After The Night

The only certainty in life is death, or so everyone believes. But what happens when you die, and death doesn’t claim you?

***

Orilon was quiet, too quiet for a town that thrived on gossip. The cobblestone streets glistened under the dim glow of the antique lamp posts as a storm brewed on the horizon. The townsfolk hurried home, anxious whispers echoing about the two bodies found in the Centaurus Forest earlier that evening. Malcolm’s Shack, the lone diner at the heart of town, was unusually packed, its neon sign flickering erratically like a dying breath.

Inside, Sheriff Holland sat with her boots kicked up on the table, swirling the ice in her cold brew. Her face was as impassive as ever, even as Detective Williams paced the floor, his brows knit in frustration.

"Two bodies, completely drained of blood. What kind of animal does that?" Williams' voice wavered slightly, betraying his unease.

Sheriff Holland took a slow sip before answering, her voice dry. "The blood-sucking kind."

Williams scoffed, running a hand through his messy hair. "We’re talking about humans, Sheriff. Vampire bats don't take down fully grown men."

Holland's lips quirked into a sardonic smile. "Have you ever seen one of those bats? Nasty little things."

Her nonchalance made Williams fidget, his eyes scanning the room as if expecting something — or someone — to emerge from the shadows. Unbeknownst to him, a pair of eyes gleamed from the corner, watching with keen interest. Whoever — or whatever — was listening, seemed far too invested in the conversation.

Williams shivered as if sensing something dark hanging in the air. "There’s something more to this. I can feel it," he muttered, mostly to himself.

The sheriff stretched lazily, rising from her seat with the grace of someone too familiar with death to care about its details. “The reports will reach you soon, Detective. Until then, enjoy your night. There's a storm coming."

She exited the diner, her figure swallowed by the creeping mist that had started to roll into town, leaving Williams standing in the dimly lit room, more disturbed than ever.

The cemetery lay at the edge of town, shrouded in a chilling quiet that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Eira Blake stumbled through the iron gate, the wind tousling her long, dark hair as she clutched a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand.

Her mother’s grave was in its usual state — unkempt, forgotten, except for Eira’s lonely visits. The headstone read Miranda Blake. Loving Mother. Born June 18th, 1980, Now at Peace, though the peace part always felt like a cruel joke to Eira.

She dropped to her knees beside the tomb, feeling the weight of the alcohol mix with the weight of her grief. "I hope you're happy now, Mom," she whispered, the bitterness thick in her voice. "You were right. About everything."

She glanced up at the sky, the stars blinking faintly against the dark canvas. The scent of rain was in the air, but she didn’t care. It was the kind of night that felt like it could swallow you whole — and Eira wouldn’t have minded disappearing.

“Caleb cheated on me with Harper, of all people. I should’ve listened to you.” Her laugh came out more like a sob. She felt small and insignificant in the vastness of the cemetery, surrounded by the dead and forgotten.

Suddenly, a cold gust of wind swept past, carrying with it a faint, eerie sound — laughter, distant but growing louder. Eira’s drunken haze sharpened as she whipped her head around, scanning the shadows. The cemetery was deserted, or at least, it was supposed to be.

And then she saw him.

He stepped out from behind a crumbling mausoleum, moving with unnatural grace, like a predator stalking its prey. His tall, lean figure was draped in a black leather jacket, dark hair slicked back, and his pale skin seemed to almost glow under the faint moonlight.

“Talking to graves in the middle of the night, hmm? Quite brave of you... or foolish.”

Eira’s breath caught in her throat. She stumbled back, her mind screaming at her to run, but her body wouldn’t obey. He was too close, his presence overwhelming, suffocating.

“What... what do you want?” she managed to whisper, her voice trembling.

The stranger’s eyes gleamed with something dangerous, something hungry. “I’m afraid you’re exactly what I want.” His voice was low, a velvet purr that sent shivers down her spine.

In a blink, he was in front of her, his cold hand gripping her chin. “Don’t scream. Don’t run,” he whispered, though his lips didn’t move. The words echoed in her mind, as though they had been planted there, taking root.

His mouth descended, fangs gleaming under the dim light as they sank into her neck. Pain shot through her, sharp and electric. She screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the night. Her hands pushed at him, but he was unmovable, an iron wall. Her blood, warm and thick, flowed into him, feeding something dark and ancient.

As the world around her began to fade, Eira’s last thought was of her mother’s warning. The one she had laughed off all those years ago.

“Beware the night, Eira. It’s always watching.”

And the night had finally claimed her.