This is by way of an introduction for you to my new book :- Vampiric Retirement. A Vampire trilogy with a big difference. This is the first and only true account of a total World War between the Vampire Nation and Humanity.
If you like Department 19 or Dracula, then you should love this trilogy even more.
There is also a sci fi adventure coming soon called :-
A Trainspotters Guide to Other Earths.
This is probably the 2nd weirdest sci/fi you will ever read!
On this site you will discover if you look, a wide variety of free stories covering most topics under the name of David Stevens. You may also like to look at Deviant Art for free to download pics and posters, if so search :- davidstevensbooks and for even more insanity why not follow on twitter. Learn about the role of the Dwarves and the Trolls, see the covert pictures, understand how they are involved in every book I write and even some of the short stories at Twitter:- DS_books.
Now for the blog update & Vamp; Thoughts from the pen.
Trials & Tribulations of Writing etc.
Research and characterisation is hard to do, thank God for the net and coffee houses, it requires just the right elements to conspire together before a new character is given birth. I have found that the invisibility of sitting on a café front, drinking coffee, can be an amazing tool, though not with a lap-top as ‘someone these days’ is bound to grab it and leg it, a touch of pessimism perhaps, I would like to think so. Not because of what you see passing you by, which can be quite stimulating in the extreme, in some cases, but also to me at least, the thought of being invisible, whilst sitting in a large powered wheelchair watching the crowds shopping and the world at large filter bye is interesting and says a lot about society at large on occasions.
A friend insists that people generally don’t see past the end of their nose, I think I might have to agree with them, where as authors see far too much and in far too much detail for their own good, much as do comedians apparently. Though most of what they view is absorbed and then locked away in the mind, in that section of the giant filing cabinet labelled ‘future characters’ and usable events. So now you know just one of the ways characters are formed.
So the next time you walk past a café or similar, wandering aimlessly from shop to shop wondering if you really need that latest wot-zit. Consider that you might be helping to create the perfect character for a book or story, or just providing an idea to fill up the cavernous storage space most writers & comedians create and keep just for new ideas no matter how nuts they might be.
Let me give you a simple example, for three years, twice a week a Chinese student walked past, never wearing the same outfit twice. During that time she passed through various stages of clothing, from jeans and a top to a little bo-peep outfit complete with crook and blond curly hair, none of which fitted in with her surroundings, but perfectly represented her self image or so I presume. She always looked quite content with the attention she attracted, and to this day I still have not found her style quite right to dress a character in, but I live in hope. She also brightened up the dreariest of days with her range; sadly she must have received her degree because she has not been seen for months. The world is a less colourful spectacle for her loss and whoever she is, many thanks.
There is of course ‘the sights you see when you have not got your gun,’ these in their own way add immensely to the contained character images. Though mostly they will be the less liked or make for the perfect anti-hero represented by daily life, just waiting to be painted brightly into words and fiction. Still there is a place for all and all have a reason to be in that place, if only in their own mind, ie: to exist. Mother Nature is never overly discerning, only efficient in her creation.
May your God (s) go with you.
Now for what you clicked in and entered to read. This short has no bearing or resemblance to Vampiric Retirement it is just a free short for your entertainment.
Not Everything Is…
By David Stevens.
High up in the dark dreary sky, far above the distant ground a snow flake began to fall. It flittered its way towards the Earth, landing on the windscreen of a Ford car with many of its kin along side of it. The snow had fallen hard around the far corner of the road; the wind had driven the snowflakes towards the onrushing car. Inside of the partly steamed up vehicle a male and a female were sitting in silence looking through the windscreen. The bend approached, neither of them realised that they were driving into a wind blown surge of heavy snow.
The screen whited out, the tyres passed from dry tarmac onto wet snow, compressing it, breaching the virgin clear snow fall, dirtying it with tyre treads. The car responded, the driver braked unable to see the full extent of the snow cover before him. The rear slewed first left then right and then left again as the young man powered the steering wheel from lock to lock, in an attempt to straighten the now skidding vehicle up. The bend tightened up unexpectedly, the out of control car breached the far side and careered off the road surface thrusting through the air, flying over a ditch and crashing into a snow drift covering a muddy bank. The car stuttered and stalled, the air bags deployed saving both of their lives (in theory), by forcing them back into their respective seats.
