by Rob Shepherd
“No, you deserve to live a long happy human life,” she said. “I want that for you. I didn’t lie when I said I love you. I do, so I can’t take your human life from you.”
“Then I will have to force you to give me a vampire life or you will watch me die,” he said as he made his way quickly to the edge of the high theater box.
“I don’t want to watch you die, that is why I will not change you. But if you kill yourself you will just be dead. I can only change a live human to a vampire, not a corpse.”
“Liz,” he begged. “Don’t make me live this life without you.”
“You won’t,” she said. “I will always be with you, watching you. And, if you do your best to live a happy life, then I will come to you on your last breath, and make you forever young and you will rule my coven with me.”
Ryder sat for a long moment on the edge of the theater box wall, mulling over all he had heard. He did not want to be without her, ever, but what she offered was all he knew he had.
“Alright,” he said as he jumped down and quickly walked to where she sat. “Upon my last breath,” he agreed and sealed it with a kiss.
Today Again
The last breath was coming and he welcomed it. Ryder exhaled for the last time, but did not have the strength to draw another breath. The primal human part of him wanted to struggle for yet another breath, but he just did not have the strength anymore.
Small specks of pain began to pop in his brain, leaving little points of darkness dotting his vision.
Most would fear this, but he welcomed it. The only thing he feared was that she would not come.
Just as the last bits of darkness filled his vision, he felt something cool and feathery breeze over his body and a whisper in his ear, “upon your last breath.” Then he felt teeth sink into his neck, as blood dripped into his parched mouth.
At first he could hardly taste the hot and salty blood in his mouth, but as precious moments passed, he felt strength rapidly return to his body. He drank hungrily from the delicate pale wrist that was pressed to his dehydrated lips.
Liz lifted her blood stained lips from his neck. “Take all you need, my love, it will restore you.”
A part of Ryder wanted to cry out in pain. The vampire blood was repairing and restoring all the ills of a long human life and converting his cells to his new eternal and immortal state.
He pulled away and gasped with pain as well as pleasure, because he felt strong again. “Am I…” he started to ask.
“Yes Ryder,” she said with a smile handing him a mirror.
“I thought vampires didn’t have a reflection,” he said looking in wonder at his beautiful, youthful image.
“So many cute little myths!” She laughed with joy. “How do you feel?”
“Like I did before you went back,” he said with a smile. “You never answered my question, my noir goddess. Will you be my wife?”
“Yes,” she said with the happiness of five hundred lifetimes. “For always.”
Linna Drehmel is one of the original authors of CHBB Publishing. As Linna Drehmel, she is an award winning Science Fiction author and is well known in the fiction community as a supporter of the arts. She has also penned some short works under Louisa Albrect. When Linna isn’t writing, she is promoting various independent music groups from around the world and managing promotions at CHBB.
Duck
By H.G. Bleackley
The night it comes after her family, Annie, eight years old, plays alone in her room before bed. Later, she’ll remember the brightness of her tiffany-style lamp, the rich greens and deep blues of the stained glass that match her colourful bedspread. She’ll remember even the bland carpet, and especially the patch that wasn’t as bland because it was stained with bright pink from some poster paint.
Annie will remember all these things for the rest of her life, and the myriad of other colours and patterns all around her in her room as she played that night.
She searches through her pile of Lego for a white 1x2 piece when she hears her mother call from downstairs. She continues searching- she’d had her hands on the piece just a moment before. Her mother calls again. Annie runs her hands wildly through the pile in frustration. As she stands, she sees the white 1x2 sitting on the carpet just at the edge of the pile. She snatches it up and puts it in her pocket.
Annie walks out into the hall and holds onto the banister at the top of the stairs. As she begins her descent, a hand on her shoulder stops her. Her mother’s hand presses down with unusual harshness. Annie, confused, looks from her mother back downstairs.
“Don’t go; I heard it too,” she whispers.
