The Games of Hunters
The following are several interviews that detail events that occurred last year. The interviewees came to me after some convincing. Most were reluctant to talk about their experiences, but a few acquiesced. I had heard about the events from various sources: the news, the internet, and my contacts at the Antiquarian. I have reason to believe they are all the work of one entity. There are certain similarities to the cases that are not unlike a serial killer’s patterning. The bodies were exsanguinated, and they were all found with expressions of happiness on their faces. I have reason to believe it is a vampire, it certainly fits, but I am not certain. There are other entities that drain blood, and I have never run into such a creature before.
Eleanor Fogg
Testimony 1:
Name: Michael Montgomery
“At first I just though it was your average homicide. Victim was a woman in her early twenties. It was a dark alley at the back of a club. The kind of place people gathered to smoke, or, um pursue elicit activity. You know. Drugs, sex, whatever. She was in a dumpster. Her foot was sticking out and her shoe was on the ground. It was a red high heel. It had probably fallen off when she was hoisted into the garbage. If the perp was trying to hide the crime he did a shit job.
A damn shame. She was thrown away like trash. She was pretty too.”
I’m not sure why that that statement is relevant, but it annoys the hell out of me. Mr. Montgomery seems like a cliche. He is short, athletic, and his brows are perpetually furrowed like he is always angry. He also seems very desensitized. That is likely from years on the force. At least I hope it is. He seems too young to be so casual about a young girl’s death.
“There were no signs of foul play. There were no cuts, no gun shots, no signs of strangulation. Nothing. There were bruises, but the coroner confirmed that they happened shortly after death. He was careful to make sure we knew the difference. Dead bodies don’t bruise evidently.
Anyway, there was very little blood. The coroner confirmed there was less blood than there should be, so where was it?
I went back to the scene days later. I’m just a beat cop, but something was rubbing me wrong. Her face was contorted in a smile. Who smiles as they’re dying?
The scene was cordoned off with tape. I ignored the warning. I mean, I had put it there, and I was a cop. I stepped under it and entered the alley. It was quiet during the day. The club hadn’t opened yet. It had stayed open even though she had clearly come from there. We interviewed some people from inside. Some of them remembered her. That’s not easy to do. Clubs like that are packed with people, and she wasn’t a regular according to the bartender.
She was loud, almost obnoxious, and she had come alone. No friends. No other girlies to keep her safe. Nobody to escort her home. She probably planned on taking an Uber.”
This man is an ass. He shakes his head as if to say ‘what a waste.’ I really hope he doesn’t think she was asking for this. I don’t want to know. My judgement of this man, no matter how odious, is not why I’m here. I keep my mouth shut, but he changes his tune. I must be making a face.
“I’m sorry, you get numb to shit like this when you see it a lot. Of course, this was different. The blood was missing like I said, there were there no signs of how she had died. There were no drugs but, alcohol in her system, and it wasn’t at a deadly level. It was like she just up and died and someone dumped her body there. Nobody had seen anything either. Honestly, that was probably the strangest thing of all. Who doesn’t see a pretty lady being thrown into a dumpster? I mean, she obviously died there. How was she killed? How come nobody seen her? Why was she fucking smiling? It was confusing.”
I applaud his curiosity, even if he is a callow individual. I mean, the rest of the force, even the detectives, are stumped. They’ll likely just find a scapegoat, or dismiss them as unsolved. This cop has no requirement to do this and yet here he is still caring. Maybe I have been quick to judge him.
“I walked around for a bit, but there was no clue that showed up at the right time. No answer to all the questions I had. I did feel uncomfortable though. Like someone was watching me. I remember shivering. I left rather quickly. I thought I had resolved it as another unsolved case, but here I am talking it about it weeks later. I can’t get it out of my head. It’s like a spider crawling around in here.”
He indicates his mind with a short, muscular, finger he jabs at his temple.
“I called out, but of course nobody answered. They say killers sometimes return to the scene of their crimes. I can’t tell you her identity, but she wasn’t local. I think she got the attention of some asshole, told him she was all alone and from out of town, and he saw an opportunity.”
He’s silent for a time. He’s more troubled than I first thought. His eyes search the table, his lips are turned in a frow,n and he fidgets with his hands nervously. I shake his hand, stand, thank him for his time and leave him at the coffee shop. He did not move even as I exited.
