A few years back I got a text in the middle of the night. I was a high school senior, and my parents had pretty much given up on keeping me in check. As long as no one was getting hurt they could focus all their attention on my three younger sisters. So there was little to keep me from sneaking out to see what the fuss was about.
I met my friends down by the path leading to Frog Lake. There were six of us, lead by Brandon and his devotee, Vicky. They were all gathered in a little group along the path, and it wasn’t until I stepped up that I could see why.
There was a dead body on the road.
A middle-aged man. He’d been dead for a few hours and, judging from the tone of the others, they’d just found him like this. This unfortunate man had been reduced to a novelty.
The others had already rifled through his pockets, and they had all agreed not to call the police. Instead, they were gonna let someone discover him on their morning walk.
But while the others were chatting about and getting grossed out, Brandon was making plans. They’d already taken all loose cash from the deceased man’s wallet, but that wasn’t quite enough. They were talking about putting lipstick on or giving him a weird haircut. But Brandon wasn’t having it. He’d discovered him, and he wanted something special.
“Vicky, gimme your pencil” he finally said. “This’ll be good.”
She handed it over. Brandon carefully punctured the man’s throat in two spots, using the pencil. I was surprised to see so much blood run out, even though the man was already dead.
“What are you doing?!” protested Vicky. “Gimme my pen!”
The others just looked at the corpse, stunned. It looked like there’d been some kind of vampire attack, with two puncture wounds right on the artery.
“This’ll get ‘em talking,” grinned Brandon. “Fucking hilarious.”
There was an article about it the next day. Some old lady had found the dead man and noticed the wounds. She’d called the police. The cause of death was determined as some kind of aneurysm, but that’s not what had people talking. The “vampire bite” was far more interesting. Brandon was so damn proud of himself.
There was even a short national news segment about it. You remember the story about the “Minnesota Bloodsucker”? Yeah, that was us. No vampire business, just shitty kids being shitty. Although the whole thing was debunked the moment you actually read the story, the headline was enough to bring national attention.
But that’s just where this story starts. Not a lot of people have heard about what happened next.
Days later, I was meeting Vicky and her friends at a nearby gas station. Vicky had a car, and we were going out for Chinese food. There was this guy coming down the road, sprinting. He had these ragged clothes and looked just… dreadful. Unkempt beard, wild hair, sunken eyes. He just ran right past us, like the devil was chasing him. He didn’t even look at us. He just kept going, with floppy shoes hanging on seemingly by willpower alone.
All across town, similar people showed up. From second-hand accounts I’ve counted at least six different people. All of them panicked and barely coherent. One ran into the local police station, another into the school cafeteria. Some were arrested, others dismissed. But they all said they were looking for the same thing;
The Minnesota Bloodsucker.
The first time I talked to one of these people, I was standing in line at an ATM. At first I thought they were homeless. They looked the part. But when he came up to me, I could tell there was something strange about him. He had these tiny, tiny pupils; his eyes were almost completely white. He was shivering, and he had trouble keeping his balance.
He was going through everyone in line, asking us one by one;
“Do you know the Bloodsucker?”
When it was my turn, I didn’t know how to answer. Instead, I just shrugged it off.
“You know it’s fake, right?” I scoffed. “He had an aneurysm.”
“No,” he responded. “No, it’s real. It’s here. We gotta find it.”
He had this absolutely desperate look about him, like his life depended on it. He was on the verge of breaking into tears, keeping it all together by a thread. To me, it’d all been a big inconvenience. A lie taken a form of its’ own. But to this man, the Bloodsucker was the realest thing in the world.
Brandon and the others weren’t paying attention to any of it. To them, desecrating a corpse had just been another day. They did this kind of thing all the time. Hell, Vicky was practically a vampire already. She was up all night with Brandon most days, missing class and partying like four times a week. From what I’d heard, she was taking some pretty nasty stuff. Pills.
But people around town were getting a bit paranoid. They might’ve been able to convince themselves that this was all a hoax, based on the articles, but with these people showing up? It was kicking up all kinds of rumors. People were putting their ear to the ground. Paying attention. Soaking up the rumors. And where there’s rumors, there are angry and worried people calling the police.
They started a neighborhood watch, and the police were pressured to take action. Brandon had a house party broken up because of an anonymous tip that he knew the Bloodsucker.
Not that strange, considering Brandon was the Bloodsucker, in a sense.
One Friday night, Brandon was calling us all to his place for a house party. Considering how the last one went, I wasn’t interested. Besides, it was almost midnight, and I had cuddled up in my bed. I just ignored it. The next day, I went over to his place. We usually went out together for lunch on Saturday, and he’d been unusually quiet.
I got there around noon. Vicky’s car was in the driveway. Brandon’s parents had gotten him his own place about year back, so there was no one around to check on him. Even so, I got a bad feeling. Vicky didn’t like spending the night outside her place.
When I stepped inside, I could tell something had gone down.
