10 comments

Horror Funny Fiction

The sweet, coppery tang of blood hit my tongue as I gazed up at my aggressor. A brown leather eyepatch covered one eye but the other was just lovely: verdant green like the Welsh hills. Hair the color of ginger ale framed her face beautifully; a face with the most agreeable smattering of freckles. Her mouth was a shiny oyster: slick and wet in the moonlight. Her nose was that of a Pre-Raphaelite painting: long and slender with flared nostrils. When she exhaled, I half-expected to see steam spit out of her, as though she were driven by a coal-fueled engine. Sweat snaking down her throat only gave further credence to the simile. My eyes worked their way down, lingering on her sculpted lines and fine details. Her tight bodice proffered the most exquisite cleavage, like choice cuts on a platter, and had she not been trying to kill me, I would have been head over heels in lust.  

Speaking of heels, one of hers caught me right in the throat at that moment, threatening to put a painful end to my appraisal. Even the way she inflicted violence was elegant. I marveled at the straightness of her leg as she rained kick after kick upon my face. The subtle curve of her thigh was just visible under her skirts, like a leviathan beneath the ocean's surface. I looked upon my own lithe form and felt a wave of inadequacy. I cut a handsome enough figure in my dark trousers and frock coat, but I had none of the brutal beauty of the warrior goddess who had found me roaming the shadows. When she pulled my long, brown hair, it was love at first tug.  

It has to be said that my kin, at this time, lay dead on the streets, from Oxford Street to Piccadilly. Crows picked at their corpses but soon took wing at their ill-favored taste. Their decomposition came swiftly. So much faster than that of a human. They faded from carcass to bone-heap to dust in a matter of hours; leaving only their clothing, and the wooden stakes used in their murder, behind.  

1888 was the year when mankind unanimously voted for our genocide. And we answered, fully expecting to win the war. We hadn’t counted on your white-hot hatred. Our accusers cited all manner of horrors as the justification for our removal, including some that existed only in books and the tales told by dimwits. And now, in the mausoleum once called London, I witnessed the end of a once-proud race. A people defined not by the victimization of humanity, but the study and appreciation of it. 

My kind has spent more time haunting your art galleries than your homes. We've read your books, seen your plays, watched you grow and evolve over the course of millennia. You’re so much more than just cattle or insects—things that could have easily secured a place at the top of life’s pyramid. I hope you can understand the appreciation my kind have for yours. We’ve spent so long thinking about you and mimicking the way you move, the way you speak, the way you live. We know more about the human condition than you do. Yet, rather than dip your cup into our vast pool of wisdom and collective insight, you seek to stamp us out. 

I must admit, that of all the ways one could shuffle off this immortal coil, the method that now accosted me was the most appealing. The Venus-like creature that pummeled my body and stabbed at me with her pointed weaponry, brought such joy to the heart she wished to pierce. Her beauty. Her grace. Her unbridled viciousness. They all served to make my soul swell. I composed sonnets to her grace as she struck at my skull; odes to her skill as she attempted so often to disembowel me.  

It was this fascination—this hypnotic quality—that gave me the advantage. Where my fellows had fallen foul of sneak attacks and foul cunning; I was filled with life-force anew. My beauteous assailant had intoxicated me with the stuff of youth and I soon felt like I was merely one or two hundred years old. Just a baby. 

I found my limbs infused with a power they’d not known for an age. Electricity shot through my veins and my heart began to pump. What an odd feeling! This potent vigor afforded me the power to pin my Venus to the ground, look deep into her eye, and make her my thrall. Her consciousness fought back just as virulently as her physical body. We spent an eternity together in those moments. I loved her so intensely that the stone of her resolve was gradually chipped away. She loved me back and vowed to serve me for all time. I was happy to accept only the years that I needed. 

Together we weaved through the streets, hiding when required, communicating wordlessly with the newfound powers of our intimate bond. The darkness was our path—the sewers and low places: our highway. I spirited her away to my lair where my ghouls and cohorts had put things in order. My chamber was readied: the casket hovering over the abyss, secured by pulley and rope and awaiting its descent. Awaiting peace. Awaiting darkness. Awaiting the confluence of time and opportunity. 