———
There are human beings that prey on their fellow man. Murders, rapists, CEOs. What causes this? Is it a defect of the brain? A circumstance with how someone was raised? Something else, or a combination of things? There were others things that preyed on mankind. Things in the hidden places, liminal spaces. Sometimes they do it food, sometimes out of curiosity. Maybe even sometimes it was just fun. It wasn’t the act that was evil. A hunter killed for food, a soldier killed for their country. It was the cruelty and malicious behavior that made the act deplorable. Human murderer, or hungry vampire, they seemed to shared a common likeness. A disrespect for decency.
Eleanor Fogg
Testimony 2
Name: Thomas Wainwright
It was a nightmare, but it was also kind of sexy. It was confusing. I was at the club. They have a backroom you see. There are exclusive rooms. They’re are no lights, you can only make out shapes. I mean, there are lights, but they’re dim and red. They’re not enough to see any detail. Anonymity is the game right?
Thomas is a slight man with delicate, almost elfin, features. I doubt he could hurt a fly. He is pale. I wonder if that is from his ordeal or from his heritage. He had freckles. They’re light, but they’re there. He’s in his late 20’s, but has a boyish charm about him. His expression belies his appearance however. His eyes are old. He’s seen things. They’re weary and hard. His lips are curved in what seems to be a permanent sardonic grin like he’s in on some private joke he has no interest in sharing. His voice is exuberant. It is out of sync with his words. It reminds me of one of those songs with a rousing beat and depressing lyrics.
The guy who approached me made it clear he wasn’t the one propositioning me. He wouldn’t be the one fucking me. I was kinda disappointed. He was cute. But, money is money. Guys usually used this service, but there were women too. You usually had to pay them, but sometimes someone would come along that would pay you. I mean, I was just at the club to dance and drink. I wasn’t there to get paid, but why the fuck not. A night of debauchery had turned lucrative.
I finished my drink and followed this stranger to the back. He didn’t ask any questions, so I didn’t offer any commentary. Sure, I was clean. I had been to the clinic recently, but I wasn’t above a random hook up. It was old fashion. Was this what it was like before dating apps? I’d get checked after this. I’d be safe. The club was lit. The DJ was playing the best tunes, the vibe was fire, and the people were beautiful. Even the uggos. They were beautiful in their own way. Sure, I wouldn’t fuck ‘em, but I was happy for them. They could be among the beautiful people. They could feel beautiful. Hey, maybe one of them was even waiting for me. I wouldn’t know, and I didn’t really care.
The hallway leading to the back was dingy. It was quieter. There were people here and there. Some were by themselves. They were probably waiting for someone or they waiting for their high to wear off. Others were making out. Some were in groups. Get on with your polyamorous selves. That was my thought. The end of the hall was bathed in near darkness. The backrooms started there. The guy who spoke to me at the bar led me this far. He instructed me on which room and then said goodbye. I watched him go. He disappeared onto the dance floor. He never offered a name and I never asked. The less info the better.
I turned and entered the darkness.
His demeanor changes, but only slightly. He seems fond of his exploits. His eyes glaze over as he dives into his memory. Even though his tone remains upbeat, his eyes widen slightly, and he loses his smile.
The back rooms were clean. You wouldn’t expect it right? I mean, people went there to fuck, but it was nearly antiseptic. It had a smell. Sure, there was the scent of sex. The musky scent of sweat and even the astringent scent of latex, but there was a clean smell underneath. It was almost reassuring, but I wasn’t going to spend too much time thinking about it.
I made my way to the indicated door. They had dimly lit symbols on them. I had always wondered why they just didn’t use letter or numbers, but I wasn’t too concerned. There was money to be made. I ran through the list of things I was willing to do. Kissing was forbidden. It’s a little cliche, but I saved kissing for my boyfriends. I wasn’t into vomiting, pissing, or any of that extreme stuff. Now, they formed online communities, so they could avoid rejection. Good for them, and better for me. Keep that shit away from me.”
He laughs at the pun he made.
“Literally.
Anyway, I knocked on the door. It swung open. There was a shape in the darkness. I could barely make it out. The red lights were dim. Only part of a silhouette was visible. I think it was a man. It was tall, broad at the shoulders, the hair was either short or maybe in a ponytail. The room had an extra smell. It smelled sweet. Like honey. I dismissed it as some sort of perfume.
