I’m Glad You’re Dead

by Hunter Blain

  Within a short period, I closed the rest of the distance to the dirt road turnoff that led to Depweg’s cabin in the woods. He owned a large lot of property that he had purchased long ago, at least 200 acres, that he kept stocked with all kinds of wildlife, especially deer. At the front of his dirt road was a sign that read Canine Haven hanging over the iron gate. Depweg ran a shelter for hopeless dogs that were unadoptable due to a various number of reasons. It was a great tax write off as well as helping his fellow canines. Though I really think a lugaru—or the German term “werwolf” as Depweg preferred—is as distant from canines as humans are from primates.

  Leaping the iron fence, I started my quiet descent into the thickening woods toward his cabin, leaving the staff at the gate to await my return. No dogs had smelled or noticed me yet, which means the game was on.

  His cabin was hand made by him using the wood he had cleared as well as moss, mud, and other all-natural items to insulate. He even built his own solar panels and attached them to a battery system he had rigged. Off to the side was a rain catch and filtration system that he “used for the dogs” according to his tax records. His carbon footprint was in the resounding negative when it came to treating nature with respect.

  I landed on his brick chimney and stuck my ear close to the hole trying to hear inside. It sounded like he was in the kitchen using utensils in preparation for a meal. I couldn’t wait to see his face when I snuck up on him.

  I silently slid down to the ground level, careful not to disturb the sleeping dogs in their endless row of kennels just a handful of yards away from his back door. I could hear a few of them having dreams that leaked into reality as they whimpered and half barked between closed jaws. One of the closest kennels held a pit terrier who woke itself up from a dream and looked around, startled. I shrunk back into the darkness provided by the roofline and stayed still as it turned its head right at me. I couldn’t see its eyes from the distance, but I knew he was looking at me. He yawned with gleaming white fangs shining in the darkness, and laid his head down on his front paws. After a moment, his breathing became snores. I sighed in relief.

  Tiptoeing, I made my way to the open window of the kitchen where I ever so slowly peaked in with one eye. I could smell he was close.

  If only I could have seen my face as a wooden chopstick was driven into my exposed eye ball with enough inertia to throw me on my ass with a loud oomph, grasping at the utensil. Every dog on the property immediately started to bark and howl at the intruder.

  I pulled at the chopstick but stopped when I felt my orb start to slide precariously out of its socket. I relented and asked, “How? I was so quiet this time!”

  “The wind gave you away as you moved preternaturally down my driveway. To my ears, you might as well have had bells and whistles on while operatically singing Carmen,” he said casually as he wiped my blood from his hands before continuing his meal prep. “And what’s on your forehead? Did Ben Stil…”

  “Stiller yeah, yeah. I already made that joke,” I said.

  Standing up, I dusted my pants off and sauntered to the window. I climbed in and walked to the microwave where I could see that the chopstick was a bullseye on my pupil. As I looked back and forth, the stick moved with my gaze. Up, down, left, and right. “Neat” I said before placing one hand over my eye with the accessory sticking out between my middle and ring finger. With my free hand, I grabbed and pulled quickly, the hand over my eye keeping it in the socket.

  Before you ask, vampires do have a reflection with modern mirrors. The only reason why this is considered canon is due to the fact that mirrors used to be made with silver which, like iron, cancels supernatural properties.

  I placed my head on Depweg’s left shoulder to see what he was making, and as he turned his head, my right hand went over his right shoulder and dropped the chopstick over his ingredients. Without missing a beat, he caught it and tried to stab my other eye; but I was too quick for him and my head was already on his other shoulder. He stabbed air and sighed as I gave him a quick peck on the neck. He turned his head back to the right and I was already sitting in his chair, rubbing my eye which was knitting itself back together.

  “So, what’s for dinner? Kibbles and bits of people?” I jested.

  “Fresh venison. Blue rare,” he responded while turning his attention back to his prep station. He had home grown veggies on a wok above a wood fire stove that filled the air with spices. “Why are you here, John?” He asked directly.

