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July 15, 2024

Bohemian Morning 06

By Lydia Manx

Chapter Six

Fred continued his ranting, "Where the hell are those asses? Don't want the bitch to be disappointed by those half-assed jerks. I owe her one. And I got one for her right here." From the smug laugh I knew he grabbed his pathetically bruised dick. I'd make sure to show him his penis before I let him die. I was nothing if not accommodating when it suited me.

"Fuck you, Fred. My hands are probably broken. If I wasn't so drunk, I probably would be screaming. I am gonna fuck her first." Handsy boy had high dreams for sure. Fred's laughter rang out into the night air and his next comment was actually sorta clever.

"Who's going to put your pathetic dick in her for you? Huh? You think about that?"

Yeah, that was going to be a problem. Bad liquor aside they had to have helped his broken ass up the tree, so he really was going to figure out who his friends were quickly. Shoving a drunk man up into a kids' playhouse was one thing but helping him fuck an unwilling stranger was a whole new level of friendship. Thankfully, I would solve those and other pesky problems for him that he'd not even thought of yet. By the time I was done with these guys the mouth of hell would be looking good.

From outside the worn-out fort I listened to the guys who were laughing and chugging whatever kind of obnoxious beverages that came with twist off caps that they'd picked up on their way down into the canyon. I decided to join them before they grew too wasted to be afraid of me. I really wanted to taste their fears before I got to drink their blood. For that alone I was due all the time I could carve off their flannel covered asses. That and I knew without even delving into their minds that they'd raped and worse many woman and girls in the fort. I could smell the fear that soaked into the wood and the very tree itself. Like jackals they preyed on the injured and weak. They slunk through life slipping roofies into bar drinks, yanking girls out from dance clubs and sketchy parties near the college; I knew that these men had caused pain and suffering wherever they went. They didn't care and definitely were due some karma and I was happy to be the weapon delivering my brand of street justice.

Ignoring the wooden steps hammered into the tree I slithered around to the other side of the tree and leaped up to a large branch that served to support the base of the structure. The dad who built his kid the hide-away must've been a carpenter or engineer because that fort was built to last and my cat-like pounce up into the v-shaped tree didn't even wiggle the trunk or the branch. In the place of windows, the original builders had cut port holes and slats, leaving the main entrance as the only way in and out on first glance. My second glance went to the roof and I saw a possibility for sneaking in unseen. I really didn't want to wait for them to drink themselves unconscious, though that was an option. Vampires didn't get drunk from liquor either in a glass or tapping a vein, but it didn't exactly enhance the experience. In fact, drunk blood tasted rancid to me. Especially cheap ass drunks, the toxicity of the bad liquor permeating the lush flavor of rich, healthy blood, tainting the quality of a feeding.

Lifting myself up to a branch above the roofline I froze as one of them said, "Hey, did you hear that?"

"Hear what, dude? You like think it's Pauly coming?" The voice speaking was nearly unrecognizable as alcohol had definitely rearranged words and he sounded blurred as only the utterly drunk can do. The meter was off, and the emphasis on the syllables didn't quite match up to Webster's explanation of English words spoken that were heavily slurred. I don't think it was Fred or handsy boy so that left fuckwit number four, I think. I didn't much care which one it was, just that nobody would get the notion to leave the fortress and actively search for the source of noise. Not that I thought any of them were sober enough to look upwards, but life was funny at times. And most definitely not funny 'ha ha' either.

Sure what'd been enough on the top of the fort had suffered throughout the years of weathering and I could see there were sapling sized branches growing in from the cracks and crevices in the walls upwards causing the roof to be broken and fractured open exposing the interior to the elements and my prying eyes. The three men weren't sober enough to move much more than their mouths and hands. All were sitting on the floor with their legs splayed out in front like toddlers. The furnishings were cast off bits from a local curbside trash day. A broken end table with bricks supporting an uneven leg coupled with a scratched and dinged up coffee table that now had the various half full bottles taking refuge alongside dingy red solo to-go cups serving as ashtrays for their past and present encounters. Directly beneath me was a ragged old queen-sized mattress with large unidentifiable, dark moldy stains and torn up edges. Not the luxurious paradise where anyone rational, or sober, would seek sanctuary near as I could see. None of the men bothered to attempt standing to see if Pauly or William were actually attempting to reach them while hauling me, supposedly conscious and gagged I would assume was their normal mode of operation. Instead handsy boy muttered something about needing to take a piss.

"Fred, fuck me. I gotta pee like a mother-fucking racehorse. Help me up, ok?" Were his precise mumbled words. Both men cringed physically from him while taking a bottle off the coffee table swigging briskly from the neck of the green bottle not bothering to even wiped off their spit between sips. Real charmers, I could tell.

Fred did not raise his ass from the dirty wooden floor but instead brayed out in amusement at his buddy's problem.