Annie gasps as her mother grabs her by the hand and pulls her into her baby brother’s bedroom. The only illumination in the fall evening is a small nightlight plugged in by the door, and a thin line of yellow light from the lamppost across the street. As her mother closes the door as quietly as she can, they hear the voice from downstairs again.
“Annie darling, please come now,” it says.
Annie looks at her mother; both their eyes are wide. The only sound in the room is her brother sleeping peacefully, his tiny breaths coming even and deep.
“Mom,” says Annie.
“Shh,” says her mother. “Don’t go. Whatever you do, stay here, with your brother.”
“Mom, who’s downstairs?” asks Annie, her glance darting to the window where she could see the lone streetlamp outside begin to flicker.
“Sweetie, you just need to stay here, no matter what, ok?” she says, smiling against petrifying fear.
Annie’s jaw begins to quiver as the streetlight outside goes out. The nightlight in the room flickers.
“Annie hun, if the lights go out, it will be dark, like really dark,” she says. “But it’s the same as closing your eyes. So that’s what you do, ok? You hold your brother’s hand and you close your eyes.” The fear in her mother’s voice is palpable. Annie nods.
Something starts coming up the stairs.
Annie’s mother lifts her by the armpits and puts her down next to the baby’s crib.
“Stay here,” she says. She goes back to the door and puts her hand on the knob. Annie watches as her mother shuts her eyes and begins whispering, some unfamiliar prayer, harsh and raspy.
The footsteps could be heard coming down the hall now, heavy and slow. They stop at the bedroom door. Annie’s mother whispers louder, the strange words coming in harsh cadences that rise and fall with a rhythmic beat.
The footsteps stop outside the bedroom door.
“Mom,” says Annie in a half sob. Annie’s mother doesn’t stop whispering at the door, but brings up a hand and mimes the ‘zip it’ gesture. Annie shrinks down next to her brother’s crib.
The hall outside is quiet and still. Then, a huge bang crashes all around them as the door is battered once, then twice.
Annie’s mother’s whispers come louder now, her brow furrowing in concentration as she focuses on the door. There’s another pounding. Annie’s brother stirs, and Annie reaches between the crib bars to hold his hand. He wakes with some grunts of protest.
The nightlight flickers, then dims. Before it goes out completely, Annie steals one last glance at her mother. She has her back against the door, her arms stretched wide across it from frame to frame. Her eyes are pressed shut, and her whispers come as shouts now. There’s another crash against the door, and her mother opens her eyes.
She smiles at Annie and instructs her loudly, but calmly, just as the nightlight winks out completely.
“Shut your eyes, and don’t open them,” says her mother.
Annie does so, and hears the bedroom door open. Her mother grunts and there’s a scraping noise, and the bedroom door closes again.
Annie can hear the commotion outside in the hall.
Beside her, her brother begins crying. The noise in the hall is loud; something sharp scrapes against drywall and wooden studs, heavy footsteps crash down on ever-loosening floorboards. Annie s
queezes her brother’s hand. He wails. There’s a scream from the hall.
Then, it’s silent. For a moment, her brother ceases his cries, and she can hear him breathing, and hear her own breath, whimpery and shallow.
The bedroom doorknob turns, not in a single, smooth motion, but jerky and fumbley. Annie lets out a sob, and her brother begins crying again.
“Shut your eyes, Willie,” she whispers. “Shut your eyes,” she says again, choking on a sob. The latch clicks open and the wood creaks as the door swings on its hinges. The high-pitched squeak of metal and wood pierces the darkness as the door opens all the way.
Annie keeps her eyes pressed shut tight.
“Annie sweetie?” comes her mother’s voice. “It’s okay now. We’re safe.” Annie grits her teeth and keeps holding onto Willie’s hand. He wails beside her.
Footsteps now, crossing the bedroom. Heavier than they should be.
“Annie, it’s alright duck,” says the voice.