There was a couch overturned, and there was this strange iron-like smell in the air. A glass table’d been shattered, and dry flowers from a broken vase lay across the floor; a couple of blue sunflowers Vicky’d gotten Brandon when he moved in.
It looked like there’d been an insane fight. There was even some blood dripping of a spatter in the ceiling. How the hell did it get there?!
At first, I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there, calling out for Brandon, or whoever might hear me. I got no response. There were no bodies. Just an unlocked door and an absolute mess.
I called the police right away.
They took over, and I got to hear that several people had been reported missing. This was the first lead they had. There’d been at least six people there, three of which had been reported missing. They’d probably sneaked out in the middle of the night, and their parents had noticed their empty beds in the morning.
I couldn’t shake the feelings that there was more to it. This had to do with the Bloodsucker. But was it retaliation, or something else?
Having unknowingly dodged a bullet, I started getting paranoid. This did little to slow the rumors. Now there were even more people talking about the Bloodsucker, and things were getting out of hand. Although this was mostly reported locally, there were interviews, articles, and Missing People-posters handed out all across town.
Putting up a poster for Vicky and Brandon was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. It was like their pictures were staring at me through the paper, asking me where the hell I’d been that night.
People were asking me questions. My parents, the police, social services… a lot of people had the impression that I knew something. And sure, I knew all about Brandon’s prank on that dead body, but I wasn’t telling. Not outright. Then again, I didn’t see the relevance. It was just a stupid rumor.
So I just shut up about it.
I got through countless “innocuous talks”. They were all being so friendly and understanding, but constantly prodding me. It’s as if they just couldn’t believe that I had no idea where Brandon and the others had gone.
“We just wanna talk,” they all lied. “To see how you’re holding up.”
This painted an enormous target on my back. Everyone knew I spent time with Brandon and the others. So when days turned into weeks, people were growing desperate. I was getting dozens of calls a day.
I remember once when the newspaper called to ask me about them, and I just screamed.
“I don’t know shit about anything! Maybe the Bloodsucker got ‘em, I don’t know!”
Shouldn’t have said that.
I really shouldn’t have.
This just kicked everything up another notch. I was brought into the police station and interrogated. I was brought to the school counselor with my parents. There were endless phone calls from newspapers and worried parents; as well as a few internet nutjobs. The Minnesota Bloodsucker was turning into a headline. People don’t just go missing by themselves.
I stopped going to school. Those awful moments in-between classes, or when I walked around on my own, just ruined my nerves. I imagined hearing people talking behind my back, or some unknown presence looking at me from afar. This rumor about the Bloodsucker had taken over my life.
I thought about telling the truth. I really did. But when you’ve lied for weeks on end, you can’t just start changing your story overnight.
My parents got me a cheap car, so I could go straight home from school. But cheap cars are cheap for a reason, and one night in late May the thing broke down completely just off the highway. I’d been a bit careless and spent some time after school with a friend. I’d had a few beers and probably shouldn’t have been driving in the first place, so I was a bit anxious about calling for help.
I had to manually push the car off the road.
It was almost 8 pm, and there was an awful wind blowing. Drops of rain smattering across the windshield, and this cold howling sound echoing across the highway. There was a storm coming.
Cars rushed by as I anguished about what to do. It was either my parents, the police, or triple-A. I finally settled on calling my parents. I had my thumb hovering above the number for a few minutes, trying to build up the courage. I’d been a pain in the ass lately, and this wasn’t making things easier. The faint smell of beer didn’t help.
There was no way for me to prepare for what happened next.
It was quick. One of the ragged men had walked up the side of my car with a tire iron. As I pressed the call button, I was showered in glass. Hands reached for me through the broken window. I kicked and crawled into the passenger side, trying to get away. I didn’t even notice my hands were bleeding.
Looking back at it, I realize there are a lot of blanks. I was panicking. I have no memory of it, but I think I was screaming. I remember my throat being raw as soon as I came to. But there, in that moment, I was just trying to get away.
But I remember one moment clearly. As I got out on the other side of the car, I met the gaze of the strange man who attacked me. This time, his eyes were completely white. It was as if he was looking straight through me, or seeing something in me that I wasn’t.
But those eyes, they haunt me. That’s one thing I can’t forget.
I just ran. Just off the road was a large grassy field, leading into a pine forest. It was easy to follow in my footsteps, but what choice did I have?
It was like I’d forgotten how to breathe. My body just got into this weird auto-pilot mode, and I just kept going. I could hear screaming, and there was rustling in the grass behind me. As I got to the edge of the forest, I went straight through the underbrush. I cut myself raw on every kind of bush and thorn there was.
They went from one person to four. It wasn’t until I’d gained some distance that I heard they were actually calling out to me. It wasn’t just screams.
“Please!” one of them screamed. “Please, sir, talk to us!”
They all said the same thing. They begged. They pleaded. Their screams went from panicked, to furious, to hopeless.
They were just… broken.
