INTRODUCTION
The pulsating rhythms vibrated their way through the brick
walls of the building, pounding their way out into the street
where they seemed to quash the sound of passing traffic. Like
a violent heart beat, the bass sound throbbed its way out to the
people who walked those streets, seeming to entice the young
as well as it repelled the more seasoned. The name of the song
being played was unimportant to any. Just another act
mimicking those before them, ready to make great amounts of
money before fading away into obscurity, prepared to feed on
those who would buy into their sounds and then be discarded
by the fickle audience when their clamor became passé. But
for now, at this moment, they were being played loud enough
to lure many young into the den of vice.
The access to this den sat guarded by two large men, victims
of their own vanity, standing beneath a neon sign which read
The Paddock in bright red letters. Along the wall of the
building, the patrons stood in line, kept in order by velvet
wrapped cord, lazily strung between brass posts. Some had
been waiting for an hour to enter into the establishment, still
others would have to wait longer before they could gain
entrance to this place of vogue -- but such was the price of
being amongst the trendy. And yet, one managed to walk
through the doors without being noticed by any outside. Not
by the drunken youths eagerly awaiting their admission, nor by
the stoic bouncers holding back the crowd with their
exaggerated proportions. He did not steal or sneak his way in,
he did not avoid causing attention. Although he was clad
entirely in clothing as dark as shadow, covered by a pitch
overcoat, it could not be said that he made his way through by
camouflage. He simply walked past the crowd, hovered for a
moment outside of the doorway, and then walked in - and none
gave him any mind. None even saw him, as if he walked
between each person’s line of sight, dodging glimpses like
raindrops, avoiding notice like air. Inside, the girl within the
cage did not ask him for admission, nor did the bouncer,
duplicate to his peers outside, take notice of the new arrival.
He walked past these and into the large vestibule where people
lined up, awkwardly waiting their turn to enter the lavatories.
He surveyed these with only the slightest of interest, and then
continued into the main bar.
Here the music became deafening, crushing all other
sounds. The clink of billiard balls was inaudible, the hum of
yelled conversation seemed taciturn, the clashing of bottles
and glasses unable to be heard by any. The music, the
pounding pounding music, dominated. With the giant room
seemingly lit by an eclipse, covered in a smoke that denied any
other smells, the senses became muted and numb - and what
the lighting, music and smoke did not diminish, the inebriating
effects of alcohol did. But for the one who had just entered the
room, his senses were not quelled or overrun. He looked
about with clear eyes that penetrated the darkness, listened
carefully beneath the music, and sniffed the air for a scent that
no amount of smoke would refuse to yield.
He lazily waded into the crowd, his huge build allowing him
to see above the heads of the rest, allowing him to view all
about. Like so many of the bar’s male patrons, he was only
looking at the females of the place. But his requirements were
far more strict that the rest here. Where libation and
resignation would allow the others to approach those
otherwise felt to be below standard, this hunter refused to
surrender his criteria. His was the beholder’s eye, demanding
beauty, and the consort that he was seeking had to beyond
beauty in all respects - of the right age, of the right heart, and at
the right moment by the moon’s count. The feed had to be
strong, for a long journey was at hand.
The hunter looked about, scanning left to right with his pale
blue eyes, walking with a determined pace through the crowd.
Occasionally he would turn to take a more detailed look at one
of the patrons, but none would measure up to what he wanted.
Too old or too young, less virtuous than originally believed to
be, just not of the right scent. It was a difficult hunt for him,
although to look at him one would never know it. He walked so
calmly, so casually. He stalked the bar as any other might
amble across a sunny park.
And then he located his prey.
His head jerked suddenly towards the dance floor, his eyes
became determined slits, his nostrils flared and inhaled
deeply. He had found what he wanted, through a break in the
crowd, a momentary alleyway that let him see his target. He
changed his direction and headed for the circular dance floor,
recessed three steps below the rest of the room. There, the
giant speakers had taken a moment to relax and the song
slowed down for a few bars, a sedated bridge before exploding
into its rapid throbbing beat again, and it was then that he got a
clear look at her. She danced with two friends, both female, her
hands held high above her head, slowly grinding down as if
she were the euphony itself. And then, as the tempo raised
again, her hands came down and her body joined in the wild
dance of the song.
