The glow of the waning gibbous moon fails to light much more than the deepest shadows untouched by streetlight. With my new eyes, the world looks stained in garish hues of orange, where sodium light falls, contrasted by the feeble glow of moonlight that scatters into a subdued indigo. The Spicy Horse grocery-diner hybrid, whose rooftop I occupy, is elevated a floor above the single-story Bionex blood and plasma bank across the street. To either side, various outlets and departments stores squat in the long shadows of local office buildings. Get your condoms, corndogs, credit cards, and crown moulding, all on one street. Almost an hour ago, on the other side of the street, a woman in noisy heels sat at the bus stop half a block away, and has been conversing with someone on her cell phone. She’s likely unaware that the last bus has already made its stop there. I tap a heel against the side panel of a transformer box and wring a black ski mask in a gloved hand, a vain effort to help abate the itch to leap off the roof and charge the Bionex.

“...and then my mom showed up, told me not to say anything else without a lawyer and took me home,” I murmur into the receiver of my phone. “Sorry I didn’t get to call you until now, but we’ve been on the phone with that lawyer all day. Dude’s voice was so smooth I almost fell asleep.”

“So they just wanted to know what was up with you and Ace?”

“Yeah, just had a few questions about him, that’s all,” I lie. As much as I trust Rock, too many people already know about the contents and meaning of those photos. “How’d it go with the ladies? Get any numbers, you smooth criminal?”

“Well…”

“Wait, seriously?” I sit up straighter. “Which one?”

“All of them.” I can hear the transcontinental grin in his words. “But they probably just wanted to talk to you. Asked me for your number, too.”

“No way, dude, you’re the main character remember?”

“The main character doesn’t die of cancer.” Rock says, adding a morose flavor to the conversation.

“You’re right, which means you’re not gonna die ‘til you’re old as balls, rich as Tartarus, and surrounded by loving family on your deathbed, you little shit,” I say, raising my voice and cringing at the echo it makes in the relatively still night.

“Hopefully,” He says, sounding a little brighter, but doubtful. “Oh yeah, and Rainbow offered to teach me guitar when she found out who my grandpa is. Said it’s ‘cause she read his book about learning to play and thinks it’s a crime he hadn’t taught me yet. She probably just wants to meet him, though.”

“Dammit, would you stop with that? You got a date with Rainbow Hottie-With-A-Body Dash! Just be happy—I bet she’s even the one you’re crushing on!”

“Fuck off. By the way, your crush won whatever game they were playing and said she was giving her prize to you.”

“Huh?” The uncomfortable, too-much-caffeine alertness blinks on in me.

“I guess you get to pick the concert they’re all going to? I’m not sure what she meant, but everyone thought it was a good idea.”

“What, like they want us all to go together or something?”

“Probably just you.”

“Shut up, you’re included, obviously. They seem pretty nice.” I resume tapping my foot as the thirst wells up, unexpectedly. A squad car rounds a nearby corner, the high beams momentarily searing away patches of darkness as it rolls onto the street I overlook. Good, just what I’ve been waiting for; the next patrol won’t be by for at least another thirty to forty minutes, if their pattern holds. I catch a glimpse of motion near the Bionex, but when I scan the spot, I see nothing. Probably just the shadow of the mailbox flung about by the moving lights. The same thing used to terrify me as a child. Anytime I walked through a dark room with a flashlight, the gloom would seem suddenly alive, scrambling to flank me as shadows danced away from the moving light. “Did you happen to ask what kind of music they like? Don’t wanna pick something and look like a nutsack ‘cause no one else likes it.”

“They said they were into pretty much anything.”

“Ugh, not helpful.” I say as I watch the squad car pass. “But that’s okay, I have an idea.” The car takes a turn and glides away into the night. Something stirs in the dark and I snap to focus on it, this time. Someone peeks around the corner of the six foot-wide alley between the Bionex and the neighboring pharmacy to its left. Their black clothes are plainly visible to me against the bluish dark.

“Well, what is it?”

“I’ll tell you about it later.” I say, pulling the phone from my ear as I watch the figure peering up and down the street. “I gotta g—”

“Wait!” Rock’s voice jumps from the speaker. I put it next to my head again. “Wait, I was watching the news earlier and, I don’t know if you plan on going into town anytime soon, I mean, I don’t think you are, and I’m not saying you’re downtown now—”

“Rock! Fucking tonight man!” I hiss.

