In Search of Vampyre


The girl walks up towards the bridge, still worried that she will be spotted. The fog rolls heavy off the Thames, thick and dark as it swirls around her boots.

For weeks she has waited, has dreamed of a night just like this, just like the stories describe. When darkness falls and the air is still and damp, they come from their graves to roam.

Her hands tremble around a small vial of blood. Her fingertip still aches from where she pricked it this afternoon.

She stops at the center of the bridge. Her breath comes out in puffs as she pries open the vial’s cork stopper. The squeak echoes in the empty silence, mingling with the sputter of gas lamps and the endless slosh of water below.

She waits.

Soon the fog stirs. A ripple rolls through the heavy mist, parting the stillness. Shadows deepen as the fog drifts upwards, and then she sees it.

A figure shuffles forward, dressed in rags. Bloodshot eyes find her startled gaze, and its lips twist into a cracked grimace.

With shaking, reluctant hands she forces out the vial of blood.

The figure regards her offering fleetingly, but then sweeps its eyes over the wool coat she wears, the furs tucked around her neck. Its eyes grow wider with want and it inches forward. Then it lunges, gnarled hands grasping. The girl recoils, but her boots squeal and flip on the ice beneath her. When she hits the ground, hands wrap around her throat.

Bony fingers grip at the furs and pull harder, harder until her breath cuts off and she begins to see spots. She flails, but the ice gives no purchase and the grip on her tightens. Her vision grows dark.

With a crunch and a squeal, the fingers suddenly release her. She hears the scramble of worn boots on the ground, and she turns to see the figure dashing away, clutching her furs.

A hand reaches down to touch her elbow, and she jerks up in surprise. A young man stands beside her, shockingly pale. He helps her up and she brushes off her coat.

"Thank you." Her voice is hoarse, “Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

The boy’s eyes flick to her stinging, exposed throat. His expression grows tight, and his eyes darken. Suddenly, the girl recognizes this hunger.

She jerks out the vial still clutched in her hand, holding it up to the boy’s face. There is still blood left at the bottom, warmed from her vice grip.

His gaze jerks back up to the vial, and composure returns.

With quick, slender fingers he takes the vial. His head tilts back and he downs it with a satisfying gulp.

The boy places the empty vial back into her hand, a flit of a smile on his face. Perhaps he is amused by her shock.

He turns to leave, “Better hurry home,” He murmurs, an instant before the fog swallows him, "I’m not the only monster out tonight."


Words: 502   Noun: spots   Verb: dream




Kathleen Cochran is a creative writer with an angle on adventure, fantasy and character building. Having written several stories featuring a wide range of styles, she is versatile and uses a written voice all her own. When not writing epics Kathleen likes to kick back and do some gaming, watch goofy movies and eat her own weight of her favorite food – mashed potatoes! If you would like to reach out to Kathleen, send an email her way. She can be reached through lierre.noir [at] gmail.com

Image credit: Wyldmoonstock

2 comments:

  1. This story really sets a good horror mood! Love me some vampires (or vampyres)!

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  2. It's fun to see the monster side of the vampyre. I'm also loving the present tense! You don't see that too often, but I love the effect it has. Thanks so much for guest posting on our blog!

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