Noises in the Dark - 3. In Search of Beauty

The youth, with the blonde cropped hair, was standing by the pool table. He wasn't playing the game, only standing there, trying to give an impression of toughness, watching the two men in leather jackets actually playing the game. The look about him was urban; or what he was trying. He wore green army trousers, dirty work boots, and a white tee shirt, which fitted him as tight as a second skin and he had ripped the sleeves off it. His hair colouring owed more to a bottle of blonde dye then from his parents’ genes; and the hard look that graced his face he had probablely practised for hours in front of a mirror, rather then an expression of his distaste for the world around him. He was more an office worker then manual labourer. He was maybe in his mid to late twenties, he certainly wouldn't see his teenage years again - no matter what he said.

The bar was practically empty, only a handful of men there. It was late on a midweek evening so most of the men had returned home; few were upstairs in The Maze. I couldn't wait much longer, though.

The blonde-haired youth walked away from the pool table and strolled towards the bar. So, in the same casual way, I walked towards the bar myself. I arrived there at the same moment as him but I let him order his drink first. I didn't want any alcohol; it would only make me more thirsty, increase my hunger beyond reason.

Once he had his beer, he turned around to face the room and stared at it with his hard expression, I moved towards him. I stood next to him for a long moment, letting him have an opportunately to look back at me. I knew I was looking attractive, even though I was drawn and tired. As always I was dressed in black: trousers, open necked shirt, long coat and boots. My dark hair was smoothed down into place. My features were tired, my skin as pale and white as ever, fortunately I was not yet looking drawn and gaunt.

I knew he was watching me, I could feel his eyes upon me. It had taken him a long enough time to show an interest in me. I turned my head slowly, carefully and looked at him. Close to, I could see he had pale, almost watery, grey eyes. He was staring closely at me, watching me in turn.

"Do you want to do something exciting?" I asked him.

"Like what?" his voice was as bored as the expression he'd used to survey the room. His accent was suburban, though he tried to cover it with some urban inflexations; but not well enough.

"Something you've never done before."

"I'm no tight-arsed virgin," he said, his upper lip curling into a snarl that was an almost perfect copy of James Dean.

"I didn't think you were, but you still have not answered me. Do you want to do something exciting?"

"Why not? There's fuck all happening here."

"Then come upstairs."

"That shit-hole?" he snarled his James Dean snarl again - how many hours did he have to practise in front of a mirror to perfect it, I wondered.

"Yes. That is part of the attraction."

"Okay, but it better be good."

"It will be."

I lead him up the narrow flight of stairs to the first floor of the building. There a maze had been built to cover the whole floor. All it was in reality was a double corridor, tiny cell-like rooms leading off the corridor, plus tiny blind alleys and dead-ends, all painted black with very dim lighting. It was designed as a place for men to wander through looking for sex with each other. I lead him right through the maze; ignoring the few copulating men we passed, right to the back where there was a hidden away corner, a blind alley in the farthest corner of the room.

Once there I pushed him up against the wall and kissed him hard on the mouth. For a moment I tasted his blood on my tongue, that sweet and bitter taste.

"You're up for it, aren't you?" he said.

I didn't say anything. In reply I grabbed hold of his nipple, through his T-shirt, and twisted it hard. He groaned through his open lips, his eyes half closing and a look of pleasure spreading across his face.

"Yeah, that's exciting," he said, his voice almost a moan.

I pushed his head back, against the wall, and then twisted his head to one side, exposing the line of his neck. I moved closer to him, slowly taking my time, and lightly kissed his ear. He moaned quietly. I kissed the side of his neck, slowly moving downwards as I went, between kisses I licked his dry skin, and listened to his moans getting louder.

Then I reached where I wanted to be. I held his head in one hand and his shoulder in the other, pushing them so that I stretched his pale neck, but not too far because all I wanted to do was to keep his skin taunt. I paused for the briefest of moments before I sank my teeth into his neck. I had done this a thousand times before and I knew exactly where the artery was. I never missed, and like the thousand times before him, he never made a sound.

