By Michael K. Silva

"And this brings the death toll up to one hundred and fifty three. But, reports are still inconclusive as to who the murderer is…" Son of a bitch! Another one? Thought Darren.

He slammed his right fist down on the armrest of his chair. He watched the television screen as cops, reporters, paramedics, and on-lookers stood along the river bank whilst four paramedics tried to push their way through the crowd. Following protocol, they had the body of a nineteen-year old girl on a gurney, her drenched body covered by a white sheet. They had fished her out of the river, half-naked. An old couple had found her this morning as they walked the river like they always do. The whole city knew that her name was Julianne Miller; she was reported missing on the six o’ clock news not more than two weeks ago. Darren remembered that she was very pretty, very innocent looking.

He was rapidly becoming frustrated, because somewhere in his mind he believed that he should’ve been the one to kill her, not this serial killer that people were calling the "Vampire Killer." He had begun trying to mimic the murders which had been going on for a good part of two years. But, he could not figure out how the other killer had drained the bodies almost completely of all of their blood. And, like an actual vampire, the victims had the signature puncture wounds notoriously associated with this evil creature of ancient folklore. Of course, Darren knew that real vampires didn’t exist except only in popular American culture now. He himself had loved all the Hollywood movies and even worked in a nightclub where fans of heavy metal, gothic, and industrial music gathered with their pseudo-vampire teeth and black clothing. He was a bouncer at the Bloodbath Nightclub, and like so many of the club’s patrons, had gotten pseudo-vampire fangs as well.

Though he loved the music, he hated the pretentiousness, the bullshit attitudes of most of the people that frequented the joint. Often, he’d look at them with hatred and loathing. To him, they all pretended to be so wicked, so evil, yet most of them wore huge, silver ankh pendants or crosses. And, a lot of them wore depression like a badge, so woeful, so tragic. It made him want to kill. Getting away with murder in this city, he found, was fairly easy. Because of all the forestry, there were a lot of places that one could commit these horrific deeds, dump the body, and escape without any trouble. But, he did not choose his victims from here. Maybe he slept with one or two of these "goth chicks," but for the most part, he just simply detested the whole lot of them, nothing more.

He had a different point of view as to what a vampire should be- a killer, a different kind of predator. This erotic, Stoker-esque perception, to him, was a bastardization, an abomination of an abomination. In his twisted mind, Darren sought to restore that evil beast of ancient folklore to its rightful place. Fascinated with serial killers and mass murderers, he heard his calling when the "Vampire Murders" had begun. He felt that someone else believed and understood how he felt. And, in a feeble attempt to mimic the murders, he begun his own killings, thusly earning a reputation for himself. The city though, never saw his murders the way he saw them. He was not even called a copy-cat murderer, for the methods in which the girls were killed differed too much. And, the victims of the Vampire Killer were both, male and female. So, the murderer he admired had become a rival. Every now and again a certain reporter would mention his killings along with the Vampire Murders, but it was usually said that maybe the Vampire Killer changed his method every so often to throw the cops off of his trail. The "experts" usually retorted with, "That’s highly unlikely."

The breaking of the neck, then throat-slashing method that Darren used never alluded to the drinking of blood, which Darren enjoyed. He chose this method because he knew that with the wonders of modern forensics, a killer could be identified by his dental records- records which would be current because of his pseudo-vampire fangs. Darren never copulated with his victims either because of DNA tests or the testing of pubic hair. So, he shaved his head bald and was diligent about being clean-shaven. He never handled his knife without his leather gloves, just in case his victim struggled too much and he lost it somehow. He did like to kill them while they were naked- or half naked at least, he couldn’t help but revel in their naked flesh; he always remained clothed. Darren also chose his victims carefully, often stalking them and learning their patterns of commute before moving in for the kill. In a period of a year and a half, his death toll was a measly twenty one, a long ways from his rival’s. It didn’t matter to the inhabitants of this city though, two serial killers had this city scared shitless.

"Motherfucker," he said, slamming his fist down on the armrest again, "Julianne could’ve been mine. Who are you? You bastard."

He tried to recall what she looked like. She was blonde, big blue eyes, a very sweet face. He liked young girls. He decided to get on the computer and release some aggression by searching the porn sites. Darren was attractive to a lot of girls, but with these recent killings- four in the last month- females were scared, especially if they caught a glimpse of his vampire fangs. On one site he saw a girl that reminded him of a girl that looked very similar to one that he knew. She worked at a diner just a few blocks away, near the Bloodbath, where the patrons and club workers alike went to dine every night after the club closed. He felt desire burn through him and he decided that he was hungry. No matter that it was his night off, he often ate there, regardless. He quickly headed to the bathroom for a shower; it wouldn’t do to have residual semen on his hand, even though he wore black gloves anyway.

