October 21st, 1960
Solitude Peaks Colorado
I’ve always cringed at phrases like life goes too fast, or time slips by before you know it. I have existed on this earth for over five hundred years and many of them have been long and lonely. Those words in the ears of an eternal being like myself, should never ring true. Today however is an exception.
Today time has slipped by too fast, far too fast. I am sitting at the bedside of my last and final friend in this world. At eighty-three she’s lived a long life but it’s nothing compared to my own. I’d give anything for a few more years with her. I’m too old and far from humanity to cry over her lose, but I will feel it. It will leave a hole.
“Where will you go? After here?′ She is asking, her voice is hoarse. Her once vibrant hazel eyes are so dull as she fades away from this earth right in front of me. Just like so many of her relatives before her had.
“Somewhere just like this.” I tell her what she already knows. “Hidden away from the world.”
This house is one of my favorites. I just found it six years ago. It is tucked away in the mountains nicely hidden from views, you have to know where it is to know it exists. It’s a small log cabin home hand built by someone, not me, but built well. The floors were all a nice cherry-wood and the log walls give it a good woodsy feel that I really like. The kitchen is small, but it works. I don’t use it anyway. The bathroom is also small and functional. A little loft sits over the kitchen that I set up as my bedroom. My living room is modestly set up. The big fireplace is the focal point. It warms the room up and gives it a nice glow. The soft and plush tan couch faces the fireplace. The once vibrant and strong but now small and fragile, Greta Olin is currently laying there, and I am sitting in a chair next to her.
“You shouldn’t be alone after I die, Nathanial.” She begs once again.
“I am meant to be alone. Greta.” I tell her once again.
I give her a sad smile and brush a gray hair back from her forehead so I can lean down and press a kiss there. We had been intimate in her younger days. Nothing ever came of it. We just enjoyed each other’s company at times. She always had a thing for vampires, it is and has always been very forbidden amongst witches. She was rebel though, young Greta. Still is, as she lay here dying, after refusing to bare an heir thus ending her bloodline. She considers her gifts a curse and decided long ago that she won’t pass it on. In turn, today she sets me free from a promise I made many years ago.
She is worried about it. When she is gone, and I have no purpose and not a soul left in this world.
I’m not. I have no reason to worry. I am over five hundred years old. I can handle being alone. My bloodlust is well under control. Old feeling of bitterness, regret, anger and even guilt has all faded into nothingness. My emotions are nearly nonexistent and will be completely once my final friend starts to fade from what’s left of my dark cold heart. I will simply exist until the time comes to meet the sun. I don’t know when that will be. I assume I will know when the time is right.
“I think you should keep this house.” Greta looks to be half asleep as she speaks in a raspy whisper. I know though that she is not half asleep but half here and half somewhere else. Her coven is calling her home and as they do, she sees things.
“You should return here in fifty years. You’ll be needed then.” Her eyes are becoming murky and unfocused.
“Greta darling, you are the last living soul that will need me. Hell, you never even did me, did you?” I see her smile just a bit. I’m not joking. She was always tough even as young fledging. She was impressive.
“Well, there may have been one or two scorned lovers I needed you to deal with.” She admits.
“You kept it interesting.” I tell her.
“Don’t become a shell of a being, Nathanial, please. You will be needed again.”
“My promise ends with you.” I remind her.
“This promise does but hear me! You will be needed again, right here in fifty years’ time.” She insists.
“What could it be?” I question now my curious peaked. “Is there a descendent still out there that we missed?”
“No. I am the last one. That I know for certain.” She says thoughtfully. “It’s very unclear. I feel like whatever it is, is dependent on the choice you make.”
“Why are you always so cryptic?” I ask with a roll of my eyes that she won’t see.
“I like to see you suffer here and there.” She admits with a dry laugh.
“That you do. I will miss you, Greta.” I tell her.
“Of course, you will.” Even in her old age she is still so cocky, she never changed.
“Don’t you go tell the other witches, but you are my favorite.” He warned playfully.
She laughs then and a tear slips down her cheek. I carefully wipe it away.
“I took care of you as much as you me.” She agrees.
“Whatever will do without me?” She sighs in that raspy voice.
“Don’t worry about me now in these moments.” I dismiss her musings.
“Humor a dying old lady.” She begs. “Say you’ll come back.”
’You’re forcing me to make a new promise?” I sound a little whiney, but this promise I’m being released from today, has been a long and sometimes daunting one. I am ready to have no ties left.
“It’s an easy promise. You only have keep the house and come back. Once you do that the choice is yours.” She’s opening her eyes wider and searching for me so I take her hand in mine.
“Say you will. Say you’ll come back. Please?”
“Fine, Greta.” I sigh. “I will keep this house and return to it in fifty years.”
