Chapter 5 : Too Late to Turn Back

*Gwen’s POV*

As I stood in the poorly lit and unsettling house, I took a deep breath to steady my nerves. It was drawled out and shaky, but it worked.

The longer I lingered within the murky confines, the more my apprehension escalated. Although I had never encountered the infamous mafia, I had witnessed sufficient portrayals of their threatening demeanor in movies to realize that they were not to be trifled with. Nevertheless, I couldn't shake the persistent sensation that someone might be in dire need of my help.

I walked to the old dusty couch and sat down. My thoughts were consumed with weighing my options. One possibility that came to mind was reaching out to the authorities. I contemplated informing them of the spine-chilling screams that pierced the air and then making my exit from the premises in a discreet manner once they arrived.

When I realized I needed to call the police, I tried using my phone but couldn't get any reception. Dammit! I couldn't believe I had no reception.

My stomach was starting to growl, and I wished I had eaten more than just a salad today.

'What if I get stuck here?' I thought.

I searched around me, assessing the space for any possible exit. It was best to know which route to take in case I was caught. I knew I had heard some noises, and it was possible that someone could return at any moment.

My eyes scanned the area—ok, there are a few windows, a vent, and one door that I’m not sure entirely where it leads. I looked further but came up short. I sighed. However, my sigh quickly turned into a quiet screech as a bang came from the room behind the lone door.

I froze, waiting for someone to appear. But when no one did, I took that as my cue to leave. I was no good to anyone if I was dead. As I walked to the window through which I had entered the house, I suddenly felt overwhelmed with guilt.

'How could I abandon someone who may desperately need my help?' I thought.

The scream I heard was bone chilling and came from within this house, so there must be some shady shit happening that continued to gnaw at the back of my mind. The need to help this person ate at me, even if I didn’t know how I could help. I felt useless standing in this dusty room filled with mafia memorabilia.

As I stood there amid my dilemma, I couldn't help but notice the coolness of the air that I inhaled with every breath. The hardwood floor beneath my feet creaked as I paced back and forth, my mind in turmoil. The problem that lay before me was complex, and I couldn't seem to find a feasible solution for the life of me.

My thoughts were jumbled and unclear. Despite my best efforts, I had difficulty finding a safe strategy that would work. Of course, I couldn’t make any calls; the circumstances seemed to prevent me from doing so. It was almost too good, like a scene straight out of a horror movie. And I was the main character.

Stupid reception. I had reception everywhere, even in places most people didn’t. So, why was here the exception?

Upon reflection, I had now realized that Chelsea's companionship could have played a significant role in preventing me from making a potentially regretful decision. Having her presence by my side always helped me make sound decisions, but I was on my own for now, and I feared my unquenchable thirst for attention-grabbing stories may have finally led me into trouble.

Hmm, or maybe not. Maybe this was my chance to discover something newsworthy that could grab headlines. If I rescued the screaming individual, I could be hailed as a hero.

Yes! That was it. I was a fearless journalist who confronted challenges directly and never backed down from them. This opportunity could be career-altering and I wasn’t ready to give up just yet, especially after traveling so far.

I picked up my camera and made my way to the door across the room. Carefully, I turned the knob and opened it quietly. As I pushed the door open, an unexpected creak echoed through the room, startling me and causing me to make my way down the dimly lit hallway quickly.

The house was almost pitch dark. Candles and lanterns filled the hallway providing little light to see what was around me.

Pictures of men wearing black capes adorned the hallway. Their eyes were the spookiest eyes I had ever seen, almost as if they had no soul. Their skin was as pale as a ghost. I grabbed my video camera and decided to capture footage of the pictures. I'd never seen any men in the mafia that looked like these men.

The air was cold and damp. I walked down the hall, making sure my steps were featherlight. I soon approached a gloomy staircase with more old portraits and paintings. I contemplated walking up the stairs to see what else I could find, but the scream I heard didn't come from upstairs.

