SHORT STORY: THE LAST

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Gideon sat huddled within the silent shadows of an old world long forgotten by those whom he hunted. A lifeless body lay before him; only a trace of the horror he had felt moments before remained upon his face. The irony of the situation caused Gideon to laugh out loud. For, this young man had thought he would be the attacker, and Gideon the victim. He had followed Gideon ever since he had left the night club until they had entered the alleyway in which Gideon now sat crouched, thinking back on his most recent kill. The young man had pulled out a knife and imagined that it would be sufficient to silence him. Gideon, however, had known of his presence ever since he had left the club. Admittedly, Gideon did not necessarily appreciate his need for living blood; he did still find a certain amount of enjoyment out of the thrill of the fight.

Gideon easily disarmed his would-be attacker, breaking and ripping off the man’s arm that held the knife. He then drained him of his blood through the neck. Gideon knew that he had been unnecessarily noisy and that he had allowed his victim to make far to many screams before silencing him.

A footstep sounded in the alleyway. Gideon pulled the shadows around him and was enveloped by the darkness, becoming a part of the indistinct shadows between the walls and piles of garbage that littered the street.

An officer of the police came into view, and Gideon smiled. The policeman quickly found what he was looking for and bent down over the broken body still lying crumpled on the filthy ground; his arm was some feet away where it had been cast aside after its untimely removal. The officer checked the neck methodically and then the hole where the mans right arm had been. He did not call for backup, or, in fact, even to mention that he was investigating anything at all. Again, from the dim space in which Gideon was hiding, he smiled. He didn’t want anyone else to have to pay for his curse than had to. He stepped out of the shadow and towards the officer.

“Twenty-five years he lived.” Gideon said to no one in particular, making the policeman jump back. “And every one of them, every . . . last . . . one, he wasted. A vagrant and a thief, he fought his way through life when there was nothing even to be fought.”

The officer stood his ground, his pistol out of its holster and pointed at where he thought there was a heart. Gideon paid no attention to this and continued.

“But you don’t care, do you? You only care about what I am, what I’ve done. It doesn’t matter to you whether or not they were a good person or a bad one. All you care about is me, and bringing me, as you call it, to justice.”

The officer pulled out a wooden cross and held it at arms length. Gideon merely laughed.

“So many misconceptions. So many lies.”

The officer then made an attempt to order Gideon to the ground, which was ignored. When Gideon, it seemed, refused to listen after several more attempts and began to advance, the officer fired. Gideon felt the bullet rip through his chest; tearing flesh as it went and finally stopping near the back of his ribcage. He looked down at the hole in his shirt, staggering back slightly from the force of the shot. The skin burned where he had been hit and he had the sensation of having a cattle prod imbedded deeply into his chest. As the pain intensified, he felt the bullet begin to move. It was pushed back and out the way it had come until it finally fell to the ground with a slight clink. The hole immediately closed, and the only sign that it had ever existed was the slight bit of burnt cloth still clinging to his skin. This had all taken place in the space of a few seconds, from the shot being fired into Gideon, to it being expelled.

“You have troubled me far too long,” Gideon said, “And I am done being patient. You will never understand, truly understand, who and what I am, and what I’ve suffered.” Gideon looked up from his chest and back to the officer.

The officer continued to fire on Gideon as he advanced quickly upon him. Nearly half of the clip was emptied into his chest before Gideon reached the policeman. With the gun’s barrel now pressed to his stomach, Gideon stared reprovingly at his attacker

“You know,” Gideon said sadly, “I’m sure that you are a very nice person. I’m sure that you’re a loving husband and a great father to your children. But you, who have never known me or anything about me, are so willing and quick, to try and kill me.” Gideon almost felt pity for the man standing before him, “But that privilege was had by another man many years ago. Long before even you were born.” Gideon paused as he finished healing and the last few bullets fell from him. “And now,” He continued, “I am placed with the difficult choice of how to settle this.”

The officer, who had not fired the gun since Gideon had made contact with it, stared back with increasing wonder and fear.

“You see,” Gideon said, “Should I die and fall before you, there would not be anyone to miss me. Yet, if I were to cease your existence and spare myself, I would also be destroying that family which you have worked so long and hard to build. Though, to be fair, it must be said that if I were to allow you to live, you would continue to hunt me down until I was destroyed. And all of this simply because of what I have been made by another’s choice.”