His blood flowed into my mouth, into my body, filling me with warmth and energy and life. I drank deeply as his warm blood flowed into me. I was hungry, almost starved; I had not feed in days. Now I drank my fill.

I stopped just before the moment of death (It is far too dangerous to drink the last lifeblood of a prey), drew my teeth back out of his skin and allowed his body to slip down the wall and come to rest in a crumpled heap at my feet.

Quietly and quickly I walked out of the maze then out of the building.

<><><>

I walked home, full of life and revitalised again. After feeding, especially after such a long time fasting, I always felt as if the whole world was mine to take on. Warmth and energy pulsed through my empty veins. From many years experience I knew this would not last but for that moment I enjoyed the feeling of exhilaration, the world was mine.

I do not usually leave a prey's body where they lie, after I have finished feeding. I was always careful to hide them away, to find a place where they would not be discovered for a long time, if at all. Often it took them so long to find the body they didn't know what caused their death. But I had been hungry, far too hungry, that night and it had be growing later and later. In the end I was too hungry. So when the chance arose, I took it is as soon as I was able to.

I knew they would find the body much too soon. Also I knew they would not be able to trace him to me, not without a great deal of difficulty. Though I had been very careless I still felt safe. In all my years I had not even come anywhere near close to being caught. I felt secure in the knowledge that the club had not had CCTV cameras and the staff barely cared enough to notice that the customers gave them the correct money for their drinks.

<><><>

I reached my home only a few hours before dawn, but I always reached my home in time.

Toby, my upstairs neighbour, was also arriving home from work.

I greeted him casually, as we walked up to the front door together.

"Hello", I said, though I couldn't help but smile at him.

"Hi," he replied shyly.

"How was your night?" I asked, as we entered the building.

"Busy as usual, but at least there wasn't any fights," he said.

"Good", I said.

"How about you?" He asked me as I went to open the front door to my own flat.

"Interesting," I smile at him, "interesting."

<><><>

I met Emily, who introduced me to this life, at the end of the year 1895. Oscar Wilde, under the full gaze of all society, had only recently been dragged away to prison. Most gentlemen who shared my tastes had already fled England for the continent. Though I had stayed in London, late into September, only because I loved the city so much and equally I dreaded the life of a foreign exile on the continent; but even I knew I had to leave London and soon. The atmosphere of witch-hunts was too strong in the air; you could taste it like the bitter taste of wood smoke.

It was in the early hours of the morning and I had gone for one last walk through Regent’s Park. I was due to be leaving for Paris in a few days and I wanted to revisit the place I were had previously met so many handsome men and enjoyed so many pleasures.

As I walked along a line of ornamental trees, Emily stepped out from behind those trees and the right in front of my path. She was certainly a striking woman, her blonde hair flowing down her back, her skin as pale as fresh milk and, in contrast, her lips were a deeply rich red. Her white silk dress was covered with a thick black, velvet cloak. She had the presence of a beautiful but ephetheral forest spirit.

"Pardon me sir but what are you doing here at such a late hour?" She asked me, her voice as slight as her appearance.

"Walking. Do I need your permission?" I asked her, I was tired and my temper was short.

"I thought you might like some companionship?" She said, walking towards me.

"I don't want your companionship. You are trying to ply your trade in the wrong place," I said, not hiding the contempt in my voice.

"I do not think so, sir," she said. Suddenly she was standing in front of me and sinking her teeth into my neck.

That moment she infected me. Two nights later and I was the same as her. I would sleep all day long, avoiding the sunlight because my own being depended upon it, and at night I would hunt for the prey that I needed to live (some call us the "undead" but I laugh at the idea for I have never felt so alive).

At first Emily was happy with me as her new companion. She had selected me out and stalked me for many weeks to confirm my suitability. I was male, single and rich, everything she wanted. Soon, though, she grew tired of me. I was only interested in what I could learn from her, no more. She wanted more, a full companion in her life; she had been living this life alone for many dozens of years before she found me. She wanted the love of a man and was angry and disappointed when, jokingly, I replied I wished for the same. In the end she left my home and me one night, saying she was heading towards Paris and I never heard from her again.

