Sleeping With the Undead

Enjoy this Anthology excerpt from one of the stories—“Black Rose Beach” by Linndah
Black Rose Beach, my third summer here—hot steamy days and sizzling, erotic nights. They say the third time is the charm—David, the man I met for the first time this year is a real charmer. So magnetic, with big blue eyes, sandy blonde hair, and unblemished skin as pale and luminous as tonight’s full moon. Unusual for a surfer type. How can any man living year round on Black Rose Beach not have a golden suntan? Foolish enough to walk right up to his house last month I got my incredible, shocking answer.
I’m proud that I’ve built up quite a beautiful tan this year. I know it’s not healthy to soak up the sun’s rays but I’m careful and I use plenty of sunscreen. Who can forget the feeling of raw, red skin prickling like a thousand needles stabbing all at once while laying upon scratchy cotton sheets afterwards—a foolish sun worshiper’s punishment? Back in my childhood I didn’t know any better and I’d spend countless hours on a lounge chair in my back yard then I’d ache for days until the top layer of skin peeled away in huge pieces, and the miserable itching began.
Yes, my reckless days in the sun are behind me. Now at the ripe old age of twenty nine I still get a burn and itch sometimes—from another type of affliction. When my unique carnal cravings go unsatisfied first I’m restless, then I sulk and finally I smolder until I think I’m going to flare up and consume just about anyone that’s handy, a serious problem while I’m spending summers at Black Rose Beach. Far away from home and my usual haven of partners I have trouble finding someone ready and willing to fill my very special, perverse needs.
Do I sound like a freak? I really do look quite normal. A nicely stacked slim size ten with medium brown hair and interesting cinnamon colored eyes. I’m smart too. Savvy about money—I can afford to spend the summer months in a rented beach cottage, writing my best-selling paperback romance novels. Ah yes, when the men I meet hear what I do for a living they fawn all over me thinking I’m always ripe and ready for a quick fuck. That’s not what feeds my hunger. I want their blood. I need blood—but I’m not a vampire, not really.
None of my love stories are about vampires because I think they’re damned silly. Who in their right mind believes someone can die and come back to life, surviving decade upon decade with blood as their only sustenance? Myth and legend—as bogus as a three dollar bill. Of course that’s what I believed with all my heart and soul until I met David... Last month seems like a moment ago or an eon ago—where do I begin?
* * * *
The night I arrived—at Black Rose Beach. The first day of June and I’d driven twelve hours to get here. Tired, hungry and soaked from a sudden thunderstorm that hit while I unloaded my luggage and summer supplies, I tracked in water and managed to slip on the ceramic tile floor in the entry hall giving myself a huge ugly bruise on my butt. At least nobody would see it since I don’t wear thong bikinis. Nearly midnight, I finally finished getting settled and had something simple to eat. Looking out the floor to ceiling window at the glowing indigo sky I noticed the miserable storm had finally passed. Relieved yet still rather edgy, I paced back and forth carving a deep furrow in the living room’s shaggy beige throw rug. Why not go out there and take a walk on the beach to burn off this nervous energy before going to bed?
Stepping out onto the patio I marveled at the bright moon and a billion stars lighting up the short pathway across the grass-covered dunes. I rarely get to look up at the sky at midnight. I’m comfortable enough with an early evening stroll in the first few hours after sunset, but late at night you never know about some of the vagrants that hole up under people’s weathered wooden stairways. Antsy, impetuous, with a ‘who cares’ attitude I took off my shoes and blouse, tossed them on the chair then ran all the way down the path and into the soft sand wearing only my red lycra sport top and black nylon shorts.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I stood still for awhile watching the low waves come crashing in one by one—even timing them—about twenty seconds apart. Letting the foamy fingers of trailing water tickle my ankles I turned and walked south. My feet sunk in deep with each step and the warm sand felt wonderful squishing between my strong flexing toes—I’ve missed this place! My special beach—the third year in a row in the same cottage and it keeps getting better each time.
Still sloshing along in shallow water I promised myself I wouldn’t stray very far this late at night yet something kept calling me, almost pulling me and before I knew it I’d journeyed two full miles away from the rental. I always know when I hit the two-mile mark—there’s a strange old house sitting a little further back from the shore than the others, surrounded on all sides by a tall reed and bamboo fence, you can just see the second floor and pointed lookout protruding above the barricade. The only house on Black Rose Beach with a thatched-roof tower—it’s exotic and so fascinating! I try to take a four mile walk in the morning or late afternoon every day and I always know to make my about-face in front of this special house—my landmark.
Funny thing about this place, in the two years I’ve walked down Black Rose Beach I’ve never seen a soul around. I noticed they still have a big brass telescope mounted on the lookout’s railing and whoever is lucky enough to stand there can watch ships come in and birds fly by. I laughed thinking they probably just use it to check out all the local bikinis! Nope, never one living person up there. Must be someone’s winter home and I always come here in the summer, that explains it.
Tired and more than ready to head back I found myself frozen in place like a startled sand crab, staring up at that narrow balcony thinking I finally saw someone—a wild hunch or maybe I felt someone’s presence. Wait! Squinting, looking away then back just to be sure—yes, my psi sense was correct and I actually did see a person. They even had that telescope pointed right at me! Oh my God... They had a clear view of me but I couldn’t even make out if it’s a man or a woman. Hoping it’s a man, preferably an attractive one I reached my hands behind my neck bringing my straight hair up high then I let it drop, shaking my head slowly to straighten my long auburn mane.
My sensual signal now delivered, I waited for their reply. A moment later the figure stepped aside and waved—my heart skipped a beat! Most obviously male, shirtless, moonlight reflected on his pale skin and for a moment I thought the figure was a ghost—especially when he vanished. Considering making a run for it all the way back, my feet wouldn’t move. A wide gate opened—two doors—a previously invisible portal within the bamboo fence spread slowly apart to reveal the same luminous figure, beckoning.
During my daylight walks I often stop to talk to my beach neighbors but after midnight so far away from help now I’m hesitant. Sure I’d given him a come-on, a rather stupid idea, what was I thinking? I was thinking about blood... Somehow tonight I just knew, like I always know when a person is interested in blood—they give off a familiar energy signature. I’ve developed a strange instinct about that, from years of experience with kindred souls. Yes, a rare opportunity presented itself on my very first night at Black Rose Beach so I inched forward toward the gate, sniffing the air—crisp and salty yet also sweet with hundreds of night blooming flowers decorating the dunes.
“I’m David.” His hand reached out to grasp mine and as he did I felt a strength and vitality so incredible I almost started to drool. “Please, come inside.”