web hosting short URLs photo sharing

Victim

I could feel his breath, hot against my left cheek, against my neck. His lips brushed the jugular in the neck, and his teeth grazed the tender flesh. I braced in anticipation as I felt his canines lengthen. His hand caressed the back of my neck and my right shoulder, sending goosepimples marching promptly in its trail. For a moment the light pressure disappeared, and I knew that he raised his head to prepare for the strike. I braced again, drew a shaky breath and shuddered as his teeth breached my skin. I could feel it all very clearly, my skin curling to the sides, a sense of coldness as air entered the wound, then a hot sensation as blood blowed out of the small wounds out onto my neck before he caught it with his mouth, fastened himself to the wound. As my lifeblood left me and flowed out to nourish him instead, I felt my capillaries contract with loss of blood. My fingers and toes went numb, and I felt drunk. Then the drunkenness vanished and was replaced with a headache, a profound one that you knew would only fade with a lot of sleep and replacement of fluids. I slowly faded away into Morpheus kingdom with a feeling of sexual content and tiredness, but most of all with a sense of being lost. Lost, because I loved it.

The Moon

Send comments to:

I walk in the dark along the gravel path, feeling not so much as hearing my feet grind against dirt and uneven small rocks dampened by evening dew. Occasionally I wade through piles of fallen leaves dyed yellow, red or already brown by autumn`s chill. The brown ones crunch and crumble under my feet as I tread further down along the path. I can feel the moon growing fuller, demanding my attention, but it's invisible as yet, houses are blocking the view, but its light spills over the land anyway, shedding a barely visible light on everything within its reach, like a spider's web covered with morning dew, visible only in early morning sunlight.

I turn left and come upon a paved road, I hesitate to say street because it has that small-town feel to it that almost all roads have out here in the outskirts of the city. One-family houses lie side by side, painted red, yellow, maybe green or blue. The gardens are well structured to make the most of the small spaces. Forgotten children's toys are scattered about, perhaps winter will come and hide them away, to let their owners squeal with delight as they find them again next spring. But spring is far away, the first thin snowfall hasn't come yet. Because of the street lights the moonlight isn't that tangible yet, but the beauty of the moon itself is immense as it hangs in the sky, almost full and oh so powerful. I lose myself in reveries and don't come to until I have crossed a street and stepped out into a park. There are only a few lights here, and the moon strikes me full in the chest with its beauty and power. The moonlight spills over the trees, grass and rocks, collecting in puddles in crevices and hollows. The already cold night turns even colder, because whatever moonlight is, it sure as hell isn't warm. I look skywards and see it hanging there, the moonlight I mean, and it feels like I could trace it right back to its mother if I could just grab hold of one of the beams and hang on. I stand there for a long time, trying to hold back the animalistic instincts that wash over me in great waves. I feel the urge to throw back my head, to raise my muzzle towards the sky and let loose a howl that would ice the blood of any human being within a vast distance. I want to feel the frosty grass under my paws, the wind ruffling my fur. I want to stalk road or forest, park or mountain, in search of prey. I want to watch with my yellow eyes without being watched, be the hunter, not the hunted. I want to make the prey aware of my presence, bask in its fear. Move closer as the prey is paralysed, be prepared for that moment when the paralysis ends and the hunt begins. I want to feel my taut muscles respond as I move closer yet, follow the twitches of the prey, hear the forced breathing in the dark in front of me, breathing inhibited by deadly fear. I want to tear into the prey's left loin with my long white teeth, feel its hind legs give as the signals reach the brain. But one thought, one instinct is stronger than all the others, it's an urge so strong that for a moment everything and everybody else fade away so utterly that nothing else matters - I want to sink my muzzle into the flesh of my prey, animal or human, I don't care, to feel skin and flesh tear and blood flow into my mouth. I want to drag intestines out and shake them in triumph before I devour them, and I want to howl this triumph to the world.

Suddenly a bus pass behind me and wake me from my thoughts, my yearnings. I smile, shrug and turn around to go home. It's late and I have school tomorrow.

Ghoul: Chapter 1

Summer. Dawn. Time to go to work. I could feel the sun on the edge of my consciousness, somewhat like my master felt it, I guess - only I felt a compulsion to protect him while he was sleeping during the day, and he felt deadly threatened by the glowing orb hovering just below the horizon. I'd had four hours of sleep, standard procedure during the lighter parts of the year. Had it been dark at all? Lucky for me the master was an early riser and late in going to bed. Or coffin. I looked at my bedside watch. 04.30. Shit. Here's another nineteen or twenty hours of work ahead of me - great. I felt like someone had dragged me home after the car last night. I did drive home, didn't I? I got out of bed and stepped right into my sheepskin slippers. I always wear them at home, no matter what time of year it is. For a moment I looked longingly, no, sickly at my bedside table, pondering whether to take out the gun in the top drawer or not. Nope. I wouldn't give in to the paranoia today either. I hadn't yesterday, and I wouldn't tomorrow.

