Vampire Miguel - Part 1 - Ratting Around
You are a journalist for the Daily Bugle in Nueva York, desperate to write about something good to keep your formidable boss from breathing down your neck. You receive a tip-off from a concerned member of the public and begin an investigation. Just what will you discover?
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Minors DNI - Eventual smut and descriptions of violence.
Word count - 4621
Contains - Mentions of rats, particularly dead ones.
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An empty page on your laptop screen glares back at you, while your boss’s angry yelling still rings in your ears. Multiple obnoxious office phones ringing fills the communal workspace, not permitting you to think clearly. The only luxury that provides you some sliver of sanity is your cup of coffee for you to sip on while you panic internally about what the hell you’re going to write about next for The Daily Bugle.
The blinking, black cursor at the top of your blank document taunts you, pressuring you to write something. But what?
You look ruefully at your colleagues who all appear to be busy with something. Either that or they’re all brilliant actors pretending to be working until they catch a sniff of something vaguely interesting happening in Nueva York.
Opening up your emails, you almost scoff with frustration at nothing new in your inbox. Of course. The distinct lack of unread emails is a further taunt. You are going to have to do some serious digging or intense scraping of the barrel to produce something read-worthy.
Underneath all of your subfolders in your email program, a shared mailbox is displayed with several unread items. You hover your mouse over it. Is the day going so badly that you’re considering looking at what everyone else has overlooked? You click on the mailbox with an indignant eye roll. Yes, the day is going that badly…
Taking a sip of your coffee, your eyes scan the unread items. A couple go straight into the Deleted folder as you see they’re clearly phishing emails that have managed to slip through the filter, but the others seemed legitimate reports from the public.
This mailbox was for Nueva York civilians to email in if they spot anything worth reporting on. Normally it’s full of the usual dog fouling on pavements, inconsiderate parking in the residential streets and general noise complaints. But, one email catches your eye.
“Subject: Dead Rats”
Your brow furrows with confusion at the bizarre subject of the email. Out of curiosity, you click it and have a read.
“Dear Sir / Madam
During my regular work commute over the last few days, I’ve seen a significant number of dead rats in alleyways and subway stations. Obviously they’re pests and some might argue it is a good thing that they’re dropping dead, but I find it alarming. What’s killing them? Is it a deadly virus? Or some strange or troubled individual who takes pleasure and amusement in killing them?”
As you contemplate the email, you absentmindedly chew on the end of your pen. That is a strange occurrence, however you suspect your colleagues have ‘overlooked’ it because of the mention of rats. You’re not too keen on the creatures yourself, but it definitely beats writing about terrible parking for the umpteenth time. Hovering your mouse over the email, you assign it to yourself and then reply to the contact for more information.
Despite the rather grim nature of the job you have assigned yourself, you’re glad that you are out of the office. For a change of scenery, (and a chance to avoid your boss), you hop onto the subway to visit one of the places mentioned by the concerned member of the public.
As the train rattles its way through tunnels under the city, you find yourself surprised that the snaking carriages are relatively busy. You have to be in the office by eight AM and you realise this is the usual rush-hour commute for those who work nine-to-five.
The carriage you are in resembles something close to a tin of sardines, people packed closely together, sacrificing their personal space to get to work on time.
You cling to a pole stretching from floor to ceiling in the train while you’re sandwiched from all sides. This isn’t unusual, but what is, is the person behind you. They had approached as they got onto the train after you did, and have increasingly been pressed further and further against your back since. You hear them sniff occasionally, taking in long drags of air through their nose, to the point you feel your hair is being disturbed by it.
At first, you choose not to challenge it, but after the third time, you turn your head to look at the creepy culprit.
Your jaw drops.
Suddenly, all thoughts of their unusual and intrusive behaviour slips from your mind as you gaze up to a beautiful stranger. Piercing blue eyes lock onto yours, widening as the person behind you realises what it seems like they’re doing. A tall man with a young, pale face framed with long, raven black hair places a large hand over his heart.
“Apologies ma’am - crowds make me nervous and I was practising my breathing techniques to keep calm. I am sorry for causing you concern,” his voice is deep and sultry with warm tones that make you go weak at the knees.
A look of sympathy spreads across your face at his words of apology and you start to feel bad for nonverbally accusing him of sniffing you.
To avoid making the situation worse for the poor man, you give him a reassuring smile. “That’s okay. Do what you need to do. Don’t let me stop you.”