Willie cries, louder and louder, his baby chest heaving between gasping breaths.
The footsteps come right up to the crib. Annie hears the wood give a few creaks as it bears some new weight. The weight shifts as Willie screams with renewed vehemence. When Willie stops crying, the room is deathly silent. Annie listens fast, and hears no sound from him at all. She squeezes his hand viscously, but it’s limp in her grasp. She whimpers, but keeps her eyes pressed tight.
“Annie,” says the voice above her. “Annie, come now, everything’s alright,” it says.
Annie’s teeth grind as she clenches her jaw shut tight. Drawing breath through her nose, it comes ragged and unsteady.
“Annie, open your eyes duck.” Her brother’s tiny, plump hand is completely still in her grip. She squeezes it tightly.
“No,” she says.
“Annie,” says the voice, sternly, “open your eyes this instant.”
“No!” shouts Annie. The silence in the bedroom is all encompassing, right up until the sound of sirens can be heard from outside, heading towards the house.
“Annie,” says the voice impatiently.
“NO!” shouts Annie again. “No, no, no, no!”
“Annie, the thing is gone. We need to go outside and talk to the policemen. They can help us. Come with me outside.”
Annie has a moment of hesitation; her eyes don’t clench so tightly for a second, her grip on her brother’s slack hand loosens.
“That’s it duck, come now, open your eyes and we’ll go outside.” The voice of her mother is warm and comforting. But also something else, something that makes the hairs on Annie’s neck stand up.
Annie’s resolve comes back now, double strength; she screws her face up into a tight grimace, pulls her lips back to bar her teeth, and shouts again.
“No! You’re not my mother! You killed Willie! You’re not my mother!” She screams at the top of her lungs. All the while, the voice above her grows increasingly impatient.
“Annie,” it says, “no Annie, let’s just go outside. Come now, the policemen are almost here to help us,” it says.
Annie screams incomprehensibly.
She is lifted by her armpits as she screams, but she continues to hold fast to her brother’s hand through the bars of the crib, and she goes no further when his body is pulled against them.
“Let go Annie, we need to get outside,” says the voice, hot and venomous in her ear.
Annie’s screams are piercing. She is pulled roughly, and her grip, warm and sweaty, loosens from her brother; his arm falls down through the bars to land with a soft thud on the mattress. She’s carried swiftly away, all the while keeping her eyes clamped shut, letting out a continuous stream of wails and screams.
She bounces in the arms of her holder as she’s carried down the stairs and out the front door.
Annie begins thrashing as she’s carried outside. The sirens blare as they round the corner onto her block. Through her shut eyelids she can see their flashing lights. She screams and screams.
She hears the police officer get out of their car and jog towards them.
“It’s not my mother! It’s not my mother!” she screams at them.
“Officer, thank god,” says the voice. It is somewhat shaky, striking a sympathetic mix; the demure frailty of a victim, and the brave resolve of a survivor.
“It’s not my mother! It killed him! It killed-”
“Annie, stop it this instant. You’re safe now, the policeman is here to help now.”
“Do you want to sit in the police car sweet heart?” asks the officer. Annie nods, keeping her eyes pressed shut tight.
“Here ma’am,” says the officer. Annie is put down and she stands on her dewy lawn in her socks, fists clenched shut tight, eyes pressed down, tears beginning to squeeze out from between them.
“Come now,” says the officer. “Open your eyes and come sit in the police car,” he says.
In response, Annie tips up her chin to show she wasn’t opening her eyes, and holds out her hand, fingers outstretched. He sighs and takes it, leading her over to the car, where he helps her climb inside. “Now look, you’ll be in the front, and unless you open your eyes, you won’t get to see all my cool dials and switches!” he says jovially.
“Officer, it’s not my mother. It killed my brother Willie,” she says through her sobs.
“Now now, sweetheart, we’ll sort it all out. You’ll be safe here.”
