The Masquerade Ball

Wrote this one for halloween but only just finished re editing!

Time to play at being human, its fun once in a while and the Halloween season is the perfect opportunity. One of my favoured few has come up trumps, acquired me two tickets to a society bash that is being held on Alcatraz tonight, a charity masquerade ball. All the attendees will be splashing their cash around in aid of childhood leukaemia, I could be blasé about that but there are still shreds of humanity in me somewhere and if shindigs like this can help to alleviate suffering then well and good.

What mashes my brain though is the high and mighty who think that coming along to a drunken revel and throwing their money around allows them to behave like prize a-holes day to day. I’m not saying that everyone from “society” is like that, but I’ve met plenty of them that are, maybe tonight I can scare a few extra charity $ out of them without having to use tax breaks as an incentive.

First things first, who to take and what to wear? The first question is really a no brainer, Calli is my first and last choice, assuming that she doesn’t turn me down flat. It’s fair to say that we have been spending too much time with each other the last couple of weeks, but I haven’t been this smitten since I turned, having her around reminds me what it was to be human, passion, lust, dare I think of love? It’s opening me up for a lot of hurt down the line, but right now nothing else matters to me but her.

Mobile telephony is an amazing thing, signal is 3 bars strong in my coffin, I bark her name and hear my phone dialling her number, two rings and she picks up, her voice is alert, sultry, as always my heart quickens at the sound of it “Hey babe what do I need to know?” I steady my voice to reply, best to at least sound in control right? “Hi gorgeous, if you are up for putting on your party frock tonight I’ve got a couple of tickets to the ball in the bay, you fancy it?”

She barely hesitates, which serves to still my fluttering heart “Sure, meet you at the pier, what time does our boat leave?” the thought of the boat terrifies me, I’m sure she knows it too, most of us have trouble with running water, me I have trouble with water period, but the short crossing across the bay should be easy, I know, I’m just trying to reassure myself! “It leaves at 9, so lets say 8-45, oh and it’s masquerade, so masks are mandatory ok.” She’s already hanging up with just a parting “Mwuah” down the line, I imagine her lips forming the shape and don’t try to stop the lascivious smile that starts creeping across my face

Ok, now that I’ve got the hottest date in town I need to dress to kill, the invites say evening wear but the masquerade status will allow me to stretch the boundaries a bit, choices, choices… The first thing that springs to mind is my formal black suit, on the surface it looks perfectly respectable, mandarin collar riding high up my neck means I can get away without a tie, tight white t-shirt hidden underneath will have all the flustered females trying to cop a feel of a bicep or a pec as the evening wears on, I grin at that thought, wondering briefly how Calli and all the men present will react if I let the mesmer cast it’s spell over all of the female party goers?

I’ll need a mask too of course, the obvious choice is the wide leather eye mask, it covers my face from my eye brows down to the tops of my cheeks with a sharp V of leather covering all but the bottom of my nose. It will serve to be slightly more menacing than the harlequin affairs that most people will be wearing.

Finally I need to think about hair and decoration, sometimes I think I’m worse than a woman the way I fret over my appearance but I do so love to make an entrance! I slick down my giveaway fair locks and rifle through a selection of wigs, I could of course just use the mesmer to make myself appear as pretty much anything or anyone I choose, but Calli is the one I’m trying to impress and I have to concentrate hard for glamours to have any effect on her at all, far easier to use traditional methods. The wig I select is short and dark, flecked with silver at the temples to add a bit of age and distinction, ha if only people knew how old I really am!

The finishing touch will be some body art, for that I need a minion and I know just the guy, he will have to come to me if I want it done before full dark but he is very much under my spell, I call him to mind, brining him into sharp focus, concentrating on his features, the way he walks, the way his lips move as he talks, breathing in the way he smells and finally concentrating on the way his eyes swam and then glazed over the first time he looked directly into mine. Suddenly I am looking through those eyes, seeing what he is seeing, hearing what he hears, I let my voice boom through his mind “Neil, come to me, I need your talents, come and earn my pleasure” it pleases me that he doesn’t even try to resist, no struggle against the mental command, I feel a smile flick across his lips and hear words spill from his mouth. “Sorry guys, I just remembered somewhere I have to be urgently” He stands up and starts packing the tools of his trade into a holdall as I let my hold on his mind diminish…

Neil is an excellent body artist, usually employed by the film industry or corporations for promotional work, I was lucky enough to bump into him when I was down in New Orleans for Mardi Gras a couple of years ago, not as much fun as it used to be but a great place to meet the right sort of people. He comes from the UK originally but at my behest has settled more or less full time on the West Coast now, my contacts mean he gets plenty of work in the film industry, his talents are useful to me and the fact that he utterly adores me makes control of him that much easier.