<><><>

I owned the house where I lived, where Toby was one of my several tenants. One of the several different houses I've owned, under several different names, down through the years. My tastes are simple and often inexpensive, the family fortune left to me by my father's death (over a hundred years ago now) has provided for me well throughout the years and, it having been carefully invested, and will probably last years to come.

I now live in an old Bermondsey, South London, townhouse that has been converted into flats. I live in the basement flat, though the other tenants in the house don't know I am their landlord, Management Agencies can be very useful.

Toby moved into the first floor flat only a few months ago. He was one of the three young men who were sharing that flat. The other two young men were loud and brash, seeming to spend their every free hour in one nightclub or another. Toby was different from them. He worked in a hostel for homeless men, often having to work night shifts, and seeming to take his work earnestly serious. Often he would seem to carry the cares of the world upon his young shoulders. His permanently dark clothes also added to his general impression of melancholy.

I knew that Toby shared my own tastes, well certainly my erotic tastes. One night, late into the night, I was in one of the dark clubs where men go to meet other men (I was there on the hunt for prey) when I saw him. Toby was dancing by himself to the pounding music. His lean and lithe body was moving and twisting to the music. His pale skin looked bright and almost shone in the diffused light. Even his dark and shaggy hair was smooth and glowing. He looked so sensual and alive, even in his almost compulsory uniform of boots, dark trousers and shirt. His beauty transfixed me.

Since then I have been watching him, observing him and biding my time. I am almost sure, as sure as I can be that Toby will make a perfect companion for me.

<><><>

My first attempt at finding a companion was Maurice. It was nineteen hundred and five and I had been alone almost ten years. Loneliness had grown to an intolerable level in my new life. In my former life I had known loneliness all the time, in a way I had grown used to it and grown to accept it. In my new life I accepted it as an integral part of my way of being, how could I share my way of life with anyone when if they knew they would want to hunt me down like vermin. In the end, though, the isolation, the lack of any type of conversation, drove me to seek out companionship.

In ten years I had not been able to find another like myself. Throughout London's highways, streets and alleyways I had never found another like myself. In the end, I decided to do what Emily had done all those years before; make my own companion.

I found Maurice servicing a Guardsman deep in the thickest of bushes in Hyde Park, in the early hours of a Sunday morning. Maurice seemed desperate and hurried, shamed-facedly kneeling there in the mud. I followed him home, (after I fed on the arrogant Guardsman) and from there I followed his life as best I could - during the darkness hours of his life.

He was a Draper's Assistance, living in lodgings in North Camden and hating his life. He was an outsider and seemed to be lost, adrift in the world around him. He had no friends, kept himself very much to himself - working, sleeping and searching for other men on the heaths and in parks of London. Yet beneath it all, I grew to suspect, then grew to know, that he was looking for a companion - in a way that I was.

Late one evening I followed Maurice into Hyde Park again. It was obvious what he was looking for but that night I decided to make my move.

Quietly I walked along the secluded park path, shadowing Maurice as he went searching for another man. When I thought my moment was right, I quickened my pace, I also changed the pattern of my pace so that my feet actually made a noise on the ground as I walked. Quickly I closed the space between us, Maurice was idly walking along. As I drew level with him I asked him:

"Would you like some company?"

"What?"

His face turned towards me, a blank expression on it for a moment, only to be replaced with an expression of distaste.

"You? Why would I want to waste a moment on you?"

"Because I can give you the most exciting moment of your little life."

"I don't believe you. Your type is all words."

"No, I am not."

Before he could say a word of reply, make an answer or objection, I grabbed him by the throat and in one fast movement pushed him into the dark bushes. It only took me a moment's work to make Maurice like myself - I acted on instinct, as if Emily had sown knowledge directly into my subconscious.

Afterwards Maurice simply stood there, staring at me with wildly intense eyes and muttering:

"Bloody marvellous. Bloody, bloody marvellous. Marvellous."

