Vampire

Vampir, Edvard Munch 1895

It's not so bad, he thinks, not when she holds him like that.  Somehow she manages to be soft, comforting and terrible all at the same time.  Her arms are as cold as the grave but speak of the oblivion he longs for.  She is a reflection of him, and embodiment of his desires and fears.  He wonders if she actually exists in her own right.  She is a creation of his psyche made flesh, that is the only explanation.  As she hugs him closer, he is lost in the scent and feel of her, the wild need in him growing.  He bleeds into her.

When her teeth penetrate him, he thinks nothing of it.  It’s another part of her seduction.  The promise of injury and possession does not repulse him.  She is amazing and dangerous and beautiful and fearful.

 He is fading into her.  She is not just a mirror to his desires, or maybe she is not that at all.  Now that she possesses him, he loses the awareness of himself as a separate entity.  Her arms encircle him.  His head rests on her breast and he feels the stillness in her.  He feels the stillness wash over him.  He feels his heartbeat slowing.

Her hair burns like fire in the night.

His eyes drift closed. He is slumped into her now and barely aware of what is going on.  He hears the suck of her mouth and feels the piercing teeth in his neck and it is too much, it creates too much feeling inside of him.  He is traveling through his veins into her mouth and her body; he is not a man but just his blood.  She has taken control of him and he does not exist beyond being a warm body.

She sits up and licks her lips.  The man collapsed forward and off the bed, insensate.  He’ll be fine in a few hours, she knows, but he has served his purpose.  She leaves two aspirin and a glass of water on the bedside table.  She may be a monster but she’s not inconsiderate.  The man starts snoring raggedly and she is filled with disgust.  Such a man is not to her tastes, usually, but she was starving before.  Now his blood, heavy and thick as it may be, thrums in her veins and brings a blush to her white cheeks.

It’s cold and damp outside but she does not feel it.  With her veins full of someone else's blood and the donor forgotten about, the night belongs to her.  She feels the hunger increase even more, even though she's fed, and her gaze is shrouded in red.  The lust for more more more has only been whetted.

 The people she passes are not people, only vessels for blood that call out to her.  She’s not an animal, she does not lash out at the first one that comes her way.  The lust is sated as much by the hunt as by the blood.  And these people who walk by, the ones who glance at her quickly and then away, are too easily had.  She feels them watch her.  Some gazes are heated and linger.  Others are fearful and furtive.  She walks along as if she does not notice.  Her hunger requires a special sort of desire.

There are so many places she could go tonight so she wanders through the city for a long time.  It is a place where calmness has never existed and there is always something to be exploited.  She chose this place as her home for that reason entirely.  She is an old vampire and her needs are simple when she can take care of them.  This city is her supermarket, her grocery or restaurant, whichever metaphor works best.

She makes up her mind and starts stalking the night with at a more determined pace.  It is that time of night when people have to drift out of bars and nightclubs, bleary from drink, and head home.  This is the time when finding the ones to strike is easiest.

She finds them almost immediately because it is so cliche.  They are a young couple and, perhaps, high on drugs that have made them handsy.  They're back behind a club and in the halogen-lit dimness they cling to each other.  She watches them, still as death, and waits for the right moment.

Their hands roam over skin and clothing but the latter is rucked up or soon discarded.  They pay no mind to whatever may be going on around them.  Closing their minds off to recognizing her is absurdly easy.  She pulls the man away first.

He does not notice the change in partner and picks up where he left off.  She lets him continue to do so for a time until it bores him.  She bites him, takes as much as she wants and pushes him away.  The girl waits dutifully by her side and the vampire smiles.

She is innocent, this girl, even though she was in a back alley misbehaving.  She enters her embrace easily and eagerly.  The possession is almost mutual as her fangs pierce the young women's neck.  The blood is sweet and so hot as it caresses its way down her throat.

