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Vampire Diaries - Creature and Creator.

Short story By: red
Horror



Most legends do not have names, or at least the names they have are not those given at birth. Why would it be different with Vincent? He finds it quite amusing whenever a new moniker is associated to his latest deeds, but the only ones who get the honor to meet the face behind those names don’t have enough breath left in their lungs to share with the world a description of him. Vincent could go on and on, retelling the stories behind each title… Torso Killer, The Black Dahlia Murderer, and The Monster of Florence, among others… but let’s keep it simple, shall we? Call him Jack.

In the second installment of Vampire Diaries we are shown a twisted, but valuable, lesson.


Submitted:Sep 9, 2008    Reads: 268    Comments: 0    Likes: 1   


Mothers. Oh, such blessed creatures, were they not? From your very first cursed breath into this hellish world, they stood by your side - or were supposed to - and held you close to their chest. From them was that you got your first meal; unless you were born a disgraced bastard with no hope or future, of course… all alone, thrown to the lions of society like Christians launched into the Coliseum's arena during a festive day, back in the old - and glorious - times of the Roman Empire. But this was not what Jack's mind philosophized about at the moment.

Right now, he was observing his childe as the lad so tenderly held the beautiful body of that filthy whore. Crossing one foot before the other and leaning casually on the brick wall beside him, Jack thought Andrew - the blonde young man with sparkling blue eyes he embraced six months ago out of sheer boredom - had a way with children; maybe they should have a baby. No… too much noise and Vincent would probably impale the newborn within a week. Then again, if that was the case, he could always cook it afterwards. Never let it be said he wasn't the best gourmet around these lands; besides, there was this new sauce recipe the man googled earlier this evening which he was simply dying to try out. Young meat would be perfect for it; hum, yes… Jack would need to stop at the grocery store on the way home.

But what had been the reason for these thoughts? One might ask. Simple enough: those pretty slash wounds on the bitch's skin were made by him, thank you very much. And now, his beautiful boy was feeding… it was touching, really. Jack felt like a mamma bird spitting crunched remains into her offspring's open mouth. There was even a tender expression on his eyes - or as tender as one could describe Jack's eyes - as he watched the scene. The blade firmly held in a leather gloved hand, still dripping viscous blood, did nothing to diminish the sweetness of the moment.

That boy of his needed some manners though. As much as Jack enjoyed Andrew covered in deathly red, this was a public place and the lad went from loving parent to behaving like a rabid dog! So, so vexing… Jack scratched the tip of his chin with his thumb while slowly pushing himself away from the wall, and calmly walked towards the crouched kindred. Looking at the torn body in disgust, saucy Jack merely kicked it to the side, only to get down on one knee and lock eyes with Andrew for a second. Then, using his teeth, he removed the leather glove from his left hand, before letting out a whisper "allow me." The older vampire's touch on Andrew's face was soft and deliberate… Jack took his time cleaning the excess of blood running down his child's features. Once he could see the contours of the youngster's face again, he smiled. Another sound was heard, though this time, it was Jack's hand descending on the other man's jaw, the force enough to draw blood from those lips he'd just cleaned "manners, dear. Manners… now, there is absolutely nothing wrong in ripping someone's throat out with your bare teeth, but this is the sort of thing you do in the privacy of your home."

They said black was a classic, but in Jack's opinion, red was the color that would never be out of fashion. It went with everything; or at least he always came across a way so the crimson hue would match whatever scene, outfit, age or occasion he found himself at. What truly enraged him however, was the vulgar trend spreading like the plague over today's society that just about anybody was capable of creating what only an illuminated creature such as himself had the necessary skills to create. Even a blind could kill: give them the means and point them in the right direction. There! Bring the yellow tapes and call the donut eating pigs, because you just got yourself a murder! What Jack did was beyond killing… it was an art. He was the Michelangelo of the carnage and each ripped worthless punk, his Sistine Chapel.

"My apologies, Master."

