Neckbeard Vampire: Nightbeard Rising

by David Morgan

  Chapter 24

  Paxton knocked on the large door on the front of Kara’s house. Something seemed off, he thought. True, he hadn’t been there for a few months, but it seemed to have age so much in such a short time. The paint wasn’t peeling and the roof wasn’t crumbling. ‘Dilapidated,’ he thought, would not quite be the right word for it. It just seemed…darker.

  He waited patiently for a few minutes and then knocked again, louder this time. Within a few seconds, heavy footsteps could be heard from behind the door.

  “Who’s there?” A thin, snivelly voice demanded.

  “It’s me, Paxton. Paxton Volvox.” It was odd—Paxton remembered Kara’s father having a much deeper voice.

  “Paxton?! What do you want?” The voice again spoke impatiently.

  “Mr. Traube? Is…uhh…Kara home?”

  “One minute.”

  The footsteps disappeared and then returned after a few minutes. Paxton took a step back as the handle jiggled. The door slowly opened to a tall, fat boy. His beard stretched far down his neck. A mustard-stained t-shirt was draped over his enormous gut like a bedsheet, with camouflaged cargo shorts hovering a few inches above his ankles. A trilby was perched forward on his head, almost covering his eyes completely. Bare feet made the entire ensemble ridiculous.

  He spoke, and Paxton learned that the snarky, sniveling voice did not belong to Kara’s father at all, “Please forgive me,” he said with a grin, exposing a mouthful of brown teeth. Paxton cringed as the smell of fresh diarrhea fumed from his mouth. “Won’t you come in? Kara would love to see you.” There was something about that grin that put Paxton on edge.

  The neckbeard led Paxton down a hall to what was presumably Kara’s room. “So are you…uhh…Kara’s brother?” He tried to make conversation.

  “You might say that.” The neckbeard answered, grinning. “We’re basically best friends.” He said.

  Best friends? Paxton thought it was strange, considering he’d never seen the guy before.

  The entire house was noticeably dark. The dank smell of sweaty underwear filled the house and oozed from cavernous rooms. More than once he nearly tripped over a discarded bottle of Code Red.

  Occasionally, his peripheral vision would catch the sluggish movement of a bulky shadow in a distant corner, only to look and find an empty room.

  “Here we are.” The neckbeard gestured to the door in front of which they now stood. “She is expecting you.”

  Paxton examined the door, reassuring himself against the sinking feeling that he was walking into a trap.

  “Should I knock, or…” Paxton turned to ask his neckbeard guide—but the guy was gone. Paxton shrugged and reached for the handle.

  He turned the knob slowly, sensing that, for some reason, he should keep quiet. He turned the latch and, to his surprise the door swung open of its own accord.

  “Paxton!” A voice, vibrant with energy spoke from somewhere in the darkness. “Come in! I’m so glad you came!”

  Paxton entered the room, taking in his new surroundings. The dim light from the hallway was the only light in the room—revealing that the windows had been spray painted black and covered with dark curtains.

  “Kara?” He asked, walking into the room—“I can’t see a thing in here. What’s with the darkness?”

  “Oh. You don’t like it?” She said, making a duck face. “Here!” In a distant corner, a candle stick burst into flame, casting an eerie glow on the rest of the room. Kara sat on her bed, flipping through an anime magazine. She looked ghostly pale in the dark, but her voice made her sound healthier than she’d ever been.

  “You’re reading in the dark?”

  “I just find light to be really over-rated lately, ya know?” She looked up from the comic book, turning her head to the side, as though divulging some new and great revelation in her life. She tossed the comic to the foot of the bed.

  “So…what’s up?” Hold on. She motioned with her finger behind Paxton, and the door shut with a bang.

  Paxton jumped forward—shocked from the door slamming shut, suspecting that something was definitely off about this place. He feared letting her know that he was nervous—he tried to make conversation, “Who’s the guy? Boyfriend?”

  “What guy? Oh! You mean Jeffrey? HA!” And she began to laugh hysterically—it sounded ill-placed considering that no joke was made. “No way!” she grimaced, “He’s amazing though…but he’s just a friend—that kinda does anything I ask him. But I don’t see him that way—he’s super gross.”