  “What? I can’t come by for a friendly visit with my best friend Deppyweg?” I asked in mock surprise.

  “Only friend,” he corrected. “You never just come by without an agenda, so spit it out.”

  “Ok dad,” I took in a deep breath, held it, and said while releasing, “There might be an apocalypse coming that will destroy this plane along with Heaven and or Hell, and I’m just trying to get a few extra super special people together to prevent the end of days like Arnold in… End of Days.” I dramatically sucked in another lungful of air and finished with, “So you in?”

  The question lingered in the air as Depweg added his meat to the wok.

  After he flipped the meat, searing it on both sides before sliding it onto a plate, he asked with his back still to me, “What have you done?”

  “Moi? Done something?” My voice went higher in pitch at the end of the question.

  He turned, holding his plate of ultra-rare meat and walked over to his homemade, leather recliner. “With this nose comes the ability to smell bull shit,” he said while cutting into his tender deer.

  “Alright, alright. You know how I’ve been helping Father Philseep, right? Taking out cults trying to summon demons, stopping certain unsavory characters from coming into power, rescuing kittens from trees… I mean dogs. Cute, little puppers.”

  “The point, please,” he casually urged while taking another bite.

  “I…” I began, interrupted by a tugging at my pant leg. I looked down at my favorite of Depweg’s rejects. Tiny Tim was a miniature, short haired shepherd with gimp rear legs. Depweg had manufactured a make shift wheelchair to support his lower body, allowing his front legs to pull him around. For this reason, Depweg kept him in the house so he wouldn’t have to traverse the lush grass.

  Immediately I picked him up and placed him on my lap asking in the typical ‘this is the cutest dog in the whole wide world voice’ “Oh my goodness, who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? It’s You! Yes, it is!”

  Timmy responded by wagging his tail as hard as he could and scrambling with his front paws to move up to my face. I helped pull him up and was met with a barrage of puppy kisses.

  “Make sure he gets your teeth,” said Depweg.

  Turning my head slowly toward where he sat, I produced my most creepy, toothy smile, full of dead bug parts. “Do you have a tooth pick by chance?” I asked still showing the graveyard.

  After picking the last remnants of what had to be an entire generation of insects, I explained the situation in detail. Tim rested in my lap and I stroked his head and back absently. After a few hours, all was laid out. At the end, I asked Depweg directly, “Look, no bull shit, this is big and there’s no one else I trust to have my back. Can I count on you or what, man?”

  He was finished eating and had set the plate on the coffee table in front of us. He slid forward on the edge of his chair, looked me right in the eyes and said with full sincerity, “You know I’ve always had your back, John. Even if it wasn’t to stop the apocalypse, I’d still have your six. You are just too proud to ask.”

  “Thanks, man,” I whispered while staring at the place where Tiny Tim was asleep on my lap, too embarrassed to look up at him.

  We spent the better part of the night coming up with a game plan, utilizing his military expertise. He even gave me a Glock .45 ACP with a spare magazine filled with hollow points that had a resin shot with silver and iron pellets at their core. This would create problems for any supe that was hit. The bullet would impact and
mushroom, sending the pellets into the body to ricochet around. The wounds would not heal and they would more than likely bleed to death. A heart or head shot meant insta-death for most supes.

  Depweg also gave me a ballistics vest infused with iron to help shield from magical attacks, both physical and energy based. I gulped at the magnitude of the situation as it started weighing on my guts. Like Martin Lawrence said in Bad Boys, ‘Shit just got real.’

  “The irony of a werewolf having silver bullets is palpable, you realize?” I asked.

  “No more than a mortal owning, well, any gun,” he responded matter-of-factly.

  “Point, match, Depweg.”

