Confessions of an Elven Vampire

Refusal to Convert (excerpt)

1

     

I knew before I went to bed that it was going to be an awkward day.  Nothing was going to feel right.  Everything would seem a centimeter to the left or right of where it should be.  On those days, I feel like everyone has been taken over, snatched from their bodies, captured into some device and then replaced with a replica.  Everyone seems odd, off color, out of shape with reality.
I awoke with a start.  I sensed something creeping around; “something” was a general term but I couldn’t say with certainty because I wasn’t sure what it was.  My ears heard it and my nose smelled it.  It smelled of plastic.
At first, I thought it was an animal.  A nest of raccoons had been scratching up the fence and working hard to enter my attic.  I had killed a couple of the varmints but they were persistent animals.  But it wasn’t a raccoon; it was shaped like a person.  A tall, dark and lanky person drifting back and forth between windows like a drunk searching for the perfect bush to pee in.  No, it wasn’t even a drunk.  I would have preferred that, they are so much fun to screw with.  
No, it was customer.
As a collector, I get all sorts of strange characters arriving at my doorway, usually asking me to perform functions that they wouldn’t normally share with family or friends.  After the wars, the apocalypse, the end times… With the world tossed in an upheaval, everyone had some memory of some object that they wished to procure and cherish.  I’ve scavenged for Beatle albums, St. James Bibles, dung beetles and even a St. James Torah.  Don’t ask me what the Torah was all about.  I found myself a Hebrew scholar who was fluent in ancient Hebrew and had him produce a St. James Torah.  He made it look old, and then I gave it to the client.  He was very pleased, and after paying me, he immediately began reading.  He even gave me a bonus, which I didn’t share with the scholar.  After all, it wasn’t his idea.   The scholar was glad to do it so the “word” could be passed on to another potential follower.
As for the mysterious stranger, he skulked about the house for several minutes until he rapped heavily on my door.  I opened it and saw the long robed figure with his cowl draped over his head.  Not even a flicker, glimmer or twinkle of eyes pierced through the cowl’s dark shadow.  It didn’t surprise me, so I just acknowledged him with a nod and a shrug.  As I said before, I’ve had all sorts of characters come my way.  There was nothing unusual about this mysterious one.  It was dark, so I couldn’t immediately see what colors were fashioned into his apparel.  I presumed black.
He only said, “I wish to procure your services.”  I rolled my eyes and waved him inside. 
I strutted inside my home and casually veered towards the katana that hung above my mantle.  It was natural instinct for me to stay close to a weapon; he could have been a clever thief with subtle disguise.  I didn’t want to be rude so I pretended to make tea, but I didn’t like tea.  I preferred coffee with a mix of hemoglobin.  That was when I decided to click on the coffee maker; it gurgled like a dying frog.  It was late, even if I couldn’t get any sleep, my eyelids were heavy and I needed the energy boost.
Strangely, my electric power was out, a result of rolling blackouts, so I had candles lit all over the place.  My fire had fizzled into orange embers but still emitted heat to scare away the late night cold air.  The September Fall brought an early Winter that drenched the surrounding area with slushy snow. It melted in one day.  Water trickled from every one of nature’s orifices.  It was kind of disgusting to me.  It left a mildew that mixed with the burdened humidity.  Everything seemed to be seeping and pushing the garbage around and passing the odors from one door to the next.
The skulking client roamed the room like he was judging my décor.  I wasn’t sure what his tastes were but I am sure he didn’t appreciate the half-dressed naked women on my posters.  I was not embarrassed to hide the porno magazines.  It was a backup job; there were always some curious teenagers looking for some smut to ogle.  Their hormones dancing chaotic rumbas in their pants made me a quick buck when things were slow.
He started off with a riddle, “There is a great sadness crossing the northern plains.  Great creatures are driving the neighboring peoples from their villages.  The cost of these horrors can be resolved with a simple item…”  He continued the riddle for several hours, well okay minutes, but it seemed to last for hours.  It was at that time, I knew he was legit.  A thief would not bother with riddles.  Their IQs usually drifted somewhere below the line of fifth grade English.  “I saw a star breach the sky, across the afternoon sun, and the land wobbled on its center…”  I tried to keep from rolling my eyes but the nonsensical riddle was too much to bear.  I faced the wall to hide my facial groans.
I knew the client was trying hard to impress me and maintained the illusion of a dark stranger with significant insight into the world, but I was Elven and it didn’t work.  If he wanted to disguise himself, he should have sent a letter.  That way I would have scanned through the riddle and sifted out the details of the job.  Then, I wouldn’t have had to play cat and mouse with his drooping cowl and gliding feet.  As long as I was paid, the cryptic dance could have waited until Halloween for a late night story in a bar of motionless drunks. 