The crash was inevitable from the moment the car had entered the blinding snow; the driver had done all that he could but he had failed to gain any level of control back, hence the crash. His head felt pummelled as the air-bag deflated, he turned to his left seeing his companion as she was held by her white air filled bag. She pushed and the bag before her also collapsed, their seatbelts had held and were still holding them. They both needed to relax back to allow the mechanism to release them. The driver’s door opened as he leant against it, the girl was looking at him whilst pulling at her door handle, her door remained obstinately shut.
She looked through the window seeing the thick branches of a tree, the car had halted next to the ancient growth, the smaller branches had shattered and covered the car bonnet, the larger had pinned the car passenger door shut with their shattered pointed branches, conspiring to trap her within. He realised what had happened and how lucky they had been, a few feet left and the car would have ploughed into the tree at forty miles per hour. They would most likely have been seriously hurt, if not killed by the wooden stakes punching into the vehicle, as the branches shattered with the cars impact.
“You will have to get out this side there is no chance of that door opening!” He exclaimed. His voice sounded strange to him, sort of dull and lifeless; it was the effect of shock he realised both at the crash and at surviving the reach of the shattered trees intact. As she nodded at him she unfastened her seatbelt, he had forgotten to undo his and had tried to lever himself out of his seat and he had failed. He clicked the release and stepped hesitantly out of the car onto the muddy bank; he instantly slipped down two feet and was forced to grab the car door to stop his descent.
“Watch yourself, its slippy as hell out here!”
She nodded as she slid across the divide between the seats and then she waited for him to move away, which he did once he had regained his balance. She eased out of the car feeling her heels dig into the snow covered mud, she slipped but she was ready for that thanks to his warning. He was near the near bottom of the drainage ditch, his legs spread wide keeping him clear of the sticky muddy water that waited beneath him ready to claim any unwarily placed foot.
She used the car to help support herself as she stepped down to join him, taking his offered hand as she approached. All they needed to do was to climb upwards and they would be back on the road. The snow billowed around them, the cold bit deep through her light shawl covering her dress. Some trip out this had turned out to be. He pushed her as she eased herself upwards, shortly she was on the road reaching down to help him clamber the last few feet of the bank to join her. He looked about seeing nothing of any immediate help, no phone box, no house, no nothing; that was until a lorry rumbled around the blind corner cutting its own path through the snow. The driver saw them and the crashed car and applied his brakes. He stopped by the road-side looking down at them through his hastily opened window.
“Are you ok?” He shouted against the wind that had picked up in strength. They nodded pleased that help was at hand.
“Let me pull this over so as not to cause a crash.” The lorry grated as he engaged the gear and pulled the heavy vehicle forward.
They walked toward him; they glided through the snow as he opened his cab door and dropped to the floor. He reached out to offer his hand; the young man took it, gripping strongly, as the young woman moved forward and around behind the driver.
Five bodies, five people brutally murdered, blood splattered everywhere so that the coroner would have the devils own job of identifying whose was where. Three young men killed, local boys, good boys mostly, had been beaten to death, three to one according to the only survivor old Joseph, the town drunk. Some witness thought the police constable as he tried to decide what had happened. His senior was talking to Joseph, who was describing the two assailants, so not three to one the constable thought, but Joseph was adamant the boys had been killed by a young man wearing jeans and a brown jacket, the two girls had been slaughtered by the girl that accompanied him.
The senior officer looked around the room trying to accept what his eyes saw, even the pool table was covered in blood; there was a deep outline of a human body forced into the hard slate of the table top. The cues were on the floor shattered, the balls were crushed to powder as though they had been subjected to a considerable impact, (they had according to Joseph if he was to be believed). The killer had picked Frank up and bodily slammed him onto the pool table, then he had turned to kill Jack, followed by William who had been backing away.
