Sophie Morgan (Book 1): Relative Strangers (A Modern Vampire Story)

by Treharne, Helen

  It took me going through the first three pages of results to find a tiny article in one of the local newspapers about a spate of missing dogs in another part of the city and a blog from someone who had lost their cat. Although there seemed nothing particularly unusual, these incidents could have easily been related.

  I wondered if vampires could survive long term feeding on animals, but Richard had mentioned needing to feed on human blood to transform completely. Mr Ferrers had been sketchy, but I had come away from our meeting with the feeling that while animals might be a source of nutrition when desperate, there were plenty of willing victims happy to sacrifice a pint or two on demand. I couldn't shake the feeling that, when it came to Mr Ferrers, there could be more to it than that, perhaps he had other gifts. For all I knew, he had some sort of mind control which would mean I’d offer myself up on a plate if he willed it. I shuddered at the thought.

  Going back to the local newspaper for evidence, I searched their online pages for news of any violent crimes. There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary, but that didn’t mean anything - I was confident that they could easily dispose of a body if they needed to. Wishing that I’d bought a newspaper over the last couple of days, I scanned the screen up and down until my eyes were sore.

  Perhaps the body in the car park was collateral damage, a newbie run amok. Perhaps Mr Ferrers was right and they could function easily without anyone having to get killed, this was just an unfortunate but isolated incident. On one hand, that should have been reassuring, but on the other, that meant there could have been lots of vampire happy meals, wandering around never having known they were attacked or at risk.

  It also meant that Richard could easily have partaken of human blood and his conversion would have been complete. I hadn't seen him since the incident outside; perhaps he'd managed to escape, just taken his fill of human blood and moved on. The thought that he hadn't left and that he had just gone upstairs and died, also crossed my mind. For some reason, that felt like the worst outcome, as I couldn't imagine what that would have been like for him. Okay, he had bitten me, he was clearly a bit misguided, but he was still human when I saw him last, at least partially.

  A noise from upstairs stirred me into action. I listened for a while. After a short silence, there was another noise. This time it was louder, like someone moving furniture. Perhaps Rich was moving out? A quick look out of the kitchen window showed there were no moving vans outside, although his car was still in its parking space. Whatever he was doing, he clearly hadn’t left. But what could I do? If I challenged him, I was pretty certain that I’d be dead by morning. Rich looked like a pretty hapless vampire, but my work visitor had made it quite clear that I was considered an inconvenience, one which could be easily dispatched if needed.

  The solution was clear, even if a little cowardly; I couldn’t stay there any longer; I needed to get away. Staying there and trying to live a normal life until my planned departure wasn’t an option. I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t know what I did, to live below a potentially murderous neighbour and be constantly looking over my shoulder. No, this situation was impossible. I was going to move back to Wales anyway, why not go sooner? There wasn’t anything stopping me.

  But first I had to do something. If Richard was up there, if he hadn’t gone, I had to make sure that he didn’t have anyone up there with him, someone that he could hurt. Perhaps I couldn’t go to the police, but I could certainly try to ensure that something wasn’t going to happen again on my front doorstep. That’s the least I could do before I did a runner.

  If I’d had any strong drink in the house, that would have been the time to take it. As it was, all I had was a copious supply of tea bags, half a jar of generic instant coffee and an unopened bottle of Martini which I’d won in a raffle the previous Christmas. I’m sure there was some beer somewhere, but there was no time to hunt for that. I had to settle for several deep breaths and my French cook’s knife for courage. I didn’t intend on using it, but if I had to, I would, and it was better to be prepared for the worse than not.

  All I wanted was to see if Richard was upstairs and stop him from doing anything terrible. At the same time, I wanted to tell him that I was going to be moving on and didn’t want any trouble. It seemed cowardly and gung-ho all at the same time. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but either way I’d be about for at least a couple of days before I moved on. Getting killed in the interim wasn’t in my plan, but neither was witnessing or being complicit in any more murders.

