What always gets me about those who get mixed up with the occult or the supernatural is that they always think they’re embarking on sometime that’s fun, exotic, erotic, or something that will give them the power and importance they seek to become even more self-serving or narcissistic than they already are.
But what they never realize is the depth and horror of evil, its filth, savageness – and it seducing, intelligent ability to lie when looking you straight in the face.
Take that ghoul and rabid vampire Sir Tim Magnacente, my master. His bevy of sycophantic groupies sit at his feet as he slowly sucks their blood from them like a fat tick, promising each of his favorite boys and girls eternal life, once they have proven worthy of his trust.
Sucking Them Dry
I watch as each one of them is transformed within weeks from vigorous youths to emaciated skeletons, whose dwindling lives are snuffed out insignificantly – just like spent candles disappearing in a puffs of smoke and melted wax. Each of them suffering as Sir Tim toys and torments them with lies and pain disguised as pleasure, until they are consumed by the evil that is a master vampire, 300 years of age.
Sometimes, when in a particularly foul mood, Sir Tim will laugh in their faces as he sucks their last life blood from them. “You ugly, misguided toad. Did you really think I would share my gift of eternal life with such a hideous and worthless creature?”
It pained me as much as it brought pleasure to Sir Tim to see the pitiful looks of surprise on their dying faces as the vampire took has sharp finger nail and tore open their throats for one last feast.
How I longed to spike this devil as he lay gorged with their blood, but before I could finish the thought, Sir Tim would cast me out of his den and warn me.
“If you care about your wife and children, who are still living, you will watch your thoughts carefully, Jeremiah, because, if anything happens to me, my brothers and sisters will feast on them slowly, ever so slowly.”
With this I would think only of my family, who by now must believe me to be dead.
“Yes, Sire, I understand, completely.” I would answer obediently.
“Good. Now get the fuck out of my chamber and guard me until sundown,” he snarled, trying not to laugh out loud at the humor he saw in my predicament.”
Because while Sir Tim was evil and undead, a small part of him still harbored a playful appreciation for those he depended on. And he depended on me, who needed to keep him safe if I wanted my family to live.
Arianna was only 18 when she first saw Sir Tim play his saxophone at the Hippodrome with his group Dead Sight.
She was attracted to him by the stealthy passion he hid underneath his dead coolness. Arianna suspected he might be a vampire, but she like so many before her, didn’t believe someone so beautiful could hurt her.
As she reached the stage, Arianna began to bounce to the rhythmic beat that only dead creatures can produce. By this time, she was feeling feverishly weak as Sir Tim instinctively sucked the energy out of the girl.
She took her trembling hand and dared to touch Sir Tim’s boot, only to have him withdraw and pretend to ignore her move. Sir Tim wailed a mournful yet aggressive lick from his horn that hit impossible lows and highs. It was as though he was a snake charmer and a Cobra all wrapped up in one.
I watched as Arianna swooned.
I moved toward her quickly as she once again approached the stage, this time after taking off her halter top. “Miss, you can’t undress in here,” I whispered in her ear as I tried to hustle her away from the stage to safely.
“Let her come to me, Jeremiah,” Sir Tim’s eyes commanded me as he flipped up his shades in between his solo.
“Yes, Sire,” was all I could mouth, as I stepped back from the stage’s blood red spotlights into the cool, mournful darkness.
Also Read: Second Coming (Flash Fiction)
© 2018 Chet Dembeck
Categories: Flash Fiction