This is an excerpt from a manuscript I’ve sent in to Harlequin Romance. It’s not my usual stuff and its a moderate attempt at catering to the needs and desires of the book-buying public.
“You don’t stand a chance, human!” it snarled at me. The fiend limped forward and shied away from my car. It figures, another rabid Turned who was flexing his mouth muscles trying to frighten me. It really gets old after the first few times.
“Look buddy,” I told him, “we do this the hard way or the easy way. Which one will it be?”
He jumped across the hood of my car, his fangs jutting out of his red tissued and gaping maw.
I guess it’s the hard way, I sighed inwardly. Twisting my body I let the suit-wearing vampire fly past me. His out-flung arms missing me by just a few inches as he soared by effortlessly. He hit the wet pavement, skidding unceremoniously, and flailed his limbs in an attempt to maintain his balance.
“Nice leap,” I provoked him on purpose. “You should try out for the Olympics.”
“I’m gonna rip out your throat!”
“I’ve heard that one before too.”
He stood there, his chest heaving up and down in the dark, wet parking lot while the light misting rain hissed downward. The echoes of his threats bounced around the concrete structure which was empty like his words. I yanked back my long overcoat’s left side exposing the sharpened saber riding its scabbard against my hip.
“Hah! A sword?” he mocked. “That’s no threat to me!”
“So I’ve been told,” I answered back calmly. His next move, as predictable as the last, was to rush at me with arms stretched out before him. I could see his dirty fingernails and pale palms. I drew the saber and spun to my right in a full circle, extending the razor sharp edge out in front of me as I nearly pirouetted. It was a solid hit. I felt the tug of the blade as it struck and sheared through his graying flesh. Spinning to the ground in a flourish I completed my movement with my empty hand upon the cold pavement and my left leg thrust out behind me. The headless figure took several staggering steps forward before collapsing to the ground with a thump.
I eased to my feet, flicking the blade to clear it of the brackish ichor smeared upon it. I finished the job on the suit of the headless corpse. Keeping my eyes fixed on the bowling ball sized noggin which had come to a rest just four feet from the still form while I returned my sword to its sheath. The bloodsucker’s body flopped and convulsed despite being decapitated.
“I’ll kill you!” it screamed his left cheek against the wet concrete.
“Without a body, I seriously doubt that,” I scoffed.
“Wait don’t do this”
They always beg in the end, I sighed.
Reaching back into my long coat I produced a plastic bag of holy wafers, a pair of thick leather gloves, and a tongue depressor. I sat cross-legged on the asphalt; the dampness quickly was transferred from ground to my backside while I put on my gloves.
“We can make a deal! I promise not to hurt anyone every again!” it pleaded.
“I don’t make deals with your kind,” I reminded him. “You could’ve gone quietly remember?”
Picking up the now growling skull I placed it between my legs, holding it tightly with my knees. I picked up the tongue depressor and looked into it’s beady, blood-shot eyes.
“Open up and say ah,” I asked politely.
“Fuck you bitch!”
Still choosing the hard way, I told myself. I snagged its nose and waited for it to open its mouth to take a breath. Being newly Turned he didn’t realize he didn’t need to breath, hell right now he didn’t even have lungs. But like all the rest he only managed a few seconds.
Jamming the depressor into his mouth I held down his jaws and fumbled with the plastic baggie. Using my teeth I removed one glove and got myself a palm-full of holy wafers. I stuffed them rudely into his mouth, not feeling any sort of remorse in the act.
He had his chance!
I removed the wooden sliver out of his lips and repositioned his head in my legs. Now the crown of his skull and his lower jaw were pinched by my knees. Pulling out more items from my pocket I sewed up his lips with a needle and thread. Silver metallic thread, of course.
The task was done rather quickly since I was tired and not in the mood to do it neatly. With a cold, wet butt I stood up and snatched up the head of Mr. James Whitmore of 2225 Barker Streetby his scraggly black hair. I opened my car’s trunk and threw it inside. After a lot of grunting and groaning his spastic body followed suit.
A quick staking, an impromptu re-burial, and a few other amenities later I trudged back to my elderly Grand Prix and wearily drove back home.
All in a night’s work, I told myself.