“Sorry. Anyway, they found a body, pretty mangled, somewhere downtown. Said it was probably a wild animal. You know, the one from the other night?” I freeze, considering the possibility that I could have come across the killer by now. Abruptly wary of every sound, I let in the noise of the surrounding city, listening for...something. What should I even look for, growling? Any stray dog could make that sound. If this thing is even remotely similar to a wolf, I’m pretty sure it won’t howl unless it’s hurt or already standing over a prey’s remains. I begin to wonder how I forgot about it until now, when the ruby nectar reasserts its dominant status in my thoughts again.

Right.

“Gotcha, I’ll keep that in mind, lady killer.” I hang up the phone and put it on silent, feeling bad for being so short with Rock and not even thanking him for the information.

I continue to watch the lurker as they stand just inside the alley, my ears wide open for anything strange. Or feral. I catch half the phone conversation coming from the latecomer to the bus stop.

“I think I missed it, mom...yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll just stay at my friend’s place, they’re close by...M’kay, love you.”

The lurker seems to watch, with undivided attention, as the young woman stands and begins to cross the barren street to my side. A light wind stirs debris and billows her flashy dress around her thighs, causing her to stop in the middle of the crosswalk to hold it down. Her purse falls from her shoulder and I can hear her phone clatter to the asphalt.

Gods, lady, are you rehearsing for a first-victim role in a horror film?

The lurker doesn’t move a muscle, as far as I can tell. I notice they’re also wearing a ski mask, reminding me to don my own as I watch the lurker, watching the woman. What am I doing? Am I going to leap down there and rescue her if this guy does something? The lurker’s first step outside the alley and my impulse to hop off the transformer answer that question with a resigned ‘yes’. The masked lurker doesn’t move in her direction, however. Worse, they sidle along the brick wall that flanks the Bionex’s glass front. I watch in disbelief as they pull a metallic object from the waistband of their pants and halt, just out of view of anyone inside the half-lit lobby, gripping the item in both hands. I glance down the street to see if the woman has seen any of this. She’s gone. Did she cut through an alley? I can’t tell if her heartbeat is still near, but I’m sure I can hear the lurker’s heart thrumming across the street. I look back to them in time to watch the night guard come into view, thumping the butt of a cigarette box into his palm as he strolls to the front doors. He pushes them open and steps out into the muffled pops of three rapid shots that miss, entirely. His confusion clears into alarm, then trained response as he reaches for the stun gun on his belt, but his draw is interrupted by more bullets fired at close range, as the lurker had dashed forward. Not a single shot lands in his head. The lurker-turned-shooter seems to have realized their shortcomings and aimed for the torso. The guard drops, stunned, his body already succumbing to shock as blood stains his dark blue uniform. The shooter sticks out their foot to keep the doors from closing and leans down to retrieve the dangling card clipped to the dying man’s belt. They sweep inside, brandishing their suppressed pistol at whatever unfortunate soul is working the front desk. As the scent of warm blood snaps me from my stupor, I realize this all happened in a matter of seconds, not like the feature-length film I feel I’ve just witnessed. My gaze lingers, longingly, on the man whose warm blood is pooling beneath him as he coughs and splutters crimson droplets into the night air that are carried away on an indifferent gust of wind.

He’ll be dead soon and, according to Darklore.net, dead man’s blood is deadly to me. Sounds like bullshit, but I remain paralyzed by a strong sense of paranoia. The descriptions of what happens to vampires that drank blood of the deceased were fairly horrifying.

“HE-E-ELP!”

