It was a crisp winter's night in London, England. It was that particular time in late January where there was no longer any frost, but simply biting cold air in what felt like a completely empty atmosphere.
Dan Howell was walking down the road; his tall black silhouette cast shadows from the artificial amber glow of streetlamps. His breath formed swirls of mist with every exhalation and he decided to slide his exposed hands inside his coat pockets to retain some warmth. The street was empty at this time and his footsteps echoed up and down around him, only interrupted by the cruising hum of a taxi driving past. He wasn't totally alone after all. Dan had time to think on this journey, time to think about what had happened the night before.
The events had played in his head so many times over that he didn't know whether he could trust their accuracy, or if his own perceptions had rewritten how the events unfolded. Any way he thought about it, one thing was certain. His friend, Phil Lester, was dead.
Phil had a habit of always being in the worst place at the worst time. It was an endearing quality that often resulted in funny stories for him to share with his friends or his followers on the internet. He was a kind person. Perhaps that's why he was singled out as a victim. It wasn't fair. A painful stab of recollection shot through Dan's brain, as if forcing itself through a wall he had built to protect himself. He saw it again. The dead, lifeless eyes, the way it moved so swiftly out of the darkness, the blood. The blood was the most vivid memory of all. Dan had somehow found himself collapsed in a corner, unable to move, but out of the corner of his eye he saw the crimson trail of his friend's life weaving around the cobbled stones of the street and down a drain. Dan saw his hand twitching, those last moments of resistance and hope that something, someone, would be able to save him. Then it stopped. That is the last time he saw Phil Lester alive.
Dan arrived home at their apartment. It felt wrong. Opening the door to the living room, the usual bright colours of their possessions seemed inappropriate, disrespectful even. How could anything dare to be so bright at this time? He turned off the lights and collapsed on the grey carpet of their hallway. Sleep.
The next day was to be Phil's funeral. Dan had no interest in going. His friendship with Phil was personal to him and not something he wanted to share with family and friends who would mean well but insult with every word of comfort. He decided that even if he had to attend physically, he would be somewhere else in his mind. He had to.
Dan remained silent and stoic through the service. People left to return to their lives, the relatives trading condolences, leaving Dan alone in the room with the coffin. He didn't want to look - it would be real if he saw. He wanted to run away from this nightmare, but he had to see. Dan strode over and gazed into the box. Lifeless. Even with Phil's typically pale skin you used to see the warm glow of life within. All that could be seen here was the sickly pale-green colour of death.
Dan went to turn away, to walk out of the room into a life where everything familiar was gone, when something grabbed his wrist.
'Don't go, it's okay.' Dan turned to see the same pale skin he had just had burned into his memory gripping at his shirt.
He looked up slowly to see his dead friend sat bolt upright. Dan ran. Not stopping to blink, breathe or process a single thought he sprinted out of the back exit and all the way across the grounds of the building to underneath a tree. He vomited. It wasn't real. He was hysterical. He tried to rationalist the thoughts in his head as his eyes shook with distress.
'Dan, stop running, I'm not going to hurt you.'
He spun around to see Phil, standing upright as if completely fine with his hands forwards as if anticipating Dan's irrational behaviour. 'You can't, I mean, this can't be real,' Dan said, grasping behind his back to try and hold onto the tree as if it was a tether to reality.
'You know I'm real, Dan, this is real and I think you know why.'
'No!' Dan shouted and pushed Phil backwards in utter disbelief. Phil grabbed Dan's wrists and pinned him against the tree. Dan could feel the sharper edges prodding uncomfortably into his back as if the tree itself was pushing him towards the nightmare. 'It was a vampire.' The words penetrated into Dan's head and seemed to pull down on his soul as if everything he had been trying not to believe in the last two days was sinking like quicksand. 'I don't know how, or if that's exactly what it is, but it explains it well enough,' Phil said in a calmer tone, clearly aware of Dan's slow realisation.
'You aren't the real Phil,' Dan said in a flat, emotionless tone. His head was bowed and in Phil's grip it seemed Dan wasn't trying to resist anymore. 'If what you're saying is true, you aren't Phil. You're just a beast possessing his body.' He looked up and stared into Phil's eyes. He didn't see the bright blue pools of life that he used to, he sat emptiness. He must be right.