  “Well, it is time to feed the dogs. Might I suggest…” Depweg started.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll leave before you release the hounds. I know how they love supes like me.” I set Tim down on the ground and then squatted down next to where my buddy was whining, “Except Tiny Tim here. He’s my bestest friend, yes he is!” My hand was attacked with puppy kisses and little nips here and there. “Ok boy, I gotta go now. Be a good puppers for me, ok?” He yipped in agreement. I scratched him behind the ears and leaned down to kiss his head one last time before standing up.

  “Welp, time to make like a tree and get the fuck outta here,” I said.

  “Was good seeing you, John,” Depweg bid farewell.

  After slinging the backpack Depweg had given me with the armor and Glock, I made my way out the front door and back to the gate where my bug propeller awaited. Picking it up, my hand was met with bug parts that had become infused with the wood. I dropped it on the ground and rolled it in the damp, early morning grass before picking it back up and starting my way back to my car.

  Chapter 14

  Ireland, 1480

  The camp was fortified with a wall and sentry posts, complete with guards wielding bows. The grounds were adequately lit with torches spread out along the perimeter.

  I started moving out of the tree line and down a hill to the camp when Ulric placed a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

  “How many do you see, John?” Ulric asked.

  “I can’t tell,” I said. “Only a few in the sentries.”

  “Use your sight,” he said.

  “How?” I asked.

  “Do you think your father cried out in his final moments?” Ulric asked, looking down to casually adjust his clothing.

  The disrespect of his comment and nonchalant attitude of which he asked made me freeze with rage. PS grabbed both reins. My eyes focused and ears became attuned to the sounds around me. I could smell the oil from the torches and sweat on skin.

  Ulric smile beamed at me. “Good, John. That’s how it’s done. You harness your emotion and use it as a weapon. Now,” he pointed, “tell me how many you see down there.”

  With sheer will, I forced my gaze off him and looked down the hill. I could see the red, blurry outlines of men in their tents. In the stone buildings, I could only make out a small patch of warmth about two feet off the ground, then another three feet above that. I pointed at them and asked, “What are…”

  Ulric interrupted, knowing what I was going to ask. “Men sleeping in their bunks close to the wall. I noticed this at the other camp. You will grow to become observant of such details.”

  “Can you see the others in the building?” I asked, intrigued.

  “Unfortunately, no,” he sighed, as if he had asked the same question when he was but a fledgling vampire. “However,” he continued, “when near, I rely on my other senses. Come.” He started down the hill, silent as an apparition. I followed.

  He stopped at the bottom of one of the sentries and looked up, his eyes changing to predator red.

  He climbed up the wood without a sound and hopped over the edge, where there was a gasp of surprise. I could hear the guard’s heart beat speed up in panic, then falter, and finally, stop.

  Ulric jumped down and landed in a crouch, then stood up and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief he removed from his inner coat pocket. His skin had plumped back up and the rings around his eyes diminished significantly. He must have drained the poor bastard completely before his heart even thought about quitting.

  “Now your turn,” Ulric said as he pointed at the next corner of the compound. There was a renewed vigor in his words.

  I ran along the wall just outside of the immediate light of the torches, and stopped at the bottom. I squinted up but couldn’t see the outline. Ulric approached.

  “This one must be empty,” I said, and started walking to the next one.

  “Wait,” Ulric whispered. “Look again.”

  I stopped and looked up.

  Ulric asked, “Why was your mother executed, I wonder? Seemed unnecessary.”

  My teeth clenched, and then relaxed as I realized more and more what he was doing. I grabbed one rein and PS grabbed the other.

  The red outline of a man sitting with his head propped on his knees came into view through the wooden planks. I could hear his snoring from below.

  Ulric motioned for me to go.

  I scaled the building easily and jumped over the ledge, catching my foot and falling on my face with an, “Oomph!”

  The man quickly woke up, like a person who knows they aren’t supposed to be sleeping on the job and the boss walks by. His eyes locked on mine and he shot up to his feet and pulled a sword, swinging it with both hands.