Why it had occurred Joseph could not say, one second all had been peaceful (a normal evening in the bar), the next all hell had been let loose and the lads had died. He had hidden behind the bar kneeling low, trembling so much that he was almost certain that the young man would hear his old bones rattling together. The front door had opened, a male voice had called out good bye and the door had closed. The Ford belonging to one of the dead lads started up and drove away, leaving Joseph to thank God and call the police.
The handshake increased in pressure as the young man squeezed harder, holding tight to the lorry driver whilst his sister rounded on him. She snarled loudly, her fangs appeared and seconds later she was on the driver’s back biting deep into his throat, tasting his blood and liking it. He struggled, he batted at the girl but his strength was fading fast and it had never, even at its very best been of a level to compete with her strength. His knees buckled beneath him, his blood slowed its pulsing, his heart sounded to him like a big base drum beating a slow death march. His throat felt dry and tight, his pulse slowed still further, the girl let go allowing him to drop from her grip.
Her brother looked at her and smiled, she would not be feeling the cold from now on. He looked up at the lorry, he knew what he was going to do, what they were going to do. He took the body dragging it to the Ford, he pushed him into the driver’s seat; he stripped his Alver jacket from him and replaced it with his own brown jacket. He then took a lighter out of the right side pocket of his own jacket and set the car on fire, using the map laying on the back seat for fuel and placing it beneath the driver seat so that the body would be incinerated.
He did not expect the police to believe that this dead burned cadaver was the killer they would be seeking from the bar; well not for long anyway, the coroner would be able to tell the age, and this dead man was older by far than he the youth appeared to be. Appearances could be deceptive, in both his and his sisters case appearances were very deceptive! He returned to the lorry flitting directly into the driver seat and pulled the door shut. His sister was already aboard, they had transport once again, stolen transport but there was nothing new in that and they had a direction, now all they needed was to move.
The key turned, the diesel engine purred once it had settled down and the gears despite being a bit cranky and grating on occasions worked well. He accelerated away from the crash scene heading toward a new town and a new opportunity to feed. Perhaps they would discover a coven somewhere along their route, a place of safety for their kind; a place to rest and relax and start again having changed their appearance and apparent age.
The police would not catch them, only a skilled hunter with the right knowledge might do that and there were very few of them around, so together in silence they rode the lorry and sped into the snow filled night.
The town was small in comparison to the normal places in which he lingered; the blue flashing lights of a police vehicle attracted his attention. The scent that filled the air drew him closer, he knew exactly what he scented, what he needed to know was the cause of the scent. He stepped up to the door pushing against it, the door swung inwards the police had not locked it; not that a simple mortise lock would have stopped him if he had wanted to enter, and he did. He appeared within the bar seeing the remnants of the slaughter, recognising it for what it had been.
The constable looked up and saw him; he stepped quickly over, reaching out intending to steer the unwanted intruder out of the bar and away from the mayhem. The man did not react as expected. The officer spoke telling him to leave, that it was a police matter, still the man did not react, still he looked around the room with ancient experienced eyes. He recognised the handiwork of the couple he sought, of the brother and sister he was hunting. He saw the blood and understood it message.
The police constable decided to apply some gentle force. He reached out intending to spin the intruder and get him out of the room, he levered as he had been trained to, but nothing happened. It was as though the man was made of iron and anchored to the floor. The constable pushed harder, he raised his eyes intending to make eye contact; he froze as the mans eyes locked on his.
The yellow tinge fast turning to red, flickered like fire in the deep recesses of the eye sockets. The constable felt his will, his desire, his ability to resist, crumble away. Fear replaced what had been confidence and self certainty, fear raged through his mind and his body. The senior officer had noticed the intruder and he too was telling him to leave from across the room. The man turned, breaking eye contact with the constable, he departed as he had seen all that he needed to see and he had understood far more than the police officers present ever would. His prey was close, the scent indicated that, but how close he could not be sure. He stepped out of the public house looking at the ground.
