Story 01: Failing Daylight
Summary: It wouldn't last long. It never did. Peter was too broken to hold onto hope for long.
Word Count: 435
Disclaimer: Fright Night (2011) and all characters therein © Tom Holland/Craig Gillespie
Warnings/Rating: PG-13 for language and scary shit.
Author's Note: No particular timeline on this, could be before, after, or even during the movie, I guess. This was for a ten-minute exercise in my creative writing class. The prompt was to create a mood, and I chose Panic. Got another Fright Night story in the works, a longer piece also centered on Peter Vincent. Enjoy this little snippet for now!
The sun was setting, and Peter could feel his own spirits sinking with it. Meanwhile, its smile was growing bigger the darker the sky became. The creature was watching him with predatory eyes, pacing along the edge of his last patch of safety. Soon, the light would be gone entirely, leaving Peter with nothing to shield him from the vampire.
The air felt like it was growing colder, biting at Peter's flesh despite the late summer sun. He hugged himself, trying to suppress the full-bodied shudders.
He didn't know why he bothered - the creature could smell the terror on him, all sweat and adrenaline. It could hear Peter's blood pressure rising and his breathing quicken, trying to supply more oxygen to his limbs so he could run away faster. The vampire could sense all of this, feel and smell and hear and see every bodily function as it occurred. There was no need to try and hide the shaking - the creature would still know, already knew, how strongly its mere presence affected him. It knew.
Peter crouched in his last remnant of sunlight, gasping and choking on his own tongue. He rubbed his hands over his biceps, trying to ease some of the tension in his muscles. The sun wasn't quite gone yet - he was safe, for the moment.
He could feel wood grain against his skin, digging into his lower back - his stake, tucked into the waistband of his jeans. Peter's mind continued to race, panicked thoughts tumbling over each other, but now, his wild eyes followed the vampire's patient movements with intent. Left through the dust on the floor, stirring it up to float in soft clouds, turn away from the brightness, and right through the dark and the dirt again. Turn away from the lingering light, and repeat.
He might have a chance. He might, if he was fast enough, if the creature didn't see him coming, be able to drive his little splinter through its chest and into its shrivelled mockery of a heart. He might be able to kill the vampire before it could kill him.
Peter slipped one arm behind his back, gripping the worn-smooth oak in one sweating palm, and began to pull it out from under the ragged hem of his shirt.
The vampire paused in it's pacing, blackened eyes smiling at Peter, and he froze. Found out. Caught. Condemned. The vampire didn't even say anything, just choked out a sick giggle, like a child stifling its mirth in church.
He let out a low moan and trembled. Peter's hand eased its grip.
End
Edit (Feb. 23, 2012) - Previously 'Failing Daylight' was posted as a completed, single chapter piece, but I've decided to extend this into another short story series, similar to "Equipment" and "Chalk Dust." I prefer to keep my profile clean and orderly by placing shorter one-shots, drabbles, and other snippety bits into collections; it just makes navigating it easier. As with my other collections, these are all standalone one-shots, with no specific timeline.