The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

The trip to the station had been an interesting start to the day. I’d got to the end of the road picking up a coke can off the floor by the green junction-box at the corner and got a smile from a little old lady, in a coat that dwarfed her, wearing what appeared to be a tea cosy on her head, a blue one. It’s been raining, with an awesome looking grey sky, with dark patches that promised Liverpool some hideous weather. But that had not mattered a jot to me, as I’d soon be on the train and travelling to the North East and Whitby, to visit my penfriend Salome. The pity had been the delay at my own station and the fellow in the black trench-c0at and black cowboy boots beneath his smart black trousers and black trenchcoat. He’d stared, for ages and, I’d been damn pleased when the train had hissed into the station. The journey had taken twenty-two minutes, or thereabouts and soon I’d been on the escalator leading into Liverpool Mainline station, following the girl in the black leather, whose light blue-jeans seemed sprayed to her derriere. That had held my attention too long and, I’d trip at the top of the escalator, then had to regain my balance, as I’d rooted in my pockets for my tickets to go through the barrier. Well, needless to say it had been buckled, so would not go through the machine and, the guard had offered assistance, eventually. Unfortunately a mobile call had held his attention, as I’d stood there, with a growing queue behind me. Anyway, I’d got through then down the corridor with the fellow playing the accordion to my right, playing ‘he aint heavy, he’s my brother’ and, he’d sounded so good that I’d had to leave him some change, which had been stuck in a pocket, within a pocket. And, when I’d got upstairs I’d only had a short while to wait, until my train had arrived and, I’d been sitting in a window seat, looking out at the moving green, as the train sped on. Salome had offerd me the couch for the weekend and, as I’d not seen in her, in seemingly forever, I’d been glad of that. I mean, she and I had been writing for over three years now, ever since I’d responded to her personal ad; ‘looking for penpal, not a norm’. Her ad had me smiling, as I’d read it and, I’d answered it, within less than a day, anxious that she got my response, before any others. What she’d written had got to me, goodstyle and, I’d been glad that she had replied, with a letter that had been the beginning of a wonderful friendship. And, though I’d never seen a photo of Salome, that had not really mattered to me, as I’d set out. Nor did it matter that she’d seen what I look like, a greying fellow of forty-eight. At least she had not been scared away. But I’d felt found so much company from our correspondence. I mean, I had found in Salome someone I could really connect to and talk with about something, anything and everything; even though she’d been new to our country, unfortunately having more than a little trouble, gaining her national status rightened, yet. And, as I’d got off the train finally, after the annoying child had escaped with his young life after squawling like a banshee, the last bit of the journay, when the train was serving as a local shuttle-service. ‘Cute’ that child may have been, but I’ll sear down, when you’re listening to the speaker, to make sure you get off at the right station and, the mother’s chatting away loudly for much of her journey, to her mate, she’d be seeing within less than ‘ark an ‘our, while her small blonde-haired little bundle of two-year annoyance squealed away, can be so very irksome. But, eventually I disembarked and been walking midst the throng, to the stations exit and, the end of the road, to begin following the path that had been written down for me, by Sweet Salome. Geez did I need those directions; my copy of the A-Z didn’t have her address on it and, I’d got it from the library and the estate had been there for over sixty years. But, eventaually I’d found way a hill and the cul-de-sac where the post-war pebble-dash home’s sat on the edge of a pile of slag, left from a cities industrial past. And, I’d made my way up a weed-strewn path, bag over my shoulders and, thoroughly aware of twitching net curtains, as an old purple-rinser or two had a nosey at the stranger, calling on Salome. And, with heart beating fast with my anticipation I’d pressed that little white round circle, that depressed and, a moment later the bell sounded. I’d heard her footsteps on bare floorboards, as she pegged it down the stairs in heels and, through the frosted glass I’d seen that she was wearing red and that Salome had dark short hair, crossed to her slim neck. Yet, it had still been a puzzle solved, when she’d opened that door, a nervous smile, playing on her lipstick coated red lips: “I did say I was an illegal alien, didn’t I?” She had told be, almost in tears. Though the area wasn’t too great, her dress was stylish and I’d say expensive and, her court shoes had been red patent leather and, she’d been wearing black nylons and, she had one eye. Now I’m not saying that she had ever had two and, one was damaged or missing, Salome was and is a Cyclops; which had been a bit of a surprise. Granted, the one she has is quite lovely; but there is only the one, which she had explained in the case for those of her race. But, I have no issues with her being somewhat occularly challenged, after all, she has been a wonderful penfriend and, when she asked for someone not normal, she got me; poor girl. And, she’s always been so-tolerant of my foibles and particular peccadillo’s. Aye, I truly love her for that. Anyway. Later, after tea, she tells me that we’re going to her local, where we’ll meet two of her friends, also with a similar status as hers. She says, that’s one’s a little ‘different’. Well, taking into account, my pretty penfriend is a Cyclops, I wonder what she means by that?

