The Hunger in the Dark

The Hunger In The Dark

By Keith Cameron

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Keith Cameron

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Prologue

New York - Four Months Ago

Dieter Steiler stepped from the elevator and walked down the carpeted hallway to his apartment. He pulled his keys from his pocket while half-heartedly whistling a tune between his teeth that he had heard on a radio two hours previously. He had been breaking a man’s kneecaps with an iron bar at the time and hadn’t noticed if the name of the song was announced when it finished. The man, Robert Kress, owed money to Dieter’s boss, Dino Carbone. Ordinarily, Dieter would have arranged for someone else to take care of such a minor enforcement. That sort of work was generally beneath him these days. Anything short of a killing would be given to one of the men who worked directly beneath him. However Dino had specifically asked Dieter to handle it himself. Äs a personal favour, he had said and you didn’t refuse personal favours to Dino Carbone. Kress had once been well liked by Dino and although an example had to be made, Dino didn’t want someone younger with less self-control getting carried away and end up doing more than break a couple of kneecaps.

From early in his life, Dieter had seemed destined to become an enforcer for the Carbone Family. Since he was a teenager his mother had impressed upon Dieter how lucky he was that Don Carbone had seen fit to employ him. Dino Carbone had been his mother's cousin and it had been that genetic connection that had kept them from destitution when Dieter's father had died.

Heinrich Steiler had worked as a truck driver within the Carbone business. His marriage to Maria Azzarello had not earnt any blessings from Maria's family who had resolutely ostracised the couple. It was only when Heinrich had been killed in a road accident when Dieter was aged seven that Maria had approached Don Carbone and thrown herself on his mercy. He had found her steady employment and ensured that once Dieter had entered his teens, he had some part-time work after school to help out his mother. As he had grown older, Dieter's own genetics started to work for him. He was tall and broad for his age and by the time he was sixteen he had already been earmarked for a different sort of career than simply acting as a courier or message boy. His imposing physique made him a natural for standover work. At first he had only been used as a backup, standing at the side of someone else to lend weight to their words. When it turned out he was a natural at handing out beatings, Dieter was given his own businesses to protect. By the time he was in his mid-twenties he had moved up from the protection side of the business and was working directly to the Don as an enforcer. At the time of his thirtieth birthday he had murdered twenty two people and was feared even amongst other enforcers. The prestige he enjoyed was tarnished by one thing only. To become a made man in the Families, a person had to be at least a full-blooded Italian. A made man belonged to a fraternity within the Family that was virtually untouchable. The made status was handed out sparingly and usually had to be accompanied by an act of loyalty to the Family to the degree of killing an enemy. No matter how respected Dieter became he could never cross someone who was made, even if it was someone still wet behind the ears who had earned their untouchable status by committing their first and only murder. If it ever came down to a choice between Dieter and some Johnny-come-lately made man, the Family would always choose the made man. Understanding how it worked did not mean it rankled any less.

Apart from that, Dieter enjoyed the life he led. He was respected by powerful men and beautiful women were readily available to him. The money he earned was more than enough to keep him in the relatively modest style he preferred.

The building he lived in made the one he grew up in seem like a flophouse. Carpetted hallways and substantial walls muffled the lives of his other tenants preventing theirs from intruding upon his own. Never again would he have to share his residence with the sounds of other lives not a part of his household. Clashing dishes and wailing babies. Laughter to a joke he would never hear. Raised voices telling off a naughty child, a nagging wife, a drunken husband home late from work. There was no nostalgic evocation at the memories. Only a feeling of triumph that he had raised himself past that life. He had evolved beyond his expected station in life. Was it any wonder that he had difficulty putting aside the fact that he could never be anything more than a second-class citizen to many of those he worked beside? It was about respect. Respect was important in the circles Dieter travelled in. Without it you were nobody.

Dieter closed the door behind him and flicked on the light. He took a step into his apartment and froze, his survival instinct awakening to something unseen. He had learnt over the years never to ignore such a feeling. Drawing his gun from its holster beneath his jacket, he advanced further into the room.