The first few minutes were normal. Well, at least as normal as getting off in the dark back rooms of a club can be. I was convinced it was a man now. His hands were rough, he was strong. He pushed me against the wall. When he went to kiss me I refused. He seemed amenable. There was the usual fumbling with clothes. I think he was wearing a suit. There was definitely a jacket. I was searching for the buckle to his belt. He was sniffing my neck.
I remember thinking that hickies were out of the question. If he started, I would tell him no. I would distract him by dropping to my knees. He wouldn’t be unhappy then.
We never got that far. At least, I don’t remember. The rest was a blur. There was pain, pleasure, euphoria. I couldn’t think, could move. I think I wanted to protest, I might have wanted to scream, but I couldn’t do anything.
He seems like he’s back there now. At least in his mind. He grows quiet. Unresponsive. I even snap and wave in front of his face. It’s like he has become entranced. We sit there quiet for some time. Eventually I stand. He seems alright, just remembering something. He is wholly unresponsive. I slap down a tip and leave him in the coffee shop. I walked by the next day. Thankfully he was not there. I have not heard from him further.
——-
There are many types of vampire-like creatures throughout the world. This could be any of them or something else entirely. There are said to be tons of ways to defend yourself. I wonder if any of them actually work. I better do something before I continue these interviews. I will likely capture the creature’s attention if it is still in the area. The deaths seem to have stopped. Maybe it has moved on. Did I really want to encounter it anyway? Am I ready to do battle with such an evil entity? I guess I will never be ready until I do it. Whatever gods are out there, protect me.
Eleanor Fogg
——-
Testimony 3
Name: Helena Baros
It was horrible. I was fighting for my life. It was like being hunted by a wild animal.
The woman was olive skinned, with curly black hair pulled back and angular features. Her eyes were grey, shaped like tapered almonds. They shimmered and I was reminded of a storm. Her make-up was expertly done. She had a lot of practice. Maybe she watched those tutorials on Youtube. Part of me felt inadequate in front of her. She had a strong perfume on. It wasn’t offensive or overpowering, but I definitely noted the sweetness, like a candy and roses. It was an eccentric scent, but not unpleasant.
Okay, okay, I was walking home. It was late, or early. The sun was still down, but it was close to morning. There was barely anyone on the streets. Thinking back on it, it was straight out of a horror movie. There was a flickering neon sign. It was green. Anyway, it drew my attention and I stopped to stare at it for a second. There was mist coiling up from a grate. It was cold out and whatever was down there was warmer. It had just stopped raining. I remember because the streets were still wet. There were puddles. They were likely filled with filthy city water.
Anyway, I started walking again and that’s when I heard it. It was a trash can probably. Something had fallen over. I assumed some stray grimalkin, or a rat, or something had tipped it over. I wasn’t nervous then, but then I heard the footsteps. Someone was nearby. I didn’t see anyone. Most of the street was lit with storefronts, signs, and billboards. I had to make it to my brownstone.
I picked up the pace. The footsteps stopped. Maybe I was just being paranoid. I put my keys between my fingers just in case. I’m really glad I did. I glanced back once, maybe twice. There was nobody there, but I was scaring myself now. I remember my heart racing. I remember thinking maybe it was a mugger, or a rapist, or something like that.
What was I going to do? If it was, would I just give him what he wanted? Was it the only way I could get out of it alive? When you’re not in the situation it’s easy to be brave. It’s easy to say you wouldn’t submit, but what if he’s really strong. What if I couldn’t get away? What if I couldn’t fight him off. I remember imagining myself struggling against some imaginary assailant. I just wanted to get home.
Home was safe right? Nothing could happen at home. Mark was at home. He was sleeping, maybe he had stayed up on the couch trying to wait for me. But when I was late like this he was always asleep. I didn’t blame him. He had tried to wait up. It wasn’t his fault that work had run crazy late. Okay, I had stayed crazy late. You had to burn the midnight oil, especially if you want to get ahead. Twice the work, half the advancement and all that.
Anyway, I had turned down my streets. It was more residential. Brownstones lined the street and rows of manicured trees were illuminated by the soft light of the street lamps. It was darker here. Not dark, but there were definitely recesses and crevices that were shrouded in darkness. I felt like I was navigating a mine field. Any pool of shadow could hide an attacker. I quickened my pace. I was almost in a full run. My brownstone was right across the street.
