A Winter Night By C. S. Holt

  Awakened from my place of rest, I walk beneath starry skies across the rounded foothills of the ancient mountains known by men as the Blue Ridge. I have grown fond of these timeworn, noble heights. Old they are, but not as old as I.

   Long ago I discovered this was a place that attracted the presence of men. First, they arrived walking on feet covered in the poorly tanned skins of small animals. After a time, they began to appear riding on the backs of beasts.

   Now, it served as a place of gathering for those who steal clandestine rides upon crude machines that steam and belch their way across the hills on twin tracks of steel

   The long trestle that spans the river provides shelter from the elements. The river provides water and the long, slow, grade allows travelers to safely leap on and off the infernal machines.  

    I know well the thoughts of these poor, simple creatures. A campfire could mean food, conversation, or perhaps news of interest to all. As such, I come here when the need is in me. These homeless, displaced vagabonds are seldom sought after.

   They drift away, left to whatever fate the road may hold. Sometimes the road leads them to me. With growing anticipation, I ease through the trees, as noiseless as smoke on the wind.

.       After a short walk, I see the campfire I knew that I would find. It flickers dimly in the distance, beyond a slender finger of pine and poplar. Standing in the darkness, I smile.

   Two men sit close beside the small fire, one stirring a mulligan stew that bubbled in a battered tin pot, suspended just above the flames. Two men seeking nourishment, shelter, and warmth, two men made of meat, bone, and blood.

    I watch them, hidden there in the shadows just beyond their precious light. I hear the beating of their hearts; hear the rush of blood in their veins. I smell the decay of their teeth, their rancid breath, and their unwashed bodies.   

   Most of all, I savor the rich, copper scent of blood flowing just beneath tender skin. With great effort, I force myself to slow down, to dwell longer in this delicious prelude. Sadly, patience was never my strongest virtue.                          

   For the merest moment, I almost feel pity for these short-lived herd animals. So sure of themselves, so self-important, they are, alas, only cattle. Prey to beings older than the Earth itself, beings that walk among them, undetected by feeble human senses.

   I look up into the night sky; my preternatural vision revealing colors and patterns invisible to the eyes of man. One day, perhaps, my kind will leave this lonely outpost, free to once again fly among the stars.

    I walk closer, almost within reach. When I step into the light, the men start, shocked to find me so close, undetected. They see me as I intended, as a fellow traveler, a kindred soul, down on his luck, quite harmless. This deception is unnecessary, but amusing.

   “Howdy boys, may I join your fire?”

   My voice sounds loud in my head, the affected, slow southern drawl, useful, but primitive and vulgar to my ear. Visibly relieved, the elder of the two waves me forward, flashing a yellowed, patchwork smile.

   “Come ahead, friend. There ain’t much but we always share and share alike. Maybe you got something to add to the pot?”

 I shrug palms up, and shake my head, no.

 “I can’t say I have friend. I’m right sorry about that too. I’m kind of a picky eater anyhow. You two boys enjoy your supper and I’ll have a bite or two later.”

  My smile fills them with feelings of warmth and goodwill. We exchange bits of news while they finish their simple meal. I feel revolted at the sight and smell of this lifeless, decayed excuse for sustenance. No wonder this species is so flawed and weak, to partake of dead flesh and bloodless plant life.

   I feel myself growing angry at this display of inferiority. Enough of games, even my sense of anticipation has a limit. It is time.

   “Gentleman,” I say in my true voice, a voice that over the centuries has brought kings and mighty armies to their knees. At the sound, they freeze mouths agape, trembling, overcome by a terror they cannot name.

   “Thank you for your hospitality, as you have fed, now so shall I. Your flesh shall ease my hunger your bones will become mine. Your blood will be absorbed and will flow, hot and thick, in my veins. Your atoms will live forever, immortal, flesh of my flesh.”  

   As I finish speaking I let slip the illusion of appearance that I caused in their minds. I rise to my full height to tower above them, my true face stunning their primitive minds.

   The younger of the two collapses, sprawling there by the fire crying and quaking with fear, just as I knew that he would. His elder partner turns to run, screaming in terror, just as I knew that he would. Time seems to slow perceptively as I allow him a few steps toward the river, a few fleeting seconds of false hope. When I cross the distance between us, I am a blur, an impossible flash of movement too quick for the human eye to follow. One second I stood before the fire, in the next, I sweep him into my arms, smelling the intoxicating scent of terror, hearing his bones break, feeling the dying spasms of his heart.

  His flesh and bones taste sweet, his blood warm in my throat like liquid light. My body quickly absorbs his essence. Still, I hunger. Returning then to the dying firelight, I finish my feast.                                     

Afterward, gloriously sated, I once again gaze upward into the infinite heavens. I feel a longing for home that no amount of blood can ever relieve. One day they will come, and I will abandon this place, perhaps soon, perhaps not. Whatever the future, I will be here…waiting.