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THE VAMPIRE JONATHON SPEAKS ---
It's like a drug. I have no control over things. Once, I was about to kill some nameless girl behind a dumpster on Sansom Street, a narrow, old street in Center City. She seemed cheap and flaccid and hopeless. Now I tell myself they're all cheap and flaccid and hopeless... the males... the females... What difference does it make. But she started to scream a lot and her teeth were so yellow and grungy, I just had to stop it... so I grabbed her skull between my hands, like Rhett did to Scarlet in that movie and crushed it. Three heartbeats and she was gone... just like a pinata. Her mouth looked like it was trying to chew. But everything above the upper teeth was destroyed.... I wiped the brains off my hands on her skirt.... Soon the vermin found her. I suppose she was better than what was in that dumpster. Then I sublimated into a first floor apartment to clean up. Somebody was sleeping in the bed, or pretending to sleep. I know they heard me running the water in the bathroom. I know they heard me moving around. The place was all dark. I don't need any light. Everything I've described so far happened in the dark... Well, dark to you... Whoever was in that bed was terrified. That, I could sense. They wanted to run, but couldn't. Trembling so hard the headboard vibrated against the wall.... I went into the bedroom, spread myself over them and drank. The blood was so hot, almost effervescent. God knows what they thought. I left before the body began to ignite.... It was odd. Usually I absorb so much about my victims, but that night nothing.... Just a fast, hot meal. I hate nights like that.
Then I walked through the predawn city to a little hidey hole I had in an old stone cellar beneath a shuttered loft building. I suppose the developers hadn't gotten around to it yet. Feral cats shared the space. They watched from a distance, as I locked myself into a World War One era toilet and curled up on the cold floor. I like cats. They understand the dark. Most dawns I drift off right away. But that time I just lay there, studying my reflection in the cracked, narrow full length mirror on the door.... A few of the more confident cats came close and sniffed the other side of the door.
That's how I hid from the sun. I never slept. Not anymore. Don't ask what changed me. I could tell you stories, but I don't really know. At first I wanted to go back to the townhouse. Life was civilized there. Then I didn't care about civilization... and the townhouse plus the souls in it drifted farther and farther away.
Even the ghouls despised me.
I was numb, addicted to the blood... like an animal...
<more tomorrow>
click NIGHT TIME STORIES ... to haunt the archives...
click WELCOME ... to join us on Twitter...
thanks to you all...
It's like a drug. I have no control over things. Once, I was about to kill some nameless girl behind a dumpster on Sansom Street, a narrow, old street in Center City. She seemed cheap and flaccid and hopeless. Now I tell myself they're all cheap and flaccid and hopeless... the males... the females... What difference does it make. But she started to scream a lot and her teeth were so yellow and grungy, I just had to stop it... so I grabbed her skull between my hands, like Rhett did to Scarlet in that movie and crushed it. Three heartbeats and she was gone... just like a pinata. Her mouth looked like it was trying to chew. But everything above the upper teeth was destroyed.... I wiped the brains off my hands on her skirt.... Soon the vermin found her. I suppose she was better than what was in that dumpster. Then I sublimated into a first floor apartment to clean up. Somebody was sleeping in the bed, or pretending to sleep. I know they heard me running the water in the bathroom. I know they heard me moving around. The place was all dark. I don't need any light. Everything I've described so far happened in the dark... Well, dark to you... Whoever was in that bed was terrified. That, I could sense. They wanted to run, but couldn't. Trembling so hard the headboard vibrated against the wall.... I went into the bedroom, spread myself over them and drank. The blood was so hot, almost effervescent. God knows what they thought. I left before the body began to ignite.... It was odd. Usually I absorb so much about my victims, but that night nothing.... Just a fast, hot meal. I hate nights like that.
Then I walked through the predawn city to a little hidey hole I had in an old stone cellar beneath a shuttered loft building. I suppose the developers hadn't gotten around to it yet. Feral cats shared the space. They watched from a distance, as I locked myself into a World War One era toilet and curled up on the cold floor. I like cats. They understand the dark. Most dawns I drift off right away. But that time I just lay there, studying my reflection in the cracked, narrow full length mirror on the door.... A few of the more confident cats came close and sniffed the other side of the door.
That's how I hid from the sun. I never slept. Not anymore. Don't ask what changed me. I could tell you stories, but I don't really know. At first I wanted to go back to the townhouse. Life was civilized there. Then I didn't care about civilization... and the townhouse plus the souls in it drifted farther and farther away.
Even the ghouls despised me.
I was numb, addicted to the blood... like an animal...
<more tomorrow>
click NIGHT TIME STORIES ... to haunt the archives...
click WELCOME ... to join us on Twitter...
thanks to you all...
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