Darren always did a great job at infiltration. He scanned the whole joint without being obvious about it. The city lived in fear, and one could feel the tension seeping through the walls, the cracks in the sidewalk, and the very air itself. The blonde waitress, Lori Mae, seemed genuinely pleasant, as always. Sure, it was part of her job to be pleasant, but she was young, very beautiful, and seemed to be friendly and outgoing. As per usual, the diner was full of citizens of all types, including a bunch of the club’s patrons. If the Vampire Killer, or the other serial killer, was here- who would know. Half of this place was dominated by vampires.

"How’s everything, Darren?"

Of course she knew his name, she always flirted with him, "It’s too bad I’m working. A strong, handsome, young guy like you should never have to eat alone. At least I know that you aren’t afraid of vampires," she said jokingly. That joke had a double meaning. She obviously was joking about the murders and about the other "vampires" from the club whom he never associated with, but was always surrounded by, even here.

He smiled at her, genuinely, and said calmly, "I’m the one the other "vampires" need to be weary of, remember?"

Lori Mae giggled, touched his arm and said, "Maybe I’ll need protection, later," and she winked then walked off.

He watched her talk to other customers, giggling and chatting away, so unlike half of them yet so at ease and calm. Darren’s heart slammed in his chest and the implications of those words, her gestures, whirled in his mind. He knew that she got off at eleven o’ clock. He also knew the path that she took home; she lived just a block or two past the beat-up apartment building he lived in. He’d followed her home many times in the past.

He paid his bill and left a good-sized tip, like he always did. The walk home was frustrating. He replayed her words, her soft, gentle touch, in his mind over and over again. His heart still pounded in his chest; the thoughts whirled even faster. Every word overlapped the ones before it and they became a mad echo. He had been dressed to kill, but like an efficient predator, he had scouted the terrain and waited patiently for the right time to strike. Darren was always dressed to kill.

A quarter past eleven Darren stood in a dark alleyway between the building next to Lori Mae’s. Off in the distance, he heard the siren’s wail of a police car. This street seemed to be empty, though. He’d made sure that no street person was hidden in the dark. How no one saw him amazed the hell out of him. Were the people of this small city that afraid? No cars went down the street. Fuckin’ amazing.

He usually didn’t kill anyone this deep in the city or this close to home. But, he made sure that he had at least two escape routes. His heart still pounded in his chest. He heard footsteps. When he saw Lori Mae’s beautiful form, he lunged with the swiftness of a cheetah taking down a gazelle. One muscular arm got her in a headlock, her mouth in the crook of his bent elbow. He squeezed tight enough that she couldn’t scream. It happened so quickly that she couldn’t react. Snatching her right off the main street, he carried her deeper into the dark alley. The sweet scent of her filled his lungs and his head spun, but he did not falter. He had her in his arms. He drank in the softness of her writhing form. She couldn’t see him, for he snatched her from behind. She moved against his erection. Her cries for help, stifled. His other arm tore her work shirt open, and he ripped her bra off. His hands ran over her small, perky breasts and smooth belly. Kissing her neck, he scraped the tips of his vampire fangs across her jugular. Then, in one swift movement, he somehow broke her neck. Her beautiful, young body went limp.

He laid her on the filth-covered ground and tore off her work pants. He should’ve worked faster. But, when he pulled down her light, blue cotton G-string panties, he took his time. It was as if he were worshipping her. He nuzzled his face between her legs, her neatly trimmed, blonde pubic hair tickling the tip of his nose. He kissed his way up to her breasts, suckled on each nipple, withdrew his knife and slit her throat. There, in the dark alley he drank her blood while his fingers fondled her still and lifeless form, pointless though it was, for he never took his gloves off when he killed.

When Darren was done he wiped the blood off of his knife and face with her shirt and then stuffed it into a pocket on the inside of his long, black, leather coat. He’d actually gotten away with this murder, too. Holy shit! A murder this deep inside the city, a murder only four blocks away from home. He didn’t walk hurriedly down the street. He didn’t look over his shoulders. He didn’t do anything that looked suspicious. He just walked, but not out onto the main street. He took the alternative route home.

