vampire - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
It is even said that they can find no rest in the grave, but return to their former haunts long after they are believed to be dead. Those whom they visit, however, pine away for no apparent reason. The physicians shake their wise heads and speak of consumption. But sometimes, ancient chronicles assure us, the people's suspicions were aroused, and under the leadership of a good priest they went in solemn procession to the graves of the persons suspected. And on opening the tombs it was found that their coffins had rotted away and the flowers in their hair were black. But their bodies were white and whole; through no empty sockets crept the vermin, and their sucking lips were still moist with a little blood.
Smell had taken over as Damien's primary sense. He no longer cared what people looked like, it was their aroma that counted. From across the street he could detect the sugar levels of a person's blood and the subtle flavour hues unknown to science and the medical minds. An uncontrolled diabetic was like walking candy, he could tell them how "sweet" they were as he led them to the closest place he could dine undisturbed. In his human life he had been handsome, the kind of face that appears in men's health magazines alongside protein shakes or aftershave. But back when his blood was warm there were no such things and in many ways his mind was stuck in a time-warp. He always called his victims "my lady" and walked on their right side to keep his sword arm free. His manners were charming despite being both archaic and redundant. Yet each time he bowed a little and raised his trilby hat, the girls followed him like catnip.
The vampire looked so bored. He raised his heavy lids and stared at me through pink eyes. With the paper-white hand that rested on the damp bench, he flicked off some debris from the yew tree above. He glanced at the newly cleaned spot, then patted it. This was the stuff of my childhood nightmares but my heart still pounded it's usual rhythm, apparently I wasn't scared. Sitting next to him his aroma was heady, it wasn't like raw meat or festering flesh, but instead it was like a summer garden, as if he lay in a bed of petals each night. In his hand was a piece of paper, neatly folded, with writing that was like the script on old scrolls. His hand jabbed the parchment in my direction. With untrembling hands I took it and almost laughed at what it said. It was a shopping list. Apparently my vamp had a sweet tooth. Then he took out a syringe and gently inserted it into my vein, drawing out a few cc's. He gargled it and let some dribble down his waxy chin. "For appearances," he muttered...
I soon leant that day that the limitations of vampires were fables put about by their own kind. They were no more afraid of garlic and crucifixes than cupcakes with extra frosting. They were particularly proud of the wooden stake rumour since they made awfully good kindling for the fires. Drinking blood was all so last century, there was nothing better for them than a freshly roasted human youth. Their favourite book is Twilight, not for for the content but for the effect it had on teenage girls. They all wanted a romance with a vampire, and what vampire would say no? It was all they could do to prevent themselves from salivating as they walked them to the graveyard.
There was no-one in the park but an old gent who appeared to be reading a newspaper. Amy paused at the gate, the greenery was already charcoal and two dimensional and the grey path was melting into the night. She shivered. It sure was cold; now that jacket her mother had tried to force on her didn't seem like such a bad idea. Across the park cut ten minutes off her trip home, more if she ran. But that man, just sitting there, how does he even see the print? She resolved to walk quickly, the cheap black runners she'd bought for waitressing moved quietly over the tarmac until she stepped on a twig or dried leaf left over from fall. She didn't want to stare but her eyes repeatedly flicked to the man, so still, so decrepit. Once she was closer his attire was discernible from the darkening gloom. It was theatrical but shabby, a cloak like a magician with a flash of red silk beneath the collar. As she approached, she locked her gaze dead ahead, but once she reached his bench he was gone.
He was nothing like the story-book vampires: pale with overgrown canines and a dislike of garlic. He was like a regular guy, almost. His skin was a little on the waxy side and he wore shades in the daylight, which didn't bother him at all. Come summer time he just shared my blocker. His sense of humour was dark though, no room for sentimentality, and he was the only person I knew who never got offended over anything. I guess after a few centuries he'd seen it all, heard it all, done it all. He made no pretence that he'd never killed, apparently the wars were a banquet for his kin, all-you-can-eat. When I looked horrified he just laughed and said it wasn't like he actually killed them, just made sure the blood didn't go to waste. These days he's most partial to pig and cow blood, but his job as a hospital porter gets him a few human pints to savour. Mostly he appears in old jeans and a leather jacket, black hair combed back like he's Elvis.
The only announcement of his arrival was a slight drop in the air temperature and the descent of absolute silence. Without turning Leanne knew he was there, pale in the shadows of the cemetery. His voice came, high pitched and cold, "Where are they?" She wanted to spin on the spot before he could vanish, to take in his face once more so that she could paint a portrait of it for her wall. Instead she nodded, feeling a frisson of glee, she was closer to eternal life.
"They are meeting me here in five minutes, a group of three, all young as you asked." Unexpectedly his finger alighted on her exposed neck, cold as a cadaver. He ran it from behind her ear to the edge of her low-cut t-shirt, and audibly sniffed like a wine connoisseur taking in a fine vintage. Then he withdrew, instructing her to do the same tomorrow, to keep coming even if she could bring no more "friends."
When he awoke his limbs were as stiff and cold as a corpse. He raised his hand to his neck and it came away bloody. As he struggled to recollect how he got into this dank basement, or whatever it was, he ran his tongue over his teeth. He stopped at his incisors and to make sure felt with his fingers. They were long and sharp. He rose to his feet and stumbled to a cracked mirror on the wall. He put is face close to the glass to get a good look but instead saw the empty room behind him. Was he a ghost? He looked back to see if his body was still on the ground but it was not. He patted his body, definitely solid. He was aware that he should be terrified by now but his heart was even and his mind nonplussed. He realized now that he was in some dim crypt and made for the exit. It was morning. As soon as the sunlight hit his skin he felt it bubble and smelt the aroma of burnt flesh. There was no pain but he retreated none-the-less. Then it hit him. He was a vampire.
As If from the shadows, the automatic door of the hospital opened and a tall figure emerged. When I could see him better, I held in a gasp. For one thing, he was really tall. His pale skin sparkled in the moonlight, his dark eyes matching the night sky above perfectly. He was wearing normal clothes, wich amazed me. As he walked towards a ferrari in the corner, my heart raced. He looked as if he was gliding.
As if out of the shadows, a tall figure emerged. His skin was paler than the moon and his facial features flawless. He walks over to me, his feet barely touching the ground. "Need a ride?" His voice was smoother than butter and made my heart stop momentarily. Who was this beautiful person"
"Umm, yeah." I say slowly and walk towards him carefully. "What's your name?" I ask as we start walking away from the hospital.
"That's very cute." I say after a moment of silence.