Tell A Tale — Gothic Fiction
Vampyre. By Charlotte Ward
I inhale deeply on the cigarette, imagining the chemicals coursing through my veins. I glance down at my watch; two more minutes. My head throbs in time with my heartbeat.
I slope back to the hall, almost colliding with Nurse Pat;
"Are you actually coming in to do some work now?"
"Trout." I think to myself as I smile at her.
Andy is sitting in my chair, young, tanned and fit. I walk over and greet him, examining his left arm for access and immediately find a lovely fat vein. With relish, I slide the needle in and tape it into position. I connect the bag, listening to the machine beep and whir to life as the blood begins to flow.
Andy makes small talk as I busy myself with labels. God, donors are full of themselves.
I feel myself beginning to grind my teeth. He’s getting on my nerves with his posh accent and expensive clothes. I look down at the blood bag- it’s nearly full already. Then an idea dawns on me- I could take an extra bag off him; he would never know, and I’d be doing the NHS a good service.
Changing the full bag to a new one without Andy seeing is easy. I tell him to keep flexing his fingers, as blood flow seems to be a bit slow. Increasing the pressure of the tourniquet, I mute the machine and in no time at all another bag has been filled. I feel something inside me awaken, a dark part of me, sinister and cunning; Why stop now? Without thinking, I attach a third bag. Andy looks as well now as he did when he'd first walked in.
I jump as Pat calls over to me;
"We've all finished, just going to have one last cuppa.”
I nod in acknowledgement as she saunters off to the kitchen.
"How's it coming now?" Andy asks.
"We're almost there." I reply, trying to hide my eagerness. He asks for some squash, says his mouth has gone dry. I attach a fourth bag and go to get his drink. On my return, he looks visibly paler. A sheen of sweat has formed on his brow.
"I don't feel right." he says, a tremble in his voice.
"Here," I say, deliciously, "drink this."
An ancient memory suddenly flashes through my brain- jugulars gushing like geysers, hot sticky redness coating my throat, filling my belly. I snap back to the present and firmly bandage Andy’s wrists to his arm rests- he has become agitated and may dislodge the needle. I connect a fifth bag.
Andy begins convulsing. Stroking his hair, I breathlessly whisper to him to close his eyes; it will be over soon.
Pat comes in and starts screaming;
"Oh My God! He's dead! I'll be struck off for this!"
I grin at the thought of Pat losing her job. Glancing down at my five bags of blood, I lick my lips and feel my headache melt away.
(Word count 499)
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