Page 5 of Her Midnight Stalker

I spin around in a circle. Nothing out of the ordinary is in sight. No one else is even on this street. But that feeling persists. Where the hell are they?

I resume my walk home once again. The night air is quiet. Usually, there is still something making noise – a bug, a frog, anything. But they’ve all gone silent.

Tonight is slowly getting stranger and stranger.

Something is still triggering all my instincts. There is a threat out there coming for me. I know this to be true. I’m not being paranoid.

But what the fuck are they waiting for? Is this some sort of game they’re playing? Are they somewhere in the shadows laughing at me?

I don’t like being toyed with. That must be what’s happening. Someone I pissed off tonight is going to try to drive me crazy. But I won’t give them the satisfaction.

No way in hell will I let them think it’s working. I won’t be showing any fear for even a second. Hell, I won’t even let them know I’m getting annoyed.

This asshole won’t win against me. Even if I can’t use my fists against him, I’ll still come out on top. That’s for sure.

I stand tall for the rest of my walk home. I’m confident in my ability to defend myself. When the time comes, I can face this threat head on. I know that. They probably know that too, which is why they’re hiding.

The rest of my walk home happens without incident. There are no more loud noises or phantom footsteps behind me. Though the feeling that I’m being stalked doesn’t fade for even a moment.

“Home, sweet home,” I whisper to myself as I step into my apartment. It’s nothing special, but it has a lot of windows. It’s something I liked about the place until right now.

I immediately move to close all the curtains. No way I’m letting this creep continue to watch me. I slam shut the one in the kitchen. The two in the living room close without problem, blocking anyone’s view who might be watching from the dark night.

The last one is in my bedroom. I swiftly move to that one and slide the curtain shut. But… Wait… No…

I fling it open again. I see nothing but the empty street outside. For a fraction of a second as I closed it, I thought I saw a figure looking in. But that doesn’t make sense. I don’t live on the ground floor.

Even weirder is that, for the brief second, I was excited. I wanted someone to be outside my window, spying in on me. The idea caused my skin to prickle like I had a fever, but in the most pleasurable way.

I look out the window and scan around. Yup, nothing to see. I slowly slide the curtain closed again.

I need some sleep. I thought this was supposed to be another normal and boring night. What the hell is going on with me?

4

CASPIAN

Iclench a crisp, golden amulet in my hands, created seven centuries ago and purified against any ill intent and those that would claim what belongs to me. I marvel at the craftsmanship - the history of this relic - as I lay it on her doorstep, skirting from her discovery by blending with the shadows. In truth, I almost hate to part with it, as it’s been in my possession for many moons, but nothing is too good for my thrall.

I see her peeking through the window dressing, attempting to discover what evil lurks in the night, but she need not fear me - I will be her possessor.

None shall come between me and my woman.

I produce a stake from my back pocket and scrape myself with it, letting the blood trickle freely onto the artifact. She will not know who I am, but she will know the meaning of this, and only she will see this message!

A vampire’s blood message is his calling card, as good as a handwritten note, but so much more discrete.

I gaze upon the way my lover lives - cobwebs covering her porch, filth covering her doormat. It depresses me, but also endears me to her. I can show her true splendor - present the wonders of vampiric life.

The monstrous existence she’s carved for herself… I will end it when she joins my side. She will be mine and mine alone.

My heart is still, but in my centuries of life, I’ve never felt it stir in such a manner. The grace by which she moved - the strength she commanded. It all served to rile me from my seclusion.

The mortals who inhabit this earth tell many stories of us - of how we become bats, fluttering through the night… and of how we slumber in wooden coffins, as though permanently acknowledging the deaths that made us what we are, traumatic markers of a transition etched in blood.

The notion is ridiculous. The information they have comes from myths and old accounts. Since the veil fell, they’ve failed to recognize what lies clearly before them and still view us as more fantasy than reality.

But part of me relates to their fables and folktales, and it still resonates with me. For centuries, I have been living in a coffin of my own making, beholding the splendors of this world with stoic indifference. I have not felt alive in what feels like an eternity.

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