  I managed to make it up the stairwell to Richard’s flat without attracting any attention. I was glad; in my current state, there was no way I could have come up with a reasonable explanation for walking around the building with a knife. My palms were sweaty and my heart was about to push itself right out of my chest cavity.

  Now that I was standing outside Richard's door, I wondered if it was such a good idea. Perhaps things wouldn’t go too well if he opened it and found me stood there, weakly waving a weapon in his face. The knife was intended for self-protection, but given the volatile situation, it could easily be mistaken as out and out aggression on my part. After a brief reimagining of prospective outcomes (including the option of Richard immediately ripping my throat out, as I waved the knife sheepishly before me), I slipped the blade deep into the pocket of my sweatshirt.

  Several deep breaths didn’t help me compose myself, but then again this was a very surreal situation. I imagine it would be very difficult for anyone to try and look nonchalant. I felt like a Christian being thrown to the lions; I was a teenager asking a girl on a first date. But despite my fear and confusion, there was still this small buzz of compulsion, driving me forward, to make my last stand. This was my Little Big Horn, although I wasn't sure if I was Custer or the Indians.

  Looking back, I'm not surprised at how I felt. How should I have felt exactly? How would you? It’s not every day that you find a vampire living above you. I considered just going downstairs, packing up and doing a runner. But I knew I couldn’t live with myself if that resulted in Richard going on a rampage. I knew I’d be taking my life in my hands going in, not just because of Richard, but because of his vampire friends too. The vampire Ferrers had made his intentions quite clear, well sort of. I better keep my nose out of their business or else. It had all been wrapped up in a pretty ribbon bow of niceties and good breeding, but I understood his meaning. In some respects, it would have been easier if he had just crept into my flat and murdered me in my sleep.

  I emptied my lungs and gathered my thoughts. Everything became still. Right, Geronimo. I rapped my knuckles on the door of the flat. There was no response. I waited for a few seconds, listening for signs of life, then knocked again, a little firmer.

  No one came to the door, but I was positive I could hear someone shuffling about inside. I placed my ear on the painted white door and listened intently. It sounded like someone was listening to music. I quickly withdrew my ear in case the door opened suddenly and I fell through it, or worse.

  However, I still didn't know if Richard was in there. His car being parked out front meant nothing. After all, perhaps he wouldn't need it where he was going. There was also the possibility that he was in the flat, but was dead. If he hadn't been able to feed, he may have just dragged himself back to his apartment, curled up and quietly died. I could only hope. But what if someone was in there with him? For all I knew, Richard could have lured some unsuspecting victim and fed on him, killed them even. Damn it, he isn't meant to be feeding, he was supposed to have packed up his things and pissed off.

  But was I actually going to do if that was the case? Call the police? I think that the ship had probably sailed. If there was ever a time I was going to tell them, it was when they were standing outside my front door inspecting a murder victim. Mr. Ferrers and my gut instincts were in agreement. If I called the police now, telling them that I thought my neighbour was turning into a vampire, they'd have the mental-health- team around to see me in a matter of
hours. I'd end up like Seamus' cousin. What good would that do anyone, especially me?

  The door to the flat next to Richard's opened, and an unkempt middle-aged man walked out of the flat and smiled at me. His navy overalls were covered in a coating of dust and specks of paint and I wondered if the man had bought it or was simply a decorator fixing it up for somebody else. I returned his gesture, but my smile lacked joy.

  Once I heard the external door to the block of flats slam, I hammered at Richard's door again. Rather than using my knuckles to create a polite rap, I clenched my fist and punched it with the meatiest part. The force I exuded surprised me. The door shook in the frame a little. Okay, perhaps a bit too aggressive that time Soph.

  After a short while, and increasingly frustrated at the lack of response, I reached for the door handle, depressed it and pushed. It opened easily; it wasn't locked. "Hello?" I called, stepping through the doorway and entering the narrow hallway. "I said hello?"

