Twilight's Parasites

Author's Note: Excerpts from Dracula and "Bela Lugosi's Dead" are rightfully owned by Bram Stoker and Bauhaus, respectively.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Prologue

Blood was going to be spilled tonight. Oh, yes! The moon was high, casting its pale luminescence upon the dark town, engulfing the weary souls which roamed its empty streets. A vicious wind stung its naked flesh raw, clawed at its scalp, and made its colorless eyes burn. But it was only dimly aware of these sensations. No, no, its fevered mind was focused on one thing and one thing only.

(“The blood is the life!”)

Head lolled back, it inhaled the frigid night air. Beneath the taint of car fumes, man-made filth, rot and decay was that unmistakable scent. Oh, what bliss! How it hungered! A snarl bubbled forth from its aching throat, past unfurled ruby lips baring yellow teeth and unnaturally long canines, rising to an inhumane howl. It traveled across the inky midnight skies, over the incessant din of modernity, carrying its rage and defiance and jubilation over the half-frozen Lake Erie. In the distance, dogs howled a chorus of fear and submission. Nearby, in barren bushes, a russet cat yowled in fright, darting across the snow-covered earth.

If one were to glance towards the sprawling St. John’s cemetery, beyond its cast-iron gates and stone markers of the deceased, they would be greeted with quite a sight. Perhaps do a double-take, shake their head in disbelief, and quicken their pace. A ghostly figure, its gender indiscriminate from afar, stood nude before an opened crypt. Upon closer inspection, the figure was indeed male. Matted copper locks, stringy and dirty, brushed his pale broad shoulders and the nape of his neck. From beneath the dark mass shone two eerie orbs, the pupils contrasting sharply against a backdrop of clear. They glowed fiercely, brighter than the moon itself. Beneath them were dark circles and etched lines of fatigue, of torment, and of bloodlust. Nearly a century’s worth of agony, having tortured each and every fiber of his undead being for decades. A hawkish nose jutted out prominently above those blood-red lips, cracked and widened into a devilish grin. A pinkish-white tongue caressed the elongated canines. Sunken cheeks completed the image of a gaunt face, seemingly handsome despite its starved appearance. Dangling from the wrists of his long, lithe arms were the rusted silver chains of the manacles which had bound him, since the infancy of the twentieth century, in his own coffin.

His body revealed the extent of his anguish. Slender, no more than six foot one, his ribcage pressed grotesquely against his alabaster flesh. The pelvis and genitalia were encased by papery, translucent skin. His legs, once strong and lean like a dancer’s, were mere twigs. His nails, long and sharp, seemed fit for a bear. All over this waif of a man were the singed impressions of chain links, having burned deep into his flesh. Over and over again the links crossed paths; around the neck, across the chest, up and down the arms, seemingly infinite in their trajectory. This man—if one could call him that—wrenched the now weakened manacles from his wrists, ignoring the scorching pain of the metal in his hands, and flung them viciously to the ground. They landed with a muffled clink, the very sound of freedom.

Oh, yes! Death was coming, slowly but surely, to those who had crossed him. Come to claim the souls responsible for the punishment meant to last an eternity.

(“Eliza…forgive me…”)

(“…the victims have been bled…”)

Veins pulsed and writhed with unlife beneath the delicate shell. Bluish, they strained against their fleshy confines, carrying the blackened essence of those who had perished from his fatal kiss. Neck muscles bulging, the man-thing reared back its head and took another whiff of the bitter cold night. Ah! There it was! Mingling with, almost hidden beneath, the blood of countless lives was that one certain scent. Old blood, black with age, rotten with taint, taken by force into a hollow shell animated by God knows what.

(“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…”)

(“…and sinned….and sinned…sinned beyond repent.”)

(“Redemption? No, no redemption for me…for my kind…”)

How they throbbed, pumping precious life into a heart that died, and should have stayed dead! And the hunger! It burned within him, deeper than the black recesses of his soul. It gnawed at his stomach, made him salivate and growl with need. It had been too long since his last meal. Too long, in his opinion. Vengeance would have to wait.

Another whiff. This time, he picked up the scent of a young male, about twenty or so. Effortlessly, he probed the youth’s mind, putting invisible tentacles of telepathy to work. He lived at home with his mother, did marijuana in his spare time, held down a job at the local supermarket. He was currently en route to a party. Already, his mind was filled with wispy longings for beer, the company of men, and the delicious warmth of a woman, writhing beneath him. His birthday was in April, only a few months away. So much for his twenty-first.

Pulse quickened, the thrill of the hunt invigorated his senses.

(“Blood…life…”)

Hunger surging through him, the pale demon leapt across the cemetery, feet barely touching the frozen earth, and sped mercilessly towards his first meal.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Read and review, please!!