My version of Käthe Kollwitz' The Slender Man.
The Model
The vampire agreed to sit down for me for a portrait, which you can see here. It’s still a work in progress, though. I’m so terribly slow, however, I was afraid he’d lose patience with me.
But he keeps showing up, night after night.
The only thing he asks is for at the beginning of each session is a small sip of blood from my outstretched arm.
Am I making a mistake? I mean just think of this rare opportunity I have to complete a portrait of a real-life vampire! Does not the model have the right to make demands of the artist? Is drawing a person (or vampire) not a give and take process?
I believe it is.
My guest and model watches as I prepare the paints. Afterwards, I slowly roll up the sleeve of my shirt, exposing the heavily bandaged arm - which, ironically, has become a canvas for the model. Yet the vampire seems dispassionate. He just watches. I tear the bloodied gauze off of my bruised and punctured (non-painting) arm quickly, while keeping an eye on him. I wince. All the while the vampire speaks not a word, moves not an inch. I used to think him disinterested and businessman-like about the whole thing; however for the first time, I now know better. As I gaze into his black pupils and can see something I hadn't noticed before: exhilaration. I stop myself from offering my sanguined arm to my guest, but he approaches nonetheless.
Horror. All I feel is abject horror. I cannot run - frozen in time in place - and have no hope of saving myself.
The vampire gently but firmly grasps the tender arm which I meant to deny. I try to scream out, but no sound escapes from me. Finally the vampire speaks in his usual - almost imperceptible - tone. "I'm afraid I must cancel tonight's portrait sitting. Besides, you already have what you wanted." He pauses, his eyes focus on its prize. "Do not feel slighted. I ask you consider tonight's blood payment a charity."
During our previous sittings the vampire calmly imbibed from my arm, as if the feeding process were nothing more than an inconvenience. Tonight, though, as he finishes speaking, he shows himself for what he truly is. A monster. Gone is the gentle siphoning of which I had become accustomed to, replaced by a ravenous and animalistic feeding frenzy.
I turn my head away, unable to witness the gore, and find myself looking into the studio mirror. I struggle to maintain my balance as the vampire satiates his bloodlust. The reflection I see back is that of a gaunt man. Me. Not me.
I, too, am a monster.
The vampire agreed to sit down for me for a portrait, which you can see here. It’s still a work in progress, though. I’m so terribly slow, however, I was afraid he’d lose patience with me.
But he keeps showing up, night after night.
The only thing he asks is for at the beginning of each session is a small sip of blood from my outstretched arm.
Am I making a mistake? I mean just think of this rare opportunity I have to complete a portrait of a real-life vampire! Does not the model have the right to make demands of the artist? Is drawing a person (or vampire) not a give and take process?
I believe it is.
My guest and model watches as I prepare the paints. Afterwards, I slowly roll up the sleeve of my shirt, exposing the heavily bandaged arm - which, ironically, has become a canvas for the model. Yet the vampire seems dispassionate. He just watches. I tear the bloodied gauze off of my bruised and punctured (non-painting) arm quickly, while keeping an eye on him. I wince. All the while the vampire speaks not a word, moves not an inch. I used to think him disinterested and businessman-like about the whole thing; however for the first time, I now know better. As I gaze into his black pupils and can see something I hadn't noticed before: exhilaration. I stop myself from offering my sanguined arm to my guest, but he approaches nonetheless.
Horror. All I feel is abject horror. I cannot run - frozen in time in place - and have no hope of saving myself.
The vampire gently but firmly grasps the tender arm which I meant to deny. I try to scream out, but no sound escapes from me. Finally the vampire speaks in his usual - almost imperceptible - tone. "I'm afraid I must cancel tonight's portrait sitting. Besides, you already have what you wanted." He pauses, his eyes focus on its prize. "Do not feel slighted. I ask you consider tonight's blood payment a charity."
During our previous sittings the vampire calmly imbibed from my arm, as if the feeding process were nothing more than an inconvenience. Tonight, though, as he finishes speaking, he shows himself for what he truly is. A monster. Gone is the gentle siphoning of which I had become accustomed to, replaced by a ravenous and animalistic feeding frenzy.
