The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Bored, lonely, and somewhat suicidal Veleno walked down the dark streets in the small city. There was not much to do there. He had already eaten about three teenagers in the last two hours. He had seen and done just about everything he had wanted to. He knew that this was one of those nights when he would consider standing outside when the sun rose. The town was practically dead with all the people inside and safe from him, for now.

The thousand-year-old boy was just about to give up on any excitement when he heard music. He had not sung since Torcia was murdered but now had a strong urge to go into the pizza parlor where vibrations in the concrete originated. He had a brief thought that maybe he should put his love’s memory to rest but quickly swiped the thought away. The pizza parlor was packed with people, he noticed as he stared. It reeked of carbonated drinks and greasy cheese, none of which Veleno found appeasing. His right hand played with a quarter in his leather coat pocket, that he had taken from his lunch. Making a decision, Veleno pulled out the quarter and gave it a flip in the air. Tails he would go in. Heads he wouldn’t. He let the quarter fall to the ground.

Heads.

Veleno stared at the shinny silver object next to his black boots. I guess it’s for the best, he thought, giving a small shrug and walking past the social gathering.

Five girls were walking towards the parlor while he was walking away. All were facing the one in the middle with long brown hair and dark brown eyes, as she talked. She wore dark blue jeans and a loose burgundy tank top. Pretty, he thought with a mental shrug. The girls all laughed and the one on the mid left made a comment as well. Veleno was not paying attention to the conversation because he just did not care. Humans were tedious, he had decided long ago. As soon as he saw the second girl’s face he stopped in his tracks. She was shorter than the middle girl but held an air of leadership in the way she spoke. Her nose was more rounded on the tip and her hair had redder tinting but the eyes and the rest of the face was just as he remembered from nine hundred and eighty years ago.

The girl’s blue eyes locked onto his with a look of recognition, confusion, and then looked away again to continue her conversation with her friends as they walked into the pizza parlor. Veleno stood his ground gaping after the girl he had lost those nine hundred and eighty years ago. Deciding that the quarter was faulty he turned around and followed the girls in. He watched from afar like the stalker he had become, leaning against a wall as the girls conversed with each other and other people who would pass by.

A boy stopped to sit and talk to the girls. Unexpected jealousy shot through the vampire’s veins. He knew he shouldn’t be jealous. She looked like Torcia but she wasn’t her, he had to keep reminding himself. A smile crept across his face as Torcia’s look a like stopped looking at the boy, allowing her friends to do the flirting, and began searching the pizza parlor for a familiar face. Her eyes brushed against him very briefly. He thought they would have locked eyes if a large white man covered in tattoos had not came out and let the awaiting people into the theater where bands were tuning their instruments.

Veleno got into the theater with the shadows. He continued watching Torcia throughout the night. When she left so did he. Three of her friends departed in one car, leaving her with a blonde haired, blue-eyed energetic girl. He followed them to a silver car. Torcia’s look a like pulled out her car keys to unlock the car. The young-appearing man watched as she started up her car and drove away. Seeing on the watch he had taken from an earlier victim that it was 2:45 in the morning, he decided that he should get another snack before the sun rose and he found a place to sleep. Maybe he would wait on watching the sunrise and ending his existence, for tonight.

It was supposed to be the party of the year. Everyone was invited; even the other cliques, or “non-cool kids”. The day smelled of December, cold and dark. The night always came quicker than people anticipated. The party began at five, most people arrived by seven, fashionably late and forgotten as soon as they entered.

No parental supervision, no adult, except for Betty’s older brother, who still lived at home and supplied the party with all the booze. As the night grew on, the boys acted sillier and the girls looser. Soon the party was spreading throughout the house, into the bedrooms, or any abandoned room they could find. The incredibly drunk were passed out, outside yelling like maniacs, or barfing in the flowerbeds.

There was not one invited guest who was sober. Betty, stumbling through the hallways of her house and down the stairs, started to feel a little seasick on dry land. The bathrooms were occupied so she ran down stairs and out the sliding glass door to toss her cookies on her mother’s petunias.

As she was getting herself under control she looked to her left, kneeling in the grass. Two black boots stood beside her, attached to black jeans and a leather coat. That’s as far as her head lifted before she had to throw up again. She just barely was able to turn her head in time to hit the petunias and miss the black boots. Looking over again she saw that the boots had gone. Betty continued to puke until there was nothing left in her stomach.

The next morning, Betty found herself passed out in the backyard, her own (and probably someone else’s) puke in her hair. Her head pounded and the neighbor’s dog was sniffing her dangerously. Betty urged her cold body to get up. Finally she did and pulled herself inside the house. It looked like everybody had left the destructed house. She knew that even if her brother were awake he wouldn’t be any help in cleaning the house up. She cracked the basement door open just a tad; just as she suspected he wasn’t awake. He slept sprawled on his bed with a girl that Betty went to school with. The covers were askew and their clothes were scattered on his cold concrete floor. She rolled her almond bloodshot eyes at the two and closed his bedroom door.

Slowly she climbed the stairs using her hands to pull herself up more than her wobbly feet. She checked all the rooms for any stragglers. The beds were all rumpled and the rooms smelled horribly. Sniffing and feeling another serge of nausea Betty wondered if there had been an animal at her house the night before. Opening the bathroom door she found that the toilet was backed up and full of crap. She felt a twinge realizing that she would have to wash everything and feeling that serge of nausea intensify.

When she reached her room she was hoping it was untouched. The first thing she noticed was the smell. It was different then the smell of the other rooms. There was the undeniable stench of barf and another that reminded her of her grandfather’s farm on slaughter day, a sort of metallic smell. What she saw was a girl lying limply on her bed, her clothing ripped and her dark make-up smeared by tears. A line of mascara accompanied the dried tears down her cheeks. Her mouth’s shape gave her the appearance of being at peace with a side of her lips perked up in one corner; like a sardonic smile of defeat. Next to her scantly clad torso there flopped the girl’s arm and a puddle of blood under her wrist.

Betty couldn’t tell whether or not she knew the girl. It took her foggy mind a full two minutes to understand the meaning of the puddle of red on her comforter. Her first thought was Oh, my gawd! This is a huge mess. Her second thought was Shit! She’s dead! My parents are going to kill me! Her mother had warned her about parties. She had said that they never went well for the ones who threw them and that alcohol and teens did not mix well. Her mother was right… again. Betty continued to stand in her doorway unsure if she should do something for the girl or start cleaning the living room.