Maurice took to this life very well, too well in fact. Maurice showed no repulsion or even distaste about seeking out prey. He appeared to enjoy it far more than simply feeding. He would often kill two or three prey per night, far more than he needed to feed, often taking a thrill and pleasure simply from the kill.

One night, as we made our way back to my home, before we were caught by the coming dawn, I asked him about his enjoyment in killing. His reply was brief:

"Those bastards kept me down all my life, now it's my chance for vengeance. It tastes good."

The coldness in his voice was like a wind with the edge of winter in it. It chilled me to the core, me a creature without any natural heat within me. I realised, at that moment, how dangerous Maurice was, especially to my safety. Maurice was killing prey not only to feed but out of revenge and enjoyment. He did not wait to kill prey only when he needed to feed. He killed for the pleasure of it, the revenge for his former life. He left a trail of killing behind him; he certainly did not bother to carefully hide the bodies of his prey - as I always did

I knew then that I must do something about him, because if he got himself caught he would drag me down along side him. I had to protect myself.

Two nights later I left Maurice alone. He was hunting out prey through Covent Garden, hunting down and killing the rich as they left the theatre. I slipped away easily, he was far more occupied with his hunt to notice me. I returned home and supervised the men who moved my belongings to a mews house I had rented in Earls Courts. I left nothing behind me, certainly not a forwarding address.

I heard of Maurice’s fate only a month later, it made a momentary splash across the Sunday Scandal Sheets. He was caught standing over the dead body of a young man, a well-dressed gentleman. They threw him into a police cell, to face the magistrates in the morning. The police cell they put him in had a window, with no covering, which had a view of the sunrise. All they found, that next morning, was a cell full of burnt ashes.

There was nothing to trace Maurice to myself. I know because no one came searching for me in connection with him, though that gave me no relief.

<><><>

My second and, until meeting Toby, last attempt at trying to find a companion was over sixty years after my time with Maurice. It took me that length of time to recover from the horror that had been my time with Maurice.

It was the year nineteen hundred and sixty-six. "Swinging London", as the popular press of the time chose to call it, was alive with a kaleidoscope of life. I had recently moved into my Bermondsey town house, quietly avoiding the other tenants there.

London was thronging with people, many of them had moved here from the provinces in search of a better life and a taste of the "permissive society", and no one knew where they were. Prey was easy for me to find, though I was as cautious as I have always been.

I met Stephen, my second attempt at finding a companion, at a party in a rundown Hampstead house - a "happening" the girl who opened the door to me called it. My good looks, as so often in my past, had secured me entrance - but this time no invitation was required.

There it was, a house full of young men and women dressed in bright and elaborate clothes, dancing to loud music in rooms only light by single red light bulbs. Most of them were so intoxicated on wine or drugs they appeared hardly to know where they were, let alone who I was. I quickly found prey - an empty headed young woman who wanted to "make love" with me because I looked so "unworldly". She actually led me up to a room at the top of the house, were we could be alone. I left her body hidden away at the back of a cupboard full of fancy clothes. It was all too easy at times.

I found Stephen, sitting alone, out in the unkempt garden. He looked like a forlorn Shakespearean hero, sitting there in the moonlight on the wild grass. In that single moment I first saw him I lost my heart to Stephen, what I call my heart, and knew I had to have him as my companion.

Quietly I walked towards him and sat myself down on the unkempt lawn, next to him. We sat there for a long, drawn out moment in silence, a silence that was brimming full of anticipation.

"Hello," I said.

"Hi," he said in a flat tone.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" I asked him.

"No. I hate this silly thing. I only came here because he wanted to and now he's doing it one to that blonde-haired bitch."

"Who is he?"

"Kenny, we share a room, we’re up at University together."

"You like Kenny?"

"He doesn't like me, not like that… I don't fit in here. I haven't got the right tastes."

"What tastes do you have?" I ask him.

"I'm a damn queer!" He spat the words out as if they burnt his mouth.

"So am I," I said quietly.