The girl sighs and relaxes into her arms.  It is better, being held like this, than being pawed at by the boy.  The vampire holds her like a lover but it is an embrace, not an interaction.  She is not trying to take any pleasure besides that of the nourishing blood.

She slips away and the boy and girl drift back together like nothing happened.  The girl rests her head against his chest and he does not say anything.

She stalks off back to her nest.  The night grows old and people go home but she takes the city as it comes.  This is her home and her people.  This is her unlife.

Her hair burns like fire in the night.

The Muscles of Her Back

The Muscles of the Back,
Jacques Gautier d'Agoty, 1746

I've updated this and added a new section in the beginning.  Enjoy!

 Edinburgh, 1828

Millie was not the prettiest whore on Bussell Street but she was definitely a talented one.  She wore this with a sort of dignity and comeliness that men noticed.  They’d change direction for her, gawp, babble nonsensically or hand over their money.  That last lot was the smartest.

She did not have any delusions about her chosen occupation nor the dangers therein.  She knew men’s predilections, their desires and, most importantly, what they were capable of.  She could have a man on his knees with a few words and well-laid caresses and out the door with even better ones.  What made Millie a good whore, before anything else, was the fact that she enjoyed sex.  That was not her reason for accepting money – that was as simple as survival.

Edinburgh was, even by its own standards, wet and dreary tonight.  Cheap whores would shiver in back alleys as they coaxed out a living while Millie relaxed on the divan in the brothel.  Millie was an exotic bird – so pretty and tame that men went out of their way to find her.  The evening was picking up and she had just welcomed her second guest.

“What’s your name, love?” she asked.

“Mother named me William but you can call me Bill.  Best friend’s name is William too, he’s Will.”

“What a pair you must make.  Will he be joining us tonight?”

Bill swallowed thickly and looked out the window.  “Don’t reckon so.  He’s a shy one, he is.”

Millie smiled.  “Aren’t I lucky that you are so bold.”

Bill smiled but it was a rictus grin, made stiff from lack of use.  The teeth it revealed where sparse and stinking but Millie’s smile didn’t give an inch.  She’d seen much worse.

“Make yourself at home, dear Bill.”

Like any good whore, Millie favored the color red and her room was as livid as a beating heart.  The walls were striped red and tan and the windows were shielded by pale red, gauzy curtains.  The carpet was a thick pile of burgundy; even the furniture was stained to a cherry wood finish.  The focal point of the room, the bed, was bedecked with varying shades of red, pink and orange pillows over cranberry covered sheets. 

Bill did not appear to know how to make himself at home.  His hat was twisted in his hands – it was just a cloth cap – and he was biting his lip.  His eyes were skittish and never held her wanton gaze.  He was a tough nut to crack.  This trick would not as simple as arousing him, finishing him off and then saying goodbye.  First she’d have to get his attention and let everything come after.

Millie took a few steps toward him but stopped just out of his reach.  Her hand hovered over the knot of her red dressing gown.  She made the untying of it slow and tantalizing while she watched him closely.  She was looked for any positive reaction from him and wondered if he was trying to prove something by coming here.  Did his tastes run to the other side of the way?

His eyes grew wide as more of her skin was revealed.  Perhaps he appreciated her body just as much as any other man did.  There was a heat in his eyes now which had not been there before as he drank her in.  She shrugged the robe off of her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.  He was stunned seeing all of her imperfect beauty displayed just for him.

Millie was a solid woman and she wore the weight like it was a sign of her desirability.  Some might call her plump but she saw curves.  Above anything else, men loved to test the weight of her breasts in their hands.  Everything other part of her body was a diversion, an afterthought.  Her skin was freckled and scarred in some places but she kept herself clean and presentable.  That was her job.

If Bill had been skittish before, he was paralyzed now.  His sort – the kind who couldn’t talk to girls – usually went for tramps on the street.  Rarely did they cough up the money for a decent whore.  Millie smiled toothily at him as she came closer and kneeled in front of him.

