days a year Rudy Phillips was a normal young man with normal drives, interests and ambitions.
Tall and ruggedly handsome with dark eyes, bright smile, and a swarthy complexion inherited from
his Italian mother, he had used these biological bequests to full advantage on a rapid climb
up life's social and professional ladders. At twenty-seven, he had everything a normal young
man could want - including virtually any woman he fancied. And for the most part, Rudy was attracted
to women for the same reasons other young, good-looking men were. But there were occasions when
he fancied them for reasons that would horrify normal young men.
Like this occasion…one of four days each year, one per quarter, when the rapacious need endowed
by his father took unconditional control of him. At such times Rudy coveted women for their blood,
which fed an exquisitely demanding hunger that swept aside the need for anything else.
To not feed before midnight on a night when he altered meant death. Within seconds after the
new day he would curl up like a cheap shade and dissolve to dust. No one had told Rudy that fact.
He simply knew it, as surely as a man knows that stepping in the path of a speeding train meant
being splattered all over the tracks.
Rudy's father, now deceased, had been a full vampire - one mutated by bite not birth. After some
400 years of being, he had been damned to a lifeless eternity by a drunken derelict who with
a wild, mindless lunge had driven a splintered two-by-four through his heart as the vampire,
negligently reckless that night, sought the man's throat with his sharp hollow teeth. Only eleven
at the time, Rudy witnessed this hapless incident while standing guard at the mouth of this same
alley while his father went to feed.
Rudy learned a valuable lesson about imprudence that night, and vowed that when puberty awakened
his own need, he would take care to never be negligent nor reckless when hunting.
Rudy was a Eulick, a hybrid male vampire begot by fruitful coitus between a full vampire and
an ordinary human. Had he been female, he would have been a Eulieux, a hybrid capable of consuming
any type blood - male, female, even animal. An Eulick, however, required female blood. Nothing
else could drown the hunger. Nothing else could save him from dust.
Yet Eulicks and Eulieux did share one extremely propitious characteristic. Neither carried the
genetic defect that robbed full vampires of unequivocal immortality. Daylight and wooden stakes
were lethal to full vampires, but they inspired no more fear in half-breeds than did lightning,
venomous snakes, or falling off tall buildings. To live forever, all an Eulick or Eulieux need
do was appease the need for blood four times a year.
When the need arrived, Rudy sought his prey in Limboland. He was wise enough to spread his hunting
around this filthy, sordid sector of the city, but his preferred spot was the alley where his
father had met his end. Narrow, deep in the shadows between the streetlights, it offered an unobstructed
view of pedestrian traffic at the intersection of Fenneman Avenue and White Rock Road. Fenneman
was one of a number of crossing veins that fed Limboland's corrupt heart. White Rock, a major
artery, ran the length of the city and for five blocks formed the western boundary of Limboland.
As such, White Rock was for the city's chaste souls a barrier between hope and hopelessness,
decency and depravity, and deliverance and damnation. Limboland's side of White Rock overflowed
with crumbling warehouses and rubble-strewn vacant lots where the lost and demented sought shelter
from the elements. On the other side began a buffer zone of sorts, a less seedy district which
gradually brightened into more appealing neighborhoods. A lone female crossing Rudy's view along
White Rock would live to endure another day. One moving toward him on Fenneman would die, her
blood his nourishment for another three months.
More often that not, Rudy fed upon prostitutes. Slick with make-up and perfume, they used Fenneman
en route to Limboland's street corners and dingy bars where they sold themselves for next week's
rent.
Not always though. Over the years Rudy had taken respectable women who for one reason or another
had strayed from the relative safety of their customary paths.
The type of woman didn't matter to Rudy. Only her blood was important. And in that respect, all
were the same. Before long, one type or another would come his way.
One always did.
***
It was well past five when Linda Matthews gathered her fifth-grade students' papers and dropped
them in the top drawer of her desk. Tuesday's History test was finally graded; the scores recorded
in the grade book now locked away with the papers.