  I was still recovering when the blade hit. All I could do was close my eyes and wait. There was a thud on my shoulder followed by a yelp. I opened my eyes and looked up to see the blade had bounced off my shoulder and rebounded into the man’s neck and chest.

  “Take the blood before it goes to waste,” Ulric whispered loudly from below.

  I stood up and grabbed the sword, pulling it free. A torrent of blood erupted and streamed down his new chest cavity like a wild river. I put my hand on his chin and lifted while pushing the opposite direction of the cut in his neck, opening the wound more. I crouched down and let the blood flow into my mouth.

  It was delectable. Energy flowed through my limbs, setting my hairs on end. The man managed a sob before taking his last breath.

  The blood continued to flow, though not as forceful. I frowned in disappointment as the elation and power I felt faded to a whimper as the blood dripped from the dead man’s corpse.

  I let him drop to the ground and then hopped over the ledge, landing next to Ulric.

  “Why…” I started.

  “Once the soul leaves the body, the blood is not as effective,” Ulric said, again anticipating my question.

  “Wait, are you saying we eat their souls?” I asked, mortified.

  “I am not entirely sure, if I am to be honest. What I do know is we can feed and not kill, and the mortal appears fine after a few nights. There are even those who gladly provide us sustenance at our leisure,” Ulric said.

  “So, we don’t have to kill anyone? Those men last night…”

  “Do not attempt to go down that righteous path with me, fledgling,” Ulric commanded firmly. “Even if you did not need to feed on these soldiers, you would still have ended their existence with glee. Do you blame the fox for eating the chicken?”

  “I…”

  “No, you do not. Why is that? Because it is the way of things. We are vampire. They,” He said pointing to the camp, “are food.”

  “If there are those who willingly provide us with sustenance, what do they get in return?” I asked, intrigued.

  Ulric calmed at the question and said, “Some, for wealth. Others, protection. Still others want to be one of us, so a bargain is made. My taste was for those that wanted a rival to be killed. If their reason was greed and not something like vengeance, I would drink them dry, instead. It was amusing.” Ulric smiled as his eyes focused on nothing, reliving numerous memories inside the theater of his own mind.

  I stood in silence, looking at my mentor, assessing him. It felt as if a jigsaw puzzle had been thrown on a table in front of me with all
the pieces upside down, and I had to solve it. And some pieces were missing. And I was blind folded.

  “I grow tired of this cloak and daggers game.” Ulric looked at me, smiled and said, “For my next trick…” and clapped his hands together. Every torch in the complex violently blew out one by one, down the line. There was a shout of confoundment somewhere in the camp as it was enveloped in darkness.

  He jumped over the wall in one, effortless leap, and started casually walking through the camp. I followed.

  We approached a wall with a red blur and Ulric punched through the stone, pulling out a very dazed young man. His torso was the only thing exposed while his lower half remained inside the building. Ulric drained him quickly, and then swiped his hand parallel with the wall, bisecting the man just above the waist.

  “You cut here, John, because it allows the entrails to fall out.” He threw the body up and over the roof, landing in the center of the tent line. Organs came tumbling out with a sickening slosh.

  Ulric lifted one hand to his ear, closed his eyes, and waited. After a moment, we heard a tent rustling, followed by a gasp, and then a scream of terror.

  “There it is,” Ulric purred, a smile creasing his face. He burst through the wall like it was made of sticks, and grabbed the cowering soldier on the top bunk by the neck as the bed fell to the ground. These men had to be barely of fighting age. Ulric turned with the boy clutching at his hands, desperate for air, and held him out for me.

  “He,” I started, “he’s so young.”

  Ulric, on the verge of losing patience, said to me flatly, “How many innocents has this boy murdered?”

  “By command of their superior,” I retorted.

  “What do his victims think of his orders? They can’t think can they, John? They’re dead,” he said while stepping forward. The boy was turning purple. The capillaries in his eyes were bursting one at a time. “End his pain, John. Be his salvation and redemption.”