Dst – The Tainted: Chapter One

Authors Note: Four months ago I posted up a prologue for a possible new story. Something that I’ve briefly considered and have since been musing off and on, mostly on a conceptual level. Well, the no net day not too long ago was the catalyst for me to finally put down an initial chapter for this story. As well, some early feedback I got prompted me to give it a new title. This will be reflected in the prologue, which is here.

I was caught, as you can see, for some time on just how to start the story. I wanted to focus on our main character, of course, but didn’t want to play up a common lead in. Since my goal in the story itself was to, in a way, redefine the old myths of creatures such as vampires, werewolves and the like I didn’t want to use anything too common in the storytelling process either. I finally decided to do it in one of the more forthright ways that came to mind. It also allows for me to use diary fragments in other chapters, as ways to update the reader on happenings and skip the details of developments that don’t necessarily require fleshing.

Comments are welcome. Especially on the style of the lead in. Enjoy.

Chapter One: Dear Diary

Dear Diary

I dream dark dreams. Fantastic imaginings that pry at the doors of sanity to release the capricious phantoms it holds back. I dream of black wings, rising to spread and blot all light, of jagged rows of needle sharp teeth flashing in the dark below the malevolent leer of blood red eyes. I dream of monsters, of the terrible reality all children know is true to life. Though I’m no child, ensconced in the magic of bedcovers. What lurks in the shadows won’t be found lurking beneath the bed. I haven’t decided if my reasoning adult mind lets me cope better or worse with what is real. But I suppose coping itself is enough for now.

Once I could imagine my life was full of a sort of light. It wasn’t perfect, but someone wise once told me that perfection is a game of perspective. Now I know he was right, ’cause that imperfect life I lost is looking pretty damn perfect from where I stand now. Not that driving a truck is all that bad. There’s something about seeing the world roll past the windshield that’s comforting. Reminds me that some things are still normal, even if I’m not. But sometimes it feels like a thin fantasy, below which they lurk.

The monsters. Real, true to life monsters.

Don’t doubt your children, my friends. The monsters are as real as you and me. After all, I should know. They turned me into one.

*****

Dear Diary

I’m starting you because this is too much to handle without an outlet. I live each day with this creeping anxiety. Like waiting for the other shoe to drop as the hours tick by. The road I drive down helps that some, but in between drives it gets rough. That last entry helped some, but I have to write more. I have to write about the start of it all. Perhaps getting this out will help calm some of this anxiety in me.

The nightmare began about three years ago and hasn’t let up since. It was a good night, when it happened. I still had the sweet taste of coming of age on my tongue and a great girl who had it all. She had the looks, the brains and the spark of fun in her. We were making it work together, making a life out of two wage slave salaries that was comfortable, if not luxurious. We were still hot after each other and we weren’t in a rush to get hitched. We were young and invincible, you see. There was all the time in the world for things like commitment. It was all about today and tomorrow could wait.

Today there were clubs and friends and parties that let us enjoy our modest wealth left over from paying the bills. We enjoyed the club scene a lot. It was wild to get into some clothes we’d never wear otherwise and trek out to dance the night away. She looked good in those hot pants, I’ve gotta say. We knew some of those clubs could be dangerous, but we didn’t care. That added a little spice to things, you know? That touch of danger that makes things delicious, like when you think about sex in public. Yeah, just like that.

I remember the night it all unraveled like it was yesterday. Don’t know why I don’t remember the good things as clearly. We were hot from the dancing.. in more ways than one. She’s the one that suggested it. Going out back for some relative privacy. Whatever sense I had was blanked by the intensity of the moment and a lot of alcohol, so soon we were slipping out the back door of the club.

I’ve read about things like this before.. mostly fiction. Gotta tell you it was good, feeling that illicit sense that we were doing something just too wrong for words. Not even the alley’s less desirable smells seemed to mar the moment once we got started, giving up to the heat that had built up inside us. If only it had, we might not have missed the thing that was watching us.

I didn’t hear it.. maybe because she was making too much noise. Or because I was.. She didn’t see it, her eyes were probably closed, trying to block out everything but us. I remember she did that now. But I felt it when something grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me away from her with enough force to send me flying. I was in total shock until I hit the opposite wall, the sense knocked from me. I don’t know how long I was out of it, but I slowly became aware that she was screaming. But not the good screams before. Bad ones. Very bad ones.