He went quickly and the act was uneventful; she sat back on her heels.  A hankie materialized in her hand and she wiped her face clean.  She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I think you needed that,” she said in a low voice.

“No, actually, I need you.”

“You have me.”

“I don’t want you.  Well, I do, but just your body.”

She grinned.  "You have that too."

The blow was swift and Millie barely knew she was hurt before she passed out.  Bill shook out his fist and surveyed her figure.  She would make a very nice specimen for the doctor.

He went to the window and looked down to see his friend Will.  The man tipped his hat and glanced up and down the empty street.  Bill nodded and went back to the prone woman on the floor.

Despite her solidity, it was easy enough for Bill to pick her up, carry her to the window and toss her out.  The fall killed her – Millie’s world ended not with a bang but a squish.

--~'~--

John unlocked the door and heaved it open. It seemed like everyday he was surprised by how heavy the door was. The smell of the autopsy room hit him first and it made his eyes water. It was the rich, putrid odor of decomposing bodies and he gagged on it.

“Did you forget your sachet again?  Here, take mine, the smell doesn’t affect me anymore,” Denby said.  He handed him a bundle of cloth filled with fragrant herbs; John tied it around his face so that it covered his nose and mouth.

“Sorry, I think I lost it,” John mumbled.

His shoes clattered against the green tile floor as he walked to his own dissection table.  The walls were covered in the same tile and it made every sound ring loud and reverberate in large room.  There were three tables in a row but Denby was the only other person there.  Thank God for small blessings.  John didn’t care what the oafish surgeon thought of him so he was free to get as heartsick as he wanted during the autopsy.

“That one just came in,” Denby said, pointing at the dead girl on the slab. “You’ll want to work quickly, I think she was out in the streets for a while before Knox got her.  Wouldn’t do for her to rot before you’ve finished your business.”

John’s stomach still lurched every time he saw a corpse.  He no longer felt the need to puke when he cut into one but just seeing the small, naked thing that used to be human was unsettling.  She had been pretty in a youngish way.  The dark, matted hair on her head might have been a rich chestnut color and in life her skin might have had a pale luminescence.  He was half tempted to push back her eyelids and see what color her eyes were.  The eyes were always the first to go, though, especially if her body had been left outside for a while.  Rats liked to make meals out of the round wet orbs.

He was starting to develop a rhythm when it came to commencing an autopsy.  Apron on, gloves up, arrange all of the little instruments in a row.  Don’t think of them as knives, saws or scalpels.  Think of them as the tools you’ll use to delve into the inner workings of the human body.  Think of them as the way to discover the heart of a person.

She was a happy child because she was loved.  Her father spoiled her and her mother let her have her way because of the smile in her eyes.  Her days were filled with skipping and singing and evenings gathered around the fireplace sipping tea.  She was a boisterous child but everyone loved her for it.

John rolled the body onto its stomach.  Tonight he had to learn about the muscles of the back.  He straightened the body out and pushed down on the shoulder blades.  He set to work carving a long red line down the dead girl’s spine.

In the summer, her mother would take her to the country to see the wildflowers.  She’d pick a posy, hand it to her mother, and start on another.  At some point the new bunch would stop being a posy and turn into a fistful of flowers.  Periodically she would shove it in her face and breath in deeply.  She would look back at her mother and laugh.

As she grew older she only became more lovely.  The childish roundness developed into soft curves and the spoiled turned sweet.  She could stop a boy dead in his tracks with one smile.

John spread the skin of the back out so that he could study what lay within.  He counted out the vertebrae in his head and named the muscles.  This was one of the finest specimens he’d seen.

She moved with a grace that few could match.  Her muscles were finely shaped and every gesture was well controlled.  She floated through a room like smoke on air.  To see her dance was to witness perfection.

John’s hands stilled as he considered the body before him.

“Oi, are you gonna quit daydreaming and get to work?” Denby asked.

John shot him a look and bent back over his work.  Before he could become immersed again, however, Denby spoke up once more.

"You might as well flay the rest of her, I think they'll want her for a display model."