COMMENTS

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NoctusAngelusProcella
20:18 Nov 22 2012

awesome read as always

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AzrakWorod
00:50 Nov 23 2012

Very good thanks for sharing

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Shade - And The Dark Void



Chapter Two



Although Thea was already growing weary, having had not had the full charge that was needed, to perform at peak efficiency, she wanted Shade to see what she saw.



But, it was impossible: Thea knew, for he did not have her eyes, eyes that had been built on a planet a universe away from where they were, that had been created on the Mother world Earth, a place that Shade had never known, for he was a Spacer, born off-world. In fact, as he reminded her, his family were some of the earliest colonists, having established a home on Bouelles World.



His hands hovering over the shut-down mechanism, Shade queried, “What is it Thea?” He had learnt to trust her; he had learnt that the first time they’d met, after she’d rectified an error that she had made.



And now, if Thea told him to power down, he would. Though, as he did so, Shade wished that he had the enhanced senses that Thea had: ‘But then I wouldn’t be human would I?” He mused, drawing back on a lever.



Finally the starship was still, in the inky blackness of space and, Shade turned his seat, to look to his Thea, as she too turned her seat, to face him.



“What do you see out there Thea?” He asked, leaning forward, his lower arms resting on his knees.



“I so wish you could see this, as I see and feel it Shade…” Thea told him softly, as she reached out with her hands, which she placed over his, “it is so… so very…”



There were no words. Thea knew that: after all, how could she tell him that in the midst of this endless silent void, there was a spark, within a…?



‘Yes,’ she mused quietly, already feeling very drained, ‘there may be a way.”

COMMENTS

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AzrakWorod
00:51 Nov 23 2012

Awesome thank you for sharing

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POST COMMENT

Shade - And The Dark Void





Chapter One



Bringing the screens shutters up, Shade looked at the starless sky before him.



He had seen the console display with disbelief, then doubled the readouts he took on navigation and, he doubted his eyes, at first.



“If there is a Great Maker, he forgot this sector of space,” he mused aloud, idly scratching the left side of his chest.



Shade shaved either side of his moderately hirsute chest, from collar-bone and down and, around each nipple.



And, although Shade liked the feel of the rough leather of the inside of his coat, when his hair grew back it was itchy and irksome.



Running the back of his right hand across a three-day growth he rasped, “I need a shave…” ‘But, I don’t mean my chin,’ he thought.



“Thea!” Shade called, looking back over his right shoulder, into the corridor, to the main cabin. And, at the mention of her name, Thea, his companion of seeming Asian appearance, stirred.



She blinked, once then twice and then opened them fully: “If this isn’t an emergency…” She muttered under her breath.



Thea had been at rest, the nanites that held her in a corporeal form needed to be charged and, she had not had the charge she needed.



A pleasure model, designed for the outer colonies, where mining and miners took precedence over all else, bar economics, pleasure models like her were more adaptable and cheaper than the human alternative and, though there use had led to strikes by the pleasure workers guild, their use had spread throughout known space.



Having struck a deal with Shade, Thea had found a place with the taciturn spacer and, former soldier, then lawman, turned bounty hunter.



She had dressed to reveal, as much of the body that Shade had chosen for her and, very much in part, because she had ascertained that Shade was interested in her; but he had two problems; firstly, he saw her as a pleasure model first and a woman second. Secondly and, more important, he still loved his wife.



