nazoofanfic

The Vampire Phantasm “Orlock” fan fiction contest.
Characters © Sarah N.
Story by N.E.Z.

A blood curdling shriek echoed within the stone walls of the palace. Anyone within ear shot cringed at the inhuman sound filled with agenizing pain beyond any description fathomable. It left an eerie ring in the still air after it faded away in the dark halls, only to rip at it with another desperate scream tearing at the very particles.

Dark forms gathered in the shadows, scurrying towards the sound. Their eyes rolling in all directions as they cackled with delight at the begging screams, mocking the pain and terror as if it were a melodious song to them.

He was at it again, they knew. And soon they would feed on the remains of his poor, suffering and dying puppet. They have been expecting him to do so for several months, and at last their wait will finally be reworded with the prize they’ve been quite eager to receive for their loyalty.

“Get up!” Orlock growled at the little retch, lying crumbled and broken in a heap “I said, get up!”

A small whimper was all that came from the teenage boy who tried to cower away with his broken limbs, one bleeding bright blue eye staring unblinkingly up at him while the other gaped as an empty socket.

Orlock stared back at that one blue eye, seeing the once perfect daylight’s hue now cracked and veined with blood. Those marvelous eyes had once shown him promise when he first looked into them, but now he could only see the lies they bleed so openly.

This retched little child was of no importance to him as any of the others were, now. He had such hopes for this one. Such plans to lay for its future. But alas, it was but another failure like all the others before it, just a wasted pile of flesh and blood begging for his undeserved mercy.

Orlock’s mouth was twisted in a displeased snarl as he watched the suffering boy with burning crimson eyes. He saw the blood he had splattered on the walls and floor. Blood he had given the poor retch. The boy’s blood. His blood. Blood that was now a total waste as it bled in tiny rivers down the walls and collected into pools on the floor before it will dry into a rusty brown crust.

Such valuable time wasted. Such potential destroyed. There could have been so much to teach and even more to learn if the boy could have been strong enough.

Orlock’s hands clawed at the air at waist level. His long glass-like nails clicked against each other softly. He stepped closer to the broken body, the step of his boots lightly splashing the pools of blood. The boy let out another whimper as he struggled to crawl away with the stump of his shoulder.

Orlock leaned down to the boy gripping the broken jaw in his hand, his nails digging into the already torn flesh of the boy’s cheeks, the one eye shifting in terror at him. The boy let out a painful gasp as Orlock squeezed his long fingers into the place between the upper and lower jaws, causing the mouth to open where two fangs could now be seen.

Such a tragic waste.

“You had such potential, my son. But now you are nothing more then a useless animated corps.” He shoved boy’s face away, throwing the body into the wall for the umpteenth time. A painful shriek protruded from the mangled throat for one last time before the skull cracked in two from the collision.

“Fare well, child.” said Orlock leaving the bloodied chamber as shadowy creatures charged in for the body.

Wind whistled through the windows, caressing the transparent curtains into a dance before settling gently back in place, only to repeat the graceful dance when the wind blew once more.

Orlock stared unblinkingly at those curtains, his back against the opposite wall. One arm was across his chest to support the elbow of his other arm, allowing his free hand to twirl a lock of his long silken white hair between his fingers in an absentminded manor. Were it not for that one hand, he would have been as absolutely still as the wall he leaned on, not even his chest gave any sign that he was even breathing.

A night bird flew onto the windowsill. Hopping a few times as it sang its nightly melody. Orlock’s eyes shifted ever so slightly from the fluttering curtains to the small intruding creature.

Such a tiny little thing it was. Without a care in the world as it sang so innocently. Filled with such life as any other creature, not bothered by anything that happened in the world around it where many lived and others died.

Orlock freed his fingers from the loop of hair and flicked his hand towards the singing night bird. It let out a terrified squeak as it was lifted into the air struggling as if a hand were strangling it in a tight grip. Orlock closed his hand slowly into a fist. His long fingers folding in like the legs of a spider. The poor bird struggled and squawked as the pressure of the air around it became suffocated.