When I got my eyes to open, I still couldn’t make it out. My vision was blurred and I hurt all over. Had to force my eyes to focus, then wished I hadn’t. A.. thing had her against the wall, almost like I had her before. But not like I had. The stone was red around her. I could hear the wet rip of flesh and smell.. smell things that shouldn’t be exposed to air. I felt sick, but I still tried to rise anyway. The fear in her eyes tore at me. The pain. It tore at me more that I could barely move, couldn’t focus on my limbs to get them to do more than twitch. It hurt most that I couldn’t help her, only sit in witness as it slowly destroyed her.

Each tear at her tore into my mind, the acute pain in the back of my head only barely covering the dull ache of certainty within. Certainty that I was next and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. It was like watching your own future played out before you, almost close enough to touch. I had to turn my head before it had finished. I couldn’t watch anymore, yet I couldn’t stop hearing, stop smelling. The sickness lingered when I heard it drop her lifeless form. I didn’t have to look, I knew. Her wonderful body destroyed. The spark and intelligence in her eyes gone, leaving them beautiful but empty like lifeless gems.

My breath came in quick gasps. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see it coming. I knew it had focused on me now, I could feel this profound sense of wrong, as if it’s very interest were a blasphemy. I’d never been a religious man, but I found myself praying quietly that some way, some how I would survive this. I tried to call up and hold close in my mind her face, tried to gather some strength from it. But when I felt it’s claws dig into my arms and effortlessly hoist me up, I lost my grip on the image. It shoved me back against the wall so soundly, I cracked by head against the stone, bringing a new wash of dizzying pain. Gasping in shock, my eyes flicked open, unprepared for the horrors before them.

Blood red eyes that glowed softly with an open malevolence. I saw my death in those eyes, but even more frightening was the intellect that sparkled below, incomprehensible that such a thing could have that spark, yet do what it had done to my girl. I couldn’t look away as it leaned forward, it’s maw opening like a black void from which there was no escape. No escape at all. Evil isn’t a word I’d seriously used before, but all I could think of at that moment was that I had to be staring at evil itself. Had I not been in shock from the pain and unreality of it all, I might have started screaming when it leaned forward and that horrid maw like a dark abyss, ringed with needle-like teeth. As it was, I could only stare dumbly, not able to comprehend.

The back door of the club banged open then. Perhaps it was startled. Or it didn’t wish to be seen by others. I don’t know which, but just as suddenly as it came and wreaked such total destruction, it was gone. In the blink of an eye, leaving me to sink to the ground again, feeling the sting of great gashes it’s claws left along my forearms.

I suppose I should be grateful. Seems like God was really there and He was listening. But then I remember what came before and after and I find myself wondering what kind of sick sense of humor He must have. I recovered.. sort of, but my ordeal wasn’t over. No, not by a long shot.

*****

Dear Diary

That second entry felt even better than the first. But we’ve got some more ground to cover, so strap yourself in. This is where it gets really weird.

At first, things were fine. Well, so much as they could be fine anyway. She was gone, but the memories of that night were persistent. It was hard to close my eyes without seeing her crumpled across from me. Her body utterly shattered. The horror in her eyes..

At the very least, they didn’t charge me with anything. Considering she looked like a pack of wild animals had ripped her apart and there was no weapon found, they pretty much couldn’t buy that I’d done that to her and then tore myself up. I told them I wasn’t sure who did it. You know, it was so sudden and so dark. Which was mostly true, but I never even considered telling them the whole truth. I didn’t fancy a stay in Club Head with my own personal shrink for life.

So a week goes by. Things are bad, mostly because with just my money, things got real tight. It helped that I cut out most of my outside time and pretty much became an urban hermit. I was on a waiting list to get a piece at the local pawn shop. For protection, you know. Though I thought twice about asking for silver bullets. Other than those things and her parents hating me, things were getting kinda normal again.

Then a strange feeling started to come over me. I wasn’t sure what it was then, but I’d feel this hot burning inside. It wouldn’t last long.. a couple minutes, but it felt like something inside me was on fire. I didn’t have enough money to do too much at the doctor, but after two days of it coming and going, I was starting to get scared. So that night at work, I decided to check with the doc in the morning since it was coming up on my Thursday off.

I was working nightshift in one of those neighborhoods where people suggest you roll up your windows when you drive though. Ever since that night when I lost her, I’ve stuck to the most populous streets I can when night rolls around. I start to feel anxious when I’m in the dark alone. Even at home, though I still manage to sleep occasionally.

That night was bad, though. The streets were more deserted than usual. I only walk about twenty minutes home, but I was still freaking out a little when I didn’t see anyone around as I was coming out of the store. I worked up one of those quick walks to try and cut down the time, but I guess that just ratcheted up the ‘victim’ sign over me cause the next thing I know, there’s a grubby little guy poking his pistol in my face and screaming for my money.

