Project Stoker

Dearest reader,

Thank you for taking the time to look at my lovely project here. Sadly I must inform you that this story does not have any follow-on parts planned for shortcoming release. Rather, it is the result of a mind clamouring to create, without really knowing what it does.

My request to you is this, please help me. You see, I am quite fond of how this little tale of mine came together. An effective opening chapter I think, but something about it isn't sitting right with me. Not at all.

Hopefully, hearing some of your thoughts will help me out :)

Anyway,

I hope you enjoy :)

-0-

Luck sometimes favours the desperate.

Crushing awareness threatened to choke her as she spotted the girl just touching the key fob to the building’s lock. Awareness of just how fragile her plan was. So much could go wrong, so much could so easily go wrong. So much had already gone wrong. But this first step was promising. If nothing else, for the first time, it gave her hope.

She didn’t know much about the people who lived in this building, how many actually made friends with their neighbours, and how many of those got introduced to established friends, but she knew enough to lie. When she stepped up to the girl, pretending to fumble with her own keys and hand on the door ready to graciously open it for her, she smiled.

A small smile, it wouldn’t do to have this whole thing go to Hell by being caught, but still a friendly one. When the door lock clicked open and she drew the door out, carefully setting her body to show she was definitely coming in without appearing to loom, she nodded to one side. The universal sign for, “after you.”

The girl returned the smile and stepped through the door, fobbing open the next one and holding it in turn. Stepping past her, the stranger broke the last barrier preventing this meeting from being social and said, “thanks.” Her smile was still in place.

“No worries,” the other girl beamed at her.

Both could easily look the other in the eye, and neither was significantly larger or more visibly muscular. Neither’s stance was in any way inviting, but it was likewise not hostile. Such a careful dance the stranger felt she must dance, and how effortlessly she recalled having done it before, when guilt wasn’t snaking its way through her veins.

“Dreadful weather,” the resident was shaking out an umbrella, trying to get most of the water on an absorbent rug laid out against the soon to arrive winter. Trying. “Don’t think it’ll be too much longer now.”

“Well, I know someone who’ll be happy about that,” said the stranger, pleased that this stage of the interaction needed no deception. It was an easy bit of conversation, “friend of mine loves snow, the lunatic.”

“Lemme guess, a snowboarder?”

“Skier. Won’t shut up about it.”

“Typical,” she sniffed. “Can’t they just get a summer hobby?”

“Cheaper than water skiing.”

“Go for a hike or something, you know? My girlfriend is just the same, keeps yapping about what a good winter we’re going to have. Predictions about snowfall, everything.” Her tone softens and a ghost of a smile crosses her lips as she says, “always going on about where she’d like to ski next.”

“The travel’s the part I hope my friend includes me in. He can live it up on the slopes, but I’m after the views and festivals.”

“Been to any good ones?” The two of them had reached the elevator, no difficult questions yet asked and the stranger pushed the button. It was important, perceptually, that she appear to be contributing to getting into the living areas. Otherwise, this helpful soul might take a mental note of it.

“Oh, yeah, I was in Whistler last year and there was this all day concert thing? I’m not really sure, but I definitely enjoyed myself,” a sly wink to imply she was sharing a secret.

The resident giggled, “I’m sure you did! We haven’t been able to make it anywhere yet, but next year is going to be our Year of Travel! I’ll suffer a ski resort if she agrees to a beach trip. Fair’s fair.”

“Only one beach trip? You must really like this girl,” the elevator door opened and both women stepped in, the stranger ensuring she was on the far side of the resident from the buttons.

Sweat popped out on her forehead, teaching her something new about her condition, as the resident tapped the little black fob against the reader. It beeped and she pressed the button for seven, thank whatever divinity was real! She looked over at the stranger and cocked an eyebrow.

“Hm? Oh, ten please. Anyway, only one beach trip? I’d have taken at least two in exchange. The mountains are so cold!”

