Drained

The deep red rocks tower around me, a reminder of the scorching heat. The dryness of the landscape promises that I could wither away just the same. My only resource is a canteen with barely a few drinks of water, but even if that supply were infinite, I couldn’t consume it at the rate it perspires through me. I ride atop my only companion, and I am grateful for her company. She is drenched in her own sweat and has defeat in her eyes. I try to focus on keeping her safe—this poor animal that followed me willingly into the desert—and I begin to feel the strength of a desire to save her.

In the distance, I spot a speck of something brown. It might be a house. Am I so lucky to find this all the way out here? I get closer, and my hope grows as I see that it is. From the distance, it looks quite shabby. If it is abandoned, then it will serve as a shelter for a bit, but I know I need more if I am to complete my journey. As I get closer, I see a woman outside, and I feel I am saved. I continue advancing toward her, slowly so as not to frighten her. As she gets closer, it seems she is smiling at me. I find it peculiar that she isn’t frightened, but perhaps I appear weak enough that I invoke pity rather than fear.

“I bet you could use some water,” she calls to me with a smile. It seems I have found an angel in the desert. For as beautiful of a sight as she is if only for the water she draws from her well, her olive skin and long black hair make me forget everything else.

“My husband is inside. He is sick and cannot be in the sun, but I know he’d be happy for you to stick around for some rest and a meal.”

“Your hospitality has surely saved my life,” I reply, giving a slight bow.

“We’re happy to help,” she says. Her smile is stunning. Her eyes shine beautifully.

I tie my horse to a post outside before I follow. I make sure my pistol is secure and hidden. I am still a man alone with a horse. There is some value in that. I walk inside. I see an older man in a chair. He is pale, his face is withered showing his age, but the features of his face are still sharp and distinguished.

“Took you long enough. You’re getting slower and slower by the day,” he comments to her without looking up. When he does, he too does not appear to be startled, or even unsettled by my presence. She introduces me to him. He smiles sincerely at me, and seems genuinely welcoming.

I sit in a chair in the corner of the room as the wife does more work around the house. The husband alternates between his reading, and asking me personal questions about my life. His interest seems sincere. He wants to know where I am from, where I am going, and even about my family. His wife comes into the room, leaning on the chair in which her husband sits.

“I’m glad we could offer you some rest. I know he certainly enjoys the company,” she says to me warmly.

“Let him rest. Don’t make him respond to your idle chatter.” He mutters this quietly, as if talking to himself. I give her a smile to let her know that I appreciate the words. She looks at me gravely, followed by a sorrowful smile.

“You must be quite hungry,” says the man. He wears a smirk, as if he himself is happy to be the one to provide the nourishment. He begins to shout at her, “Early supper! Can we not feed our weary guest?”

She walks into the room behind him, apologizing and assuring him of his demand. While he cannot bother to even look at her, she pauses before she walks away. I see her mouth move in silence, mouthing what appears to be the word “help”, and then walks away. I wonder how I can, and if I should.

The man and I mostly sit in silence as first the sounds, and then the smells of the kitchen drift into the main room. It smells delicious. Corn, potatoes, beans… pork? It must be. My mouth is watering. I wonder how such a lucky man could act so poorly toward his blessings. I resolve to free her from this place.

I am invited to the kitchen. I watch the husband walk from his chair, and it seems I may have misjudged his frailty. It is clear he is older, but he moves quite surely into his seat. The wife smiles at me as if proud to offer me the meal. I smile back with generosity in my eyes, and then look gravely at her. I want to tell her of my plan.

The food is magnificent. Steam rises from the potatoes. There is butter in a small dish next to it. The corn is plump and inviting. Slices of pork lean against each other, glistening on the edges and lying in the juices. I am astonished at the injustice of it all. The ungrateful husband, his beautiful wife, and this glorious meal. I pull out a heavy chair from the table and sit.

“Please, you must be starving. I can’t wait to dig in myself,” says the man. Yet, I have not seen him look at the food once. His eyes have been on me the whole time, and with that same, slight smirk on his face. I put my hand to my side to touch my pistol, assuring myself of its presence.

“I hope you like it.” The wife says as she smiles at me. She continues to add more items to the table, walking between the kitchen and the dining room. I fiddle with my setting, adjusting the plate, placing the napkin on my lap. I am biding for time. I want this undeserving man to begin his dinner before I act.

He does not begin to eat. It is clear he is waiting for me to start. He only looks at me politely, a total contradiction from the way he treats his wife. The awkwardness of the inaction of the table seems infinite as the seconds stretch on.

I draw my gun quickly, as I have many times before. The time between the draw and the gunshot is instant. The smoke that drifts from my barrel clears. The image of the man in front of me has changed, but still somehow the same. He still looks at me politely, but there is a gleam in his eyes now. He smiles, full of teeth that seem too bright and young against his withered face. He speaks:

“Goodness, young man. It seems you have misjudged the situation. I simply adore seeing the look in your eyes as you realize that. Thank you, my darling. You played your part brilliantly.”

After the shock of his survival clears, I hasten to jump to my feet. However, somehow I have been tied down without my knowledge of it. I look to my left as I fall backward, the heavy wooden chair between me and the ground. The wife is looming over me, that same warm smile across her lips.

“I was hoping you could save me,” she giggles like a child. I look to the right. The older man is standing above me on that side. My arms are still free, and I still have my gun. I shoot again, sure to hit his chest this time. Through the smoke, his eyes are bright with lust. Again, they are full of life.

In an instant, the smiling pair is on me. All of their weight pressed against each arm, pinning me down against the overturned chair. Terrified, I look at the man. His smile is full. His teeth are brilliant. His fangs are sharp. I writhe and I scream.

“Let the feast begin,” he says as his fangs sink deeply into my neck.

The smells of the dinner come to me as my world fades away. I smell potatoes, pork, and my blood being drained.