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The Grim Reverend Steven Rage

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Drifter
By The Grim Reverend Steven Rage
Thursday, September 11, 2008

Rated "R" by the Author.

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1850 anno Domini....an excerpt from "PILATE: A Brutal Bible Tale" new Hardcore Horror from Steven Rage

 

The darkness was deep and complete.  Only the vampire could see through it.  Huge contained fires kept the California winter at bay for the miners of the Great Gold Rush.
<br>The vampire peered out over the expanse of miner’s tents, saloons and brothels.  They were stretched out before him like giant game board tiles.  His teeth lengthened and sharpened.  Yellow eyes missed nothing.  Talons split fingertips.  He was ready for more blood.
<br>He had been feeding on miners and whores for weeks, been feeding well.
<br>It was two in the morning.  The rough drunkenness was winding down.  The vampire wanted to feed one more time before ending the night.  He was thinking possibly his time here.  The vampire had a sensation of personal danger, couldn’t shake it.
<br>The vampire came to the main thoroughfare.  He rested beside a water trough, free of horses, and listened to the night.  All sounds he could place.  He rose to move, caught sight of the wooden church.  When completed, it will be by far the most impressive building around.  The vampire looked skyward.  He saw the peak of the steeple, where a cross silhouetted itself against the moon-brightened night sky.  His hands began to burn.  He dunked them quick in the water trough, dried them on his coarse broadcloth pants.  The sensation departed and he was still hungry.
<br>The vampire moved out, staying contained in the shadows.  He darted furtively from dark spot to dark spot.  He never let mortals see even a hint of him. 
<br>The brothel was arrived at.  He paused beside the rare clapboard structure.  High false-front dwarfed the tents and lean-tos, surrounded it on all sides.
<br>The vampire, using exposed talons, fluently scaled the walls.  The top floor, whores plied their trade.  He entered a window in a low, lamp-lit room.  A miner gustily getting his dollar’s worth.  The vampire considered the two, both dismissed.  They’re not on the menu this evening.  It is too disruptive to attack more than one for food.
<br>The vampire darted toward the door, opened it and closed it behind him.  So silent was he, the miner’s plunging ass missed not a bob.  The pair remained oblivious to the predator.
<br>In the hallway, no one in sight, vampire sniffed the air.  Sorting through sweat, dirt, stale tobacco and soured secretions to detect presence of oxygenated blood.
<br>The heady scent curled its finger at the vampire.  He followed it down a narrow corridor to a closed door.  He tested the handle of the scarred wooden door.  It rotated freely.  He pushed it open, went inside.  A woman on the bed and she was nude.  Her restrained wrists, ankles chained to metal eyelets screwed into wall and floorboards.  Her legs were spread wide.  Her menstruation leaked from her bushy vagina.
<br>The whore was semi-conscious from opium smoke that still lingered in the room.  The vampire was on her in an instant.  Her muffled protest was weak.  He punctured her carotid artery for a fast drain.  The bright pressurized blood’s a powerful tsunami as he chugged it down his throat. 
<br>A random thought occurred to the vampire as he swallowed gulp after gulp: as good as the blood was; it did not have the oxygen content he had smelled down the hall.  Not even with her mense, which was rich gravy to him, luscious and tasty, but devoid of nutritional content.
<br>The muffled moan coming from the whore didn’t sound right either and why was she tied up?
<br>The vampire removed his bite from her neck and pulled down on the whore’s chin.  He saw wadded up cloth in her mouth.  Shoved far down her throat, in case she needed to scream.
<br>The next instant, a closet door burst open, a human in miner’s garb and sheriff’s badge came out shooting.
<br>Both barrels of the shotgun cried out.  The blast hit the vampire full in the chest.  It knocked him off his feet and through the air.  Instinct and lust for survival had the vampire off his back and crouched.  His right hand was flat on the floor in front of him, a cat ready to spring.
<br>Sheriff broke open the shotgun, fervently thumbed in more shells.  He brought the shotgun together with a snap.  The vampire pushed from balls of feet and flat of hand.  He shot straight up, breaking through water-stained ceiling as the second pair of shots fired.  The sheriff gazed through hole in ceiling the vampire made.  Great drops of cool blood fell from the ragged hole.  Blood hissed when drops pasted the hot barrel of the smoking shotgun.
<br>The sheriff could hear footsteps on the rooftop.  He glanced at the dead whore, a convicted murderess and unwilling accomplice.  What she stared at, no one else could see.
<br>The vampire crouched on the roof of the brothel.  Sheltered by the false front, he tried to hold himself together.  A great deal of his precious blood had been lost and his strength with it.  He needed to find a dark hole to crawl into so he could hide and heal.
<br>He glanced around, realized immediately he was worse off than he thought.  There were more miners waiting for him.  It was to be an ambush, plain and simple.  The vampire heard rifles being made ready to fire.  All weapons were pointing at him.  The miners had smiles painted on their rough-hewn faces.
<br>A moment of silence…
<br>More than twenty bullets slammed the vampire against coarse planking of the false front.  He began to breathe truly hard as more blood and the oxygen it carried gushed forth.
<br>The moonlight glinted off the head of an axe.  It swooped through the cold, still air and buried itself in the planking behind the vampire.  It separated head from body.
<br>The vampire had just enough time to see his decapitated body.  Right before the life winked out of him.
<br>

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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