Posted: October 10, 2007 in City, Crime, Dark, Death, Fantasy, Fiction, Horror, Ugly, Urban, Vampire

Mike’s truck was idling in the parking lot of Vons when I noticed that my pant leg was drenched with blood.

It wasn’t surprising that I hadn’t noticed this until now; I rarely feel pain anymore. I pull back the denim over my leg to reveal a long gash oozing wine-red streams coursing down to my socks.


Mike yawns and glances over at me. “There’s some gauze in the back. Go wrap it up.” He sips from the bottle clenched in his hand.

“All right.”

I clean off the blood with some tissues and tightly wrap gauze around the wound, feeling no pain at all.

Outside the night stirs into frenzy, slowly bubbling to form a cauldron full of creatures and throat-ripping monsters. People are just getting warmed up for a special session of murdering to satiate needs and thirsts. It’s my job to let them die.

In other words, I hunt vampires.

Mike finishes his beer and rolls down the window, tossing it out to hear a shattering blast. He takes the key out of the ignition.

The silence between us is palpable when Mike speaks.

“Are you sure you’re ready?”


We don’t speak for ten more minutes before I reach into the back and pull out my knapsack and open the door, swinging the pack onto my back, feeling the thick steel stakes clattering around. I take a deep breath and run my fingers through my hair.

I shut the door.

The asphalt beneath my bare feet is still warm from the California day, and my claws clack loudly against the ground. I reach into my pocket and pull out a pack of gum, chewing it with serrated teeth.

In case you haven’t noticed yet, I’m not fully human.

In fact, I’m what happens when both a werewolf and a pixie bite a normal guy in the same night.

Do away with your notions of pixies being tricksters or fairies. Do away with those tall tales of werewolves turning into beasts by the light of the full moon.

As Mike has explained to me, being bitten by both creatures apparently counteracted some of the more ‘negative’ aspects of being a werewolf. The full moon shining down on me in the supermarket parking lot is proof that I won’t be going nuts tonight.

The only side effect is a taste for vampire blood.

Odd thing, I know, but that’s the only thing keeping me alive right now.

The bites left me with rapidly sprouting sharpened dentures, clawed feet and hands and an inordinate amount of strength.

Mike provides the stakes, syringes and bottles.

I don’t really like drinking straight from a vein.

I’ve reached the doors of the supermarket and they whoosh open to admit me. Just by the deserted checkout counters I can tell that he’s already here.

My prey.

I open my pack and lift out two short metal spikes, sliding them into the holsters attached to my belt.

My retractable claws slide out with an audible hiss.

First stop: Lane 9, Wine and Spirits.

I wander to the end of the market, to lane 9. I pick out a nice Russian vodka and screw off the top to pour some down my throat, a slick and sharp stream whisking down to my stomach.

I stroll up and down the various lanes, glad for my high tolerance to alcohol as I drain half the bottle. Every now and then I see a body with gaping wounds in their throats and faces.

The vampires of old were gentlemen, biting only the neck. Today, vampires are savages.

As I near lane 1, Fruits and Vegetables, I hear a ripping and a crunching. I grasp a stake and slowly creep around the edge to find my quarry crouched over a large man, the vampire’s head buried into his intestines.

I was lucky that he wasn’t facing me, too focused on his own gluttony.

Naturally, that turned out not to matter.

I stealthily crept out to meet the blood-spattered bastard, my spike raised high when I stepped on a bottle that had fallen off the shelf.


The breaking bottle suddenly alerted the vampire, who ripped his head out of the victim’s guts to turn his nightmarish attention on me.

His eyes glow red with recognition. “I KNOW you.” He coughs, the blood of innocents glowing scarlet in his expansive maw. “Nix.” He hisses my name and screams.

My first stake catches him in the mouth and his scream turns into a gargling complaint. Grasping it he yanks it out in a shower of viscera, bone and gore before turning to howl at the ceiling.

Theatrics. I grow tired of these dramatic shows that vampires always insist upon.

I fire my last stake into his chest and leap at him, claws outstretched. My feet catch him in his blood-encrusted belly, one of them balancing on the stake protruding there. I drive my sharp fingernails into his eyes, relieving him of sight.

His wail is pitiful. I almost have to remind myself that he’s just a human on the inside.


With a practiced move I dig deeper into his stomach with my left clawed foot and reach down to yank the stake out of him. It explodes out of him and my foothold is suddenly a lot more slippery.

The vampire smashes into the ground, roaring from pain and impotence. His bleeding eye sockets stare emptily at me as I rear back, lifting the stake with one hand and holding onto his chest with the other.


The stake slides in between two ribs and collides with his heart, blood spurting out to splash in my face.

He gives a final gasp and expires, face slackening.

I lick the blood off of my face and reach into my bag, where the syringes and my bottle of vodka awaited me.

I draw blood from the vampire into the syringes to store in the bottles. Working quickly, I have him completely drained in only two hours.

Disgusting work, but I’ve got to stay alive.

I stand and look down at the withered corpse. I take a final swig of vodka and pour the rest on the vampire. I retrieve the pack of matches from my knapsack and light one, tossing it onto the alcohol-soaked body.

The name NIX is carved into his chest in bright flame and I walk towards the exit.

  1. goodnightcat says:

    Awesome vampire story. Fucking great.
    Are you going to continue this saga?

  2. westley0907 says:

    Vampires are cool.

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