I know it will take him about an hour to get to me so time to tidy myself up in a hot deep bath.. What! Vampires aren’t allowed to immerse themselves in hot water now? Not allowed to anoint our bodies with fragrant oils and to lay back, glowing faintly amidst the steamy air? I’ll admit I don’t do showers, I consider them to be “running”, whilst a bath has simply been “run” yeah I know, it’s weak but I think most of our frailties are based on belief, some sort of voodoo nonsense, that if we think it’s true then it has power over us.

I lay there stewing slightly, enjoying the sensation of running my hands over my body, the light film of oil from the water easing their passage. I tense and then relax my muscles as my hands pass, probing my fingers into any knots that linger. As a race we have a supreme amount of control over how our bodies appear to others, either using glamours and illusions to mask imperfections or effect disguises, or if we really put our minds to it, can by force of will change the actual underlying physical attribute, increasing muscle mass here, stretch a limb or straighten a tooth there. How else do you imagine that most of us manage to appear so beautiful, no trick of fate there I think you’ll find.

The one thing that I seem to have no control over is as it would be for all males, mortal and vampires alike, as my hands run across my skin I find my mind wandering, my eyes close and in my imagination the hands on my body are Calli’s not my own. I feel the rush of blood that I cannot control, a surge causing me to swell, I allow my hands to wander there with my mind, grasping the heft of my cock as it grows, slowly, methodically stroking myself until fully erect. My hands are Calli’s hands now, is she in my head? Controlling me as easily as I dominate those who have looked into my eyes, or am I simply wishing she were. There is no urgency to my movements, no desire to speed myself to orgasm, just a slow, luxuriant pleasure in this fantasy. It is only hearing the front door overhead scrape open that shakes me from my revelry…

I leap from the tub, if tub is what you could call it, a long marble trough that sits in the middle of the large basement room, very decadent, but I do like my pleasures, my skin is aglow from the heat of the water and the light sheen of oil still clinging to it. I'm instantly alert, it's only been about 20 minutes since I spoke to Neil, surely he couldn't be here yet, but the door opening doesn't sound forced.

I move silently across the room to hug the shadows at the base of the stairs, the way the doors are aligned at the top mean that the first has to shut before the second can be opened, ensuring that no daylight, however weak at this time of year will spill down into my lair. Slowly the inner door creaks open, and a stocky figure starts padding down the stairs, Neil! I let myself relax and move back to the centre of the room.

“Dressed to impress I see” Neil tries hard not to let camp creep into his voice, but he just can't help himself sometimes “You took your time” I counter, with a hint of humour in my voice “Seeing as you are here why don't you make yourself useful and clean me off” I toss him my prized antique bronze scraper, the dealer who sold it to me swore blind that it had seen use as far back as ancient Rome, I like to think that in the past it was used to scrape the gladiators clean before they entered the arena, but it probably belonged to some tubby merchant who insisted on his nubile young slaves giving him a rub down.

Neil goes to work a little too eagerly, humming tunelessly as he scrapes the oil from my skin, leaving it feelings slightly raw, dry and tingling. “So what do you have in mind art-wise? Halloween party I'm guessing” I'd given it a bit of thought, but know full well that he is the creative one “I was considering something a bit George Clooney, dusk till dawn, tattoo coming up from the left wrist to just peep out over the collar of my jacket on my neck, what do you think?” he takes a step back and tries to picture something, or maybe he is just admiring my still naked form.

