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A Summer's Evening

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Joined: 30 Nov 2004
Posts: 459
Location: Dublin, Ireland
A Summer's Evening  Reply with quote  

It was July and not very cold out. It wasn’t exactly warm, but hardly cold. He walked down the road, confident that nothing would happen. Sure, he was hammered and it was about two in the morning. Sure, he was walking past Glasnevin cemetery and there was no one in sight for miles, except for a gang of townies. But he was a black belt in Judo, and had a knife in his pocket, if it came to that. He touched the cross that hung around his neck and prayed nothing would happen. He walked down this road every night after closing the bar, and so far nothing had ever happened. There seemed to be a wolf following him, but that seemed stupid. There’s no wolves in Dublin. That didn’t explain the howls he kept hearing. He turned, thinking that he had heard something in the trees, but saw nothing. He walked a little faster.

Vladimir loved to take the form of a wolf. He’d lope around behind the prey and every once in a while howl, scaring the prey absolutely witless. He also loved to take the form of a bat and fly around making noise in trees. The prey would be confused and would not think properly. Vladimir took his own form, the tall, pale and mean young man with long black hair. He wore only black. Black boots, black t-shirt, black trousers and a long black leather coat. It was such a cliché but dammit, it looked good. Vladimir loved to use his magic to frighten people, especially people he planned to eat. When people get worried their heart beats faster, and more blood is pumped to the body. This big man in front of him would be a feast. He appeared directly behind the man, about one foot away and walked there, leaned towards his neck and whispered “Run.”

Liam nearly lost control of his bladder when he heard someone whisper in his ear. He turned all around but saw no one. He walked very quickly, meanwhile taking out his knife and getting ready. He was not going to go down without a fight. His brain was screaming at him to run to the nearest corner and curl up into a ball, to hide and cry. The rational part of his mind was telling him there was no need to be afraid.