He locked on her. Twenty-one revolutions around the sun,
twelve days from her last time, her virtue unknown. In an age
of loose ethics, this quality of prey was a rare find and upon
seeing it, the hunter’s dark heart began to pound as hard as
the music. He found her scent amongst the others and inhaled
it deeply, feeding his appetite, turning its smoldering into a
blaze. He forced his way to the dance floor and watched his
quarry carefully. He looked into her as best he could, and
cautiously began to devise his attack. He would do it right
there, he decided, within the establishment. Right there. On the
dance floor.
As for the young lady, she was unaware that she was being
hunted. Though she would often find herself being pursued by
men, she knew how to obstruct their advances. While many in
the bar had gone there with the thought of finding some kind of
partner, her only real desire was to dance and have a few
drinks with her friends. Both of her dancing companions had
boyfriends that were off somewhere else that night. They
would all meet up later, probably go out for coffee and listen as
the boys made up stories about not having gone to the
strippers, but for now it was just the three of them, enjoying the
evening together with laughter and revelry, relishing the
simplest bounds of sisterhood.
And so, as the pounding song came to a close, the three
began to laugh at one another and prepared to exit the dance
floor to go to a table. A brief moment of silence came from the
speakers, a sure sign that a slower tune was about to start up.
The prey’s friends turned away, and made towards the stairs
off the floor, just as the soft melody began. But the prey never
managed to follow her friends. She paused. A faint hand had
brushed across her back, a touch like a breeze.
Her body followed her head’s turn as she looked to see who
had touched her. Upon seeing nobody behind her, her eyes
began to dart about in a moment of confusion. Her gaze
scanning left and then right, before deciding that it was simply
imagination that caused her to pivot. A shrug of the shoulders
indicated that this was explanation enough, and she prepared
to return to her company. But then something caught her
attention. Standing just on the edge of the dance floor, staring
at her. A man. A handsome young man. His head dipped
casually forwards, his hands shoved deep into his stylishly
dark pants, soft brown eyes shyly looking out at her above a
pleasant thin smile. She returned the soft smile, an odd swell
of familiarity washing over her as she studied the handsome
stranger’s face. Everybody else on the dance floor had
matched up, and only these two stood alone staring at one
another. For the girl it was a bizarre moment, as if suddenly
locked into a dream, looking at a stranger and still feeling
comfortable with him. The young man looked about, as if
searching for objectors, before extending his hand with an
inviting nod. The girl’s slight smile widened as the faintest
feelings of anxiety were pushed away. She softly floated over
to him and took his hand, his warm soft hand, and let his other
arm stretch around her as they began to sway to the delicate
beat of the song.
As his other arm went around her, she closed her eyes. He
let go of her hand, abandoning the etiquette of formal dance.
He held her as a lover might, and still she did not feel the need
to retreat. A warm sensation started in her chest, as her
breathing became deeper. She never danced with strangers,
never, and yet it seemed so right to go over, to let him take her
into his arms. No salutation, no introduction, just the dance.
She squeezed herself tightly into him, closer than she had ever
danced with anyone. It just seemed right, the way it was
supposed to be. In her mind’s eye she could see herself
pressed into the man as he gently caressed her back and
pulled her into him. She could see him close his eyes as well,
feeding off of her warmth. She could see herself swaying,
dancing softly, falling in love.
What she could not see was the Lochkray. For she was not in
the arms of any handsome dark-eyed young man, she was in
the arms of a killer who stared forward indifferently with pale
eyes, touching his prey, feeling its worth, drawing its mind
toward his in preparation to feed. Yet, when the prey would let
her eyes flutter open for a moment, all she would see was the
handsome young man, not the hulking form that held her now.
And when she closed her eyes again, praying that the song
would never end, she slipped closer and closer to the
Lochkray.
Soon, she could only see them dancing, all the others of the
bar faded away into the darkness. They were alone in a black
room, dancing on a black floor, flickering flames above black
candles illuminating only them. They were alone, dancing as if
they were making love, their bodies wavering with the melody.
No longer was she wearing the tight jeans and short top she
had chosen for the bar--now she was wearing a beautiful
evening dress, adorned with jewelry, dancing so close to the
man that they seemed as one. And then she was as one. Alone.
Alone on the black dance floor, her eyes closed, dancing
contentedly, alone with the thoughts of the man in her heart.