  As there was no reply, I carried on walking to the living room, taking a sideways glance into the small kitchen and finding it empty. The two bedroom doors, one of which I assumed led to a room Richard, used as an office, were closed. The bathroom door was ajar, but there was no sign of life from behind it. Within seconds, I was in the living room. It was as immaculate as it had been on the other sole occasion I’d been in it. Whatever Richard was going through, he’d managed to maintain some semblance of normality. I guess if you were going to live forever, you’d want to spend your eternity somewhere nice.

  I scanned the room for signs of life. No empty plates or cups, but the stereo was playing easy listening hits softly in the background. I hadn't pegged Richard as a Perry Como fan, but then he was just full of surprises, wasn't he?

  "Well, well, well and what do we have here?"

  I spun in the direction of the voice, dropping my knife in the process and stumbling backwards into a chair. It was Mr. Ferrers.

  "My, my, what a sharp knife you have?" he observed.

  We both looked at the blade lying at my feet on the carpet. He didn't have to say it, we both knew that he’d be able to traverse the distance between us before I even had a chance to bend down and pick it up.

  Ferrers was definitely not like any of the vampires I'd seen before. He was poised, tall and lean. If I was a betting woman, I'd have put money on him winning the Olympic hundred metre sprint under ten seconds. He was probably too composed to even break a sweat. There was a quality about him which set him apart from the other vampires I'd encountered, and it went beyond his polished shoes and well-clipped nails. I'm loathed to admit it, but emitted a certain je ne sais quoi, an unassuming charisma. Richard had been right when he alluded to it - who wouldn't want to be like him? He seemed accomplished, intelligent, and polite. In many ways, if I was going to paint a picture of what a suitable gentleman friend would be for my mother, he was it, less the vampire bit of course. But more than that, unlike the other vampires who seemed to lack an element of self-control, Ferrers was measured and in his own way thoughtful. To my mind, he just seemed much more adept at being a vampire. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising that being a vampire looked appealing if he was the first one you met.

  "Where's Richard?" I asked, my words stumbling over my lips. I wasn't convinced that I cared anymore, but Ferrers had entered the room and was blocking my exit. He casually leant against the dining table with his arms folded in front of him. The gesture was supine but unsettling. There was no way that I could pass him without putting myself dangerously within his reach. This was not going to plan.

  "Richard is in bed, resting", Ferrers replied.

  "Why is he in bed?" I demanded." What have you done to him?" I may as well establish some facts while I'm here.

  "You know what I’ve done to him. He’s one of us now. It’s what he wanted." His matter of fact manner was disconcerting.

  "I can’t imagine why."

  "Yes you can," he replied, taking a seat at one of the dining chairs facing me. "I’m everything you’d like to be. I’m confident, learned, well-travelled, respected. I have total and utter freedom and people admire me for it, they want to be like me."

  "I don’t want to be like you."

  He smiled, removed an invisible speck of something from his trousers and flicked it on the floor. He probably had perfect vision. It was easy to hate some people.

  "So why is he still here? Why is he in bed in this pokey flat? Why isn’t he off jetting the world with you seeing the sights if your life is so great?"

  The flat wasn’t pokey, I was sure it was marginally bigger than mine, which was, in fact, a decent size for a two bed, certainly by most people’s standards. But it was true, I couldn’t really understand why they would be setting up in the West Midlands when there would be more glamorous places to be.

  "Richard isn’t feeling quite himself at the moment," Ferrers explained, devoid of emotion. "It happens to us all at first. It's not unlike a virus, ravishing your immune system. Now, he has a fever, but it will break. He will feel better, and his conversion to my kind will be complete. The first few weeks are always the most challenging. But in answer to your rather interesting question, then of course Richard is free to move on and do as he wishes. When he is more himself, he may choose to stay with me, or close by at the very least. Alternatively, he may go his own way and live and feed wherever he chooses, I will have given him a long, potent life, the ability to experience a great many new things, and see a great deal more after all. Even vampires can outgrow their relationships."

