Of Moons and Monsters by P. T. Phronk

Author:P. T. Phronk [Phronk, P. T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Forest City Pulp
Published: 2017-08-27T22:00:00+00:00

(THREE)

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER TOWN CONVERTED. This one was home to two vampires, but only one shared his blood. The other one was a new guy, Rick, who was so cruddy at being a monster that there were two ongoing murder investigations in the very town he inhabited. It should’ve been obvious to any appropriately cautious blood-chugger: murder is a tool. Killing just to get a quick snack was a threat to every vampire on the planet—evolutionary history had proven that prey always developed defences against known predators. Apparently Rick wasn’t aware of that.

Dalla’s father hadn’t even planned to spend the day in town, but some damage control was needed. So he found his family member, Warren, who was apparently the distant offspring of the Highgate Vampire—that goofy cousin who messed with the media in the seventies and gained some brief fame. Fame that resulted in dozens of offspring.

Dalla’s father asked Warren a few key questions, and the answers provided enough information to get the ball rolling. If Rick was dead and buried, Warren could step up to produce evidence that connected the rogue vampire to the recent murders. Some bribes to the sheriff, some whispers in the ears of local criminals, yadda yadda yadda, and Warren would control the biker gang that controlled the town. Another family member with a bit of power, set to grow into more power, if he was smart. But first, Rick needed to die.

Rick tasted like crap.

“What kind of frickin’ bloodline is this?” Dalla’s father asked.

Rick tried to fly away. He was strong enough to rip off his own arm to escape the vampire’s grip, but not quick enough to fly away before the vampire tossed him back to the earth by his remaining arm.

After licking more blood from the meaty stump, Dalla’s father asked again: “who created you?”

“My father did,” Rick said.

Dalla’s father rolled his eyes behind his mask. “Well, duh. Who was your father?”

Rick went into a long-winded story about how his family had attempted, for generations, to increase their strength, by only passing on their blood when they were in peak physical condition. Rick did have bulging biceps, but that purifying of their bloodline didn’t seem to work on the brain, because alongside several other verbal blunders, he used the word “prodigy” several times when he probably meant “progeny.”

Dalla’s father interrupted the boring story by yawning, then ripping Rick’s other arm off.

Rick begged for his life. He prayed. It was always like this, human or vampire. Whether he was whispering threats in the ear of the right person or ripping the head off a sloppy vampire, they all saw him as a demon. If the shoe fits …

So like a demon, he possessed Rick. Really got inside of him. He scooped Rick’s useless insides out, then brought him to Warren, and did a little puppet show with Rick’s hollow, armless corpse. Warren laughed and clapped like a little kid; that goofiness ran in his family, it seemed.

Done. On to the next town for some more damage control.

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