Free Short Story: Atticus Amada

This short story is about a man tormented by a curse. A curse so demonizing just to think of it may scare your soul. Read of his life and his existence peering down from the clouds over millions of people. Will he succumb to his desire, if so, will it be your fate to be in his path?

“Atticus Amada”

“What purpose does God serve by enslaving a soul in a cold tomb of flesh motivated by hunger and lust? Torture of a mind, too gruesome to speak into the air because to hear it would scar your soul. Why must I, a man of God, a man of love, a man of conviction be stricken with this curse? This evil curse of which I cannot be freed, nor can I ignore,” he shouted into the night sky, seven hundred feet above the city. The breeze whipped at his long dark hair as if it were an angry opponent annoyed by his indignation.

A cold stare, as loud as his cry of rage, went out across the roof tops which bore his gaze. To be neglected by him would be an answer to a prayer from the terror of dreams. Tonight, as the moon would rise and the stars would hide in fear, another soul would be released and his thirst for human blood quelled.

The Gothic building which he dwelled had been his sanctuary, his abode, his asylum for the last hundred years. A man collects wealth in a lifetime, to exist in shadows for generations, to take life, to take breath, provides a cornucopia of all things desired. He looked down at the mucronate architecture which surrounded him. The visual beauty of the stone always stimulated his senses. His lair came with a handshake in 1910. New York City was different then. Men didn’t care about the general good. Greed was rampant and there was a race for the extravagant, the biggest, and the tallest.

Memories were carved in stone inside his mind, every meeting, every contract, every death. He remembered the exact time which he engaged in

the deal. Both contract and death would play a part before that night ended.

He had dressed as usual, dark clothing, affluent cloth, and a style typical of the early part of the twentieth century. He overheard the talk of a new building going up at the lower end of Broadway and he had an ambitious plan.

It was already late in the evening when he arrived without notice. The man sitting behind the desk was a self-made millionaire named Woolworth. He did not hear nor see the gentleman standing in front of his desk until he spoke.

“Good afternoon,” he said with a soothing Spanish accent.” The businessman spilled his coffee on the papers in front of him.

“How the hell did you get in here?” His voice cracked.

“Through the front door, but it is not impo

rtant.” The

man in black spoke softly and succinctly.

“I am here to give you money to help you with your building.”

The businessman had been approached by numerous people while building his empire, however no one ever suggested he take their money.

“Ok, I am listening,” Woolworth said.

“Tomorrow, my lawyer will wire you twelve million dollars. You will use it to increase the size and shape of this building to the specifications I have outlined in my proposal.” Woolworth stopped him.

“What percentage of the payout do you want on the building? I am not giving away my spot,” he said emphatically.

The dark stranger looked at him for a moment before speaking.

“I want the top floor,” he whisper

ed.

“Bullshit, that cannot be it,” Woolworth said. “You must want more.”

“I need a place that looks down upon the city and I want you to build with my specs”

Woolworth thought for ten minutes without speaking.

“If what you are saying checks out, it’s a deal.”

He stuck his hand out and after an unplanned twenty-minute meeting, the

Woolworth Building would become the tallest skyscraper in the world.

The stranger turned and walked quietly to the door as he did when he entered.

“What is your name sir?” Woolworth beckoned.

The shadowy figure turned and met his gaze.

“It is not important,” he answered and th

en disappeared.

When he exited the building, the breeze hit him with a scent that was unmistakable. The smell of blood consumed him. Nothing releases the claret of the human body faster than

severing the carotid artery. He could hear the thoughts of a young girl as she laid beneath her aggressor. Women were being slain all over the city. In a metropolis of five million, crimes were never solved and very seldom even reported.

The sound of his leather shoes struck the concrete sidewalk of Broadway with only a whisper, but the speed of his travel attracted attention. It made little difference since he was out of sight before they could identify who or what had pushed them aside.

The moonless sky absorbed the light of the streets; soon the

ultimate predator would find his prey. The lights were dim along the alleyway where the scent

summoned him. He now walked at a slow saunte

r, turning in a circle as he moved. The next street was even more bereft of light, but his eyes did not require the reflection of waves. There,

lying in the street, was a man hovering over a woman partially clothed, barely alive, and

bleeding profusely from her neck.

“Murderer,” he growled. The man looked up, the razor still in his hand. Blood seeped from the metal’s edge where it pressed against her throat. Her tear-stained makeup was still wet, and her somber cries were now just a murmur from her dying body.

The creature stared at him, eyes aflame, nails now exposed as talons. The back of his hand struck the rapist in the chest and sent him crashing against the brick wall. Air rushed from his body, and he struggled to regain his breath.

The creature’s overcoat draped the victim and blanketed her shivering body. Her lips

quivered as he looked down upon her. His chest ached at the sadness which echoed from her

thoughts.

Clatter of the murderer’s feet beat down on the cobblestone as he tried to escape. Sympathy kept the creature with the young woman, and he was filled with remorse as he went to his knees. With tenderness, he brushed the hair away from her neck exposing the wound.

“Give me your pain. Have no fear,” he whispered.

The racing of her heart slowed, and memories of her life began to playout. Jagged fangs appeared, and he eased them into her delicate skin, ta

king what was left

of her blood and her life into his body. Every thought she ever had played in his mind.

Stories which had been hers, were now indelibly seared into his memory. Hunger for human life had been quelled, but his thirst for vengeance was just starting. The woman, whom he had never met, had filled him with memories of her joy, triumphs, mistakes, and love. He was now going to make her murderer pay for what he had done.

The wheezing of the man’s crushed lung called out to the predator, giving away his position. The tumbling of garbage cans, the whimper of his voice, his heavy breathing, all brought death closer.

The man witnessed the transformation and how he had emptied her of blood. Panic set in. He had no thoughts, just the instinct to survive. He tried to run. Fear pushed him along the street; he could not keep his balance. A cold breath on his neck made him stop and turn.

“What do you want?” he screamed maniacally.

There was no noise to comfort him. The sounds of the city were trapped by the buildings. Every movement caught his attention. The drop of water, movement of a mouse in some paper, the sound of talons being drug upon the brick walls, all caused panic in his mind.

“Why are you doing this? Who was she to you?” he asked in a whimper.

The shadowy figure flew passed the murderer. His cloak brushed against the man’s face causing him to scream.

“Where are you?”

Before the words escaped his lips, claws ran down his leg to his left foot

and in a single swipe, was ripped away from his ankle. The shoe bounced once onto the street

and landed upright with part of the bone extending from the leather casement.

Agonizing cries of pain escaped from murderer’s lips, and the terror of dying now filled his mind. He grabbed his leg in agony. The phantom appeared in front of him and leered at him with disdain.

The creature grabbed him by the face and looked him in the eyes. Hysteria filled him as he

stared past the black pupils and in that moment, he felt the fear and anguish of the girl he had

murdered. An unnatural squeal came from him.

“Who are you ?” he shrieked.

The phantom then ripped the man’s jaw away from his face and dropped him onto the

concrete for a slow death. Through all his pain, the voice of the vampire sounded in his mind.

“Atticus Amada”

The End