Succubus Short Story
The brisk night air cooled my sweaty skin as we stumbled past the bouncer and spilled onto the sidewalk. Behind us, the music pounded inside the club and the party raged on, reverberating through the open door. Our last round of rum and cokes had done me in, and nausea bubbled up in my stomach.
It was time to gorge ourselves on greasy breakfast foods, stumble the two blocks home, and fall asleep at my place.
Dawn wobbled as we walked away from the club. I reached out to steady her and almost dropped my phone. When I felt she was stable enough, we started walking down the sidewalk toward our favorite waffle house.
“Valen, where are we going?” asked Dawn. Her head bobbed like a fishing lure, and her thick, dark curls covered her face.
“We both need something to eat.”
She perked up at the idea of breakfast food and smiled up at me. My heart did a backflip in my chest.
She hiccuped. The eyeliner on her right eye was smudged in the corner, and her cheeks were pink from excess alcohol and dancing.
“Can I have the French toast? My waffles were undercooked last time.”
“Sure, you can eat whatever you want. It’s on me.”
“Hell yeah! Let's do it!”
We paused at an intersection and waited to cross. Dawn couldn’t quite walk straight, and I made her lean against a light pole. Her short black hair fell in her face when she bobbed her head as if all the muscles in her neck turned to jello. I rubbed her back for comfort and to keep her awake. The streets were unoccupied and only a few taxis were out at this time of night.
The light changed, and we stumbled our way across the road. I felt tired and couldn’t hold her up anymore, so I made her hold on to my purse strap and walk behind me. I only heard the squeal of tires and the sickening sound of her body colliding with the hood of a car.
Dawn had let go of my purse strap. She laid crumpled on the ground at my feet. Blood streamed from her mouth and flowed from a gash in her hairline. A blue Audi backed up and zoomed around us. I saw the driver speed down the street and take a sharp turn at the next intersection, tires squealing. I caught the last three characters on their license plate and I hastily typed it in my notes app before I called the police.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“Someone just ran over my friend at the corner of Chestnut and 13th avenue. She needs help.”
“Okay, try to stay calm. We are sending an ambulance now.”
My knees buckled, and I kneeled on the ground beside her.
“I don’t know what to do,” I sobbed.
“Is your friend bleeding?”
Tears blurred my vision, and I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.
“Do you see the wound?” she asked.
“I think so. There is so much blood.”
“I’m going to need you to apply pressure to the wound until the ambulance arrives. Can you do that?” asked the dispatcher.
“I can do it.”
I put my phone on the ground and wrapped my hand with a bundle of napkins I found in my purse. I applied pressure on the wound in her hairline. Dawn whimpered in response. She was still conscious, but she couldn’t speak, she could only make gasping noises. I tried to say soothing things to her in between my own sobs.
The ambulance arrived in a matter of minutes. The paramedics loaded Dawn’s unmoving body onto a stretcher and wheeled her into the back of the vehicle. I scrambled into the ambulance with them and we raced toward the hospital.
I held her hand as they fastened an oxygen mask over her face. I cannot remember everything from that night, but the most vivid memory was right before we reached the hospital- when she took her last breath. Afterward, I blacked out. Hours later, I woke up alone in a hospital bed with an IV stuck in my arm.
The days after the hit and run were a blur.
I gave the cops the vehicle description and the last three numbers on the license plate, but it wasn’t enough. There were no traffic cameras at the intersection and no close witnesses who could verify the car’s make and model. They weren’t able to find the driver.
I sat beside Dawn’s mother and brother at the funeral. They stayed with me for a few days and we mourned together. Yesterday, they had to return home. I understood, but I still didn’t want them to leave. Without them, I was alone with my grief.
The alarm on my phone wailed at me to wake up. I hit the snooze button and tossed it across the bed. I laid in bed, mostly hidden by the covers, and looked out the window. I watched two birds sitting on a ledge. They looked at peace with the world. I watched them for several minutes until they flew away.
The alarm on my phone screamed at me again. I groaned and sat up to turn it off, running a hand through my tangled hair. I still wore the same clothes as yesterday, a pair of grey sweatpants and a stained blue shirt. What was the point of changing?
For the third time this morning, I considered rescheduling my meeting with my editor, Carla. The thought of leaving my apartment made me tired. However, I couldn’t reschedule again or my agent would have my head.
After two cups of coffee, I stumbled to my room to start the exhausting task of making myself presentable. The sight of my frumpy appearance in my bedroom mirror was startling. I hadn’t left my apartment in two weeks and it showed. I found stains on my shirt and my pajama pants that I couldn’t identify, and my hair looked like a blackbird’s nest. The smell coming off my body should have been toxic.
I sighed and got to work.
Two hours of diligent cleaning and primping later, I looked normal enough to leave my apartment. I observed my reflection in the smudged bathroom mirror. The dark rings under my eyes glared back at me and my skin looked dull, but at least I was clean.