Eventually he speaks “OK, the tribal tat that GC had was pretty bland, I'm thinking crows, so either we do a Celtic knot-work crow and crane wending up around your arm, those two together represent the eternal struggle between good and evil, which is nice... or my other idea is to have one big crow made up of a murder of smaller ones, flying up your arm, wings spreading out over your shoulder with it's head coming up your neck, beak pecking at a couple of little puncture wounds just under your jawline” Now you can see why I love Neil, the guy is a genius, I just nod dumbly for a couple of seconds before I realise he is waiting for me to tell him what I want “Yep, the murder sounds perfect Neil”

Without hesitation he sets to work, base layers on first with a sponge, then detail work with an airbrush, it takes him over an hour from start to finish but the result was well worth standing naked in my basement for, by the time he is done you couldn't tell that it's not a real tattoo, the paints he uses shouldn't wear off for a couple of days so all I need to do now is pull my clothes on. I give Neil a hug by way of thank you, of course I cannot resist driving my fangs into his neck, draining just a mouthful of blood, just an appetiser for the night ahead, as I drink his breathing quickens and he stiffens in my arms, some boys just love to be dominated...

After Neil has departed I get myself together, and head for the bay, I'm about 20 minutes brisk walk away, I could call for a car but the walk will heighten my sense of anticipation of the evening ahead and will allow me to enjoy a slow approach, useful to weigh up the situation.

My timing is good, it's about ten minutes to nine as I hit the jetty, a crowd is milling about the gangplank leading on to a sleek looking ferry, their warm breath clouding the air around them in the half light provided by the stars and the occasional lamppost. Within seconds my eyes alight upon her and try as I might I cannot tear them away, now I notice that the gaze of most of the other men waiting for the boat are having the same issue, a 'cat who got the cream' grin spreads cheekily across my face at the thought that my date is the one that every man there wishes were his tonight.

I stop in my tracks to savour her a moment longer, tonight she is dressed for pleasure, not purpose and judging by the smile on her deep red lips Calli is enjoying the effect that her appearance is having on the crowd. She is wearing a full length, strapless evening gown, deep red velvet or at least I think so from this distance, it hugs her figure perfectly, accentuating the feminine hourglass that she presents without exaggerating it. Her shoulders and neck are invitingly bare, her hair must be pinned up, is piled the right word? It's rare that I get to feast my eyes on the back of her neck and I find it deeply sexual and arousing, an area that is usually covered by her flowing hair, laid bare, revealed, like a guilty secret..

The dress sweeps down beautifully to her ankles, I can just make out sharply pointed heels but there is no hint of discomfort or difficulty walking as she gracefully saunters amongst the crowd, is that her vampiric balance or just a womanly trait I wonder?

I stride purposefully along the jetty now, trying hard not to obviously enjoy the moment that I close with her, slip my arm through hers and allow my lips to brush her cheek, just below the tiny domino mask that can only be held on by glue or force of will “You look.... amazing” the pause was not for effect, for once I truly was at a loss how to describe, even amazing doesn't feel like it is doing her justice, truly I am in awe of this beautiful creature.

“You are looking pretty good yourself” she delivers her line dead pan, but I can feel her eyes lingering here and there, boring into me, a feeling that I could grow accustomed to. “Onward then beautiful Calli, an evening of mischief and mayhem awaits us on the rock” I steer us toward the waiting boat, gripping her arm slightly more firmly as we step across the gangplank and find our seats aboard.

The boat trip is mercifully short, the cabin packed as it is with part goers. The temptation to cut loose and start feeding upon them is immense, causing me the shiver with anticipation, nowhere for them to run, their screams inciting panic throughout the craft. I shake my head to clear it of the fantasy, Calli’s eyes are boring into me, as if she can sense my thoughts, her hand is resting on my forearm, ready to restrain me if need be, we are here to party, pretend to be human for just one night.

