The Vampire Eirik

by Alex Stargazer

  The Vampire Eirik

  ALEX STARGAZER

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019 Alexandru Bujorianu. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed without the author’s written permission.

  Cover art by Hampton Lamoureux.

  This is a work of fiction: all persons, places, descriptions and products are the work of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to existing products, places, or persons are purely incidental and are used fictitiously. For more information, go to alexstargazer.com.

  A Note On Norwegian Pronunciation

  In this book, you will occasionally see bits of Norwegian—the book is set there after all. But don’t worry! All those strange, foreign letters you see will be magically revealed…

  Ø: This strange little O (properly referred to as ‘Latin capital letter O with stroke’ by the boffins) turns the sound from an ‘Ohhh…’ like that of a child whose broken her mother’s five grand violin (don’t worry: she hasn’t really), to that of a short ‘u’. You know, the kind of U a strangled kitten might make?

  Å: This particular nugget (who the boffins refer to as ‘Latin capital letter A with ring’—I hope you’re getting the gist of this?) turns the sound from an ‘ay’ like nay, to that of a short O, like what a normal O should sound like…

  Ä: Don’t worry, you won’t have to bother with this particular character—it belongs to the bastard cousin of Nowegian, Swedish. But can you guess what it’s called?

  Ö: This one sounds sort of like ‘eo’ into one. German speakers should be familiar with the sound. Oh wait, you don’t speak German…?

  Æ: A and E into one. A bit like Gaelic, y’a know?

  Hopefully, that will have cleared up most of your questions. Wasn’t that so much more fun than learning French ever was? Wait! You don’t speak French? Relax: I don’t envy you… (Mutters something incoherently about learning languages nowadays in schools.)

  Anyway, have a nice read. If you find it boring, well… go shoot someone, okay?

  —Alex Stargazer, secret member of the Literati.

  Dedication

  To Miss Pike, my English teacher from many an ages past: thank you for inspiring my passion for words (and teaching me English!) This book could not exist without you.

  Chapter One: Turen

  I put on my hiking clothes: the warm, thinsulate skiing coat; the waterproof, efficient trousers; and of course, the boots. Although synthetic, they looked exactly like leather (only sturdier and more practical).

  The stairs of the flat—a modern, elegant building, typical of Norway—blurred underneath me. Soon, I was outside, the forest possessing me in its warm embrace; the towering mountains, looking as majestic as they always did.

  I sighed, looking at their snow-capped peaks. One of the main reasons I decided to study here in Trondheim was because of the beautiful scenery (and the lack of tuition fees, as well).

  Now, I’m studying electrical engineering—not mysticism, religion, or cryptozoology. Never did I expect that I would meet the creature of my dreams.

  Eirik, who I now await, is a vampire.

  Most people would be shocked at that revelation. I was speechless when I found out. Even then, I still only half believed that such a creature could exist. I certainly didn’t expect him to be the nice guy sitting next to me…

  ***

  The world around me spun slightly; I didn’t keep track of how much I had drunk, but it was a lot. I was in the pub—the word originates from Norwegian, supposedly— with Eirik beside me. He was a tall, heavily built man, even by Norwegian standards. He was so big, in fact, that many of my other friends referred to him as ‘the Bull’. His eyes were a dark, azure blue, like the depths of the sea. His hair was matte and black, reflecting the dull light above—it complemented the black jeans and t-shirt he wore, despite the weather.

  I never thought anything of it then. In hindsight, it was such a big giveaway: Norwegians were far too sensible to wear T-shirts on a cold November day. They have a saying, Det finnes ikke dårlig vær, bare dårlige klær, which translates to: “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing.”

  I motioned towards the bartender for another drink. Before he could pour me another one, however, Eirik intervened.

  ‘Servitør, don’t you think my friend has had enough?’ he asked, speaking English for my benefit. Not that it would have made much of a difference, drunk as I was.