I paused when I made it to the steps leading up to my apartment. I was out of breath. I didn’t have time to exercise. I was way too busy working. Mark and I were going to get married. Then we were going to buy a nice house in the suburbs. Then we would have children. Mark wanted five. I only wanted two. I didn’t have time for exercise.
I was safe. Or almost safe. That’s what I thought anyway. I had the keys in my hand already. I would just need to find the one that unlocked the door and this evening would be over. I couldn’t wait to sleep. Sure, I would sleep most of the day, but I had had a long night that ended with a harrowing walk home. I would take a cab from now on. At least until I forgot my panic and made another stupid choice.
Anyway, I started up the steps. The railing was wet from the rain. It was cold, but comfortable. But I never made it to the door. At least, not yet. Whatever it was pulled me over the railing and into a shrub. There were few plants in the city, but the ones that were there were used to soften and beautify. We had large bushes in front of our brownstone. It made it feel more like a home. Now, it was were an animal had hid.
He was strong. He manhandled me like a rag doll. He tried to silence me. His hand slipped over my mouth. It was cold. Clammy even. I can’t believe I remember that. I struggled, but he was too strong. I fumbled with my keys, but I managed to stab his hand. It was barely audible, but he grunted. I got away. Slipped out of the bushes. I screamed. Dogs started barking, lights were going on. I remember calling out for Mark. If he heard me, he was probably just stirring. I was alone.
I scrambled up the steps on all fours. He had torn my skirt. He had grabbed for it to stop me from escaping. I remember wondering if he would pull it off. I didn’t care. Whatever got me away from this situation. I got to the door. I tried several keys. I swore each time I chose the wrong one. I panicked because of course I panicked. Eventually I found the right one. I opened the door with my whole body. I fell on the linoleum, I remember slamming my shoulder. It hurt for weeks after that.
He never pursued. I think all the attention scared him away. People had opened their windows to spy the disturbance. Dogs were alerting the neighborhood. Mark was coming down the stairs. He was bare chested, but he always wore the silliest pajama bottoms. I remember getting this pair for his birthday. You remember the strangest things while you’re fighting for survival.
There was a fondness in the events she recounted. It was like she was retelling some great victory. She was likely very proud she had managed to escape. Good for her. Some, maybe most, women do not escape their attackers. They’re either killed, or forced to submit. My reaction, a cold shiver, seems to delight her even more. She smiles and I can’t help but think of a proud, indolent cat. I look away for a second. For some reason I feel ashamed.
I was safe now. I slammed to door shut. I called the cops. They came, but they said there was little they could do. I let it go. Not the terror. That’s still with me. But I had lived. That was something.
——
Testimony 4
Name: Glenn Richards
This last interview was both fascinating and suspicious. It defies classification because the victim not only survived, but willingly offered themselves up. A curious notion. I’m reminded of rats that give themselves over to cats. The rat has something wrong with it. A parasite in the brain. Does the person? Why would you offer yourself up as food? Humans are complex. There are many elements, an alchemy, that probably goes into it. A smidge of self-deprecation, a dash of sexual arousal, a touch of nihilism. It’s always the parents fault, but the predator doesn’t care. A supernatural being probably has to entrance a victim, does a killer do the same? What about the idea of being a vampire’s lunch, having sex with a werewolf, or some other macabre act, entices people? It all seems wildly unhealthy.
Eleanor Fogg
It was like, awesome. I freely gave myself over. We like, talked about it and stuff. She was really hungry. At least she said she was, and she had some heat on her so she was trying something a little different. I guess talking to her prey was different. I liked the idea of being prey. It was hot. This hot vampire chick had chosen me.
She didn’t like that term by the way. Vampire. Every time I said it she made a face. I mean, that’s what she was right. I mean, she wanted to feed on me. That’s what vampires do, right?
She? Are there two? A pair of creatures hunting the city? I doubted I could deal with one. Two seemed like suicide. I remained quiet. I must have seemed suspicious of him. It was probably plain on the face. I tried to adjust my look. I gave him what I felt was expressionless. No disbelief in the eyes, no smirk on my lips. At least that’s what I hoped. I wanted to be an impartial listener. This information startled me, but only for a moment.
The club was loud and busy. Nobody could hear our conversation, and even if they did she was cagey enough that nobody would be able to tell. They probably just thought we were going to hook up or something. She told me to chill when I kept looking around. She didn’t speak normal. She had an accent and she used old timey words. She was hella beautiful. Way out of my league. I mean, we weren’t really going to hook up, but maybe, you know?