I was finally approaching the end of the hallway and was getting closer to where I was certain the scream had come from. However, as I approached the room, a creepy and eery silence replaced the previous scream I had heard.

What happened?

With caution, I pushed open the door and peered inside, only to find myself facing a disturbing sight. My eyes locked on a man lying on a table, his body motionless and surrounded by four men and a woman. His shirt had been ripped open, exposing his chest.

The air was stagnant, and a sense of grim hung heavy in the room. The scene was enough to make me wonder what had occurred and whether the man was in any danger.

I watched as they appeared to be attending to the man.

'Hmm, that's strange. The mafia doesn't usually help people, but maybe he's one of their own,' I thought as I continued to look on.

From my position in the doorway, I could only see the top of his head and part of his chest. But even from here, I could tell that the motionless man was bleeding from his neck and head, the dark red blood spilling across his shoulders.

He was clearly dead—they had to know that. So, why were they attending to him so quickly? As if attending to him was going to save him in any capacity now.

However, the people surrounding the table where he lay, ran their hands across his skin as they all leaned in slightly. Were they trying to save his life? If so, it seemed a little weird that they would be leaning in so close without any medical equipment around them.

Wait… What were they doing? Why did it look like they were sucking the man's skin? The quiet slurping noise quipped my curiosity as my heart hammered against my rib cage. What in the hell was going on here? What had I just found?

I grabbed my camera bag and took out my video camera, my hands growing clammy the longer I stood there. Despite the nervous energy coursing through my veins at seeing such a sight and being so close, this was better than the mafia. I may have just stumbled on some kind of cannibalistic sex cult ritual because what the hell else could this be? What could possibly explain what I’m seeing?

With shaky hands, the image not quite as steady as I would like it, I zoomed in to capture clearer footage of what I was witnessing because without it, breaking into this creepy house would’ve been all for nothing.

I held my breath, focusing on the scene in front of me. I was confident that this footage would make me a strong contender for the story of the year and prove to Mr. Jeffers that I have what it takes to run such a story. He would have to take this story on once he saw it. Mr. Jeffers wasn’t a good boss by any means, but he was an editor and journalist, and he had to know a good, hot story when he saw one.

This was sure to make the front page. I just knew it.

I attempted to enhance the image on the camera, but something caught my attention as the slurping noises grew louder and more erratic. Squinting, I focused on the man closest to me, watching as his tongue lapped at the man’s ne—

Wait… Were they—

Oh, my God, these people were sucking that man's blood from his neck and chest area. I blinked, making sure that what I saw was real because no way is this my fucking reality. There is no way I’m standing here watching a group of people drink the blood of an unconscious man.

My chest grew heavy, weighing me to the spot where I stand, my camera unsteady in my hand. It feels as though all the air has been sucked out of my lungs, making my heady spin and my eyes blur at the edges.

The longer I stand here, the more chance I have of becoming these people’s next fucking meal. I don’t want to be like that man lying on the table. I can’t. I had to get out of there.

I slowly started to back away from the door when my ankle caught on the rug behind me, and the noise echoed around me. My eyes widened and my hand flew over my mouth to stop the gasp that almost fell out.

You’re an idiot, Gwen! I may as well have just walked right in and introduced myself.

The man closest to me, who I instantly knew was Darick, snapped his head toward the door, our eyes meeting. Blood was running down his chin and I saw what looked like sharp fangs protruding from his gums, blood dripping from them. His intense eyes held me hostage, my brain unable to tell my limbs to move or use my voice to scream.

With shock coursing through my veins and the most intense fear I have ever felt, I dropped my camera, listening as it shattered on the ground, the sound ringing in my ears. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Darick as he continued to stare at me. I could’ve sworn I saw shock cloud his eyes for a moment before they turned dark once again.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I came here expecting to find dirt on Darick and his gang, only to find out the most shocking secret of all—Darick and his group were vampires and they were feasting on a man before my eyes.

Oh, I’m so screwed.