Chapter 3: Hide and Seek

The vampire did not rush. He never rushed. He liked to let his prey think it had a chance. It amused him to dangle the hope of freedom in front of them only to watch their hopes crumble as that same hope was snatched away. It was all apart of the game. Without the game the hunt would be no fun at all.

Merick often wondered why mortals clung onto such silly ideals as long life. Why would anyone want to live to be old? Nothing but pain and loss of dignity awaited those that held on until the end. Their priests told them eternity and a better life awaited those who remained pure in this world, and they foolishly believed without as much as a stitch of proof. Merick was walking proof that one need not waste ones life whispering dull prayers. Eternity was just a kiss away and though there was a price—as there always is in these cases—it was not near as heavy as the dark clothed brethren claimed it to be.

Reaching out with his senses, Merick made his way through the trees. His pets had caught up with the girl. They would make a meal of her, slight though she may be. The woman wasn’t with her. His brow wrinkled in confusion and he paused long enough to listen to the sounds of the creatures of the forest. An Owl hooted. A small four footed creature, a fox perhaps, chased something smaller through the brush. Insects buzzed. All these sounds were muffled by the gurgling waters of the brook.

His eyes scanned the bank on the other side. Did the girl believe the old superstitions? If she was indeed brought up by the Rom as she said, then she wouldn’t be that stupid. The mother perhaps, but not the child. The water was too cold and too shallow. Where else was there to hide? Merick made himself still, as still as a lifeless statue and listened.

A rustling of leaves, a muffled whimper, and a frightful beating heart put a smile on his lips.

“Clever little fox,” he whispered, regretting his hasty decision to give the girl to his pets. The child had thought of this, he was sure. It would have been amusing to keep her until she was ripe for plucking. He had never kept any of his trophies in the tower longer than a fortnight, not alive.

Barely audible over the babbling waters of the brook were the sounds of an awkward body rustling damp leaves as it tried to get into a more comfortable position, trying not to breathe too loud. Trying not to be found.

But I always find them in the end, he thought. And turning his attention to a wriggling mound of leaves, he smiled.