I turn my head away, unable to witness the gore, and find myself looking into the studio mirror. I struggle to maintain my balance as the vampire satiates his bloodlust. The reflection I see back is that of a gaunt man. Me. Not me.
I, too, am a monster.
Zombies. It's not always true what they say - that head shots can stop 'em. Sometimes they just keep walking, and keep coming.
She has not seen another human being in six weeks - a living one, that is. But six weeks’ ago the world used to be normal.
Minerva survived the zombie onslaught by hiding in the cellar of the bank where she worked. But the stock piles of food and water she has scavenged from nearby homes is almost depleted. Armed with a rare Glock 7a full automatic pistol she took from Etta Clarke, the deceased former bank security officer and small arms enthusiast, Minerva makes her way out to forage a little further than usual.
The first encounter with the undead happens at 2nd and A streets, but Minerva is able to hide under a car until the immediate danger passes. The second brush with death occurs 3 blocks later... (to be continued)
Minerva survived the zombie onslaught by hiding in the cellar of the bank where she worked. But the stock piles of food and water she has scavenged from nearby homes is almost depleted. Armed with a rare Glock 7a full automatic pistol she took from Etta Clarke, the deceased former bank security officer and small arms enthusiast, Minerva makes her way out to forage a little further than usual.
The first encounter with the undead happens at 2nd and A streets, but Minerva is able to hide under a car until the immediate danger passes. The second brush with death occurs 3 blocks later... (to be continued)
Aux Diables
Although Eugenia Consuelo Fitzgerald cannot understand a word of the French language, for some reason she is able to comprehend every utterance of a little devil which has taken a liking to her as of late.
As if that were not odd enough, the tiny devil whispers to her speaking only in 17th century French as opposed to the modern version (you see, he is one of the few holdouts in the afterlife trying to keep the arcane usage alive, so to speak - a real aficionado).
Eugenia enjoys that no one else seems to be able to see or hear her munchkin archfiend, which is probably good seeing as how she always tends to heed its suggestions - suggestions which have become rather dark lately...
Although Eugenia Consuelo Fitzgerald cannot understand a word of the French language, for some reason she is able to comprehend every utterance of a little devil which has taken a liking to her as of late.
As if that were not odd enough, the tiny devil whispers to her speaking only in 17th century French as opposed to the modern version (you see, he is one of the few holdouts in the afterlife trying to keep the arcane usage alive, so to speak - a real aficionado).
Eugenia enjoys that no one else seems to be able to see or hear her munchkin archfiend, which is probably good seeing as how she always tends to heed its suggestions - suggestions which have become rather dark lately...
Spring Frost
Spanish Vespers
She neither sleepwalks nor is fully awake; rather she heeds the silent call of the vampire. Adoracion Sanchez Alvillar goes to him in a trance; her dreams filled with horror.
She neither sleepwalks nor is fully awake; rather she heeds the silent call of the vampire. Adoracion Sanchez Alvillar goes to him in a trance; her dreams filled with horror.
"I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft." - William Shakespeare
The Vampire Novitiate
Sometimes the vampire Desmond Le Torneau reflects back to Addie Skinner, the tall gamine from Baltimore who let him drink from her outstretched arm his very first drops of human blood ever! The now sage Desmond knows he would have died (or whatever it is that happens to the undead) without Addie's sanguine charity in those early days.
He remembers gazing upon Addie's lovely countenance as his fangs siphoned away her essence. Desmond had promised just to take a little, but his blood-starved body was in no mood to keep promises. The color from Addie's fair cheeks departed; she gazed back into his black pupils mouthing the words, "Please stop," and steeped upon the ground.
Sometimes the vampire Desmond Le Torneau reflects back to Addie Skinner, the tall gamine from Baltimore who let him drink from her outstretched arm his very first drops of human blood ever! The now sage Desmond knows he would have died (or whatever it is that happens to the undead) without Addie's sanguine charity in those early days.
He remembers gazing upon Addie's lovely countenance as his fangs siphoned away her essence. Desmond had promised just to take a little, but his blood-starved body was in no mood to keep promises. The color from Addie's fair cheeks departed; she gazed back into his black pupils mouthing the words, "Please stop," and steeped upon the ground.
