Vampire Killer short story by Iris Carden
Ramona sighed and rubbed her temples. She was working with Scott again. His enthusiasm for police work was unbounded and his self confidence was unfounded.
She looked at the scene. Both victims were most definitely dead. Their hands and feet were tied with cable ties to the dining chairs the were sitting on, at a table set for a meal that had never been eaten.
“No sign of a break-in, or anything disturbed except the cable ties binding them, and the only marks of violence are these wounds on their necks. Two small round wounds together, like some kind of animal bite on each of them,” she said.
“It’s the same as the others, isn’t it?” Scott said. “It’s the Vampire Killer.”
“It’s the same killer, most likely, but we’re not working for the tabloids. We’re looking for a human killer. Here and now, we’re looking for evidence.”
“But they’re exsanguinated, right? Through those tiny holes in the neck? That’s what the Medical Officer said about the last bodies. That’s why everyone calls him the Vampire Killer. It’s like a vampire bite.”
“I know how the name came about. I just don’t think it’s useful. These stupid names get out, and people panic.”
“But what if?”
“If there’s an undead creature sucking people’s blood? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“There’s no blood here. There was no blood at the last scene. Where’d it all go?”
“That’s a really good question, which we need to answer. That’s why we’re going to search the house and the yard, and even the dog kennel and the garden shed, to see if there’s any sign of it.”
Searching the back yard, showed the dog had died, apparently of a broken neck. Ramona decided to get an autopsy of the dog, just to be sure. The offender had killed the dog, probably to stop it making a noise and warning the inhabitants. So they’d been in the back yard, possibly come over the back or side fence from a neighbouring yard. She’d have to check if any neighbours had security cameras, and extend the search for evidence to their yards as well.
She noticed something partly concealed by the dog’s body; a plastic tube. Gloved, she moved the dog slowly. She found a needle, like the needle from a syringe, attached to a plastic tube, which had what appeared to be blood inside it.
Ramona bagged and labelled it. She showed it to Scott. “We may not know what they were doing with the blood, but we know how they removed it,” she said. “No vampire fangs involved. It looks like they killed the dog as they were leaving, rather than as they arrived, so the back yard was the route of egress rather than ingress.”
The evidence was sent to forensics, the bodies to the government medical officer, and Ramona wrapped up for the day.
“There’s a group of us going to the pub,” Scott said. “You coming, Sarge?”
“No, I’m heading home. I’ve got things to do.”
“You never hang out with other cops after work. What do you do with your time?”
“You look at stars and stuff?”
“Something like that.”
Ramona drove out of town, to her favourite stop at a lookout point, on top of a cliff, where she could look over the city, and gaze up at the sky.
“Vampires,” she thought, “Scott seemed almost to believe in vampires. How insane was that? If people believed in vampires, what else could they believe in? Maybe werewolves?”
She watched the moon rise, and felt the old familiar pain. Her body seemed to tear itself apart as she went through the change. As the pain receded she sat for a few more minutes, in her wolf form, staring at the moon.
Then with a low growl, she ran off into the night.