"She's not just a piece of meat, you know!" John said hotly.

Denby's eyes bugged out.  "Settle down, mate.  I'll let you have some alone time with your girlfriend later, don't worry," he said, winking suggestively.

"You're disgusting," John said.

"And you're pathetic.  Get on with it."

Muscles of the Back

Jacques Gautier d'Agoty, 1746

Edinburgh, 1828


John unlocked the door and heaved it open.  It seemed like everyday he was surprised by how heavy the door was.  The smell of the room hit him first and it made his eyes water.  It was the rich, putrid odor of decomposing bodies and he gagged on it.

“Did you forget your sachet again?  Here, take mine, the smell doesn’t affect me anymore,” Denby said.  He handed him a bundle of cloth filled with fragrant herbs; John tied it around his face so that it covered his nose and mouth.

“Sorry, I think I lost it,” John mumbled.

His shoes clattered against the green tile floor as he walked to his own dissection table.  The walls were covered in the same tile and it made every sound ring loud and reverberate in large room.  There were three tables in a row but Denby was the only other person there.  Thank God for small blessings.  John didn’t care what the oafish surgeon thought of him so he was free to get as heartsick as he wanted during the autopsy.

“That one just came in,” Denby said, pointing at the dead girl on the slab. “You’ll want to work quickly, I think she was out in the streets for a while before Knox got her.  Wouldn’t do for her to rot before you’ve finished your business.”

John’s stomach still lurched every time he saw a corpse.  He no longer felt the need to puke when he cut into one but just seeing the small, naked thing that used to be human was unsettling.  She had been pretty in a youngish way.  The dark, matted hair on her head might have been a rich chestnut color and in life her skin might have had a pale luminescence.  He was half tempted to push back her eyelids and see what color her eyes were.  The eyes were always the first to go, though, especially if her body had been left outside for a while.  Rats liked to make meals out of the round wet orbs.

He was starting to develop a rhythm when it came to commencing an autopsy.  Apron on, gloves up, arrange all of the little instruments in a row.  Don’t think of them as knives, saws or scalpels.  Think of them as the tools you’ll use to delve into the inner workings of the human body.  Think of them as the way to discover the heart of a person.

She was a happy child because she was loved.  Her father spoiled her and her mother let her have her way because of the smile in her eyes.  Her days were filled with skipping and singing and evenings gathered around the fireplace sipping tea.  She was a boisterous child but everyone loved her for it.

John rolled the body onto its stomach.  Tonight he had to learn about the muscles of the back.  He straightened the body out and pushed down on the shoulder blades.  He set to work carving a long red line down the dead girl’s spine.

In the summer, her mother would take her to the country to see the wildflowers.  She’d pick a posy, hand it to her mother, and start on another.  At some point the new bunch would stop being a posy and turn into a fistful of flowers.  Periodically she would shove it in her face and breath in deeply.  She would look back at her mother and laugh.

As she grew older she only became more lovely.  The childish roundness developed into soft curves and the spoiled turned sweet.  She could stop a boy dead in his tracks with one smile.

John spread the skin of the back out so that he could study what lay within.  He counted out the vertebrae in his head and named the muscles.  This was one of the finest specimens he’d seen.

She moved with a grace that few could match.  Her muscles were finely shaped and every gesture was well controlled.  She floated through a room like smoke on air.  To see her dance was to witness perfection.

John’s hands stilled as he considered the body before him.

“Oi, are you gonna quit daydreaming and get to work?” Denby asked.

John shot him a look and bent back over his work.  Before he could become immersed again, however, Denby spoke up once more.

"You might as well flay the rest of her, I think they'll want her for a display model."

"She's not just a piece of meat, you know!" John said hotly.

Denby's eyes bugged out.  "Settle down, mate.  I'll let you have some alone time with your girlfriend later, don't worry," he said, winking suggestively.

"You're disgusting," John said.

"And you're pathetic.  Get on with it."