She stepped from her classroom into a dark corridor. The floor was a strip of scarred, polished
wood patched with fuzzy blotches of brightness cast by the school's nightlights. Walking quickly,
her heels clacked crisply and echoed along the hallway like cracks from a cap pistol. She headed
for the faculty lounge where she kept her coat. Nearing it, the stream of light from the opened
doorway advised her that some other teacher had remained after school this day.
Not Sandra Dobson…please, she thought during a hitch in her step. Though a pleasant sort, Sandra
could talk the ear off a tin monkey, and Linda wanted to but grab her coat and hurry home from
Lucketts Elementary.
It was while approaching the lounge that Linda felt the nearly imperceptible shift deep in her
chest…the all-but-undetectable modulation of heartbeat and respiration that years of regular
recurrence had sensitized her to. Next came a gradually escalating exhilaration followed by the
familiar warm flush spreading with her blood to every nook of her body. Her time, which she knew
was near, had arrived. The first stage of the inexorable need that both excited and horrified
her had been activated.
She was altering.
Sandra Dobson was in the lounge, stuffing messages and memorandums into the teachers' pigeonholes
on the back wall above the coffeepot. Her broad beaming smile as Linda entered heralded conversation
as surely as lightning heralds thunder. Forcing a smile, Linda stepped into Sandra's verbal web.
Ten minutes later she was fighting an overpowering urge to take this incredibly long-winded woman
while she talked. Bit it wouldn't be wise to engulf the school in needless notoriety which might
jeopardize her position there. She had learned ages ago to honor the adage: Don't get your meat
where you get your bread.
It took her nearly a half-hour to escape Sandra Dobson. But there was plenty of time to satisfy
the need.
***
Shoulders hunched, hands wedged deep into the pockets of her threadbare overcoat, Clarise Paul
plodded steadfastly through the gathering darkness. Cold November air soughed down the street,
swirling a steady drizzle that was rapidly turning to sleet. She was homeward bound from Pennyworth's
Department Store where she worked as a File Clerk, a job she detested and considered demeaning.
Not that she was an educated woman driven by ill fortune into employment beneath her abilities
- but she did hold the conviction that a woman who had single-handedly raised two ailing children
to adulthood had certainly acquired credentials worthy of more than a $7.00-an-hour job moving
papers from one file cabinet to another.
Clarise was angry. But she was always angry. Angry at her parents for letting her drop out of
school after the eighth grade; angry at the captivating but enigmatic man who fathered her twin
daughters - now in their twenties but still dependent on her; and angry at a wretched existence
she could not change and could barely control.
On most nights she walked the twelve blocks between Pennyworth's and the dreary two-bedroom flat.
The half-hour trek each way afforded the only time during the day that she had totally to herself
- time needed to brace herself for fresh assaults from a pitiless world that didn't give a sedulous,
hard-working woman a moment's peace or hope.
More over, she seldom could afford bus fare.
Still eight blocks from home, Clarise realized that she couldn't endure the full journey this
night. The temperature was falling by the minute, and the swirling drizzle had strengthened to
an icy rain, each drop a plummeting lead pellet. A hungry chill was worming through her coat
and would soon devour the little warmth that had retreated from her flesh to her bones.
She stopped at the corner of Fenneman Avenue and Bluemound Road to consider her options. She
could backtrack the four blocks to Pennyworth's and the adjacent bus stop; labor along her regular
route and hope her legs didn't give out; or, she could take a shortcut through Limboland, which
would clip the distance to home in half.
The thought of Limboland made her shiver.
If Hell existed on Earth, Clarise believed its fires burned unchecked within those five square
blocks of sin and depravity. Limboland, a steaming cauldron of iniquity where blatant murder,
deviant sex, drugs, and every other form of perversion known to man proliferated like poisoned
weeds in a contaminated field. More than most, Clarise knew of Limboland's salacious seductions.