“Right?” she pressed the button and the doors closed. “But I figure since I’m going to ask that hill bunny to marry me on those slopes, it’s a fair trade.”

“Are you really?”

“Yes! And I’m positive she’ll say yes,” joy flowed off her in a torrent. “We’ve talked about it, got everything figured out, we just aren’t sure when, you know? But I know. And I’ll beat her to the punch.”

The stranger watched the numbers steadily climb, hoping desperately that no one else wanted to go up. Having one person see her all but negated her camera advantage if this went south. Not that anyone would assume she was up to anything, and if the girl asked what unit she was in she would just lie. Easy, especially since she wouldn’t have to remember it.

Chatting, casually filling dead time with meaningless words, came easily to her. She didn’t understand how some people found it difficult, but then, no one could comprehend how she used to hate cheese. But, even with that ‘gift of the gab’ as her skiing friend called it, the art took a lot of effort under so much stress.

She just needed to keep the resident talking.

“If you’re doing it at the top of a mountain, I’m certain it’ll be spectacular. What’s the plan? Maybe I can give my boyfriend some hints,” good cover, muddying the water by adding yet another person for the resident to keep track of and a tiny, easy to forget lie that would help her fade into the background. Getting the resident to talk the most was important.

“Last run of the day, after I finally let her teach me to snowboard, I’ll fall. She’ll come and get me and I’ll insist on taking the board off to get back on my feet. When doing that, I’ll stop on one knee and tell her how I want to learn with and from her for the rest of my life, and ask.”

“Stop! That’s too cute! If she says no, you could always try that on me. But, maybe after a day of surfing instead.”

The resident laughed and the door opened for her floor, “thanks but I’m pretty sure about this.”

“Best of luck with the weather that day!”

“Thanks!” The door closes and the elevator starts to move again.

The stranger said nothing, heart hammering – a concept that almost makes her bark out a laugh. She did not laugh, though; knowing that sharp movements could turn up on the video even if she wouldn’t, keeping it all bottled in. There was no reason for her to panic, none at all. It’s not like he would have any genuine issues, and he’d always said he was there for her in case she needed to talk.

And she did need to.

Desperately.

As she stepped off the elevator and turned to walk down the long hall to his apartment, she wondered how exactly her plan would unfold. She would knock and he might open the door, it was late but not an entirely unreasonable time. He might still be up, or so newly gone to sleep that she could still easily wake him.

There was always that other chance. But there was no way he would forget something like that when he was sleeping. No matter how secure the building, no matter how intoxicated – it was a Saturday after all – he would never forget something like that. Even if he frequently did during the waking hours.

So she would just knock and trust to luck. Trust that he would be there, since he was always there, trust that he would be awake or otherwise rousable, and trust that he would listen. If nothing else, then he had to listen, it was her last hope. She needed someone to just listen.

Visions flashed through her mind, the kind of memories she never thought she would have to live through. The kind that she almost wished she hadn’t. Memories of darkness, blood, and screams filled her head, begging to finally be released. He would think she was insane, of course he would. But he would be gentle and kind about it, try and talk her through it.

Raising her fist, she almost smiled at the thought of his gentle words trying to coax sanity back to his friend. When she had enough of the fantasy that he could save her, of course, it would be time to show him. Tangible proof is enough to make anyone, even him, question his own sanity.

Forcing herself not to flinch at how her knock echoed down the empty hall, she waited. Counting her heartbeats, wanting to cry as though she could actually feel the rote nature of its steady thumping. That wouldn’t make sense to anyone she knew, not anymore.

He didn’t answer the door. She knocked again, risking a touch more noise in the action, but again he didn’t answer.

Her next inhale caught in her throat before staggering back into its old rhythm. It was there again, the sense of wrongness, the one that she hadn’t noticed before. When she hadn’t been alone.