A scream rends the air. The coarse quality of the voice is indicative of raw vocal chords. It takes a moment for me to echolocate it through reverberations and the scattering of night beasts. I get a bead on it from my left, somewhere near street level. I look back to the Bionex and the silent, still body of the guard. I can’t see any other movement inside the building from my angle, but I can hear sounds of a struggle in the direction of the scream. A bubble of anger bursts up from within me in the form of a hideous growl as I drop from the transformer and begin a running start to the neighboring roof, not the Bionex. I don’t even stop to consider that I’m not even sure I’m capable of making the jump until I’m tumbling through the air, a dozen feet down onto a rough-graveled surface. I know I won’t land on my feet. The last thought I have before impact, is to exhale all the air from my lungs, so I don’t cry out. I land on the rear of my shoulder and ribs, feeling the impact jar organs and scrape at my clothing. My legs catch the concrete vertices and edges of the slightly raised access hatch and I slam to a stop against the low, rim wall with the front of my body. Pain crashes through my head and ignites flames of agony in the rest of me. I’m able to recover with surprising haste and glance down at myself for obvious signs of any major wounds. Friction burns sizzle under clothes that aren’t already torn to expose bloody flesh, but I spot nothing as alarming as exposed bone. Already, some of the pain is fading, but with each degree less of discomfort, that dark, animal need grows. My fangs extend as some threshold is crossed and I know my eyes have begun to glow.

Another brief scream begins and ends before a coherent syllable is spoken, calling my attention back to what brought me here. I force myself not to inhale as I grip the masonry and lift my aching body. Peering down, over the wall, I see a shady, T-shaped alley. Loose bags of trash are piled beside overfull dumpsters at the two open ends. The short leg of the T is wider, almost a small courtyard. In it, a ragged, dirty man is struggling with the front of his grimy pants while the bus-stop woman lies prone below him, sporting a fresh, bleeding wound on her forehead that leaks wonderful, flagrant, scarlet ambrosia. I step up, onto the wall. Without thought, I watch myself lean over the edge and begin descending.

They’re getting closer in my vision. Wind rushes through my ears. My hair flies about my head for a moment, just a moment. Then, my knees buckle slightly, overcoming the forces of gravity as if they were a mild hallucination. The man’s face turns to me, starting in shock, shifting to annoyance, then twisting into abject terror as our eyes meet. My punch seems to come in slow motion, beating out his scream by mere fractions of a second and ensuring no other sounds escape his newly tooth-filled throat. The woman doesn’t stir, but she’s only on the periphery of my focus. I step over her spread legs and grab the man’s ankle, dragging him away from her. His feeble kicks do nothing to slow my progress. His mouth is too full of blood and his tongue too limp to call out. He tries clutching at the woman’s ankles, grasping the stretched and torn pair of plain underwear that still encircle them. Desperately, he attempts to wake her, so she can help him escape the ‘fucking monster’. I let go of his leg and step over to his hands, gripping his wrists and wrenching them sideways until I feel their natural shape is long gone. The blood in his mouth gurgles and tooth fragments drop out in ruddy, slimy pools. I try not to notice their sallow yellowing and dark stains. I try to ignore the chips and cracks that couldn’t have come from my fist. I hope it doesn’t matter that this fruit is rotting. After all, even cancerous blood will do, right?

He’s quivering, flailing, moaning, pleading, sorry, so sorry, as I lift him by the front of his dirty jacket and carry him to the opposite wall. He swears he’ll never do it again, if I just let him go. Then he’s angry, kicking and flailing and trying to promise, through blood, tears, and probably a little vomit, that he’ll make me regret I was ever born. I did my homework, though. I pin him to the wall with one hand, tug my glove off with my teeth, and reach for his neck, ignoring the outline of the jugular vein. My claws open his flesh without resistance and make quick work of his vibrating trachea, silencing his screams forever. Presently, my mouth is over the mess of torn flesh and sinew, where my fangs find easy purchase in the thick carotid artery, guided there as if by magnetism.

Before my vision fades into a hoary wash, I feel the blood fork through me like joyous, heavy lightning.

When I finally drop the man’s limp corpse, I wonder why, but the reason comes in a moment. At some point, his blood began to feel less like liquid nirvana, and more like the poisoned, foul sludge that it is. I can still feel those final drafts snaking their way through my system, leaving a trail of burning nausea behind. My head swims while my organs decide that tandem somersaults are just what the doctor ordered. I’m suddenly gagging and my body begins to burn. I’ve never been tased, but I have had a bad experience with a car battery when I’d tried to help my father with a garage project. I can now recall exactly how that felt. Only, I feel it everywhere, not just in the curious hand that once found its way too near to a tiny, live wire. I dry heave twice more before a third convulsion forces my jaws apart and lets loose several small wads of dark, reddish fluid that steam and bubble as they land on the concrete. I watch them simmer and evaporate with no small amount of relief as most of the nausea passes, wondering when I fell to my hands and knees. I’m standing when the worst part hits. It begins with an alarming warmth in every orifice that develops into a concentrated wave of that intensely uncomfortable, not-quite-pain sensation I feel after hearing the disembodied voice. I’m forced to ram down the urge to scream by ripping off my mask and stuffing it into my mouth. I feel my eyes, ears, nose, throat, even my nether orifices, leaking some kind of thin, oily fluid. When it’s over, I pull the mask out of my mouth, spit out the tasteless gunk, and slump against the nearest wall. Perhaps I was right to be so paranoid about the quality of blood left in the guard.