He could see the tracks of a vehicle having reversed and turned, he walked the track until he knew in which direction it had gone. The two sets of foot-prints, one male and heavy, the other female and wearing high-heels matched the prints he had seen four days previously. Soon the police would begin to associate the violent nature of the cross-county killings. Soon they would be looking for what they would think of as a serial killer, or in this case two serial killers working together. They might even suspect that the female was being led on by the male, perhaps even forced; they would be very wrong, if anything it was the other way around, at least as far as the killing went.
He climbed into his hired car and set off following the direction of his quarry. He had been sent to find and stop these two. He had flown in six days earlier and ever since he had been hunting them. They, he hoped, would not be aware of his presence, that way they would not go to ground and become harder for him to locate. He drove for twelve miles until he saw snow on the ground. He followed the partially covered over tracks of a lorry and shortly spotted the crashed car. He pulled over walking towards the wreck, he saw the burnt out remains and the body placed behind the steering wheel, he smelt the scent of death, his eyes flickered red in reaction to it, much as they had back in the pub.
He knelt by the grass edge looking at the tracks confirming what he already knew, then he turned back to the road seeing where the lorry had pulled forward, stopped and later been driven off. His quarries had a lorry, he returned to his car setting off in pursuit. He drove on for twenty miles failing to make contact, then he spotted a lorry of the right size parked up rather clumsily in a pull-in. He eased passed and pulled over, not wanting to alert his quarry to his presence if they were inside of the vehicle. He leapt high seeking height, his body twisting before settling into flight and heading back over the four hundred or so yards he had driven on passed.
The cab was empty, there was no one inside but the scent still remained. He returned to his car pulling away increasing his speed to the best he could in the rotten weather. He passed a road-side burger joint and behind it he spied a hotel of sorts. He pulled over and approached carefully. He entered to find a young woman on reception; she glanced up saying. “Well I never two late guests in one night!” His ears picked up at her words, he approached the desk flashing what appeared to be a police officers identification. She paid attention, sitting more upright in her swivel chair. He asked to see the register; there was one signature, a lone man who claimed to be a salesman caught out by the snow-fall. He noted the room’s location, second floor at the back centrally located between the two sets of stairs, exactly the place he would have picked were he booking in and feeling a little nervous. He was certain that the so called salesman would not be alone nor would he be selling anything, only delivering death to those that he encountered.
He departed heading around to the rear of the building, again avoiding the cameras; he wanted to leave as little evidence as he could. Fingerprints did not worry him as he had none, but he existed in the woman’s memory and unless he killed her, which he had no intention of doing, she would soon be telling the real police exactly what he looked like.
The window of the room he was searching for had its blinds drawn and no lights on, that meant nothing on its own, the creatures inside of that room were not in need of artificial light or even sleep. They had only stopped because the lorry had broken down, or run out of fuel and so it had forced them to.
Stairs or window? He puzzled, reaching beneath his jacket and extracting a silver stake with a deadly point. The window he decided, if he was lucky he would get one of them before it could react to his presence.
She was standing with her back to the only window in the room looking at her brother in a puzzled way when the glass imploded, blown in by the entry of a man. The brother reacted fast, he stood up as his sister was thrust sideways by the entry and her own reactions. She rolled to the corner, regrouping fast intending to get to her feet and attack. She froze as the brother and the stranger made contact with each other, there was a wheezing of air, a popping of jaw muscles and then a flash of fire as the body of her brother, her companion in vampirism, exploded into ash.
He had been killed by the male; the male understood what they were and how to kill them. She screeched. The male turned, his hand lifting the tip of the silver stake and pointing it towards the woman as she thrust herself towards him; she twisted in the air trying to avoid the contact. He lashed out knocking her down; she rose again lunging, her teeth revealed her insatiable fury at her brothers death.
He stepped back a half-step, she flew forward seeing it as a sign of weakness. He plunged the stake forward piercing her stomach; he twisted the butt down driving the tip up, seeking her heart as she screamed into his face. The heart beat, the tip entered, the heat built and then there was nothing left but ash littering the floor of the motel. She was dead just like her brother.
Humanity would not be attacked anymore by this pair. He turned saddened at having to kill two of his own kind, but in reality they were not of his kind, they were out of control, they were death dealers, blood hunters and he had been sent by his coven to bring an end to them.