Story #188 - Fanged

Fanged

Day was coming.

For most of his life, day had meant freedom to Jann; the security, and peace of mind to know that what went bump in the night would have to retreat against the coming of the light.

Now, day was death.

Jann never had any intention of becoming one of the fang-heads – he had enough problems on his hands with a mortgage he couldn’t pay and an ex-wife that wouldn’t leave him alone. He hadn’t even known that he’d wandered into a vamp bar until one of them got drunk and bared teeth at him, and by that point he’d been too far gone to care.

A bad court day and the idea that he was going to have to pay his ex double – double! – what he paid now had driven him over the edge, and he’d decided the best way to deal with his troubles was to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. It had been only a block from the courthouse to the nearest bar, and if he’d had a clearer head on his shoulders, he would have noticed the neon sign above the door, and seen the fangs buzzing on the outline of the busty girl there.

He hadn’t, and he paid for it.

Jann could see dawn flickering on the horizon and increased the pace of his run. He’d never been one for hunting, but since the change a powerful need had taken hold of him and pushed him into the field outside the city, searching for easy prey. The drive for blood was strong, but he still felt sick to his stomach at the idea of hurting another human being. Perhaps such callousness would come with time, or maybe he’d always have to feed on the deer and rabbits he could find. Either way, he was disgusted.

He’d seen a small shack on the rough gravel road that led off of the highway, and while it didn’t look clean, it would do well enough for a temporary shelter until night came again. Jann had foolishly left his car at home because he felt the need to run; if he made it back to the house unscathed, he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

A scent on the wind brought memories of her flooding back, and Jann did his best to shove them down. She’d been the best-looking thing in the bar, and he’d hit on her only because he was drunk and lonely, not because he thought she’d give him the time of day. Even now, he wasn’t sure how he’d ended up in her bed, but when he woke up he was covered in a mixture of dark red and silver-streaked blood, and his initiation into the world of the fang-heads had begun.

Three of them had jumped him when he left the filthy apartment his conquest had brought him to, though she was nowhere to be seen. There was no malice in their beating, but instead a ritualistic violence that seemed to be a rite of passage of some kind. None of them spoke a word, but after all three had kicked him eight times apiece, the biggest one had taken him by the chin, nodded, and then fled into the pre-dawn. It hadn’t been a look of approval as much as it had been one of acceptance, of acknowledgement that he had entered their realm.

He’d spent four days at home after that, refusing to work even though he needed the money, and too sick with worry to eat. There were bite marks on his neck, and he’d hoped that they weren’t deep enough, weren’t vicious enough to cause a transformation. Jann had felt no vamp strength filling him when his beating had been administered, and aside from a hotter anger burning for his ex-wife than ever before, he didn’t feel that much different.

Three out of four days passed that way, but when the sun rose on the fourth, the hunger came.

It started with dreams of rare red meat oozing blood onto a clean white plate, and Jann sending it back to the kitchen again and again for being too well-cooked. When he finally woke in a cold sweat he saw sunlight creeping across his bedroom floor and ran in gibbering terror for the farthest wall in the room.

Once he had hold of himself he’d tried to laugh it off, and extended a bare foot to the golden beam that was coming his way. Searing pain met his toe as the light fell on it, and he jumped back, cursing. He was changing.

That change was in full effect as he ran against the dawn now, legs carrying him faster than he could ever hope to drive his car. His feet seemed to instinctively know where to plant themselves when they landed and he didn’t miss a step, never tripped over a rock as he sped along.

Finally, the shed came into view.

Jann didn’t bother to slow his pace, and instead crashed into the face of the rotting wooden door. Chunks of oak flew as he burst through and into the darkened room beyond, just as the first rays of light touched the ground outside. He had made it. Barely.

He was just picking himself up off the floor when the voice came.

“Jann.” It wasn’t familiar, but it was confident and sure. Whoever it was knew exactly who he was.

He brought his head up quickly. A man stood in front of him dressed like no one he’d ever seen, at least outside of a period-piece on television. Thin and white-haired, the man looked like a drawn sword, sharp and dangerous. A black cape was at his shoulders and fell to the tops of his boots, which looked to be finely-wrought leather. The rest of his clothing was billowing crimson and black silk, and Jann felt an almost desperate need for the man’s approval. He was magnificent.

“Stand up, young one,” the man said, and Jann rose. “Those fools have finally made a mistake. You’re the one I’ve been waiting on – the one we’ve been waiting on for a very long time.”

- D