  The man—who was tall, yet still dwarfed by Eirik—pursed his lips. He reluctantly went to serve the next customer.

  Eirik helped me out of the pub. He had to practically carry me to avoid having me fall over. Responsibility had never been my thing, but there was no doubt this was my worst. It didn’t help that alcohol cost an arm and a leg in this country: the government levied extortionate taxes on drink, to prevent the kind of behaviour I was indulging in right now.

  Not that it worked particularly well for me. It seemed like the thousands of pounds I saved going to study here was being thrown out the window through binge-drinking. But why should I be surprised? You can take a Scouse out of Liverpool, but you can’t take Liverpool out of the Scouse.

  It didn’t take us long to arrive at Eirik’s car. He had drunk too—maybe just as much as I did—but he didn’t seem affected anywhere near as much as me. I was too drunk to see the strangeness of that.

  His car was a large, black coupé; I recognised it as a Mercedes S-class (I’ve always loved cars) though my vision was spinning a little too much to appreciate it further than that. I knew Eirik’s family was wealthy, but this was proper rich.

  ‘Are you taking me home?’ I asked, hoping my words didn’t slur unduly.

  ‘No, I think I’ll take you to my place. I don’t want you walking home alone, with the way you are.’

  I tried to protest, to say that I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself, but then I fell asleep.

  I didn’t know how long had passed when I awoke. All I knew was that I had a roaring headache, like a lorry had just gone over me and reversed for good measure.

  Underneath me, there was a large bed, which was comfortable, although I had no desire to stay in it much longer. The room was dark, though the steady blinking of electronic lights allowed me to find the door.

  I wandered past various doors, looking for a kitchen. Water was what I needed—I felt desperately thirsty, probably because of the alcohol. Fortunately, Eirik’s house wasn’t too large, and I soon found what I was looking for.

  Even in the vague light, I could see how contemporary the interior was: the counters were of polished granite; there were gleaming chrome fittings; and it was built in a fashionable isle construction. I spotted the small door that was the fridge and headed for it.

  Inside, I expected to find water, maybe some fast-food, perhaps a sandwich or two. What normal people had.

  What I didn’t expect was the mounds and mounds of bags. They gleamed under the clinical light of the fridge, clearly illuminating the squishy, red substance inside.

  My screams did not take long to reach Eirik.

  ***

  I shook my head; the memory amused me. Truthfully, I never found the concept of drinking human blood that frightening, but the shock had been incredible. It took me days to start talking to Eirik again. But when I did, he told me a lot about himself and his people.

  Apparently, Eirik had not been turned a vampire—as certain unreliable teen-fiction suggested—but born one. There were entire families of vampires living in Norway and all around the world; they stayed hidden for thousands of years, wary of persecution. That was cool, if somewhat scary.

  But it didn’t stop there. Vampires were said to have existed since
the very first cavemen depicted them—perhaps beyond that, deep into human evolutionary history. Although the exact details of their creation were unknown, theories ranged from ideas about prana and new-age mysticism, to human over-dominance requiring a natural predator.

  Regardless, all vampires were born, and possessed certain characteristics: small, efficient fangs for hunting; taller, heavier builds than normal humans, and far superior physical prowess; and a convenient ability to stand around in Norwegian winter-time in only jeans and a T-shirt.

  Eirik had explained all of this to me as soon as I was calm enough to listen, and made me promise not to tell anyone. Secrecy existed for a reason—many vampires were afraid of how people would react if they discovered there were supernatural predators among them. Hell, if fake news wasn’t bad enough, imagine what kind of headlines vampires would make? I could almost picture what the tabloids would say: “Can you tell who the BLOODSUCKER is?”

  My thoughts were interrupted when Eirik arrived.

  He wore jeans and a T-shirt, as usual, though he had at least decided to wear hiking boots, based on my suggestion.

  He smiled when he saw me; I smiled back. It was no secret we had become good friends since then.

