A Sanguinary Rose

The Red Gloaming From Beyond

ONCE ANJA LEFT, I realized she had been right all along. The forbidden elixir held no substitute.

If Mr. Royce had been feeding me a cheap supplement that only quenched my thirst, then human blood was a nectar of the gods, fulfilling and reinvigorating. It flowed through my veins and filled me up with a kind of euphoric, hyper energy that kept me pacing around my room. It granted a sort of renewed strength to my muscles, a quick step to my feet. The one thought bouncing in my mind was that I couldn't stay inside my room. I had to let off some steam.

The black attaché case with the anti-vampire medicine was a stark reminder of my 'unnatural condition,' so I snatched it and shoved it in a corner of my closet. I hopped in front of the mirror to fix my bright scarlet hair, streaming down in a river of gleaming curls over my shoulders. The new sunglasses were my favorite gift. I put them on and struck a feisty pose. Although my drab clothes made me groan.

Gone now were the long-sleeved moderate blouses and sweaters I was used to. I slipped into a denim mini-skirt and a pink tank top that read in a cheeky cursive Double Dare Me.

The window slid soundlessly, and the roof tiles creaked under my bare feet. I tossed the high-heeled boots, and they thudded on the grass ten feet below. The fall would've been significant had I been human, but I alighted nimbly, the wet grass stalks licking my soles, and put my boots on. Things like that made me appreciate what I had become—I mean, who wouldn't love superhuman strength to shake their bullies off like flies, or dark vision to quickly find their panties? Perhaps it was a good trade, even if it meant turning into a heap of ash in the morning.

What to do now? Sometimes I walked down the piers sticking into the middle of the lake or along the quays to listen to the whispering of the muddy waters. Other nights I'd stare out across the sea on the shore or between the boats moored at the harbor, smelling the stench of fish and saltwater. Some Fridays I'd meet up with Rick and the others to go over to a house party, although with each passing day I felt our friendship growing distant.

My feet took me through meandering lighted paths through parks, down narrow streets older than the Declaration of Independence, before the massive grinning pumpkin in front of the oldest government buildings in Farpoint's Main Square, and back to the Halloween-decked suburbs where the occasional modern, two-story house rumbled with rock or electronic music.

It wasn't long before midnight came and went. Partygoers stumbled out of a house's porch hollering goodbyes, muffled by cheap Scream masks covering their groggy faces. Others, too drunk to drive, or even stand, shuffled along the sidewalks in their blundering quests to go home. At one point I spotted one jock-type guy wearing a baseball cap passed out on a front lawn whose party had disassembled minutes ago. His blood reeked of alcohol; I could tell at a distance from a whiff.

As night ran its course, more and more I noticed shadier characters standing around corners or loitering between alleys. These figures blended in the darkness, hooded shadows whose watchful eyes followed the bystanders, although no one in particular. Hands tucked in pockets, they tailed their victims with a slightly hunched posture, keeping enough distance to avoid suspicion. Not that they'd suspect anything; many of these people wouldn't know what hit them.

One stalker headed my way as he tailed a drunk. Interest glinted in his eyes under his hoodie as we passed by each other.

"Better keep walking, buddy." I told him and he turned away, hot on his victim's tracks.

I had suspected it from the beginning, but now I could undoubtedly affirm they were vampires—at least one or two on every block and ready to trail any dolt as oblivious as a rock, or ready to pursue if one bolted.