A hand came from behind him and wrenched the gun from his grasp. He whirled and found himself looking down at a man who was at least four inches shorter than his own six foot, four inch frame. In one hand he held Dieter’s gun. The other hand punched Dieter in the stomach, sending him staggering backwards. The punch had not been the hardest Dieter had ever felt but the casual ease with which it had been delivered told him that his assailant was capable of far worse.

Feigning that he was still winded, Dieter watched his opponent, all the while looking for an opening. He knew that apart from in the movies, a face to face confrontation between a man with a gun and a man without was not a contest. Unless the man holding Dieter’s gun made an error, Dieter was entirely at his mercy.

Casually, the other man removed the clip from the gun and in one movement threw both objects to opposite sides of the room.

Dieter’s surprise delayed him a split second before he launched himself across the room relying on his bulk to steamroller over his smaller opponent. Instead the other man braced himself and stopped Dieter dead in his tracks holding both hands outstretched catching Dieter by the upper arms. There was a moment of stillness as the larger man stared incredulously into the tanned, smiling face of his opponent before the smaller man gave a heave and threw Dieter across the room so that he landed on the three seater couch, knocking it over backwards.

Rolling to his feet, Dieter drew a knife from a concealed sheath around his calf. The other man gave an unconcerned shrug and stood arms spread, waiting. Dieter lunged forward, swapping the knife to his left hand while feinting with his right. He slid the blade up into the other man’s ribcage feeling it scrape bone before yanking the knife upwards. The man winced and grasped Dieter’s left wrist in a grip of steel. Their gaze locked and Dieter saw that the man he had stabbed through the heart was silently laughing behind his eyes. He didn’t see the blow that snapped his head to one side and was barely aware of the second blow that sank into his stomach. Falling to the ground and curling into a ball, he waited for the final blow. His head felt as though it had been hit with a sledgehammer while his stomach appeared to have been flattened against his spine. Dieter had never been hit so hard in his life and he knew that the hitter was capable of killing him with his bare hands.

The seconds dragged by and Dieter felt himself recovering. He looked up wondering why he was still alive. His opponent stood a short distance away, watching him, awaiting his attention. As Dieter gave his head a slight shake, attempting to clear the remaining spots from his vision, the other man gripped the knife handle and with one wrenching movement removed the blade from where it had been imbedded in his chest. He looked at the glistening, red blade fondly before tossing it aside as though he had already forgotten about it.

My name is Alex Meacham and I have an offer for you, he said.

Dieter caught his breath. The name was known to him. Dino had talked about him as a new player in town who had been making some bold moves against some of the smaller families. He had gone up against insurmountable odds and won, building a growing number of recruits from the families as he went. No-one knew how he was doing it but Dino had said if Meacham continued progressing at the same rate they would come into conflict sooner rather than later. The elder Mafiaso had boasted that if it came to that then he would very quickly show everyone concerned that you didn’t fuck with Dino Carbone. Dieter had believed it. Until tonight.

You’re Carbone’s best lieutenant but he refuses to give you your due, said Meacham. How long can you put up with these young guys coming up from nowhere and treating you with disrespect. You know it’s only going to get worse, don’t you? You know that nothing you do or say can change your father’s nationality? You’re going to get older and the young punks are going to get more and more disrespectful. And what can you do about it? Nothing. Touch a made man and you’re history. Doesn’t matter what old man Carbone thinks about you. He’ll still have to follow tradition."

Dieter watched him as he spoke, trying to make sense of what he had seen moments before. Even if Meacham was pumped full of PCP, he shouldn’t be able to keep on walking and talking. A knife thrust into the heart was lethal. No two ways about it. He thought he must be missing something about the situation but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

That’s the thing with the Families. Tradition. Even if something is fucked four ways to Sunday, if it’s tradition that’s how it’s got to be.

The red patch on Meacham’s shirt was smaller than it should be, thought Dieter. Maybe he missed the heart? No, no, this is bullshit! I know I hit him in the heart.

Join up with me and you’ll be my second-in-command. I don’t have much time for outdated traditions. Anyone shows you disrespect, anyone! You’ll kill them with no fear of reprisal. Work for me and you’ll become the second most powerful man in the state.

