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Shorts
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| Party Night | |
| By Snodlander | ||||||||||||||
| 11 March 2007 | ||||||||||||||
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Ive been away, and my laptop has been sent away for repairs. My cold has not gone away, and I'm putting off writing anything serious. Then this happened. I'm not well. *cough* *cough* The sun set. I couldn’t see a window, deep below the street, but I knew. I felt it in every fibre of my body. I rose, stiffly. There would be no moon tonight. When you slept the day away you became intimate with the twenty-eight-day cycle of the moon, more so even than a teacher at a girls’ residential school. It would still be busy up there, up in the day-world. People would be coming home after working late at the office. The bars would be full. Cars would purr along the peopled streets. Later it would be quieter. Later there would be lone drunks staggering heedless down dark alleyways. Young women confident in the can of mace in their bag. Jilted lovers stamping teary-eyed home, too angry to think of calling a cab. And so I would have to wait. In some ways this was the best of my times. My brain was razor-sharp, slicing through the problems of the past week like a blade through a neck. There was trouble abroad. Nothing concrete, no evidence neatly labelled and undisputable. Rumours of guesses of whispers. Something frightful was paralleling our night-time paths. Something unseen, yet deadly. It might be better to sleep on, to idle the nights away hidden out of sight, out of reach, until the menace had moved on. But there, on the edge of consciousness, was the Thirst. Just a twinge at the moment, sitting far back in my mind, but there just the same. Soon it would grow, until I would be able to think of nothing else. An obsession, an addiction. My shame, and my strength. I paced my cell, considering this latest enemy, but it was to no avail. The Thirst grew, muddling my thoughts, over-ruling my caution, until I could stand it no more. I bounded up the steps, threw open the door and stepped into the night. The university campus was always a good hunting ground. Students left suddenly, unable to cope with the stress of exams. Sometimes they left, never to be heard of again. Sometimes I helped them. There. A sweet young woman, her heart so strong I could hear it beating from a hundred yards away. Her flesh would be tender, her skin taut. Slightly under-ripe. Just the way I liked them. The Thirst rose up, urging me on, but I held it in check. This was delicious. This was ecstasy. Holding the desire in abeyance as I followed her, listening to her footsteps. Smelling her perfume. Imagining the sudden yielding of her skin as my teeth broke through. Without warning I was struck on the back of the head. I whirled, enraged. Who dared interrupt my hunt? I scanned the soft blackness around me, but there was no-one there. The dark shadows melted away under my nocturnal gaze, but I could see nothing. I looked down at the ground. There, ludicrous in this setting, lay a bread roll. Some pink, cooked animal flesh lolled out the side of it. I looked around again, but still I could see nothing. What was going on? Perhaps, the Thirst told me, a passing bird had dropped it. Ignore it, continue the chase. I gave a final stare, then hurried after the retreating back of my prey. I had scarcely travelled fifty feet when I was struck by another missile. Again I turned. Again there was no-one there. This time at my feet was a hard-boiled egg. Someone was mocking me. They would pay dearly for this. I would keep them alive for days, slowly draining them of life. “Who’s there?” I called softly. There was no reply. I padded swift but silent, checking the trees, the corners, the dark spots. But there was no-one there, and my evening’s meal was getting even farther away. This was madness. I was discovered by an enemy I could not see. I should fly to my haven and not return. But the Thirst drove me on. I ran on silent feet towards the disappearing girl, but before I could get near her a figure leaped from the shrubbery into my path. Another girl, hardly older than the one I was chasing. But this one was different. She stood there, hands on hips, confronting me. Confident, calm, unafraid. She reached into her bag and, before I could move, threw a flask of liquid over me. Holy water? But my flesh remained whole. There was no searing death-pain. I protruded my tongue as the liquid dripped down my face. “Tea?” I asked, puzzled. “You’d better believe it, Vlad” she replied. She reached into her bag again, and produced cubes of cheese and pineapple, held together by a cocktail stick. “Who are you?” I screamed, as I charged at her. “Me?” she asked, as she ducked under my arms and plunged the cocktail stick into my heart. “I’m Buffet, the vampire slayer.”
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