This being the closest posting to Halloween, Romantic Friday Writers chose the theme, Haunting, for stories/poems this week. So if you're into the paranormal, horror, a bit of scary, or just stories of haunting memories, you'll enjoy reading 400 word posts this weekend. Maybe you've still got time to grab an extract from your scary WIP or pen a story or poem especially for the challenge. Linky doesn't close for 3 days.
My story is one I'd started several months ago when I was experimenting with paranormal. For this week's theme, I've re-crafted it as a fun piece. I've deliberately used cliches so don't get upset about that. Occasionally I long to break the 'no cliches' rule, don't you?
Hope you enjoy 'Love Stories Suck.'
When you’ve lived on this earth for 400+ years you crave excitement. I was done with sleeping all day in a dark room, hiding from the sun, waking up to microwaved blood. What’s a vamp to do all century? Haunt the streets?
I slammed the hotel door and sashayed along Montmarte’s glitter strip, my current Parisian suburb of interest. Next to Moulin Rouge, I saw it: ‘A VENDRE’. My synapses zapped.
I’d accumulated a tidy sum in 400 years. Compound interest compounded, so before you could say ‘I need blood’ I owned a business.
The little bar was perfect, vamp chic – blood-red carpet, black walls, red bar, black furniture. Suited my little black er, heart. The pictures clinched the deal – horror-movie posters.
Now I didn’t have to prowl the mean streets at night.
‘Ya not going to run this place all by yaself, are ya?’
I turned from admiring my Dracula poster and it was like, wow! Flowing black tresses, lush curves poured into a little black dress. Tasty.
‘You offering to help?’
“Ya, moi, who else d’ya see?’
‘You know bar work? You look, like, twelve. ID?’ I was only kidding but she whipped out the plastic.
‘Looks can be deceiving. You look, like, nineteen.’ She winked.
I flipped the ID back to her. Fake as, who cared? I want this girl-child.
‘What d’ya think? I been working bars for many a year. Know some tricks.’
‘It’s not that kind of bar. It’ll be a clean operation.’
‘Drink, tapas, music…’
‘Boring as. But I can be boring if ya want.’
‘What’s your name?’ I asked, taking her hand. ‘I’m Drack Kulah.’
‘Well I’m Ruby Black, but go by -’
‘Right on. Hilaarrious. So, whatcha think?’
‘You’re hired. No funny business or you’ll be out on your pretty butt.’
‘My butt’s pretty?’ She twirled, black lacy dress flowing like waves, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of shapely snow-white leg and a flash of lacy knickers. Pity she wore Doc Marten’s.
‘You want stilettos, you got stilettos,’ she smirked, ‘but that’s not all I got.’ She sidled up.
Who needs to go hunting? She was mine, right here, right now.
I took her in my steel-like arms, going for the jugular, then…wow! She had no throbbing pulse! That was that. Of course I knew the minute she walked in...
At least one female in the bar's out of temptation’s way.
WORD COUNT: 404
Critique: MPA (Minor Points Acceptable)
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