  ‘Hey, Peter, how are you doing?’

  ‘Well matey. You ready for some hiking?’

  He laughed. He still found my Scouser* accent very amusing.

  ‘Of course, of course. Do you want to buy something to eat before you go?’

  Although human food had no taste for him, he still thought of me. Sometimes, it felt like a privilege to know him—to carry his secret, to protect him, in my own small way.

  ‘Yeah, that’s a good idea. But let’s be quick; this weather isn’t worth wasting.’

  The weather was indeed sound: the sky was a piercing blue, untouched by clouds. The day was windless, and the temperature mild; the snow was soft underfoot. Most people thought of Norway as a land of ice and darkness, but in reality, the climate was largely temperate. The rain was what made the weather miserable.

  I walked in tow with him, enjoying the sound of frozen snow crunching under my feet. There was a small shop next to the hiking trail, where people could fill up before they went on the national sport.

  ‘You’re not going to steal anything, are you?’

  I aimed a playful punch at his shoulder. Everyone knew those of us from Liverpool were all thick as thieves, even though I was from a middle-class family.

  ‘Shut up. Besides, every Norwegian carries their matpakke.’

  ‘Oh good, you’re learning! You know,’ he adds teasingly, ‘I have my very own matpakke right here.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare! That’s not funny!’ But I can’t help laughing: Eirik shouldn’t be taken too seriously.

  We found our way to the shop, which was a small, positively quaint building by the standards. We went in, and I walked towards the sandwich counter. A small TV was on the wall, open on NRK1.

  ‘Meteorologer sier at vi er inne på en solskinnsdag, med milde temperaturer.’

  My knowledge of Norwegian was still a bit sketchy, but I could recognise the words ‘solkinssdag’ (a compound word for sunny day) and ‘milde temperaturer’ well enough.

  Eirik translated for me, just in case:

  ‘Metereologists say we should expect a sunny day with pleasant temperatures.’

  ‘I think I got the gist of it, Eirik. It sounds like a perfect day for friluftsliv.’

  ‘You’re on a roll Peter. It does sound like a great time to enjoy the free air life.’

  ‘But if I get tired, will you promise to carry me?’ I wa giving him a silly grin as I said the words.

  ‘Forget it!’ But he was grinning too.

  Me and Eirik left, making our way into the great outdoors (though we didn’t forget to pay for the sandwhiches).

  *Scouser: an informal term to describe people from Liverpool—the primary characteristics are a distinct accent which sounds a bit like an English, Scottish and Scandinavian accent put together; the second is a propensity to stealing.

  ***

  The sun shone brightly, peaking just above the mountains; it lit the glorious landscape around us in golden hues. The mountains were tall, and imposing, their forests scarred by rock; the fjords below were crystalline and cerulean. The forest was a vast swathe of green, silvered by ice crystals, which created faceted reflections on the smooth surface of the water. Birds could be heard chirping, ebullient in the warmth. I could feel my blood pumping from the exercise, distracting me from all the assignments that my teacher liked to pile on me.

  I wondered if Eirik noticed. You would never guess he was a vampire; he seemed like a perfectly normal person, taller and paler than the average Norwegian perhaps, but still. Normal.

  If you looked closer, however, you would see things weren’t quite what they seemed. His breathing was too slow; his eyes, too alert. Even the way he moved, with clear confidence and mastery of his own footsteps, was too unlike the gait of pampered humans.

  I tried to ask him some more questions.

  ‘So, Eirik… how does it feel to be a vampire?’

  ‘How does it feel to be a human?’

  I laughed—it was such a witty, philosophical comeback.

  ‘Good answer. But no, seriously, how do you think you differ from us? From me?’

  ‘Well, you know I’m stronger and more resilient than people are—’

  ‘What, you’re not people?’

  He suddenly paused, realising what he had said.

