That last post was from a few years ago. Here is my most recent story, also written for Fantasy-Factions.com's story contest. This is for the prompt: "Unwelcome Gifts". "So, which birthday do you celebrate? When Lucy set this up, she didn’t tell me.” “The second. I do not recall the date of my first birth. Years passed; the calendar men use changed. But I went back to the old country in the 1850s, and found my tomb once again, with the date of my death inscribed upon it. Cincisprezece Aprilie, Tteisprezece Optzeci i Trei” “Come again?” “Fifteen April, 1383.” “Oh. Would you tilt your head a little to the left? I have to get the lights just right for an exposure that’s tack sharp.” “Like this?” “Better.” “Does it bother you, my dear, to know how old I am, that I have cheated death?” “Honestly?” “Naturally.” “It’s more the idea that you could tear me limb from limb that puts a damper on the whole birthday gift vibe. Or hypnotize me and suck out every drop of blood.” “Or make you one of us.” “Mm. Like I said, sort of messes with the mood.” “But I am not your first. Surely you have grown used to our kind.” “Relax, please. You have a tendency to get misty at the edges. It's not like I can rely on auto-focus. Well, there's ‘used to you’ and there's ‘used to you’. Though it has gotten easier since my first customer, who kept going on about the delightful scent of my blood, and I just wanted to know if she wanted package A or package B, and did she like glossy or matte. … There.” “There?” “We’re ready. Now you really need to stay very still, no moving, no talking, no turning into a bat.” . . . “How does it work?” “I said no talking.” . . . . . . . “I would like to understand this… process. This birthday present. It takes a very long time.” “You dying to go someplace?” . “Sorry. Stupid joke.” “Do not concern yourself.” “You really want to know? All the gory details?” “‘Know then thyself; presume not God to scan, the proper study of Mankind is Man.’ Alexander Pope. A poet of exquisite taste.” “Your point is…?” “I must understand myself. ‘This thing above all else, to thine own self be true.’ I must see myself as I truly am.” “Your funeral.” “Pardon?” “Nothing. OK, I’ll give you the Wikipedia version. Wikipedia. It’s a thing. Never mind. Let’s start with the basics. Your… species has a sort of light-controlling field that clings to your bodies, your clothes, and anything you touch. No light gets in, no light gets out, all other light slides around you and an observer would only see what’s behind you. Of course, sunlight disrupts this field, but let’s not go there. So, no light out, no light in, light moves around you, and we get no reflection and no photographs. In fact, you can’t actually be seen at all. Not your true self.” “Ridiculous. Mortals see me. I strike terror into their hearts.” “Exactly. But that’s the hypnosis at work. Think of your hypnotism as a second field, a mental one. It extends about a hundred meters around you and causes weaker minds inside the field to see you only as you want to be seen. I believe this is also a matter of light manipulation, but I'm still trying to confirm it.” “You know a great deal about us.” “I’m a photographer. I know a great deal about light.” “Please. Proceed.” “To make a photograph, we direct light through a lens onto a light-sensitive surface. The film. Or, these days, onto a semi-conductor sensor, CCD, CMOS, NMOS, like that. But, of course, your field doesn’t let that happen. No light in, no light out, light moves around you.” “Avoids me.” “I guess. But this where it gets exciting. We couldn’t have done this even ten years ago, but the latest iPhones have so much computing power! We just have to hijack it for what we want, not what the design nerds in Cupertino want. The secret is to photograph the light that isn’t there, or, this is a better explanation, the light that isn’t where it’s supposed to be. I developed an App that interfaces with my Nikon through a Bluetooth connection, and —” “Enough.” “I guess I get carried away.” “And are most charming when you do, my dear.” . . “That’s it then. You can relax. The system only needs a few minutes. We’ll get a first print and a negative. I like to let my subjects spend a few minutes alone with the portrait. You haven’t seen yourself as you really are for many years. It can be an adjustment.” “This has been a most fascinating occasion, Miss Graves.” “But whatever you do, don’t look at the negative.” “Oh?” “No. I’ve found it can be extremely upsetting. There are some truths no one is prepared for.” “I see. I shall… consider your advice.” . “Right. I’ll slip the negative in this folder, and set the folder on the table. Here, sir, is your photograph. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” “Thank you. Please let Lucy know I will join her later for the evening hunt. After such a thoughtful present, she deserves to be first at our feeding.” “I’ll let myself out.” ***** “Did he bite?” “Fang, line, and sinker, the condescending bastard.” “And?” “Wait for it, Lucy.” “I’ve waited almost two hundred years.” . . “Aaaaaagggghhhhhhhhhhh!!!” “Oh. Oh.” “Lucy?! You alright?” “I just need a moment. That sound! Like a lonely creature released at last from unendurable misery.” “Sit down.” “I — I didn’t think I would be so... sad. And happy. Relieved. The idea that I’m free of him at last...” “It’ll be an adjustment, I’m sure.” “Was it the negative?” “Most likely. I've had it go both ways. Some can’t face their true image and just... fade away. But I imagine he could. So that leaves the negative. The moment it’s touched, it’s inside his field and all the light that wasn't there gets released in one great sunny burst with no field to protect him. Even someone as old and cunning as him wouldn’t be able to handle so much. And of course, he had to look didn’t he, when I said he shouldn’t. Just like a man.” “I’ll be alright.” “So? Who’s next?” “You’re as bloodthirsty as he was.” “Call it making up for lost time. I owe it to my great-great-grandfather. Agatha V.H. Graves, remember?” “In that event, I think that a certain immortal bitch named Hepsiba Kurning needs a lovely Boxing Day present. A portrait by our leading photographer of the damned, from her dear friend Lucy. But don’t forget. You promised to photograph me, too. After.” “I’d be honored. It’ll be my gift. I’ll just collect my things from the other room.” ***** What an amusing day. It was inconvenient that the Van Helsing woman opened the curtains as she left, but someone would draw them before long. He would have liked to look at the portrait once more before she took it away. The years had not treated his true visage kindly, but the nose was the same, and the eyes. Especially the eyes. Foolish mortals and their parlor tricks. He had examined his own dark nature for a very long time. There was little else to do when you never really slept. He was, indeed, the proper study of himself, and oh how he had studied. He had quintessential control of his ‘fields’, as she had called them. It was child’s play to trigger the effect of the negative at a distance, and then befuddle the girl’s mind when she returned to gloat. He had stood unseen, so close to her, so very close. She was a fine example of her sex. Brilliant, in her own way. He would have to find her a fitting gift. Something equally brilliant. Something quite unwelcome.
1 Comment
9/17/2019 05:53:36 am
If you just look at the negative effects of this, then you are wasting your time. If you really think about it, everything has a negative side to them. To be honest with you, there is nothing that is more idiotic than to think that something is just positive. I hope that we all drop this kind of thinking, because to be honest, it is just wrong. We just need to embrace that everything has a bad side to them.
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