Bad Blood

Bad Blood

Prologue

Some Unknown Location

March 2011

The thick black cloak that enveloped the man hung concrete and motionlessly, not even to some extent swaying in the soft icy breeze. He was with another, a large long-limbed man who stood in an unnoticeable slouch, clothed in your common thin dim t-shirt, and skinny blue jeans.

The cloaked man glanced up to the night sky, the medium length hazel hair which peeked from under the hood; almost shimmering in the composed starlight. A storm was rolling in, the stars unhurriedly diminishing behind the drifting grey.

Compared to the average looking man the cloaked man seemed sinister, almost dangerous with the menacing aurora which hovered around. His preset gold pupils burgeoning in the shed shadow of his hood.

With a stumpy cough, the cloaked man dipped his hand underneath his cloak pulling out a small iridescent light, which appeared serrated yet beautiful as it hovered inches above his bony fingers.

 His hand was now extended, so that the light cast its perplexing luminosity towards the other man; setting his face ablaze with a grassy green tinge.

‘W-what is it?’ the cloaked man was asked. ‘It’s so—’

‘Beautiful,’ the cloaked man added in sharply, ‘and very special Thomas... too special to fall into their hands.’

‘Who’s hands?’ Tom asked, his eyes intensifying with a fabrication of panic and interest. ‘The government? Because if it’s the government, then we could be in deep trouble and –’

‘Thomas! The government is far below what I am talking about here... what I hold in my hand now is what is keeping balance down there. Now I don’t know what you have been told, but it is a sheer requirement that this gets to where it belongs.’

Tom’s eyes remained glued to the strange light, his eyes reflecting its image like a mirror. ‘A sheer requirement!’ the man repeated in an insensitive tone, retracting his hand unexpectedly and with it instantaneously extinguishing the light. The man took a second glance behind him, sniffing in the pungent air as it flowed past.

A small silver container was pulled from the man’s cloak and given to Tom, who uncertainly held it.

‘But I don’t get why I have to do it, I am not anything special.’

The man rolled his eyes, the tension in his head exploding like a firework.

‘There is no time for an explanation! Now go,’ he ordered impatiently.

Tom turned and walked away, not even daring to look back to see if the figure was still freakishly lurking there.

By now the storm clouds had all connected together like a colossal puzzle piece, stridently roaring above; letting him know that rain was approaching. And when it did, the rain sheeted downwards on the street, which the shadows had claimed as their own personal playground. Each drop smacked against his surroundings intensely, it was like he was being warned to hurry his pace.

There was a moment, not too long after the rain had started; where he swore he had seen an intimidating silhouette cascade across the tassel of his heavy rain brimming vision.

 At first he thought he had only imagined it, well after a few minutes of convincing himself it wasn’t real. But then he noticed it again, pressed against a brick wall. Again it vanished before he could settle his eyes upon it. Though frightened, Tom advanced forwards, the rain falling from the ends of each hair, running onto his face, but it didn’t bother him as he had become accustomed to the accumulation already.

‘Isn’t it a bit late to be wandering around?’ A livid voice whispered from the darkness, with just about enough softness to recognise it as that of a female.

 Tom turned, instantly coming face to face with a sheet-white women. She leant slightly forwards, her face almost touching his. He backed away, his mouth slowly opening ‘C-can I help you?’ She smiled vilely wiping a filament of cherry red hair from her face.

‘Yes, in a matter a fact you can in two ways. The first by handing over that box.’ Her voice was now excessively sweet, like that of an old women offering candy to a child- more like a pervert! A trick?

‘It’s mine,’ he stuttered.

‘Well actually my dear... it’s mine.’

‘I- I have no time for games, I have to be somewhere!’

 An aggressively hostile smile engrave itself across her face, almost dripping off her solid cheekbones, the two pointed white teeth which rested on the top row of her teeth caught his eyes.

 ‘Oh but I love games... you must play.’ She advanced forwards, taking her right hand and delicately pushing against his chest, taking him backwards as she stepped.

‘You have teeth like a v-vam, v-vam.’

‘Come on, spit it out! A what?’

‘Vampire,’ he choked in utter disbelief. He gave a lethargic shake of his head, his hand tightening on the box. ‘But vampires aren’t real. Are you some sort of goth or in a gang maybe?’

‘No,’ she spoke gently. ‘I’m a vampire... now what’s your name?’ Tom froze, he couldn’t verbalise. He couldn’t understand that a vampire was stood before him, only nightmares and horror moves had vampires.

Displeased with the silence, a tiger like growl was emitted from her dark blood coloured lips. ‘I asked for your name...’ Her eyes suddenly burned with a rage, turning them charcoal black. ‘Give it to me!’

‘T-tom Magul.’

‘Tom Magul what?’ she hissed, licking her lips. He knew what she wanted him to pronounce, but it was all too much to absorb. Vampires just weren’t real... were they?

‘Tom Magul, Madam.’

‘Well Tom Magul... I will be needing that box. And if you shall not hand it over, then I am afraid that I will have to take it with force.’ Gritting his teeth, he shook his cranium to express his disbelief even more- his insolence.

He turned to run, his legs almost buckling from beneath him as he sped backwards. ‘Insolent child!’ She roared, raising her index finger, possessed by her left hand. He froze.

She made her way around his front, her evil smile remaining upon her face. She brought one of her hands through the air in a quick swipe, her nails slicing through his neck.

 He tried to cough, but was unable. Blood fell from his open wound, rippling like a crimson waterfall, creating a large puddle underneath him- his own red grave.

 She bent down to where his body lifelessly lay, and took the box, her snake-like tongue slithering back into her mouth, ‘Thanksss’