sometimes more real than

people with bodies

and heartbeats.

13

Your

conscience is

the measure of the

honesty of your selfishness.

Listen to it

carefully.

We are all free to do whatever we want to do," he said that night. "Isn't that simple and clean and clear? Isn't that a great way to run a universe:"

"Almost. You forgot a pretty important part," I said.

"Oh-"

"We are all free to do what we want to do as long as we don't hurt somebody else " I chided. "I know you meant that, but you ought to say what you mean."

There was a sudden shambling sound in the dark, and I looked at him quickly. "Did you hear that?"

"Yeah. Sounds like there's somebody . . ." He got up, walked into the dark. He laughed suddenly, said a name I couldn't catch. "It's OK," I heard him say. "No, we'd be glad to have you. . . no need you standing around. . . come on, you're welcome, really . . ."

The voice was heavily accented, not quite Russian, nor Czech, more Transylvanian. "Thank you. I do not wish to impose myself upon your evening.. ."

The man he brought with him to the firelight was, well, he was unusual to find in a midwest night. A small lean wolf like fellow, frightening to the eye, dressed in evening clothes, a black cape lined in red satin, he was uncomfortable in the light.

"I was passing by," he said. "The field is a shortcut to my house..."

"It is-" Shimoda did not believe the man, knew he was lying, and at the same time did all he could to keep from laughing out loud. I hoped to understand before long.

"Make yourself comfortable," I said. "Can we help you at all?" I really didn't feel that helpful, but he was so shrinking, I did want him to be at ease, if he could.

He looked on me with a desperate smile that turned me to ice. "Yes, you can help me. I need this very much or I would not ask. May I drink your blood? Just some? It is my food, I need human blood . . ."

Maybe it was the accent, he didn't know English that well or I didn't understand his words, but I was on my feet quicker than I had been in many a month, hay flying into the fire from my quickness.

The man stepped back. I am generally harmless, but I am not a small person and I could have looked threatening. He turned his head away. "Sir, I am sorry! I am sorry! Please forget that I said anything about blood ? But you see . . ."

"What are you saying?" I was the more fierce because I was scared. "What in the hell are you saying, mister? I don't know what you are, are you some kind of VAM--?"

Shimoda cut me off before I could say the word. "Richard, our guest was talking, and you interrupted. Please go ahead sir; my friend is a little hasty."

"Donald," I said, "this guy . . ."

"Be quiet!"

That surprised me so much that I was quiet, and looked a sort of terrified question at the man, caught from his native darkness into our firelight.

"Please to understand. I did not choose to be born vampire. Is unfortunate. I do not have many friends. But I must have a certain small amount of fresh blood every night or I writhe in terrible pain, longer than that without it and I cannot live! Please, I will be deeply hurt--l will die if you do not allow me to suck your blood . . . just a small amount, more than a pint I do not need." He advanced a step toward me, licking his lips, thinking that Shimoda somehow controlled me and would make me submit.

Tags: Richard Bach Illusions Fiction
Source: readsnovelonline.net