And yet, though she could not see him, the Lochkray was still
there. He hid, out of sight of her mind's regard. She continued
to dance, her skin becoming warm, a quivering sensation
starting below her stomach burning hard within her. She began
to caress herself, she began to stroke her own skin, feel her
own person, search her body within her mind. She began to
feel on fire, her body quaking. She could see herself alone
there, she could see herself dancing, she could see herself
quiver as the lascivious sensation ignited deep within her,
pulsating throughout. This feeling grew stronger, turning her
breathing into a panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly
while she continued to caress her body. And still the Lochkray
watched from the outside, his thoughts seeming to direct her
actions, exciting the young innocent within the imagined ring
of candles. She rocked her head back and forth, shoulder to
shoulder as her passion grew stronger and stronger within.
Her hands clasped together between her breasts and pressed
painfully hard against her swelling chest. Her head was
thrown back, her mouth opening wide towards the black
ceiling, her lungs releasing a powerful burst of passion as she
cried out into the darkness above.
But no sound came.
Her eyes snapped open. She stared upward at the colored
lights throbbing along the bar's ceiling, her head locked back,
able to see others dancing on the floor in her peripheral vision.
And there, right at her side, there was the Lochkray, looking
down at her with apathy, his own mouth open, as if ready to
kiss.
The girl tried to cry out again, and again no sound emerged.
The Lochkray gently brought his head above hers, until his
view of the floor was blocked by her panicked face, framing
wide white eyes that helplessly darted back and forth. And
then he started to inhale through his own open mouth, as if
drawing in the girl's mute scream. A scream that she could no
longer stop.
Utter terror, unlike any fear she had ever felt before, rushed
through her as she realized that she was unable to halt the
silent cry. With her mouth agape, her scream escaping, she felt
herself drain. Her very soul seemed to be sucked outwards,
where it became entangled within his inhaling breath. Her
panic became heavy, her body felt drawn to the ground. The
dark room became darker, and the colorful lights dancing
above the killer’s head began to fade.
Nobody noticed as life's basic impetus departed from the
prey, floated out of her mouth, and into the Lochkray. Nobody
noticed as she grasped at his body feebly, clawing at him,
trying to make him stop. Nobody noticed as the Lochkray
stepped away. Nobody noticed the Lochkray leave the bar.
Nobody noticed the girl crumple to the floor. Nobody noticed
that she had died. Until it was too late.
Until nothing could be done.
And while friends and family would mourn, the Lochkray
continued on without remorse. Just another feeding. Just
another daylight who had stayed out too long after the setting
sun. Just another sacrifice. Just another hunt.
Just night.
The pulsating rhythms vibrated their way through the brick
walls of the building, pounding their way out into the street
where they seemed to quash the sound of passing traffic. Like
a violent heart beat, the bass sound throbbed its way out to the
people who walked those streets, seeming to entice the young
as well as it repelled the more seasoned. The name of the song
being played was unimportant to any. Just another act
mimicking those before them, ready to make great amounts of
money before fading away into obscurity, prepared to feed on
those who would buy into their sounds and then be discarded
by the fickle audience when their clamor became passé. But
for now, at this moment, they were being played loud enough
to lure many young into the den of vice.
The access to this den sat guarded by two large men, victims
of their own vanity, standing beneath a neon sign which read
The Paddock in bright red letters. Along the wall of the
building, the patrons stood in line, kept in order by velvet
wrapped cord, lazily strung between brass posts. Some had
been waiting for an hour to enter into the establishment, still
others would have to wait longer before they could gain
entrance to this place of vogue -- but such was the price of
being amongst the trendy. And yet, one managed to walk
through the doors without being noticed by any outside. Not
by the drunken youths eagerly awaiting their admission, nor by
the stoic bouncers holding back the crowd with their
exaggerated proportions. He did not steal or sneak his way in,
he did not avoid causing attention. Although he was clad
entirely in clothing as dark as shadow, covered by a pitch
overcoat, it could not be said that he made his way through by
camouflage. He simply walked past the crowd, hovered for a
moment outside of the doorway, and then walked in - and none
gave him any mind. None even saw him, as if he walked
between each person’s line of sight, dodging glimpses like
raindrops, avoiding notice like air. Inside, the girl within the
cage did not ask him for admission, nor did the bouncer,
duplicate to his peers outside, take notice of the new arrival.
He walked past these and into the large vestibule where people
lined up, awkwardly waiting their turn to enter the lavatories.
He surveyed these with only the slightest of interest, and then
continued into the main bar.
Here the music became deafening, crushing all other
sounds. The clink of billiard balls was inaudible, the hum of
yelled conversation seemed taciturn, the clashing of bottles
and glasses unable to be heard by any. The music, the
pounding pounding music, dominated. With the giant room
seemingly lit by an eclipse, covered in a smoke that denied any
other smells, the senses became muted and numb - and what
the lighting, music and smoke did not diminish, the inebriating
effects of alcohol did. But for the one who had just entered the
room, his senses were not quelled or overrun. He looked
about with clear eyes that penetrated the darkness, listened
carefully beneath the music, and sniffed the air for a scent that
no amount of smoke would refuse to yield.