The mixture of costumes catches my attention, perhaps 50% have gone for the safe evening wear option, penguin suits and posh frocks, the rest are an assortment of fancy dress, werewolves, ghouls, Frankenstein’s monster and of course plenty of vampires, most are professionally made, expensively acquired for tonight’s revels, our hosts for the evening introduce themselves as the boat pulls alongside the dock

“Hi I’m Kelly and this is Jorg, first of all a big thank you for making it tonight, may I say how fabulous you are all looking” This delivered in that slightly smarmy PR manner that only a person employed for their perfect bone structure seems to manage. “Tonight’s festivities will be taking place in the largest of the buildings on the island, the main cell block, we ask that for your own safety you only visit the other buildings or outer areas with one of our organised events” Jorg takes over now, it would be easiest to describe him as a viking, long blonde hair, about 6’3” tall with the sort of shoulders designed to swing a big axe “The rock is a safe place as long as we treat it sensible ok, everyone is here to have a good time, so leave your wellbeing to us, but please just do as we say at all times. As we dock there is a short but steep walk up to the main building, equivalent to say climbing the stairs in a 13 story block, if you don’t feel able to make that then there are limited spaces in transports but we’d love you to join our torchlight procession, which will look amazing from back on shore”

I don’t doubt what he says, 250 flaming torches wending their way up the hill will look like a huge flaming snake in the distance, they hand each of us a stick, made from some kind of rough cloth that has been dipped in wax, as we step onto the shore, up ahead there is a guttering brazier that people are pausing to light their torches in before a smiling photographer gets couples to pose for mug shots as they walk through the stout gate that leads to the prison compound beyond. We patiently wait our turn, using all of our senses to scan the night, the sea air is chill and a few people in the crowd are muttering about getting a move on but I love the sharp slap of the wind against my skin, causing it to prickle and burn. Suddenly it is our turn, the photographer looks up to frame the shot and his jaw drops slightly, it is a joy to see him visibly staggered by our overwhelming beauty, we are forcing the issue by surrounding ourselves with glamours, so much so that it must be almost painful for him to look directly at us. After a couple of seconds he shakes his head slightly as he realises he is staring, Calli smiles widely at him now, capturing him completely “Anyway you want us sweetie?” his cheeks reddens as all sorts of things must shoot through his mind “uh, uhm, just er stand against the wall there please” we back up, Calli leans casually back against the wall and produces two cigarettes from somewhere, placing them between her lips and lighting them from her torch in one fluid movement, she inhales in one deep smooth breath that seems to stretch on for minutes before lowering her hands, leaving the glowing brands clenched between her teeth, fangs bared.

I reach across and pluck one lightly from her mouth before placing it in my own, the first taste is her, before I breathe deep and let the smoke fill my lungs, let the rush fly through my head to be replaced by that mellow fuzzy, first smoke of the day glow.

Our happy snapper starts clicking away, doesn’t seem to want to stop at the obligatory three or four shots, eventually we tire of posing for him and move on through the gate, leaving the queue behind us wondering quite what just happened. As we stride up the hill we can hear jangling guitar music, dis-concordant strains, it is hard to make out but as we move towards the open double doors it is clearly a tribute band doing a very passable cover of Passion of Lovers, we pause at the threshold, taking a moment to extinguish our cigarettes and dispose of our torches, I turn to embrace Calli, delivering a languidly slow kiss upon her upturned lips, looking deep into her eyes. Eventually one of our hosts comes to the door and asks if we won’t come in, thus invited we enter the party..

From the outside this place is dour and imposing, the buildings are crumbling, beaten down by the relentless exposure to the elements, inside I was expecting it to be much the same but the place has been transformed, presumably for the party, it’s all cosmetic of course but the impact is impressive.

We get led through an ante chamber and into what must have been the main chamber; a long corridor runs down the center of the room, walls of cells towering up above us each side with metal gantries looming overhead, long bench tables have been laid down the middle of the free space, groaning under the weight of food and decoration spread across them. A wooden dance floor has been laid in the middle of the span of tables with spotlights focussed from guard points on the gantry. The band appear to be situated in individual cells on the 3rd level at the end of the room, banks of coffin shaped speakers filling the cells on that wall and scattered throughout the chamber at random