“But you won’t,” answers Annie with a whisper. She feels the officer’s hand tense up around her.
“It’s not my mother,” she says quietly. The officer nudges her on the shoulder so she’s well inside the car, then shuts the door.
She can hear him walking away, back towards the house. She hears them talking. She hears the front door open and close.
Annie feels around in front of her, feels the steering wheel, warm in a few patches, cold over most of it. She feels around the dashboard, the smooth glass covering over the instruments. She feels next to her, hands travelling over the gearshift, the heating and cooling dials, until she finally lays hands on a curly cord. She follows it up until she feels the police radio. She pulls it from its magnetic resting place, bringing it up to her mouth.
She hears the policeman scream from inside the house.
She clicks the button on the side of the radio com.
“Help,” she says quietly, “help, I need help,” she says. She unclicks it, but hears no response. She presses the button down again.
“Help, help, help, please,” she says desperately. “Fourteen-fifty-two Alpine Court,” she says quickly. She repeats her address over and over. When she hears the front door of her house open and close loudly, she clenches the radio com tightly and pleads into it.
“Help help help!” she screams over and over.
She fumbles around with her free hand to find the lock on the police car door. She slams it down.
There comes a soft knocking on the window, making her jump in the seat.
“Annie,” comes the policeman’s voice through the window, “Annie, open your eyes. Come on duck,” it says.
Annie screams.
H.G. Bleackley writes around the intersection of fantasy, horror, and sci-fi. She’s had several short stories published recently, and a novel on its way to finding a place on your bookshelf. Join her over at HGBleackley.com
Lady of the Boat
By Monique Diplock
Who said Vampires cannot have life’s most glorious luxuries?
“Welcome aboard, Lady Bronte,” she heard as she walked aboard the five star ship. “My name is John, I will be your usher this evening.”
Lady Bronte nodded, smiling politely as he took her hand luggage from her and began leading her to her room. She unraveled her scarf from her head, as she was clear of the sunlight and safe of catching alight.
The halls of the ship were such a crisp white and gave her a vibrant fresh feeling, she felt closer to the sun than she had in the last 200 years.
T
he usher held the door open to a room and began telling Lady Bronte where everything was. She followed him, listening patiently has he showed her the bathroom and bedroom, speaking when asked a question and watching intently while he showed her how to put her life jacket on, should she need it.
In the time he was showing her around her room, her luggage arrived. He left her to unpack and she stood for a moment, taking in the room that was much darker than the halls of the ship, but still grand.
Lady Bronte used her speed to her advantage to unpack, smiling at the thought of what the usher’s face would look like had he walked in at that very moment. She had barely been on the ship five minutes and she was ready to relax.
Amazing, she thought to herself. She had been running from her past for a very long time, she left America 150 years ago. Now she was returning to keep a low profile in the land she loved. No one would have any idea who she was now, no one except the person who had booked the room next to her, Flame.
Bronte sat with her feet up on a stool for the first time in as long as she remembered and took a relaxing breath in.
A knock came from the door and it slightly opened.
“Bronte, have you boarded?” Flame asked.
“I have,” Bronte said smoothly looking across to her trainee, the only human she had ever turned in to a Vampire in her 150 years.
“Kiana will be along shortly, she is in search of some fine wine.” Flame laughed sitting on the foot of Bronte’s bed.
“What a good girl.” Bronte smiled.
“I see you have control of your eyes,” Flame said, looking in to her eyes that were usually such a fierce orange but were right now blue.
“I was not even trying,” Bronte answered. “The usher just left.”
“I don’t see what the problem is with your eyes is. It makes you…you.” Flame smiled.
“I agree, but I don’t want to cause a fuss, I would just like to have some fun.”
The door burst open.
“I’m here!” Kiana laughed, popping a bottle of champagne and pouring three glasses. “Now ladies, not everybody can be as old as us and still be living the life of a twenty year old,” she laughed. “To us.”