..... thick, warm and soupy...... A delicacy among night-folk. And he drank til the man was almost dead. Then he ripped off his pants for one final mutilation before the deed was done. True, the blood down there had an ammonia taste, but he was bound to do it. The man must suffer. And from the looks of things, he did...... torn asunder from crotch to sternum. His swollen fingers waved forth from his mouth. Though an apple would have been more appropriate.

A moment later, Tomas stood back and watched, as the ruined body spontaneously ignited with a cold, blue flame. First a lick here...a lick there... a dancing tendril, then whoosh..... In three minutes it was over and even the bones were gone. Some night birds flew down to feast upon the scraps.

The vampire softly stroked their delicate, feathered forms. Then he sublimated through the steel back door ($199.00 at Home Depot) and went upstairs to 'comfort' the wife...


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1 comment:

Nephylim said...

That was awesome. I loved the fact he was a wife beater. Unfortunately the wife is unlikely to thank him, beaten wives don't sadly. However, he got what he deserved. I hope she gets what she deserves. Love the hand in mouth