Alex Meacham leant forward, hands on his knees as he spoke down to where Dieter lay. And I’ll give you a type of power you never even dreamed existed. You think you’re strong now? I can make you stronger. You’re wondering how come I’m still breathing after you stabbed me. Bullets, knives. They can’t hurt me. I can give that to you as well. Join me. Meacham reached out a hand.

Dieter studied the outstretched hand as if at any moment it would rear up and strike him like a snake. He knew that to turn down the offer was a certain invitation to death and yet something caused him to hold back. There was something about Meacham that terrified him. It was unseen and unknown. That was part of the terror. Yet the offer was there. Respect and power. Two words that meant the world to him. What else was there? He looked into Meacham’s eyes and thought of maggots hidden within a carcass waiting to burst free. He grasped Meacham’s hand.

The limousine was spacious, its windows tinted to the extent that Dieter wondered whether light would penetrate during daytime. The screen between the driver and the two passengers was similarly dark. Dieter sat with his back to the driver facing Alex Meacham. They had been travelling in the car for five minutes before Meacham spoke.

We have time to kill so you may as well get comfortable. I’ll tell you some of my recent history. Some of it you might even believe. Less than a year ago I was just another nobody. An American vacationing abroad. He paused, reflecting for a moment. So much has happened since I went to Greece. It’s difficult to know where to start. He lit a cigarette before offering one to Dieter who declined.

I’d arrived at the Cyclades Islands. One of those areas that attract tourists because it’s still relatively unspoilt by visiting tourists. Ironic. The Cyclades are popular amongst archaeologists as well. It seems they keep finding interesting things buried under old lava flows. He snorted, smoke billowing from his nostrils. "Maybe I missed my calling. I thought I was simply going to play tourist. Take some photographs, get laid with one of the local girls if I could get away with it and then pick up some duty free on the way home.

There was this gorgeous girl working as a waitress in her family's tavern that I went to my first night on the island. She was about eighteen and had those classic Mediterranean looks where you felt you could drown in her eyes. After a few drinks I found out her name was Cora and we managed to exchange a few words whenever she brought drink or food to my table. Her English was quite good. Because of the tourist trade that used the tavern, I guess. I went back the following night and we managed to continue our piecemeal conversation as she worked. It was only on the second night that I noticed the looks we were getting from Cora's brothers behind the bar. Towards the end of that night I asked her if I could see her away from the tavern and she told me to wait at a spot on the outskirts of the town at one o'clock after the tavern had closed for the night. Sure enough, soon after one o'clock she came running through the town. She grabbed my hand and led me off toward the hills. Once we were out of sight of the town she took me to a small clearing and before I knew it she was all over me. It was all I could do to lower us both to the ground before we fell over. Just as we were starting to feel for each other's buttons and zips, two of Cora's brothers came running into the clearing, cursing in a way only Greeks can. They dragged me up off the ground, each holding an arm while one of them yelled something at Cora who was quick to respond in kind. It was all in Greek but you didn't have to be a genius to figure out what was being said. You slut, what would Momma think! I'm eighteen, I'll do what I want. Why can't you let me live my own life!" I figure it wasn't that much different to what might have been said anywhere else in the world.

"So there I am trying to wish myself invisible, resigning myself to the likelihood of getting a beating and Cora was turning up the heat on the brother who was doing all of the talking when he finally decided he'd had enough. He shouted something at the other brother who went over and grabbed Cora, gave her a shake and started dragging her back towards town. Well I'm standing there realising I only have one arm being held and decide it's time to get away while Cora's still the centre of attention. So I manage to get my arm free sending Cora's brother sprawling at the same time. He looked up and said something that sounded a lot harsher than anything he'd been saying to his sister and suddenly I saw there was a knife in his hand. I don’t know if he’d always intended using it on me but I knew he had every intention of using it on me there and then. I ran for my life. Literally.

"We were at the base of the hills and I set off uphill as fast as I could go. Luckily for me there was a good moon that night otherwise I probably would have broken my neck trying to find my way in the dark. At one point I looked back and I could see Cora's brother coming after me, his knife still out. I don't remember much of my run up into the hills that night. It was terrifying, I remember that. The moonlight gave the landscape a really strange appearance. It was a lot like one of those dreams when something is chasing you and no matter how hard you run you can't get away. You know it's going to catch you eventually.