Gideon had not stopped advancing, although he had slowed greatly, and had now only the length of the gun separating them. The officer, though terrified by what he had witnessed and by the proximity in which he had been placed in with Gideon, had heard every one of Gideon’s words and inexplicably knew that he was speaking truth.

“Please spare me!” He whispered softly while attempting to back away.

Gideon held him back, with just the slightest feeling of regret, and tore the flesh from off the mans neck; drinking deeply, feeling his body burn as new memories, new life, flooded into him. The empty shell of the man that was, fell to the ground with the remnant pieces of his vain shots. Gideon turned from the scene and stepped silently on, into the darkness that had long since fallen over all.

The next day, the report of the dead officer was the first issue on the evening news. As always, the family of his victim were the first people to be seen after the introduction of the story. It was always the same story. First they had the youngest child cry, and then they found the most successful child, then the wife.

At the end of each interview, they would each say the same phrase, “I just don’t see how anyone could do something this horrible.”

Finally, they would have a family group shot while the mother and one of the children wiped tears from their eyes. Gideon thought briefly upon the fact that he should be used to this by now.

Gideon had taken refuge from the day inside of an old hotel. He sat on the bed watching the evening report after awakening from the day’s sleep. He had taken money from the previous night’s victims, as he always did. He would only take enough to get him through the next day, leaving everything else. Following the report on the policeman, there was a piece on his other victim. Though, with this one, there were no shots of crying family members, or concerned friends. It seemed to be something thrown in to reinforce the death of the policeman. An otherwise useless bit of information that the news station had grudgingly been forced to use for filler space. There was no one to miss that man. Gideon left the hotel shortly after the report’s end. His thirst for blood beginning to grow, he began his search yet again for someone who would satisfy his curse.

It had been nearly seven hundred years since he had last seen the sun without fear. It had been the eve of his youngest son’s eighth birthday. He and his wife had been up in the barn with the new stallion they had bought that day for their son. Gideon sent his wife up to the house to check on the children while he stayed to finish feeding and settling the horse for the night. His wife had been gone for only a few minutes when he heard the house erupt with the screams of his family. Gideon ran up the sloping lawn, past the garden house and the kitchens to the back entrance. He followed the continued screams all the way to the second floor, where they ended abruptly. At the end of the corridor, the door to his youngest child’s room was hanging open. There were deep gouges on the door and the handle was hanging loosely from its fixture. Gideon entered the room slowly and looked around.

His daughter Celia was lying in her crib, pale and still, drenched in her own blood. His eldest son Michel sat hunched in the far corner of the room with a limp hand over his bloody neck. The last child, Aremus, the one whose birthday was so close at hand, had had his limbs ripped nearly off, only small pieces of skin and sinew held him together, and there were large rips in his chest and neck from which blood was flowing freely. And his wife, her arms limply holding her dying son to her bosom, was dead. A blank expression played upon her bloodstained face in a sort of mockery; her neck too had been ripped open and blood was slowly trickling down to the floor.

Aremus stared wildly around when he heard his father enter the room. Once he recognized him, he whispered, “Don’t let them come back, Daddy, don’t let them come back!” He had to fight to get these words out, and seemed to diminish before Gideon’s eyes.

“Shhh,” Gideon said, hurrying over to his broken child and supporting him as he began to fall out of his mothers cradle. “What was it, Aremus, what did this?” Gideon asked in a breathless voice.

“They came . . . they came so fast.” Aremus said weakly. “When Mommy came, they followed her. She saw them as she came to say good night. Michel heard her yell to us and went to see what was wrong.” He paused to rest. Gideon was amazed that Aremus had survived this long with his injuries. Aremus continued, “Mother, Michel and I ran into Celia’s room . . . it was closest. Mom closed the door and . . . and locked it as they came up the stairs. She was beginning to get us all to climb out the window . . . when they broke the door. After that, everything went too fast. I heard Celia scream . . . then Michel. I felt myself get picked up, and I first thought it was Mommy . . . but then I hurt all over and Mom began screaming over by the corner. After that, they were all gone. I don’t know where or how . . . but they were gone.”

Aremus’ body suddenly seized up. He looked up at his father with tears in his eyes, terrified, and went limp. Gideon screamed out in anguish and held his most beloved child tightly to himself.

“That’s what’s so funny about you humans.” A voice devoid of any emotion spoke from the dark closet.