  "Fever? He'll survive and then become a vampire?" I asked, choosing not to indulge Ferrers’ desire to talk about himself or promote vampirism to me as any sort of desirable lifestyle. Vamp-Lite - all the longevity you want with none of the calories; snack between meals, but never kill.

  "Yes, he’s fed on enough human blood to complete the transition. It doesn't take a great deal, but it does take a little while for the body to adjust to the new…" he paused, searching for an appropriate phrase, "... status."

  I guess he didn't have to talk to humans about being a vampire that often, what with there being such lack of defined terminology.

  "And if he hadn’t fed?” I asked. I really wanted to ask who Richard had fed on, but I didn't want to push my luck, and part of me didn't want to know. Knowing would make it real, and I was still partially treading water in denial.

  "He’d go mad and in time. It’s not pretty, but it doesn't take long, a few days, sometimes a week. As he’s drank human blood, the transition will be easier. If he has consumed more, of course, the transition would be practically noticeable, but as it stood our window of opportunity was somewhat limited."

  "But hasn't he been here the whole time? Who...?" my words trailed off into thoughts of my neighbours. Had Richard popped downstairs and had a nibble on Roy? Had they crept into my flat and drunk from me without me even knowing it?

  "Your blood," Mr Ferrers replied, answering the question I hadn't yet asked. I thought I could detect the hint of a smile, but couldn't be certain.

  I must have been wearing my confused face as he went from looking straight into my eyes, to my hand. I followed his gaze and was reminded of Richard's small, but painful, bite. The two faint scars, left by his burgeoning fangs, resembled little more than faded cigarette burns.

  "Mine?" I stammered, "I’m responsible for his... change?"

  "No, well not exclusively. But your blood certainly sealed the deal, as they say. The speed of his conversion is actually quite remarkable. You must have a very interesting blood type. It’s fascinating."

  I felt sick. I couldn’t quite tell if he was deliberately mean or mischievous. Either way, he seemed to enjoy making me squirm.

  "So what am I now?" I asked, "Dessert?"

  "Now that’s an interesting thought," he replied, tilting his head a millimetre or two to one side. He appeared to be studying me, intrigued by me, although I wasn’t sure why. I'm sure I was just a tiny ant to him, one which he could cru
sh whenever the fancy took him. "I’m sure you would be delicious," he added.

  I needed to get him thinking of me as a person, rather than as dinner, isn’t that what they always try to get kidnappers do? Attempt to help them see their hostages as real people, regular people with families and lives. I wasn’t convinced it would work, given that he seemed perfectly happy to eat other people for dinner. Perhaps just getting him on any other topic of conversation would help distract him, give me a moment’s reprieve from his invasive stare, time to make a dash for it.

  "So, what about you? Why aren’t you off with the supernatural jet set? Surely you should be living it up on the Cote D’Azur, or somewhere else equally exotic?" I attempted the smallest of steps towards the door, but I'm sure he must have detected my tiny shuffle. I was pathetic.

  "I occasionally travel for business, but I've been here exclusively for the past couple of decades... no, a little longer. You see, it's always been my home. Not Coventry, no, but not far from here. There's always been Ferrers in Warwickshire, in some shape or form. However, one must ensure that one sees the most of the world, and it may be time to take a grand tour again soon, show my children the world that they've so far missed."

  "So why don’t you?" I asked, embarrassed my failed attempt at movement. I'd moved only a few inches. The knife and the door may as well have been miles away.

  "You interest me. You’re different, but I can’t quite work out how yet. Don’t worry though, I will." Ferrers paused in consideration. "I'm not going to kill you though, I don't think so anyway, not yet, if that's what is concerning you. But you are interesting. You should take that as a compliment. It's not often that anyone. Indeed anything, intrigues me. It's a quality I can respect in a person. I usually only convert people who need it, and of course, who can provide me with a valuable skill. Their consent is a must. Of course, there's always an exception."