I study the dead man across from me, his face and neck turned mercifully away. I’ve seen a dead body, my own dad’s withered cadaver, in fact, but I’ve never made one. Never expected to make one, either. At least, not with my own two hands. I used to think I could follow in Dad’s footsteps; be a gun-toting, sharpshooting death machine, in service to his country. The last sound I’d hear, before I ended a life, would be the righteous, almighty thunderclap of my rifle, not the soft, liquid gurgle of a man’s last breath as it drowned in the blood I’d soon consume. Headshot. Kill confirmed. Thank you, spotter. Mission accomplished. Hoo-rah. Let’s go get some chow. Another medal? Aw, shucks.

Would anyone in their right mind give me a medal for something like this, though? I mean, he was a rapist. A dirty, no-good rapist. The girl looks like she could even go to my school. That makes my victim a pedophile, too. Those guys are pretty bad. They definitely deserve a bad time. But this? Who am I to make that call? Too late, I already did. Now I gotta justify it to myself, so I don’t go insane. So I don’t break down into tears in front of everyone in biology class or shoot peas out of my nose at lunch as I start laughing like a stereotypical madman. That’s what normal people do, I think. Should I even go back to school? Murderers don’t need fucking geometry. Unless you’re trying to make a killing at billiards. Hah.

I almost don’t hear the girl groaning as I chuckle to myself. I snatch up the moist mask and put it on, hoping I lost my rictus in the process. I push myself to my feet and stagger over to her. Other than her head wound, which is no longer begging me to suck it dry, she seems fine. Even minimal bruising on her wrists. Through a messy curtain of purple hair, her darkened eyelids flutter for several seconds before suddenly flying open to reveal dark turquoise eyes. Mascara is streaked down her tangerine cheeks. Smeared, purple lipstick forms an O of surprise she lets loose another scream. I look down at myself and realize I should have seen that coming. Rather than try to shush her, because that’s exactly what a murder-rapist would do, I simply locate her phone on the filthy alley floor and pick it up. She flinches away as I step over to retrieve the device. Her back strikes a brick wall as I watch her blindly scramble away. I show her what I’m holding, activate the screen to show that it still works, and make a gesture that says I want to toss it to her. Her choked screams die down into whimpers. I make the underhand gesture again and she puts forth two trembling hands. I toss her the phone, but it lands on her stomach and slides to the ground when she fails to catch it. She looks around as she hunts for the phone in the dark. I’m glad, once again, that the rapist’s face and neck are turned to the opposite wall, invisible from her perspective. She’d likely have begun screaming again. There’s blood, but most of it is inside me.

“Who...Wh-Wh-Who are you?” She says.

“Huh?” I reply, now aware that I’m staring at the man’s corpse. Not man. Rapist. Pedophile. Scum.

“Are you gonna...are you gonna hurt me too?” The girl whines, tugging the underwear back up her legs as if she thinks she might need permission.

“What—no. No,” I say, but something gives me pause. “Give me your wallet.” I point to the purse by her hips, whose contents are half spilled out. She hesitates for a second, but looks where I’m pointing and snatches up the gaudy bag, rummaging through it with frantic speed. I’m too far away from her to worry about a chemical spray, so I watch, unmoving. If she has one, she doesn’t think to use it, only pulling out a small, brown fold of leather and tossing it at my feet. It falls open, but upside down. I flip it over with my shoe and study the contents. Coupons, store-club discount credit cards, business cards for services teenagers are wildly unlikely to need. There’s probably a couple large bills in the cash pocket, maybe even convincing counterfeits, if she’s smart.

“Th-There. Can I go now?”