Now though there experience on their last port of call had evidenced her maternal ways, in a fashion; there was little Thea could do to make Shade forget his late wife, or the vengeance trail he had ridden for so long. But, she would try.



“What is it Shade?” Thea asked, standing in the entrance to the cabin, her arms raised above her head, fingertips grazing the tip of the circular connection.



Shade turned from the view before him, to that behind him: ‘Thea was dressed to kill,’ he mused, appraising the look his companion had chosen, to lie back in her cabinet to her nanites recharged.



He opened his mouth and, closed it then opened it once more. Finally, he said to her, “Come look at nothing Thea…”



She had chosen to wear some of the fine multi-coloured silks that she had received on the planet where here nanites had created rebirth of a cities population and, in turn a civilization, just one of many gifts she had acquired from a grateful populace. She had wound the fabric round herself, worn short, to expose much of her chest, bust and shapely legs.



And, though she often humoured Shade, this was not one of those times. She scowled.



“You got me from my rest, to see nothing?” She snapped. “Space has a lot of nothing… you know that… so why…?”



Turning back to look out the viewscreen, Shade mused aloud; “It’s not often you get to see nothing. No stars, no planets, no nothing…”



“That’s a double negative…” Thea reminded him, resting her lower left arm on the back of his seat, “you mean, ‘No stars, no planets, no anything…”



“No anything… no anything,” he muttered, as she took the seat to his right.



As her companion had looked into the distance, into the blackness, Thea found her attention drawn to something ahead, something not part of the dark and suddenly she lifted her arm and pointed forward.



“Shade?” She said softly and slowly.



“Uhuh!?!” He murmured absently.



“Shut down the drive, there’s something ahead…” Thea informed Shade.

COMMENTS

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AzrakWorod
00:52 Nov 23 2012

Cool Thanks. :)

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POST COMMENT

As the film finished and the dvd ended, the news came on, with news of the election: “Oh noooo…” I had groaned, “I’ve been trying to avoid this.”



I’d paused, as the commentator continued to speak: “Heck, I’ve been watching fantasy all week. I mean, just think. Does it matter? If Romney wins, Israel takes us to war in the Middle East within his first month in office. And, if Obama wins, it’ll take a year or so…”



I’d decided to leave: “Perhaps I think too much, but really…”

Underpool





Chapter One





With more than enough work to warrant it, I’d had my short-term contract renewed, again. So it was I’d worked till 9:30, having taken the overtime on offer to our section, if wanted. And, needless to say, I’d needed the overtime. Hell, with all the bills that had come in during the last month or so, I’d figured that I would do any overtime going.



The business had a contract to do the paperwork for the passport office on the floor above us, using scanners, to read the text put onto the application, which were stacked and collated, then boxed, waited to be attended to, by another team



I’d left the office’s, being sure that I logged out, then made my way down the short corridor to the main lifts. The India building dated back to the days of the clipper ships and the trading lanes and, a time when it’s said Liverpool made its money on the back of slavery. And the lifts sometimes felt as though they were just as old.



Just as I was leaving, the night staff had been coming in. Most of them were from the Uni in town, doing a few nights to top up their grant. I had a crush on one of them and whenever I ran into Hope, I’d stand their mouth agape, before finally saying ‘hello’.



Then, as my lift arrived and the doors slid open, a group of young people had left, all chattering away brightly. Hope had been there, with her eyes meeting mine for a moment.



She’s shorter with me, with skin the colour of dark chocolate and has a smile that lights up a room, when she smiles, which is not often. Hope always had her papers with her. And, during any quiet moments she had, she could be found studying.



Peter, with the bandana and, a penchant for dressing like Axl Rose had left the lift first, chatting away with Taylor, a well-built fellow with beard and glasses, who wore a red plaid shirt and a light-blue winter warmer.



I’d looked for Hope, who had already passed by, talking with two scantily clad airheads who I tried to avoid whenever I did lates. Both Lynne and Carol were party girls and were seldom off their mobile-phones. I’d been surprised to see her with those two and, that had kept me from responding to Peter.



“Hey distant, you carrying?” He’d persisted, grabbing hold of my right shoulder and shaking me out of my reverie. ‘Carrying?’ Ah yes, I like to smoke and, truth be told if they found out, I’d been on my ear, quickly.



