Roger Hyttinen
A Clash of Fangs  

Part One

New In Town

Danny Reed was a short, well–built young man with pasty white hair, a massive nose and wide, sunken dark brown eyes which made him frighten those he passed on the street.  He wore a faded jean jacket, ripped black Levi’s and being that the temperature was hovering around zero with a wild wind whipping off of Lake Michigan, he was cold.  He knew he also should not have been walking out in the open but couldn’t quite remember why.  Through his foggy memories he seemed to recall that someone was looking for him—someone that he knew shouldn’t find him.  Was it the cops?  Damn, he couldn’t remember.  Hell, he had a hard time remembering anything.

                The alcohol that flowed through his veins warmed him slightly but not enough.  In spite of the cold, he smiled.  He liked being buzzed.  Yeah, life was damned fine.  If only it wasn’t so damned cold out. 

                He lifted up the collar of his jean jacket to break the wind.  Then started to sing:

She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes

She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes

She’ll be coming round the mountain, coming round the mountain

She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes

He stopped his song and laughed loudly.  Stupid ass song.  What in the hell does it mean, anyway? 

                He walked on as the cold enveloped him like a tight sweater.  He thought about having a cigarette but decided against it, not wanting to expose his hands to the bracing night air. 

                “It is fucking cold out!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.  The echo of his voice bounced off the nearby buildings.  He laughed again, then shivered.  He then thought that if somebody was looking for him he probably shouldn’t be yelling.

                “Where in the hell is everybody?”  He yelled as loud as he could.  No answer.  He knew where his buddies were—home in bed, passed out like a bunch of pigs.  He wished he were home in bed.  He shivered.  His friends were a bunch of whimps anyway.  They could never keep up to him—nobody could.  Every party he went to, he was always the last one awake, the last one to keep drinking or snorting.  He never understood how people pass out so fast.  They’re puppies, that’s why.  A bunch of goddamned puppies.  He rounded the next corner and the wind stung his face like a sharp slap. 

                As he walked, the thought struck him—why he wasn’t sleeping like his friends?  Why didn’t he stay at Ramiro’s like the others?  They were at Ramiro’s, weren’t they?  He wrinkled his brow as he tried to dredge up the events of the last half hour.  No, it must have been longer than that.  How in the hell long had he been walking?

                The pressure in his bladder could no longer be ignored.  Drunk as he was, he knew better than to just piss out in the open.  Especially if it was the cops who were looking for him.  He grabbed his crotch hard and winced.  Then to his right, he saw a dumpster a little way down the alley.  Good a place as any.

                He quickened his stride down the alley.  His insides tingled with relief as his bladder emptied on the snowy ground.  He groaned with pleasure.  Then the sweet, rancid smell of garbage assaulted his nostrils and he wrinkled his nose in disgust.  He tried not to think about it and just concentrate on pissing.  He had just about finished when someone touched him.  He turned around so quickly he almost fell over.

                There was nobody there.

                “What the fuck…” he said, rapidly stuffing himself back into his jeans, his heart beating wildly.  “Scare the fucking shit out of…”

                As he rounded the corner of the dumpster, a hand grabbed his throat.  He looked up at the face of a handsome man, who looked younger than himself.  Danny could feel the air being squeezed right out of him as the man slammed him into the dumpster.  Pain shot down his back.  He grabbed the man’s wrists in an effort to pull himself free but the stranger was too strong.  While Danny struggled to get his breath, the man leaned over and tenderly kissed Danny on the cheek then flicked his tongue across the boy’s smooth skin.  He rubbed his face in Danny’s hair and took a deep whiff.  He kissed him again.  Danny managed to strike the man in the face but it didn’t seem to have any effect.  He knew that the little air he was able to suck into his lungs was not enough.  He fought to retain consciousness.  The stranger’s lips parted in a smile.

                Long, needle–like teeth now protruded over the stranger’s unnaturally red lips.  Fucking Fangs!  The guy had fangs like some kind of an animal.  He wasn’t human!  Danny tried to scream, but couldn’t.

                I don’t want to die.

                Then the stranger’s grip lessened just enough to allow Danny to whimper, “Please don’t.”

                The stranger smiled, nodded, then looked at the boy in mock pity.  He lessened his grip a little more.  Danny gasped as he sucked in air as quickly as he could.  For a moment, Danny thought the man was going to let him go.  The man threw his head back and laughed like a hyena.  His fingers once again tightened around the boy’s throat. 

                I want to live.

                The stranger’s expression then became somber, and he slowly bent his head toward the boy’s neck.  Danny writhed violently, making one last effort to escape his tormentor.  Then, in one swift move, the stranger removed his hand from the boy’s neck and sunk in his teeth in the tender spot underneath his jaw.  Danny felt a sharp, cutting pain as the teeth broke his skin then sunk into his throat.  His blood splashed into the stranger’s mouth.

                Danny screamed then made a choking noise.  His face twitched horribly.  His body arched as the life was slowly drained from him.  His eyes rolled back, and he stiffened.  A few moments later he went limp.  The stranger eased the boy’s body onto the ground, still sucking at the wound in his throat. 

                The man lifted his head from the now lifeless boy on the ground and licked his lips.  He closed his eyes and smiled, as if revisiting a pleasant memory.  He scooped up the body and with one swift movement, flung it into the dumpster as if he were tossing away a light bag of trash.  He wiped his bloodstained face with his sleeve—and smiled again.

                “I think I am going to like Chicago,” he said.  He turned, and then sauntered down the dark alley, whistling as he walked.