Orlock felt a pleasurable chill run through him as he heard its final cry and the tiny bones crack in the small fragile body. He stared at the dead eyes of the bird before letting it drop to the windowsill where it bounced to the floor. Several feathers hovered to the ground beside it. No more will it sing its song of the night.

Orlock paid no attention to the shadowed creature that snatched the dead bird out of sight. He shifted his eyes back to the dancing curtains crossing his arm over the other. His expression gave no hint of his thoughts. A strong gust of wind blew strands of his long hair in a flurry of silvery threads across his face. He made no move to brush it away from his unblinking eyes.

It didn’t bother him for his hair to brush against his eyelashes or tickle his nose. Where others would blink and fuss, he did not. He did not feel the irritations that others felt at such simple things. He hadn’t the ability for such feelings.

Nothing bothered him.

He could not identify with the cold of a cube of ice or the heat of a candle flame. He did not feel pain from the pinprick of a needle or the stab of a knife. His mind could grasp the concept of these things, but his flesh did not apprehend them as something “touchable”.

Why did he not feel as others did? What was it that made them so fragile where he was unhindered? A cut on his arm did not produce from him the reactions he had received from others. It fascinated him how each individual reacted differently to the same cut. Those who screamed, those who cried, those who bit into their lips to hold their voice at bay, every reaction unique to its individual, all from the same little cut.

For eons he had experimented with several individuals. Studying the results of his actions, searching for the answers that so eluded him. He marveled at the emotions he felt when watching them struggle, at the chills that ran through his body from the sounds they created for him. Their abilities to feel were his pleasure. He had come to love certain reactions and has mastered his methods in getting them. The sensations they made him feel within were always intoxicating, perhaps even more so then the drinking of blood.

A small pleasurable shiver ran up his spine bringing a slight smile to his pale lips as he roamed in those thoughts. But the slight smile turned into a deep dark frown. Though the thought of his experimenting was quite thrilling, he was not in the mood. He hadn’t even enjoyed the slaughtering of his latest failed fledgling.

Orlock’s eyes narrowed until they were slits, the crimson hue of his pupils giving a bright angry glow.

He was so close, so very, very close. He just needed the right individual, the right person, the right soul. But where to find it was the question,

where to find it indeed.

Nothing.

He felt nothing of what he wanted from these miserable, useless puppets. Where were the sensations? The chills? The shivers of delight? He felt nothing of those which he desired.

Not a single scream or face of torment had given him what he wanted. All of it was wrong..

Orlock now grimaced at the dead bodies that littered the chamber. His so called “play room”. Blood was dripping from the surface of every item of furniture; it slicked the walls in a crimson coat drawn out in intricate designs. Gore was scattered across the ground and hung wetly from some of the table tops they landed on after taking flight. All of his puppets lay dead in the middle of all this, their bodies broken, mangled and torn until they looked no longer human. It should have been exciting, it should have been satisfying, and instead it was just…….. Boring.

“This will not do.” He growled angrily. He kicked the corps of a beheaded woman out of his way to leave the chamber “None of this will do. It’s about time I searched for new dolls to replace these old raged ones.”

It had been ages since he left the castle. Orlock now looked over a small town from the top of a hill. Its redbrick houses dark and quiet as the people within slept soundly. A lone cart, lead by a man and his mule, was headed toward the other end of the town where the stables were kept. A night watchman patrolled the dirt streets whistling a merry tune while a lamp lighter tended to the street lamps for the night.

It all looked too peaceful for his piece of mind, but nothing a little chaos wouldn’t fix.

Orlock pondered the choices he had, the excitement building up in him so fiercely that he bit on his finger nail in anticipation. The sound of a crying infant broke through his thoughts. His eyes widened at the intruding sound. Such a powerful cry it was, oh, such a beautiful lively cry. He had the desire to find the source of that strong little voice. His eyes and ears focused on the direction it was coming from. Not from the town, no, out of it by a ways, a house to the east, all by itself.

