by T. A. Staver
didn’t drink anything that night; just had a glass in front of him. Should have been a red flag, I guess. He told me his name was Abarran.
“We talked about the weather, sports, basically shot the crap for a while. Eventually, as I’m drinking whiskey and he’s drinking nothing, I start to get drunk and he stays sober. He even bought me a couple of drinks.
“That was when he started asking if I had thought about my place in the world. How I looked at the rest of humanity. Did I ever feel superior to others? Well, you may not have noticed, but I tend to be a type-A personality.”
I kept a straight face: I feared for my life.
“So yeah, I did think I was pretty okay. And I always thought I could outsell anyone, anywhere.” Chuck had a smug look on his face, but as he paused, it passed into a frown. “That guy sure took me for a sucker. Who outsold whom?” he muttered to himself. Then he shook himself.
“Anyway, with all of the drink and ego-boosting words, pretty soon he had me up and out of the bar. I staggered a little, but Abarran caught me by the arm and held me up straight. That should have been another warning; I outweighed him by about three hundred pounds.
“As soon as we cleared the outside lights at the side of the building, he grabbed me and lifted me around the corner. That shocked the crap out of me. No one has done that to me since I was a kid. That sobered me up and scared me.
“He looked me right in the eye, and told me he was doing me the biggest favor in my puny little life: giving me immortality. I had never been more scared in my life. I tried to push my way up, but he just shoved me back down with one hand. And just like that, he was biting my neck, drinking my blood. I tried to get away, but as my blood was taken, I grew weaker and weaker. Then it was darkness, nothingness.”
“Sometime after that I…came to is the best way to describe it. I was sucking on Abarran’s wrist, drinking his blood. And it was the best thing I had ever tasted. Ever. I think I would have drained him dry if he hadn’t pushed me off of his wrist.
“So there I was, lying in a swoon, in the shadows outside the back door of a motel bar. My body is shutting down, releasing bodily fluids. I’m looking at this nerdy guy and seeing him as I’ve never seen anything before. Like going from a regular TV to H.D., but even more pronounced. I can see everything in the dark. I was a little overwhelmed.
“Just then, Abarran cocked his head like someone was talking to him. He looked at me and said, ‘Sorry, I must leave’, and he disappeared, like he blinked out of existence. But I saw the littlest movement at the edge of my vision. So I know he was just moving so fast that he only seemed to disappear.
“For the rest of that evening I wandered around looking at, listening to, and feeling things as never before. And I had not, at least not with that clarity. With the neck-biting and the blood drinking, I figured I was officially a vampire. And when the dawn came, I also figured I had better get my fat butt out of the coming sunlight.
“Over the next few nights, I worked out some of the things I needed to do. I’ve found that I don’t have to drink blood every night, at least if it comes from a living creature. Those bags of blood I stole from the Red Cross will only hold me for a night. So far I’ve only drunk from animals that I catch, or the occasional cow. I haven’t drunk blood directly from a human, yet.” Chuck suddenly smiled. “I almost got you that night we met.” I’m sure my return smile was wan.
“So here I am Rodger. I’m a vampire, but not entirely by choice. For some strange reason I’m still concerned about my soul. I drink the blood of animals, but not humans. Does that make me a wussy vampire, or a prudent being, concerned with the after-life?”
How to answer? I didn’t know about his soul. Would it be better to recommend he see a minister? Could a priest do anything for him? For that matter, could he even get close to a priest? Or was he doomed to eternal damnation?
“I’m afraid I don’t know, Chuck.” I said. “My guess is that you’re going to have to work out the answers yourself, with the help of someone higher up the theological ladder than I am. I hope this doesn’t sound like a cop out; I just don’t want to lead you into a wrong decision. The fact that you are worried and thinking about it sounds like a step in the right direction.”
His pursed lips and squinted eyes didn’t fill me with confidence.
“Well!” Chuck clapped his hands together and stood in one very fast motion that made me jump. “Like I said that first night we met: it’s good to talk to someone, to bounce ideas off of someone else. But if you don’t mind, I think I’ll be shoving off.”
I felt bad, as if Chuck had come to me for advice and I had let him down. But another thought pushed into my mind: was Chuck an evil being? Was consorting with him putting my soul at risk? Or was I doing the right thing by helping him come to terms with his existence? I had read the cliché, His mind swam with confusion in any number of books, but it wasn’t until that instant that I understand it.
Chuck was putting his coat on as he headed towards the door. “Say Chuck, I’m still open to more talking, if you’re interested,” I said. I would work out my own concerns, hopefully before I talked to him again.
“You know, I think I’ll take you up on that.” Chuck was smiling again. I walked him to the door. I had lots of questions for him, but they would have to wait. It was going to take me a few days to digest what we had talked about tonight.
“Good night, Chuck. Give me a call next time and I can have something ready for when you get here.”
“Like what, a bottle of blood?” Chuck grinned as he pulled my leg.
“Okay, that was dumb.”
“Goodbye, Rodger, until next time.”
I watched Chuck as he left, to see which way he went. As he headed down the street with his unbuttoned coat flapping around him like a set of wings, he disappeared. It seemed he had been practicing.
Shaking my head, I moved toward my chair. The Stephen King was most likely done for the night, but I would definitely have a couple of Leinenkugels as I sorted out our conversation in my mind.
I sank into my chair, only to leap back up. The cushions were soaking wet from Chuck’s melting snow. Have I mentioned that Chuck can be a jerk?
About the author:
T. A. Staver is from Illinois, is currently a part-time writer, and has so far not met a real vampire. But the family cat is considered evil by his children.
A Night Meeting (free)
The Encounter (free)
To contact T. A. Staver:
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My Website: Writing for Fun