He turned to look at me for the first time and I was able to appreciate his beautiful face. Two deep brown eyes stared at me, framed by long and sweeping lashes, out of a pale face. The features of his face were delicate, high defined cheekbones, perfectly curved eye sockets and a thin nose all in imperfect proportion. His whole face framed by waves of soft brown hair, falling down past his shoulders.

"I could take you away to somewhere I know where you will not be out of place," I told him.

"Where?" His voice jumped with emotions, but emotions I found difficult to read.

"My home."

"Why?"

"Because you're very beautiful."

He stared back at me with his beautiful brown eyes wide with surprise and disbelief - I must have been the first one on this earth to tell him this. But he agreed to return home with me, slowly nodding his head.

We took a taxi to my home in Bermondsey. As we drove through London's busy streets Stephen came alive. He talked away, in an animated voice, about his life. He was a History student, on a scholarship, at the influential University College of London. He lived in a house with seven other male students, all of them crowding in upon each other, no privacy to be found there. He even had to share a bedroom with another boy. There was only part of having to share a room that was an actual enjoyment; it was with Kenny - a boy he was infatuated with. Seeing Kenny at such close and intimate quarters daily yet being unable to even look openly at him, never to reach out and touch Kenny, was tarring at him. Being in my presence appeared to give him the release to talk about his emotions. As I listened to him talk, I felt my head swim with my own emotions. I wanted to protect Stephen and to give him a new release of living, companionship and a path free from his worldly worries.

Once we were safely within my home, the doors locked firmly behind us, I turned to Stephen and said:

"Please undress, I want to look at your body."

"Certainly," Stephen replied coyly.

As he slowly undressed, unaware of how erotic his slightly shy dis-robbing was, I realised the power I exerted over him (I know the power I have to seduce, it has been my method of securing my prey all these years, but before Stephen I did not know the sheer power of my seduction).

When Stephen was naked, I was still fully clothed, his beautiful and lean body fully displayed before my eyes, I said:

"I was right, you are truly beautiful."

"Thank-you," he said, his voice full of shyness but his eyes alive with pleasure and pride.

"I want you to stay with me forever and ever."

"Thank-you," he said, this whole face filling with that pride and pleasure.

I walked slowly towards him, savouring the glow of pleasure that seemed to be radiating from Stephen. When I reached him I gently placed my hands on his slender neck. He smiled up at me.

"This way you can stay with me forever."

I bite deeply into his neck.

Afterwards Stephen lay, slumped on the floor hardly moving at all. At first I thought I had gone too far, drank too deeply, and taken all the life from him, but soon I saw those tell-tale signs that he was becoming like myself.

I had observed Maurice for a long time, searching out as many areas of his life as I was able to, making sure he was an ideal companion, before I approached him. Even with all that preparation Maurice had been a failure. With Stephen I chose to act on instinct, to choose him as a companion and introduced him to this way of life all in the space of the night I met him.

Stephen appeared surprised at his new life, surprised that this life even existed - he thought it was merely legends. I had much to explain to him but there was only a short period of time before sunrise, so I was only able to tell him the barest of things.

We slept away the day together, as we had to, hidden in the darkness of the windowless room within my bedroom I’d had especially built for this sole purpose.

The next night I took Stephen hunting for prey - I had so much to tell him and yet for many of the things it was easier to show him. To begin with we simply wandered through the city together. Even at night this city is alive, teeming with people and activity. As we wandered through it, Stephen kept telling me how he had never seen this side of the city. Then came the time to feed, Stephen was becoming visibly weaker (beings so new to this life he did not have my stamina).

Our prey was easy to find, a man wandering through Soho. He was obviously a suburbanite up in the city looking for a "wild time". I quickly followed him down one of Soho's many dark alleys where we both fed on him. Stephen seemed to act on instinct and hunger, though he appeared reluctant to begin with (he categorically would not help dispose of our prey once it was over).

Afterwards, as we made our way back to Bermondsey (I always enjoy that walk home through the city after a successful hunt), Stephen was very silent and withdrawn - he hardly even answered me, hardly even said anything at all.