I’d seen someone who’d not fitted in with company policy walked away from their desk, with the rest of their section watching, as they were led away. Eyes had cast down, as the fellows ID had been stripped from him and he’d left under a cloud, being told, “You should have told us of your past.”



Heck, all the fellow had done was omit the some dates from his CV. What on Earth would they have done if they had found out that I like to smoke a weed now and then?



Looking over Peter’s shoulder I directed my gaze to one of the security camera’s, then stood so that it couldn’t pick up my face, as I mouthed, ‘yes.’



“So what’s the chance?” He’d queried and, I knew what he meant, immediately.



Peter was salaried, meaning that he was paid monthly, whereas I was paid weekly and more often than not, when he couldn’t afford a smoke I had some on me.



‘A pot-pixie,’ someone had said of me once. It’d been his description for one who can be said, ‘the smoke magically appears.’ Like me. And, I’d liked that.



“Downstairs, alright? Door behind the main desk…” That’s where there’s a stairwell and concrete steps that lead down to the storage units, the maintenance-floor and seemingly endless corridor.



Like I said, the sandstone building is old, with pipe-work that should’ve been replaced several lifetimes ago. But, it’s a relic of Liverpool’s past.



Nodding his head Peter looked to me and grinned, “Well, see you then…” He’d turned away, thumped Taylor on his back, with an open palm. Then clocked-in, then followed the girls in through the double-doors to the office. Then as the lefts doors closed I saw Peter turned in the doorway and wink.



“Great,” I’d mused aloud, ‘got to sort the fellow, before I go home.’



Of course I didn’t have to sort Peter out, but I liked the fellow and, there aren’t many that I do like…



The doors closed and I had pressed the button for the ground-floor, feeling very wary, as the juddering and creaking that followed, prior to it’s descent.



Then mere moments later, the lift had ceased it’s movement , the lift stopping with a thud and then, the doors opened. Old Ted was not sitting behind his desk opposite the lift.



Glancing at the old fob-watch I tuck into the small left hand pocket of my waistcoat I’d idly wondered if the fellow was off on his rounds.



The puzzle had been the small tartan flask and the light blue butty-box, with a white-lid, left on his desk. ‘After all, there’d be noway,’ I’d thought, ‘that Old Bob’s just going to leave his stuff lyin around.’ It was just so out of character, for him.



He would lock up his sandwiches and flask in his desk, tilt the shiny peak of his cap, so that it just covered his eyes, then stand police-issue torch in hand, to illuminate every shadow on every floor in a uniform rote: a pattern he had established over many years.



“Yet, Old Bob was not at his desk and, his sarnies were not safely locked away,” I’d muttered, walking across reception.



And, although it had been unusual, it had provided me with access to the green door with a square of safety glass in the middle, three quarters of the way up.

It was through that square that I noticed a shadow move against the stairwell wall, moving downward; the stairwell that I knew was illuminated by a single strip-light at the bottom of the stairs and the corridor leading to the old wrought-iron staircase that spiralled down into the depths of the old building, dating back, way back, to the days of the clippers and, the tea trade.



I’d been as far as the wrought-iron stairwell once before, whilst I’d been idling time, waiting for Peter, several months ago.



Now here I was, opening that green door, again.





Chapter Two





Crossing reception and opening the door cautiously, I look over my shoulder. The cameras are not pointed my way and, there’s no-one around.



Closing the door, I look through the square of frosted glass, then turn my gaze to the wall across from it, where a smear of red caught my eye, a smear of red that led down the concrete step and into the shadows.



There was only the strip light, I recalled that; remembering how the white of the light gave way to shadows and darkness at the end of the corridor, where that wrought-iron stairwell led downward, into the bowels of the building.



Knowing that Peter wouldn’t be long, I decided to wait awhile, all the time wondering where Old Bob had got to: ‘After all, it isn’t like him to leave his post,’ I mused, following the smear with my fingertips, noticing that the red marked my skin.



“What the?” I muttered. And, from down in the shadows I heard a groaning, then snarling and, the groaning ceased.



