Liten vampyr pov

I feasted upon that poor excuse of a father all night and while I knew I would certainly pay for this later when haunted by his wretched and revolting memories that would be transferred to me through his blood, it was a small price to pay for my Little Viking's life. It would have most certainly have ended at the hands of this monster.

The blood is warm and sickly sweet like fresh honey on buttery toast, trickling down my throat and enlightening every sense, re-charging my body to it's strongest capacity.

Corpses once drunk dry look a lot like deflated balloons, the skin becomes grey and sunken which gives the eyes the illusion of bulging out in fear. Moments before death you will find most bodies will purge themselves either vomit/faeces/urine as if the sins of the soul are trying to be released in one final attempt at redemption.

With the great high of feeding comes the intense low of getting rid of the corpse, hiding all traces of what has happened.

My kind will only ever survive by always living by a strict code- never to leave any evidence or trace of yourself.

We must always be nothing more than a bad dream, a story told to frighten children, a legend that hides in the shadows of humans minds. For our identity to be revealed would mean an end to all that we are. Humans will always fear what they can not understand.

When I first started to feed I'd simply dispose of the bodies by burial, but as the years have slipped by I have learnt that the devil is in the detail.

For his father, I have the perfect death scenario lined up.

I strip him naked so I can burn all his clothes to hide any evidence, plus this beast deserves no decency or respect in death.

I drag his dead weight through the farm until I find what I've been looking for. The odour hits me like a brick wall, assaulting my sense of smell. This sends a chuckle rippling through my body as my wicked thoughts glow in my mind.

I slide open the pen gate and slump Lucas' father to the ground in the wet sloshing mud, behind the gate is the bucket of swill. I hum to my self with great satisfaction as I pour it all over his revolting face then over his limp disgusting genitals.

My banging around has awoken them, I hear their grunts and snuffles of protest at being disturbed at this ungodly hour. Then a big black snout appears hidden behind the hay in their little rickety hut, sniffing at the air.

"Here piggy, come have your midnight feast." I coo, coaxing out the hairy, stinking beasts.

The scent has hit their snouts, awakening their insatiable hunger and they charge with great speed at their surprising treat. They surround Lucas' father, pushing and shoving as they tear their way through his flesh and crunch his bones.

What a fitting end for a beast of a man to become nothing more than pig shit.