I laid her down in the silken bedding of our new home and took position beside her, bringing only paper, quill, and ink. My beauty looked upon me with the same passion she'd inspired in me not an hour before. As the lid was nailed down, I was excited for the inevitable plunge. Dropped into the bowels of the Earth, we would await our excavation and the new world thereafter. Long would be our time together, huddled like twins in the womb until the time of our birth. The world would be changed then. The world would be ready. We would rebuild my race together.  

I pierced her throat with my teeth and the sweet, coppery tang of blood hit my tongue as I looked on my new morsel. She would sustain me until the coming of the New World.  

October 07, 2020 03:53

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10 comments

Molly Leasure
22:47 Oct 08, 2020

My word, my word. I don't think I've read such a well-described vampire story, that never once actually uses the word vampire. Uhm, bravo! I like the almost classy crassness (I know, oxymoron) of him describing the woman, it's so very snakey. He's exactly how I imagine a vampire to be, down to the slightly abhorrent predator mindset. But I also just like how the fight scene itself is described. It's like a dance! The lack of dialogue works really well here too. I feel like dialogue would have interrupted the flow of the story telling....

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Jason Parker
01:46 Oct 11, 2020

Thank you so much, Molly. Thank you for taking the time to read my work and appraise it with such thoughtfulness and attention to detail. You've picked up on everything I aimed to do with this story and I'm happy that it all landed. Your comments have given me a lift and I'm inspired to hit the keys again soon. That's a fine gift indeed. : )

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Molly Leasure
04:37 Oct 11, 2020

I'll be here for every story you write, don't you worry! You're one of my favorite writers here :). It's easy to pay attention when you love every line that's written...~

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Jason Parker
21:28 Oct 11, 2020

You've made my day! You're easily one of my favorite writers on Reedsy too. : )

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Ruth Porritt
07:18 Feb 07, 2021

Hello Jason, First, I want to say that I am very envious of this vampire story. (I am a teacher, and have a Horror Lit class where my students are currently reading and discussing Dracula.) I also admire Ann Rice's take on vampires, and this tale reminds me (a bit) of Ann Rice's work. Anyway, I am trying to write the perfect vampire story, and I know that it is so very difficult to hit the right tone. You have done that here; the description is lush, but not over-the-top, and the narrator seems exactly like the kind of self-obsessed, narc...

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Jason Parker
22:48 Feb 08, 2021

Thank you very much, Ruth. Your comments really put a spring in my step. In my younger days, so obsessed with Anne Rice was I, that I discussed getting permanent vampire teeth put in with my dentist. I really enjoyed the BBC Dracula. Adaptations don't always work, but I really enjoyed that one (I love Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss). I was also a big fan of The Vampyre: a novel by Tom Holland (it posits that Lord Byron was a recipient of the Dark Gift and has a lot of fun with that idea). I respect that you're so invested in tone and feel--...

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Chris Wagner
14:37 Oct 15, 2020

This story has no dialog, and only a couple things happen, but the writing mechanics are good, and although it probably would have worked better if you'd woven those character descriptions into the plot better, it still worked because he was checking her out. That part made me laugh. Only when you added a description of the person telling the story did I find the description dumping annoying. The info dump about the guy's history was at least short, my biggest complaint was just not getting to read a scene that shows how she suddenly stops t...

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Jason Parker
19:48 Oct 15, 2020

Thanks for reading. : )

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Charles Stucker
09:10 Oct 12, 2020

This sounds more like going into stasis for decades or centuries. The humor is very dark and only apparent in tiny doses. I might not label this as funny. You spend several paragraphs dumping information on us. The third to fifth don't add to the story being told. Yes, you have lovely prose, and the descriptions of things happening are so vivid they draw us in. But you still want to trim the infodump sections out. The piece is fair, but with a modest rewrite it could be very good.

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Jason Parker
10:26 Oct 12, 2020

Thanks for the feedback, Charles.

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