It wouldn’t be the same – her next breath was short, a staccato hiccupping noise – not the same talking to him but she had no one else left. No one else who might give her the kind of hearing she needed. Her friends would all want to help, but they wouldn’t let her get it all out first. He was her last option.

And she could feel her mind shattering.

Behind her eyes, a void slowly opened. A consuming blackness from which neither thought nor feeling could escape. She knew it well, it had come for her in the past, in the worst times and moments. But this time it was different. Instead of a fog that erupted from the core of her mind, tearing through her thoughts and blinding her with panic, the growing void only consumed. It left nothing in its wake.

This darkness had teeth, and it had no interest in fading away after some deep breathing.

It was hungry.

Once again, desperation seemed to work in her favour.

Her hand, which she had left curled into a fist against the door, fell to her side – hitting and pushing down the doorhandle as it did. This, combined with the force of her head impacting the door, pushed it slightly open.

Locked into her decaying mind, she wondered if she were already mad. The door was… unlocked? Hesitatingly, she reached out again and laid her hand against the door, her mind’s collapse into the void frozen in place. A little pressure and it swung inwards.

A rectangle of light extended into the apartment from the door, clashing for dominance with the city lights visible through the window.

She had to be insane. Had to be, this couldn’t be true. Couldn’t be.

Lifting her foot, she paused just before crossing over. What had he said about her standing invite? The exact words?

“Always welcome. Any time.” The words floated through the shattered remnants of her mind, pulling her through into the apartment like a string tied around her teeth.

Passing through the door was like stepping face first into standing water. It washed through her, a sense of security and serenity that pushed the void in her mind to the back of, then out of her head. In its wake, she slowly rebuilt the thoughts that had been destroyed. She was calm again, strange. It didn’t normally pass that fast.

But, beggars and choosers, she gently closed the door. Trying to be as quiet as she could be.

Slipping her shoes off, she stepped further into the apartment. It was strangely eerie, being in that space while he was asleep. One of their other friends had stayed over a few times after having too much to drink, and she’d said the same thing. His being both there and absent, in a place that only mattered because of him, made the hair on the back of her neck rise.

The apartment was sparse. Table and chairs in the kitchen, sofa, book shelf, television and coffee table. A small round rug under the coffee table, one ocean scene hanging on the wall, and cluster of glass roses on the coffee table made up the decorations.

To her, it almost felt less a place that someone lived and more a place where they existed. A liminal space that was never truly occupied. Almost like her friend was a ghost in his own home.

For some reason, that slow realization, the remembrance of how little impact he seemed to have on the places he occupied, made her feel better. Soothed the waters of her mind until there was no trace of the violent swells that had nearly drowned her earlier. That sensation was remembered vaguely, almost as though it had happened to someone else.

Drifting through the single main room, she glided her hand across the table. Dusty, but not extremely so. Most likely it was a result of the constantly open window, but it stuck to her previous thought. That this space felt almost abandoned. A living mausoleum.

Fitting.

Coming to stand in the open doorway to his bedroom, she stared into the shadows where her friend lay. Judging by how things were shaped, he was alone. Not unexpected, but still she couldn’t help a resigned sigh. Disappointment in the world in general and his own recalcitrance enough to cause brief ripples in her serenity.

Though, she couldn’t deny that being alone made what she wanted easier.

She could see him now, thanks to the light from the open living room window, clear as day. Lying on his back, eyes closed and chest lightly rising and falling, he looked at peace.

“What am I going to do,” she whispered, turning away from him and walking back into the living room. “How am I going to explain this?”

Grabbing a lock of her hair, she started idly braiding it. Braid and loosen, on repeat as she paced up and down the length of the room.

Few things seemed like reasonable answers to that. Her being there would be surprising, maybe even upsetting given the shock. And that ran the risk of prejudicing him against any she might say. It also ran a smaller chance of prejudicing him in favour, considering how desperate the circumstances must be for her to wake him up in his own home by surprise.

