Chapter Text
A sickening crunch echoed through the alleyway, then a dull thump as the woman's body fell to the cobblestone, devoid of life. Unfurling himself from his position over her, Mikey wiped his mouth clean of the lady's blood, grimacing at the small stain in his trenchcoat. She would probably be found tomorrow, ‘fallen off a roof’, mysteriously bled out. He would be out of town by the time an investigation would be launched.
Glancing at the body, he felt a cringe of remorse. He was being irrational, trying to fast again, and he had become hungry enough to drain a human. God, he has to stop thinking of mortals as collateral before it catches up to him.
Stumbling out of the alleyway, Mikey looked down the darkened street to make sure no one was in sight. The last thing he needed was someone seeing him emerge suspiciously from a dark alley. Once he assured himself that the street was empty, Mikey began the short trek toward the closest pub, hoping to find solace in a drink,hands shoved deep into his pockets. The oil lamps lining the street flickered everytime he passed, almost sensing a disturbance in their light. He trudged on.
Upon reaching the entrance of the bar, he was greeted by the pale figure of a man, with long blonde hair, almost white, standing guard at the entrance. His posture was impeccable, and he was dressed quite excellently, which seemed odd for a man standing outside a pub. The strangest thing about him, Mikey noticed, were his striking rusty eyes. No, not rust. Red! The man gave Mikey a once-over, then gave him a strict nod. Once passing the threshold, Mikey gave the man one more backward glance, only to be greeted by the man's piercing glare, his red eyes boring into his soul. Spooked, he hurried deeper inside. Finally reaching the bar, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in, and ordered a drink from the barman.
Turning to assess the rest of the room, he noticed couples sitting at miniscule dining tables with salads and steaks. Lots of them. Mikey guessed that he was the only man alone right now. They were all chatting, and giggling, most of them at least partially facing the stage, which was currently some closed curtains.
Glancing at the bar, he finally noticed a poster on a old and scratched corkboard:
“COUPLES NIGHT AT THE PUMP 9/16, 9:30, FOOD, MUSIC, AND DANCING”
Ah, so that’s why it seemed like all the township’s youth decided to show up.
Hearing a soft clink, Mikey turned around to see his drink on the bar, along with a napkin, and the barman was nowhere to be seen. Odd. He took a sip of his drink, and picked the napkin up to inspect it. Two little orange… dots? fell out, and on the other side was some scrawled writing. ‘Put these on. Tonites star has a grate voice. Ignore other patrons. Meet us at the back after the show for dinner.’ Grate? Easy word to misspell, Mikey guessed.
Upon further inspection, the dots turned out to be ear plugs. Why the barman thought Mikey of all people (a totally normal person with regular hearing) would need these was perplexing. Yes he was slightly (very) more attuned to sound than humans, but how would the barman guess this? Unless…
Mikey's train of thought was interrupted by a sudden loud cheer from the crowd, which hurt his head a bit, and the lights dimming. Turning to see the stage, he was met with a small, funny looking band, who wore bright kooky costumes, and had wild looks on their faces. Some even had makeup on, his eyes landing on one who looked like a black void in comparison to the rest. He had a Cheshire smile painted on his lips and cheeks, and wore a long spindly half collar adorned with gold paint. The man caught his stare, and with an impossible widening of eyes, gave Mikey a crazed grin, then wink, his makeup stretching around his mouth and glistening under the stage lights. Mikey quickly looked away in discomfort, taking a quick sip of his bitter drink.
Once his brain had finished processing the overwhelmingly bright band, Mikey finally noticed that the frontman was addressing the crowd; though in a more sane tone than he could have imagined.
“-Doctor Benzedrine's Big Band is happy to join you tonight in some merrymaking, dancing, and eating! We hope you make the most of our music and get on up here to move your body right along with us…”
He continued on, listing the songs that they would play and such, trying to warm up the crowd. But at that point, Mikey had lost interest. Was this the star that the barman’s note referenced? If so, what was the big deal? To be fair, he had not started singing yet… Taking a good look at ‘Doctor Benzedrine’ Mikey found that he did not, infact, look like a doctor. He looked more akin to an eccentric millionaire who took too many substances before he got dressed. He wore a bright yellow suit with dark accents, a silly bowtie, a matching yellow top hat with an equally silly feather swinging around. And his face, adorned with pale makeup, his lips painted like a small heart, made him look like a clown. A surprisingly cute clown at that…
Mikey started suddenly. When had the music begun? Benzedrine's voice floated through his ears first, tickling parts of his brain he'd never even felt. Then it hit him all at once. The music, the colors, the smiles, the crowd. All an assault on Mikey's heightened senses, making him almost clutch his head in pressure and pain. Only Benzedrine's voice seemed to lull him through it, a gentle ballad during a storm at sea, promising love, care, safety. Oh, Mikey would do anything for it. Anything at all, just for him to continue his beautiful siren song.
