A Gothic Tale

There is no greater rejection than that of the human heart, and so Damian hid himself in the darkness of the most impersonal, dreary New York flat. Brooding, lumbering through the sickly rain, he made his retreat to the chapel in the depths of 26th street. The rain pattering on the ground reminded him of dancing in the rain as a child, of times when he was happy. Though these memories of past times only instilled another cringing fit of crippling sorrow inside his chest.

He walked through the rusted gates, swinging open with a sharply screaming screech. The walkway was hidden under chilling puddles, splashing under his black, clicking shoes. His eyes scanned around him and flashes of vividly colored memories sparked against his mind as if on an aged projection screen. A bird bath filled with clear water had invited him, as a child, to cup the cooling liquid in his smooth, innocent hands. Conversation had buzzed and flitted through the churchyard. He remembered his mother's laugh, so much like Rebecca's. Suddenly, his thoughts immediately switched over to images of her.

Oh, how her eyes gleamed when her face lit up as a chirping giggle sang out, pushed out from her beautiful breasts. She decorated her long chestnut locks with violet flowers; she always smelled of lavender and vanilla.

Lightning flashed, cracking through the sky, shocking Damian out of his fruitless dreams. The graveyard was no longer fluttered with blooming buds, but the yard was sunken with continuous rain, dark and foreboding. The forgotten headstones cracked as if in anger, born from all those vacant years in solitude.

How could such a joyful place grow into this melancholic church scene?

He could not imagine the ancient church had once held his loving parents' marriage. The crooked door creaked as he pushed through. Dust sputtered upon the air, chocking Damian, his coughs ricocheted of the heavily walls, the stones faded with time. Strangely enough he spied a candle lit in an empty corner, the light not spreading to the air, chocked by darkness too heavy for light to penetrate. Yet, the dim light provided enough clarity for Damian to observe a cross, swollen and twisted, deformed by each storm that had past resulting in the repetitive drops which fell from the caved in roof.

Not being able to tear his eyes from the gnarled cross, silence drained and pressed against his drumming ears. Time paused motionless and dead until wings fluttered between the rafters of the church. A wind whistled through the decaying walls, blowing out the burning candle. Heart pounding against his ribcage, he breathed heavily while spinning around, his soaked pea coat slapping his legs, and in the far corner near the entrance, he witnessed a flash of a figure skitting through the darkness.

"Hello? Anyone there?" his deep, rustic voice billowed in the empty church. Backing up, he placed his hand against one of the rotten pews. Leaning against it, a three inch long splinter stabbed into his palm. Screaming out in pain, Damian drew his hand to his face, attempting to see the damage. He could feel the warm blood oozing down his wrist in thick streams, and he could smell the sharp, metallic smell arising into the air from his wound.

Empty streets stretched between Damian and the large bell which rang, announcing midnight. Hearing this toll, he shook his head as if to dispel the eerie aura surrounding him. He had been hoping to rekindle, at least, some ounce of happiness or hope, but instead he only found the dead, rundown church of which he now stood inside, as if inside the stomach of a beast.

Finally, he breathed out in a gruff tone, "I need to get the hell out of here." Heading towards the door, a silky voice paused him in his step.

"I really would like to disagree." The soothed sound was a woman's voice. Turning around Damian saw that the candle was relit and standing in the light was a tall, thin woman with striking raven colored hair, cut short and tattered. Her dark hair complemented and brightened her clear, blue eyes. Her lips were naturally scarlet against her pale skin. He couldn't stop staring; she was stunningly more attractive than anyone he had ever come across before. His head became light as if it were floating above his shoulders, and his thoughts became jumbled

"Who are you?" he spat out in stutters and pauses.

"Who I am is of no importance Damian. The night has ended, and you haven't found what you destined out for." Her voice was melodic and poured into the air in a thick and sweet manner, reminding him of honey dripping through the space between them. As she spoke, her body strode towards him, her hips swaying side to side in a seductive manner. As she neared him, he could smell her intoxicating scent of sugar and sweat, and by the time she was close enough to see his own perspiring glands, he was drunk with her presence.

Immobile and entranced, he replied, "H…H…How do you, um, know, my…"

Placing her finger against his full lips, she whispered, "Shhhhh, quiet Damian. Relax. All will be well."

Her cold finger, once taken away, left his lips tingling, almost as if it was still there. He blinked and shook his head to attempt to clear his heavy mind, but each time she said his name, he seemed more in her control. As the seconds passed, he took in her delicate, angular face, and decided he'd let her do so. Perhaps she'd make him feel loved, even if temporarily, for tonight. That is what he truly desired. To find a renewed sense of this feeling.

"You are a handsome one. Dark hair falling to your smooth chin. So young. So fresh." Her fingers entwined in his hair, and then she lowered and placed her hand upon his chest. "So much pain though." As she spoke, her voice sympathetic, his heart melted and he felt strangely healed. "Your russet eyes have no need for sadness tonight." Her slight shoulders were revealed under her sleek black tank top, which was paired with jeans that hugged her legs and graced her hips. Even standing tall in her stance, she only reached his shoulders.

By then, Damian's eyes were drooping and the blood beneath his skin radiated heat, so warm that as her hands traced over his face, pulling back his hair, the iciness of her touch almost burned his skin; this sensation alone keeping him awake. Leaning forward in a kiss, she licked his neck from its base to his ear.

"Delicious. AB positive. Perfect. Damian my dear, you are going to make a most delightful meal." She breathed out as she opened her mouth, revealing two half-inch long fangs. As she pierced into his throat, his blood pooling into her mouth, his breath choked and gasped. His body slowly became limp as she held his withering shell in her arms. The spiced smell and the sweet taste of the smooth liquid sliding down her throat satisfied her so much, a shiver ran down her spine. The blood colored her cheeks as she drank it from the body of this handsome man, running it into her own veins. At the moment when Damian's life slipped through the wholes in his neck, the twisted cross fell off the mantle with and endless crash.

Standing up, she whipped the last drops from her lip, looking up to the sky she spoke with a content smirk "Finish him off." Pacing slowly, she then disappeared into the darkness, which enveloped her receding figure.

Within seconds a multitude of ravens and pitch black crows flew down and began pecking off his flesh in tiny pieces, poking at his dried eyes, eating his cold, lifeless corpse, and not one drop of blood splashed against the old, wooden floor. A shell of a man lie in the church, and if an onlooker witnessed the gruesome act, they would have found that there wasn't a single speck of blood left in that heartbroken corpse.

Damian found at least one thing before his end, his heart no longer felt the pain of his loss. Secretly, he had wanted something, anything to end it, and it just happened that what it took was for his heart to cease beating all together.