How, she drifted into the room, was she going to explain herself in a way that would make him listen? The direct approach was usually best, with him especially. But she was stalling. Hesitating. Hand to heart the truth was that she did not want to tell him. Did not want to tell anyone.

But there was no choice.

Her legs trembled so, she sat on the edge of the bed and reached for his shoulder. There was no good way to set about waking him up, and she really did need to sit down. Her mind drifted slightly, remembering everything that had happened and just how genuinely drained she was. Drained and – her hand stopped bare centimeters from her friend’s shoulder – Hungry.

As though amplified by virtue of being the only sensation not subdued by the quiet serenity of the apartment, the Hunger roared defiance at her. And she recognized the bizarre calmness for what it was.

Trembling slightly, her fingers delicately curled around the edge of his comforter and drew it slightly back. He was bare chested, so there was nothing in the way. As she moved the blanket, a tiny almost imperceptible amount of heat escaped, brushing against her cold skin.

He was alive. Truly, sumptuously alive.

Gently, the way one might touch a butterfly’s wing, she cupped his chin and tilted it away, exposing the pulsing artery there, looping lazily down his neck.

Her mind was blank as she slowly lowered her head and his smell filled her nose. He always smelled good, was almost paranoid about it. But he generally chose clean, neutral scents. Nothing like what now assaulted her senses.

Life, pure and bright and vibrant. If she touched him again, she would feel it, pulsing, rushing, flowing. Heat and life and joy, buried just under his skin. The kind of thing she could almost remember feeling in herself, once upon a time.

The Hunger drove her thoughts from her head, drove away the sense that she should not do what she already knew she would. Tried to drive away her humanity, to allow the starving beast lingering in the corners of her soul to break free.

What came next had to be careful. Oh, so careful.

Lowering her head, she closed the distance. Her lips parted, fangs sliding into place over her teeth as the space between them shrank to a hair’s breadth. Then less.

She pierced his skin and drank deeply.

Counting steadily in her mind, she struggled to contain the rushing bliss that coursed through her limbs. It was like water to one lost in a desert. It was air to one who had long since forgotten what it was like to breath. It was a good night of sleep after weeks of crippling insomnia. Life and power flooded her system, nearly drowning her human consciousness in a red torrent as the Hunger screamed for more.

Always more.

Despite the howling of the beast, she extracted her fangs the moment she reached a count of fifteen. More than that and he was likely to wake up feeling lightheaded. As it was, he really shouldn’t donate any blood for a month or two, but would otherwise be fine.

For herself, she sat back, head tilted so that her gaze was focused on the concrete ceiling, and breathed deeply. Her eyes were closed, mind focused on the pure vitality that now coursed through her system. Heat bled into the tips of her fingers, making them sing in the pure, divine chorus of life itself.

The next breath might have been laced with the distilled essence of joy. It filled her to capacity, triggering that long missed burn just at the edge of perception telling her there was no more room. That burn turning to electric charges tingling out from her core to cover her in glorious sensation.

As the unknowingly given gift settled into her system, she remembered what it felt like to be truly alive.

Remembered also that, for the first time since her transformation, she was truly alone.

Looking down at her friend where he still lay sleeping, two tiny puncture wounds on his carotid artery. He looked so peaceful. So wonderfully human, lying there beneath her. But she would have felt just as alone were he awake. Because she was something apart from him, had been for the entirety of their knowing each other.

He could never understand.

Never comprehend what it felt like to look at something who mattered to you and physically see them age. Watch them change before your eyes while you remained static. Unchanging. Just the same as she had been that night so long ago when her friends had found her. When they had welcomed her.

Her friends.

Gone now.

Gone in a way that should not have even been possible. Yet gone all the same.

He could never understand.

But… maybe she could make him.

One hand reached out, delicately tracing the twin marks on his neck with one lacquered nail. The marks were still there. It was still possible. She didn’t have to be alone. And he didn’t have many who would miss him…