My stomach turned with fear, my mind conjured a thousand different scenario, in a nanosecond and, though my mind screamed to me, ‘run’, my feet seemed to disagree.



Slowly, very slowly, I edged my way forward, then began walking down the steps, groping for the handrail on the right.



There were five steps in all, until I found the corridor floor. And, I walked on, very aware of the trail of red on the left, which I followed, into the shadows and, into the darkness beyond.





Chapter Three





Reaching into my pocket, I found my lighter, which I flicked and produced a flickering yellow flame.



Then walking on, I glanced behind and back up the stairs, to the door to reception, which was still a tad ajar and, a slice of bright light shone through.



As I walked on into the deep of the shadows I glanced back again, feeling more than moderately concerned that I could no longer see that slice of light and my contact with the outside world.



Yet curiosity still held sway over commonsense and, with my right hand leading the way, I edged my feet forward, until I found myself at a doorway, with cold air against my face. Bringing my light in an arc before my, I looked ahead.



My feet where at the edge of a ledge and, there ware the wrought-iron stairwell, just a few inches away, with naught but blackness beneath and around.



Once again, curiosity took control of my forebrain and I stepped onto the stairwell, which sway as I did so. Then, I began following the steps down, down and further down, into the blackness.



As I continued down, I thought of The Mole Of Edge Hill, a philanthropist, who paid many unemployed to build tunnels, with no discernable purpose, to twentieth-first century man.



And, wind whistled round me, as I walked the spiral stairwell, further down and then, somewhere in the dark, I heard a skritching and skittering, that caused the hackles on the back of my neck to stand up.





Chapter Four





Then, as I continued moving down, my left foot finally found solid ground, as did my right a mere second later. And I paused, listening and looking ahead, then my lighter gave up the ghost as it were and, the flame flickered a moment, before it went out.



I flicked my thumb once, then twice; yet produced naught but sparks.



My heart hammering I began flicking the wheel on my lighter again and again, with growing desperation.



It was then that I caught a glint of light ahead, just to my left and, I tried my lighter once more, praying for a miracle, one that was forthcoming, as once more the light gave forth it’s flickering yellow light, the flame now smaller.



Yet, curiosity filled me and I walked forward, the lighter in my right hand, the arm extended out, as I swung my left back and forth.



‘A wall,’ I mused, as my hand found bricks, old bricks I mused, as one seemed to crumble beneath my fingertips.



I took a step to the right and then another, feeling a light breeze against my face, where the brick work ended abruptly, as if a section of it had fallen down, or been pushed through.



Stepping over the brick I walked on and, into inky blackness, as the flame suddenly died, as a sudden draft of air swept it out.



Again panic filled me and, I flicked at the wheel anxiously willing it to come to life, as I stepped forward, step-by-step, coming up against something. Then I looked down, just as the yellow flame flickered into life once more, it’s light reflected in the eyes of Old Bob, whose left shoulder I had just kicked.



I knelt and, reaching for the torch, that lay near the watchman’s dead body and I switched it on, directing the beam forward, then around me, at the small group of figures, standing there, looking at me.



At the front of the group was a girl a pale-skinned girl wide with black eyes, which gazed at me with the same curiosity that had drawn me down here.



She was dressed in rags, much like those with her, rags that once had been everyday wear I surmised, as the child smiled, her mouth wide; and, I briefly thought how much that smile reminded me of a shark, with her many small white sharp teeth.



Panic-struck I began stumbling, stumbling back, a thousand thoughts filled my head, as I thought about the stories I had heard of the tunnels, under the ‘Pool, filled in when they filled in where there had been water, at one time.



And, I’d fallen back, hard; as the girl with the ghostlike long hair and pale-skin, began to walk toward me, a hand in hers, a hand that dripped blood from the stump.



Scrambling back, the torchlight on the girls face, I watch her flinch, shielding those large black eyes from the bright beam with her small hands, the skin seeming almost translucent. And, in the quiet blackness of the large space, I move quickly away from the girl and her companions, over the bricks at the base of the hole, then on and, toward possible safety.



I know the girl is following me, I know she is. But, just a few feet away is the wrought-iron stairwell, leading back to safety. I have to make it, I just… have to…