It was a hard walk though, because the whole time he felt as if someone was watching him. Panic threatened to spread through his whole being as he walked. Goosebumps rose on the back of his neck more than once, and the thought that someone might have seen what he’d done kept repeating itself in his mind like a broken record. Just walk, was the mantra that he silently recited to himself. Just fuckin’ walk. But, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being followed. He never once turned to look back, even as he climbed the steps to the door of his run-down apartment building. He lived on the tenth floor and he just stared at himself in the mirrored walls of the elevator. This murder had felt too different. Lori Mae. Sweet, young, Lori Mae. He would get very little sleep tonight.

The news of Lori Mae’s murder had angered and frustrated him even more. Though it raised the level of fear a few more notches, it still was overshadowed by the Vampire Murders. Now, more than one reporter mentioned that maybe the Vampire Killer was trying to throw the cops off his trail. He didn’t like that his notoriety was taking a backseat to the man that he’d once admired, a man who was a very formidable rival. How could he contend with such a mysterious and cunning predator? Lori Mae’s death should’ve hit a little closer to home, because it was a little closer to home. Not only that, somewhere in Darren’s twisted mind, he was angered that the citizens of this city didn’t dare about Lori Mae’s death as much as they cared about Julianne Miller’s. How could they just overlook his Lori Mae? Fuckin’ bastards!

He threw the bottle of beer that he was drinking across the room, where it smashed against the wall, spraying beer and glass everywhere. His mind seethed with the thought of vampires and he loathed going to work tonight. Those damn goths and their hoity-toity misconceptions about vampires. His mind was slipping fast, and reality started to blur. He thought to himself, we vampires are predators not pompous sissies whining about our "lost humanity." Fuckin’ sissies! That thought raged fiercely in Darren’s unstable, very warped mind. Lori Mae. Lori Mae. Lori Mae. My number twenty two. He didn’t remember pocketing her light blue, cotton G-string panties.

Darren liked her smile. He’d seen her somewhere before. He watched, inconspicuously, as she moved closer to the door. She had short, black hair- a bob haircut, he told himself. Yeah, he liked her smile, though she wore braces. Look at those pretty black eyes. He hated the word, but she was...cute, very cute.

No damn it! She’s pretty. Yeah, pretty cute.

And, pretty short. But, he could tell that she had bigger breasts than Lori Mae had had. And, a fuller figure, from what he could tell; with her black tank top- the kind that showed her belly- and her tight black jeans. He couldn’t stop looking at her. He had to look at everyone; he was a bouncer, so he had to look at her. Tonight, he worked the door. She gave him her ID, he read her name, committed it to memory- Kimberly. Her smile was very warm, and bright, pretty strange for someone coming to this club.

"Hey, I know you," she said.

Then it clicked. The video game store! She works there.

"You buy video games at my store," she said happily. Darren felt surprised, though he knew her. Yeah…yeah, I do, he thought.

"You like horror video games," he said smiling back at her, fangs showing, "we like the same type of games," he continued.

He took her hand and stamped it before she could pay the six dollar cover charge.

"Wow! Thank you," she said, letting her hand linger for just a small moment on his when he gave her back her ID. He stamped her friend’s hand, too, without charging her. Kimberly smiled at him over her shoulders as she walked into the club. Right before she walked through the door, she glanced once more at Darren, smiling brightly. He was smitten.

Tonight was just like any other night at the Bloodbath. After the club had closed he went to the diner that Lori Mae had worked at. It was business as usual, though there was a slightly different feel to the place since Lori Mae wasn’t there. The other waitresses seemed to be functioning mechanically, trying to put the tragedy out of their minds. Darren, who’d been thinking about her all day, who had gotten mad at the whole city for not viewing her death as equally important as Julianne Miller’s, did not think much of her at all, now. Kimberly haunted him. The ghost of a dead girl, a girl he killed did not haunt him, a living girl did. Lustful thoughts of that "cute" girl raced through his head. He wanted her. He wanted her more than he had wanted Lori Mae.

Suddenly, goosebumps rose on the back of his neck. There was that feeling again like he was being watched. He paid his bill and left the dinner. Though there was this lurking fear, one that grew slowly, he didn’t want to go home just yet. But, the thoughts began to drive him mad. Did someone see me kill Lori Mae? What if some one has been watching me for a while? Paranoia began to infect his whole being, and suddenly Darren didn’t feel safe anymore. What was even stranger was that he decided to go for a walk instead of going home, which would’ve been the safest place to be. But, his fucked up mind said that the place may be under surveillance.