“No.” I kick the decoy wallet back to her. “Give me your real wallet.” She looks crestfallen as she reaches back into the purse and, this time, I wonder if she’s actually going to pull a spray canister out. No. She retrieves a large, heavy-looking, bedazzled thing, covered in floral cloth and clasped shut with a snap-button strap. She tosses it to me while trying, and failing, to hide her disgust. I pick it up and open it, poking around until I locate the ID card.

“Organ donor. Very generous of you.” I try to sound genuine, but my words seem condescending and ironic, even to me. “Well, Miss Vale Hardywine, of 224 Hockwood Drive, I know where you live, I even know you need to stay at a friend’s house tonight. It would keep me very relaxed and tucked away in my own corner of the world, if absolutely none of what you may or may not have seen here today, ends up on the news.” I put her ID back and toss the wallet at her feet. She takes it and begins stuffing objects back into her purse. Sometimes, action films really do contain useful information. “Now, please, go somewhere safe. I’ll watch over you so this doesn’t happen again. I promise.” She looks far less comforted by the idea than I’d hoped, but that’s to be expected.

Without another word, she stands and shuffles toward the alley junction. Only a few feet from the corner, she turns back to me.

“Uhm. You’re kind of a jerk, but...thank—”

Vale’s next word is pressed from her lungs into a hollow grunt, by the force of something huge slamming her to the concrete from above. She doesn’t even have time to take another breath before the flesh of her chest and stomach is being peeled away like flimsy wrapping paper. A beast, the size of two major league football players, digs into Vale’s ribcage through her gut. Its clawed, humanoid arms are soaked with blood and gore up to the elbow in a matter of seconds as it begins to pull lumps of dripping viscera from the girl. It stuffs these into its canine muzzle, whose serrated lines of teeth shred through the morsels with visible ease. The fur covering its body is charcoal grey, ending in ragged, matted, and bloodstained clumps that stand off its body like spiked armor along its back, shoulders and forearms. Though its legs are long and meaty, its upper body is even bulkier, approaching gorilla-like proportions.

Vale’s eyes are still open, rolling in their sockets as fresh tears form new streaks in her mascara. Her eyes land on me and I can see them focus. She reaches out one oddly steady hand in my direction before going limp. I can’t move. I can only hear the squelch and slurp of the beast’s sup upon her cooling body. I feel my knees strike the concrete as I watch it cram two last, large clawfuls of Vale into its maw, lean back into a squat, and chew, slowly taking in a dangling rope of intestine. When it finally swallows, a steamy breath escapes its lungs and I get the sense it’s sighing in satisfaction. It turns its head my way, fixing on me with eyes that glow a dirty yellow. On all fours, it crawls toward me, finally prompting a response in my legs. I lean back and try to stand, but fall on my rear, unable to work my hands and arms to scoot away. The beast leaps forward, pushing me down with one massive paw on my chest. The air coming off of it is hot. It reaches up and hooks a curved claw beneath my mask, lifting it off my head.

“Well, well, intriguing and cute.” Its voice is a horrendous mix of bestial tenor and androgynous, human articulation. Its mouth is clearly not made for human speech, however, as the words come out like: o-ehll, o-ehll, intcheeging ang kee-ootch. “You know, I was going to eat you first, but the last time I had something that lacked a pulse for as long as you have...it didn’t stay down. How is it I can’t hear your heart beating right now?” My tongue and jaw refuse to cooperate, but my mouth opens a little. The beast’s eyes flick down and I see them widen a fraction. It brings a claw to my lips and peels one back to reveal a fang. I find the will to move and jerk my head away. A red light reflects in the beast’s eyes when I look back at them. It suddenly sits back on its haunches, throwing a hairy head into the air and barking something I’m loathe to describe as laughter. I take the opportunity to scramble back to my feet, grateful my limbs are cooperating again. “Are you the revenant, vampire boy? I’m more tempted to take you back to my place, not kill you.” A rumble rolls from its throat and it cranes its neck in my direction. “Mmm, you’re just my type.” I make a focused effort to resist looking between its bare legs out of morbid curiosity. “You’re not into wolves of course, but if you like girls, when I’m human, I’m young and sexy with pretty hair and a great ass.” She crawls in circles around me, her muscular form undulating and rippling like smooth ocean waves where the fur is shortest. As she moves, I observe a subtle wobble in her posture and realize her body is very slightly lopsided, the mass favoring her left. I can feel her eyes sweeping my body, as if inspecting a cut of meat. “What do you say, Count? We’d make a cute couple, hunting together, just like this. We could fuck away the days, feed at night, go anywhere, do anything we like.” The base of my skull tingles and a coarse nugget of shameful temptation passes through me like a kidney stone.