He lazily waded into the crowd, his huge build allowing him
to see above the heads of the rest, allowing him to view all
about. Like so many of the bar’s male patrons, he was only
looking at the females of the place. But his requirements were
far more strict that the rest here. Where libation and
resignation would allow the others to approach those
otherwise felt to be below standard, this hunter refused to
surrender his criteria. His was the beholder’s eye, demanding
beauty, and the consort that he was seeking had to beyond
beauty in all respects - of the right age, of the right heart, and at
the right moment by the moon’s count. The feed had to be
strong, for a long journey was at hand.
The hunter looked about, scanning left to right with his pale
blue eyes, walking with a determined pace through the crowd.
Occasionally he would turn to take a more detailed look at one
of the patrons, but none would measure up to what he wanted.
Too old or too young, less virtuous than originally believed to
be, just not of the right scent. It was a difficult hunt for him,
although to look at him one would never know it. He walked so
calmly, so casually. He stalked the bar as any other might
amble across a sunny park.
And then he located his prey.
His head jerked suddenly towards the dance floor, his eyes
became determined slits, his nostrils flared and inhaled
deeply. He had found what he wanted, through a break in the
crowd, a momentary alleyway that let him see his target. He
changed his direction and headed for the circular dance floor,
recessed three steps below the rest of the room. There, the
giant speakers had taken a moment to relax and the song
slowed down for a few bars, a sedated bridge before exploding
into its rapid throbbing beat again, and it was then that he got a
clear look at her. She danced with two friends, both female, her
hands held high above her head, slowly grinding down as if
she were the euphony itself. And then, as the tempo raised
again, her hands came down and her body joined in the wild
dance of the song.
He locked on her. Twenty-one revolutions around the sun,
twelve days from her last time, her virtue unknown. In an age
of loose ethics, this quality of prey was a rare find and upon
seeing it, the hunter’s dark heart began to pound as hard as
the music. He found her scent amongst the others and inhaled
it deeply, feeding his appetite, turning its smoldering into a
blaze. He forced his way to the dance floor and watched his
quarry carefully. He looked into her as best he could, and
cautiously began to devise his attack. He would do it right
there, he decided, within the establishment. Right there. On the
dance floor.
As for the young lady, she was unaware that she was being
hunted. Though she would often find herself being pursued by
men, she knew how to obstruct their advances. While many in
the bar had gone there with the thought of finding some kind of
partner, her only real desire was to dance and have a few
drinks with her friends. Both of her dancing companions had
boyfriends that were off somewhere else that night. They
would all meet up later, probably go out for coffee and listen as
the boys made up stories about not having gone to the
strippers, but for now it was just the three of them, enjoying the
evening together with laughter and revelry, relishing the
simplest bounds of sisterhood.
And so, as the pounding song came to a close, the three
began to laugh at one another and prepared to exit the dance
floor to go to a table. A brief moment of silence came from the
speakers, a sure sign that a slower tune was about to start up.
The prey’s friends turned away, and made towards the stairs
off the floor, just as the soft melody began. But the prey never
managed to follow her friends. She paused. A faint hand had
brushed across her back, a touch like a breeze.
Her body followed her head’s turn as she looked to see who
had touched her. Upon seeing nobody behind her, her eyes
began to dart about in a moment of confusion. Her gaze
scanning left and then right, before deciding that it was simply
imagination that caused her to pivot. A shrug of the shoulders
indicated that this was explanation enough, and she prepared
to return to her company. But then something caught her
attention. Standing just on the edge of the dance floor, staring
at her. A man. A handsome young man. His head dipped
casually forwards, his hands shoved deep into his stylishly
dark pants, soft brown eyes shyly looking out at her above a
pleasant thin smile. She returned the soft smile, an odd swell
of familiarity washing over her as she studied the handsome
stranger’s face. Everybody else on the dance floor had
matched up, and only these two stood alone staring at one
another. For the girl it was a bizarre moment, as if suddenly
locked into a dream, looking at a stranger and still feeling
comfortable with him. The young man looked about, as if
searching for objectors, before extending his hand with an
inviting nod. The girl’s slight smile widened as the faintest
feelings of anxiety were pushed away. She softly floated over
to him and took his hand, his warm soft hand, and let his other
arm stretch around her as they began to sway to the delicate
beat of the song.