The décor is deliciously dark, purple velvet draped everywhere, coffins, corpses swinging, hanging from the ceiling high overhead, jack o lanterns provide a shadowy malignant light. There are entertainers mingling amongst the guests, ghoulish jugglers tossing severed limbs or bloody axes, svelte zombie dancers, all of the serving staff are goblinesque, crouched and subservient, running drinks and plates of food to expectant revellers. The band are still bashing out Bahaus covers and doing a decent job of it, I’m not sure that the music is to everyone’s liking but Calli and I are all over it, she drags me to the floor and we are soon swaying around infused with true gothic angst, more than happy to be the focus of everyone’s attention, beautiful and stylish enough to carry it off. One of the countless benefits of being undead is no fear, no fear of failure, no fear of being ridiculed, just a suffusion of confidence, which is all you really need to carry anything off dead or alive, do everything with style and people will envy and love you for it in equal measure.

The evening is going to plan; Calli and I split up occasionally to put ourselves about amongst the crowd, they can’t help but fall under our spell, anyone who dares to makes eye contact with me is struck with the cold dread that they are in over their depth, knowing with grim certainty that it is already too late, they are mine. Chances are if they wake up in the morning with twin puncture wounds in their neck they’ll just think that some amorous wannabe vamp got over excited with the plastic fangs they were wearing. This is the perfect opportunity to drink our fill without draining people dry; it’s also a great chance to put some people with influence in the city into our thrall with little real effort.

I am tiring rapidly of the fawning attention of the 2 lithe dancers that I seem to have acquired; people might think that to be the object of desire of such beautiful creatures would be fabulous, but I know that it’s not truly me that they want, it’s the aura of power that radiates outward that they are drawn to, helpless as moths flitting about a naked light bulb, the only person that I’m truly interested in is the one that has free will where loving me is concerned, I persuade my zombie’s that they want to go and gyrate around a slightly anxious looking guest whilst I start scanning the crowd for my beloved.

It only takes me moments to conclude that she isn’t in the main hall, scanning the gantries above me I sense her more than see her, feel her dark shadow disappear into one of the cells at in the dim distance high above. Not wanting to waste time walking the length of the room to climb the stairs I bunch my legs beneath me and launch at the gantry above me, I leap from level to level like this, silently and with a minimum of effort, pulling myself up over the barrier surrounding the level and vaulting quietly to the walkway that runs along the outside of the dingy cells, each of these rooms can be little more than 6 x 8, many of the barred doors are pulled shut, presumably to deter revellers from using these more secluded chambers for anything untoward, the organisers could probably do without headlines "Society Dilettante' knocked up in machine gun Kelly's cell", but at the far end of the gantry I can make out Calli's silhouette standing in the doorway. I move forward but each step suddenly feels leaden, a cold dread seeps out of that open cell toward me, an almost physical entity pushing me backward, filling me with an unknown, unseen terror. I can see now as I force myself on, that her hands are gripped tight around bars to her sides, it is taking every ounce of resolve that she possesses not to turn and flee toward me, the same resolve that I am trying to summon just to continue toward her.
For what seems like an eternity this internal struggle goes on, it can take me no more than 30 slow slow seconds to cross the distance in reality but wherever I am now it does not feel like reality, as I step forward and push my arm around her waist I am transported, suddenly the prison is filled with light, with the stench of hundreds of men living day to day in these insanitary holes in the rock, There is little sound, no conversation, just the clattering of boots along the gantry as a guard clad in a stiff woollen uniform walks close behind the two of us, seeming to ignore our presence. The cell before us is inhabited now, a man, if you can call him that is squatting on the bed, staring intently at us, his features are demonic, twisted, tormented, his eyes an impenetrable black. Somewhere in the distance I hear the faintest chords crying to me through the ether, slow deliberate bass, repetitive drumbeats, and underneath it strains of jangling guitar, "The bats have left the bell tower, The victims have been bled, Red velvet lines the black box, Bela Lugosi's dead, Undead undead undead" the lyrics seem to be coming from another world but they are spilling out of that evil fanged mouth, smiling wide and wicked at us now, almost hungrily.

"You two are a long long way from home, shouldn't be here, not tonight, tonight is my feast, they have woken me, given me a taste for life again, I will eat them all, feed on their souls" I don't know what this thing is, this shade, don't know who he was or what he did, but he radiates pure evil now, his ashed pallid skin is nothing akin to the silky alabaster of our perfect bloodless flesh, it is somehow waxy, pocked and seeming to distort with every word, his eyes bore into me, promoting once more the feeling of helpless terror.

