4 - Paul
Sometimes cat, sometimes mouse
Being in the dirt is supposed to be restful. It’s supposed to be like going home. It’s supposed to be like being in the only place you’ve ever known, and once you’re here, inside its soothing embrace, it should feel like you never left.
To be in the ground is to belong. To know oneself. To understand your place in the universe.
This has been true for all of my existence.
Right up until about… well… now.
Even though I know the transformation isn’t finished—hell, it’s so early in the process one might say it hasn’t even started—I have the urge to breathe air.
Air .
This is it.
The end.
I have a few moments of mourning after this realization. A true sense of loss. Like one might feel if they had lost a father.
Which is a good analogy because the dirt is the place of Darkness and the Darkness is our father.
I want to move on. It feels right. Like the time has come. But even I have doubts.
I can hear Josep under the ground. He’s breathing, though it’s very slow. And every once in a while, he moans. But mostly he’s quiet.
The scions, on the other hand, are very loud. They are screaming under the ground as the Darkness eats them alive. Not literally, of course, but that’s what it feels like the first time it takes over all your cells. When it squirms its way inside each and every one of them like parasitic worms. Because, after all, it is the Darkness that makes us vampires, not the blood.
I try my best to go to back to sleep. I know I need to let the process continue. But every time I try, I get paranoid that I’ll suffocate. The dirt feels like a heavy and great weight on my chest.
Which, when thinking logically, is how it should feel. It just never has before now.
Something has changed.
I push up out of the dirt and come out into the open air, thinking about this change. It’s good. Change is good. Change is what I’ve been after all these centuries. I thought I had figured out what would happen to me once Ryet and Syrsee were fed and put in the ground and I became a ‘father.’
I had grand visions of this new me. I might have imagined myself on a throne, in a throne room so opulent it bordered on disgusting. Which doesn’t look anything like the rustic Montana lodge made of wood cut from the forest just a few dozen feet away. My vision had more of a Game of Thrones feel to it. The whole Jon Snow storyline, actually.
It’s absurd. But that’s what I was imagining.
Me, on a throne, wearing fur, with minions, in a massive room.
I look down at myself.
Nope. I’m just a demon.
I could still pull it off, though. I look over my shoulder at the lodge. I’m like a hundred percent sure that inside one of those rooms there’s a bearskin rug. I could make this work.
The problem is, I’m not cold. I don’t need a bearskin rug coat.
Oh, my God, Paul. What the fuck?
You’re insane. These are stupid, stupid thoughts that have no bearing on anything. Think. Concentrate. Focus .
I take a deep breath, hold it for five seconds, and slowly let it out.
There. Better. Mind is clear and… nope. I’m still thinking about fur coats.
This is when it hits me that I’m not all here.
I cannot think straight.
Oh! That bearskin rug lives in the library!
Focus, Paul!
Something is not right.
Something is really, really wrong with me.
I wake up in the dirt . The heaviness is… absent. The sense of suffocation… gone. The idea of wearing a bearskin rug as a coat and sitting on the Iron Throne… ridiculous.
I really need to stop watching TV. It rots the mind, it truly does.
And then I am laughing. Dirt falls into my mouth, and it tastes like brownies. Which only makes me laugh harder and then it’s filling up my throat and I’m clawing my way out of the ground and sitting on the hillside, looking at a full moon, and I’m pretty sure I’m a werewolf now.
I laugh again, hysterically, and I think… I think I’m stoned.
The next time I wake up , Ryet and Syrsee and I are in bed drinking and fucking as it should be. “Thank God,” I say. Then I panic, because I don’t thank God for anything. Ever. I believe in the idea of God, of course, but we don’t have much of a relationship at the moment.
So I know it’s not real.
None of this is real.
I’m fantasizing about becoming Jon Snow and wearing his amazing fur coat—which is so much better than a bearskin rug, there’s just no comparison.
I’m not stoned out of my mind.
I’m just… insane.
Ryet stops his drinking of Syrsee and turns his head, blood dripping out of his mouth, eyes red as scarlet. “What did you say?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, you did. You said you’re insane.”
