Unknown Vampire

1 Origins

Blue sky covered the forest where rabbits, squirrels, and a chipmunk played beneath the canopy like kittens under a bedspread.  This same sky swirled far above him where no eagle flew, but a single blue jay warned of the intruder, alienating the predator from its serene surroundings as a sense of power seemed to swim among his veins reminiscent of seeing a large musky on the mud flats common  to backwashes and deep marshes.   But it was all a facade likened to a presentation at a home, sports and travel show at the mall; these woods more a three acre wood than a rugged wilderness.  But mightn’t it, however, serve the sinister plans he had in mind for the place.

Memories of severing the beautiful, lovely and yet cumbersome flesh, and blood, and bones, assuredly the first of many possible victims to come, surfaced as the contents laid nakedly but lifelessly abroad, the cardboard box unwrapped and discarded, a corpse on the floor of that presumably the abode which must certainly belong to the mother of everything natural.  Why, at this angle surely even an angel would believe the woman had simply sought repose amid the leaves blown aground by autumnal breezes.

Drunk like the demons of Revelations on the blood of saints, his adrenal glands secreted the precious substances responsible for an incredible eight mile height to which he had fallen not unlike the drugged lyricist with the previously puzzling words to an acid rock tune of long ago.  Then with the suddenness of a distant snap a lone doe raised her leery head only to look in a direction not desired by the clandestine digger in the roots of a regal red pine.  Every exposed hair of his body alive with the fantastic sensations of fear, he too watched with more than mild interest as a young male came to an attentive halt, avidly surveying the remarkable sight of this rural grave digger precariously burying a member of his own species apparently proud it was not that of one of his own.

The soil, replaced with slightly less than before above the body, the rest scattered nearby along the forest's floor he covered with the black garbage bag no longer somewhat full of leaves and pine needles he had gathered before the burial began.  Filled with a vain pride in what he saw as a job well done, he retreated, worrying that he might be seen by human eyes as he, furtively-looking, left the cover of the little woods near the city park—land he used.  But had it been wisely done?

Driving his 2004 Daewoo Leganza, the speed limit towards the taller buildings of the town often called a city by local dwellers, he began to reflect on the circumstances that fed his thirst for human blood rather comparable to tributaries feeding a massive river or leading to a large sea or distant network of lakes most notable for luxurious enjoyments like sun bathing or water skiing by tourists stranger to, but not stranger than the resort owners and workers in the area around the state.

Once in times distantly past a baby played in the blood of the blatantly lacerated womb of his mother on the linoleum covered floor of the nearly last shack extant to the northern Minnesota woods.  Licking the fluid once indicative of the life of his maternal parent, face cloaked by blood, it seemed as if it were smiling,  even enjoying its sensations as it played a game repulsive only to more mature and learned intellects.

How it happened he had no idea but the memory lingered like the recollected softness of the mammary glands that once fed him milk as he nursed not knowing any adult yearning for such things.  Of course his memories were not of gore and ghastly improprieties but mostly of salty tasting, sticky liquid unlike anything he had known before and which would be denied him in the distant haunts of the future, fueling a longing and, if you will even a growing lust for the very thoughts that procedure hoped to protect him from, for therein was born an incurable longing to fully experience the manifold pleasures he associated it with and insatiably desired from the moment it was first forbidden.

Years later the child was many a time, chided for enjoyably licking a scratch or a wound accompanying his nearly absent disregard for body or self; not to even mention an immature desire to injure and consequently deceptively delight in attempting to compassionately heal the injured party by licking their wounds.  He found it much fairer to draw the blood of others than to play in his own, which though pleasurable required he inflict pain on himself.  Then to bring the matter to a more exact close he became sadistic and mean, driven by his desire for spilled blood.

When he took up hunting at age eleven no one was surprised.  But when his father found him wallowing in the blood and organs of a recently dressed deer he also forbade him the pursuits of such precious game in an effort to encourage him to refrain from such byzantine behavior.  And, other than the morbid mention of casual sightings of cats and dogs mutilated by uncaring or misguided motorists, his fascinations seemed formally to subside and turned to more normal manifestations the likes of which seemed always to include securing sexual favors and/or relationships with the fairer sex, which other than taking a more than mild interest in menstrual matters he seemed, if anything, excessive but normal.

With that in mind he reflected on the beginnings of his relationship with Windy who was so named in memory of the old pop song by that name.  True to her namesake Windy hated lies both latent and blatant which is to say that to privatize passion was, for example, as offensive an affront as to paint a fake portrait of one’s true feelings in order to procure favors with feigned shyness.  The imagination was valuable to conversations with Windy only to the extent it tainted or enriched real emotions therein exposed.

With Windy came longings he felt, and feelings he exposed to her that he hid from everyone ever before to speak with him in a special manner.  She was his love, his lover and keeper of a covenant no one knew but the two of them.  But though he had shown her his fetish for her monthly flow it was beyond her to imagine fulfilling that desire even as a favor.  Thus he began to fantasize biting her neck until it bled, or cutting her abdomen until he felt her womb against his hand.  The fantasy became an obsession and when he failed to convince her he had accidentally cut her arm resulting in more amorous feelings on his part than those previously pondered because she was taken aback when he asked whether she enjoyed the pain she felt, as much as he had morbidly enjoyed inflicting it, and noiselessly the noxious relationship was terminated by her murderer, her one time lover, now turned vampire sort of.

After he bound her hands and feet and mouth with duct tape he bit her bicep until blood leaked from her arm arousing his passions to the point he penetrated the skin of her neck with never before experienced joy.  And, sucking her blood made him dizzy with a bizarre desire to carry his crimes even farther from the norm when his hunting knife easily slashed open her stomach it caused his fair love incredible pain.  And as she writhed despite her restrictions in agony, he nearly shouted with glee as he rolled in her blood and wiped the gooey fluid over his face and arms.  Seeing she had gone unconscious he opened her body cavity, dazzled by the pleasure he experienced and except his infantile memories he had hardly begun to know anything like it.  Ironically he then recalled loving her not least, but the most at that point.

Two twisted and mangled motor vehicles including a 2004 Daewoo Leganza clung to the curve upon which they had come together.  One car had carried an inebriated man that had no hatred for would be vampires and no desire to harm himself or any other person deserving or not, who had walked off, guilty also of a driving while intoxicated offense.   But the other driver laid on the road in his own bloody mood reminded of Windy and his own mother.  They say he was a strange one who was perhaps deranged for he appeared to be playing in his own life-giving fluid completely in touch with the reality of it all, or in other words completely lucid. 

But his true identity was not known to anyone but himself.