Bloodrite by Dean Hodsfry

I was wandering around the streets in what felt like a drunken stupor. I had been with the lads and we did have a few beers. My head certainly felt like I had gone twenty rounds of vodka slammers with a Russian. 

The air was mildly sticky and hung heavy. I did struggle to breathe normally on a typical hot summer night. I looked up and the street lamps were, what seemed much brighter, the amber glow blinded me. The distant sirens of the inner-city police seemed deafening, the sickly smell of honeysuckle cloyed in my nostrils but I was on a street in the middle of the city in the retail section not a park for miles. I was broken from my confusion by Danny walking up to me and clapping me on the back. 

‘Wow, an epic night out hey Silv?’ 

‘Yes mate it was, did you get with that blonde?’ I asked 

‘Of course, midnight always gets his girl’ 

‘Is that your blood?’ I asked 

‘No mate, that blond was a witch, a heathen.’ 

‘Of course, we all have to kill the heathens.’ I said nonchalantly 

‘She was into freaky stuff even for them’ Midnight said 

‘Cool one less to worry about let’s get back to the dorm and work out what to do next.’ I felt some compassion. She was a human. 

We passed the old derelict warehouse, it’s cracked windows and bent metal roofing, showing it’s lack of use it had some sort of graffiti on it it was a circle with some sort of curly font come to think of it, it glowed a little well I’ll be so that’s where they hide. ‘Call the others I have found them’ 

Midnight turned and howled and a howl returned and our pack were on their way.

Published in Issue #7

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