Vampire (Noun)
Mythical creature
Vampires are mythological or folkloric revenants, who subsist by feeding on the blood of the living
This isn't where she wanted to be. She wanted, more than anything, to be safe and sound in her bed. But instead she found herself staring into the darkness and waiting. For what she was waiting for she did not know, what she did know was that her white tank top and cotton shorts were not enough to be wearing in the harsh winter weather, her bare feet frozen in place as she searched for any sign of movement coming from the forest.
She managed to regain control of her limbs and cautiously stepped forward. Not knowing that underfoot was a large patch of frozen ice, just waiting for a fooling teenager to step onto it and crack.
Her foot slipped and she started to fall, and curiously, at the exact same time her head very ungraciously met a thick shard of ice, a man peered through the trees at her. A man, more dark than the night and more evil than Satan's armies combined, a man that, at first glance had no connection to the girl. But a second look would make you realise that his cold, blue eyes held more warmth for her than a fireplace in a cabin, the comfort that would be provided by that is immense.
Also, let us not forget the irony. This poor girl, who is no older than 17 and was fated to die in the cold December air, was called Belle Winters.
The ice opened up and welcomed her with open arms, as if it was expecting her arrival. Now she waits under the water, unconscious, paralysed, but not dying. Never dying. Just... There. Lingering in the shadows. Compelling the next foolish girl to step into the forest and join her. Just as much as you cannot change the law, she cannot change her fate. But, it wasn't a new thing either. She was warned when she was younger by a woman in a travelling circus.
She had been on her way to buy some candy floss when an old woman wrapped her talons around Belle's arm and whispered something strange. Something evil.
It glued Belle to the spot, her face turning an unnatural shade of white. The woman's appearance had frightened her at first. A large, crooked nose. Warts covering the majority of her face. One of her eyes was clouded over, as if there was a fog hidden in it. But the worst thing is what she whispered. Words that would have haunted her well into her senile day, had she managed to live that long. As we all know, poor Belle Winters was snatched from Earth's grasp without as much as a 'how do you do' and more of a 'Argh, splat'.
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This man in question, who shall be named Luke, was not entirely a man in many senses. And he was not entirely evil, just to the point where he felt the need to rip out the throat of any man he met. The reason he is of this terrible nature is know by not many. Even less of that of a human stature. It was at least thirty-two years past, and it was the worst thing that could be witnessed by human and alike.
He was the apparent victim of a man who had a taste for violence. Luke was preyed upon during the early morning after he had a bit too much fun. He was far from the man he currently is and was quite depressed and bored. He had been from thing to another, doing anything to get away from his own thoughts.
He was approached by the man who changed him, his name is not known. The man approached him as he he was intoxicated.
"Hello young man" he greeted Luke with a soft yet hard voice, "You look ill!" This man's eyes were as cold as the dark air above them.
"I am quite fine." Luke stumbled, the world looked very colourful through his eyes. "Just a little, well, something."
He fell to the ground.
"Let me help you," the man offered Luke a hand. This hand was white. Luke grabbed the hand and instantly they were in an empty room. He recognised the room, the spare room in his own home.
The 'chemicals' in his own body were beginning to nullify.
"Who are you?" This was not really a question, as he did not care to find out. He knew his home well, as he had grown up in it and inherited it from his parents. It was no mansion, but oh well.
He got up "I am..." He stopped, and smiled a little and revealed a flash of white teeth. "Extremely sorry for what I am to do to you." He sarcastically frowned.
"Bye, I'm sorry, another time."
Luke ran to the door. Sadly, a pale faced woman was waiting there, dressed rather nicely. Luke was having rather indecent thoughts.
"Back up there" she looked bored. "Fun time's not over yet."
She somehow lifted him and threw him to the ground. The rather creepy man, in turn, lifted Luke. "As I said, I am sorry."
What happened next broke Luke. He got up, in the now empty room. He felt cold, so very cold. His skin was near white, and his throat burnt with thirst. He did not know what had happened.
He licked his lips, his tongue had grown in length, and he noticed that he had grown four large fangs. He walked from this room to one of which was more familiar, his room.
It was there he found a pretty woman, bound up on his bed, screaming through a gag and a note taped to her neck. It read, 'sorry about earlier, left you a snack, see you in a couple of decades'. Luke thought for a moment, snack? This pretty young thing, a snack?
Yes, under different circumstances had he seen her, would go for her, but bound up?
Another thought came to mind, of how tasty she looked. And if that man had done it to him, was he any worse to do the same to her? The next thought was, no. He lost every bit of sanity when he did this, he lost himself.
He tore off the bindings and watched the girl get up and dart to the door. Luke repeated the words of the man 'terribly sorry'.
The moment he wanted to go to her, he was there. He grabbed the girl by her neck, the colour in his eyes fading and his nails growing into what seemed like claws. He leaned in to her, and said words that changed his outlook on life.
Pretty young thing."
He grinned insanely, a tear falling from his eye. He was broken by what he learned he had to do, he had to kill. He had done bad things in the past, but never killed. He had drank and smoked and sniffed and injected and stole and robbed, but now he had committed the ultimate sin.
He had nothing now. He used his last bit of sanity and leapt through the nearest window to kill himself.
He fell, laughing, and hit the ground. What he did not like was that his laughing did not cease, it only turned to screaming. He felt no pain on his pale body. He was shattered.
He was essentially dead, killed in his own home. But he walked. He rubbed his neck where it had begun and yet, there was no mark. He got up and walked. He had nothing, all he wanted now was something. He walked from his home, from his city, from his world. He smiled to himself, although he was cracked, he had killed once. And he would have to repeat the sin.
And part of him couldn't wait.