All alone

Oh what a perfect little gift all wrapped with a blood red ribbon, he thought.

He followed the luscious sound of the baby’s insistent crying. The sensation pulled him toward the house like the scent of a very wanted pray. His eyes focused on every tiny detail of the house as he came slowly closer.

Then it was gone. The baby’s cries died out and stopped. No, why did it stop? How could such a soulful sound simply cease just like that? He was so puzzled that he hadn’t noticed the trash can and bumped right into it. The lid fell off and clattered loudly followed by the can itself that banged like an iron drum, dumping its contents.

His eyes snapped to the porch light that suddenly turned on. He could see the silhouette of the person through the class panels of the door. Orlock went to the side of the house with vampiric haste, getting out of sight just as the door opened.

“Hello?” said a male voice “is someone out there?”

Orlock watched as the young man walked out into the yard, discovering the toppled can “damned raccoons.” He heard the man curse as he righted the can and gathered the mess.

Orlock turned from the man’s back to see the front door open. How typical of these humans, fussing over trash while leaving their front doors wide open for anyone to just waltz right in unnoticed. It’s a wander they survive in this world as they do, but Orlock had no complaints, he crept through the door taking advantage of the invitation.

The house was quaint. Comfortable wooden furniture set just so, white cloths decorating the tops of small tables and stands, framed pictures hung on the walls, a vase of flowers set before a mirror greeted all who entered. He caught the lingering scent of the evening’s cooking from the kitchen. He saw a flickering light from a doorway down the hall, indicating that there was a television on.

A soft music drew his attention; it was so low that he might have missed it. But that low sound was all he needed to know where to find what he was looking for. He walked towards its location without so much as a sound. He passed the doorway with the flickering light, not bothering to look in. He went through the door at the end of the hall, where the music was coming from, to find himself in a nursery.

A pink room filled with stuffed toys, a closet and table against the wall to his left and a playpen under the window to his right. At the far wall right in front of him was the crib with a rocking chair right beside it. He saw the mobile hanging over the crib, its arms turning into a merry-go-round with the small cotton ball sheep while the music box play “Bah-bah Black Sheep, Have you any Wool?”

Orlock felt thrilled to see the crib. His tongue flicked out as if to taste the air like a hunting reptile. His hands lifted in anticipation of holding the infant as he walked towards the crib. Looking over the bars he saw the sleeping baby girl that had drawn his attention with her powerful cry. Such a tiny little thing she was, so small and delicate. Her head was just beginning to grow the light fuzz that no doubt would grow into lushes long curls as she grew.

He reached over to stroke that little bit of fuzz, his long fingers hovering over the baby in a slow gentle caress. She whimpered in her sleep turning her head to the other side, a small hand escaping from under the light purple blanket. He measured his own hand in comparison to hers. So small and tiny…..

He gathered the baby girl in her blanket, lifting her out of her safe haven of bars. She whimpered and fidgeted as he held her in his arms. Her large moist eyes opened to look up at him, large innocent eyes that only babies had. She looked absolutely adorable.

The sound of the front door being shut echoed throughout the house. The sound startled the girl, and her mouth worked into a frown the way babies do when they are about to cry. Yes, little one; let me here your strong cry again. His eyes glowed with excitement. Go on, cry out with that little voice of yours, go on. As if to answer his unspoken request, she started bawling with all her little soul.

The thrill was indescribable, her cries made his cold heart race as if every breath she cried pulled at its strings. His hands slightly shook, wanting to crush the tiny miraculous child he held, he wanted to see what she would do were he to add presser to her tiny ribcage as he had done to the night bird. Would she struggle? Would she cry out in a different tune? So many possibilities, no many wonderful things he could do to this fragile, musical, little creature that might add to his much missed sensations, if only he could choose just one. Decisions, decisions, decisions….

A horrified scream dragged him out of his thoughts is a rush. This was new. He had heard many screams, but not like this one, the horror, the fright, the tone, it was all too new to him. And he had done nothing for such a scream. Or had he?