When we reached my home, I tried to talk with him about this life but he would hardly answer me. He kept trying to dismiss what I said or merely answered with monosyllable words. He appeared shocked at exactly what he had to do now he was part of this life.

Finally, though, we have to sleep because dawn was fast approaching. Stephen was reluctant to sleep but I was able to persuade him of the need to, the need to protect ourselves and the danger dawn brings.

When I woke that night, I was unable to find Stephen. At first, I thought he had simply woken before me. With no small degree of worry I began to look quietly for him throughout the house. I only began to be concerned when I could not find him anywhere in my flat or the communal areas of the house. My search, though, soon came to an end when I finally went out into the tiny garden at the back the house, to which only I had access to. There I found Stephen, or what was left of Stephen. His body had been reduced down to fine white ash, which formed a husk of his former self. All that was left of Stephen was a statue, in his exact form, made solely of fine white ash, sitting on the paving stones, with legs crossed.

The statue lasted only until I reached out to touch its check, whereupon it collapsed in upon itself, a pile of fine ash to be blown away by the night breeze.

On the paving stones, only a short distance away from Stephen's remains, was a scrap of paper upon which he had written me a short message. The letter told me he did love me but he was unable to face the necessities of living this life - most importantly he felt unable to kill prey to survive. So, while I remained sleeping, in the last moments of the night, he come down here to the garden, sat on the paving stones and waited for the dawn.

I stood there, that scrap of paper in my hand, the ash that had been Stephen falling at my feet, a scream of desperation ringing around inside my head but no sound coming from my lips.

I did not hunt for prey for weeks upon weeks after that. Only a desperate hunger drove me out of the house, one night, to end my fast.

<><><>

The night was cold and damp. The air-hung heavy with moisture and the potential for rain seemed to be only slightly behind it.

I had been out hunting, found my prey easily and early in the evening, which had left me plenty of hours to myself. When this happens, I will usually wander through the city, enjoying the sights of this metropolis that never appeared to sleep. Instead that evening I decided to go to the club Toby so often frequents.

The club was full of men, the atmosphere heavy with sexual tension and desire, so heavy then it seemed to push against the walls of the building. I admit I was tempted to feed again, the sexual atmosphere there moistened my appetite. I had fed only hours before and taking risks, such as feeding in that club, would only lead to my destruction so I pushed my appetite down. (They had found the body of the blonde boy I had fed on weeks before and were still searching for whoever did it. I could not afford to take any further risks for a long time yet) Instead I stepped back and watched what was happening before me in the club.

It did not take me long to find Toby there. As before, I found him upon the dance floor, dancing alone. I watched him, from the safety of the shadows, for the rest of the night until he left alone, hours before dawn, to walk home.

Following him without being observed was an easy thing for me to do, second nature to me. All my years of hunting prey I have become so skilled at walking silently in the shadows. With Toby, in the early hours of the morning, there was no risk of him seeing me.

With Maurice I had taken time to know all I could about him before introducing him to this life; with Stephen I acted upon impulse and attraction alone. Both were failures as companions. With Toby it had to be different, I had grown to know him and I had allowed him to grow to know me, or one side of me. He was a social outcast as myself and yet gentle with it, he had to be my perfect companion, I only had to be careful and choose the right moment.

As he turned a corner, into a dark ally, without any benefits of street lighting, that lead into our own Bermondsey street, I noticed we were not alone.

A woman, with deep red hair, was also following Toby, but by the way she stalked him she seemed unaware of my presence because her full attention was on Toby. Also, by the way she moved, clinging to the shadows and moving carefully, made me suspect her. It was only when Toby was walking unaware along the ally that my suspicions were confirmed. She covered the distance from one side of the road to the other in the blink of an eye. I knew then she was one of my own kind (the first time I had meet a member of my own kind since I last saw Emily, over one hundred years ago), I also knew she was hunting Toby.

In the blinking of an eye I am standing next to her, that deep red hair gripped tightly in my hand, and I dragged her head back by it.

"Leave him alone, he's mine,” I hissed in her ear.

