I have become accustomed to the stench of urine and feces to the point where it doesn’t bother me as much as it once did. Not that I enjoy it. I can tolerate it. If there’s one thing you can say about nursing homes, it’s that the urine and feces flow freely. Too freely, if you ask me.
As soon as you open the front door, before you even set foot inside, the smell assaults you. It’s why many relatives of those who reside here don’t visit much. You see their noses scrunch up in disgust when they walk in. Some of the kids who visit will pull their shirt collars up over their mouths and noses. Until their parents hear them giggling, that is, and snatch their shirts back down. Of course the parents wish they could do the same thing.
The smell is awful, but I do my best to put up with it. My patience is always rewarded. And the smell does have a useful purpose. It helps me make my choices.
One night soon, after I shed this wrinkly, fragile, nasty smelling shell in favor of my true form, I’ll move silently and undetected from room to room, feeding. It’s the blood of those who still hold a desire to live that best nourishes me. There’s something about the blood of those who, despite facing death, keep fighting to live. It energizes me in much the same way the blood of a young child might.
The stench is worse on the quitters. On the other hand it’s easy to identify those who still have a little kick left in them, a little dignity. The wonderful aroma of their blood wafts out of their rooms and into the hallways. The fragrance is overpowering, intoxicating. It is those rooms I’ll visit.
There won’t be much of a stink raised (pardon the pun) by the families of those who die nourishing me. They’ll see it as a relief and a blessing. They won’t say that out loud, of course, but they’ll think it. You bet they will.
There’ll be an investigation, of course. And when no rational explanation is found for what happened, they’ll take their best guess and fold it and crunch it until they make it fit. I’ll be long gone by then, anyway. On to another nursing home in another city, another state or another country. I’ll take up residence in another body, and the cycle will resume. Or perhaps I’ll visit a maternity ward next time. Lots of urine and feces either way, I suppose, but also plenty of delicious blood.
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© 2009 Robert C. Eccles
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Tags: Robert C. Eccles, vampire
January 24th, 2009 at 1:27 am
OOOOOooohhh. Creepy yet entirely believable. Good job!
January 24th, 2009 at 11:59 pm
It was good, honest writing, with a good mystery as to the villains nature, which I liked.
Lars Adams
January 25th, 2009 at 1:41 pm
Loved it! You made me gag at least twice. Feces is like Kryptonite to my kind…
February 13th, 2009 at 8:22 pm
Entertaining tale that made me hungry. This beast is surrounded by a sumptuous buffet, 24/7. This is one creative monster when it comes to culinary delights. I wondered what the protag had for dessert. Better not tell us.