“Emily? What’s wrong?” said the male voice urgently “what’s…?”

Oh the emotions that burned outward from these two. It was so different then the ones he got from his puppets back at the castle. It was fresh, it was new, and it was what he was looking for this night.

“Who? How? ...… what the hell are you doing to that baby?” screeched the male’s voice from behind.

Such anger, such powerful emotions….. and all for this darling little baby girl?

“You let that baby go and get the hell outta my house or I’ll fucking KILL YOU!!!!”

A threat made by a human against a vampire? This was just unheard of, who is this boy who dares to commit such a stunt?

“Hey! I’m talking to you, you basta-…. Uh!”

Orlock had turned his head to peer at the young man who would threaten to kill him, his glowing crimson eyes stunning both him and his frightened young wife into silence. The young woman was quite a sight, he had to admit, but nothing compared to her husband, he was absolutely…… perfect. He was the one he was searching for, the one destined to be his most prized, yes, he was perfect….

The fire that glowed from his soul was so bright; Orlock could almost swear he was feeling its heat. He probed the youth’s mind to see into the thoughts that hid behind those angry eyes: not Julia, oh God please, not my baby. Please let her go you damned thing. Let my daughter go and just leave us be.

Such passion over his daughter, he could see the same in the woman’s eyes, such gorgeous eyes, pleading for the release of their bowling bundle of joy. And such terror filled those eyes, all for another. It was she who screamed, she who filled him with such ecstatic shivers. And he hadn’t even touched her. He wandered, if the sound of the crying made her scream so, would she react to something else done to the child?

He bit his nail, decisions, decisions…..

Finally, he brought the long, sharp nail down, aiming for the child’s tiny tender throat.

“NOOOOO!!!!” screamed the woman as he penetrated the soft flesh, slitting it across, cutting the crying to a halt.

Yes!!! Dropping the dead baby’s corps he lunged into the hysterical woman, throwing all his weight and more as he threw her out of the nursery door and into the room with the blinking television.

“EMILY!!!!”

The screen shattered with the force of the collision. She lay limp on the ground before him amid the shattered glass, her lovely face twisted in sheer agony, making her look all the more lovelier. He caught the foot that dared try to kick him from behind and shoved the young man away into the opposite wall. A pleasant crunch indicated that he had broken one of his bones in the throw, how delightful.

“Emily, run!”

“J-Jack….” She spluttered over a bleeding tongue reaching for him.

Now, now my lovely little pet, you shouldn’t play with my new things without permission, we should do something about those lovely little arms of yours, he thought with crazed ecstasy. He grabbed her reaching arm and tore it clean out of its socket as if she were nothing more then a rag doll. He caught the horrified look on her husband’s face as he tore into the rest of her feminine body. Ripping her apart like so many pieces of paper. He tore her soft amber hair out by the roots then dug her eyeballs out of their sockets. Such beautiful feminine eyes, no doubt the reason this youth had married her.

Orlock flicked the bloody eye towards the youth who had turned to the wall away from his shredded wife. It landed with a wonderfully sick plop right where he could see it.

“This can’t be happening, it just can’t!”

“Oh, but it can. And it has my fiery little treasure.”

“Get away from me!” he screeched backing away as Orlock approached him “get the fuck away from me!”

Orlock casually caught the flying fist as if it were a baseball thrown at him in a game. Such force, such fire, such will. Yes, you are most definitely the one that eluded me in the past. You are going to be the perfect child of my blood. oh, how long have I searched for you?

With dead speed, Orlock had him to the ground and his fangs in his throat, tasting the sweet flow of blood run over his probing tongue and down his throat in a luscious stream. He looked into his thoughts as he drank from the living fount. Living his entire human life as it passed before them. Every memory was now his own.

The youth’s name echoed in Orlock’s head as he drank, as he probed, as he learned, as he planned…..

You are my child now, Jack. Now and forever…..