Dance Until Dawn

by Berni Stevens

  ‘You must be a very sick person.’ He ignored me. Again.

  He stood up in one swift, graceful movement, dropped his half-finished cigarette to the floor and ground it out with his heel. I ran to the opposite side of the room, and pressed myself against the wall again, my eyes wide and really afraid now. He walked towards me, very slowly, holding his hands up at waist level, palms out. ‘Do not be afraid, little fledgling.’

  A searing pain tore through my stomach at that moment, and I wrapped my arms around myself as nauseous cramps took hold. My body trembled with a violence I couldn’t control and I sank to the damp floor.

  ‘What’s happening to me?’

  ‘Your body needs to adjust to the change.’

  Casually he reached out as though to touch my face.

  I jerked back from his hand. ‘Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me. I want to go home. Let me go home. You have no right to keep me here.’

  He slowly raised both hands again, as though in surrender, but let his arms fall back to his sides as he stepped back away from me. He regarded me with a calm expression. ‘As your maker, I am afraid I have every right.’ His tone froze me again. ‘The last thing this city needs is a young renegade vampire running around, so you have to be contained.’

  I closed my eyes as further spasms attacked my body. Then his words sank into my confused brain.

  ‘Vampire?’

  ‘That is what I said, yes.’

  ‘You really are insane.’

  ‘You could be forgiven for thinking so.’

  I found myself thinking of the body suit again – I really shouldn’t watch horror films, I’m just not brave enough.

  ‘What are you going to do to me?’ I asked against my better judgement.

  ‘Now that really is the question is it not?’ he countered. ‘Several interesting ideas immediately spring to mind, but none I feel like sharing at present.’

  I watched his face. There wasn’t even a flicker of emotion as he answered me, and I felt a chill of fear run through my body again. If this was a dream, now would be a really good time to wake up.

  ‘What is this place?’

  ‘It belongs to me.’

  ‘So you own a chain of dungeons?’

  Amusement flickered briefly across his face as he moved slowly to the opposite end of the room, turning back when he reached the wall. He leaned back against the wall, almost mirroring my own position and sighed as he ran an elegant hand through his hair. For some reason, I suddenly wanted to run my own fingers through that silken mass of hair, and I pushed my hands behind my back, in case the urge took precedence over my more rational feelings.

  ‘Do you know any good plumbers?’ I asked, feeling better with him further away from me.

  He raised a dark brow in question.

  ‘To stop whatever is causing that sound of water.’

  ‘This is an old building,’ he replied. ‘Around two hundred and sixty years old, to be precise, and the cellars are damp. There was no such thing as damp proofing in the Georgian era, therefore, dampness in a house of this age is unavoidable. I apologise if it causes you distress.’

  The stomach cramps chose that moment to return – with a vengeance, and I doubled over in agony. ‘What have you done to me?’

  His voice came now from the darkest shadows. I strained my eyes to see where he’d gone. ‘Only feeding will make the pain cease.’

  I heard myself moan as the pain intensified and became aware that he’d left the room. I don’t know how I knew, because he’d made no sound. But I just did.

  I wondered what drugs he’d injected me with to get me here. I could already be dying. Actually, dying would be better, at least the pain would be gone. That had to be proof I wasn’t dead. Dead people didn’t feel pain, did they?

  Pervert. How many women did he have in his other dungeons?

  He was probably on his way even now to his own home, leaving me trapped somewhere underground where no one would ever find me.

  I went back over to the bed and pulled myself up onto it. Another wave of pain assaulted me, and I closed my eyes as cold tears trickled down my cheeks.

  I didn’t want to die in this damp, dark place.

  I didn’t want to die away from my friends.

  I didn’t want to die …

  10 February

  It has been a few weeks since I have written in this journal. Somehow I feel it is important to record Elinor’s rebirth and progress.

  Unfortunately, I already fear her conversion is going to tread a somewhat rocky path.

  I had watched the fledgling when she struggled her way out of the grave. She looked so small and fragile, and yet she fought like a warrior to free herself from the earth. I felt full of admiration for her tenacity. I have seen many rebirthed vampires in my long existence, but she was among the quickest to emerge from the grave that I have ever witnessed.

  Initially, she asked for my help, but then terror set in, and she ran away like the wind. Alas for her, she could never be swifter than me, and I was already at the cemetery gates when she arrived.

  She ran instinctively to her old home, and I followed. I saw her staring down at me from the upstairs window. Her feeling of terror reached me from where I stood, and I knew she had not yet grasped the fact that she was dead.

  I crossed the road to the house and climbed the stairs to her apartment. Standing in the open doorway, I watched her for a few minutes before she sensed I was there. I knew I would have to be strong, assertive – perhaps even cruel – in order to get her to go with me that night. I did not relish that particular part of my role, but if I once softened, it would all be for nothing.

  She argued and wept, whilst trying to keep a distance between us at all times. She even threw a chair at me – brave for one so young – especially as she was consumed with terror and disbelief. Yet still the relentless time advanced. For her own safety she had to be safely tucked below ground level long before dawn, or I would lose her, not just to the daylight hours, but because her mind would be lost to me. She needed to be asleep soon in order to cope with the first night of the change. If necessary, I would render her unconscious, but I wanted to avoid that, if at all possible.

