Exton

He was old... centuries had passed as he walked the earth, but he disliked this new world. Life used to be secretive and lonely... people lived far apart and a creature could ply his trade and eat his fill of the populace without word passing to others. Now he had to skulk like the rats to find a victim... and there was more pressure to hide his kills, or move more frequently. He liked the old part of town with its old narrow alleys and dark driveways... the lush old park with its mature shady trees and hiding places... he liked the new tavern... it was a rich source for his needs.

His name was Amrath; but he had not heard it in hundreds of years... he was a loner, long past the time of women and only surviving for the taste of the blood . He had found a long abandoned house in a district that would not see revitalization for many years; so he felt safe. He had a coffin in the darkest recesses of the basement... and he lifted the lid as the night grew rich with want... his skin was wrinkled and aged, he did not participate in life enough to keep the vitality of his youth, and he clung to wearing the hooded cloak of his favorite time period.

He trudged up the stairs;stopping briefly to catch a fat rat... he bit into its belly and listened to it squeal as he sucked the blood from its body... a small snack till later when the tavern closed.

He had time... for it was still the height of the evening, he decided to walk.... The hooded figure had spent most of the previous evening in the shadows across the street from the tavern... he'd watched the coming and going... knew that many went unescorted when they left at the night's end... and he had followed one such girl... She had detoured into the nearby park to cut across and save time... and it was there he had grabbed her from his place along her path. She struggled, but he gripped her neck with one hand and she could not get a sound past her lips... his strength was supernatural.

He drew her into the shadowy recesses of a covered walkway and drawing her to him he bent and savaged her neck with his teeth, not puncturing neat little holes... but ripping great chunks, so that her blood ran in rivulets. He drank from her until he was sated, and then dropped her like debris on the ground... stepping over her as he made passage to his day's sleep... the sun almost over the horizon.

Now he thirsted again, and cursed the blanket of snow... not too many walkers this night; and the snow's reflection made the night so light... he might do better in the alleys of the slum... where the transients had no home to shield them from him.