A Vampire's Christmas Carol

by Karen McCullough

  “My hundred years of grace are up tonight. If I don’t drink human blood by tomorrow morning, I’ll die at dawn. And I don’t plan on drinking any, which is why your presence is so dangerous.”

  “I don’t— Oh. Temptation?”

  He nodded.

  “This sounds like kind of a long story. Any chance of getting a hot drink or something while you tell me about it? Before I creep off to that locked room for the night? Oh, and by the way, I don’t even know your name.”

  He stared at her for a moment before a flash of amusement crossed his face then disappeared. “It’s Michael Carpenter.”

  “Nice to meet you, Michael,” she said. “I think. As long as you don’t go drinking from me. Oh, wait.” Carol reached under her sweater and pulled out the silver cross she wore on a chain. “Does this give me any protection?”

  His eyes widened. “I didn’t know anyone still wore those. Not in belief, anyway. But you do believe in it. Yes, it affords you some protection. But don’t rely on it. Should I get desperate enough, even the pain it would cause wouldn’t stop me. It’s entirely possible I could get that desperate.”

  “Well, heck, that’s a downer.”

  He ignored her last remark and his expression grew thoughtful. “I think perhaps… There is something you could do for me. If you would. And it would help preserve you.”

  “Oh? What?”

  “I’d like you to write down my story. I’m not sure what I want you to do with it yet. I’m thinking about that. It might help— Oh, damnation.” He looked beyond her, into a corner of the room.

  Carol turned, in time to see a figure forming out of what appeared to a grayish cloud of thick dust or mist. The shape that coalesced had the form of a man, a tall, thin, pale man with a lean face and glowing red eyes. The rhythm of her heart notched up to a heavy thump as those eyes focused on her.

  Chapter 2

  A leering smile warped the mouth of the newcomer, showing a nasty, almost gloating sort of amusement. “Who’s your friend, Michael? Looks tasty.” His grin widened, showing long, sharp fangs.

  Unwilling belief started to take root inside her and grow. This might be an elaborate prank, but she couldn’t see how they’d managed that smoke-mist effect and couldn’t imagine why they’d go to so much trouble.

  She started to really worry when Michael said, “What are you doing here?” and even he sounded concerned.

  The newcomer’s fangs almost glittered, reflecting the firelight, as he shook his head. “Michael! This is your last night. Why do you think I’m here?”

  “To continue making my life hell,” Michael answered.

  “Dear boy, no such thing. You’re throwing away a heaven you barely imagine.”

  “You’ve already shown me. Our definitions are different.”

  The creature turned its red gaze her way. “But what’s this? Michael, you’ve been holding out on me. What a sweet little morsel you have here.”

  “Right,” Michael answered. “And how did you arrange that, anyway, Antoine?”

  The other vampire shook his head. “How could I have? She’s stranded in a ditch. At least I assume that’s her car down the road?”

  “You know it is. Go away. You’re not needed here.”

  “You don’t want my company on your last night on this earth? We’ve always had a special relationship.”

  “Special in the wrong kind of way,” Michael said. “No, I don’t want you. Get out.”

  Antoine shrugged and turned her way, though he continued to address his remarks to Michael. “Are you going to drink from her? No? But it’s a shame to waste such a pretty treat. If you don’t want her—“ He took a step in her direction.

  Almost before she could blink and back away, Michael was there, standing in front of her, facing Antoine. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

  Surprise spread across Antoine’s face, but it changed rapidly to a sneer. “Ah, ever the gallant.” The words dripped sarcasm. “But it will make it all the more satisfying when you can no longer bear the thirst and the dying and take her yourself. You’ll be mine just as surely then.”

  “It won’t happen.”

  “So you say. But you’ve yet to feel the full clawing of the blood-thirst in your gut, as your body fails and craves what will keep it alive. Perhaps it will be more fun to wait around and watch as you lose the fight. I predict it will happen at a couple of hours before dawn. Maybe before, but certainly by then.”