  Eventually, I resorted to jumping from the second-floor window with her in my arms, in an effort to demonstrate immortality. Unfortunately, that only caused her terror to intensify, but at least we were out of the apartment.

  Luckily for me, the Thirst gripped her when we were outside and she collapsed. I managed to find a cab, using the excuse of inebriation to explain my comatose ‘girlfriend’. She did not awaken even when I carried her downstairs to the cellar. Thus passed the first night of her rebirth, and the first night she has seen me as the monster I truly am.

  11 February

  The sun had almost set when I went back to the cellar. I unlocked the heavy door and slipped inside the room, making sure to lock the door behind me. Security must be paramount, especially for these first uncertain nights.

  After the fledgling’s disorientation with her rebirth last night, I find myself wondering what she will be like tonight. It is not unusual for a new vampire to forget the last few days of its human life. There is, after all, an unprecedented amount of information to take in. First and foremost, the fledgling needs to recognise the terrifying reality of its own death, followed by the undead realisation. It is a lot for a human brain to take in – or rather, a former human brain.

  I know I will have to assert my dominance over her quickly, much as one would in order to train a young animal. I also know she will be terrified and the dismal surroundings of the cellar will not have helped, but I have no choice. She has to be contained for at least four nights, maybe more, and she must be watched over, perhaps even counselled. I have no way of knowing, as yet, how she will reac
t to anything.

  Above all else, I have to keep her safe.

  Once again, I wondered whether I had made the right decision to turn her. The fact that I first saw her more than twelve months ago is somewhat irrelevant now. She was unaware of my existence for much of that time. But I had not been prepared for the horrific accident that very nearly terminated her existence.

  Fate forced my hand, made the decision for me and now there is no way back. I can only hope she will not despise me for it. The world without her presence would have been a dreary place indeed.

  I know I have to be patient, I need to win her trust before I can hope for anything more. Somehow I do not think it is going to be easy.

  I watched as life began to return to her body, and I knew she dreamt in the way only a vampire can. Just before the awakening, when the daylight hours are chased away by night shadows, this is when we dream, and the dreams are rarely pleasant. Sometimes, in the case of fledglings, the dreams take the form of flashbacks from the previous human life. Add to the dreams, the first ravening thirst of the newly fledged, and the reasons for incarceration become apparent.

  I could tell the child’s dream consumed her with terror, and I began to talk to her to bring her out of it. I talked softly, speaking her name, and asked her to return to me – her maker. Our bond should be strong even in these early stages. I knew she would hear me.

  I should have known things would not run smoothly. It has been many decades since I have instructed a fledgling, and I have never before been emotionally attracted to one. In fact, I have not actually made a fledgling for over a century.

  Time really is of the essence, and I have to get her to feed as a matter of some urgency.

  I was somewhat surprised by her behaviour towards me. I had not exactly expected her to fall into my arms with words of undying love, but I was disappointed, to say the least, by her complete lack of any positive feelings. Again, I suppose I feel I already know her well … but she does not remember me.

  At the moment, all she feels is the pain of the Thirst, and anxiety at finding herself imprisoned. I am the person she will trust least, yet, ironically, I am the one she needs the most. She does not know the real reason I made her into one of us, and I cannot tell her – at least, not yet. She will not understand fully until her brain begins to function normally. I can only hope that she responds to feeding.

  Chapter Two

  Despair

  It was completely dark when my eyes snapped open. I lay still for a moment waiting for pain, nausea or anything else to kick in. It didn’t. So far, so good.

  I sat up carefully and slid my legs over the edge of the bed. I looked around my prison, and as my eyes became used to the darkness, I could just make out a door in the far corner. Unfortunately, it looked pretty solid.

  My mouth felt as if it had been scoured with sandpaper, and again I felt very thirsty. It felt like the kind of thirst caused by serious dehydration. A thirst that grows more unbearable with every passing minute.

  Thirsty … So very thirsty. I licked my dry lips.

  I suddenly wondered whether there were rats in here, and immediately swung my legs back up on the bed so I could sit cross-legged. I didn’t want rats running over my feet – the very thought made my stomach churn.

  There were no creepy green eyes glowing in any of the corners, which meant I was alone – at least for the moment. But a new conviction gnawed inside me, one that said he’d be back soon, and I’d never see the outside world again.

  I wondered if anyone had missed me? Were they looking for me? I had a big circle of friends, surely someone would have contacted the police when I didn’t show up for work? Oh … work …

  More than anything I longed to be back in the familiarity of the garish hustle and bustle of the theatre. I even longed for the gruelling, strenuous rehearsals, and the usual biting comments from the choreographer, as he strived to get the best from us – his dancers. I missed music too, and I wanted to be with people. Most of all, I wanted to be outside.

