The device Tiffany found herself strapped to clearly served a grotesque pagan purpose. Her feet were crossed one over the other and chained down. He arms were spread straight to the side and also chained. But instead of Christ’s crown of thorns at the top of her head, she could barely make out a large mouthed funnel. She couldn’t tell what it drained into, and she really was not concerned with what these freaks intended to do with her blood once it left her body. She intended to keep her blood, and she hoped the strange man at the back of the room would be the one to save her.
The minister was too enamored with his own grotesque sermon to see the man in red, and the rest of the room had their backs to him. Through the tears streaming up her face, Tiffany watched him, hoping beyond hope that he was here to save her. Things like this didn’t happen, especially to nice young women like her. Satanic cults were a thing for bad movies or awful horror novels, not the real world. And bad things only happened to druggies and prostitutes, or at least that was what she had believed until earlier tonight.
“Brothers and sisters of the blood, we are here tonight to feed our lustful cravings!” the minister bellowed. “Tonight we shall once again quench our thirst for blood and satisfy the craving of the vampire inside us all.”
The stranger in red seemed to sway back and forth, oblivious to the orgasmic moaning coming from the congregation. As he moved the glow from the candles flickered over his face. He was a handsome man with finely chiseled features, and dark brooding eyes that never seemed to blink. His lips parted, momentarily revealing a set of bright white teeth before he swayed back into the shadows.
Then he raised one hand towards the front door, which was the only exit Tiffany could see from where she hung. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw the deadbolt turn. Then he dropped his hand back to his side and stepped all the way out of the shadows. When the light hit the red shirt, the minister hesitated and then stopped, suddenly aware of the bright color that had entered the room. When he stopped, the movement of the congregation stopped with him, and people turned to look back over their shoulders to see what had caught his eye.
“This is a private gathering,” he said.
“Private gathering?” the man in red asked. He moved towards the crowd, who seemed to part as he drew near. There was something different about this man, something dangerous, and even through her fear and tears Tiffany could sense it as clearly as they had. “Oh dear, and I had assumed you would make me the guest of honor.”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Reverend Beauchamp,” the man said as he moved through the crowd, seeming unaware of their presence. “I have been following the activities of your congregation for some time. I have to tell you; if not for me the police would have caught you some time ago. This young lady is, what, the sixth sacrificial lamb you have taken in the last six months? Tsk Tsk.”
“Who are you and what do you want?”
“My name is Simon Popescu, and all I want is to be left alone.”
“Then go and leave us alone, Mr. Popescu,” the minister said.
Simon stopped at the alter of this perverse church and looked up at Beauchamp. He reached up and gently stroked his goatee thoughtfully. Then he smiled, revealing teeth that were not only white, but contained a pair of sharp-looking fangs. The minister and his congregation gasp as one.
“You’ve made life very difficult for me,” he said. “The local police might not notice a few missing prostitutes or drug addicts, but they do notice when pretty young girls go missing. You’ve made things so difficult for me, in fact, that after a hundred and fifty years, I’m going to have to leave New Orleans. And that is such a shame, because where else is it so easy for a vampire to hide?’”
Someone screamed. Tiffany grinned. None of this made any sense to her, but she grinned anyway. Simon Popescu was clearly deranged, but if he wanted to pick a fight with the other deranged people in the room, that was fine with her.
“Now listen here—“
Before the minister could finish his sentence Simon flew from the foot of the alter to the pulpit, coming down right in front of Beauchamp. He grabbed the minister by his robes and lifted him into the air. The congregation broke for the front door, most of the screaming like scared children. The minister kicked at him, but it did no good.
“You people are fools, every one of you,” Simon said. “You have the one thing that I cannot obtain, and you waste it wishing you were dead! Oh what I would give to see the sunrise again, but it will never happen. I’m damned to live by the light of the moon forever! And you! You pretend to be vampires, and waste your poor useless mortal lives. Tonight you shall all have your dream. Tonight you all will die.”
With that he pulled Beauchamp close and ripped his throat out with his fangs. Blood sprayed from the minister’s ruptured arteries, soaking the front of Simon’s silk shirt, but he seemed not to notice. There was no sign of hunger or pleasure in his face, only hatred. At once he dropped the man, who landed atop his perverted bible, his blood soaking its pages. Then the vampire turned towards the congregation, who were trapped at the front door. They pounded and pulled on it, but it wouldn’t budge.
Simon smiled and flew across the room. The landed behind a girl covered with tattoos and piercings. She screamed at the top of her lungs. He swept her up in his arms and sank his fangs into her neck. Her blood sprayed the crowd, most of who tried to flee by running across the room. But there was no where to go. He dropped the girl and grabbed the spike-headed boy next to her and executed him just as quickly.
Too bulky Goths seemed to be planning to defend themselves. They ran at the vampire as if to tackle him, but he dropped his victim and lunged at them, catching each man by the throat and tearing their heads off.
From there he worked his way methodically through the rest of the congregation, killing them one at a time.
When the last of the cult lay crumpled on the floor, Simon slowly approached Tiffany. He gently broke the bonds that held her, and lowered her to the ground. She knew she should cower away from him, but after everything she’d been through and seen, she didn’t have the strength. When he was safely on the ground, he moved a few feet away and stood staring at her. He was a nightmarish vision, soaked in blood from head to toe. Normally such a sight would have made her sick, but she didn’t feel anything.
“Do you enjoy your life?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“So many humans, like these people, take the gift of life for granted,” Simon told her. He glanced down at Beauchamp’s body, still lying atop his bloodstained bible. “Not everyone is like this...but just being alive is not enough for most of you.”
“I’m happy,” Tiffany told him, and it was the truth. She didn’t have the greatest job in the world, but it paid her bills. She didn’t truly want for anything.
“That’s good,” he said. “I was like you once. I had a life. But I didn’t appreciate one minute of it. I always wanted more. I wanted more money, so I went out and stole it. I wanted women, so I went out and took them. And I wanted immortality, so I sought out one such as myself…I was like these people, except when I found my monster, I didn’t flee. I gave myself to him and he made me immortal. Immortal and damned!”
In one quick, unseen movement Simon was knelt before her. She jumped, but he grabbed her arms and held her. He pressed his face to within inches of her nose.
“Do you want to live, Tiffany?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Its good that you want to live,” Simon said. He smiled, baring his fangs. “But I am what I am.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Matthew Hughes is a horror writer who lives in Kentucky with his wife and daughter. He holds a BA in English from Kentucky Wesleyan College, where he served two years as the Prior (President) of Sigma Alpha Mu fraternity. The preceding stories are his first attempt at epublishing.
Also featuring Matthew Alan Hughes, try Mon Coeur Mort: My
Dead Heart, which includes 27 new short stories from: Matthew Alan Hughes, Nelson W. Pyles, Jeremy Bush, Jeff Suess, Kathleen Price, Rebecca Besser, Buzz Parcher, Deb Eskie, Rekha Ambardar, Joseph Weide, Steven Gepp, Marc Sorondo, Cecilia Ryan, David W. Landrum, J. Douglas Stephenson, Dana K. Kisor, Andrew Risch, Lee Davis, Jennifer Koehler, Gerri Leen, Ricky Massengale, James S. Dorr, Carmen Tudor,Brigitte Branson, Nicky Peacock, Nancy Rosenberg England and Magen Toole.
Available at http://www.postmortem-press.com in print, and most places where ebooks are sold.
Table of Contents
[1] Time To Rest
[2] The Man in Red
Horror Matinee (A Short Story Double Feature) Page 2