I wore a white shirt, a blue cardigan, and my favorite pair of stretchy slacks. I completed my look with a pair of blue flats and a dash of blush.
We were scheduled to meet at the cafe down the block from my apartment at noon. I arrived first and snagged a table by the window. I ordered a latte and a chocolate croissant. The croissant was fresh and flaky. With every bite, my mood brightened slightly. I people watched as I waited for Carla.
A light blue Audi pulled up in front of the window. The driver parallel parked right outside the cafe and the owner sat in his vehicle, fixing his hair in the mirror. The car had a large dent in the hood and some deep scratches. Coffee sloshed out of the cup and almost drenched my croissant. I put down my cup and wipe the table with my napkin.
I stood up and sauntered outside as the driver climbed out of his vehicle.
I walked right up to the car and looked at the license plate number. The last three digits matched the ones I saw the night of the hit and run. I put my hand on the car and walked toward the front. The owner of the vehicle grinned at me as he watched me check out his vehicle.
“Wow, what a pretty car,” I said.
The man was in his mid-thirties, and he was dressed like a chic business executive. He’d slicked his hair back with a generous amount of hair gel, and he wore a tailored grey suit with black leather shoes.
I inspected the hood of his car. There was a dent in the center and a deep set of scratch marks. I ran my fingernails over the dent; the dent caused by my friend’s body.
“Oh no, what happened to your car?” I asked, moving closer to him.
“A deer jumped out in front of me,” he said. “My mechanic couldn’t get me in until next week, so it will have to look like this a while longer.”
I put my fists in the pockets of my cardigan to keep them from shaking.
“Oh no, what a poor deer.”
I stepped closer to him and touched his arm.
His eyes locked on me, and all I had to do was touch his wrist. I saw his eyes glaze over, and I knew he had tunnel vision. He was mine now.
I wanted to punch him, but I knew he deserved much worse.
“Shall we go to the alley for some fun?” I asked in his ear, nodding toward the alley next to the cafe.
Without a word, he nodded. I took his hand and led him down the alley beside the cafe. It was littered with trash and there was a distinct odor coming from the overflowing dumpster.
I pushed him against the brick wall beside the dumpster and held him there, my palms flat on his chest. The giant steel box blocked us from view. No one on the street would notice us.
He reached for my wrist.
“Put your hand down.”
His hand froze, his skin almost touching mine, and it fell limply to his side.
I pressed my body up against his, grabbed both sides of his face, and covered his lips with mine. Almost instantly, his muscles seized up from the toxins I released in his body. His eyes were wild, but his body was frozen. He couldn’t fight me off and I fed on his soul, drawing it from his body. Normally, I would stop after ten seconds, but this time was different, and I kept going. He would die as my friend had, except his body would be left in the trash.
A full minute passed, and his body was empty of life. I let go of his face and his body fell into the heap of garbage bags. His eyes were closed, he and he looked like he was sleeping.
I wiped my mouth off with my sleeve.
“Piece of trash,” I muttered and walked back into the cafe. My editor showed up moments later.
That night I paced my apartment. I kept thinking about how good it felt to drain that man. My body yearned to do it again. I gave in to the overwhelming craving.
An hour later, I was outside of a club with another man. I found him harassing a female bartender. So I stole his attention and led him around to the back of the building. This one didn’t struggle as I fed, which was kind of boring. I drained him, leaving his body where it fell to the ground.
His energy surged through my body. I shook from the adrenaline. It was the best I’d felt in years.
I was consumed with feeding on men; it was the only thing I could think about. The high from one kill would sustain me for hours, and then I’d want more. I needed more.
I found one man at a nightclub, groping intoxicated women on the dance floor and following them to the bathroom. I left his body in the front seat of his car. The second was two men harassing a young girl on the street late at night. I left both their bodies on the sidewalk, propped up against a building. They looked like they were sleeping.
It went on like this for several days, hunting and killing many other men before I got a phone call from my friend Anitta. The Council of Succubus Leaders is exactly as it sounds, and she worked as a council member. The members are elected officials that govern over all the succubus in the world.
“Hey Anitta,” I said, “What’s up?”
I was eating popcorn and watching the news. The news anchor was talking about a string of dead bodies found across the city. All the men appeared to have died from “natural” causes.
Huh, they only found half of them.
“Valen, what is going on?” she asked.
“Well, hello to you too,” I replied. I switched off the tv.
“Men are dropping like flies in your city and the council agrees they look like succubus attacks,” she said. Her voice sterner than usual. “Now the council thinks you’ve gone rogue.”
I laid my head against the back of my couch.
“It’s probably some wanderer that’s overstayed their welcome,” I replied.
I eyed my nails. They needed a fresh coat of polish. I should make a trip to the nail salon, I thought.
“I can do some digging and see if I can locate them,” I said.
There was a long pause.
“You better figure out who it is before the council arrives tonight to investigate it. If not, they’re going to assume it’s you,” she warned.
I rolled my eyes. What a drama queen.
“Fine,” I said, “I’ll look into it.”