Murder Will Out
A brash and as yet unidentified destroyer of the undead has managed to penetrate the hidden daytime sleeping dens of no less than 8 vampires in the greater Pittsburgh area. All 8 had the killer's signature wooden stake driven into their black hearts; all attacked while they helplessly slept.
Needless to say, the Night Shade Society (that is, the Pittsburgh Chapter of dues-paying vampires) called for an immediate quorum to discuss the killings. However Chairman Felix Le Roi has failed to make the meeting; a most unusual event given that Felix, the senior-most vampire, has not been absent to any such gathering in 201 years.
Subsequently junior vampire (and famed vampire biographer) Orlando Luther is dispatched to inquire as to the chairman's wellbeing. Upon arrival, Orlando quickly realizes Felix Le Roi is the next to have fallen prey in the ongoing vampire murder mystery.
Orlando abruptly senses someone is in the room with him... a human - someone he knows. A familiar voice calls out to him from the shadows. "Orlando, can we talk?"
(PS: Someone on Facebook told me this is "ripped off" from Interview with the Vampire". I disagree. Do you? Is it? )
A brash and as yet unidentified destroyer of the undead has managed to penetrate the hidden daytime sleeping dens of no less than 8 vampires in the greater Pittsburgh area. All 8 had the killer's signature wooden stake driven into their black hearts; all attacked while they helplessly slept.
Needless to say, the Night Shade Society (that is, the Pittsburgh Chapter of dues-paying vampires) called for an immediate quorum to discuss the killings. However Chairman Felix Le Roi has failed to make the meeting; a most unusual event given that Felix, the senior-most vampire, has not been absent to any such gathering in 201 years.
Subsequently junior vampire (and famed vampire biographer) Orlando Luther is dispatched to inquire as to the chairman's wellbeing. Upon arrival, Orlando quickly realizes Felix Le Roi is the next to have fallen prey in the ongoing vampire murder mystery.
Orlando abruptly senses someone is in the room with him... a human - someone he knows. A familiar voice calls out to him from the shadows. "Orlando, can we talk?"
(PS: Someone on Facebook told me this is "ripped off" from Interview with the Vampire". I disagree. Do you? Is it? )
'The Great Licentious Greenlandic Adventure as Undertaken by the Vampire Dragusica'
Chapter 1: The seduction of Byrnja Løvstrøm and other saucy girls from Nanortalik.
Chapter 1: The seduction of Byrnja Løvstrøm and other saucy girls from Nanortalik.
The Spectre of His Midnight Pillow
Little Theo pulls the covers up to his eyes as he recoils from the abrupt appearance of Carolina Kaufman.
These days, you see, Carolina is a shadow of her former self; a dark smudge within an orb of light; sometimes a small spot of cold oft mistaken for a draft.
The sphere’s soft and diffuse illumination reaches out for Theo, who is mesmerized by the spectacle. He can almost see the young visage of Carolina looking upon him.
Theo, who just celebrated his 6th birthday on Monday last, suddenly has an image that this was Carolina’s bedroom long, long ago (auld lang syne). More gravely, Theo realizes Carolina’s calling is not one of friendship.
Carolina wants nothing less than Theo’s young life, so that she might have a playmate for all eternity. You see, the Hereafter is so, so boring,
*The title for this micro story is a borrowed and gently changed Mary Shelley quote.
Little Theo pulls the covers up to his eyes as he recoils from the abrupt appearance of Carolina Kaufman.
These days, you see, Carolina is a shadow of her former self; a dark smudge within an orb of light; sometimes a small spot of cold oft mistaken for a draft.
The sphere’s soft and diffuse illumination reaches out for Theo, who is mesmerized by the spectacle. He can almost see the young visage of Carolina looking upon him.
Theo, who just celebrated his 6th birthday on Monday last, suddenly has an image that this was Carolina’s bedroom long, long ago (auld lang syne). More gravely, Theo realizes Carolina’s calling is not one of friendship.
Carolina wants nothing less than Theo’s young life, so that she might have a playmate for all eternity. You see, the Hereafter is so, so boring,
*The title for this micro story is a borrowed and gently changed Mary Shelley quote.