Now it’s your turn to risk looking like a creep as you find yourself unable to take your eyes off him. You estimate him to be just over six-foot tall and well built; his defined muscles creating contours through the polo-neck sweater he’s wearing.
He smiles at you, noticing you’re still looking. “I feel a little better now. But, I thank you for being incredibly sweet and kind for understanding.”
Your heart sings at his words of praise while you are unable to suppress a wide smile in return. You find him undeniably mesmerising, as if you’re under his spell.
As you keep your eyes on him, an awkward silence descends on the cramped place you’re in. You are so enthralled that you forget you’re surrounded in every direction, until you feel the momentum of the train slow down as it approaches its next stop.
“Oh, this is me…” you say as you finally manage to tear your gaze from him, although your heart pounds, mourning the loss of such an attractive specimen for you to look at… That is until he replies.
“Me too, thankfully,” he begins as you more than willingly glue your eyes back onto him again. “The train is a little too busy for my liking.”
After the train comes to a stop, the doors draw open as you both shuffle and nudge your way through. Occasionally, you look back at the handsome man to check on him. A frown of concern forms across your face as you notice he looks overwhelmed. Linking your arm around his, you assist him through the final few people before breaking free and disembarking the train.
A deep sigh of relief comes from your new found friend as he wipes his brow. “Ahh, thank you. You have been most kind,” he pauses as he extends his large, soft, right hand towards yours. “I’m Michael, but you can call me Mike.”
Perhaps this day isn’t quite so bad after all. Work might suck, but meeting a handsome man on a train who seems to like you just as much as you like him is certainly a plus.
“Y/N; nice to meet you,” you reply as you reach out to take his hand to shake it. Before you touch him, something catches your eye.
A concerned-looking couple further down the platform flit from stranger to stranger, carrying a stack of paper each. As they turn to face the other way, you see they’re carrying multiple copies of the same picture, but you’re too far away to see what it is exactly.
Your fingers brush against Mike’s palm before they wrap underneath his hand. To your surprise, he feels cold, the unexpected sensation draws your attention back to him.
A contented smile spreads across his lips. “Sorry if I feel a little cold, I have a blood circulatory condition. Extremities don’t quite get enough blood flow to warm them up sometimes.”
For some inexplicable reason, you decide to try and warm his hand up by squeezing your fingers around his. Suddenly, his body jolts as he instinctively yanks his hand out of yours, air hissing between his clenched teeth.
“Oh!” you gasp slightly, feeling bad that you hurt him, although you don’t know how…
Mike wraps his other hand over the one that hurts. “It’s fine. It’s a paper cut. You just squeezed it, that’s all. You didn’t know,” he says with a reassuring smile, not wanting you to be upset about hurting him.
“Well, I’m sorry all the same,” you reply as you place a comforting hand on his arm.
“No need,” he lets go of his hand and places it over the back of yours.
Silence falls between the both of you again, lost in your shared bubble amongst rushing commuters. As your eyes search his in your brief moment of reflection, you consider who he is as a person. You have only known each other for five minutes, but on the surface he seems like a charming, handsome man who is sensitive, emotionally and physically, despite the tall frame and big, strong build.
The thought of having to go your separate ways saddens you. You want to spend more time with him and get to know him. “Hey, can we exchange numbers?”
Michael double-takes at you in surprise. “Oh, sure, of course,” he takes out his phone and prepares to enter your name and number. “I’ll text you later when I get home.”
As he slides his phone back into his pocket, he places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s been an absolute pleasure meeting you Y/N. I look forward to talking with you later,” his warm smile blesses you again.
“Yes, speak to you later,” you reply, sounding hopeful.
Finally, your new friend leaves you as he makes his way to a connecting platform. It seems he has somewhere else in the city to go to.
As your mind defogs from its dreamy state, you remember the two people from earlier handing out pictures. Looking around, you can’t seem to find them, but you notice a piece of paper taped to an underground support column. Depicted on the sheet of A4, is a young man, no older than sixteen, dark skin, brown eyes and curly, black hair. Written underneath in big, red, bold letters: ‘Missing - Miles Morales’. In smaller print are a couple of numbers to call if somebody spots him.
You frown with sympathy. That couple could well have been the missing boy's parents, worried sick about their son. Poor Miles seems to be another person added to the list of recent missing teenagers…
Using your phone, you take a picture of the notice to keep with you - just in case.
