My First Ghoul

I hate sleeping. Never had a problem with it as a human, of course. Sharing a coffin isn’t too great either, but my body doesn’t tire and get uncomfortable as it used to. For all intents and purposes this vessel is more akin to a slab of concrete than a bag of flesh.

This vampire resting shit can go to hell, though. No amount of bodily comfort matters when my soulless rest acts like some sick joke from God.

Fear of the cross? No, none of that.

Fear of a soulless existence? Perfect.

Honestly, if God made vampires this way, he did a hell of a job. People think that serial killers are messed up… well, do I have news for humans. God is the real freak, here.

A poorly masked laugh sounds from Mister as he watches me clean the blood from my lips. “I did not think you were God-fearing in your human life.”

“I wasn’t,” I say, baring my fangs in the reflection of the windows on the train carriage. “I don’t fear it, now, either.”

“That may be so, but you think He exists?” Mister’s dark brow arches.

He doesn’t usually show much attention or put effort into friendly conversation, but he can’t hide his interest from me, for a change. His inquisitiveness has me hopeful. I hate the way I crave his attention, like some poor child seeking affection from a neglectful parent. Ignoring my excitement, I slump my shoulders, slouch to the left slightly to put a crook in the spine, droop my eyelids, blink… blink… I have almost mastered human behaviour. Funnily enough, it takes some effort to get into the habit of something that was automatic to me in my old life.

“I don’t know if a God exists, honestly, but if it does I am not impressed,” I say bitterly. “If I want to go binge-drinking my way through an apartment building every time my body and soul rests… we are going to have a problem.”

My fingers deftly turn the unconscious woman’s neck as I inspect her wound. This is my best work: the holes aren’t ripped or tugged apart, only a drop of blood marks her blouse, and her curly, bouncy hair obscures the bite mark. I rest her head back against the glass window and she slumps, breathing deeply, like a passenger fast asleep after a hard and long day at work.

“You did not enjoy your lunch,” Mister remarks.

“When can I?” I snap. “Besides, I would hardly call it a meal. She was barely a snack.”

My master’s lips press into a thin, taut line. “You are insatiable after your rest.”

“Damn right, I am.”

“You know, Young Anthony, you remind me a lot of myself when I was a fresh vampire, only much better at your craft.”

My eyes dart towards him. I am eager for his approval, though I try so hard not to show it. He probably knows. The way his cheeks swell into a smile and his head dips into a nod says as much. He runs his long fingers through his sleek black hair, a movement so natural I could be convinced of his humanity, were it not for his black beady eyes drilling holes through me.

“Yes, you have outdone even I. Only a year old, and you leave very little trace after your feeds, you restrain even the worst impulses… It took me a long time to do the same. You have already tamed the animal inside of you,” Mister nods thoughtfully.

“The animal?”

“We are beasts. Thankfully, good behaviour can be trained, otherwise I am afraid we would have fallen extinct by now.”

“Beasts created by a God, you think?” I ask, pleased to be having a conversation with him after what feels like months of cold stares and judgy looks.

Mister glides off the train onto the abandoned outer-suburban platform. Two light posts throw spots of sickly white light over the pavement. My mentor casts a long, dark shadow as he walks beneath them.

“Yes, I believe we are creations of God.” He speaks quietly, lips hardly moving, but his words are clear and crisp. It is impossible for that man to mumble. “I do not think our design is a sick joke like you do, however. There is beauty and purpose in our being, of that I am sure. You have impressive control, but you are still a slave to your desires, as I once was. I have had many years to separate myself from my carnal needs, so that I can consider my existence as objectively as I can.”

“How many years?”

I have asked the question so many times I am starting to lose interest in the answer I never receive.

“After only a year as a vampire, I had nine ghouls under my control.”

We pause at the ramp of the train station. The concrete glows under the light of the full moon, reflecting the soft white light which then bounces off Mister alabaster cheekbones. In the distance, the tops of the city skyscrapers can be seen with red flashing lights at the spires.

“Nine? I didn’t pick you as a creature wanting company.”

