In The Mists Of A Dream
A heavy mist covered the streets, obscuring the filth and grime below. The faint hum of the never silent factories throbbed almost subliminally underneath it. A cold, damp night, perfect for shadows to take form in the underbelly of the nearly deserted streets. In one of the many alleyways, a slight figure leaned casually against the wall, the mist crawling around her legs. Her sharp eyes gleamed in the dim, dank light from the streetlight across the way. It was a night for waiting, the air heavy with solitude. Her head turned slowly as the faint sound of footsteps reached her canine sharp ears. Would this be the one she was waiting for? The one who had pulled her from her long slumber? As the footsteps drew near she could tell they were solid and sure, a man\rquote s step. His scent drifted to her over the misty air, warm and musky, like the faint breeze of a lazy summers day. Yes, this was the scent that had tantalized her dreams, pulling her to this desolate city. Suddenly he stole into view, broad shouldered, brown hair neatly trimmed. He moved swiftly across the alleyway entrance, head up, his hands in the pockets of his long, dark overcoat. As his footsteps started to fade, the woman in the alley straightened up and started to follow him down the long sidewalk.
She followed him with a casual intensity, footsteps soft as a panther. She studied him from the back. His finely shaped head coming to a slight peak at the top, the way his hair crisscrossed slightly at the nap of his neck where it had been clipped. The broad shoulders topping his sturdy frame. His long powerful legs carrying him firmly down the street. The swing of his arms, the faint glimpses of his work roughened hands. They moved along together in a way that he was unaware of, her shadowing his every step. She wondered where he had been heading, home? Perhaps to meet a friend? Did he have family, a wife waiting for him? A smile tugged at the corner of her full lips. It did not matter, for he would not reach his destination anyway. Still, she wondered about this man who had drawn her to this place. What obscure hold did he have over her, why after all these years had she been awakened from her slumber? What did he do for a living, to callous his hands so? Was he from this city or was he a visitor like her? Why him? She could feel her hunger sharpening, but, for now she was enjoying the anticipation. It was nice to rejoin the land of the living again.
The thought of what he would taste like slowly filled her mind. It was so strong she could almost taste his strong, sweet blood on her tongue, feel it sliding down her throat to fill her with his warmth. It had been so long since she had fed, over 100 years in fact. An eternity. Her mind wandered back to that dim time, and to that last kill. It had been a night much like this one, but the man she had fed on had been very different. A blond dandy, slim and pampered. A rare delicate flower that she had plucked simply because she had wanted to. His blood had proven as weak as his personality. Ah, but he had been a fine looking specimen, strange how the pretty ones were always so unsatisfying. He had died with nary a whisper, giving up his life like it had meant nothing, even to him. The whole experience had soured her on the living, sending her into her exile. In truth, he had been but the final straw, for she had had many other like experiences, humans who cared so little for their own lives they almost welcomed her kiss. And if there were to be no challenges in life, then she had wanted no part of it. So she had slept, waiting for a soul to dare her to venture forth again.
She wondered if the man before her now would struggle, fighting for his life like some wild beast from the forest. The primal urge to survive rising up in him as she drained his life away, or would he accept his fate as easily as the others had done. The thought made her quicken her step slightly, slowly closing the distance between them. It would not do to let this one get away because she had been busy fantasizing. A wry smile crossed her lips, she must be getting soft in her old age. At one time only the kill could hold her attention. She set her mind firmly back on the matter at hand, her dinner. He looked like he would provide a substantial meal. A chuckle threatened to escape her throat at the thought, it brought back memories of her late, unlamented husband. A weak man who had never satisfied her needs, so she had found a way to do that for herself. He had been a failure at all he had tried in his brief life, he had even failed in being a satisfying meal. But he had made her very first kill amazingly easy. She caught herself drifting again. With a slight shake of her head, she refocused on the man walking in front of her. He would no doubt reach his destination soon, it seemed people no longer walked for any distance.
He was almost close enough now, and still unaware of her presence. Typical, she had learned that human males were generally unaware that they were in any danger. It worked to her advantage though, so she did not complain. Occasionally, there were exceptions to this. She felt disappointment that this man was not one of them. She had felt sure that he would be as aware of her as she was of him. His senses heightened to her presence, but it appeared that he remained oblivious to her. She was now close enough to make out each individual hair on the back of his neck. Very soon, she would be able to pull him into one of the alleyways lining the sidewalk sporadically. She almost wished he would try to get away. It made the meal more satisfying to have to work for it.
She tried desperately to remember that last time any of her victims had tried to fight her off, she knew she could count them all on one hand. Oh yes, it had been the Viking. Big, blond and full of life. She had almost regretted taking his life, even though he had raped and killed two woman shortly before then. He had known that only the strong could survive. His blood had kept her going for months. It had been a good kill, though a bit messy due to the struggle. She smiled with the memory. In some strange way, the man she was stalking now reminded her of him. He was not as big, of course, nor as lighthaired, but there was a similar smell about him. But the Viking had been one of the few that had sensed her.
There, on the right, came a promising alley. This was the advantage she had been waiting for. Soon, the kill would be hers. She felt the hunger inside grow, twisting, knawing away at her. She needed this blood. She had needed it for far to long. Swiftly, she grasped him around the throat, dragging him with inhuman strength behind her into the dark alleyway. Her hand cutting off his air. She felt his throat working in an attempt to draw in a breath against her fingers. She knew he would call out if she let him go. His muscles bunched up in an attempt to struggle, he tried to twist around to see her. Ah, a fighter, she smiled. Softly, she whispered in his ear, "Do not fear, my love, I shall make your death swift". She shifted her grip slightly and brought her lips to his exposed neck and....
She come awake with a gasp, light flooded her vision, blinding her. She reaches up desperately trying to ward it off. Her hands brushing against wood. What was happening. Oh God, she thought, panic rising as slowly a face came into view. It was HIS face, the face from her dream, the face of her victim looking down on her. He smiled slowly....and drove the stake through her heart....