I found a small hole, mostly covered by the side of a pine tree. I crawled in and reached for my phone, only to realize I’d dropped it in the car. It was probably still waiting for me to push down on my mom’s number.
I have no sense of how long I stayed there. Hours, probably. I heard them shuffling about, looking for me. One of them got dangerously close, brushing by the tree I was hiding next to. As they passed me by, I heard one of them muttering to themselves.
“Gotta find ‘em,” they wheezed. “Gotta find ‘em. Not too late. Gotta. Gotta find ‘em.”
I caught a glimpse of those white eyes through the roots and branches. I just closed my eyes, held my breath, and waited for it to be over; one way or the other.
At some point, the sky had gone dark. The wind had picked up, but the rain was still just trickling down. I couldn’t hear any screams, and it’d been at least an hour since I last saw one of them shuffling about.
I got up, only to realize I didn’t have the slightest idea where I was. Everything looks different in the dark. Fumbling about, I noticed the space between trees growing larger. I might not be going the right way, but I was getting out of the forest at least.
As I reached a small glade, I stumbled over something. I couldn’t see what it was in the dark. Taking a moment to stop and listen, I noticed I’d stumbled over not just something; but someone.
Someone gasping for air and coughing up blood.
Hell no.
The clouds parted, casting a slim ray of moonlight. In a short moment I could see blood, and a pair of white eyes looking up at me. It was the strange man who’d attacked me. This time, he wasn’t looking at me.
He was looking at something behind me.
I turned around.
I could see their black silhouettes against the sky. Six headless bodies, floating in mid-air. I recognized their clothes. Arms and legs swaying back and forth in the wind. And there, standing in the middle of the glade, was a man.
The memory comes to me as a fever dream. This Armani-flavored businessman, standing in the middle of nowhere. Arms resting at his side, back straight in a stiff posture. Well-kempt black hair. He had some sort of Mediterranean features, but it was hard to tell.
But I couldn’t peel my eyes off the floating bodies. Held aloft by invisible strings. Gently rocked by the wind.
The man stepped up to me. I could barely breathe. It was as if my body forgot how to run. There was just something about his eyes that just made me freeze, and wait for him to speak.
He gently shook my hand with an ice-cold grip. It hurt my veins just to be near him.
“You brought a lot of attention to me,” he said.
His voice dripped with threat. He had the kind of low voice that was just on the edge of turning into a growl. Like hot chocolate, but so hot you’ll burn your tongue.
“I don’t appreciate this level of scrutiny,” he continued. “It ends now.”
“I-I… I know,” I wheezed. “I’m sorry.”
“Some woodsmen are seeking me,” he said, eyeing the dying man I’d tripped over. “You and your acquaintances brought them here.”
“I-It, they… it wasn’t, ah… it wasn’t our choice,” I stammered. “Th-they, just-“
He lost control. A monster seeping through the cracks. His skin turned white and cracked, like a snake shedding its’ marble skin. His eyes turned dark. His mouth unhinged like, revealing three full rows of razor-sharp teeth with two prominent fangs. In a moment, it was as if he grew by several feet. I wasn’t looking straight at him anymore; I was looking up at him.
“I am indifferent to your excuses!”
His fingers were so long they almost wrapped around my neck twice. He could’ve popped my head like a grape. Instead he slowly squeezed my neck, and lifted me up. I could feel my pulse pounding against his fingers.
“You will tell them it was all you. You will tell them there is nothing in the dark. You will lie.”
I tried to nod, but I couldn’t. I was standing on the top of my toes, trying not to break my neck.
“You will lie!”
I was thrown to the ground. I tried forcing air into my lungs. Through the tears that’d welled up in my eyes I saw the vague shape of the monstrous man picking up the bleeding person I’d stumbled over earlier. Maybe he’d been saved as a snack.
The last thing I remember before running blindly into the woods was the sound of a cracking neck, and blood pouring out of a shivering body like a fucking juice box. Blood reflecting off of pale skin. Bright drops dripping into open, unblinking black eyes. Six headless victims, held hostage by some unseen force, saw me turn my back on them.
And I ran like a bat out of hell.
The next morning, I lied. I told everyone all about the “prank”. I told them it was all this stupid thing that got out of hand, and I told them I had no idea what was going on. I lied about Brandon and the others, saying I didn’t know what’d happened. I lied about my car, saying I’d walked home, and that someone must’ve broken into it while I was gone. I lied about everything, and I still couldn’t sleep at night. If there was even the slight chance that I’d missed something, or outed that thing in any way, I’d be dead. I was sure of it.
Now, a few years down the line, I feel like it is time to speak up. An anonymous post online is as far as I’m willing to take this, but it’s a start.
I’ve left that town behind. That whole state. But every now and then I get an e-mail or a strange friend request; someone asking uncomfortable questions. And to this day, I lie.
It weighs on me, but I’m just a fucking person.
I’m not cut out to face that kind of thing.
Not again.