Nosuë: The Wandering Vampire

It was a city in decay; at least that’s what it seemed to me. The streets were filled with brothels where men sought the company of women of dubious reputation while drinking alcohol and often taking narcotics that left them dying on street corners.

As I walked, vigilant but with my head bent over, I saw many such men. Drunk, high on drugs, smelling of tobacco, sex and alcohol rather than even blood. They made me sick. And that’s strange, because vampires don’t get sick.

No. They might be easy, but I still had dignity. I might be a wandering vampire, but I had honour. Stooping to feed on such pathetic prey would do nothing but humiliate me.

I passed by the nooks and crannies where such wasted humans languished, and continued to search for more suitable prey.

I am not an arrogant creature, but there is a wide gap between arrogance and self-loathing. I didn’t despise myself, and so I wouldn’t settle for rubbish. Not that I was looking for a marquis or a queen, but by all spirits, I didn’t want hard liquor-flavoured blood either.

No. I just wanted…

"Ah… I got you.”

She was young, in her early twenties, and seemed nervous. She pulled an elegant pocket watch out of her purse, with a flower and leaf motif, and checked the time every two minutes. I assumed she was waiting for someone who was running late.

She was dressed with an ankle-length skirt, simple, but in contrast she wore a frilly white silk shirt and a choker from which hung a small heart-shaped pendant that I assumed opened to reveal a portrait.

Ah, photography had just arrived to this world, and everyone wanted a portrait. Painting was not missed… yet. It was something that made me feel an emptiness in my chest, where a heart once beat.

I noticed that the young girl smelled faintly of coffee. It had been a long time since I had drunk coffee from a human; I suppose they drink them more in the morning, and I, naturally, hunt at night.

Oh, you don’t know, you don’t realise. You taste what you eat, in a different and delicious way. You taste sweet, or bitter, or sour, a unique flavour mixed with the inevitable tinge of metallic blood.

Yes, that was a suitable prey.

There was no one in the street. The poor ingenue was waiting for her lover, probably, all alone. Alone and at the mercy of anyone.

At my mercy.

I could be human and feel sorry for that innocent prey. I could be the heroic vampire who only preys on criminals.

But that’s not me. I’m no knight in shining armour, but make no mistake. Nor am I the soulless beast the vampire hunters would have you believe. I wouldn’t hurt her… much. I knew very well how to feed without harm.

Control. It’s all about control.

I slid by the wall, almost invisible, silent as a shadow. She didn’t see me, and she didn’t sense me until it was too late.

I was behind her, taking in her scent. Quite appetising. More than drunks and junkies, anyway. I licked my lips in anticipation. I was a hunter about to get his prey.

Then she knew. Her skin crawled and her heart skipped a beat.

I covered her mouth with one hand and smacked her head. She fell into my arms, fainting, manageable, easy.

“Ssshh…” I hushed softly, taking her up and retreating, silent, into the darkness of a dead end.

I sat between two mouldy barrels, holding back a grimace of disgust. That’s the way it is for vampires like me: without a home, wandering aimlessly, abiding by rules that are no longer for them.

But I would not give up my upbringing, my essence. I might have to hunt like a common street predator, but I wouldn’t unleash the animal in each of us. Not me.

Not again.

They didn’t see me coming, because I was moving on a different plane. I didn’t mind being there. I didn’t mind becoming a Hostile. Anger had chilled the blood in my veins, and if my heart had beat, it would no longer do so with pure, cold fury.

My mind was empty of all thought, of all mercy. There was only one thing: to avenge my sire, mercilessly murdered by those beasts who called themselves ‘humans’.

Among them I emerged again, a shadow of icy red eyes and long fangs, a savage mask of hatred, of burning rage.

Two fell by my fangs and claws before the others fired. I felt the stings of gold, but I didn’t feel the pain. I was bleeding, but it didn’t matter.

Blood. Blood. My sire had not bled. She had turned to dust and ash, dust and ash.

I turned to the others. They were going to die. All of them. They would all die.

There was a vibrating sound nearby. It was coming from my throat; I was growling like an animal. The snarl of a nosferatu, like a lion, a panther filled with rage…

I snapped my jaws and tried to concentrate. The girl. She was warm in my arms. Fresh, good food for a change. I focused on her smell, the smell of blood: not just the metallic tinge that humans feel, also coffee, a slight fruity tone… very exotic. She was a good girl: she had parents who fed and cared for her. Someone looked out for her.

"You don’t know how lucky you are, child,” I thought. ”You never know until it’s too late.”

I took off her little beanie, and the long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. Carefully I unbuttoned her choker and laid it on the floor, then unfastened the collar of her blouse to reveal her pale throat, which throbbed with her serene, sleepy pulse.

She would never know. She would wake up with a pounding headache and would be startled, of course, not knowing what happened, but none of her fantasies —her fears— would even come close to the truth.

I pulled her close, almost as if I were embracing her. Her head drooped languidly back, offering me her neck. I smelled her scent, arched over her. She was still breathing quietly, unconscious, completely at my mercy.

I pressed my lips to her skin. I felt her shudder, but she didn’t wake up. She wouldn’t, not yet, not until it was too late.

"Don’t play with the food, Nosuë,” I reminded myself.

I bared my sharp fangs and sinked them in. Blood began to flow, hot and thick, and I drank.

Hours before sunrise I returned to my lair: the garret of an abandoned building on the pestilent outskirts of the city. It was empty, but who cares, I was a vampire. I wasn’t cold, I wasn’t hot, I didn’t breathe the rarefied air of the room. I longed for a home, though, a comfortable place of my own where I wasn’t an intruder.

This was not a home, just a temporary lair, and when a little more time passed I would leave and find another. This is what it means to be a wandering vampire, a nomad without origin or destination.

I curled up in a corner.

Vampires don’t sleep, and human nightmares don’t come out in the daytime. I could only stay locked up there… while the sun bathed the streets, again, as I had been doing for so long… and as I had expected to do for centuries.

It was not a pleasant perspective.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it… and also that you want to know more about Nosuë and his life, past… and also future. See you soon!