When I turned, I saw him pass between candles.  His robe was teal, a dirty teal.  His belt was pink.  The color pattern matched my bathroom walls.  I smirked.  The client must have hunted through a thrift store and settled for something available in his size.  He could have camouflaged against my bathroom walls, maybe even disappeared into the pink tiles.  However in a crowd, he would have stood out.  There was no disguising his odor, a burrito thick with onions and peppers.  He apparently liked his Mexican food.
“The dark recesses of the cave traveled far beneath the Earth, where a dangerous evil lay resting.  It is a strong breath like something belonging to a never world…”
His English was slurred with a mixed European accent.  Either he was born from a family of combined nationalities or he was trying hard to sound sophisticated.  English had become the worldly language.  It bothered my Father and Mother; enthusiasts to a strict culture.  I could have cared less.  It made no difference to me; the Human Sapiases could have their language become predominant.  People spoke little of the other languages; they had become as unique as the written word.  No one wrote, no one read; no one clambered out of the hole of stoic apathy.  They watched the crumbling world on their televisions and drank themselves to sleep.
The client paused and stood next to the wall.  A red root dangled over his head.  My Sapling Blood dripped on his cloak’s shoulder, reddening the teal into a brown Rorschach test.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him.  No, that was a lie; I enjoyed watching the mysterious stranger get his cloak dirtied with the blood.  He never noticed and stared fixedly for several seconds.  It made me think that I missed some key information that he had plugged within the lines of his riddle.  I stood there silent like a goof, waiting for him.  But then he continued, “As you can see, the travel and the goal are a treacherous path of obstructions.”
Phew, he was nearing the end of his epic saga, so I said, “How will I identify it?  Could there be bad copies?”  Even with the St. James Torah, I knew that I could have evaded treacherous obstacles and a ridiculous odyssey of enemies if I could have found a blacksmith, scribe or whatnot to manufacture the object; rather than scouring the landfill of what was left of Earth.
“It cannot be redone.  It is a unique object.   I can determine its authenticity.”
Inwardly, I said “Damn!” but outwardly, I said, “Excellent.”  I licked my lips and then went in for the kill, “How are you going to compensate me for my expenses?”  I was worried about the nature of my client.  There were many prophets, wizards, seekers and “special people” as I liked to call them.  They expected a noble man to go rushing into danger at the cost of a pat on the head.  Those people, I shooed away like a raccoon.
He waved his hand over the oak table, and several sapphires, rubies and emeralds slid out of his sleeve.  As they dumped out, my mouth dropped open.  As if a little OCD, he started to organize the gems according to size, color and shape.  “I believe this can compensate for your journey, and then there will be more if you succeed.”
I nodded greedily, my eyes wide and my brain drooling over the tempting stones.  I finally said, “How many names does your object hold?”  I had half-listened to the story so I had no idea what he was looking for.
“It only has the one name.”
Again, inwardly I said “Shit!”  But outward, I said with an intellectual curve to my tone, “Interesting.  Is it spoken in other languages?”
“Just the one.”
Again, I was thwarted by my lack of attention and decidedly attempted a new way to trick him into saying the name without me appearing utterly stupid.  His hands were folded over the table, calmly waiting for my questions.  He hadn’t moved since dropping his jewels.  In a matter of minutes, he could have swiped the jewels away and scurried back into the dark, his teal cloak melding into the night.  Once he found out that I was a fraud, he could have vanished in a poof of teal smoke!  I got clever.  I grabbed my tape recorder… yes it was an older model!  And I pointed it towards the stranger.  “For the sake of accuracy, I need you to speak the item’s name, exactly, so I can navigate successfully when investigating and researching further in the library.”  What a lie!  I never stepped one centimeter into a library.
“I do not believe research is necessary.  I have outlined the territory and the path for you.”
“Amuse me.  You could have acquired the item for yourself if you have a personal map of words to follow.  I have been doing this for a long time and I know that all quests require a little more foreknowledge from many sources.”
The stranger nodded.  He then confirmed my name, “Very well Garbazhio.”  He leaned forward and then said, “Fishnets.”  At that, he spooked out of the room and left the door swinging open.

by Jax E. Garson

2012, 2013 all rights reserved

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