  The only sound in this eerie place was the faint drip, drip, drip of water. It must be the damp running down from the walls just as he had said. I shuddered. No wonder the sound of water had constantly been used as an implement of torture. It also explained how plumbers could charge so much … and why people in cheap apartments went crazy … the dodgy washers in all the taps made them drip constantly and the sound drove them all mad. I remembered how yesterday I’d nearly fooled myself into thinking I was still at home and the only problem I had to worry about was a faulty washer.

  Being incarcerated made my brain lurch into manic overdrive, and my imagination is rife at the best of times. I couldn’t imagine why he’d brought me to this place, but whatever his plans were, they couldn’t be good. The one comfort I had was that if he wanted to kill me, surely I’d already be dead? But didn’t he say I was dead already? Sick, sick man. I wished he’d get on and do whatever he intended to do and just get it over with.

  Time had no meaning at that moment. I had no idea whether it was day or night. I never wore a watch, that’s what mobile phones were for – as well as making calls, obviously. Calls … mobile … of course …

  I jumped up from the bed to look around, but there was no sign of my bag as far as I could see. So no phone either, then. Damn.

  If this was evening, shouldn’t I be at the theatre? I must have missed rehearsals. I’d lose my job. Surely someone had missed me?

  The door opened and he strode in, his tall frame silhouetted in the light from the old-fashioned oil lamp that he carried. The yellow flame flickered in the damp air as he moved further into the room.

  He stood the lamp carefully on the floor and then came towards me.

  Terror gripped me, and convinced that he’d pull out a knife at any moment, I ran to the end of the bed and squatted down, in an effort to make myself as small as possible. I pressed back against the hard damp wall, feeling thankful that most of the narrow bed now stood between us.

  ‘Don’t come any closer,’ my voice sounded thin and hoarse.

  ‘My apologies, I forgot about the lack of light in here,’ he said. His voice sounded calm, almost matter of fact – he could have been talking about the weather.

  I pushed shaky hands through my long tangled hair, and rocked back and forth. I didn’t want him any closer to me, I really didn’t.

  He continued to move closer. How I wished I could push myself through the wall in order to get away. I bit my lip to prevent a frightened sob from escaping.

  The now familiar pain suddenly clawed at me from inside my body, and I screamed in agony. I began to babble, sounding incoherent even to my own ears. ‘Do something! Help me! Let me go … please, give-me-my-life-back.’

  ‘I cannot give you that,’ he said. ‘I can give you almost anything else.’ He paused. ‘But not that.’

  ‘The pain …’

  ‘The pain you feel is the Thirst. It is caused by your need to feed. With each night you abstain, the pain will grow, and you will become weaker.’

  ‘So feed me.’ I gasped as another onslaught of pain caused me to double over again.

  He brought a silver phial from his pocket and stood in front of me.

  ‘You should try to sup from this,’ he suggested, as he held it out to me.

  Warily I took the phial from him, even though my hand shook with the effort. The smooth surface felt strangely warm, and I risked a glance at him. His face was devoid of any expression, as usual, except for his eyes, which glowed eerily with their hypnotic green light. I pulled the stopper out from the bottle and sniffed gingerly at the opening. It smelt odd, yet strangely familiar, a musky, almost metallic aroma.

  ‘What’s in here?’ I asked.

  ‘What you need to survive,’ he replied.

  ‘Is it poison?’

 
Yeah right, like he’d tell me if it was. Yes, of course it’s poison, so I can peel your skin off and get someone to stitch it back together once you’ve died a revolting and painful death.

  ‘It is not poison.’

  I had no way to know whether he was speaking the truth or not. His impassive face belied the gleam in his expressive eyes. I raised the bottle to my lips, even as I fought against the voice inside my head, warning me, screaming at me not to drink from it. My legs trembled, and I sat down on the bed before I fell over.

  ‘It will lessen the pain.’

  Anything that could lessen the gut-wrenching pain in my stomach had to be worth a try. Against my better judgement, I took a large swig from the bottle and realised, far too late, what it was as I swallowed.

  Blood.

  The warm, viscous liquid made me gag almost the moment it went down my throat. Retching, I toppled off the bed onto my knees, and vomited violently. A dark red stain covered the flagstones, reminding me of what I’d attempted to drink. What he had made me drink.

  I stood and hurled the phial at my tormentor as I screamed obscenities at him. Words I didn’t even realise I knew. My fear of him had been replaced by horror and disgust at what he’d made me do.

  He caught the phial easily in one hand, his face composed and devoid of expression. ‘For such an innocent-looking beauty you have a man’s colourful use of the English language.’

  ‘Sexist bastard,’ I added for good measure.

  My insides still felt queasy, and I screwed my eyes shut. My mouth filled with bile and I could still taste the strong metallic taste of blood. In fact, I didn’t think I would ever be rid of that foul taste.

  ‘Why?’ I demanded. ‘Why are you making me drink blood?’

  ‘Blood is the staple diet of the vampire,’ came the calm reply.

  ‘You’re obsessed with vampires. You perverted creep.’

  ‘Why do you suppose I am keeping you here?’

  I raised tear-filled eyes to his.

  ‘Because you like torturing women.’