She looks relieved. “Thank you.”
We sit quietly for some times. She is in and out and is mumbling things sometimes. Sweat beads have started to form on her forehead. She is the last living relative of her bloodline and any former friends or lovers that still live are jilted or scorned, like I said she’s a bit of rebel. It’s just her and I in her final moments. I gently squeeze her hand and she lets out a raspy sigh.
“Its okay, Greta. You can let go. I’ll be okay.” I promise her.
“Be well, Nathanial.” A soft smile touches her lips and then she takes her last breath.
Oct, 21st, 2010.
Billowing Brook, Colorado
I’m not the same man driving back towards Solitude Peaks as I was the man leaving it. I’ve perfected the art of simply existing. I spend the days sleeping and the nights sitting in quiet reflection. Occasionally I travel to a bar and find someone to feed on. Then I return home and sit until it’s time to sleep. It’s boring I suppose, but it suits me.
Tonight I’m driving back to that house in Solitude and keeping my promise. Dead or alive you never break a promise to witch.
At least I like this house. I’ll enjoy settling into it for a few years. I had some furniture delivered ahead of time and paid a company to set it all up ahead of my arrival.
I stop off at a bar about an hour away from the town. I’ll never feed in the town I reside in. I’ve been alive for as long as I have for a reason. I don’t make mistakes.
I step inside the bar, it’s a small rundown little hole in the wall. There are only a few people inside. A few guys talking at a table and a redhead sitting at the bar. She’s already noticed me and is pretending she doesn’t.
I was lucky to get turned at age twenty-four. It was a good age and I’m a good-looking guy. Tall and fit, with a dark olive complexion, black curly hair that tends to be overgrown, and blueish-green eyes. It makes it easy to attract people, men and woman. I don’t have preference when it comes to feeding. Sexually I prefer women, although, I don’t crave sex anymore. Occasionally when feeding I’ll get an urge and go with it, but even that’s become rare over the last few decades. It seems the further away I pull from humanity the less I need any part of it.
I slide into the booth next to hers and she turns to give me a sly grin.
“Can I buy you a drink?” She asks.
“I’d love a drink.” I glance at her neck and enjoy the innuendo with a quiet smirk.
She waves over the bartender.
“Bourbon neat.” I say and then turn my attention to her. I flash her a charming smile. She’s probably in her early thirties. Freckled fair skin and rosy lips. She’s wearing a tight black top with her cleavage spilling out of it and a pair of skintight blue jeans.
“Mandy.” She introduces herself.
“Thank you for the drink, Mandy.” I give her a suggestive smile and she blushes furiously under my gaze.
“You’re welcome. You didn’t tell me your name.” She giggles.
“I know.” I whisper in a dangerous tone.
When her drink runs dry, I buy her one more. She chats my ear off about, well I have no idea, I tune her out.
Finally she gets up to go have a smoke and asks me to join her. I happily do. Once we get outside, she’s chilly and it’s windy.
“Let’s go over to the side of the building, it’ll block the wind.” I suggest as she lights the cancer stick. The smell of it is disgusting. Always hated it.
We duck around the corner to the little alley. She starts to hand me a cigarette.
“I’d rather have something else.” Her eyes light up at the suggestive tone in my voice. She throws her cigarette down and attacks my lips with her own eagerly.
It’s nasty. I don’t like kissing as it is, but rotten breath makes it all the worse. I indulge her for a little while and then push her up against the side of the building. She groans eagerly and is pushing her hips against mine. She’s searching for a hardness she won’t find, but I grind into her with my leg to give her something. I start pressing kisses against her neck and she responds by dipping her head back and allowing me further access. My fangs throb with anticipation as I get a look at the milky white skin on her exposed throat. As I become ready to feed my face changes into that of the monster. My eyes take on a brighter hue, allowing me to better see in the dead of night, my veins darken and become more prominent under my skin in anticipation of the sweet nourishment. Lastly my canines elongate into sharp and long fangs meant to easily slice into thick human skin.
She doesn’t see my face as her eyes are closed in ecstasy. She feels it though when my sharp canines pierce that silky throat. She gasps in shock, but she can’t move, she’s pinned against the building, and she doesn’t want to, anyhow. As I begin to draw the sweet nectar into my dry and waiting throat, she begins to feel the pleasure of the pull. I touch her mind with my own. I alter this memory as I do this.
She’ll remember this as being fucked by a stranger in the alley. She won’t be able to clearly recall my face and she’ll never know what I took from her or miss it. I never take more then I need. I hear sirens in the near distance, so I take one last long draw and then lick her wound closed. She is shaken and wobbly, but I leave her there, she’ll be fine.
