back
May 3: The Vampire.
i.
Blood was tracked across the floor, smeared down the wall in great swaths like talons, congealing slowly in splotches on the countertop - she stepped forward to peer into the unlit living room. From where they crouched over a barely-identifiable chunk of deer, the vampire hissed.
"Do you have to make such a mess?" she asked, exasperated.
ii.
Sighing, she let the bucket to the floor with a clank. The wet scrubbing sound of the sponge seemed almost unbearably loud on its own, the intermittent splash as she stopped to rinse the worst of the residue off an abrupt punctuation.
She turned to look over her shoulder at the silent presence there. The vampire stared back, expression stiff.
They set down their bucket next to hers. The sweep of their sponge sounded like penance.
iii.
The two of them flopped, exhausted, on the couch.
"Why deer?" she said. "There's got to be something more manageble. And why inside? We could just use the hose; a quick spray down and we're all done, then."
The vampire stayed quiet. Her heart beat, beat, beat as she waited.
"I like that I can make them scream and scream, until their throats give out, and never have to worry that someone's coming to save them. Makes it feel better. Just bloodshed isn't enough," they said, finally.
She looked over at the lank hair at the back of their head, the way it had started to get brittle and dry from the roots outwards. "I've heard cows and pigs are pretty loud. Maybe you should try working at a slaughterhouse," she replied.
Their waxy face tilted back to her. "Too many people watching. Someone would realize I'm different."
Both of them remain, quiet.