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The House of Grimm Presents:THE BITE |
| Written by J. Grimm | |
| Monday, 11 February 2008 | |
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Share it:      Blood! Blood everywhere! Blood on his hands! Blood on his chest! Where did it come from? How did it get on him? Whose was it? He sat up in his bed and took a quick look around the room, searching for anything out of place, anything that would give him an answer. It was still dark outside and he had once again fallen asleep without turning out his bedside lamp. He glanced at the clock: 4:54 am. Wearily, he ambled down the hall to the living room. It was littered with beer cans and liquor bottles from the party the night before. The odor of it still lingered. There was nothing out of the ordinary here. He turned and headed back down the hall, stepping in something cold and wet in the carpet. He reached down to his foot, touched it, and then smelled his fingers: beer. His knees suddenly got weak, his legs turning to rubber, and he felt nauseous. His fingers started to tingle and his neck was throbbing. He stumbled in to the bathroom, holding on to the sink to keep his balance. This didn't feel like his usual hangover. Turning on the light, he looked in the mirror and saw the left side of his neck and his shoulder both covered in blood. Fresh blood! He ran the faucet, splashing water on his face and neck, and found the source of the blood. At first he wasn't really sure what he was seeing; his vision was becoming blurred. He blinked hard, rubbed his eyes and looked again. There was no mistaking it. There were two small puncture wounds on the left side of his neck. Bite marks! Suddenly, the images of every vampire movie he had ever seen came crashing into his mind. They don't exist, he thought. Or did they? Who the hell invited a vampire to his party last night? Or were they all vampires? And if he had been fed on by a vampire, why wasn't he dead? Unless, now he was undead! Doomed to walk the Earth for all eternity; a slave to his new disease. "This sucks", he said aloud. He dried his shoulder with a towel. He didn't even like the sight of blood. How would he ever get used to the taste? He had no plans of living forever, either. The thought of being an eternal, blood-drinking murderer made him shiver in disgust. Wait a damned minute, he thought. This is crazy! They don't exist! They can't... A blinding pain ripped through his last thought, causing him to fall to the floor. He crawled to the bedroom, stopping at the foot of his bed. His fingers were tingling again, and he couldn't feel his legs. He slapped them as hard as he could. Nothing. This must be what the transition from human to vampire feels like, he figured. Fighting the pain in his head, he pulled himself over to his nightstand and, after a slight struggle to keep control of his hands, brought the phone down to floor next to him. As he rolled over onto his back, dialing 911, his mind was racing. Strange thoughts wormed through his brain. Thoughts like: What if I drink a blood type that doesn't match my own? Do I need a coffin? Should I make my victims test for HIV? Can HIV kill a vampire or is it still just a stake through the heart? One of the 911 operators came on the line after the first ring, "911. What is your emergency?" He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. He had to fight for the words. A few seconds passed before he won the battle and finally said something. He hoped to say something intelligent like "I've been attacked in my home and I need an ambulance." Instead, he had to settle for: "I...hate the...taste...of...blood." The operator paused, "Excuse me?" She waited for a response. "Hello. Please stay on the line...Are you there?" His hand had become too weak to hold the phone; he dropped it. His arm quickly followed, he couldn't feel either one. He heard a noise near his ear, coming from under the bed. It was a very familiar sound he had heard quite often over the past two years. What the hell was it doing under the bed? Who the hell let it out of its tank? It took almost all of his strength, but he managed to turn his head towards the source of the sound, knowing what it was before he ever saw it. He blinked until it came into focus, then, stared right into its tiny black eyes. He saw its tongue flicker, tasting the air. No doubt, sensing the inevitable death it had caused. He smiled at it until his vision went black. The rattling of its maraca-like tail was becoming faint. As his senses faded, a final thought crossed his mind: "Thank God it wasn't a vampire." Copyright 2008 J. Grimm |
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| Last Updated ( Wednesday, 20 February 2008 ) |
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