I slip into the shadows and move quickly to my car. The shadows hide me easily as I move at an inhuman speed. I can hear more sirens in the distance. The police are no threat; however, I see no need to be seen or known to this world. It’s better to remain hidden and stay secluded. I learned that lesson that hard way during my first one hundred years.
I drive quickly out of the town. As I reach the main road. I spot the house all the police are parked at. There is an ambulance as well. It appears a body is laid on top of a gurney, they’re moving fast so the person is probably still alive. A woman who is disheveled and drunk is screaming, go get her. A few red-faced sniffling kids are in the yard as well.
I leave the scene, ready to leave this town and on to the much quieter one waiting for me. I turn down a backroad as I figure more police may come down the highway to join the others.
I see someone running, it’s a girl, wearing only a thin white nightgown and slippers. Suddenly she falls face forward and lands hard.
I should leave. I’m about to when the scent hits me. I haven’t been allured by the smell of blood in so many years it astounds me. I’m left with an uncertainty, and I don’t like that at all. I’m always very certain of what my next move is.
I need to leave. That’s exactly what I should do. I don’t need to feed again. The redhead will tide me over for weeks. I’m about to do just that when I hear her voice.
She only says one word.
“Help.” Her voice is barely a whisper and she’s holding back a sob, but it draws me in. Like a melody it calls to me. I’ve never felt a pull like this and can’t explain it.
I feel like I need to help her. A moment ago, I wanted to taste her and I now she calling for help and I -
What the hell is this? I don’t give a damn about some human girl.
Yet, even as I think this, I’m exiting the car. I am in front of her in seconds, and her smell, it’s intoxicating. I realize she’s still face down, but trying to use her arms to pull herself up. I quickly lower myself to my knees and shift her body around. She coughs and spits blood out of her mouth and then groans in pain. Her nose is bleeding heavily and broken from her fall, but she was battered before that. Badly from the looks of it.
I smell another scent on her someone else’s blood, not just her own. I see it splattered all over her thin white nightgown. Her light brown hair is even tinged red with it. Her creamy porcelain skin is covered in both fresh and old bruises. Her plump lips are swollen and covered in blood from her fall. Despite how terribly she’s been beaten I still see it, an innocent beauty under it all.
A surge of an emotion is coming to the surface, but I push it back. I need to focus on this situation in front of me.
Her blood I can almost taste it. I want it, badly. Maybe just one taste... there is plenty of it spilled out for me to sample.
“No.” I tell myself. I have my ways and feeding on impulse is not something I do. I won’t change that now no matter how good she must taste. I take a breath and my face returns to normal.
She’s injured badly. I could drop her off at a hospital or I could leave her here. If I leave her, tonight will likely be her last night. Unless, I hear sirens again in the distance, coming closer. I wonder if she’d come from that house. Is this the girl that woman was frantically asking them to find?
Her eyes open just slightly as it’s all she can manage, and it looks like it pains her. They are bloodshot and the skin around them is swollen from her beating. I wonder who did this and if they still walk? I’d like to ensure they do not. The emotion I feel bubbling to the surface now is one I do know. I haven’t felt it in some time, anger.
“Help me.” She is whispering, desperately and I’m drawn once again to her angelic voice. I want to help her. Why? I don’t understand it.
What do I do?
“...dependent on the choice you make.” Greta’s words...why am I remembering them now? Is this what she was talking about that fateful night?
I am sitting here with a choice to be made, damn it.
“The police are almost here. They’ll help you.”
Well fine, Greta. If there’s a choice to be made that seems to be the right one. I feel satisfied with it, and I stand. The police just whizzed past the road we are on, the idiots. they’ll be back, soon though, I’m sure. I start to walk away even as something in me tells me not to.
“No, no police please. I need... I need you...help me.”
I freeze the moment she says, I need you.
“What if I don’t want to be to be needed?” I am sighing, but I am turning back and walking back to her. She’s passed out. That last plea must’ve taken all her strength. At least she isn’t feeling all that pain at the moment.
I pick her up easily, in one fluid motion. Her warm and battered little body curls into my own. There it is again. A surge of a feeling long lost to me. I don’t waste time reflecting on what it is. I bring her to my car and settle her carefully into the backseat. I get in and I still hear the sirens from the highway.
I speed through the backroads and am able bypass them from the other side. Easy. Too easy. Somehow, the police have gotten stupider through the years.
She’s passed out cold, but I can hear that her heartbeat is strong. She’s such a fragile looking thing all crumpled up in my backseat. Suddenly I feel an urge to hurry. I want her tucked safely inside my hidden home, free from whoever it is that hurt her so badly.
Concern, is that what this feeling is? Where is this coming from? Since when do I care about some pathetic little human? So what if her voice is so angelic, and her blood smells so good. She’s just a fleck of dust in the grand scheme of this world. So why does she have me feeling these things?
“What is happening to me?”