“Nope. I didn’t. Never said that.”
Ryet laughs. Then Syrsee is stirring. “Keep drinking,” she moans. “Take more.”
I let out a long breath, tired of the confusion. “Ryet,” I say, and I use my stern Paul voice. “What is happening?”
“Come here,” Ryet says. His voice is soothing and calm. He hand is reaching between my legs. “Come on, just come back to us. I’ll take care of you, Paul.” And then he’s fisting my cock and?—
I sit up. Straight up . Which takes a huge amount of effort because it displaces a lot of dirt.
Then I just stare into the darkness. Lowercase, not proper noun Darkness.
What is real?
Is this real?
Has anything ever been real?
I don’t move. Don’t turn my head. Just let my eyes look around a little. Then I listen. I hear the beating hearts of scions in the ground, and the voices of scions above—the ones who didn’t partake in the ritual. They are looking for us. They have found the fresh dirt. They are thinking about digging us up because they want blood.
Josep says, “Don’t go up there.” His voice is calm, and low, and deep as it always is.
But it’s not out loud, it’s in my head. Which is how it should be, we’re in the ground after all. But the veil of unreality is still mingling with my dreams and I’m not convinced this is real yet.
“You’re fine,” Josep says, again in my head. “It’s the actualization.” Then he lets out a breath. “I think.”
“You think ?”
“There’s nothing to worry about. I’m having them too.”
“The dreams?”
“Yes. I was in a candy store lusting after lollipops.” He says these words in his typical monotone, unaffected way.
So I laugh. “I was Jon Snow.”
“Who?”
“For fuck’s sake, Josep. Why must you be so antiquated? You can’t just ignore pop culture, OK? You have to keep up with the times!”
“You’re insane.”
I blow out a breath, which displaces the dirt and sends it back into my mouth. “I might be.”
“Just kidding. You’re not insane. You’re just not actualized yet.”
“Well, I don’t like it. I’m tired of this and I’m going up top. Are you coming with me?”
“No. I’m going to eat that lollipop. It tastes like Little Baby.”
“Who?”
But he’s gone and I’m alone again.
Which is probably not a bad thing since he’s no saner than I am. We’re going through the same change and it’s causing… hallucinations. Or something.
I start clawing my way up through the dirt, justifying my decision to pause my actualization because I need to give these leftover scions a job or they will start doing things that will piss me off later.
They begin talking excitedly as they realize the dirt is being displaced and someone is emerging from the ground. They don’t know it’s me yet, so they are blurting out things like, “This is fucked up!” “We got left behind!” and “We need to dig them all up and demand our share!”
Which is pretty ballsy.
I respect ballsy. It’s a quality I look for in a minion. But it’s disrespectful when directed at me.
I emerge from the dirt and since I’m covered in it and not in my beautiful Paul form, they don’t know who it is and these complaints continue for a few more seconds.
But then I am out, and my wings are spreading, and they are gasping, and shocked, and then, in unison, they realize who I am and kneel with heads bowed. Together, like it was planned this way, they say, “My lord!”
It’s a very Jon Snow moment.
I exhale. Tired of myself. Tired of the insanity and confusion. And very tired of this Jon Snow thing. “Rise,” I say, lifting a hand up for effect.
My scions all get to their feet, most still looking down with bowed heads, but more than a few taking peeks at me.
One, in particular, nearly looks me in the eyes. I point to him. “What is your name?”
He takes a moment. He doesn’t swallow hard, like he’s gulping down his fear, but he wants to. “Kael, my lord.”
“Kael. That’s right. I remember you.” I smile here because Kael, in my memory, was quite fun in bed. Not as fun as Ryet. I like the chase and Ryet gave me the chase of a lifetime. But Kael put up a good fight too. It was more physical than mental, if I remember correctly.
I walk over to him, keeping my eyes locked with his. Then I place a hand on his cheek. “Are you mad, Kael? That you’re not in the ground?”