Siren song.
Snapping out of the sweet daze, Mikey scrambled for the earplugs he had abandoned, shoving them haphazardly into his ears. He was breathing fast, trying to sort through the whiplash of overstimulation, sappy comfort, and fear he had just felt in the past 2 minutes. What in the gods was happening? He checked in on the crowd, who were also seemingly dazzled by the singing. He glanced at the band, who looked as if in a trance playing their instruments, faces neutral and lax, a disturbing parallel to their bizarro grins not five minutes ago. He turned around in his chair, not seeing anyone around except himself. Mikey felt as if he and Doctor Benzedrine were the only living beings around.
Feeling an unfamiliar panic start to set in, Mikey slowly made his way off his barstool, leaving a tip for the barman, and snuck off to the entrance. To his relief, he saw no one, but when he tried the door it was locked. Locked. LOCKED. Why was the door of all things locked?? He scurried back to his stool, scoping out the room for exits.
Finally, he saw a door, in a small corner next to the end of the bar. He made his way to it, and pushed it open. Light. So much light, almost blinding him in its fluorescence. Mikey quickly looked behind himself, checking to see if anyone was watching. The crowd and band were still bland faced, and Doctor Benzedrine was singing almost in ecstasy, eyes screwed shut, brows furrowed, bellowing about some thunder.
He entered the hallway, lit overhead by some strange box lights, once again assaulting his vision, his eyes stinging from the drastic change. The hall itself was painted a grey blue, the floor hardwood, reflecting the light into Mikey's eyes. Was this place built against his kind or what? He began walking, trying to grasp the situation he had walked into.
First of all, was the strange man at the door. Was he some kind of bouncer? Mikey remembered his striking eyes, red like blood drying on skin. His paleness and ivory hair. Was he some type of noble? The doorman also seemed to recognize Mikey, with his all knowing glare. Then the disappearing barman. Why had he given him the note? Why hadn't he just let Mikey succumb to the daze, like the other patrons? And finally Doctor Benzedrine. How was he able to hypnotize the crowd with his voice? Mikey had heard of sirens and their own hypnotic songs, but they were bird women, and the Doctor seemed perfectly human to him.
All of these questions and no answers. Mikey pondered them throughout his journey in the halls.
***
They seemed never ending. They curved and stretched for what seemed like miles, blue grey and bright. Mikey felt as if he were stumbling, lost in the maze of hallways. Yet he never once turned back around, for he preferred this over being controlled by whatever was out there. A silly idea, yes, but one the only one he could make in the overwhelming environment.
He reached another curve, but found that this one brought an ending. There was another hallway, quite shorter, reaching toward his left, with a door marked ‘TO STAGE AND DINING HALL’. His eyebrows furrowed, and Mikey felt embarrassed. All of that hallway, just to reach a backstage area? Ahead of him, for about 10 yards, lay a couple doors on each side, each marked ‘DRESSING ROOM’. Crap, would he run into that creepy band?
Mikey stopped and listened for any remnant of music. He heard none. How long had he been down here? Had the band already finished their set? The Doctor seemed to be listing quite a lot of songs.
At the end of the hallway was another door though. It had no sign, but was a different color than the rest, a bright canary yellow. The handle looked worn, rust red where it had once been gold. Maybe that was a sign of wind and rain, outside? Mikey began walking, slow quiet steps just in case there was anyone around. Slowly. He reached the first set of doors. Heard nothing. Next set. Nothing again. He repeated this three more times until he was at the second to last set. He could almost feel the freedom of the chilly night air on his face. He picked up the pace. Then came a sound. Mikey froze, the panic setting in once more. If his heart was still beating it would galloping like a racehorse. Listening more closely, he found the sound to be, sobs?