Gideon jumped to his feet and turned to face whomever had spoken. A man not much older than Gideon had come out of the darkness and into the flickering candlelight. He was covered in the blood of Gideon’s family. He was very pale himself and had sleek black hair that was swept back over the top of his head. The mans clothes, though severely stained in blood, were elegant and flowing. Gideon knew what he was. There had been rumor in the town that there may be a vampire. Another family not far from Gideon’s home had been attacked only a few weeks ago, though, no bodies were found.

Gideon had, as a precaution, placed ash stakes throughout the house. He knew that one of them lay just a few feet away beside the cradle.

“I’ve always wondered,” The vampire continued, “Why you humans have lasted this long.” He was advancing, and Gideon was retreating toward the cradle. “But no matter, you still have your uses.”

The vampire had backed Gideon right up against the cradle. He, Gideon, had reached back for the stake, found it, and closed his fingers around it. Gideon had been, at first, terrified. Yet now, he had been filled with a fury even the vampire couldn’t comprehend. The vampire lunged so quickly that Gideon had barely any time to react at all. He brought the stake around and thrust it as hard as he could into the heart of the vampire, but not quite quickly enough. The vampire had already bitten him by the time he realized what had happened.

“Ahh!” coughed the vampire, staggering back and looking down at his chest. “What have you done to me?” The vampire had fallen to his knees, already beginning to waste away. Gideon had slumped against the wall and was barely able to keep his feet. “You’ll pay for this!” The vampire said, struggling back up and hitting into the dresser as he tried to maintain his balance. “I’ll make you pay for an eternity!” He bit his own wrist and thrust it into Gideon’s mouth. Too weak to fight back, he swallowed a mouthful of blood. “Enjoy,” The vampire said with vindictiveness beyond anything Gideon had ever yet experienced, “Your eternity.” With his last words spent, the vampire slumped to the floor and turned to dust.

Gideon had never been able to walk out into daylight since without being severely burned and weakened. He had found that out the next day when he awoke as the sun was beginning to set. He ran outside to get help, but when he did so, he felt as though he were on fire. Every inch of his body seemed to have become consumed by the flame. He retreated back inside the safety of his house, and dared not go back out until night had fully fallen. His descent into the world of shadow and darkness had begun. That night, out of sheer terror, he ran into town and began yelling for help. When he had awoken his neighbors and started telling them what had happened, many of them began to back away. Some of them were murmuring amongst themselves and others were simply staring in disbelief and fear. Although Gideon had told them nothing of his own encounter with the vampire, they all seemed to know, or at least to have had an idea of what had happened. It wasn’t until he saw some of them to begin pointing at his neck that he understood. He had the mark of a vampire bite still fresh upon him.

Up until then he hadn’t realized why he was so thirsty, or why he had been in so much pain after entering the sunlight. Gideon had been in a state of shock and hadn’t put the clues together. He now understood. He had been cursed, to live forever off the blood of those around him, to always be what he most hated. He was a vampire. The townsfolk had reacted as Gideon had, and attempted to kill him. Unfortunately, Gideons’ overwhelming thirst and Vampiric strength took control. Before Gideon could stop himself, he had fed off of most of his old friends, and even his own brother had fallen to him. Gideon finally regained control over himself in the midst of countless bodies; their blood dripping from his face.

Gideon ran from there, overcome with grief and shock at what he had become. For days he hid in his house with the bodies of his dead wife and children. Only when the building was set ablaze in midday did he leave. He threw himself passed the mob that had assembled and fled to the nearby woods. The burns on his body did not fade for several days, and would not fully heal until he had fed once more upon a grazing faun. The thirst would drive him mad unless he succumbed at least once a night. Otherwise, he would awaken to find he had slaughtered entire families, or in some rare cases, towns. He had no choice but to give in to what he had become.

“Do you know why people are so afraid of the dark?” Gideon asked while pulling his struggling victim in closer to him. “It’s because, at one point in time, they knew what was there, just beyond their range of vision waiting for them to close their eyes.”

Gideon closed his own eyes and smiled, ripping the young mans throat out and draining him of his life. This man had attempted to beat Gideon as he walked the streets that night. Gideon always made sure that his victims were those who would not be missed, who make society better by not being alive. That was Gideons’ reasoning at least. In reality it didn’t matter to him any more. He had no point in continuing except for his ongoing hunt for the last of his kind. Ever since Gideon had achieved a strong enough grasp on his powers, he had begun hunting his own kind, until there were just the two of them left.

This last vampire knew Gideon was coming for him.