Chapter 3.7 – Rat Salad

Chapter 3.7 – Rat Salad

[Present Day]

I can smell it, the blood. I can smell the blood on everyone walking by. I can even hear it, pumping through their bodies, like it was calling out to me. I’m just so hungry, I don’t think I’ve gone this long without drinking. I could just grab someone, run off with them and bite into an artery before anyone has a chance to stop me. I just need one, a single person. That’ll be enough to fight my thirst for a while. Just do it.

“Hey buddy, you look like you’re in a rough spot,” a man who smells like onions and old chili, wearing a tattered Hawaiin shirt approaches me.

“Yeah, I’m really hungry, so please, get away from me,” a fair warning.

“Don’t worry,” he scutters out of the alley and away from my view.

I just ball up into a ball on the ground and clutch my stomach. The tiny steps of rats can be heard inside the walls of the building I sit next too. It isn’t the most comforting thing. Nothing will comfort me right now, except blood. I’m so damn hungry. I slam my fist into the wall, it cracks and I hear the rats scurry, leaving just the sounds of the city around me.

I just need to focus, and be calm. I don’t need to go on a killing spree. Especially not in some city I don’t recognize. Deep breaths, relax, don’t think. Breathe in, and breathe out. I try to coach myself through the hunger like I’ve done in the past. For a moment it works, but the calmness never comes and the feeling doesn’t get any easier.

Sensory overload, it happens to a lot of vampires, at least once to each. Just when we need to drink, or feed. Our senses all get kicked up to thirteen, trying to force us to hunt. Making it easy. We can damn near see through walls, hear a pin drop three buildings away, smell and almost taste the air. I can’t remember the last time I went through this. Some vampires are supposedly born and live in this state. Some force it on themselves to be at peak hunting condition. I can’t do that, I hate it.

The sun has started to worsen my headache so I close my eyes. Depriving myself of at least once sense seems to help a little. I can’t leave myself blind and deaf so the footsteps approaching sound like gunshots next to my ears.  

“Hey buddy, I brought you something to eat,” the voice from earlier.

“I don’t want your food, just go,” I try to get rid of them.

“C’mon now, Ricardo makes the best chili dogs this side of Detroit,” the voice argues.

“Did you say Detroit?”

“Yeah, where did you think you were?”


“Sorry to disappoint you. Now eat up.”

“I don’t want your damn chili dog,” I open my eyes and yell at him.

He takes off in fear, I can’t blame him. If the normal looking person I was talking to suddenly showed glowing red eyes and flashed fangs I’d run. Doesn’t help that I focused all of my negative emotions on him at that moment. If he hadn’t of ran, I’d probably have drained him of blood before he could scream for help. I close my eyes and ball up on the ground again.

The rats are back in their nest. I hear them. No less than eight. I focus my eyes on the wall, and can almost see them. I see where it appears that parts of the wall are warping with movement, swimming through the bricks. Those are the rats. I wait until they’re all huddled closely together.

I jam my fist through the wall gripping one. I break the neck and grab another. The others figure this is an attack, and they’re right. Before I’m done, I have six dead rats sitting before me. I Jam my teeth into the rat, ignoring the fur and drain it of blood in under a minute. Sloppy technique, a lot of the blood misses my mouth. I lick the remaining blood from my hands and face desperate for every drop. I spit the fur from my mouth and sink into the next rat. I repeat the process four more time, once for each rat.

I can still feel the need to drink. But my head has cleared enough that I can think. My first thought is about how disgusting what I just did was. My second, I need to get out of here because I’m not paying for this wall. I wander out onto the streets and find chili dog guy crying and eating the chili dog.

“Hey, really sorry about that,” I walk away trying to not traumatize him anymore than I already have.

I don’t know how I got to Detroit, and I’m not sure how I’m going to get back, but for now, my priorities are all focused on getting more blood. That might be why I can’t seem to remember anything but the basics. I still can’t remember my own name. What happened to me?


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