As you suspected, the subway station is devoid of dead rats. You imagine public services would dispose of their little corpses before too many people start asking questions.
You reach the surface after climbing the steps from the subway; the cool, fresh, autumnal air rushing against your face. Pulling your light coat tighter around you, you begin your investigations by walking down a street and examining each alleyway closely.
Each alley you have visited so far has been fruitless - or rat-less - and disappointing. A sneaking suspicion fills your mind that this is someone’s idea of a prank to send someone on a wild goose chase. Well, the joke’s on them, because you’ve just got a cute guy’s number that you otherwise wouldn’t have obtained if you hadn’t left the office. A smirk flits across your face as you think about Michael.
Up ahead, something catches your eye, bursting your dreamy bubble. A pest control van is parked further down the street. You see the driver getting out of the vehicle and entering the next alleyway. Quickening your walking pace, you make your way towards the pest control man.
Stepping around the corner, you see him kneeling down next to a couple of dead rats. He pauses as he looks up at you, eyeing you up and down.
Extending him your hand, you begin to introduce yourself. “Y/N, from the Daily Bugle. Would you mind if I ask you a couple of questions about the dead rats you’re finding?”
His eyes flit to your extended hand, but he doesn’t take it. “I’d shake it but I’ve been handlin’ dead rodents all mornin’, but sure lady, fire away,” he replies as he picks up the first rat and examines it.
Reaching into your pocket, you pull out your phone and open up your voice notes app.
“Has every rat you’ve found today died the same way?” you ask as you hold the phone close to your mouth, before moving it towards the pest control man.
Observing the rat in his hand, he checks its body before looking back at you and nods. “Yeah, two puncture marks, probably about an inch in width on every one,” he then picks up the second rat and nods again. “Yep, this one too.”
Puncture marks… you think to yourself for a second. “Like, stab wounds?”
The man shakes his head. “Like teeth, canine teeth perhaps?” he offers.
You would go look for yourself, but you’d rather not get too close to dead things, especially rats... “Perhaps a cat?”
He shakes his head again. “Too wide.”
Your shoulders slump as you frown at the confusion. Something’s biting them, but it’s bigger than a cat. It seems unlikely that a dog would be doing it, but you suppose there’s still a chance…
“Can you tell me anything more about the rats? Is there anything else you’ve noticed about them?”
The pest control man starts to put them in a box, to your greatest discomfort, it seems to be already occupied with several other dead animals. “Yeah, they ain’t juicy.”
You raise a questioning brow at his comment. “Juicy?”
Picking up the box, he stands again, causing you to step back and give him a wide berth. “No blood,” he answers as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“They’re… exsanguinated?” you murmur in surprise, now that is something significant. A cat wouldn’t drain it of its blood…
“What?” he asks as he stuffs the box in the back of his van. “Listen lady, there’s a reason you’re in your job and I’m in mine. Big words ain’t my thing. Do you need to know anythin’ else, or can I go?”
There’s a pause as you think for a second. “Yeah, one last thing. Is it just this part of Nueva York, or are the rat deaths more widespread?”
The two doors at the back of his van close with a clunk before he turns to look at you again. “This place and surroundin’ areas, but not all over the city - thank the Lord,” he answers, sounding tired.
“Okay, thank you,” you reply as you switch off your voice notes on your phone and look around trying to think what to do next. Something strange is going on and now your interest is piqued.
The pest control van drives away, no doubt on its way to look for more dead rats.
What you need now is perhaps something that will show what happened. CCTV from local businesses might help, and luckily for you, a nightclub just across the street might have a camera in the perfect position to see into the alleyway where the two rats met their demise.
Looking at your phone you see that it has just gone nine AM and wonder if anyone might be inside the establishment.
Crossing the road, you approach the nightclub called Las Sombras, its name printed in white text on a black board above the glass double doors. Looking inside all the regular lighting is switched on while you spot someone pottering around at the back.
Your rapping on the glass catches the attention of the short woman inside. Looking rather bemused, she comes to the nightclub’s entrance to unlock the doors and open them.
“Can I help you?” the woman asks as she pokes her head out.
“I work for the Daily Bugle, and I’d like to ask nearby businesses some questions about certain events that have taken place around here recently,” you begin as you put on a friendly face, looking slightly amused with her fashion choices.
The woman with the light-brown styled bob raises a quizzical eyebrow behind her pink, heart-shaped glasses. “What events?” she asks, although she looks approachable, there was an air of suspicion or caution to her voice.