This time, he did look back over his shoulder as he walked. He walked hurriedly. But, just like last night, the street seemed to be deserted. And, rightly so. It was almost three in the morning. The city was asleep. But, he needn’t fear these serial killers; he was one of them. Fear he did, though. Instinct told him that he should fear.

In his paranoia he heard his own voice say repeatedly, You shouldn’t have killed her this close to home. Somebody saw. Somebody saw.

He had walked as far as the old Wiggins Cemetery, ten blocks away from his apartment building. This place was so old and run down that no one tended it, anymore. The roots of trees had broken a lot of the headstones. The foliage was thick and dense. Here was a bit of sanctuary, he thought. I could lose the fuckin’ cops here. He was dead sure that it was an undercover cop that trailed him, though he never really saw anyone. Paranoia does terrible things to one’s imagination. Paranoia coupled with…guilt? Did he feel guilty about killing Lori Mae? If he did, she would be the first one he felt any kind of guilt or remorse for. No! He thought. I feel like I’m being followed.

The crescent moon shone brightly on the very old graves. He heard rustling in one of the bushes, saw eyes staring at him, instinctively reached for his knife. A raccoon came running out. Fuck! He was jumpy. God damn it! I should’ve gone home. His mind did not calm at all. I’m not going to jail, fuckers- he thought.

He usually felt safe here. Not tonight, though. He walked a little further, preoccupied with his paranoia and slammed right into another person. A girl screamed- loud and terrified, probably with all the energy she had in her. Darren screamed, too, "Jesus fuckin’ Christ! Son of bitch!"

They both jumped away from each other, nerves shattered to pieces beneath the moonlight. The girl was saying repeatedly, panting heavily, "Oh m’god, oh m’god, oh m’god, oh m’god…"

Still rattled, Darren exclaimed, "Kimberly!"

She was pacing back and forth, hands shaking, but she knew this person who’d scared the fuckin’ bejesus out of her, "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit..." she muttered to herself.

He was beginning to calm down a little. Was she the one following me? Something didn’t feel right. And, his mind was doing somersaults in his skull. Scared as he was, the lust for her that had been eating away at him began to take hold. In the moonlight she looked just as good as when he’d seen her at the club.

"I’m sorry, Darren," she said, still frazzled, "I…I followed you. My friend went home, I…I didn’t want to go home. Can I be with you?" with that she threw herself at him.

Fuckin’ huge somersaults now. Confused at the strange events, fighting back the still persistent paranoia, he let her embrace him. She felt so soft. Just like he had imagined when he was at the diner. Nothing could stop the chain of events now. Holding her felt so natural and they clung onto each other like two scared children in the dark. She smelt of clove cigarettes and sweat. To him, her scent was intoxicating.

Eventually, they both calmed down. She began kissing his neck. Their hands roamed over each other’s body. He looked down at her and said, "Not here." They left the cemetery and walked back to his apartment building. All the while, more thoughts raced through his head. He wanted her, but he didn’t want to hurt her or kill her. He wanted to be inside of her. Then Lori Mae was there. Julianne Miller was there. Thousands of voices screamed at once in his head. He squeezed Kimberly’s hand. They walked at a very fast pace. Never mind that their sides hurt. Never mind that he still felt that paranoia, soon they’d have sanctuary.

He didn’t want to kill her.

He felt hunted.

Half way there, the goosebumps were back. Then he caught a glimpse of someone, out of the corner of his eyes. Instinct said, "Run!" He couldn’t. Somehow, Kimberly felt it, too. She started shaking again. Darren’s thoughts went berserk. Does she know you’re a killer? Killer. Killer. Killer! The words kept echoing in his mind. Part of him fought back and said, "Not her, you hear me? Not her!"

Two more blocks and then that glimpse out of the corner of his eyes, again. Shit! Someone saw, last night. Someone saw.

Finally, they were in his building. They both looked liked they’d seen death. Kimberly was holding hands with Death. The battle raged ever onward in Darren. I won’t kill her. Not her. Was that Lori Mae and all of the others laughing at him? He didn’t kill Julianne Miller but she was laughing, too.