  “Antoine…”

  The other vampire laughed, and his form began to dissolve into mist again. “I’ll let you enjoy the illusion of privacy for the moment. But I won’t be far. I’ll hear the screams and come to enjoy watching your surrender. Au revoir, mon galant.”

  Within moments, he’d broken up into mist and then the cloud itself faded away.

  Carol drew in a deep breath to steady herself. Why did she feel the danger had lessened? She still stood in the same room with a vampire—a dying and soon-to-be desperate one, according to Antoine. Michael hadn’t denied the truth of the words.

  “That was…another vampire, wasn’t it?”

  “Antoine. He made me.”

  “Made you…a vampire?”

  “Technically I’m just an undead. You don’t become a true vampire until you’ve drunk human blood. I’ve yet to do so.”

  “Why? Or rather, why not?”

  “They’re monsters. Forget the romantic stories you see on television and movies about them. They’re human-sized parasites. They don’t just drink blood, they kill people—brutally and cruelly—to take their life essence. They steal others’ lives to prolong their own. I won’t be one of them.”

  Carol shivered as it occurred to her she’d come close to becoming a victim just a minute ago, and might yet be if she hung around. Urgh. Which was worse—death by vampire or death by freezing? What a lovely choice.

  “You’re still chilly,” he said, seeing her shake. “Let me get that hot drink for you.” Michael threw another log on the fire before he left the room.

  Carol moved closer to it. Should she just leave right now? He’d said the nearest occupied dwelling was almost a mile away. The odds of her making it even half that far in this weather weren’t good—and that was if she had some idea which way to go. He might help her with directions, but it was still late at night and snowing hard enough to obscure visibility beyond a few feet ahead. It was covering the roads too, and hiding ditches and other obstacles. Since Michael, at least, didn’t seem inclined to kill her right this moment, she was probably safer staying here for the moment, husbanding her strength for a mad dash should it become necessary.

  Another thought crossed her mind. She went to the hallway and looked around at all the exits going off it. No one in sight. No sound of footsteps. But an old-fashioned model phone, the kind with a rotary dial and a handset attached by a cord to the base, sat on a side table. She went to it and picked up the receiver, hoping to hear a dial tone, despite what Michael had said.

  Instead the sound of silence rang loudly in her ear. Apparently he’d told the truth about the phones being out. She set it down carefully and went back to the living room and the fire. She really was stranded here, in the house with a monster.

  A few minutes later, he returned with a tray bearing two steaming mugs that smelled of coffee, a small pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar. There was also a plate of small sandwiches. He put it down on a side table and gestured her to an armchair that faced the fireplace. He nodded toward the tray. “Please go ahead. The food is for you. You’ve got to be hungry.”

  It seemed odd for a self-confessed vampire to be so polite, especially to someone who had practically forced her way into his home. But he was right. Tension, fear and the struggle through the weather to get here left her ravenous.

  When she’d put milk and sugar into one of the cups and carried it and the plate back to a chair, he took the other cup of coffee, leaving it black.

  After finishing the first small san
dwich, she asked, “You can drink coffee? I mean don’t you drink bl—?” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

  “Blood. Yes. But I can drink anything else I want. I can eat the same things as you also, but I derive no nourishment from them. Except for raw, red meat. But I enjoy eating other things sometimes, just to remember what it feels like.” He took a careful sip from the coffee cup.

  “How have you survived, then?”

  “Raw meat, and occasional late night forays to the neighbors’ cow pastures.”

  Carol shuddered. She stared at the little cheese sandwich she held, wondering if she could still swallow it. Hunger won and it went down.

  After another long sip from his cup, Michael got up and retrieved a pad and pen from a desk at the side of the room. He handed them to her and went back to the recliner.

  “I’ll leave it to you to decide what to do with this when I’m gone. Perhaps you’ll want to burn it. I doubt anyone will believe it in any case.”