“I was not as restrained nor as clever as you, Young Anthony,” he smiles, looking at me from the corner of his eyes as we stand in front of the house by the station entrance. “Company, but not companionship. I was a slave to pleasures. I would have my fill of blood and sex before I killed them eventually. My master would not let me keep them as pets for long. Instead, he encouraged me to turn over fresh stock regularly. I never got attached that way.”

“Do you think I will get attached?” I ask, feeling slightly nervous as I watch the lace curtains moving in the upstairs window.

“No.”

“What if… what if I do?” I am too worried to look him in the eye, dreading the power of his Persuasion.

“If you do, you will drink her until she dies.” There is certainty in his tone. “You won’t risk exposing us. Attachment or not, you will kill her eventually. You mentioned earlier you can never enjoy your lunch. With ghouls, you can. Beware: feeding on a willing subject is almost addictive. Their enthusiasm is a drug, it will intoxicate you.”

“You speak from experience, I s’pose?”

“I do,” he says wistfully. “I will not lie: I miss it. You have earned my trust, so I am confident you will always exercise caution. I give you this freedom, but do not abuse it. If I find you create a second ghoul, I will destroy them and Persuade you never to create another.”

I am too excited to feel annoyed by his obstinate threat. Without leaving even a whisper on the wind, Mister’s tall frame disappears from sight as he leaves me some privacy.

In the house before me, a soft light illuminates the upstairs bedroom, and the curtains are pulled back by a slender girl. Her eyes search the darkness a while before she spots my figure, and her full lips pull into a beaming smile. She beckons me up, but I don’t need an invitation anymore. Within an instant I am holding onto her window sill, patiently waiting for her to step back so I can move into the bedroom without causing too much noise.

She does so quickly, eagerly, happy to be of assistance. She yearns to please me, her body aches to make me happy. Mister tells me it is a perk of being the predator I am. This effect is part of our nature. She is different, though. With her, the enthusiasm to please is almost desperate.

As she looks at me, her heart hammers unevenly in her frail little body. I can’t quite tell if it is from fear or excitement, but her eyes give her away as they dart around nervously. She is scared of me. I make an effort to relax my shoulders and I release the pressure of my hard gaze from her. Pacing slowly around her room, I look at the university books piled on her desk, the scribbled notes she gave up on before the pen strokes spiral out into drawings, the half empty perfume bottles on her shelf. Their sweet scent does nothing to mask the smell of her blood.

“Oh, yes, folklore is my favourite class,” she says, waving at the textbooks. “Uh, we don’t talk about vampires, though. Um, we actually talk about the imagery behind black dogs, and myths and creatures and legends, like a yowie, and -”

“A yowie?”

My voice startles her, and I frown at her. My black eyes must seem piercing, but I don’t know how to make my gaze seem any softer.

“Y-yes. Aboriginal folklore. N-no vampires, though.” She swallows.

“You sound disappointed,” I say teasingly with a smile.

As I approach, her hands tremble and her breathing catches. Her large eyes flick up to meet mine, and she swallows again.

“Are you thirsty?” My deep voice lingers in the room, my words are heavy and thick, pressing on her shoulders, buckling her knees until she collapses to sit on the bed. “Please, have a drink.”

Her pupils dilate, and I know for sure my Persuasion is effective. She seems unbalanced as she sways, gazing deliriously at the red liquid spilling across my pale forearm after my fingernail rips an opening for her.

The girl’s lips are warm and soft as they press onto my skin, her tongue is hot as it licks the quickly closing wound. I could have done this without the Persuasion. She has always been lovely, inquisitive and eager to please me, but I don’t like taking chances.

Only a brief few moments pass before the cut on my forearm heals and she flings herself back into her pillows, breathless and giggling.

“You like it?”

“Of course I do, Master,” she moans softly. “You are amazing.”

Huh, she calls me Master now. I didn’t realise her transition to a ghoul would happen so fast. This is her third taste of my blood and already she’s fully devoted to me (as if she wasn’t already).

She rolls her head to the side, exposing her neck for me, peeking at me from the corner of her eye. It is all the invitation I need. Finally, after 12 months, I finally drink my fill. It takes everything I have not to drain her dry, but I have to save her for next time. I will never be left wanting so long as she is alive.