In the elevator, the couple kissed, hoping to kill the fear. Darren looked at himself in the mirrored walls of the elevator and for a brief moment the image of another man, eyes burning with hatred, was their behind Kimberly. In the blink of an eye he was gone. But, it was long enough for Darren to yell, "Fuck!" And he jumped back, reflexively, against the elevator door. Kimberly was scared, yet she didn’t know why, and just squeezed Darren even tighter. They ran down the hall to Darren’s apartment. The keys rattled loudly because he could not get the key into the keyhole. He was swearing under his breath and Kimberly looked up and down the hall on the verge of near panic.

Once inside they began to calm down again. Darren said he needed a shower, Kimberly joined him. She was more than pretty cute; she was a goddess, to him. They didn’t even bother drying themselves. They wanted each other so bad, that they headed straight for the bedroom. Sex was rough and violent. They just wanted to put the fear they felt all the way home behind them. As the tumultuous thoughts continued to assault Darren’s mind, he thrust harder and harder into the small, but full-bodied girl. She pumped equally as hard, having orgasm after orgasm, crying out in ecstasy, mistaking the distress on Darren’s face for sexual pleasure. The voices in his head kept screaming, "KILL HER! KILL HER!"

Suddenly, the bedroom window shattered, and glass flew everywhere. Kimberly screamed as a man dressed in an old, decrepit, filthy tuxedo stood over them. Clumps of dirt fell off of his body as he shook and howled with rage. Instantly, the smell of death and putrefaction permeated the air. Darren looked up in confusion and horror as this rotting vestige of a man slammed a fist into his face, nearly knocking him unconscious. The eyes were yellow and maggots poured from holes in his decayed face, skull, and hands. Every howl, every groan stank of the grave. The hair was gray, long and mangled. Yellow fingernails at the ends of bony, clawed, hands reached for Kimberly, who was frozen with absolute terror. She still lay naked on the bed waving her arms at the undead thing, frantically. She saw long, razor-sharp incisors jutting out from between swollen, pus-ridden, lips. It was the last thing she saw as those horrific incisors plunged into her jugular. Blood splattered everywhere as she struggled, all for naught. Disbelieving of the horror, Darren struggled to his feet.

"Noooo!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. Not Kimberly, he thought in his shattered mind. Tears streamed down his face and his head throbbed from the blow he received. He tried to lunge for the vampire and fell over the threshold of sanity with the horrid realization that this was his rival, it was indeed a true vampire. This was the beast he admired, and now hated. This was not a glamorized, sensual, Hollywood sissy, but a true beast. This was a true predator of ancient folklore and myth. No crucifix, no stake, holy water, sunlight or any of that fictional bullshit would work against it. He ran from the room, searching for his knife or any weapon of some sort. The vampire was right on his ass; he could smell the hot, putrid breath. He felt the long, yellowed fingernails tear the flesh of his back. Darren had gone numb with fear and rage.

The vampire leapt into the air and landed on Darren, arms wrapping around his torso, legs on his lower back. Darren howled in pain as the bony fingers tore at his chest as if trying to rip his heart out. He felt the burning pain, then, razor-sharp incisors piercing his jugular. Still, in his mind he heard the voices of his own victims laughing, especially Lori Mae’s. He heard, too, Kimberly’s deathly scream. Beautiful Kimberly. It had felt good to be in her, to be held by her. For some reason, he never wanted to kill her, but Death had found her anyway. He flailed his arms in absolute terror and hysteria, trying to get a hold of the evil monster on his back. He ran about frantically. He ran for the window, which exploded into the fleeting night.

"Two months ago, two dead, naked bodies were found here, on Farley Street. A young female, covered in blood, clumps of dirt, maggots, and shattered glass, was found in a bedroom on the tenth floor of this run-down apartment building. The other- a young male- was found in a bloodied heap, of flesh, broken bones, and shattered glass, here on the pavement ten stories below that very apartment. He too, was found with clumps of dirt and maggots. Both bore the signature puncture wounds of the Vampire Killer on their necks, along with various lacerations and/or wounds. Their extremely mysterious deaths are counted among what many believe to be the still-rising death toll of the Vampire Murders, which currently stands at one hundred and fifty five. Of them all, so far, these two are the bloodiest, the most violent, and the most disturbing. Police still refuse to release the identity of the victims, and information about some puzzling evidence found in the apartment. They also have yet to find any substantial leads on the Vampire Killer’s identity. Citizens are still being urged to take the proper precautions to protect themselves. Though no other murders have occurred since, the authorities suggest that it is still wise to do so. Oddly enough, the other serial murders seemed to have stopped with a death toll of only twenty two victims and, at the moment, remains unsolved."