She felt certain that her daughters' father had fallen prey to them, and she long ago had conceded
the girls to them as well. When they were born, she vowed she would spit in Satan's face before
she again entered the maze of misery and malevolence that was Limboland.
Some vows, however, simply cannot be kept.
This bitter night, Clarise turned south on Fenneman Avenue, estimating that by angling across
Limboland's northwest corner she could be home in ten minutes. Breathing rapidly, her heart pounding,
she walked quickly and tried to concentrate on the warm salted bath she would enjoy after attending
to her daughters.
***
Pressed into the shadows of the alley, Rudy Phillips waited. The need was growing steadily, nipping
at his gut like a school of impatient fish. It was a persistent but pleasant sensation, the savory
ache of appetite waiting to be appeased.
***
Despite its reputation, Linda Matthews had no fear of Limboland. It was, after all, her hunting
ground, the place where she sated the need for blood when it arose. Quarry abounded there, scores
of useless, nameless people she could feast upon without commotion. Death visited Limboland often
and in many forms, and the authorities routinely disposed of the dead without investigation.
Even when the blood-need was not upon her, Linda at times would prowl the streets of Limboland
to pacify another craving which now and then consumed her. There were occasions when a bewitching
attraction to Limboland's tumbledown ambiance, gaudy lights, and blazoned aberrations overpowered
her; times when she was drawn into its infected heart by a wicked yet captivating allure that
tightened her skin and quickened her blood. There were times when the vile underside of her mind
swiveled into consciousness with a host of lusts and longings that only this evil hellhole could
satisfy.
At such times Linda particularly reveled in eavesdropping on the street-corner hookers as they
bartered themselves. She envied their skillful haggling, their talent for squeezing every possible
dollar from their tricks before sealing the contract with a quick nod of their heads. Listening,
watching, she imagined herself painted and perfumed and negotiating the terms of prurient pleasure.
The bargaining, its wickedly luscious promise, the sweet temptation of potential menace made
her skin crawl and tingle with another frightening yet tantalizing need.
In her deviant dreams she was one of them.
Tonight, after feeding, that need too would be filled.
***
Shivering, Clarise Paul huddled around herself as the wind's bitter breath bit through her worn
coat to rake at her chest. Though no stronger than earlier, the wind had turned colder and was
noticeably soured with the odious bouquet that drifted outward from Limboland's core like perdition's
breath. Tucking her nose into her scarf, she trudged on and issued a silent prayer that her aching
legs would not crumble like icicles beneath her.
***
At the mouth of the alley Rudy Phillips anxiously sniffed the air. It was there. The lovely,
musky redolence of flesh. Rich, greasy, blood-filled female flesh. Still some distance away,
but moving toward him. The scent had him shivering. His blood began to warm, his skin stretched,
muscles rolled and bulged. He felt his pupils swell and he looked raptly around with eyes now
able to find light even in the deepest shadow. He pulled his hand to his face and saw the purple
blush beneath his fingernails deepen to black. His tongue shrank back, allowing room for his
lengthening incisors. The tip of his tongue danced eagerly about the sharp hollow ends of those
fangs. His mouth watered.
***
Linda Matthews caught Clarise's scent before she saw her. Her nostrils flared with the thick
sweet scent of human meat. Juicy, blood-filled female meat. Her keen eyes swung left toward Fenneman
Avenue, the dark shaft that ran perpendicular to White Rock Road. Her sharpened teeth found her
tongue. She tasted her own blood and felt her stomach turn with anticipation. It took her full
reservoir of willpower to restrain further physical alteration until she had trapped her prey.