  “They might not believe, but won’t Antoine or someone like him want to stop me from publishing it, or whatever I decide to do?”

  He leaned back in the chair. “Though I doubt it would concern them—they’re an arrogant lot—it would be best if you told no one about this until after you’ve done whatever you decide to do.”

  “I’m betting he knows about it.”

  Michael shrugged. “If it becomes an issue, destroy it. It’s not worth anyone’s life. But I hope you won’t have to.”

  He drew a deep breath. His fingers curled on the arms of the chair, the tips making indents in the leather upholstery. “It begins one hundred years ago. Exactly one hundred years ago this night. I was twenty-nine years old at the time. My family owned a place not far from here, but I lived in Atlanta where I practiced law. I was seeing a wonderful, very attractive young lady named Lucy. Had been seeing her for almost a year. You remind me a little of her. In looks, but also in manner. She had a gentle way about her, but she could be strong and firm when needed.

  “On that Christmas Eve, I was walking to her family’s home for dinner. I had a ring with me and intended to ask her to be my wife. As I passed a dark alley between two buildings, I heard a scream. I ran toward it. The light was faint, but I could just discern two forms, a man holding a struggling woman. She yelled again, sounding desperate, despairing…

  * * * * *

  The woman’s last scream faded into a gurgle and moan. When Michael reached them, he yanked the man back from the woman. Faster than should be humanly possible, the attacker whirled to face him. In the faint gleam of moonlight, Michael made out a narrow face atop a long, lean body. His opponent had several inches of height and some forty pounds of weight on him. But more terrifying than his opponent’s greater size were the feral red eyes that shone in his face. This creature was something other than human.

  Michael dragged in a ragged breath when the figure’s mouth opened to reveal a flash of fang glinting in the moonlight. He backed up a couple of steps until a wall behind stopped his retreat.

  “Who are you to interfere with my meal?” The creature had a deep, growly voice that contrasted oddly with a slight fang-induced lisp.

  Terror froze Michael and kept him from responding. A frantic look around showed no other exit from the alley. The only way to escape was back the way he’d come in. The creature moved so fast he’d have no chance. He had no chance anyway. But he wasn’t going to stand around and wait to be this monster’s dinner. He saw no sign of the woman who’d screamed earlier as he darted around to the side and headed for the end of the alley.

  Fingers—or were they claws?—dug into his shoulders and yanked him back against the predator he’d interrupted. He writhed and twisted, struggling to get out of the creature’s hold. But the claws held him firmly, and then he felt the hot breath on his throat just before fangs sank in. Michael fell into darkness.

  He woke slowly. Sounds penetrated his awareness first, an occasional clatter that sounded like boots on stone and the low murmur of voices. Touch and feel came next. He lay on something yielding and cloth-covered, but not particularly soft. A sense of something different about the way his body felt grew. All his parts seemed to be present… He wiggled his toes and clenched his fingers into fists. Everything responded. The speed and strength of the response startled him. It felt much faster and more powerful than he was used to.

  Michael opened his eyes and levered himself up on his elbows to look around. He lay in a room just large enough to hold three cots, including the one he occupied. Stone walls, stone floors and timbers above suggested a basement. No windows let in any light. In fact, there were no lamps or fire anywhere. So how could he see so clearly? And where the devil was this?

  A door at the far end of the room creaked open and a man entered. He wore a white tunic, but any resemblance to a doctor ended there. Long, dark hair hung down past his shoulders and a scruffy beard hid his chin.

  His smile as he approached flashed a set of sharp canines. “You’ve decided to wake at last?” he said.

  “I was…asleep?” He searched his memory for a reason why he’d gone to bed in this place, but came up with nothing. “The last thing I remember…being attacked. The monster bit me. Then it went dark.”

  “Monster? You’ll have to revise your thinking. You’re one of us now.”

  “Us?”

  “The Risen. Humans sometimes call us ‘vampires’.”

  “The blood-suckers.”

  The other man shrugged. “It’s true, if not too polite.”