  And then she leaned in and held her hand at eye level. Squinting one eye---she showed the space between her thumb and forefinger, held less than an inch apart. “Micro-penis!” she feigned in a whisper that wasn’t really a whisper. “He seems to be pretty fond of bananas, though.” And she started laughing that same, misplaced hysterical laughter.

  Her mouth opened wide, revealing two large canines on either side of her mouth. They looked more like fangs.

  “How are you feeling, Kara?” Paxton tried to edge towards his mission, although he already knew the answer.

  “Me?” She said, straightening her back and placing her fingertips on her chest as though it was the most random question in the world, “I feel…” and she paused for a moment and giggled, “Amazing! Why do you ask? How are YOU?!”

  The conversation continued. She spoke a mile a minute, shifting from thought to thought and topic to topic—acting as though nothing were changed, as if everything was as it had always been. Paxton wanted out and tried to inch his way to the door.

  “Paxton,” and her voice changed from peppy giggles to a sort of fake sincerity.

  “Paxton—why did you break up with me?” She said, looking him straight in the eyes.

  “Uhh…I…uhh…that was a long time ago,” he stuttered, desperately hoping that she might let him go. The Red Pill might help him resist her charms—but she could still overpower him. “Does it matter?”

  “Was it because I was fat?” She made a pouty face again as she looked down at her shirt. Paxton watched as the top button came undone on its own.

  “Huh? I…”

  “Ya know,” and her voice grew deep and she spoke slowly. “…I’ve lost some weight since then.” Pop---another button came undone. His eyes were drawn to her breasts, slowly rising and falling, deeply…sensually. They burst up through the opening at the top of the shirt, supported firmly by her bra. He struggled to look away.

  Pop, pop, pop. Paxton watched as the buttons came undone, revealing a toned stomach of creamy, flawless skin. To say her breasts were perfect, he thought, would have been a terrible injustice; he wanted to motorboat the shiz out of them.

  “Listen, Kara,” he said instead, “Don’t do that! You’re not that kind of girl! You deserve respect and honor.”

  “Ahh. That’s what I like about you, Paxton,” she said, her lips curling into a coy smile, “You’re a true gentlemen.” And she lifted her hand, and curled her finger to motion him to come closer.

  Paxton didn’t move—but he did. That is, though he did not walk any closer, he found himself being pulled towards her by some invisible force as she beckoned him to her.

  “What’s wrong?!” She said, noticing his resistance, “Don’t you wanna play with me?” She made the fake pouty face again, feigning disappointment.

  He was close to her now—he wanted to get away, he wanted to race to the door or break open the windows—but he couldn’t move.

  She leaned in. “Well I want to.” She said, “I want to play…so we’re going to!” And she grabbed him, pulling him onto the bed and pinning him down. She climbed on top, straddling him, pressing her cleavage against his chest.

  “Please…you’re…” Paxton strained to speak, her grip was like iron. “…a lady…” She put a finger to his mouth.

  “Shh….” She said, “Just let it happen—just—enjoy it.” And she kissed him on the lips. Her skin was cold. Not clammy, but cold—as though he were kissi
ng a girl from whom all life had long disappeared. Then she moved her lips to his cheek, sucking and playing, running her tongue up and down his warm skin.

  “You’re so warm…” she said, with voracity. She moved her kiss lower, fixing her lips on his neck.

  Paxton gasped as her fangs sunk in, penetrating his flesh. He stared at the ceiling, unsure of whether to enjoy the pleasurable pain, whether he should (assuming that he could) fight back, or to just pretend it wasn’t happening and pray it would be over soon. But seconds passed as she continued to love on him, as her tongue stroked his neck and she drained the life from his veins. Still he focused on the ceiling, frozen stiff—hoping it would be over soon.

  And it was—or at least it seemed. As she sucked the last drops of blood from him, the ceiling turned to black and his rapist disappeared into darkness as he faded into unconsciousness.

  But then he woke up.