And people dared call him crazy. How creatures as primitive as humans made it this far was something Jack had yet to comprehend. On with the show, shall we? Yes, because if he kept thinking about those existential issues, he'd go nowhere other than his medicine cabinet looking for some pain killers for the headache which's first signs he could swear he was feeling already. Then people would see what crazy was.

Andrew here was a pretty boy, wasn't he? Jack thought so. And he looked in his true element there, surrounded by all that red; it made the brilliance of his eyes stand out even more. The others saw the boy, the angel faced kid with a soulful pair of gems… but never the potential predator. The others were the worst kind of unsighted, because Andrew was right there… they just didn't want to see. Perhaps Jack was being too harsh: he knew his boy, and if there was a beast feeding on the remains of a lost soul at a backstreet of LA right now, it was thanks to Jack.

Nonetheless, Andrew had been such a busy, busy lad lately. You see, his boy could be like those kids arriving from the first day on the new school sometimes. So, yes… old Jack knew all about little Andrew's newest encounters. And guess what? They ought to watch out, because the Ripper had an eye on each of them… did the night mist feel colder? The air creepier? The shadows darker? No, it wasn't your imagination… it was Jack… watching… waiting and smiling at you.

Much like he was smiling again at his boy at the moment. The blow had been hard, but Andrew learned tonight's lesson. Reaching out a hand, and gently pushing those lose golden strands away from the younger vampire's eyes, Jack nodded in acceptance of his child's apology. Standing up, he noticed they'd probably leave footprints all over the vicinity, but the fact wasn't a reason for worries "if you've finished your meal, then it's time for a little decoration section." Coolly observing the place, as if deciding the best spot to put a newly acquired piece of furniture, Jack rambled on "make an incision across her stomach dear… I think her intestines would lo- no. We'll tie them around her neck… slash out her ovaries and place them over the trash can."

Autopsy. A feared word, but with such a simple and direct meaning… see for yourself. Nothing more, nothing less. Look at those of your kind, but look in a whole new level; check what they bring inside and let's not become dramatically religious all of a sudden, please. Forget about souls and salvation! Weight your brother's liver within your own hands and stroke your daughter's womb. Feel their lives slipping through your fingers, enjoy the feast those open arteries so delightfully offer then ask out loud the meaning of death. Jack knew the answer already, because he'd asked that question over and over again. Now that he held that sort of understanding, he could rest in peace… wrong. The vampire had a responsibility: he would make as many see those around them just as Jack did; just like he was doing with Andrew tonight… the lad was a smart one, of that there was no doubt. He was like a brute diamond however; perfect, but needed to be polished.

The student's eagerness for knowledge was the teacher's greatest reward. Jack didn't have one to take him by the hand and show him the 'dos and don'ts' of life, but that didn't turn him resentful or revengeful towards Andrew, or any of those previous to the young kindred. Although certainly the younger vampire did not have a role model worth of recollection during his living years, that changed ever since meeting Vincent Monro. One might even think by the way it sounds, their relationship was that of a father and son and Jack wouldn't confirm, nor deny it… he'd merely direct cynical eyes at the speaker and ask them if Jack's and Andrew's was the kind of relationship they'd always dreamt on have with their own parents. Oh, yes… he was a twisted firecracker, and proud of it.

His cool eyes observed intently the way in which Andrew rolled the soon to be carcass flat on her shoulders, and efficiently cut the shirt open. Throwing a mock salute in his child's direction, Jack recognized Andrew's growing talent "that was an excellent display of control… not even a small scratch. Very well indeed, boy." By then, Jack had started a slow, cadenced walk around both Andrew and the prone form of the young woman. He could see how much the kid was enjoying this lesson and didn't wish to smother him, but the two of them knew any wrong step on Andrew's part and another blow would soon follow "now, a clean cut is what is going to tell you apart from a low class butcher. While you were cutting her shirt, did you feel the fibers tearing up? You'll have the same feeling while the blade slashes the fibers of her skin. Don't be afraid to use the knife, but keep your movements precise… as well as measure your strength, childe. We want to eviscerate her, not make pate out of her internal organs" Jack wasn't naïve enough to believe the younger vampire had never used a knife in his unlife, but thrusting a sharp object into someone and making them bleed like a pig wasn't the point he was trying to make here "a little to the left… you will cut from the sternum to the pubic bone and don't forget to avoid her navel… after that, push the rib cage open and expose her glorious box of treasures to us" he didn't instruct him to make the usual 'Y' incision on purpose, and for a couple of reasons: Jack wanted to hear the sound of breaking bones and the scene would look all the more gruesome this way.