  “I’m one of you? Hellfire. I don’t—“ But he did believe it. He remembered the fangs sinking into his shoulder, the unexpectedly powerful reactions of his body when he woke. “Damnation. I’m a monster myself? How did that happen?”

  “You struggled with Antoine when he caught you. You scratched him. At the same time he drained you, some of his blood seeped into you. Hence you are here. He turned you, though not by his own choice. Still, you are his get.”

  Michael heard the words, but his brain refused to dwell on the implications. “Where is here?” he asked instead.

  “You are in a secure place. A place where we can be assured no sunlight will reach you, nor hostiles approach, until you are prepared to go out in the world again.” He shrugged. “Now, come. Let’s see if you’re ready to stand. Most are somewhat unsteady for a bit after the long sleep.”

  “How long have I been asleep?” He tried to lever himself upright, but fell back when the world spun around him.

  “Gently. Let’s do this slowly so your body has time to adjust.”

  “How long?”

  The man drew a long, loud breath. “This always comes as a shock, so prepare yourself. You’ve slept for ten years. Give or take a few months.”

  “Ten years! Impossible.”

  “It takes a while to recover from death.”

  “But… My family, Lucy… What of them?”

  He shrugged. “No doubt they’ve moved on with their lives. As far as they know, you’ve disappeared. I should imagine they acknowledged you dead years ago. In truth, you are.”

  “But I’m not.”

  “You’re undead now.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The man helped him rise, more slowly this time, and he found the world remained stable this time as he gradually got himself upright. “You’ll learn. Since you’re his get, Antoine will be responsible for training you.”

  “Training?”

  “You do ask many questions.”

  “I’m a lawyer.”

  “That explains it then.” He drew in a breath and expelled it on a sigh. “Antoine may have less patience. So let me give you a quick view. When you fought Antoine, you died. He drained you of blood, but some of his own blood slipped into you at the same time. That allowed you to become one of us. You slept for ten years while your body began the transition. The entire process takes precisely one hundred years, so you have ninety remaining. The blood hunger won’t ris
e for a while, probably forty or fifty years, so you have time to get used to the idea.”

  “Blood hunger?”

  “We survive by drinking blood. It’s the only thing can sustain us. But you needn’t do so for a while after the transition. In fact, you have the entire time of the transition. But you must drink from another living human at least once before the hundred years expires or the transition fails and you truly die.”

  Footsteps sounded down the hall, the heavy clunking of boots on stone. The other man looked uneasy. “Antoine is coming for you and there’s more to tell you. Come to me when you can. I’m Kurt Severin. Don’t believe everything he tells you is true.”

  The footsteps stopped at the door. A tall, thin figure stood there—the one he’d fought in the dark alley. He didn’t look quite as large in this space, this odd un-light, but just as monstrous, though his face was that of a man. An evil man. The smile he sent Michael’s way made him shiver, though he wasn’t chilly. In face, he hadn’t been aware of being either hot or cold since he woke.

  “My child,” Antoine said, the words tinged with wry, cruel satisfaction and no affection.

  “Hardly that.”

  His lip curled in a sneer. “I made you. You’re mine.”

  “I belong to no one but myself,” Michael returned. “I understand it’s your responsibility to train me, but your obligation and your rights end with that.”

  Antoine gave a disdainful shake of his head. “Perhaps I’ll leave you your illusions for now. It will be more satisfying to watch them die slowly.”

  * * * * *

  Michael paused after repeating Antoine’s words, and Carol let the pen rest. When she looked up, his fingers curled tensely around the arms of his chair. He stared at her with a fixed, hard look, and she again saw the flash of red in the depths of his eyes.

  A frisson of fear shivered down her spine as he remained quiet and staring while his body grew tenser. He shifted forward in the chair as though poised to launch himself out of it. Breath heaved in and out, the inhalations getting shorter, while his steady gaze made her feel like a squirrel staring down the wrong end of a hunter’s rifle.