"Fuck off, I'm hungry," she spat at me.

I dragged her head back further by her hair and pushed it against the ally's wall.

"I said, leave him alone or I'll break your neck and rip your heart out!" I growled into her face.

"Bastard, you don't own around here," her voice was harsh, I actually detected a note of fear in it.

"I do. I am older, wiser and stronger than you," I told her and felt her body go limp as the fight went out of her.

"He's gone anyway," she hissed back at me.

"Good," I said and let her hair slip form my hand and therefore let her free, she stumbled away from my grasp.

"Bastard! I'll have you!" She spat back at me and then was gone in the blinking of an eye; I saw a glimpse of her disappearing around the end of the road.

In the blinking of an eye I was at the other end of the ally. From there I saw Toby safely unlocking the front door to the house and entering it.

<><><>

Two nights later came the first warning signs from that red-haired woman. In that darkened ally, where I stopped her from feeding on Toby, they found the body of a man, his throat cut and no blood left in his body. She had left the body of one of her prey almost on my doorstep, as a warning.

A week later she actually left the body of another of her prey on the pavement of my own street.

Suddenly my area of Bermondsey was alive with police hunting for a madman who had left those bodies, their throats cut and drained of their blood, out on the streets. I knew I had to stay hidden, even though all my instincts told me to hunt down that red-haired woman and carry out my threat to break her spine and rip her out her heart. Unfortunately, I was not able to even attempt this, for I did not want to come to the same end as Maurice. As the police searched across the whole district I stayed safely hidden within my own home, never venturing outside of it. If I did not go outside of my home, if I did not hunt for prey, I would not be caught.

<><><>

After nearly three weeks of a self-imposed hermit like life, and near three weeks of self-imposed fasting, hunger finally drove me out of my home (in those three weeks that red haired woman had not left any more of her prey near my home. The police's interest seemed to have faded away and, I supposed, so had her's).

As I walked through the back streets of Soho, hunting out both prey and a safe place I could dispose of them, a man actually approached me. He might have been mildly handsome but, probably many years before, he had turned his features over to a hard and tough exterior. Short black hair, a heavy scowl on his small-featured face, thick neck and thick body covered in dull clothes.

"Want trade mate?" The hard-featured man said to me, his eyes barely meeting my own.

"What did you say?" I asked him.

"You know, trade," he said, still not looking me directly in the face. "Look you can suck my dick for fifty quid. You can wank yourself as you do it, I don't give a fuck, but I ain't touching you. I ain't queer like you and you try anything queer I'll kick your head in. So do you want it?"

My instinct was to break his neck there and then. His arrogance and contempt tasted bitter in my mouth, yet he was also asking for payment from me as if I was pathetic and desperate. Yet at exactly the same moment the thought leaped into my mind that he would also be good as prey, not readily missed by anyone and he would certainly kill the hunger in me.

"Yes," I said.

"Got anywhere to go? There's nowhere quiet around here and I've got the girlfriend at my place."

"Yes, but we'll have to take a taxi there."

"You'll pay it though," he finally looked me in the face as he spoke. His eyes were cold and empty in appearance, yet his jaw appeared clean-shaven.

"Naturally" I replied.

In the taxi to my home he did not say a word to me, he did not even look in my direction once. He stared out of the taxi's window as we rushed through the night streets, as if trying to memorise the exact route of our journey. I did look at him, though, but all I could think of was how he would cure my hunger.

Once inside my home, the front door closed behind him, he walked across my sitting room and then turned to face me, a snarling expression on his face, and said:

"I want me money first. I ain't being ripped off by no fuckin’ queer. I want it now.”

"Take all your clothes off," I said coldly.

"What? Who the fuck are you?" He snarled at me.

In a blinking of the eye I had moved across the room, grabbed hold of his flesh covered neck and throw his body hard against the wall.

"You little piece of scum," I hissed into his face. "I am going to kill you but first of all you are going to entertain me."

"Please don't hurt me, please, please," he whimpered, suddenly all the arrogance had washed out of him.

