The Old Guard

The bar was quiet, its patrons huddled in small clusters. At first glance it would appear… ordinary, at least for a small town bar.

It was not.

A second glance would reveal that the people within shared certain… characteristics… with those in their cluster. One group was comprised solely of bearded, tanned old men that were distinctly muscular and feral-looking. Another, more–aristrocratic, had slim fingered, pale, dark-haired, sickly young gentlemen.


The animosity in the bar was a palpable thing, silent but present, old and deepseated/

They sat in silence, as if waiting for the first person to make a move. The aristocrats started a game of poker.

The door opened.

The man who walked in was possessed of unearthly beauty. His teeth sparkled, his hair–gleamed, his pale skin glowed. The tension in the room rose several degrees. He strode over to the bar. After it became apparent that the barkeeper was ignoring him, he spoke up.

“What is there to drink?”

Glancing at the mirror, the barkeeper answered, “What do you want?”

One of the bearded men growled, then smiled ferally and said, “He’ll have what we’re having, Joe. On me.”

Joe glanced at him doubtfully, but said nothing. Reaching under the counter, he extracted a green bottle and glass.

“You want this whiskeyed down, boy?’


Joe glanced at the man in the corner, and pulled out the whiskey. The entire bar watched, on edge, as the barkeeper poured equal amounts of whiskey and the brown sludge that came out of the bottle into a tumbler. He pushed it towards the newcomer and muttered, “I’ll be out back.”

He raised the cup and drained it–

“Aaargh! What was that?”

One of the cultured gentlemen rose from the poker table and stalked over. “It’s a drug. Did you think we wouldn’t recognize you, child? Did you think we wouldn’t care? Our brotherhood has lasted for millenia, only to be perverted by people like you.”

Hoarse laughter came from the hairy men. “We used to have a glorious rivalry, boy, but thanks to people like you, we’re nonexistent. Washed-up. Has-beens. It was a pleasure to help them with their problem.”

He glanced around, wildly, looking for a friendly face. He found none.

“But why do you hate me so much? What have I done to you?”

The gentleman raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know? We, those of us you see here, are the last of the true vampires. And they are the last werewolves. There is nothing beautiful, or kind, or sexy about us. Only cruelty and death. And we shall dispose of you.”


There is a country road. Few can find it. It leads to a city of death, for none who enter return. There wait the nightmares, the horrors of the human race, pure and unadulterated.

You thought you could change us, but you have only changed your perception.

What will you do when we escape?

Categories: Musings, Oh really?, The story | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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