Silence. Whispers. Echoes in his head.
An abandoned kindergarten at Dalston Junction. All Hallows Eve. How apt.
Frederick, former teacher, now turned vampire hunter,
snapped the rusted chain with his bolt cutters and the gate screeched open.
Had to find her. Had to stop the menace, the cat-calling, for her mother’s sake, at least.
And there she was, small, shy, sly and bitten by evil itself.
Her gaunt, hollow cheeks sucked in at the sight of him
and her marbled veins pulsed with hunger. She smiled,
revealing a neat row of pointed teeth.
Unblinking eyes looked him up and down with dispassion.
Her puff-sleeved pinafore and high heeled boots belied her tender years,
but not the speed with which she shot out to meet Frederick,
leaving a trail of vapour in her wake.
Her touch was stone cold and froze his skin on point of contact,
‘till he screamed like he was set on fire.
With a gentle touch she leaned in to rest her teeth on his neck.
Her breath was like polo mints with a hint of ginger and a sub-layer of decay.
She buzzed like a humming bird; did she have wings now?
Or was that the venom taking effect on his consciousness?
Lulled to a sinking sleep, he slipped into her arms and fell,
drowning in her steely embrace.