I wasn’t really sure what happened next. I was feeling that burning again.. since the last five minutes of my shift and it was really wearing on my nerves along with everything else. Felt like something was trying to burn it’s way out from inside me. I was hot, achy, strangely hungry, scared and this little prick shoving a gun in my face wasn’t improving my mood. It was all building up and I guess something inside me snapped.

Faster than I thought I could move I knocked his gun out wide with a sweep of my arm. The thunder of its shot barely registered as something else took me over and I was on the guy, pouncing him to the ground like some kind of jungle cat. He was still yelling, but I didn’t hear the words. I had him by the shoulders, shaking him and slamming his back against the ground. Like someone popped my cork, this rage rose up and poured out all over this guy. It was like madness, making my vision go red. As red as the blood on the sidewalk. Sweet, sweet smelling blood.

Shit.. my hands are shaking, just remembering. I’m going to stop here. Maybe write the rest after I’ve calmed down.

*****

Dear Diary

I’m still not sure what happened after the attack. When I did come to I was in my little apartment, laying on the floor with the plain, white ceiling filling my vision. My lips felt sticky. I was cold and wet with something as well, but besides that I felt great.. better than great. I didn’t ache and I wasn’t hungry anymore. In fact, I felt better than I had in a long time. It was a weird thing to wake to.

Confused, only half remembering what I thought was a dream, I sat up. It had to be a dream. One of those illicit little fantasies of taking someone you hate apart with your bare hands. Though the guy.. I didn’t know him. It’s about then that I looked down at myself, seeing that I was covered in blood. I don’t know what shocked me more. The blood itself, the way it suddenly clarified what I thought were dreams into unsettling reality or how good the blood smelled to me.

I vaguely remembered how the coppery scent felt to me when she died. The wrong smell of it. But right now it smelled so very right and I think that’s what scared me the most. I was stunned. I couldn’t believe what I’d done, the killing replaying in my head with unsettling clarity now. How I beat the mugger into the pavement until he stopped moving. How the blood called out to my ailing body like ambrosia. How I ripped into the man’s throat with my teeth and drank. Drank deep as his blood stained me outside, but refreshed me on the inside. I was frantic, hoping I hadn’t done it to anyone else.

That was the day I got locked into the nightmare full time. At first I thought I’d been turned into a vampire, as crazy as it sounded then. But the evidence, disgusting that it was, seemed to be clear enough. It was, literally, written all over me. Though above that was the knowledge I’d just killed a man. I could imagine the trial now. “My client pleads temporary insanity, thinking he was a vampire”

No way in hell that would fly. I had to get scarce fast.

And so I did. I just cleaned up, grabbed what I could carry and left everything else behind. For a few months I lived like a drifter. Roaming across the country, making a little money wherever I could, never having more than a few bucks in my pocket, the clothes in my back and only so much as I could carry in a backpack. I’m not sure if I got that rugged look going, the sort of shiftless rebel look that some ladies swoon over. I was too busy surviving and hoping the law would never catch up to me to revel in what I used to think was so cool as a kid.

Seems I was in luck, though. The clues were probably scarce enough and I wasn’t one to brag about something like that. So the case went cold and soon the heat was off. I managed to snag this job, driving trucks a few weeks after. I’ve had my name legally changed and I don’t talk much about my past now. This is the most introspection I’ve done since the night I first got a feel of what I’ve become. I keep private and I like the anonymity just fine.

*****

Dear Diary

Now that I write about the start, I suppose I should write a little about what I think I am. Maybe writing it out will help me puzzle a bit more of it out. At the very least, I don’t think I’m a vampire. At least, now that I’ve had time to really think about it.

After all, I can go out in the day and I still love garlic on my pizzas. I haven’t really had access to holy water and I don’t think the little cross I have on my necklace is a good test of anything. But, suffice it to say, I don’t think I’m undead.

But what am I? Over the years, I’ve noticed some things. Some great, some that still scares me. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been. Last time I tested, I could bench at least six hundred pounds. The weights didn’t go any higher, so I couldn’t test any higher. Before I had trouble with one hundred eighty. My sense of smell is high. It can be annoying, but I’ve learned how to blunt it when there’s just too much to smell at once. But I swear, I can smell things you wouldn’t believe. Like how well dogs smell. My reaction time is up too.

I heal fast. If I cut my finger, the cut is usually gone within minutes. Got into a fight once and got some bruises and a serious black eye, but when I woke up the next morning I was as pretty as ever, not a sign of any of them. I haven’t been able to test it on real injuries, but I’m not too hot on really cutting myself just to see how long I bleed.

