JtS - Everything's At Stake

Wind rushed past my face as I chased the vermin through the streets of England. It looked back once, saw that I was still pursuing, and ran faster. This only made me even more bloodthirsty for the kill.

 

You see, my name is James. James Summer. I live in Enfield in a tiny, uncomfortable cheap house in a rough area. Oh yeah, and I’m a vampire slayer.

 I’m fifteen years old; I have short cropped hair, a baby face, pale skin which contrasts with red lips and long dark eyelashes that frame a pair of icy blue eyes.

 I’m quite short, but very agile, strong, fast, smart and perceptive. I have brilliant eyesight, hearing and sense of smell.

 This is everything that comes with being a slayer. You’d think of it as a blessing. I did. Now, I think of it as a curse.

 

 The vampire I was chasing had got away, and I didn’t try to catch up, I’d diminished more than enough for this one night.

 I popped on a red vintage Vespa and whipped out my phone. I dialled a number and waited. A voce answered. He had a deep, gruff voice, and barely ever used it.

 I quickly checked my watch. It was already seven o’clock am.

 “Hello?” Richard said. Richard, my watcher never really showed his face. The only thing I know about him is that he has long hair and he hates vampires with a fiery vengeance. So did I, but he was the one that showed me the truth about them. They’re evil and they hate everything.

 “Hey, Richard. I killed three vamps last night” I left out the part about one getting away.

 “That’s very good, James-”

 “Kay, bye.” I almost interrupted him. My phone had little battery left…

 

 Let me tell you my full story. It began in 2008, when I was watching TV in my house. I was bored out of my skull and there was nothing on,

 Suddenly, someone called my name.

 “James!”

 I whirled around to find a man standing in my house. He had long dark brown hair, and his face was shrouded.

 “W-what are you doing in my house? Who are you; what do you want?” I threw questions at him. I was scared, but otherwise full of adrenaline.

 

 The man talked about vampires, explaining that I had to kill them. He handed me a pointy piece of wood, and when I got it, I knew he was telling the truth, because I felt a feeling rush through my veins. Purity. Purity and power.

 I was a vampire slayer.

 

 Now, let me get back to my original story.

 When I woke up the morning after, I was up early, researching about vampire nesting areas. Until I found something awful.

 My father, who had died when I was ten, was a vampire. And he was the meanest of all.

 I rang Richard. No answer.

 Suddenly, there was a knock on my door. I listened closely from where I sat, using my hearing powers. Whoever was there didn’t stay there for very long. They left after a second.

 I raced to the door, and found a piece of paper under the letterbox. I opened it and read it,

 Come to Richards

 It said in an elegant script. I knew it was a trap, but I did what it said.

 

 Richard’s house was basically the same as mine, just nicer. I rang the doorbell three times. No answer.

 I knocked on the door to find it was slightly ajar. I walked in warily.

 “Richard?” I said. No answer again. I walked into the front room and instantly smelt decay. I got out a stake, ready for a fight until I saw who was in there.

 “Dad?” I exclaimed, dropping my stake.

 “My son!” he exclaimed dramatically. “Haven’t seen you in ages!” I couldn’t see him really well because of the darkness, but I knew he would be sneering.

 I got out my cross.

 He fell into the chair.

 “You wouldn’t hurt your father…would you?” he pleaded. I thought for a second before sighing in defeat.

 “No.” I muttered, looking down.

 “Bad choice, son.” He said, grinning tauntingly. He  waved his hand over my face, and I blacked out, falling into a dark abyss.

 After a second, a figure slowly faded into view. He was transparent, but still there.

 Richard.

 “James, your opponent is still your father; surely there is a part of him that still cares.” He said with no emotion. I nodded. He was right.

 I gathered all of my strength to get up, but he was crouching over me with a stake in his hand.

 “I’m sorry son; I can’t do it.” He said, pointing the stake to his own chest.

 “Dad, what-”

 But he’d already done. My father’s ashes blew over me.

RATE THIS CHAPTER!

Author guidance for This story