I stepped back from him, easing my hold on his neck, but I still did not move far from him, well within striking distance. For a moment he glanced towards me, a flash of arrogance again in his eyes but all the action I had to take was to flex my hand once and that arrogance washed away.

Quickly he stripped away his clothes, pulling off obviously cheap clothing, until he stood naked before me. His skin was white, not even pale but white as raw meat. His body had bulk but no muscle, it spoke of sloth not strength. His genitals were small, shrunken into his body. He was a pathetic sight before me.

"Please mister, don't hurt me," again he whimpered. "I've got a girlfriend and a little boy. I've got to support them, it's what's right. Please don't hurt me. I'm sorry mister."

"Shut-up and do what I tell you!" I snapped back at him.

"W-what?"

"I am bored with you already so you are going to die."

"No, please…"

He was unable to finish whatever pathetic sentence he was trying to speak because I snatched hold of his chin and with equal force smashed his head back against the wall. Quickly I followed this by sinking my teeth deeply into his fleshy neck and drinking deeply from him.

His blood rushed into my mouth and quenched the hunger clawing away inside of me. I drank and drank and drank, pulling the warm nourishment from him. I almost drank for too long, but I was too skilled to take that risk. Like a thousand times before I withdrew my mouth at the last moment and let his lifeless body fall at my feet.

I rested for a long moment, the warm afterglow from feeding washing through my body. I felt alive and full of energy, the feeling I could take upon anything and succeed, as I always did once I had fed after a long fast. But I pushed down those feelings because I had to concentrate on the hours ahead of me.

My prey's body lay, naked, upon my sitting room floor and I had to dispose of it very carefully. I very rarely brought prey home to feed on them but the times I had done previously I had always been careful to dispose of them. This prey I would have to be especially careful with. The police's interest may have faded but I did not want to reawaken it.

As my mind was working over how I was going to dispose of my prey there came a loud commotion out in the street, several voices shouting and the sound of running feet. Then came a loud hammering at my door and Toby's voice, heavy with panic, calling out my name.

Quickly I went to answer my front door, closing the sitting room door behind me, hiding all signs of my prey's body.

I opened the door on a very animated Toby, his voice pouring out words and his hands and arms wildly illustrating them.

"Oh God you've got to help. We've gone and found another one of those bodies. Right on our doorstep this time. Her throat cut but there's no blood or anything. It's horrible, I want to vomit."

"Calm yourself Toby. What can I do for you?" I kept my voice level though a fist of pure ice had seized me inside, gone was the rush of energy from feeding. She, that red haired woman, had actually left her latest prey on my very doorstep, and of all people Toby had been the one to find it. It felt like disaster was rapidly rushing towards me.

"I've got to use your phone to get the police," Toby babbled. "Julian, the moron, forgot to pay the bill and our phone has been cut off this morning. I've got to use your phone."

Suddenly, without any warning, Toby pushed past me and rushed into my sitting room. In the blinking of an eye I was behind him but I was too late to stop him.

Toby stood over the body of my naked prey.

"Toby?" I spoke gently.

He spun around, almost pivoting on his very own axis, to face me.

"Oh God it's you!" He screamed, his face white with fear.

Before I could explain to him the events of the night, before I could even whisper his name, he pushed past me and ran straight out of my flat.

I could have chased after him in the blinking of an eye, I could have made him my companion there and then, I could even have feed upon him as prey until his last moment, but I choose not to. Instead I simply sat down on one of my armchairs and waited. Waited for Toby to raise an alarm, waited for the police to arrive, waited for the dawn.

The look of horror and repulsion on Toby's face had broken my spirit. The look of horror and revulsion had not been at seeing my prey's body but at the realisation of who I was. I had lost him.

Over a hundred years I have been searching for a companion to share this life with, but at every turn I have failed. I was cursed to be alone, even my own kind repulsed me, yet my loneliness pressed down on me like a hundred-ton weigh.

I sat there simply waiting. I listened to the sounds of commotion out in the street. Dawn was still hours away so it would be the police who would arrive here first.