***
They met at the corner; Clarise Paul with a startled intake of breath; Linda Matthews with an
anxious glint in her eyes and a brief, careful smile which did not expose her teeth. Clarise
stepped back, a hand at her throat, her face crowding with misgiving. Linda, with enormous effort,
was able to stand her ground. Her limbs trembled ravinly, ever-warming blood sprinted through
her to soak every cell with the familiar demanding need. But she forced herself to wait. And
then to speak, warmly and cordially. She asked Clarise if they might walk together, implanting
an appropriate measure of concern for their individual well-being in such a nefarious neighborhood.
Clarise looked nervously about then agreed, knowing that any coalition with this odd, edgy woman
would last but a single block.
They crossed White Rock Road and entered Limboland.
They walked quickly and wordlessly; Clarise focused on the next intersection where she would
turn left on the final leg of her journey home; Linda fixed on the narrow alley just ahead. She
would take this toothsome catch there. Her skin tightened; the soft muscles of her arms grew
taught with burgeoning strength.
A few more steps.
***
Rudy Phillips waited, pressed against a wall of the alley and barely able to constrain the ravenous
compulsion raging within him.
Just a few more steps.
***
Clarise heard the woman's raspy, ragged breathing and simultaneously felt her legs become lead
and her feet mortar which anchored themselves to the pavement. Her eyes swung to the woman, to
a scowling, powder-white face with lumps of coal for eyes and a pair of dagger-like fangs arcing
out from a spit-filled mouth. Terror like molten metal surged through Clarise's chest, squeezing
her purely involuntary cry of raw dread to a paltry squeak that barely escaped her mouth. She
took a clumsy step backward into the alley. The woman-thing followed, then stopped and stiffened.
Linda Matthews' coal-black eyes shot past Clarise Paul and into the coal-black eyes of Rudy Phillips.
Clarise cowered between the seething horrors, her throat, tongue and mouth working feverishly
to generate nothing but a series of choked, gagging sounds. She fell to her knees and threw her
arms over her head.
Eulick and Eulieux stared at each other. Each watched bewilderment shift to rage as they recognized
what the other was. The alley filled with savage howls as each reached for Clarise Paul. There
would be no sharing of spoils, no equal division of parts, no divvying up this succulent prize.
Each wanted all.
Their struggle became frenzied. Clarise was pulled and tugged upon, jostled and jolted about
like a cork in a riotous river. Her shabby coat slit at both shoulders and she shrieked at the
sick rip of fabric, certain that her arms had been torn from their sockets.
Suddenly she was released, and the two fiends flew at each other, cursing and grunting, scratching
and clawing as they tumbled into the depths of the alley. White teeth slashed through the air,
arms and legs flailed wildly in a fury of chaotic motion.
Clarise labored to her feet and backed slowly toward the street. Try as she may, she couldn't
pull her eyes from the enraged demons which twisted around each other like copulating snakes.
They pounded and pummeled each other with monstrous strength. Each seemed intent on ripping the
other to shreds.
The battle ended with no forewarning, and for a moment the two horrors simply stared wistfully
into each other's eyes and smiled their sharp hollow teeth. Then they embraced and gently caressed
each other. They even kissed before their teeth found the other's neck and sank in. Eager, sucking,
slurping sounds filled the alley.
Clarise stared wide-eyed with wonder then spun gracelessly around and began a mad dash for home.
***
When Clarise returned a short time later, the two vampires were still there...just as she hoped
they would be. Both had re-altered to human form and were deeply asleep, nestled together like
lovers amidst the refuse littering the back of the alley. They were covered with blood, but their
contented smiles and steady breathing evinced a plane of pleasure and gratification mere mortals
could never attain.
Their need, Clarise saw, had been satisfied.
But others, too, had needs.
Clarise stepped back and motioned her daughters into the alley. The twin Eulieux lurched ahead,
jousting selfishly to be the first to sink teeth into such juicy plunder. But there was plenty
for both and Clarise knew their spat would be short-lived. She let them squabble and walked to
the mouth of the alley to stand sentry.
She never could stand to watch her daughters feed.
(c) J. E. Deegan, All Rights Reserved
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