Vampire Weekend

Sunday Morning

When she woke, she could not breathe.

The rational part of her knew that, as a vampire, being able to breathe required the drinking of blood, which would diffuse into her veins to carry oxygen and carbon dioxide, but the rest of her was too busy panicking to give rationality any mind.

The man entered the bedroom while Lyla was clutching her throat. She leapt at him while he was still at the door, grabbing the bag of blood he was holding and piercing the plastic with her fangs.

"Good morning, my queen," the man said.

Lyla quickly lifted her head and said, "Good morning, my king," before going back to draining the blood bag.

This blood drinking thing was going to be a big problem.

The man was polite enough to wait for Lyla to finish drinking before he insisted they finish their tour of the farmhouse. Every room downstairs still smelled of blood, but at least he didn't take her into the sitting room again. She was sure that if she saw Mother again she wouldn't be able to stop herself from throwing up.

"And here is the kitchen," the man narrated. "Do you like it, my dear?"

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was warm and welcoming. It was just the sort of place Lyla would have like to live, without the being kidnapped by an unstable vampire murderer.

Lyla gave a shaky smile. "I like it very much."

The man laughed, delighted. His eyes widened and he clapped his hands.

"Oh! We should celebrate. I'll go get something special for dinner."

He ran out of the house before Lyla could blink. The back door slammed shut behind him.

Lyla immediately started to head for the front door, but before she could move the man was back.

"I nearly forgot," he said, "if you leave, I'll have to kill you and your family."

He smiled at her. Then he was gone again.

Lyla felt herself shaking. She looked around for anything that could possibly help her, and her eyes fell on the phone on the wall beside the refrigerator. She quickly picked up the handset and held it to her ear.

Total silence. The phone line had been disconnected.

She sat down at the kitchen table and cried.

After several minutes of crying she picked herself up and went down to the basement, the only place that hadn't been included in the house tour. Maybe there was something in there that could help her to get help, or at least something made of wood that she could turn into a stake and stab into his heart.

Had she just thought that?

She had. He couldn't kill anyone else if he was dead after all. Technically he had killed her. She could call it self-defence.

She opened the basement door and peered into the darkness. She could see almost as well as if the basement was in direct sunlight. There was a workbench and another door that led to a root cellar. The handle of a hammer might work as a stake, or even part of the workbench if she was desperate.

Who was she kidding? She was desperate.

She was just about to go to work at breaking down the work bench she took a closer look at what was resting on top of it and bizarrely felt herself smiling.

Matches and several cans of kerosene.

She didn't know why they were there, and she didn't care. What mattered was that matches and kerosene could make a big fire. Fire she could use.