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There was no noise. The silence was like a glove closing around them, suffocating and irrevocable. They climbed stealthily up the staircase, not even the aged timber making a sound. The cabin itself was supposed to be deserted over the weekend, but they knew otherwise. The cabin had never really been deserted........



A scream pierced the night air like a knife cutting through the serenity. A racing heartbeat, that's all he could hear. The sound of blood pumping took over the entirety of his mind, driving away sanity like an in-law visiting for a week. He was carried by it, drawn to it, and she had no escape. They were in a studio apartment in Soho. Even though the lights were off, he could still smell the crimson staining the hardwood floor. She had already lost so much blood.......but that was nothing to bate him. She had fled to the corner, not far at all, a feeble attempt. As he stood over her, she whimpered out pitifully,"How can you do this? I thought you were blind?"
At this remark, a morbid chuckle oozed out from between his pale, sinister lips. He opened his mouth to reveal two fangs directly in front of his canines, and hissed like a cat on the prowl. Just as he lunged for a kill strike, a flash of light and the sound of a cork popping from a wine flask resounded.
Unfortunately for her, he still wore the heavily shaded glasses (the same glasses that had made her think he was blind), so the light had had next to no effect on him. On the other hand, the holy had water had been extremely useful.
With deadly vehemence, she flung the blessed water at him from wine flask she had had hidden for the greater part of the evening. He hissed as the water burned at his clothes, his skin sizzling at the unwonted contact. He attempted to lunge once more, but to no avail as a wall of holy water struck him full-on.
Now she stood, belying her injuries with a shrug and calm composure. "You arrogant fool. I've spent eight hundred years hunting you, well, it's hard to call you 'people' after seeing what your kind has done. My life was devoted to killing you vampires and all the other abominations, but you're a real treat.
"Your victims have been the talk of every slayer from here to Tokyo. Mutilated," here she stopped to walk over to him, her flask of holy water at the ready. She leaned over him as he continued to nurse his entirely real wounds. His glasses had been knocked off in the brawl, so he occupied himself with shading his eyes.
"Of course, you could never resist leaving your precious signature. The bodies left dry, sucked clean, you hung them up as if they'd committed suicide. The cops knew the real cause of death, naturally, but they still could find no trace of evidence as for who could do such an unnatural thing. Well, you won't be able to do that any more." With a resigned sigh, she dumped the last of the holy water straight down upon the wretched undead. With a hiss of flames and fiery holocaust, the vampire was engulfed in an inferno, and there he died without leaving any evidence of his own existence.
With a slump and sigh, she turned away from the spot, and began to clean up her studio apartment. "I hate Thursdays," she groaned dejectedly.