You shiver as a cold breeze washes over you. “I know you’re closed but, can I come in?” you ask, pulling your coat around you a little tighter.
The nightclub employee opens the door wider to allow you in, but closes it behind you again and locks it to stop anyone else from entering.
Warmth blankets you as you step into the building, a nice relief from the elements outside.
“Are you the owner of this nightclub?” you ask, sounding intrigued as you look around. The furnishings were sleek, black and modern. Large, black, electric candelabras hang from the ceiling, giving a slight gothic atmosphere to the establishment. Above the bar was another black board and the bar’s name lit up in LEDs.
“Part owner,” she answers before extending her hand to you. “I’m Lyla.”
Taking her hand in yours, you introduce yourself to her. “You have a partnership in owning this place? Where’s the other owner?”
Lyla smiles at your question. “He won’t be around for a while yet. I tend to do a lot of the admin stuff, taking stock of drinks and doing payroll, while he does the more supervisory stuff when the club is open.”
You nod in understanding before looking at the name above the bar. “Las Sombras… Spanish for the Shadows?”
“Yep, sure is. My business partner chose the name.”
“Moody name,” you comment.
“He’s a moody guy.”
A smirk grows across your face. There’s something about Lyla that you really like. You imagine that she’s a rather fun person to be around.
“So, are you going to continue asking about the club, or ask about what you’re actually here for?” Lyla asks as she rests her hands on her hips, her silk, white blouse shimmers in the light from above.
“Oh, yes…” you begin as you slip your phone out of your pocket again, opening the voice notes app, but you don’t press the record button yet. “Have you noticed anything strange or odd going on here or in the surrounding areas of the city?”
Lyla looks at you blankly - clearly your question hasn’t rung any bells. “Nope. What sort of things have been happening?” she asks in return.
“You haven’t seen an increase in rats, particularly dead ones littering alleyways?”
She shakes her head and gives a shrug. “I’ve not noticed anything.”
Regardless of you liking her, you sense she’s not being entirely truthful. “The nightclub has a CCTV camera that overlooks an alley where two rats died under unusual circumstances, could I take a look at the security footage?”
Lyla chuckles slightly at your question. “What is this, CSI: Rodentville?” she asks as she reaches into her pocket for a set of keys. “Come through to the back and we can take a look.”
The gothic theme seems to diminish the moment you step through the door behind the bar. Keys jangle as Lyla unlocks a glossy white door, revealing a small room mostly filled with a desk equipped with a CCTV monitoring system. Plonking herself down on the chair, Lyla wriggles the mouse on the computer to wake it up while you stand right behind her. “Any idea what time last night your precious rats shuffled off this mortal coil?”
Giving a shrug, you answer: “Dunno, I guess it’ll be when the street is quiet? What time does the nightclub close?”
“Around two AM,” Lyla replies as she enters a time into the software. Footage rewinds from live feed, into the past. People walk backwards at top speed, you even see yourself reversing across the road, back towards the alleyway briefly before it finally stops at the specified time window. Pressing play, both you and Lyla watch the footage intently, leaning in closer to try and spot any minor bit of detail that could end up becoming significant.
To start with, nothing out of the ordinary happens, cars pass down the dark street early in the morning, people amble along the sidewalk, behaving normally. Lyla skips the time ahead slightly, not much has changed, except a discarded paper bag blown by the autumnal wind tumbling across the road.
Another skip forward in time reveals something far more interesting. A young man, who looks lost and distressed, retreating into the alleyway opposite the nightclub. Both you and Lyla lean in even closer to see what the person was up to.
As he looks around, checking his surroundings for his security, you recognise his face. Unlocking your phone you go straight to the last photo you took. “M-Miles Morales?” you splutter in shock, pointing at the screen.
“You know the kid?” Lyla asks, looking up at you.
“He’s missing,” you answer, showing the nightclub owner the picture on your phone before looking back up at the CCTV footage. You continue to watch intently as the boy settles down on the cold, concrete slab, hugging his knees to his chest.
“And the rats were found there?” Lyla inquires as she too retrains her focus back on the screen.
“Yep, in the exact same alleyway…” your brows furrow as you notice Miles looking further into his hiding place as if something has got his attention, but before you see him do anything else, the screen goes black and the machine falls silent.
“Well, shit!” Lyla exclaims in frustration, throwing her hands up in the air. “Damn thing’s been doing this for ages.”