I had just gone through a Goth phase. I still wore make up and shit, but I had buffed up my wardrobe. It wasn’t that depressing black shit anymore. It was like, tight, colorful shit now. I work out. Maybe you can tell. Anyway, I was totally down with some sub blood play. The idea of a vamp chick feeding on me while fucking me was crazy erotic. Consensual of course, but she had approached me, so I knew she was into it.
Being a willing victim. I didn’t understand the appeal, but I suspected people who were into it knew they weren’t really dealing with a vampire. The idea probably turned them on. I felt sorry for him. He likely thought it was a bit of roleplay. A kink to turn him on. He didn’t realize, even if this creature had told him, that he had encountered the real thing. It probably didn’t occur to him that he was about to be the victim of a murder.
We left the club shortly after. I was like, excited. I was totally ready for this. Well, I thought I was. She wanted to go some place quieter. Someplace more secluded. My roommate was probably home so I didn’t offer my pad. She suggested a room at a hotel. This was getting hotter and hotter.
Anyway, she offered to pay for it. I’m just a broke college student. I only get the money my stingy parents give me. I didn’t have anything for a hotel room for hook ups so I agreed. She wanted this anyway.
A good thing too. She picked a ritzy place. They had a guy at the door and everything. I had never been in such a place. Well, when I went on vacation with my folks as a kid, but this was even fancier. So this was a hot, rich, vampire chick that had chosen me to feed. Maybe if I was really good this could be a common thing. Maybe it could be something more. Like those shows. Maybe I could be her fuckboy.
We went up to the room. The hallway was quiet. The door had one of those fancy sensor locks. She swiped the card and pulled me in. I thought maybe we were going to do something else, but I think she was just really hungry.
No sooner had the door closed she was on me. I’m not going to sit here and pretend I didn’t like it. At least at first. It started with a haze. It was like a drug. My limbs grew weak, but I think she held me. She was incredibly strong. Great quality in a dom, but this was not normal strength. I felt like I was falling. Like I was just watching her do her thing, only I wasn’t watching either.
I felt like I was grasping at the sides of a muddy pit as I fell into darkness. Whatever light was left was getting dimmer, further away. I panicked. This wasn’t sexy. It was primal. Terrifying. Anything but sexy. I clawed at the darkness as I descended. I somehow knew that if I reached the bottom I would never get out. I’d be like, dead. I hadn’t agreed to that. Sure, having a vamp chick feed on you seemed hot, but it wasn’t like the movies. It wasn’t romantic and tragic. I didn’t even know what was happening. I just knew it was wrong.
I struggled. I clawed and fought. It wasn’t gradual. One minute I was falling into this endless pit, the next I was back in the hotel room. The bitch tried to kill me! I think she was as surprised as I was. She pulled back and regarded me with wide, empty eyes. They had turned black. They were like shark eyes. Like Jaws or some shit. That gave me a moment to twist my body and scramble for the door.
I was still weak. My whole body screamed. I remember fumbling with the door. I remember her hands on my shoulders. I knew she was strong. I couldn’t let her get a good grip. It made me think of the pit my mind had just been in. If she managed to get a hold there would be little I could do. She would have me again and I’d probably die.
The door slammed open and I fell out into the hall. I remember her giving one last lunge, but then pulling away. I was on the floor in the hallway of this super fancy hotel. I remember trying to scream, but even my voice felt weak. It sounded more like a strangled moan. I crawled a short ways on my belly just until my legs were out of the room. An old couple were pulling their luggage down the hallway. I think they saved me even if they didn’t know it.
I flipped over. I was still crawling backward. The hotel room was empty and dark. She wasn’t in there. I had half expected her to be staring at me with those black eyes, but she wasn’t. There was nothing but quiet and darkness. I stopped when I hit the opposite wall. I leaned my back against it for support. I was breathing heavy. I passed out and woke up in the hospital.
I doubt I will ever find this creature, or creatures, and if I do, I will probably become a victim. Still, I have to keep following it. Or others like it. If I disappear, if you find these writings, don’t try and find me. I was probably killed. Do not draw this creature’s attention. Go back to you life and pretend you didn’t see this. Pretend like every victim deserves what they get. Pretend like there aren’t monsters under the bed, or in the closet, or around the corner. Pretend you are safe, and maybe you will be.
Eleanor Fogg