Phil stared back at Dan, seeing his brown irises blazing with fury. Phil let his grip loosen for a second. Dan realised and swung a punch as hard as he could, hitting Phil square in the jaw. Phil reached towards his lip. Blood. He looked down at it in a strange way and glanced back up at Dan who seemed to almost be expecting something. Phil decided to wipe the blood on his shirt. 'I won't lie,' Phil said, rearranging his suit jacket and sweeping his black hair away from his eyes. 'I feel different. I feel urges. I still know who I am, what I do, what the difference is between right and wrong. And yet something within me, something primal ...' 'Shut up.' Dan said, clenching his fist and visibly shaking with rage. 'You are not my friend and if I have to destroy his body to give him peace, do not think I won't.'
Dan spun around, reaching for the sharp wood that was cutting into his back. In one sure motion he snapped the branch and immediately swung towards Phil, who, as if in slow motion, leant backwards, smacked the branch from Dan's hand and grabbed his by the throat. Dan's head banged against the tree with a force that shoo. The leaves from the branches, falling over the boy's shoulders. His breath was heavy. He could feel the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. This was fear. He tried to move but the force his friend was applying to his neck seemed immovable and impossible.
Phil stepped closer until their noses touched and looked Dan directly in the eyes: 'I could kill you. Every fibre of my being is urging me to tilt your head back and bite your neck, but I can choose not to.'
'What?!' Dan said, spitting out warmth before taking in a huge gasp.
'I don't want to kill you. I want you to join me.'
Dan felt his heart drop in pressure. An overwhelming stillness waved through his body until he was stunned into silence. 'No p-please,' he stuttered.
'You don't have a choice, but I do. Appreciate it,' said Phil. 'Think about it, Dan, things can continue like normal! We can tell everyone it was one of those miracle situations where I was never actually dead. We can go back to our apartment and continue our normal lives ... with some dietary adjustments, I guess.'
Dan had completely lost his ability to think. Part of it made sense, maybe it would be okay if he didn't have to lose his friend, or his own life. He knew it wasn't true though. Even though Phil was right in front of him, there was no breath coming out of his lips. The only sensation he experienced was the damp chill of Phil's skin pressing against his.
Just then Dan noticed a man who must be the groundskeeper walking by in the distance. Dan had made his choice, and he knew it would be the right one. 'HELP!' Dan shouted, shaking as hard as he could, causing Phil to almost loosen his grip. 'He's trying to ki-'
Then he felt it. Two sharp stabs pierced the skin of his neck. Dan dropped his arms and buckled his knees, he had lost.
Phil moved in closer, pinning Dan's body against the tree as he gulped gallons of thick blood through his teeth and down his throat. Phil almost felt himself losing control, feeling a desire to completely give in to a more powerful force within himself. 'No,' he said, pulling away, feeling the blood run down his neck past the collar of his shirt. Quickly he raised his wrist and pierced his own veins. 'Drink!' he ordered, pressing his wrist against Dan's mouth. Dan, with the last moments of his fading energy attempted to resist, pitifully shrugging his shoulders. It would t be enough. His natural instinct to breather opened his lips and the pungent taste of iron filled his mouth and flowed across his tongue. Dan's vision faded to black.
Blinking. Vision hazy and unclear. A yellow light. A white ceiling. After what seemed like a dreamy eternity unable to move, Dan's eyes focused and noticed the familiar patterns of his bedroom ceiling. He was home. Had it all been a dream? Dan asked himself this as he reached to touch his bare chest with his fingers. He could still feel. Surely that meant he was still alive? His hand stopped. Palm lying flat over his chest, he tried to focus all senses of detecting something, anything. No pulse.
He looked to the right to suddenly notice Phil, sitting in a chair leaning over the bed.
'How do you feel?' he asked, with what seemed like a degree of confidence.
Dan's eyes darted up and down trying to decide what he made of this person, or whatever it was, who sat next to hi. He sat up and swung his legs over the bed. Lifting his head up with a strange, new assuredness he had never felt before, he locked eyes with this friend. 'Hungry,' Dan said, feeling within in an urge, a biological mission he now felt he had to begin.
'Me too,' Phil said with a smirk. 'Why don't we go find someone to eat?'
The End.