So I was scrambling over rocks starting to feel like I was on some other planet light years from Earth when all of a sudden I found myself standing on flat ground surrounded by ruins. It was part of the archaeological dig nearest the town and it caught me completely by surprise. At first I didn't realise where I was, my disorientation was pretty complete by that stage. Then just as I realised where I was I heard Cora's brother come up behind me. As I turned around he stepped up and shoved the knife into my stomach.

"He looked into my eyes and smiled. With his dark skin, his teeth shone out at me and I thought in that moment that I’d find a way to kill that man. Then he pulled the knife out and I fell to my knees feeling as though I was a puppet and the strings holding me up had been cut. Any thoughts of revenge left me. All that I could think of was that I was going to die that night with my killer grinning down at me. I would have begged him for my life at that moment if I had thought there was anything he could have done to save me. But I didn't even get the chance. He turned away and left me and I think that was even worse. At least while he was there, some part of me held to the idea that he could decide to try and save me. Once he left, I was simply a man dying alone. I knelt there in the dust and dirt feeling my blood running between my fingers as I tried to hold it in with my hands. The town was too far away for me to reach in time and I could already feel the cold creeping into my body even though it was a warm night. Then I heard something.

"It was a low, whispering sound. At first I thought it was the wind blowing through the ruins until I noticed nearby trees weren't stirring at all. Despite my situation I found myself strangely drawn to find the source of the sound. I didn't know it at the time but I was being mesmerised, my blood loss making it all the easier. I staggered further into the ruins, the strength of the call increasing as I went, keeping me moving even though my strength was diminishing with each step. My legs gave way and I fell to the ground, jarring some of the cotton wool from my brain. In front of me was a newly excavated trench at the base of a hill. If I hadn't fallen when I did I would have walked straight into it. The sound had been coming from the trench but as I fell to the ground it stopped.

"Lying there within arms reach of that hole I felt certain that that was where I would die. But then the sound started up again except this time it was different. It sounded more like talking than the moaning it had sounded like earlier. I couldn't make out the words at first but the longer I listened the clearer they became. At some point I became aware that however I was hearing these words, it wasn't with my ears. I could easily have dismissed it as a hallucination caused by blood loss but somehow I knew it was real, knew that I wasn't hallucinating. I said earlier I was hearing words. That's not quite true. I could understand the intent behind the words but not the language itself. It's difficult to explain to someone who hasn't experienced it. The gist of the message was that if I would help the message's sender then they would help me. Considering the alternative it didn't take me long to accept.

"Dragging myself to the ditch, I half climbed, half fell into it landing on my back about four feet down. As winded as I was, the voice in my mind kept me moving. The trench was dark but the moonlight illuminated it enough that I could see there were several holes cut into the hillside. I was being called to one of them. Making my way along, I passed a few of the holes and stopped in front of one of them. To all appearances it was the same as the others but I knew it was the one.

"Crawling on my hands and knees I went into the hole. That's when I realised the tunnel I was in wasn't made out of earth but rock. In pitch blackness I dragged myself along that tunnel knowing my strength would give out soon. There was no way to tell how deep the tunnel went and as I made my way along, I could feel that I was gradually heading downward. Without some widening in which to turn around it would have been impossible at that point for me to return the way I’d come.

"I don’t know how long I crawled like that but eventually I came to an opening. One moment the tunnel pressed down all around me, the next moment I could feel the emptiness above. I had reached some sort of chamber.

Later, I learnt quite a bit about those chambers. The one I had been led to was one of several found by the archaeologists using seismic equipment that could locate any cavities within the rock. Although they’d sunk tunnels into the openings, they hadn’t been into all of them yet. Such chambers were used for communal burials so an accessible entrance was part of the design but the entrance had been sealed by lava following a massive volcanic eruption about 1400 B.C. I was the first living thing to be inside that chamber in three and a half thousand years.