Suddenly it roars and as it roars it leaps from that bunk, pushing through and past we two as if we didn't exist at all, behind us, below us, there is a scream, then multiple screams, we turn as one to see the creature amongst them now, those close are bathed in the mindless terror that his presence seems to promote, some further back are looking on in wonderment, is this some amazingly realistic part of the evenings entertainment?

The creature now seems to expand, seems to ooze non light, an inky black swelling out from it's centre, concealing it and it's first victim, a pretty thirty something who had been in danger of spilling from her Elvira cut dress all evening, her scream is terrifying, coinciding with the band trying manfully to continue with their number in the face of something that is to unbelievable to be anything but entertainment "Strewn with time's dead flowers Bereft in deathly bloom" We look away from the scene and into one another's eyes, we know what must be done, yes we are cold, killers, often treat the people below as little more than cattle, but whatever is down there cannot be allowed, just cannot be allowed. As one we leap over the low barricade, grasping at protruding metal struts, drapes, hanging corpses to slow our descent. Within a breath we stand outside the circle of darkness, the screams from within have receded, replaced by a dry, sucking, rasp.

The circle retreats and the monster stands before us, more substantial now, his victim is an empty husk at his feet, her dress the only thing that remains. "I told you, not tonight" he waves his hand toward me and a force, a punch, hits my chest, propelling me back across the room and hurling me against the bars of a cell door. Calli drops suddenly as I pull myself together, has dodged his second attack, her right leg snakes out and around, sweeping just above the floor before connecting at the back of the beasts knees, he begins to fall in slow motion, such is the force of her attack that his legs have crumpled beneath him.

Before he impacts though he seems to twist in mid-air, catching himself on all fours before pouncing toward her, huge talons sprouting from his fists, his gaping maw now lined with venomous dripping fangs, Calli hurls herself aside as he lands where she was a heartbeat before, I am flying across the room now, pausing only to wrench a section of the gantry free, swinging it manically toward the creature as I approach. He suffers the blow, the continued blows that I rain upon him with my makeshift club, beating him down to the floor, I bend, breathing short ragged gasps, satisfied that I have finished it. Before y mind can rationialise it the creature is standing before me again, if such a thing could look smug then it does, stares into my eyes and again I know terror "Bela Lugosi's dead" he spits the words at me, his fist driving into my chest, through my chest, trying to grasp at my heart, pull it clear...

Calli is on his back, her fists are hammering into what passes for it's head, her fangs are tearing at it's throat, vainly it tries to shake her off as it seeks to finish me, I am bereft of strength, have fallen to my knees, tears are rolling down my cheeks as I realise that I have known true love and am about to lose it forever. Without warning something slams into the creatures chest, a book, behind it is a man dressed as, dressed as what, Van Helsing, how ironic. The book can only be a bible as the creature is writhing beneath it, the weight of it bearing him down to the floor, pinning him there, Spike still frantically tearing at his throat as that tome seems to melt through his torso, sucking the rest of his corporeal body in beneath it as water might get sucked down through a sink-hole and he is gone.

My breathing is shallow, despite the last minute reprieve I'm not convinced that I can survive the ragged open wound that my chest seems to have become, Calli is gagging, retching up whatever is left of the foul taint of that beast that she consumed in her efforts to save me. I look to our saviour, he is unsure of himself now, knows that he did the right thing but is now losing his grip on what little sanity could survive that ordeal. "I need blood and I need it fast" I croak to him, his eyes lock on to mine, what little power is left within me compels him, dutifully he offers me his wrist, my fangs drive into him but he is strong, does not pull away, refuses even to wince as I draw his crimson nectar hungrily into my mouth. Calli is beside me now, holding her hand over my wound, holding me together in more ways than she imagines, she looks into my eyes, smiles that radiant, ravishing smile of hers "I knew you would show me a good time tonight lover" and I can't help but smile back "Undead undead undead" can that whole encounter have taken less than the running time, I shake my head in disbelief as the band play on.