Though there’s a con. A really big con that I’m still not comfortable with. I need blood. I might not be a vampire, but for some strange reason I need to drink blood. I almost made myself sick earlier, not knowing what was with the hunger that would rise in me. The burning inside of me. But then I found out. Blood cures it all.

It can be fresh or bottled, but I’m ashamed to say it tastes and.. feels better coming fresh. Have to shake myself for a moment there. It still feels wrong and right at the same time, thinking about it. Way I estimate it, I need at least a pint a week or I start to get hungry. I can go longer if I get more, but it can be hard to get even a pint a week.

At first I got lucky with my new job. I was doing runs for a blood bank and could nip a little and no one really noticed. It tasted like week old coffee, but I felt better afterward. But soon that contract was ending and I was starting to get frantic. I tried animal blood, but it tasted even worse and didn’t work as well.

One night, a few days before my blood bank contract was up, salvation came to me in, of all places, a goth bar. I normally never go into places like that, but it was the only decent bar open in the area and I didn’t feel like traveling very far to get a beer. So in I went. One chick, who must have been a regular there, came up to me soon after I got settled. She was a looker in some ways, though all the mortuary black and make-up made her look a bit like a corpse in the bar’s bad lighting.

She wanted to talk and, having not had much in the way of meaningful human contact for a while, I decided to give in and talk back. She was nice, if a little weird in the way most people imagine goth chicks. Lots of melodramatic words and a bit of a death obsession. But considering my life in the last year, her sort of weird wasn’t all that bad in comparison. I’m not sure how.. maybe because I’d been feeling that burning hunger inside again, but for whatever reason we started talking about vampires after the first hour.

I was getting a little anxious as the talk turned a bit too close to home for me. She seemed to read something in to my anxiety, asking me if I was so gifted. Considering she was someone who I’d likely never see again, I gave a vague affirmative on that. At some point, she’d gotten closer and was looking at my eyes intently as she asked if I was hungry. After a few moments, I gave another tentative affirmative. I thought for sure she’d start laughing or making fun of me, but instead her eyes lit with interest.

Well, how to write this? To sum it up, she ended up offering herself to me. In both ways. I guess her death fetish mixed into the undead too. You can bet I was caught off guard too. But I was hungry and with her getting closer, I thought I could smell her blood coursing in her veins. It had been a long time since I’d gotten close to anyone too. She wasn’t Miss America, but she was pretty, even with her weird make-up.

Eventually I took her up on it, even though the possibilities scared me. I hadn’t had fresh blood since the mugger. I didn’t really know how I would do it and I sure as heck didn’t want to leave this girl with her throat ripped out. She didn’t deserve that. But my fears were slowly being eclipsed by twin hungers and the dulling haze of alcohol.

Fortunately some instinct kicked in at her place. I’ve never considered myself a great lover, but she was an ego boost that night. The urge to feed became too much in the middle of it and I bit her. Not hard, like I thought I would have. Just enough to get the flow going. I suppose something about it really revved her up because she went wild then. If not for my enhanced strength, I might not have been able to hold her still.

The next morning, she seemed to only vaguely remember the night before and, though a bit sluggish, she seemed fine. We parted amicably and whenever I’ve been though her area, we met up again. She enjoys it and isn’t hurt. I’ve gotten more comfortable with my hunger and discovered that something about my feeding causes pleasure. Maybe it’s like one of those survival mechanisms animals have. Makes the subject willing and fogs memory of it afterward. I’m not sure, but since then I’ve never been hurting too much for blood or for company.

Sometimes it hurts a little. I have fun with the women I pick up, but even though it fills part of me, there’s still a hollow. Ever since my girl was killed, nothing has ever filled it. Sometimes I feel a little like I’m cheating on her. Stupid, I know. She’d want me to survive and be happy, not keep pining over her like in those crappy drama movies. I know she’d understand. But still.. sometimes it hurts, even after I’ve fed. Some things are right with the world now, but others will never be again. For now I can live with that.

*****

Dear Diary

It felt good writing those entries. It helped me to come to terms. It feels like I’m really telling someone instead of holding it all inside. A bit like talking to my goth chick, even though we’ve never shared names. I’m going to keep writing. This way I can keep track of things. Leave a trail behind me that I feel comfortable with.

I’m starting a new contract today. A load of junk to haul out near LA. It pays well, though it’ll be a long, hard drive. Wish me luck, though I think I’ll pack some NoDoze and coffee all the same.

Until next entry.