Friday, 22 June 2012

Billy came 1

Billy Came - a short vampire story

Part One  - The Making of a Vampire

One: He came like the thief in the night

It was strange that he should choose this night of all to call. 'The Longest Day'. A day that would prove to be my eternal night.

summer solstice sunrise over stone henge
Summer Solstice | strange day for a vampire to call…
Thinking back but a few hours, although it seems a lifetime hence, I think he chose last night on a purpose.  According to lore, June 21st should have afforded Billy the least time in the year to carry out his damned courtship and wooing of my immortal soul.

Yes, immortal. It is now, or at least I am of the impression that that's how these things work.

He abides by no law, Billy. That I know. He's bound by neither natural nor ethereal forces. He pays no heed to myths, those written or whispered in the depths of a million nights through the ages that have borne legends of his kind.

Do not have me wrong; in all the time I have awaited his coming (oh, yes, I know now that I have been aware of his [and their] very real existence, beyond the pale of sanity and reasoning, for all of my life), he has not yet spoken a solitary word. 

Not in the common sense.  And yet, through his eyes and his teeth and his soul and his mind (for the confusion of cognisance that that is) he has conveyed more communiqué than any written or audible language could ever hope to  express.

And yet I have learned more from Billy in such a short space of time than in all of the previous days' sum total of existence.

The systematic education, its pointless curriculum, preached by those who can't do upon this corporeal marble upon which roll? It, like the mere mortals to whom the sermon is aimed, is futile.

Like an expectant lover, I offered my all

And so it was he found me, laid flat on my back atop the bed linen, my own futility the only cover to protect me from the balmy night. The humid air vibrated, trembling with anticipation in tandem with my heart.

Restless in the bed across the room in the attic, my brother churned. Curiosity turned my head to understand the cause of his consternation. I never saw.

Instead, towering above me stooped Billy. His was, tonight, a completely different guise to how he'd appeared unto me in prior encounters.

Were those previous visitations in the depths of dreams? Or had Billy Came before during unsolicited waking hours, blurred with Tramadol and Amitriptyline as they were?

I knew (nor cared) not. I was only sure that I had seen him before, and countless times. He had made certain, upon those occasions, that I had known of his presence. Yet he'd never uttered so much as a word in my direction. Never had his presence been so tangible or prominent as this.

In the encounters that had gone prior to this midnight meet, he had come unto me as a chunky Asian fellow. All dark, olive-skinned (in fact, it could have been a Mediterranean countenance that had adorned those now gruesome features).  Now I understand.

Though his face was made up like some deranged clown with a fierce fascination for symmetry, his bulging forehead was crowned with a red and white diagonal, like an orienteering flag, which he was possessed of from birth.  Do not ask me how I know. Not yet, at least; we will come to that passage when I build up the nerve to commit it to ink.

But last night, his eyes were bright blue-green opaque puddles of hatred, rimmed deep purple. Their consistency did little to disguise the madness beyond and glistened as coloured contact lenses do on darker pupils beneath.

Those silent, stormy eyes conveyed one message: fight what I am about to do and die.

And yet, I was not scared.  Wracked with nerves of the unknowing, yes. But my trust in him was complicit.

Before last night, this fellow had repulsed me, but I yearned to be in his company, nonetheless. I had even considered that he had uncovered within me some latent homosexuality. This I found both repugnant and overwhelmingly drawn to, all wrapped in the self-same emotion.  And so it was now.

The real purpose of his attention and intentions filtered through the damp air between our minds. He yearned to take me with him unto the other side. If he could not have me in his world, I had no doubt that he would not leave me here for others.

Yes, it felt like love, but not in the way mortals feel their heartstrings tugged. Much, much deeper than that.

And so it passed, as meek as a lamb and without resistance, I offered myself unto him. He was in need of no second invitation...

image credit: wikipedia (modified, CC2.0)