Vladimir was pleased. The victim was truly scared. He was sweating and looked behind him often. It was time to go in for the kill. Vladimir swooped in and appeared in front of the big man, who was at least a foot taller than the vampire and two feet wider. He looked down at the small man dressed in black and laughed.
”What are ye, a vampire?” he asked in a thickly accented North Dublin voice. Vlad could smell his awful breath, it stank of beer.
“Well actually, yes.” Was Vlad’s reply.
“Yeh, an I’m bleeding Bono. Get oura me way ye ponce.” He said and tried to push past the vampire. It didn’t work.
“I don’t think you’ll want to be doing that, friend. I am a vampire, and I am going to feast on your blood. Hopefully you will put up more of a fight than the rest of your family did. They were ever so easy to kill. I rather enjoyed it actually.” Vladimir always used the ‘your family’ bit. It made people so angry. Vladimir had murdered his entire family himself, so he didn’t get it. The second that he had risen from his grave, he went to his old house and knocked them all out. He then slit their throats and then, just to be sure, set fire to the house. That was over five hundred years ago. The man looked worried and angry. He aimed a punch at Vladimir which missed by miles, his drunken body messed up his co-ordination. The vampire swung a punch at the prey which sent him high up into the air and crashing back down onto the concrete. He screamed in pain and then yelled for help. A nearby gang of townies ran over to him to see if he was all right then walked menacingly toward Vladimir, who was cracking his knuckles. There was about ten of the gang, each with a weapon. Most had knives, but one had a steel chain and one had a gun. Vladimir bared his fangs at them and they all gasped. They did not run away though and continued their advance.
“Hello there ladies! Lovely night for a stroll, eh?” he said in his best fake British accent. Then he flew high up into the sky. Surprisingly, the guy with the gun shot him right in the chest. He fell towards the ground at terrific speed and hit the pavement so hard that it cracked and broke. He groaned for a second but then got up. The knife wielding townies gasped, the gun guy gasped, the chain guy gasped and the prey, who was almost unconscious gasped, heck, Vladimir almost gasped just to fit in! The guy with the gun shot him some more, emptying the magazine into the vampire who merely stood there with a look of regret on his face.
“Oh damn you to the bowels of bloody Hell! That hurts. Seriously. I mean, ouch.” Then he smiled and began to pick the bullets from his chest. He threw one back at the gun wielder with such force and prescision that he fell to the floor twitching as the bullet whizzed through his head and out the other side. Vladimir cracked his knuckles and rushed forward punching and kicking the nearby townies into unconsciousness. When they were all suitably incapacitated, Vlad walked over to his dinner, who was still groaning in pain. His jaw was broken and he was bleeding badly, all over the broken wall. What a waste. Vladimir picked the huge man up easily and flew to his tomb, in the middle of the cemetery. When he got there he lit some candles and made ready to feast. He took his first bite and felt the lovely warm blood flowing from the near dead man into his mouth and he drank until the man was naught but a husk. Vladimir was a sloppy and savage feeder, often growling and slurping. He blamed his father. Count Dracula had never shown him how to feed. Vlad belched loudly and sat on the floor, feeling fully energised and ready to kill a legion of people.
Just as Vladimir was about to lay into his coffin for some well deserved rest, there was a knock on the door of his tomb. This could only mean one of two things: Drunken teenagers looking for a place where they wouldn’t get caught or a Hunter. Vlad hoped it wasn’t a Hunter. They were so… Christian. And so Holy and good. They were everything he strived not to be. Teenagers were fun. Vlad would often let group come into his tomb and not kill them. They were his only source of contact with the living and weren’t too shocked about his lack of life. Most of them were fascinated by his vampirism. Some requested to be sired, but then when they saw Vlad’s teeth, decided against it. Carefully and slowly he opened the door, only to see a Hunter there, complete with a hat and a crucifix. Coming after a Dracula vampire with a crucifix. He laughed and let the Hunter in.
“Please, have a seat.” He offered. The Hunter remained standing. “Very well. A drink perhaps?” The hunter shook his head. “Talkative guy, aren’t you? So I assume you are here to rid the world of my unclean and evil presence?”
“Baron Vladimir Dracula, you have been sentenced to death by the Council. I am here to carry out the sentence. I am Marcus Varilius of the Council and you will die this day. We can to this two ways. 1. I kill you quickly with a stake. 2. I kill you slowly with a stake. Which would you like?”
“A sense of humour? The Council must have upgraded its goons. Well personally I would prefer to remain living, or should that be unliving…?” Vlad grinned, baring his fangs. “But since that’s not on the menu, I think I’ll just kill you and get it over with. Lovely to meet you though.” Then he kicked the Hunter solidly in the chest, cracking several ribs. The broken man flew out of the tomb into the vast graveyard which was misty as Hell. Vladimir couldn’t see the Hunter but he could smell his fear and pain. Vladimir stalked silently behind the Hunter who was crawling very slowly towards a clearing in the graveyard where funerals were held. Vladimir was so consumed in his hunting that he didn’t notice the nine other Hunters who stood there with crossbows aimed at him.
“Oh dear. Are we having a party? Well, I’m obviously not welcome here so I’ll just be…” he backed away slowly, but was then filled with crossbow bolts. They were silver. He knew because they actually hurt him. Vladimir fell to one knee. He cursed his eagerness for killing. He should have let the Hunter go. The other Hunters were all dressed in similar attire: the hat, the long coat, the leather gloves and of course the crucifix.
The leader stepped forward and drew a silver sword from his scabbard. He began to chant some weird prayer in Latin, and stood Vladimir up. The leader was about to remove Vlad’s head when the vampire punched him in the face, breaking his nose and sending teeth flying all over the place. The leader went flying into his colleagues. They all fell in on top of each other like a dog pile. Vladimir picked up the leader’s sword and crossbow and flew away, but not before swearing revenge and shooting some bolts at the pile of Hunters. He was badly injured and he knew there was only one place he could go where he would be safe. Vladimir Dracula flew further than he ever had. He flew all the way to Transyvania. All the way home.

The End – for now
The pen is mightier than the sword and considerably easier to write with.

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