Tonight was special. Much like the opening night of an opera that had taken years to be concluded, this darkened place would witness the creation of art in its purest form. Jack was aware his childe waited patiently for such moment, and Andrew's prize would make the long and arduous wait more than worth it. The victim had been hand picked as well: young, blonde and beautiful… a prostitute, but an angel not yet entirely corrupted by the traps of the streets. His childe deserved nothing less. The night when Andrew got a step closer to become Jack's own reflection on their twisted mirror would be perfect; no matter what.

With the eye of someone who experienced this very same view countless times before, Jack had been inspecting Andrew's advances so far. And the vampire could not be more proud at the results… his boy had gentle, but strong and certain hands, the sharp silver fitting perfectly within those fingers and obeying to their every command. Oh, Jack would be incredibly disappointed if a gush of blood marred Andrew's face at that first cut, but it wasn't the case. What a pity the woman was dead already, for she really should be alive so she could feel honored at being touched in such an expert fashion.

For a second his boy's resolve seemed to shake, and the excitement threatened to take over his moves. Fortunately, he'd managed to get himself under control and Jack allowed the little slip be pushed under the rug. The satisfaction he got from using a scalp like his boy was doing now was so great, that he couldn't blame Andrew for barely containing his emotions. It didn't mean the boy wouldn't be punished had he ever failed in controlling his actions in a situation like this. Upon hearing the sweet symphony of her torso being violated, Jack couldn't help but close his eyes in delight. He knew the boy would appreciate the sound as well… even more so, when Andrew was the responsible for it. That was one of Jack's treats to the kid for being a good student.

Nonetheless, thinking for a single second that Jack forgot just how busy, busy, busy Andrew had been was a rookie's mistake… so, Saucy Jack had yet another treat for his boy. Still with his eyes closed, Jack put back the glove he'd taken off: things were about to turn sour and he didn't wish to run the risk of mingling his blood with the putrid crimson oil that ran inside the veins of a treacherous leech. Jack held the knife's hilt more firmly and opened his eyes… This one had no idea who he was dealing with, but he'd regret ever considering fooling Jack the fucking Ripper.

"Break time childe. Come out and play!" Moving faster than the other could sense, and roughly grabbing the male vampire by the back of his neck, Jack pushed him forward a little, although before he could use the momentum as an escape, Jack waved a hand through blonde hair keeping the young kindred in a tight hold. He then forcefully pointed Andrew's head in the direction of the broken corpse, for he wanted him to have a good look of the scene "tell me dear… do you see that? Do you think she felt pain? I swear to you that compared to how I will make you feel, she had a peaceful death." His tone cold enough to send shivers down the spine of even a grown vampire, and the terror on Andrew's eyes got more evident with each passing second: he was aware of what lurked behind twin dark pools blue, but the young immortal couldn't begin to grasp just how deep the abysm of Vincent Monro's soul was… Andrew dared looking at it, though he never thought the abysm would look back at him; now it was too late.

Pressing the blade against his throat, Jack was expecting the little fag to move… they always did. But it would be in vain, because he would cut him from ear to ear if he tried anything funny. Ten minutes later and only one man dressed in dark clothes left the alleyway, his face obscured by the shadows that insisted on following him whatever he went… night had been productive though, because yet another lesson had been taught by such a grotesque teacher: do not mess with the devil.





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