Abyss
This is a rewrite of a story I won the Halloween Contest here at Lit many, many moons ago. It's expanded quite a bit and the characters are more fully drawn. Enjoy.
__________
It's a very good thing that the sun goes down so early in winter time. Otherwise the night classes I teach would be held very late. That could lead to suspicion, which is something an undead blood drinker like myself likes to avoid.
I take a moment to make sure my face is in place, literally. My natural features show what I am, a thing of nightmares. But one of my kind's talents is the ability to camouflage ourselves. So I appear quite human, if a little pale. It means we can approach our prey without panicking them, or teach them the history of the Enlightenment in my case.
A few quick paces brings me to the stairs. I head up them and walk along the hall checking classroom numbers. At Room 223 I open the door and step into the class. I'm almost exactly on time. "
Bon soir,
" I greet my new students.
The thirty odd seats here are about two third's full, which is a pleasant surprise. Although my books are well known inside the history profession they can hardly be said to be best sellers. It seems the small mid-western university I'm teaching a guest class for has a large number of history students. For I enjoy teaching history, I've seen so much of it.
I start into my introductory speech, identifying myself and outlining what I intend to teach in this course. I've just finished it up when the door opens and a number of people enter my classroom.
The first thing that strikes me is familiarity. I'd seen such groups when I lurked in Versailles just before the French Revolution.
The person in the lead is female with sandy blonde hair cut short, almost mannishly. Her face isn't exactly pretty but not plain either. There's a set to her jaw and an arrogance in her eyes that marks her as the leader of this group. Her garb is severe; black sweater, jeans and motorcycle boots. The young woman strides to an empty desk and slumps heavily into its seat.
The person immediately behind her is also female but as opposite to her lady as possible. This girl's hair is bright blonde and extends to the small of her back. Her features are far more than pretty and her clothes are exquisitely soft and feminine. Her robin's egg blue eyes stay focused downwards in a unmistakeable submissive posture. She takes the seat next to the leader of this coterie.
The rest of the people range themselves behind these two, some sitting, some standing. Their position is centered on the feminine girl. None gets too close to the leader.
"And you are?" I inquire of the dominant that's just entered.
"Mandy Richardson." Her tone is as I expected, arrogant and uncaring of my opinion.
That is indeed the name of one of my students. I memorized my class roster days ago.
"You?" I ask, focusing my gaze on the lady in waiting.
"Chris...Christy Coburn." Her voice carries fear and uncertainty. It seems to me that she's too often been punished for things, things she wasn't responsible for.
The rest of 'The Court', as I already tag them, I ignore. They are courtiers and so merely extensions of Ms. Richardson.
"I'd appreciate it if you arrived on time in the future," I tell Ms. Richardson.
She looks at me with flat eyes, masking her emotions. "I'll see what I can do." A slight hardening of the mouth and the way she leans towards me ever so little makes it apparent she intends to ignore me.
I react as any predator that has been challenged would, with body language that makes it clear I'm not backing down. We hold that tableaux for a moment then both of us relax. The gauntlet has been thrown and the contest has started.
* * * *
The university pub is not quite dim. There is just enough light to give the place with its dark wood and red satin walls an intimate air. This suits me. From the booth off to one side of the entrance I can scan the establishment. I need a meal and a venue such as this is perfect for a hunt.
There is a glass of red wine clutched loosely in my left hand. It's a necessary camouflage. I can't drink it. Indeed, I can't consume any human food or drink. But someone not imbibing here would be suspicious and suspicion is something I wish to keep far away from me.
My gaze runs over the patrons here.
That one?
I think.
No. She's pretty enough but I can tell she won't be that tasty. Bland and common.
The brunette? Perhaps, if I find nothing else.
That blonde? Ick! She'd taste as false as her breasts.
My mind made up I start to slide out of the booth.
The front door opens and another woman walks in. As I look at her something, something ineffable sweeps through me.
I can't seem to move anything save my eyes. They follow her as she stalks past. Everything about her is impressed on my consciousness.
She's petite, slightly built, with rich auburn, shoulder length hair. Her cream skinned face is, sweet. There's no other word to describe it. She has sea green eyes full of intelligence and zest for life. Her nose adds a touch of impudence to her beauty while her lips are coral and a little on the thin side. Her shoulders slump a touch, her face is grim, showing exhaustion and frustration.
I lean back in the booth and watch as she takes a seat at the bar. The bartender slides a drink over without being asked. The lovely redhead takes a sip of the amber liquor and her back heaves with a sigh.
That unknown feeling twitches in my chest, as if my heart still beat. I feel as if I want to walk over and wrap my arms around her in sympathy.
Not possible
, is my thought then.
Something like myself can't offer comfort. The best I can do is as little harm as possible.
I smile then, a smile that reveals a little of what I am.
She'll be very tasty at least. I guess I've found my prey for tonight.
But it takes a minute to work up my nerve. To my surprise a part of me, that part that lives in the night, is unnerved. The woman makes that vicious hunter apprehensive. It reacts to her as if she was a deadly trap, something to be avoided.
I need not fear
, I tell myself then.
She's only human.
So I stand, pick up my wine, and saunter over to her. I approach with an easy stride. This hides the fact that I'm hunting. If I showed too much, or the wrong kind, of intention I'd remain in the minds of the people here. Anonymity means safety.
"Excuse me," I say when I'm standing behind and a little to one side of my prey. I use the voice of what I'm pretending to be, a Frenchman with very good English. I've found many women think it fascinating, which helps in my hunting. It disarms their suspicion.
She straightens and turns toward me. As she does I reach out with my power. It strokes lightly over her nerves; soothing, calming, enticing.