“How do you know about the revenant?” I finally say, infinitely grateful I manage to speak without a stutter.

“Oh? So you hear it too. Then you’re probably not the revenant.” The beast says behind me. I whip around to face her.

“Hear what?”

“The voice. The one that shakes your insides and makes the world feel like it’s falling apart. Don’t tell me you got your message in the mail.” I don’t answer, but she stops circling to study my face. “Yeah, thought so.”

“Has it told you anything else?”

“Listen, detective, cops are gonna be here any minute now. We can play Thirty Questions with each other while we wait for the CPD’s complimentary lead shower, or...” She crawls closer, her jaws less than a foot from my face and I can smell the mixture of Vale’s flesh, blood, and bile on her teeth, “...we can leave, and I can tell you everything you want to know...in my shower.”

“You killed her.” I growl, intensely frustrated that the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me, came from the throat of a hideous, sadistic monster. She leans to peer past me at Vale’s hollowed corpse.

“What about it? A girl needs to eat and cows just don’t cut it for something like me. I almost died finding out the hard way. You might be okay with the blood of addicts and cancer patients—yes, I can smell it in you—but I’ve been through enough. It’s my turn to enjoy the finer flavors of life.”

“She had a family and friends that cared about her!”

“She was a slut, on her way to becoming a deadbeat teen mom and another waste of space. No one is going to be worse off without her. If anything, I saved little Miss Hardywine from a hard life of listening to a little brat whine.”

“You don’t get to make that kind of call. That’s fucked up! We should be using our...whatever you want to call it for the better.”

She hucks another short, bassy chuckle. “Shall we have the hypocrisy debate, or just skip to the part where I win?”

“What I did is not the same.” I snap, but I know it isn’t true. The rapist was just a convenience, a target at which to aim my shaky control over what I’ve become.

“Isn’t it? You ended a life so that another, that you deemed more worthy, would go on. It’s adorable that you pretend to be noble, but when I was just a human, I didn’t need this nose to smell a liar in the next town over. Your words are as empty as your chest. Mankind doesn’t need saviors like us, and it certainly doesn’t deserve saviors from us.” She reaches out and runs the back of a claw over my cheek and down my neck. I try to swat it away, but she catches my arm by the wrist and holds it, firmly, in place. Even with my supernatural strength, I can’t budge it. “I can already tell, we have a lot in common. I see the bitterness in your eyes. I smell your jaded blood. We’re not like the humans who abused and ignored us. We’re better, smarter, stronger. We always have been, even before we, shall I say, evolved.” She lets my wrist go and continues tracing the line down to my chest. “Monsters like us belong together. We’re the only real family the other could ever have, the only kind of friend we can really trust; one who knows what it’s like to be damaged and different.” Her claw scrapes too low. “Probably the only kind of lover that can satisfy—” I take a step back and flex my own claws.

“Yeah, well, people aren’t so easy to read and I’ve always hated being told who I am, even if it’s supposed to be a compliment.” Keeping my eyes on hers, I reach down for my mask. “Now, unless you know the son of a bitch that did this to us, we’re done.” In the time it takes for the mask to pass over my eyes, she leaps out of sight, leaving several claw marks on the concrete, where she stood. I hear her land somewhere above me and her final, gnarled words echo down.

“Suit yourself, but my offer stands, handsome. Maybe next time I’ll do a little dress up for you. Really give you something to think about.” Then, the beast does something I’ll see in my nightmares for the rest of my, possibly immortal, life. The mutant werewolf, with blood-flecked lips and dripping maw, blows me a kiss with a gore-soaked paw. Some small piece of Vale falls from her teeth and lands at my feet with a tiny, wet slap. She’s gone in a blur and I’m left alone, standing in a dark alley with the mutilated remains of two humans. In the distance, I hear the wail of sirens.

I should probably fu—I mean, kill her.

Everything Black - Unlike Pluto

My favorite chapter so far.