Dieter had been listening to Meacham talk and had restrained himself from commenting up until that point. He knew the other man could easily kill him if he wished to so he was wary of provoking him. He still could not satisfactorily explain how Meacham was capable of the things Dieter had observed that night. That did not mean he was willing to believe in the supernatural. It made more sense to him that Alex Meacham used some form of advanced Yoga or similar discipline. Dieter had seen such people on television shows pierce themselves with metal skewers and consciously stem the bleeding. It made more sense than moaning voices in Greek ruins. He had to listen but he didn’t have to believe everything he was being told. It seemed clear to him that Meacham must be mad to some degree. Knowing just how mad was possibly the key to surviving his encounter with Alex Meacham.

If you were the first living thing inside the chamber in thousands of years, are you saying you had been called there by a ghost of some kind? Dieter asked, keeping his tone neutral.

Alex studied him for a moment, seemingly more amused at the question than disturbed by it. "No, not a ghost. Something far more more unbelievable than a ghost. But don’t worry about my sanity. By the end of tonight, you’ll have seen enough to believe everything I’m telling you.

"As I lay there in the dark, I sensed my caller was there in the chamber with me. I could feel its voice in my mind reassuring me that our bargain would be honoured. And then I heard it. In that dark, quiet room deep in the ground every sound seemed magnified. If I had dropped a pin on the ground, I could have counted the number of times it bounced. The sound was like dry leaves being scraped across a stone floor. It was a scratchy, rustling sound as the chamber's occupant scrabbled across the floor towards me. By this stage I was too numb to even feel fear. As I lay there face down, too weak to move, I felt something light and brittle settle over me. It felt like the dead branch of a tree still covered with the dead leaves. Numb as I was, I didn't feel any pain but I did become aware that the creature was feeding on me. Fastening itself to the side of my throat, it was taking what blood it could. In its weakened state and with my blood pressure so low, it found it difficult to draw the blood from my veins but it was sufficient for an exchange to take place for what little I was providing to it, I was being given so much more in return.

"During our embrace, my mind was flooded with images, showing me who and what my new companion was.

"He had been born to the name Utnapishdem in Sumeria, sometime around 1800 B.C. and had been known by many other names since. When he was in his late thirties, his country was attacked and conquered. Most of the people in his village were put to the sword including his wife and son. Left for dead, he awakened to find all he loved had been taken from him. Swearing revenge, he went to the remains of the temple in the centre of his village. Violating the me, a set of sacred rules created by the Sumerian gods to avoid disruption to the functioning of the universe, he petitioned all four deities to aid him simultaneously in his pursuit of revenge. The four gods; An, god of heaven; Ki, god of earth; Enki, god of water and Enlil, god of air were outraged at the breaking of the me and decided to punish Utnapishdem in a way that would also punish the conquerers of their worshippers. Using their power they set about changing Utnapishdem into a new life form never seen before. They committed him to darkness, making direct sunlight poison to him. Everyday food and drink no longer provided him with sustenance. His feelings of hunger and thirst would consume him. Only human blood would lessen these feelings and those who died while being fed upon would rise from their grave the following night to seek blood themselves. Those who survived his bite found themselves transformed into a beast as the moon shone down on them. In this way the four gods cursed Utnapishdem, to forever hide away from the light, spreading a plague wherever he sought to satisfy his thirst. Cast out and despised by humankind, he spread the disease of vampirism and lycanthropy across the world. The immortality he’d been given became a curse. After wandering the world for hundreds of years, a volcanic eruption sealed him within the burial tomb he had been using as a refuge. The last name he had been called by before being entombed was Nasgral, meaning the hunger in the dark. He remained entombed until I found him, his immortality preserving his life throughout the millennia but he was nothing more than a dry husk by the time I went to him.

"I died that night. I gave my blood to him and he gave me power and immortality. The following night I awoke and Nasgral instructed me in what I needed to do. We were both thirsty. I can't even imagine what Nasgral's thirst must have been like after all those years. My own felt like everything I’d ever heard about crack addiction. I decided to kill two birds with one stone. The excavation of the site continued during the day and I had to put a stop to it before the chamber was explored. So that night, two of the four archaeologists disappeared. The following night the other two vanished from their beds. During the next few nights there were several more mysterious disappearances from the town including Cora and her brother, the one who stabbed me. I was tempted to allow Cora to come back as a vampire like myself but Nasgral advised me against it. He said the town was too small to support three of us. As it was I tried to be a bit more careful about who went missing. I mainly went for single tourists, returning for their belongings after Nasgral and I had fed. That way it appeared they had just moved on in the early hours of the morning.

