alexs_storybook (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alexs_storybook) wrote2011-04-13 10:29 pm
alexs_storybook) wrote2011-04-13 10:29 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Monsters (original)
This is a little something that I wrote for The Bunnyhutch and I thought I'd post it here. It is a bit gruesome perhaps.
~~~
Monsters
*
Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win. ~ Stephen King
*
The vampire looked out his window at the foggy London street below. It was the perfect night for his kind, dark and menacing, when only the most foolish or the bravest dared to wander alone in the streets.
People feared monsters like him when it was their own kind they should have feared. He’d seen the human monster at work one night in Whitechapel, killing one of the pitiful soiled doves who plied their trade there. His own brutality paled in comparison to that one.
He turned from the window and started to ring for his man, Walter, when the door opened and his trusted human servant stepped into the room.
“Your carriage is ready, my lord.”
The vampire laughed. “Since when have we been so formal?” Walter usually called him by his given name.
“I was informed by another man’s gentleman servant that I was above my station. I decided perhaps that I should be a bit more formal. We do not want to attract undue attention to you, do we, my lord?”
“You make a valid point, old friend.”
Walter helped him into his coat, gloves and hat then handed him his walking stick as he headed toward the door.
“I shall be back by morning. Don’t wait up.”
And he was out the door and on the street. His carriage was standing on the street, awaiting his arrival. He did not need to give the driver directions. Walter had already seen to that. The ride was short, only ten minutes, before the vampire stepped out into the night and was gone from sight in seconds.
He moved quietly, almost invisibly through the street. He couldn’t say exactly what had drawn him back to this horrid area, to Whitechapel once again. He’d lived many years and had never seen such a squalid place as this, teeming with the poor and desperate. It was a feasting ground for his kind and he could never manage to feel badly about sending some starving soul to his reward. Even Hell would be better than this place.
Something was afoot tonight. Something evil. He could almost feel it. Then he smelled blood. Fresh blood and lots of it. He followed the scent to Miller’s Court, to a shabby little room in a rundown shack. He stood outside and listened. He heard the man breathing and talking to himself. The woman was beyond pain already. Her screams had ceased when her heart had been removed.
When the man wrapped his bloody prize in a towel and headed toward the door, the vampire faded into the shadow. He watched the man steal away, still mumbling something to himself about Mother and cleansing her of sin. There was nothing he could do for Mary Kelly. She had met her reward, whatever it was.
He followed the man as he climbed into a hackney and was driven away. The vampire had little trouble following as the horse was old and moved slowly. They only traveled a few blocks before the man exited and moved into the shadows himself, unaware he was being followed.
The vampire caught up to him as he was about to go into a small house. He assumed from the familiarity of the man that the house was his home. He waited for the man to close and lock the door, to light a lamp before he used a skeleton key to unlock the door and slip inside.
Half an hour later, the vampire left the small house, warm and filled with nourishment. He carried a small parcel in his hand as he locked the door behind him. Anyone finding the man in the bed would think he’d died in his sleep.
On his way home, the vampire stopped and buried the heart in the corner of an old graveyard, even saying a prayer over the tiny grave before he left her.
It was not often that he returned home believing that he had done a good thing but this night he felt he’d done both God and the city of London a service when he’d killed Jack and sent him back to Hell.
~end~
~~~
Monsters
*
Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win. ~ Stephen King
*
The vampire looked out his window at the foggy London street below. It was the perfect night for his kind, dark and menacing, when only the most foolish or the bravest dared to wander alone in the streets.
People feared monsters like him when it was their own kind they should have feared. He’d seen the human monster at work one night in Whitechapel, killing one of the pitiful soiled doves who plied their trade there. His own brutality paled in comparison to that one.
He turned from the window and started to ring for his man, Walter, when the door opened and his trusted human servant stepped into the room.
“Your carriage is ready, my lord.”
The vampire laughed. “Since when have we been so formal?” Walter usually called him by his given name.
“I was informed by another man’s gentleman servant that I was above my station. I decided perhaps that I should be a bit more formal. We do not want to attract undue attention to you, do we, my lord?”
“You make a valid point, old friend.”
Walter helped him into his coat, gloves and hat then handed him his walking stick as he headed toward the door.
“I shall be back by morning. Don’t wait up.”
And he was out the door and on the street. His carriage was standing on the street, awaiting his arrival. He did not need to give the driver directions. Walter had already seen to that. The ride was short, only ten minutes, before the vampire stepped out into the night and was gone from sight in seconds.
He moved quietly, almost invisibly through the street. He couldn’t say exactly what had drawn him back to this horrid area, to Whitechapel once again. He’d lived many years and had never seen such a squalid place as this, teeming with the poor and desperate. It was a feasting ground for his kind and he could never manage to feel badly about sending some starving soul to his reward. Even Hell would be better than this place.
Something was afoot tonight. Something evil. He could almost feel it. Then he smelled blood. Fresh blood and lots of it. He followed the scent to Miller’s Court, to a shabby little room in a rundown shack. He stood outside and listened. He heard the man breathing and talking to himself. The woman was beyond pain already. Her screams had ceased when her heart had been removed.
When the man wrapped his bloody prize in a towel and headed toward the door, the vampire faded into the shadow. He watched the man steal away, still mumbling something to himself about Mother and cleansing her of sin. There was nothing he could do for Mary Kelly. She had met her reward, whatever it was.
He followed the man as he climbed into a hackney and was driven away. The vampire had little trouble following as the horse was old and moved slowly. They only traveled a few blocks before the man exited and moved into the shadows himself, unaware he was being followed.
The vampire caught up to him as he was about to go into a small house. He assumed from the familiarity of the man that the house was his home. He waited for the man to close and lock the door, to light a lamp before he used a skeleton key to unlock the door and slip inside.
Half an hour later, the vampire left the small house, warm and filled with nourishment. He carried a small parcel in his hand as he locked the door behind him. Anyone finding the man in the bed would think he’d died in his sleep.
On his way home, the vampire stopped and buried the heart in the corner of an old graveyard, even saying a prayer over the tiny grave before he left her.
It was not often that he returned home believing that he had done a good thing but this night he felt he’d done both God and the city of London a service when he’d killed Jack and sent him back to Hell.
~end~
no subject
I was just watching a show about Jack the Ripper--- forensic stuff and such. It was gruesomely fascinating, like your story. :)