King of the Damned

The damp, salt-laced air of Gloucester clung to me like a second skin, or maybe more like a shroud. It was the year 2021. The whole world was playing dress-up, masks and hand sanitizer everywhere. Honestly, it was a riot. Like, they were already living in a digital haze, glued to their screens, but now? Now they were terrified of each other, huddled in their little boxes. It was like a free pass for me. They called it a pandemic; I called it the perfect cover. A buffet, sure, but a buffet where everyone was already hiding under the table. Not that I was going to gorge myself. Restraint, my friend, restraint. That’s the real flex. Anyone can be a monster. But being a controlled monster? That’s where the power lies.

I’m Elias, just Elias. No fancy last name, no dramatic backstory about being cursed by some ancient wizard or whatever. I’m just… old. How old am I? Well, lets just say I’ve been around this sleepy Virginia town for nearly two centuries. I’ve seen it all. Wars that turned fields red, plagues that emptied entire villages, and the slow, agonizing creep of technology. I’ve watched those quaint colonial houses, the ones they put on postcards, turn into these sprawling, cookie-cutter subdivisions. I’ve seen horses give way to those noisy metal boxes they call cars. And through it all, I’ve just been here, lurking, watching, waiting. A silent observer, a predator in the shadows.

Tonight, the moon was a sliver, like a fingernail clipping in the vast darkness. Barely enough light to see by, which was just how I liked it. The fog rolling in from the York River was thick, like someone had spilled a giant bucket of smoke over the town. The scent of the sea, usually so bracing, was mixed with this faint, metallic tang. It was the ghost of my last feeding, a little snack I’d had earlier. Nothing major, just a quick top-up. A tourist, young woman, wandered down onto the beach too late. Thought she was being all adventurous, exploring. Bless her heart. Her fear was like a jolt, a shot of pure adrenaline. But I was careful, as always. Just a little sip, leaving her with a fuzzy memory and a bit of a head-spin. She’d probably chalk it up to too much wine or something.

My domain here is… subtle. I don’t command armies of the undead or throw elaborate vampire balls or whatever you see in the movies. I prefer the quiet. The solitude. I’m a king without a court, a ruler of shadows, and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. The whole “power trip” thing? Overrated.

I moved through the back alleys, my senses cranked up to eleven. The town was dead quiet, everyone tucked away in their houses, their screens glowing like little blue beacons. I paused, just listening. The usual hum of the town was gone, replaced by this eerie stillness. Then, I heard it. A faint, rhythmic thumping, like a heartbeat in the distance. Music. Young people. A party.

Curiosity, that old devil, started poking at me. I’d been avoiding gatherings like this for decades. Too risky. Too many eyes, too many chances for something to go wrong. But tonight, the isolation felt… heavy. Like a weight pressing down on me. I decided, just a peek. A quick observation. No harm in that, right?

The house was a classic two-story colonial, all lit up like a Christmas tree. It sat away, far away from the highway. The windows glowed with a warm, inviting light. The music was heavy, electronic, the kind that makes your chest vibrate. I slipped through the back gate, my movements as silent as a whisper. The backyard was a mess, a makeshift dance floor lit by flashing strobe lights. Bodies moved in the darkness, a writhing mass of limbs and laughter.

They were young, vibrant, completely oblivious to the fact that they were being watched. Their laughter was sharp, a stark contrast to the silence I usually inhabited. I watched them for a while, just taking it all in. It was like watching a nature documentary, but with more neon and less David Attenborough.

Then, I saw him. A young guy, maybe early twenties, his face flushed with alcohol. He was stumbling towards the edge of the crowd, alone. He looked… lost. Vulnerable.

I watched him, my senses assessing him. He was unremarkable, average. But there was something in his eyes, a flicker of something. Desperation? Loneliness? It resonated with me, in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.

He wandered towards the shadows, away from the noise, pulling out a cigarette. He lit it, the ember glowing like a tiny red eye in the darkness. He took a long drag, his eyes fixed on the ground.

“Lost?” I asked, my voice a low, smooth whisper, barely audible above the music.

He jumped, startled, nearly dropping his cigarette. “Who’s there?”

I stepped into the dim light, my features still mostly obscured by the shadows. “Just a fellow observer.”

He squinted at me, trying to make out my face. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“I’ve been here a while,” I said, my voice laced with a hint of amusement.

He nodded, taking another drag of his cigarette. “I’m Mark. I’m visiting my cousin. It’s… a lot.”

“Parties?”

“Yeah. And everything else. The… the world. It’s crazy.”

“Indeed,” I agreed. “It’s always been.”

He looked at me, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “You sound… old.”

I smiled, a thin, predatory smile. “Old enough to know that things rarely change.”

We talked for a while. About the music, the town, the strange, unsettling feeling that hung in the air like a fog. He was lonely, searching for something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He was a perfect target.

The urge to feed was a constant hum beneath my skin, like a low, persistent buzz. I could take him, drain him, leave him a husk. It would be so easy. But something held me back. A flicker of… pity? No, not pity. Something more complex. A recognition, maybe.

“You know,” I said, my voice low, “there’s a different kind of life, a life beyond this.”

He looked at me, his eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

“A life of… permanence,” I said, my voice laced with a dark promise. “A life where you’re not just a fleeting shadow in a chaotic world.”

He hesitated, his eyes searching mine. “What… what would that involve?”

“A choice,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “A choice to embrace the darkness, to become something more.”

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and fascination. “I… I don’t know.”

“You have time,” I said, stepping back into the shadows. “Think about it. The offer stands.”

I left him there, his cigarette burning down to a stub. I slipped back into the night, the music fading behind me. The encounter had been a risk, a dangerous indulgence. But it had also been… invigorating. Like a breath of fresh air, even if it was tainted with the scent of fear and desperation.

The world was changing, faster than ever. The old ways were fading, replaced by a constant stream of noise and distraction. But the darkness remained, a constant, unchanging presence. And I, the King of the Damned, would remain with it, watching, waiting, until the end of time.

I walked the streets of Gloucester, the fog swirling around me like a ghostly embrace. The night was mine. And in the heart of this quiet, unassuming town, a new seed of darkness had been planted. Whether it would bloom, only time would tell. I was patient. I had all the time in the world. And maybe, just maybe, this time, I wouldn't be so alone.