"The centuries hadn't been kind to Nasgral. His body had … changed so that he could no longer move around among people without being noticed.

"His mobility was also still restricted and yet I had to find a way to transport him here to the United States, where he could easily be hidden. In the end I conceded temporary defeat. It was proving difficult enough to arrange my own travel arrangements because I could now only travel at night. Let alone trying to arrange transport for someone who couldn't even afford to be seen. Nasgral converted one of the townspeople to a lycanthrope - a werewolf, ensuring he would have someone to guard and hunt for him while I returned home.

Since I had been changed, I had spent a lot of the time rediscovering myself. I guess you could say I had always had big plans for myself. I usually had some sort of scheme on the go. But then to suddenly find myself with all of that undreamt of power..... I discovered I had a taste for it. Power that is. It wasn’t enough to be superhuman. I wanted to build an empire. It lent itself to gathering enough influence and resources to get Nasgral into America. It occurred to me that there is one profession that imports contraband goods into the country all the time. Organised crime. So I had a new career path laid out for me.

Meacham stubbed out his cigarette and sat back appraising Dieter. You may be wondering why I need you? he asked. I need a second in command. Someone who knows the Families. Someone formidable. You’re the obvious choice to anyone who isn’t tied up in knots over stupid prejudices and traditions. Tonight’s going to be the luckiest night of your life. Although you might have to rely on hindsight to recognise that. The grin that accompanied this comment was tight-lipped and hard. They spent the rest of the drive in silence, Dieter resigning himself to seeing the journey through to the end.

Several hours passed before the car stopped. Meacham stepped out of the car, indicating for Dieter to do the same.

Once the car headlights turned off, the only illumination came from the three-quarter moon. The light cloud drifting across its face did little to obscure its light.

They stood on the dirt driveway leading to a darkened farmhouse. The house appeared empty until Dieter’s practised eyes detected a dark shape peering from each of the main upstairs windows. The glint of moonlight on metal held by one of the figures confirmed for Dieter that the seemingly deserted farm was in fact guarded by a small army. He thought that if he was second in command, the sentries would have known better than to allow themselves to be seen. Turning slowly, he scanned the rest of the area. A barn set a short distance away from the driveway. Doors closed. Including those of the hayloft above. Another guard concealed behind farm machinery down one side of the barn. The shadow of a head moving betraying the concealment. No doubt others were stationed in the immediate area. He knew that good hired guns still needed an experienced foreman to organise them - to prevent bravado from becoming recklessness.

Meacham gestured for Dieter to walk ahead of him toward the barn. For all of two seconds he considered running back down the driveway, slipping into the bushes by the side of the road and getting as far away from Alex Meacham and the barn as possible. The irrationality caught Dieter by surprise as much as the fear that drove it. He had already come too far to try and escape. He walked towards the barn.

The structure itself was fairly nondescript. It needed a new coat of paint but the wood was intact. A heavy chain and padlock hung from between the two closed doors. Meacham unlocked the padlock with a key taken from one of his pockets, drawing the chain through the large, wooden door-handles. In the stillness of the farmyard, the harsh grating of the metal links against wood caused the small hairs at the nape of Dieter’s neck to stir. With a casual show of his preternatural strength, Meacham gave the doors a tug and stepped back, allowing them to open around him like welcoming arms. He turned and gestured for Dieter to enter.

Walking into the barn was the hardest thing Dieter had ever made himself do. The lead up to his first killing had given him severe diarrhoea and caused his hands to tremble but that was nothing compared to this. Every nerve screamed at him not to enter the barn but whether through sheer courage or the knowledge that he had gone past the point of no return, he walked stiff-legged into the foreboding building. Despite his silent entreaty to any entity willing or able to hear; the doors were closed behind him.