I shuffled out into the bathroom and turned on the lights. I'd fooled the SOB who figured out having vicious over-head flourescent lighting was a good idea by putting in soft bulbs instead. Their light was much kinder to both body and eyes. Not that I had that much to be ashamed of, really. I'm five six, and every inch is muscle-toned. Not bodybuilding muscles, heaven forbid, just the slim variety that running, swimming riding and martial arts give you. I'm sorry, Lord. My hair is waist length, dark brown, and the eyes that go with the face are hazel-nut coloured. The face, yes. Looking more closely in the mirror than I had for weeks, I realised for the first time that year just how tanned I'd become. It surprises me somewhat each year, even though I'm well aware I tan easily. I work outdoors most of the time, as daytime chief of security on the master's estate. A less fancy title is guard. I do the same work as my subordinates, I get no benefits apart from the fact that I'm paid better. The only thing I get to do that's different from what the others do is that I get to take all the shit from the master if anything goes wrong. So far so good. If working for a two hundred and fifty-year old vampire can be considered good.

I have the kind of skin that never burn, although admittedly I've never tried the Sahara desert. It must be my Italian heritage at work. Some of my co-workers look like lepers or as if they were barbecued alive and lived to tell.

I did my hair in two braids which I wound about my head so that they wouldn't get in the way while I work. I did not double for Carrie Fisher in "Star Wars". I brought a visor and my Ray-Ban's with me into the bedroom and flung them on the bed. I made the bed after making sure it had gotten cold. You never know what kind of disgusting little crawlies play hopscotch in your bed when you're gone. I took out my favourite sports bra and a tank top from the wardrobe and put them on. Pale yellow goes good with the tan. Beige riding pants and socks, almost ready to go. I grabbed the headset and the radio from their place on the wall. The headset on my head, the visor over. Sunglasses fastened in the top. The belt with the radio went on after the shoulder rig with the gun. A deluxe holster, did I mention that? Holds extra clips, which means that you don't have to carry them loose in your pockets. Now I didn't have to think about wearing clothes with pockets all the time. The holster becomes more bulky, but who cares? I'm an authorised carrier. The belt clicked shut. Out in the hall I put on my riding sneakers (try running not to mention fighting in riding boots) and grabbed my car keys and the wristSwatch. I hate wearing a watch, so I take it off as soon as I step inside my flat. That is, as soon as I've checked the flat. You never know. I checked the belt. Radio, lip saver and riding gloves. A quick glance at the watch told me 04.55. It would have to be a fast drive out to the estate. My record was seven minutes, but that was an emergency - mortals out to save the world from the supernatural monsters. If I hadn't been doing what I do for a living, I might have joined them in getting killed.

While driving I thought about the day ahead of me. Blazing sunlight for sure, another day of absolutely nothing happening probable, even likely. Sitting on a horse for several hours, patrolling mile after mile back and forth on the estate doesn't do much for your dexterity, even if you're accustomed to it. Well, I'd go by foot for a couple of hours, that way I could get the running I needed. Don't think I enjoy running, it's just that you have to be able to catch up with the bad guys or would that be the good guys?

It wasn't long until the estate came into view - it's difficult to miss it - it is after all a castle, complete with ten-feet wall, towers and a moat. Well, a few modern improvements have been made - the latest fancy alarm system, surveillance cameras, barbed wire and a few other little things that make life a little easier for overworked guards and a little harder for individuals out to kill the master. I passed the sign saying "Chateau de Bologne 1 km". I simply don't know why the sign is still there - since the master bought the castle ten years ago, I don't think there have been many visitors. The ones who do come know where to go anyway.

The wall spreads out for a mile and a half on each side of the huge wrought iron gates before turning ninety degrees and disappearing. In that direction there are two more miles or so of solid as rock stone wall, no pun intended, and then the wall turns about ninety degrees again and eventually connects on the far side of the estate. Inside the estate there are woods, grazing pastures for the horses, a huge garden and an artificial lake. The master has got this thing for nature.

As I neared the gates, I slowed down and took out my security card from the glove compartment. I slid it into the slot and dialled my personal access code. As the gates swung open, I found myself thinking the same thought I'd been thinking almost every damn morning for the last two and a half years; " Time to enter into the gap of the dragon. Hold your breath and say a prayer, hoping to get out alive."