The Milk Farm

Meet Tim

22 years later

   The night was very cold and dark in Finland. It was December, and as per usual, Ville kept to himself. Locked in his dark unkempt Gothic tower, with the only light in his abode coming from various candles throughout the home. They lined the staircase that spiraled up to the different rooms, and were scattered randomly. Their white wax overflowed and dripped down, leaving pools and beads of it under the surface of where the candles rested. Ville sat in silence across from a very old television set in his living room. The electricity hummed through the screen, which showed a woman smiling by a shampoo bottle while washing her long blonde hair. He had turned the volume all the way down, and the flicker of the TV was the only source of movement in the room, that and the occasional dance of the flame from the candles. He had been watching commercials and late night programs for hours, his mind was silent. He had not slept for days, he didn't need it. Not when he'd gone so long without feeding. The hunger could keep him up for months on end. His eyes were dry and tired from the lack of rest but he sighed and smiled down at his half empty wine glass. Tonight he would sleep like the dead. He chuckled at his own inside joke and took a sip from the viscous liquid in his glass. "W..w.what's so funny mister?"

   On the coffee table between Ville and the television laid a shirtless young man. He looked to be in his early twenties and had a deep, fresh cut on the inner part of his arm. Just where it would bend. He bled freely over the coffee table creating a crimson pool just under his arm. He had been half asleep, in a daze after the wine Ville had offered. He was pale, almost translucent, and his breathing was shallow. His eyes fluttered open. The room was a blur at first but as his vision cleared he could make out the silhouette of the rockstar, who was sitting cross legged. Shirtless, barefoot, only wearing black trousers. He tried to speak but only a whisper came out. "When can I go home?" Ville's smile grew wider, "You can go home in the morning, sweetheart. As soon as the sun comes up" he replied in a calm tone that was almost soothing. "Your money is in the key bowl by the front door. Make sure you lock my door before you leave." The young man's eyes grew wide as he tried to focus on the rockstar's face. "Last month...I didn't feel this dizzy." The room spun around. His mind clouded with confusion. He had been coming here for the last three months, exchanging his blood for money, but something felt off tonight. "Last time you didn't have so much wine, darling. Perhaps take it easy next time." Ville sat his empty glass down and leaned over, his eyes glowing with a predatory hunger. He licked his lips before speaking in a voice that was both comforting and eerie. "Don't worry, my dear. I'll just a take a little extra tonight. I promise it won't be too much. I've just really worked up an appetite. I'm absolutely ravenous."

   The man's eyes rolled back in his head, as he relaxed on the table. Ville took the young man's arm and pressed his lips against the deep straight wound. He drank from it desperately, his cheeks beginning to flush with the warmth of life he hadn't felt in weeks. The cold darkness outside mirrored the tumultuous emotions within him. Memories of Cillian's eyes, his cries, and his tragic end all surfaced to the forefront of his mind. He felt a pang of regret for his friend, but it was quickly pushed aside by the more primal need for survival. He squeezed the young man's arm, milking it of blood and moaned against his skin. The taste was divine, rich, salted, sweet, and metallic. If he had waited a day longer he'd be on a hunger induced panic attack, that's when things could get dangerous for himself and those around him. Shortly after leaving the facility years ago, he had discovered that Dr. Xander's wasn't so crazy after all. When he arrived back to Finland, he found it almost impossible to keep food down. Everything he ate would make it's way back up. The sun stung his eyes, and he could survive for weeks without consuming anything. Soon, his band mates as well as fans took notice of this, and Ville had to keep a cigarette and a beer bottle on hand to explain his lack of appetite. He kept getting thinner, hiding under baggy clothes. But the intense hunger never left. It only grew more intense over the years. It was a constant whisper in his mind, always begging for more. Only the taste of human blood could satisfy it. Just for a while. And it had to be fresh, young, and full of life. The kind of blood that could be found in clubs and pubs in the late evenings of Helsinki. Or in the seas of adoring fans at concerts. He had found that young blood had a certain taste to it, a taste that was almost nostalgic. It was a guilty pleasure that he had to indulge in to keep his hunger at bay. But even now, with the warm liquid filling his mouth, the memories of Cillian's passing didn't fade away. Memories of Till and the love he felt for him. They remained as clear as the day he had escaped from that hellish facility.