Elsa (Vampire Morsels) Read online



  Vampire Morsels:

  ELSA

  A short story

  By Joleene Naylor

  https://www.joleenenaylor.com

  [email protected]

  Copyright 2012-2015 by Joleene Naylor

  Cover art copyright Joleene Naylor 2012-2015. All rights reserved.

  Ramblings from the Darkness at https://www.joleenenaylor.com

  You never know what you’ll find in the shadows…..

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  GET ALL SEVENTEEN SHORT STORIES IN ONE ILLUSTRATED VOLUME:

  The Vampire Morsels Collection: Tasty Bites from the Amaranthine Universe

  Other books by Joleene Naylor:

  Amaranthine:

  0: Brothers of Darkness

  1: Shades of Gray

  2: Legacy of Ghosts

  3: Ties of Blood

  4: Ashes of Deceit

  5: Heart of the Raven

  6: Children of Shadows

  7. Clash of Legends

  8. Masque of the Vampire

  9: Goddess of Night

  Also:

  Vampire Morsels Collection: 17 Short Stories

  101 Tips for Traveling with a Vampire by Joleene Naylor

  Heart of the Raven Mini Prologue Collection

  Tales from the Island: Six Short Stories

  Thirteen Guests: A Masque of the Vampire companion

  Road to Darkness: A short story companion to Brothers of Darkness

  COMING SOON:

  Tales of the Executioners

  * * * * * * * * * *

  Thanks to Sue Koenig & Bonnie Mutchler for their ninja-like proofing.

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  This is the eighth in a collection of short stories, Vampire Morsels. Each story is about a different vampire from the Amaranthine universe who, for one reason or another, didn’t get a chance to tell their tale.

  You can find Elsa in Shades of Gray – she is the one who turned Michael. This story takes place in a small New Hampshire town in the early 1980s.

  This story may contain violence, strong language, sexual content or other disturbing scenes and is not intended for a young audience.

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  Elsa stared at him as he stared back. He gave what amounted to an apologetic shrug and strode away in the rain. She watched him go; watched him climb into his black car and disappear into the night. Then, she went inside and cried.

  She hated him, but she hated herself even more.

  When the tears stopped coming, she wiped her face and went to the kitchen. On TV, crying women splashed water on their face. What was the point? Though, that would be a good excuse if her parents saw her.

  “Why is your face wet?”

  “Because I just washed it.”

  Yeah, right.

  She opened the refrigerator and stared inside. Her eyes skipped from item to item, as if they might conjure something new and infinitely delicious. They didn’t. There were vegetables and fruit and cold tea. None of it would mend a broken heart.

  What would?

  She closed the door and dropped into a kitchen chair. The coffee pot light blinked in the darkness and the rain splattered noisily on the window. It was just the kind of night to be miserable. Even if it was her own fault. Which it was.

  She knew he didn’t want anything serious. She knew he had a life that was as different from hers as night was from day, not to mention a girlfriend in another town. Still, she’d hoped, hadn’t she? Deep down she’d believed that he’d stay. That was why she was so shocked when he said goodbye.

  “Bye, babes. It’s been fun.”

  What fantastic parting words. Those were the kind of words you could frame and hang on a wall. As if. Couldn’t he come up with something better? He’d had enough practice that he should have had a little speech memorized just for the occasion. Did he say that to all the girls, or was she just the one lucky enough for such a poetic verse. Didn’t immortality require something better from him?

  Damn him.

  She ran her fingers through her brown hair and sifted through a tangle of memories. Just a few weeks, and yet she’d lost herself completely. She’d met him under the bridge, smoking a joint and looking like some kind of human God. When she’d looked into his eyes, the world jumped. They’d talked, though she didn’t remember a word of it, then moved to the backseat of his car. He’d shown her what he was and she’d accepted it; welcomed it. The blood hadn’t scared her, not really. Somehow, she trusted him to stop before it was too much, before she ended up dead. It was a risk, like any other.

  And boy was it worth it.

  Sex with Tristan was like being high – higher than she’d ever been. There were no words for it. Though he was more than sex. He was funny, and smart, and in unguarded moments something fragile shimmered in his eyes that made her want to wrap him up and take care of him. But her feelings for him went deeper than that. There was something about him; some kind of connection. When she touched him it was as if she’d known him before, perhaps in another life, and as if she knew him now. At a glance she could read his mood, at a word she could guess his sentence. She felt close to him as she had never felt with anyone before, as she never would again.

  And now he was gone.

  She abandoned the kitchen and her silent coffee pot companion. The front room was awash in whispery shadows. She stopped by the TV and turned it on to find static. It was too late for programming. It was as if the station managers were saying in unison, “Go to bed!”

  She threw herself on the couch and picked up the phone from the stand. She stared at it. Nothing happened. With a sigh she snatched up the receiver and tapped in her best friend’s number. This was the kind of situation best friends were supposed to be for.

  Elsa counted off the rings. One. Two. Three. Four. They rang on and on, until she ticked off number eighteen. That was when the line clicked and a sleepy voice muttered, “Hello?”

  Elsa gripped the phone in a strangulation hold and tried to find words. “Jen-” A thick sob cut through her voice and she broke down. “Tristan. He- he’s gone!”

  “What? Who’s gone?” Jen yawned and slowly came to terms with the conversation. “Elsa, is that you?”

  “He’s gone! He just left! God dammit, he just left!”

  “Oh, that dude who thought he was a vampire?” Jen was suddenly awake and her voice dripped sarcasm instead of sympathy. “Look, he was hot, I admit that. But, Elsa, he thought he was a vampire.”

  “He was!” she cried. “Goddamit! He was! And he left!”

  “Yeah, I get that he left. But you’re better off without the psycho. What would your parents say?”

  Elsa stared numbly at the carpet. This was all wrong. Jennifer was supposed to tell her it was all right. She was supposed to understand. She wasn’t supposed to lecture her. “I’m twenty. I can do what I want.”

  Jen imitated her father, “Not while you’re under my roof.” When Elsa didn’t giggle, she sighed. “Okay, look. I’m sorry, all right? But there’s plenty of other fish in the sea.”

  Elsa caught her breath and held it. Plenty of other fish. That was a line straight from the annals of cliché TV comfort, so she quit listening, though Jennifer kept talking. And talking.

  When minutes had passed, Elsa cleared her throat, and cut in. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Elsa, wait.”

  She didn’t. She hung up the phone and then, for good measure, she unplugged it. Tears dripped down her cheeks like the rain on the window. She wished she’d done something besides stare at him. She wished she’d thrown herself at his feet! Never, never give in. Never, never let something so important slip away. Don’t
just sit there and cry about your lost paradise. Get up and do something about it.

  That was what she needed to do.

  Elsa stopped in the bathroom and splashed water on her face. As she thought, it did nothing to help, and soaked her shirt. She changed, threw on her raincoat and, without leaving so much as a note, she slipped out the door and into the storming night.

  She climbed into her car and started it. The heavy engine roared to life and she wished for the millionth time that she could afford one of the cute cars. The radio crackled and Madonna bled through the static. Her tiny, high pitched voice was no comfort.

  Under the streetlights, the road was a glare of slick reflections. Elsa navigated slowly, though she was only half focused on the task. Most of her attention was on the question “where to look for him?”

  Twenty minutes later, she parked outside of the Roockwood Inn where Tristan had been staying. The vacancy light flickered eerily, and the raindrops echoed off the car; ping, ping, ping. The darkness seemed to watch her like a tangible, malevolent