Silently, he stalks the night in search of his prey. So many young girls were going out at night alone defying the odds that someone like him was lurking in the darkness just waiting to strike. You asked yourself, what will he do when he catches one alone? Is it sex that drives him every night? No, it is the lust of blood and the desire for a companion that he desires. There she is. He has caught glimpses of her for the last several nights, but she always seemed to elude him. He sniffs the air; her blood is intoxicating. He has the feeling of being a first time vampire, not the vampire of two hundred and thirty nine years. The scent of her somehow leaves him weak, but the closer he gets; he’s rejuvenated and the blood lust burns in his veins. She is all alone. He pounces. Fangs sink deep into her throat. He doesn’t see fear in her blazing emerald eye. No not fear, but surprise. He draws on her life giving liquid and she is drained in a matter of moments. His bat wings unfurl and he whisks her off to his resting place under the old log bridge near the river. He moves swiftly, deep into the mountain. He lays her in the coffin he had prepared for his bride, the vampire who will drink with him through eternity. He climbs in beside her just before dawn for their first undead sleep.
Night falls upon another night, but this night he is in no hurry to leave their coffin. She still sleeps and he wonders if he had done something wrong and she is not just sleeping the sleep of the undead, but is actually dead. His fear rises in his throat as a guttural sob escapes his parched lips. Then suddenly her eyes open and a silent scream sticks in her throat. She heard her inner voice erupting in her head. What has he done to me? I have been free of the curse until the moon rises, full in the sky, and only on nights of the full moon am I transformed. She looked down at her hands. Fur covered them. She reached up to touch her face and something had changed. The snout of the werewolf was not there. Her fingers explored her face and then suddenly touched the fangs of a vampire protruding from her slightly parted lips. What had she become? How could it be possible? She was now half werewolf and half vampire. He had taken her nights of freedom and turned her into a being that had not existed until this moonless night. She would no longer walk in the sunlight by day, but would return to this coffin each night. She turned toward him and roared. With her fur clawed paws she ripped him to pieces, leaving him alone in the coffin; she fled into the night. Her lust for blood now doubled and out of control.
He lay in pieces, a hand here and a foot there. How could he have made such a mistake? To attack a werewolf, and bring it back to his coffin. Sure he would heal during the night, but he would have to feast on river rats. He would not feed on warm human blood this night, and maybe never again. She would return at dawn only to rip him to pieces, and most likely keep him bound to this double coffin through all eternity, feeding on rats and snakes, whatever scurried or slithered by his eternal coffin. No beautiful companion to share his lust for blood with, only a shrew that would make being undead complete torture. He was almost completely healed when he heard her roaring as she came on four paws into his once darkened refuge. Her eyes displayed her hatred as she climbed into the deluxe coffin for two. There was blood dripping from her fangs as she stretched forth her claws one last time before they disappeared inside her human flesh and ripped open his throat before lying down beside him to sleep the day away, dreaming of tearing at his flesh the moment the sun went down on another night.
Stalker in the Night
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