“What do you think, my lord ?”
Yes, the balls on this one are big. “I think you’re misunderstanding what is happening here.”
“Maybe you could enlighten us, Lord?” This doesn’t come from Kael, but from a lesser scion I call Leo. He looks nervous when I look over at him. “I mean,” he backpedals, “if you want to, that is. Only if you want to, my lord.”
I smile at him, putting him at ease, then turn my attention back to Kael. “You’re the control group, Kael. That’s why you’re not in the ground with the rest of them.”
“So we’re not being turned?” another scion asks.
I don’t even bother to look at this one. “No.”
They begin to mumble. These mumbles turn into grumbles. All the while Kael and I are staring at each other.
“Do you have something to say to me, Kael?”
“I want a drink.”
I scoff. “That’s it? Carnal desire? That’s what you want? Don’t you want to know what the hell is happening here?”
He shrugs up one shoulder. “Sure.” His eyes flit down to my throat, then back up to meet my gaze. He smiles. “I do. But what I really want, my lord, is you .”
I laugh. This one, he really likes to play the game. Not like Ryet, who is always so blunt and truthful. Always telling me exactly what’s on his mind. Kael here, while loyal—I don’t doubt his loyalty—isn’t blunt at all. He’s sneaky. He’s deceptive. He’s cunning. Sometimes cat, sometimes mouse.
Right now, he’s pretending to be the mouse. Which is nice. I like being the cat.
I nod at him. “If that’s true, you’ll get it. But first”—I look back at the other scions—“I’m going to fill you all in. Because everyone has a purpose and you, my good men, are the control group.”
There’s some murmuring here. Intelligence isn’t a trait I much care about when I make scions. I am a simple vampire, after all. I like blood and sex. So most of these men don’t understand what I mean.
But it’s OK. I don’t mind providing details. “The control group,” I continue, “gets the benefits of our mistakes. After all, we’ve never done this before.” I pan a hand to the ground. “It’s all very new. Mistakes will be made. Then we will learn, and adjust the protocol, and you, my dear leftovers, will be better than this first batch.”
They look at each other, murmuring again, and they begin to understand and start nodding their heads.
Feeling satisfied that they’ve all been placated—with the possible exception of Kael, but if it’s blood and sex he really wants, I will deal with him later—I turn back to the task at hand. Which is to give them a job to do. Idle hands are the Devil’s workshop, after all. So I point to one of the dumber ones. “What kind of coat does Jon Snow wear?”
He looks confused. Maybe even a little bit startled. “My lord?”
“Jon Snow. That majestic black, fuzzy coat. What kind of animal is that? Is it a yak?”
The scion shrugs his shoulders. “Um… maybe?”
“No,” another scion says. “It’s some kind of sheep.”
“Yeah.” Another nods. “It’s a black sheep.”
“Sheep?” I’m not quite sure ‘sheep’ is the look I’m going for. “Well, do we have yaks around here?”
The scions all look at each other, mumbling a discussion until they come to a consensus. “No, my lord. There are no wild yaks in Montana, my lord.”
“Maybe some ranchers have some?” another adds.
I sigh. “OK. Forget the yak. I need…” I pause to think. “Wolves. Pelts, actually. I need wolf pelts. A lot of them, I’d say.” I point at the group, aside from Kael. “Your job is to secure me fifteen wolf pelts. Good ones. And then I’ll need a coat.”
Kael snickers, but I ignore him and point to a random scion in the group. “You. You will take those pelts and make me a coat.”
He points to himself. “Me?”
“Yes, you. I’m sure there’s a how-to video on YouTube. You’ll figure it out. You’ll do fine. Now go. All of you. Hunt me some wolves!” I raise a clenched fist into the air, turning this last bit into a proclamation.
And then I usher them off with a dramatic wave of my hand.
Which they do not respond to immediately. It takes a few moments of confused mumbling before they actually turn away and start walking back to the various bunkhouses, but they do finally disperse.
Then I turn back to Kael and smile. “Come with me, blood lover. I have big plans for you.”