As his other arm went around her, she closed her eyes. He
let go of her hand, abandoning the etiquette of formal dance.
He held her as a lover might, and still she did not feel the need
to retreat. A warm sensation started in her chest, as her
breathing became deeper. She never danced with strangers,
never, and yet it seemed so right to go over, to let him take her
into his arms. No salutation, no introduction, just the dance.
She squeezed herself tightly into him, closer than she had ever
danced with anyone. It just seemed right, the way it was
supposed to be. In her mind’s eye she could see herself
pressed into the man as he gently caressed her back and
pulled her into him. She could see him close his eyes as well,
feeding off of her warmth. She could see herself swaying,
dancing softly, falling in love.
What she could not see was the Lochkray. For she was not in
the arms of any handsome dark-eyed young man, she was in
the arms of a killer who stared forward indifferently with pale
eyes, touching his prey, feeling its worth, drawing its mind
toward his in preparation to feed. Yet, when the prey would let
her eyes flutter open for a moment, all she would see was the
handsome young man, not the hulking form that held her now.
And when she closed her eyes again, praying that the song
would never end, she slipped closer and closer to the
Lochkray.
Soon, she could only see them dancing, all the others of the
bar faded away into the darkness. They were alone in a black
room, dancing on a black floor, flickering flames above black
candles illuminating only them. They were alone, dancing as if
they were making love, their bodies wavering with the melody.
No longer was she wearing the tight jeans and short top she
had chosen for the bar--now she was wearing a beautiful
evening dress, adorned with jewelry, dancing so close to the
man that they seemed as one. And then she was as one. Alone.
Alone on the black dance floor, her eyes closed, dancing
contentedly, alone with the thoughts of the man in her heart.
And yet, though she could not see him, the Lochkray was still
there. He hid, out of sight of her mind's regard. She continued
to dance, her skin becoming warm, a quivering sensation
starting below her stomach burning hard within her. She began
to caress herself, she began to stroke her own skin, feel her
own person, search her body within her mind. She began to
feel on fire, her body quaking. She could see herself alone
there, she could see herself dancing, she could see herself
quiver as the lascivious sensation ignited deep within her,
pulsating throughout. This feeling grew stronger, turning her
breathing into a panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly
while she continued to caress her body. And still the Lochkray
watched from the outside, his thoughts seeming to direct her
actions, exciting the young innocent within the imagined ring
of candles. She rocked her head back and forth, shoulder to
shoulder as her passion grew stronger and stronger within.
Her hands clasped together between her breasts and pressed
painfully hard against her swelling chest. Her head was
thrown back, her mouth opening wide towards the black
ceiling, her lungs releasing a powerful burst of passion as she
cried out into the darkness above.
But no sound came.
Her eyes snapped open. She stared upward at the colored
lights throbbing along the bar's ceiling, her head locked back,
able to see others dancing on the floor in her peripheral vision.
And there, right at her side, there was the Lochkray, looking
down at her with apathy, his own mouth open, as if ready to
kiss.
The girl tried to cry out again, and again no sound emerged.
The Lochkray gently brought his head above hers, until his
view of the floor was blocked by her panicked face, framing
wide white eyes that helplessly darted back and forth. And
then he started to inhale through his own open mouth, as if
drawing in the girl's mute scream. A scream that she could no
longer stop.
Utter terror, unlike any fear she had ever felt before, rushed
through her as she realized that she was unable to halt the
silent cry. With her mouth agape, her scream escaping, she felt
herself drain. Her very soul seemed to be sucked outwards,
where it became entangled within his inhaling breath. Her
panic became heavy, her body felt drawn to the ground. The
dark room became darker, and the colorful lights dancing
above the killer’s head began to fade.
Nobody noticed as life's basic impetus departed from the
prey, floated out of her mouth, and into the Lochkray. Nobody
noticed as she grasped at his body feebly, clawing at him,
trying to make him stop. Nobody noticed as the Lochkray
stepped away. Nobody noticed the Lochkray leave the bar.
Nobody noticed the girl crumple to the floor. Nobody noticed
that she had died. Until it was too late.
Until nothing could be done.
And while friends and family would mourn, the Lochkray
continued on without remorse. Just another feeding. Just
another daylight who had stayed out too long after the setting
sun. Just another sacrifice. Just another hunt.
Just night.
| SAMPLE CHAPTER Last dance of the lochkray |
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