"Damn, Karl, it sucks to be you, huh?"

Ah, that cleared up handsy boy's name. Karl. Yeah, like I even cared.

My meals didn't need to be identified for me to enjoy, but it helped when softening them up before I fanged into their necks. Okay, I admit that I liked to play with my food. The terror that laced the blood was euphoric for me, and for most vampires. Some actually preferred their meals horrified and utterly frightened before supping. The Hollywood set liked to plant the image of lust- and love-filled vampires sipping from their 'one true love' whilst promising eternal life as a soulmate. I stifled a giggle at that erroneous notion. A few malicious vampires played at love with the cattle, but come on, nobody really wanted the competition for food. We were fairly solitary because we were predators. We didn't like to change humans into vampires because it was forbidden to create your own clan. Not like "pay a fine" or "get a slap on the wrist" forbidden but taken into a desert and staked out to die at the very least. There were worse deaths, but minimally the staking. And it wasn't cinematic event where a maiden or hero came to the vampire's aid and rescued them seconds before they died. No, it was ghastly and horrific while observed and filmed by more than one enforcer.

Yes, we had snuff films. Social media was trending in the Dark Web with private sites delivering proof of enforcers' action. Email notices went out to Masters letting everyone know what was posted. These weren't like e-invites to a party that one simply ignored until it suited a Master to reply. These were quite literally command performances and as such, you ignored them at your own peril, and possibly being targeted as next to die for such an infraction of the enforcers' rules. Vampires had centuries of pain and cruelty in their bag of tricks to pull from, and a certain dark enjoyment of such events that was legendary inside vampire clans and courts.

The whole "celebrity influencers" hosted by humans didn't even begin to touch the craven, insane creatures who flooded the Web with atrocities beyond R-rated movies and slasher, teenage horror films. Vying for reputations and followers with nearly the same fixation as a twenty-something Instagram poster. Explicit was the least of the darkness shown on computers or movie screen -- no, think Dante as a human messenger to the dark souls and torments that were literally carved into minds and bodies -- that was posted for everyone to watch and judge. The rough part was after a few decades, it all became banal and common. Nothing new under the sun or moon. But even regular vampires were expected to watch the videos sent by enforcers -- pop quizzes weren't uncommon during inquisitions.

The men didn't bother getting off their asses while looking at the cloth-covered opening anticipating my arrival. They were soon grumbling all about William and Pauly's delay and Karl had stumbled onto his knees screaming when unintentionally he landed on his probably broken hand and fingers. The pain shot through him temporarily halting his need to pee and sobering him up at the same time. His brain started to focus as the pain cleared his mind.

"Fred, they should be here already." Karl's voice lilted upwards a bit, as if it were a question, but in reality, it was a cold hard statement. His two companions were too clouded by liquor to realize what he was saying, but instead they treated it like a joke and began punching each other on the arms and laughing. Fun, frolicking sociopathic humor.

"Damn, I bet William has her bent over a tree and is giving it to her." Fuckwit three mumbled and snatched up a bottle. Fred laughed and said, "Yeah-she's probably getting it hard for William." Tipping it towards his face, his mouth gaped open and he missed, pouring most of the bottle over him chin and onto his chest, the livid scratch on his face flushed bright with blood. Laughing his eyes shot open as he saw me perched above looking right at them. It took a minute for him to process what he was seeing, but I could see the second his befuddled mind decoded the visual input.

Wagging my forefinger back and forth in a 'no-no' motion I quickly tore the roof off and popped into the middle of their social circle. Fuckwit three hadn't uttered a word when I reached over and smacked the bottle straight back into his face. The cheap bottle actually stayed fully intact, but his face really didn't. Following it with a good kick completed my hello and he fell backwards out of commission for the moment. Blood was being wasted as it flowed over his cheeks onto the already disgusting floorboards. Oh well, more to play with first so instead of crying over spilt blood I turned to Karl and Fred smiling with fangs extended.

"Doesn't look like I am bent over a tree, now does it, Fred?" My smile made them lose theirs, still not knowing the other moron's name I just smiled wider. I also noted they turned amazingly pale as the blood drained from their formerly flush faces. Also, they had sobered up almost as if they'd never had a single beer, much less a couple bottles of malt liquor. Nobody had uttered a sound so far. I knew perfectly well that would change and then all the screaming and running would start.

"Wait? Aren't you that bitch from the bar? Hey, where's William? Pauly?" Karl babbled out and I simply backhanded the man into a prone position. And yeah, he did land face first onto his damaged hands. Two for one stroke as it were, and he crumpled into his default ball position sobbing -- not even a scream. I have to say I was a bit disappointed, but I could be overwhelming ... or so I'd been told in my past.

Article © Lydia Manx. All rights reserved.
Published on 2020-12-21
Image(s) © Lydia Manx. All rights reserved.
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