Feeling as though the answers to your questions have slipped from your grasping fingers, your breath falters, the harsh pang of disappointment winding you slightly. “Can’t you bring it back?” your eye twitches with irritation as you work hard on masking it.
Lyla frowns and sighs. “Unfortunately, after a system shut-down, expected or not, all footage is lost and starts recording again from fresh,” she watches your shoulders slump at that revelation. “I know. It sucks - I’m sorry. My business partner hasn’t got round to fixing the issue with it yet.”
Pinching the bridge of your nose slightly, you take a deep breath. At least you have seen the missing kid, that should count for something. You take note of the number in the picture and begin to dial it.
“W-wait, what are you doing?” the nightclub owner asks, her voice shaking slightly.
As you dial the number, you briefly look up at Lyla, “Calling the number on the missing person’s poster,” you answer before looking back down again and pressing the dial button. “Tell them I’ve seen Miles in this area,” you finish as you hold the phone up to your ear and wander out of the room, leaving Lyla on her own.
With no more answers available for your mounting questions, you leave Las Sombras after notifying the police about seeing Miles on the CCTV footage. Feeling as though you have achieved something good, you return to the office with a story developing in your mind, something to write about and a mystery for you to investigate further in the coming days.
After writing an article for the Daily Bugle, you feel you have accomplished even more than giving much needed hope to the parents missing their son, Miles. You cast your eye over your work before you submit it to your formidable boss.
“Pest Control Gone Too Far?
It has been brought to my attention by a concerned member of the public that there has been a sharp increase of rat deaths in Nueva York. Now, some of you might be thrilled at the idea that there are fewer rodents to worry about in the city, however, shouldn’t we ask ourselves why this is happening?
When I first heard that rats were simply dropping dead around the city, my first worry was a potential plague that could affect more than just the city’s rodent population.
Upon my investigations today, I met with an employee from pest control who has been cleaning up the mess as a result of the rising number of deaths, and he has provided some interesting insight.
Each rat that has been found and collected has suffered the same cause of death; two puncture wounds as if bitten, and their blood drained from their small bodies.
Is there a blood-thirsty beast roaming the dark streets of Nueva York who has developed an unquenchable thirst for rats? Or is this someone’s idea of a sick joke?”
Feeling happy with your work, you hit send on your email and wait for your boss’s approval.
After getting Las Sombras’s CCTV recording software back online, and completing several tasks like cleaning and staff payroll, Lyla pulls out her phone, biting her lip with concern.
Her thumb hovers with hesitation over a contact on her phone screen, simply labelled ‘M’. Finally, she gives an exasperated sigh, presses on the number and waits for the call to connect. Several rings fill the air as she puts the phone on loud-speaker and leans against the bar.
A click indicates the call has been answered and a gravelly, deep voice speaks. “What? Couldn’t this have waited until later?”
“No it couldn’t,” Lyla begins, “we’ve got a problem.”
“And what problem is that?” the male’s voice on the other end sounds irritated.
“We’ve got some woman sniffing around asking about dead rats-”
“Dead rats?” the man interjects, “you disturbed me for dead rats?”
“No - but a missing kid is draining the vermin of their blood,” the line goes silent for a moment after Lyla speaks. “The bigger problem is, the woman saw the kid on the CCTV footage when she asked to check it. She wanted to learn more about the damned rats. She recognised him and reported him to the police that he’s in this neck of the woods…”
“Shit!” the male voice exclaims before taking a deep breath. “Why was she poking her nose around our place anyway?” he eventually asks with a tone of simmering annoyance.
“She works for the Daily Bugle-”
“Fuck sake, Lyla!,” he pauses for a second, “please tell me, she didn’t see the kid feast on the rodent…” he growls in a threatening tone.
“No, she didn’t. I subtly kicked the power cable out of the back of the machine before she saw anything…” a sigh of relief came from his end of the line.
“Well - that’s something at least. But guess what? You’re covering for me tonight while I now have to fetch the kid before the police find him…”
“I can do that,” Lyla responds as she pinches the bridge of her nose.
“Did you at least catch the kid’s name?”
“Miles - Miles Morales. His face is all over the news and on missing posters around the city.”
“Good, send me his picture and I’ll go looking for him at sundown.”
“Sure, I’ll do that after the call.”
“Oh, and if that nosey woman comes back. Get rid of her.”
Lyla sighs at her business partner’s words. “Understood…”
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