After a few seconds Dieter was able to discern different shades within the barn. Upon realising his night vision had done all it could, he guessed that the building had been light-proofed in some manner. An old, wooden barn should allow some moonlight in, no matter how well made.

Standing in the dark, Dieter had a strong feeling of being watched. He recalled Meacham’s description of Nasgral and failed to suppress a shudder thinking of the creature creeping up on him. For all he knew Nasgral could be standing within touching distance directly in front of him, peering into his face.

Tentatively reaching out his hand, Dieter waved it in front of him. A sound from behind made him freeze, uncertain which side of the barn doors the sound had come from.

Suddenly his oustretched wrist was seized in a grip of steel and he was yanked forward into the embrace of something that was neither warm nor alive. Before he could react, his other arm was also seized and the large man felt himself being slowly raised from the ground, knowing that somewhere in the dark in front of him was an inhuman face drawing closer to his own.

Dieter screamed as Nasgral’s teeth tore into the side of his throat. There was no subtlety to the act. It was fast and brutal sending him immediately into shock which only made what happened next seem even more surreal.

A voice echoed through his mind. At first he didn’t recognise it for what it was. It was like hearing a background hum without noticing it until someone pointed it out. Then it became impossible to ignore. It was not exactly like hearing a speaking voice. More like someone else’s thoughts forming words within his mind. The texture of the words felt alien and obscene as they forced themselves across the surface of Dieter’s mind. Even though he could understand what was being said, or thought, he was unable to pin down what language was being used. He felt defiled, nausea welling up within him. The thoughts beat at his mind, running together without pause, allowing no respite.

AaahhbigmanfearedmanusedtogivingfearnotreceivingitdonotbeafraidofNasgralforwearemuchalikeyouandIandwehavemuchtooffereachotheryes!yes!yes!thepainissuchasmallpricetopayforwhatyoushallgaininreturnyes!yes!wearejoinednowforeveryouwillserveNasgralandIshallgiveyoumorethanyoueverdreamedof.

Dieter felt the amusement behind the other’s thought. Amusement and delight at his fear. As the blood was lapped from his throat, so to was the terror drunk from his mind. He wished for oblivion but Nasgral forestalled it, fanning the embers of Dieter’s consciousness whenever they seemed about to extinguish.

An eternity passed before Dieter felt himself collapsing to the ground, the tendrils in his mind withdrawing. He lay immobile on the barn’s dirt floor staring up into the darkness, listening to the scraping sounds accompanying Nasgral’s withdrawal. Only then, when he knew Nasgral had finished with him did Dieter allow himself to lose consciousness, knowing that while Nasgral had fed upon him it had also given something back. Something that was circulating within his being, permeating every cell.

****

New York - Three Weeks Ago

Gene saw her first. He was rezipping his fly after taking a long, steamy leak against the alleyway wall when the movement under a streetlight across the street caught his eye.

She was tall with a toned, athletic body. Blonde hair bounced on her shoulders offsetting the red, hip-length jacket she wore. The tip of Gene’s tongue slid to his upper lip. As far as he could see, there was nothing between jacket and skin. The jacket’s zipper was done up only far enough to conceal the bottom half of the woman’s breasts and the movement of her cleavage denied the use of a bra. A tight, black skirt flexed with each stride, above long, shapely legs. Gene’s tongue did a quick right turn and returned inside his mouth. Not only was the woman inappropriately dressed for a cold January night in New York but the woman’s presence itself was inappropriate for this particular neighbourhood, particularly at a time of night when even the local men would not be caught out alone.

A hand clapped Gene’s left shoulder. He turned and saw Leon and Fish standing behind him, their eyes greedily following the woman’s progress. Leon glanced his way, smiling and quickly arching his eyebrows before turning back to watching the woman. Fish’s gaze did not alter and only his eyes were smiling.

Without a word, the three young men started following the woman, behind her line of sight on the opposite side of the street. Gene gave a cursory look down the street behind him and was unsurprised to see it was completely empty. Over the past few months the street’s population had been on a continual decline.

He remembered kicking a ball around the street with Leon and other neighbourhood kids while growing up - someone’s mother always sticking her head out a doorway to make sure her boy was staying out of trouble. These days there