Eveline

A whole new look on Bram Stoker's creation

 

I found the body of the old man in the alley behind the bookstore, its wide-open cataract eyes rimmed with flies, and the retarded girl was kneeling on the rough, stony ground beside it, massaging its distended stomach. Eventually, the girl rose up unsteadily on her feet and tottered to the far wall where she sat down facing me with the body in-between. I looked at her curiously, looked into her large black eyes and she stared right back at me. I could feel her fear, almost taste it, that acrid, acidic taste that I detest so much yet so necessary for me to survive.

I could kill her, but something stops me. Something else in her eyes other than fear. There is a glimmer of something blood red, twinkling through the black fear. I sense danger. This girl is different; she is not like the other weak pitiful humans that scare so easily.

I left the body in the alley undisturbed, did not tell the police or any city authority, and I warned the other shop owners on the block not to breathe a word about the corpse to anyone. They obey me of course, they do not dare disobey. They fear me too much. I spent the night in the store, sleeping in the back office. Several times during the night I awakened and looked out the stained window to where the unmoving body lay in the dirt. It looked different in the shadows created by moonlight and streetlamp, and in its silhouette I saw contours that were vaguely familiar to me, ghosts of shapes that I knew had meant something to me in the past, but now remained stubbornly buried in my subconscious.

I knew the corpse had truths to tell.

The retarded girl pointed to the ground in front of her. I look to see a thick yellow liquid slowly ooze from the body. It was dead long enough to begin to rot, the fatty juices leaking from its body. I was sure that if I turned it over I would find maggots already eating into his back.

But that was just it. The body was not here yesterday, neither was the girl. Neither had they been dumped here by anyone else. I would have known. I sense every presence that enters my territory. These two I have no knowledge of. The body of the man could easily be a week dead, or the level of decomposition would not be so advanced.  So how did they get here?

The body has changed my plans.

The body and the retarded girl.

I stare out of the window of my store at the dead man, at the retarded girl next to it, at the occasional gawkers who pass by and stop and whisper. One of them, I know, one of them over whom I have no control, will eventually notify the authorities and they will take the carcass away.

I cannot let that happen

Or maybe I can.

The humans over whom I have control over will never dare to squeal on me. But the girl, she would have to be dealt with. There is something strange about that little girl. Her mongoloid face was clear of any real intelligence; her mind open, childlike. But there is something deeper. She intrigues me, this female; she is an unnatural, like me but not like me. Could it be that she is another being such as I? After a millennia of walking this earth could I have finally stumbled across another me?

I am a vampire. Such is the closest human name I can think of to describe the creature that I am, but I do not feed on human blood, I feed on human fear. It sustains me and gives me strength. It is rarely fatal, unless my hosts are old and feeble and of weak hearts. I could easily snap a man’s neck in two, with my bare hands, such is my strength, yet why should I kill the source of my power? They sense what I am, but their minds are not strong enough to accept and fight back, so they carry on with their lives, afraid, and I am well fed.

I will approach this female; maybe try to communicate with her. If she poses a threat, I will kill her, if not, I will feed on her, if compatible, maybe, at long last, I might have found myself a mate. That would be an interesting experiment.

The corpse poses another mystery. The girl and the body are undoubtedly connected, but how and why? 

It is late; thick clouds obscure the moon and the atmosphere feels heavy and oppressing. I step through the back door of my shop. The girl is still there, facing the corpse with her back against the wall. Her eyes are closed. I can hear her shallow breath, and a new feeling begins to creep over me. I have never felt like this before, electric currents throb just under my skin. My chest feels empty and cold.

I turned to look at the body. Its eyes were open and staring. The flies were gone. I bent over and looked more carefully into its somehow familiar face. Silver eyes stared right back at me. The eyes, unlike the rest of the decomposing body, were like those of a living being. There was nothing dead about those eyes. I had seen them before, but I couldn’t quite place where. 

Straightening up, I glanced at the small, dirty back window of my shop that looked out onto this alleyway. A flash of lightning showed my face reflected of the black glass. Silver eyes shone bright in the blinding light. It is me! I recognise the corpse now, why it was so familiar, this was my body lying in the dirt. But how can this be? How am I dead and yet alive? The strange sensation I am experiencing intensifies. I recognise a familiar stench, the stink of fear, yet it is coming of within me. The sensation that I feel, for the first time in my existence, is fear.

Another flash.

I see her reflection behind mine, eyes glowing a luminous red, lips bared in a grotesque smile. I scream and turn, raising my arm to fend of this demoness. I want to run, but my legs are rooted to the spot. I cannot move.

She is raising her arms towards me, as if to embrace me, her fingers stretching out. A long, narrow tongue snakes out of her mouth, licking her lips, as if in anticipation of a feast. She moves forward, almost gliding, and rests either hand on the sides of my head. My heart could burst in fear of this horrible thing that holds me. Her head moves forward closer to mine. She is so close now I can feel her breath. It smells of the grave. It smells of death.

She has grown taller, she is no longer a small retarded girl, she is a woman as tall as, if not taller than me, and I feel myself involuntarily stirred by the closeness of her body. I feel her slender form moving closer to mine, the tips of her breasts now resting on my chest. She seems to sense my thoughts and smiles. I feel fear, yet I am aroused. Her face is changing, growing longer, no longer mongoloid.  Her cheekbones are high and her eyes set wide. Her skin is the colour of the pale moon and her lips are full and red. She is fearful, yet beautiful, more beautiful than any woman I have ever seen before. I stare into her shining red eyes, unable to tear my gaze away. She tilts her head slightly to one side and slowly, looking directly into my eyes all the while, moves her face closer.

Her blood red lips seem to stretch into a sucker-like projectile, closing over my mouth. Staring into her red, glowing eyes, I feel my very soul being drained. This is the end. This is where I finally meet my death. 

I see the glow in her eyes fade, begin to pale until they are dull silver. They are my eyes. My body is limp. My body is dead. My body is the corpse I saw earlier, lying in the dirty alleyway. Yet my thoughts are alive. I am conscious. I am she. And she is… me. 

We are combined. Memories of two different pasts merged into one. We have doubled in our strength, doubled in knowledge, doubled in our power. We are renewed.

*     *     *

Inspector Peiris tapped on the shop door early the next morning, before entering. Looking around the musty shop, he called out, “Anyone here?” The woman who stepped out from behind one of the shelves made his heart beat faster. He was surprised that his heart registered not an excited flutter at this attractive woman, but the heavy thud-thud of raw fear.

“Yes?” said the woman, smiling sweetly.

“Is Mr. Walter in, ma’am?” he stammered.

“No,” she answered gently, “he has left. And he won’t ever be back again”. The woman’s voice penetrated into the deepest recesses of his mind, echoing through his consciousness and taking over.  She took a breath, and smelt the acrid smell of fear. 

“I understand, ma’am, sorry to bother you” he blurted out and then turned around and hurried for the door. The woman smiled as she felt her strength build by another fraction. Another mind in her control; another source of food.

The body that part of her once was had been taken away by the authorities, earlier that morning. No one recognised the corpse as Walter’s and, if they did, fear caused their minds to deny recognition.

The shop stayed exactly the same as before, except for one small difference, the small brass nameplate on the desk, which used to read “Walter Evans �" Proprietor”, now simply stated “Eveline”.