Killing Vermin - a piece of flash fiction
‘Vampires,
like in Buffy?’
‘Buffy?’
‘Buffy the
vampire slayer.’
‘No, not
vampires, vampire bats,’ he asserted firmly, none the wiser as to the identity
of Buffy.
‘There’s a
difference?’ she sounded unconvinced, ‘a difference between vampires and
vampire bats?’
‘Yes, of
course there’s a difference, I’m a naturalist, not a fantasist.’
‘A naturist! You take your clothes off in public?’ she suggested, mischievously.
‘Naturalist,’
he corrected her, his voice tinged with impatience. A painfully literal man, humour
had no place in a conversation about his life passion, even with a beautiful
woman. Perhaps that was why he remained unattached at fifty five.
Unperturbed,
he explained with the patronising tone of a bad schoolteacher, ‘Vampire Bats
are hematophagic mammals. That means they feed on the blood of other mammals.
They are as real as you and I.’ Pausing to mull something over, the deep frown
creasing his brow did nothing to spoil what she considered a ruggedly handsome
visage. ‘Admittedly,’
he continued, ‘hematophagy is a
characteristic shared with the kind of vampires that featured in Hammer Horror
movies. Anyway, point is, they sometimes carry rabies.’
‘Yuk, they
sound horrid.’
‘No,’ he
protested, turning to look at her, trying to make out her expression in the
gloom; the flickering lantern was more successful at filling the night air with
the pungent aroma of spent paraffin than filling it with light.
‘They
arent, they’re fascinating,’ he insisted.
‘Whatever.’
With the one word, she dismissed his bats.
He was exasperated
by her the immature response, but he could not help but find it oddly
attractive.
‘Anyway,
they are native to South America. Finding one in Spain is unusual and worrying,
they have to be quarantined…. that’s why I’m here, to cull the vermin,’ he finished lamely.
They were
sitting together on a porch swing, though the absence of any possibility of
motion that could be described as swinging put the lie to the name. The
mechanism was solid, through the effects of time and a corresponding lack of
attention. At least it was on a porch.
With the
subject of the bats now completed, as far as she was concerned in any case,
they sat in an uncomfortable silence as the night creatures stirred all around
them.
Dinner had
been a simple and silent affair. The other guests, like him, were overnighters
and did not know each other; their behaviour indicated that they had no desire
to get to know each other. They had taken their seats with only the necessary
perfunctory noises such as were required to maintain a civilised though chilly
atmosphere. Once they had consumed their chosen meals, they left the table with
barely a nod. She had not been amongst the diners.
The last to rise, he had stepped out through the patio doors and onto the veranda
just as the last rays of the Spanish sun had faded and died with the day. The
cicadas were in concert, the faint breeze was warm. It was delightfully
Mediterranean.
He had not
seen her arrive, one moment he was alone on the seat, then the faintest creak
of old timber alerted him to a presence. A powerful waft of perfume filled his
nostrils, the fragrant scent of fresh flowers, and, almost imperceptible, the
sickly sweet aroma of damp and crumbling wood. He did not look directly at the
newcomer, but saw her form emerging in his peripheral vision, as if it were
being pressed through the velvet darkness into the dim glow cast by the porch
lamp. Uncomfortable at finding himself seated so close to a stranger, he was aware
that the swing seat would betray any movement with a creaking protest, so he did
not edge away. Normally he would not have had the courage to speak, but the
scent was alluring, intoxicating, it clouded his inhibitions. He wished her a
good evening. She responded in a voice that was sweet syrup seeping through the
dark. Without volition, he found himself explaining his reason for being at the
boarding house, the planned cull of a plague of vampire bats.
When he had explained his intent, they fell into an uncomfortable silence. Regretting telling her about the cull, he felt no better than a rat catcher. He dared a sideways glance, but her expression was
hidden in the contrasting of a deepened blackness against the dull halo of orange from
the lantern behind her. His eyes dropped instinctively, curiosity rewarded with
a tantalising glimpse of a full breast tipped with a perky nipple, briefly
visible through shifting satin.
His eyes were drawn irresistibly lower, below
her waist. Feeling a hot flush of embarrassment, he looked away before she
noticed the direction of his gaze; he was sure she was completely naked under
the thin satin gown. Although loose, in places it clung to her body like a
second skin, transparently caressed the curves of her rounded thighs, sinking in
the cleft between her legs. To his horror, he felt his cock stiffen and he
crossed his legs to conceal the bulge.
‘I saw,’ she
spoke without looking at him.
‘What did
you see?’ he replied, feigning ignorance in vain and hoping she meant something
else.
‘You,
looking at me,’ the gown clung tight as she twisted her upper body to face him. Her breasts were thrusting toward him, hard nipples pressing the satin, proud
from the dimpled darkness of her areolae.
Unexpectedly,
she asked, ‘Would you like to kiss me?’
Without
waiting for his reply, before he could react, she leaned forward to press her
lips hard and passionately against his own. Her tongue had penetrated his mouth
before he could move or utter a sound. Her eyes were closed, but they shifted
urgently under mauve shadowed lids as if she were dreaming. He tasted sweetness
with a metallic edge, but could not identify it. Groping clumsily for her
breasts, he fondled the warm soft flesh through slippery satin, felt the weight
of her breasts and found the stiffening nipples with his thumbs, but she
slithered quickly from his grasp. Fingers nimble with the familiarity of
experience deftly released the buckle of his belt, the buttons of his pants.
Warm wetness spread through the tightness of his briefs as her lips rolled over
the bulbous end of his rigid cock. He rolled his thighs gently in time with the
movement of the hand that gently cupped his balls inside the cotton of the
briefs. He tried to delay, but could not last long. She slithered up to kiss
him, but he turned his head away, unwilling to touch lips that had savoured his
seed. That suited her perfectly, his neck was bared to her, the beating pulse
visible. She sank her sharp canines into his warm flesh, feasting on the
throbbing flow of red nectar that burst free.
The swing
creaked as their bodies shifted in an embrace that could only have one outcome,
she clung to him tightly, drew the life from him. When she released him, he
remained upright, blank eyes staring, a lifeless husk.
‘To you,
they are small furry mammals with leathery wings and sharp teeth, objects to
study,’ she whispered, a dark trickle rolling from the corner of full black
lips, ‘but to me, they are family.’
Tom Covenent
Intriguing, drew me in and carried me away.
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