“Good, keep me updated.”
“Wait- what will happen to the rogue when they find her? Would she be killed?”
“Whoever it is, will be collected and taken for rehabilitation. The birth numbers are lower than ever and the council cannot afford to execute anyone,” she replied.
We said our goodbyes.
I paced around the house for the next hour, randomly cleaning things. Maybe I could hunt down another succubus to throw at the feet of the council. I had to do something fast, their investigation would lead them right to me.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Sure, I would be caught and disgraced, but they would rehabilitate me and life would go on. Instead of taking action, I sat on the couch for the rest of the day, binge-watching ‘The Queen of Flow’ on Netflix, and ate some take-out.
The itch to feed hit me around seven. I felt the now-familiar pull; the hunger boiled my blood. Maybe I should go out for one last feeding? One more wouldn’t hurt. If they’re going to lock me up tomorrow, I might as well make the best of my last night.
I had my hand on the door to leave my apartment when the window in my front room exploded. Shards of glass flew about the room. I shielded my face with my purse.
A large canister sailed through the open window and landed in the middle of the living room. The canister was pumping gas into the small space.
I yanked at the front door. It wouldn’t budge. I kicked at the door, but it still wouldn’t open. The second kick broke my heel and only dented the door.
The room was full of smoke now, and my body felt like lead. I grabbed a scarf off a wall hook and wrapped it around my face a few times. Then I crawled across the floor to my bedroom. With shaking hands, I closed the door behind me, clicking the lock in place. For safe measure, I pushed my dresser in front of the door.
I sat on my floor, gasping for air.
What do I do now? Whoever threw in the canister must have been standing on the fire escape. My apartment was on the second floor, so jumping wasn’t an option. Then I remembered the box of emergency supplies I kept in the closet.
I scrambled across the room and tore open my closet door. The box was tucked under a large pile of old clothes. I ripped the lid off and rummaged through its contents.
My room became increasingly foggy. I found the rectangular bag I was looking for and tore it open, breaking my fingernail. With some effort, I muscled open the old window and popped out the window frame. It crashed to the ground below. I secured the metal hooks to the bottom of the windowsill and unraveled the emergency ladder. I kicked off my heels and climbed out the window. The ladder wobbled and swayed, making it difficult to climb down quickly.
Once my feet were securely on the pavement, I yanked off the scarf, my lungs dying to breathe in the fresh air. I heard a crash inside my bedroom and I looked up. A person wearing a black mask stared down at me from the window.
I grabbed the side of the ladder and yanked with all my strength, breaking it about halfway up. Then I sprinted down the alley and emerged onto the busy sidewalk.
Thankfully, I had my crossbody bag with me when they attacked. That meant I had my bus pass.
I tossed my phone in a trash can and hopped on a crowded bus. The doors closed behind me and I found a seat beside an elderly man. He ignored me and continued to do his crossword puzzle. I slouched down in the small space as the bus lurched forward.
The news coverage must have alerted a group of hunters to my location. The hunters were a small group of humans that enjoyed killing succubus like me. Their goal was to rid the world of succubus because we were “evil”.
I closed my eyes to think, I knew where to go.
An hour later, I exited the bus. The sun was fading in the sky and the tombstones casting long shadows over the ground. I hadn’t visited her grave since the funeral, so it took me several minutes to find her plot.
Her tombstone still looked brand new.
My breath caught in my throat. I reached out to touch the flat stone that read “Dawn Addams: Beloved daughter and sister”. My knees gave out, and I crumbled to the ground. I sobbed openly, not bothering to wipe the tears away.
“I loved you so much and I never told you. I’m so sorry.”
I’d been deeply in love with Dawn for years, and I never had the courage to tell her how I felt.
I almost didn’t hear the approaching footsteps over my sobs. I had killed people, and now I had to accept my fate.
They pressed the barrel of their gun to the back of my head. I didn’t fight or scream, I simply closed my eyes. I waited to reunite with Dawn.
My sound of the gun pierced my eardrums and scared away all the birds perched in the neighboring trees. I opened my eyes and looked around at the now hectic cemetery.
I wasn’t dead, and the gun was no longer touching the back of my head, and I reached up to touch the part of my scalp where it was. There wasn’t even a scratch.
The female hunter’s body laid in a heap behind me, blood gushing from a bullet hole in her throat. Two male hunters were on their knees, being disarmed by several women with machine guns. Half a dozen women invaded the cemetery in tactical gear and automatic weapons. The three measly hunters hadn’t stood a chance.
A familiar face approached me. Anitta extended her hand and helped me off the ground. A second woman appeared and wrapped me in a fleece blanket. Without a word, they escorted me out of the cemetery and into the back of a black escalade.
Anitta climbed into the back seat beside me, and I laid my head on her shoulder.
“It was me,” I murmured. “I killed them all.”
She pushed the hair out of my face.
“I know my dear.”
Did you enjoy my story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks, A.N. HijazWrite a Review