vi.

From the Recovered Writings of an Anonymous Vampire Hunter

Image: A stained page in a haggard notebook.

Vampires are fascinating creatures. Indiscernible and supposedly derived from everyday humans, they sequester themselves from civilization lest they be staked; to intermingle with us openly is suicide. Likewise, a human who encroaches the domain of a vampire will meet our maker by dawn.

And yet our paths cross. The vampire is possessed monthly with insatiable “bloodlust,” akin more to a lethal starvation than sensual deprivation—though those with romantic inclinations would be forgiven for conflating the two. Perhaps it’s projection on humanity’s part; what are we if not possessed by curiosity, a call alluring as it is damning? Easier to blame it on those whose spells we fall under.

In a curious joke of fate, it seems vampires, being so close to human, are condemned by a parallel urge to sidestep blame. Case in point: tonight I witnessed an execution, and sorry was the killer.

Image: A silhouetted figure, presumably the hunter, travels the woods.

I found this one and her target amongst a group of foolhardy youth, astray in the northwoods. Such juvenile outings are hardly a rare sight, especially in such obscenely-auspicious circumstances as full moon on all Hallow’s Eve. But of this party three pecularities caught my attention:

  1. talk of a “letter” which lured them out—on its own, nothing of note, but perhaps more than prank-bait when considered in conjunction with the following;
  2. one human wandered away of their own volition with zero prompting, an abject suicide considering the group’s (very, very lost) predicament; and
  3. another followed in short order, with an intent that caught my attention. (Alas, in explanation I offer an instinctive hunch. My sense is honed by years of observation, but it’s a mere sense nonetheless. That said, this time, I was right.)
Image: Kay Lin follows Sequitur; the hunter stands cloaked among the trees.

The remainder of the group, caught up in pointless arguing, failed to notice either absence. And when the two strays settled to banter, the human clearly harbored no trace of suspicion—until, at least, the vampire made herself clear.

Vampires disguising themselves among the populace, come feeding season, are nothing new; should the hunt go awry they can disappear into the crowd. What struck me was this one’s decision to stick with a smaller group, a measly five total. Furthermore, rather than strike unseen, or corner the victim proper before coming forward, this one had a proposition.

Image: Kay Lin talks to Sequitur, as seen by the hunter. Getting foggy.

Despite all efforts, claimed the vampire, she was losing the ability to resist that inevitable hunger—but if the human lie still, she could feed without fatality. News to me if true! A vampire’s bite paralyzes its prey from the neck outwards (and they always aim for the neck); rigor mortis sets in within minutes. Even removed fangs maintain odd properties, albeit in trace amounts; only the most stubborn humans can hope to survive their influence. (This, by the by, is why I was not convinced vampires are former humans; the mechanism by which a human is “turned” remains evasive.)

The human, struck by the absurdity of the offer, attempted to laugh it off. Silence met them.

And yet, with a shrug, the human rendered themself prone as instructed(?!). Death, they figured, was coming whether they consented or not—or so I have to assume. Defeatism is marginally more sensible a motive than pity and/or sheer stupidity; negligible difference between the latter, really.

I am not convinced the vampire’s intention was commensal. Trepidation shadowed both parties; the encounter was damned from the start.

The human was not paralyzed. Past 60 seconds they began to cough; the vampire met this with admonishments to “stay still” and “just cooperate.” By 90 seconds the coughing escalated to gagging; the vampire, irked, held tight, and the human started clawing feebly at the throat.

Image: The free arm flailed, grasping at nothing, ghastly.

At one point the vampire lifted her head entirely, to say (and I quote) “You’re not making this easy.” But if her victim registered a word, the ability to respond had long passed. Their motions were not that of a functioning body.

I’ve lost my stopwatch, so I’m afraid I have no objective measurement of how long this ordeal dragged on. Too long, surely, to be a mercy on the poor squirming thing.

As the death throes receded the vampire stepped away at last. She sounded perturbed, even upset; the struggle must have been more than she bargained for.

“Shouldn’t have let me do that,” she muttered.

Image: The night goes on, indifferent.

Here I confess to an error. What I should have done (take note, future hunters) was wait for her to move and strategize accordingly. If she rejoined the remaining three I could document them all; if she returned, satiated, to the castle from which vampires in this area derive, I might find new issues (mortals who near the home of a vampire will not return), but the challenge would be novel nonetheless.

But no.

Throughout the human’s writhing I caught glimpses of the bite wound, and thought (but could not confirm) it evidenced only one tooth. And alas, intrigue’s call has not neglected me. It’s what drives this profession; the only real difference between myself and those stranded in the woods is preparation. We venture far past any reasonable limit, all of us, hoping for the unthinkable; but if and once we find it, it refuses to satiate.

Image: Behind Kay Lin, the hunter looms, raising something sharp.

We crave more, and it wil be our undoing.

Image: Something’s behind the hunter, too.
next †