Neckbeard Vampire: Nightbeard Rising
Page 50
“Thank you,” Dex said as Kara placed a beer in front of him. He towered over the pint that sat before him.
“Cheer up, Dex.” Fantasia’s blue streak glistened in the rippling sunlight that passed through the trees overhead. “At least you can take a vacation now, right?” She forced a smile in hopes that it might be contagious.
“Maybe.” He answered.
“Well at least I can,” Mickey said, “With the Dakimakura gone, the Nightbeards are back to normal, and the neckbeards were never really a threat…except to their own health.” He took a sip of his ale.
“And how’s that tat?” Jaxxon5 leaned over and smacked his ass on the same place where Dex had received the mark of the Brony.
“As harmless a birthmark,” The doctor spoke up, “I’ve perfected the cure from the sample that Cruxx obtained from the shop—and as you can see,” he pointed to Dex’s enormous biceps, “everything’s back to normal.”
Dex nodded, sullenly sipping his beer. He opened his mouth as if about to say something, but then closed it quickly.
“What’s eating you, Dex?” Cruxx spoke up.
“Questions.” Dex responded enigmatically. “Many questions remain.”
Paxton sauntered up to the table.
“Someone’s lookin’ good,” Kara whistled. “Working out, huh? …and what’s this? A clean shave?”
Paxton smiled shyly. “Well…ya know…” He lowered his Fedora, hiding behind its shadowy veil and making the hunter’s emblem visible to all.
“Oh I get it,” Kara said coyly. “Dressed to impress?” And she winked to Fantasia.
“Yeah yeah yeah. I just kind of miss being super buff and well…awesome.”
“Well keep working at it—you’re making good progress.” Cruxx commented.
“Thanks—I just need a bit more cardio,” Paxton responded, grabbing a fistful of flab from his stomach. “Then I’ll get rid of this.”
“Right—well nice work,” Mickey said, “I’ve gotta get back to the shop.”
“Yeah, me too,” Cruxx said, “That mail won’t chain itself.”
One by one the guild dismissed itself, leaving Paxton and Dex alone.
“Dex,” Paxton said.
“Something’s not right, Paxton.” Dex said. “Why haven’t I transformed back into my unaltered self?”
“Because she’s not dead.” Paxton said.
“What?” Dex sat up. “How can that be? Chad killed her…I saw it.”
“Because that wasn’t her.” Paxton answered.
“How do you—?”
Before he could speak further, Paxton dropped a dusty, leather bound notebook onto the table.
“Open it,” he tapped on the leather cover.
Dex took the book into his hands and slowly unwound the leather strap from around the cover.
He opened to the first page, running his fingers over the handwriting of distant generations.
“Where did you get this?” He looked up at Paxton, his eyes now reflecting the sense of purpose they once possessed.
“Same place I got this.” And he tipped his Fedora. “Dex,” he said. “We killed a Dakimakura—not the Dakimakura.”
“What? There are more? How do you know?”
“Because I’ve read this.” And he gestured to the book.
He stared Dex dead in the eyes. “Dex,” He said excitedly, “this is history.”
“What history?”
“YOUR history.” Paxton paused, smiling at Dex.
“I’m going to the gym. Read it, brother.” He stood up, reaching his hand up and taking the aged leather rim between his thumb and forefingers, and before turning to walk away looked to Dex and slowly tipped his Fedora.
The End
About the Author:
D.S. Morg (sometimes “Morgue” in the spirit of his creepier stories) is an aspiring author of fantasy, science fiction, and horror. He also dabbles in non-fiction when addressing topics of societal importance.
In addition to his really boring day job as a Project Manager in an IT company, he likes to spend time playing the banjo and walking the ever-disobedient Chuck and his inseparable sidekick Shooba. He currently lives in Kiev, Ukraine with his super-hot wife, Oksana.
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