  ‘No, you’re right. Of course we’re people. But we… have different needs. I don’t just mean in the dietary sense, but emotionally as well. When a human needs comfort, they usually crave touch, and compassion.

  ‘But we’re different. Not that we don’t enjoy touch, but it is too powerful a thing, too sensuous. When a vampire needs comfort, we hunt. We lose ourselves from the constraints of civilisation, and we return to our nature. It feels good; it makes you in control.’

  I grimaced, unable to help it. I made no qualms about my aversion to killing animals—I was a vegetarian. But then, neither would I starve a lion because of its nature.

  He continued on.

  ‘There, you see it? Humans eat meat all the time, yet they squirm if you ask them to kill a chicken. It’s not just hypocrisy—it’s the fact that society has become so accustomed to the processed, behind-closed-doors nature of their food that they no longer think about what they eat.

  ‘To them, meat is just a tasty thing you buy from the supermarket. Not to vampires. For us, drinking blood is inherent to our nature. Oh sure, we use bags too—convenience is a wonderful, and murder is unacceptable.’

  ‘What about… donors?’ I asked, curious to know, but previously too afraid to ask.

  ‘Some exist. Most don’t realise what they are doing—they may think it’s just kinky sex, a sort of Fifty Shades, only with blood. But not all. For some, being bitten is like a drug.’

  ‘Are there any drugs at work?’

  ‘Only their own. Our saliva does not contain any euphorics: anticoagulants, yes, but not endorphins.’

  ‘Why do they like it then?’

  ‘Perhaps some humans, though unable to admit it, really want to be the prey.’

  I shivered. Eirik was very civilised, but his words had touched nerves I didn’t even know I possessed.

  ‘Eirik, one more thing. Does animal blood constitute a food source for you?’

  ‘No. Animal blood is too physiologically different from ours to sustain us for extended periods of time, though we can drink if desperate. And only if desperate.’

  Chapter Two: Snøstorm

  It started off slowly.

  It started off as no more than the mere whisper of a terrible idea. But it was there: in the subtle increase of the breeze, no longer pleasant, but a brutal wind; and it was in the air, which became deathly cold.

  And then the sky opened, and a great avalanche of snow followed it. It was so t
hick, so heavy, that I doubted even Eirik could see through it.

  I blinked, not quite able to believe it. Gone was the tranquil, picturesque landscape: in its place, there was only a veil of harsh Scandinavian winter. I winced as the ice hit my face, melting painfully in my eyebrows and nose.

  I had to shout to be heard through the raging blizzard.

  ‘We should go back!’

  Eirik didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled me below a tree, where the snow was not quite so thick.

  ‘Have you got your map and compass?’

  I took off my bag, which was black and covered in snow.

  ‘Yeah. I’ve got a map of the entire area, plus this compass.’

  The compass in question was a small, cheap-looking thing. It didn’t look like it could get us out of here.

  ‘I can’t see a damn thing!’ Eirik shouted.

  ‘What? For real?’

  I was shocked. He had told me vampires could see extremely well in the dark; that was the main reason vampires didn’t like to go out at day. Yet their eyes were superior in more subtle ways: they could see the tiniest detail, the furthest peak.

  ‘What about smell?’ I asked. I knew his sense of smell was even better than his sight—he could taste the scent of blood from a mile away, and even diagnose human diseases like epilepsy, infection or heart problems.

  ‘It won’t help much.’

  ‘We can stay here!’ I suggested.

  ‘We can’t stay here forever. We don’t know how long this will last. We have to move!’ That was Eirik: pragmatic, smart, and never afraid to confront something. I studied his eyes, so filled with determination, sapphire blue in the light. I glanced at his muscles, granite-hard and strong. (I felt a flash of envy, combined with homoerotic attraction. I squashed it quickly.) I realised that this is a man I could trust; a man who would pull through in the toughest situation. I could follow him anywhere.

  And so, me and Eirik left that burrow under the tree, making our way through the white desert our world had rapidly become.