Author, Inspiration, Short Stories, Witchcraft, Writing

A Chance Encounter

By: D.A. Henneman

It was a day like no other, endless in its possibilities and full of beauty as far as the eye could see.  They sat there in comfortable silence, breathing deeply the salt of the sea, carried on the mists that were born of the waves which crashed upon the shore.  The waves that they had run in until they had exhausted themselves with laughter and the buzz from the alcohol rose to its peak. 

They had not paid too much attention to where their feet led them, and slowed their pace in a deserted part of the beach, with sands stretching for miles on either side.  It was here that they stopped with an abrupt plop on the beach, where they leaned back and closed their eyes against the bright sun’s rays as their bodies molded against the warm sand.  They were comfortably trashed, having spent the afternoon drinking fruit punch foo foo drinks by the poolside, and eating nothing other than the fruit skewered by the swizzle stick that adorned them.  They were excited to be on vacation, having driven 17 hours straight through to get here, finally out of the car and content to share this moment in time with the warmth of the sun, the cries of the gulls, and each other.

They lay there in silence, scantily clad in “barely there” bathing suits and sunglasses, breathing in deep the essence of the beach and everything it meant for them.  Roasting in the sun with a smile on their face, it took them a moment to register the slight chill they felt as the shadow fell over them.  They opened their eyes to look at the man that had dared to interrupt their solitude, who was standing in the way of their golden tan.  He was unassuming, a businessman type, although he wore shorts, leather sandals and a t-shirt promoting “The Salty Dog”, a local bar they intended on checking out later.  He was older, way older than either of the girls would be interested in, and they smiled politely as walked around to their feet to introduce himself.

They feigned interest in what he had to say, never once making eye contact with him, which would had been difficult to do considering his eyes were glued to their chests.  The girls glanced at each other sending messages with their expressions, laughing quietly to themselves, too tired to get up and move to another part of the beach.  They listened to the drone of his voice as he gave his salesman’s pitch toting his endless qualities, secretly hoping he would tire of the one-sided conversation and go on his merry way.

As he tried to focus on having a conversation with the ladies, which was hard to do considering the view, he thought to himself that he was one lucky SOB.  He couldn’t get over the fact that fate had plunked not one, but two right in his lap, and both in the prime of their lives!  He tried not to let his voice quiver with the excitement that raced through his body, as he imagined the things that he would do to them once he got them alone, and far from watchful eyes.

Although the beach was secluded, it was not private, and for what he had planned he needed to be sure there was no one else around.  He needed to be sure there were no witnesses.  He was surprised, as he continued talking, that they didn’t recognize him, having played Pro Basketball and spending the last 2 decades in Politics but their ignorance fueled his desire, and something came over him.  Soon he was describing all the things that he wanted to do to them, without his usual verbal censor.  It was as though their auras spoke to him, asked him to be himself, to bare his true nature, and to proposition them with the knowledge that he would not be turned down. They nodded as he bared his soul, and smiled as he shared his darkest fantasies.

The girls listened to the old man as he described in graphic detail all of the things he wanted to do to them in a quiet, dark room, on a California King.  They giggled at his insistence that he could give them their every desire and that if they came with him, they could have their choice of jewels or furs and he would shower them in gifts.  He described his great wealth and the estate on which he lived, and the girls knew before they looked to the other for a reaction, that they would be going home with him.

They followed him to his Mercedes which was parked in a lot nearby, and climbed in the back-seat for trip to his house that he insisted would be less than 5 minutes.  True to his word, 4 minutes later, they pulled up to an iron gate that required a 3 digit code, and the girls grins grew wider as he punched in “666.” He drove up the winding driveway to the front of his plantation-style home, and held their door open until they exited the car.  Once inside, they were astonished by the luxury that surrounded them, and were amazed to find that everything that he had described about his life was actually true.  He offered them a drink, from his well stocked bar, and gave them a tour of his home, ending with the room with the infamous California King.

He went to the bed after removing his shirt and sandals and sat on the corner, patting the mattress like a dog, alongside him as if to coax them to him.  They glanced at each other and smiled the same secret smile he had seen for the past hour, and sauntered over to where he sat.  His eyes were level with his favorite part of their anatomy, and he was anxious to lay his head on their pillows of flesh.  They smiled and told him not to move a muscle and to let them do all the work.  He was more than willing to comply and told them as much as one of the girls went up on the bed behind him, and the other squeezed in between his legs to stand before him. 

He thought that he had died and gone to heaven when they both laid their hands on his shoulders, one coming in to kiss the left side of his neck from the front and the other to kiss the right from the rear.  He was in ecstasy at the feel of their lips and tongue as they suckled in the crook of his neck, cool, firm and ouch what was that?  He felt the prick on his neck again, this time on the right side, and realized that he had lost all will to move.  He felt it then, what he should have felt before, their hands cold as ice on his skin, their lips and tongue lapping at the cuts they had made with their razor sharp teeth.  He was unable to move, compelled by their glamour to remain still as they fed at their leisure, and powerless to prevent them from draining every last drop.

They fed on his essence, his pride and arrogance, knowing him inside and out before they were finished with him.  They knew him for the monster he was, stalking innocent women and luring them back to his lair with promises of sharing his wealth.  He never shared anything, and with his powerful connections, the women could never convict him of the hideous crimes that took place in the privacy of his estate, in the very bed where he now lay. 

It was their way of ridding the world of one more scumbag, besides they had been pretty weak from being out in the sun all day, which honestly wasn’t the smartest thing for a Vampire to do, but they had been feeling invincible at the time.  It was a good thing that this loser had come along when he did, since the alcohol was the only thing preventing them from being fried to a crisp, and their buzz had been starting to wear off. 

They left him in the center of his bed, used and discarded like an old tube of toothpaste.  He wouldn’t be able to prey on innocent women any longer, and like him, they felt no remorse or pity.  Like him, they didn’t have a heartbeat.  Like him, they now had a house full of luxury and the keys to a Mercedes.  Well, actually not like him considering that in a few more hours he would be feeding the sharks and never driving up to this house again.

They went downstairs to pour themselves a drink since their buzz had completely wore off with the heavy meal, and raised their glasses in a toast to the best vacation ever.  One, that in their estimation, had only just begun.           


All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute or transmit in any form or by any means. For information about subsidiary rights, please contact the author at saraybooksllc@gmail.com.

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