Turning slowly, he found that the last door on his right was cracked open, revealing a figure bent over a chipped vanity, wracking with the sobs he had previously heard. They had light strawberry blonde hair, and had a white shirt on. On the vanity was a bright yellow hat, with that silly feather. Mikey's hypothetical heart dropped.
It was Doctor Benzedrine. The one who had turned his mind to mush, the man who had put the whole room under a spell, sobbing like a widow. What in the world was happening?
Then Benzedrine lifted his head, and saw Mikey's reflection in the vanity, and his heart dropped out his ass. Before he could move a muscle, Benzedrine shot up off the little chair and spun around, stomping toward Mikey.
“YOU! What in the world are you doing backstage?!” He squeaked impressively.
“Hey man, relax I’m just-” “Don't tell me to relax! If you knew half of the…” Benzedrine's eyes suddenly gleamed in recognition, and his voice tapered off into suspicion.
“Hey, I saw you sneaking around. How did you do that? Did they give you earplugs or something?”
Mikey was confuzzled. How did he know?
“Who? Doctor I don't know-”
“Of course you know! And don't call me Doctor. I'm not stupid! You're one of them right? That's why you're snooping back here with all the caution of a cow through a library; you've come for dinner.” His tear stained makeup scrunched under his scowl, the little heart lips pulled over his teeth in hatred.
Frustrated, Mikey tried to explain himself. “Look man, I'm just looking for a way out, I've got zero idea what you're on here, can I just leave now?” he huffed, beginning to move towards the door.
A large hand stopped him in his place, his hypothetical heart skipping a beat.
“Well well well, nice to see you followed my directions…” Benzedrine’s face blanched, and Mikey slowly turned around to face another large pale man, this one with dark brown hair, pulled back with what was probably an outrageous amount of gel. He wore a luxurious grey suit, tailored to perfection, his eyes the same shade of rust red as the man from the door.
“But I'm afraid you mustn't leave. Why, as dear Patrick mentioned, you're just in time for dinner.” The man's voice had an annoying aristocratic tone to it, one you might usually find in women, prissy and controlled.
“Bringing another into your ranks I see. Just another mouth for me to feed, isn't it?” Benzedrine (Patrick?) spat.
The man's face curled into a pitying smile, not quite reaching his eyes.
“Now Patrick dear, don't say such things. You know what you do for us is very valuable. Brings us some great tunes as well.” His smile suddenly turned down, now an empathetic frown. Mikey suppressed a disgusted shudder. It felt like watching an ancient Greek actor switch masks.
“ ‘Tricky, darling, have you been crying? You know how bad it is for your voice, working yourself into those wailing moods.” He reached a hand out to wipe the smallers tears. It was slapped away fiercely, an almost growl coming out of Benzedrine's mouth.
“Don't call me that. Its Patrick.” He wiped away the tears collecting on his cheek, bringing some of his grease paint makeup along with it. By now, Mikey was very confused.
Feeding? Dinner? Benzedrine being ‘valuable'? It all spun around in his head like a merry go round, along with the rest of the curiosities he had discovered that evening. Something along the way spun into place, and Mikey finally realized what he was missing here. Vampires! A whole nest of them, feeding off patrons. His stomach roiled like the sea. And they were inviting him to feed.
Great. Just what he needed after living 26 years in perfect secrecy, a whole vampire club, expecting him join them.
“Look, whatever group you're wanting me to join, I’m not interested. I'm only here to leave. Just show me the exit.” Mikey took a step back, trying to retreat from the situation he had walked himself into, hours earlier.
But the man was insistent.
“Please, I'm sure we'll be able to convince you here. Now if you would just follow me…” His voice was strained with a certain inflection that made Mikey's feet begin moving, bit by his own volition.
“And you too Patrick. We have been wanting to convene with you for a while.” He snatched Benzedrine by the collar, dragging him along like a mother cat, without the warmth anyhow.
Patrick struggled and spat, while Mikey could only walk on in horror of his body's own betrayal. His mind screamed at his muscles to stop, yet the man's will seemed to overpower his own. They reached that prized yellow door much more quickly than Mikey would have hoped. He felt a strange sort of relief, then dread, as the door opened, not to reveal a dank alley, but a deep dark set of stairs; like the ones he and his brother always feared, oily, rank, and moldy. What awaited down those steps Mikey could only wonder.