John Constantine: Hellblazer Issue One
"50-Quid Vampirism" by Joey West
This is a revamp of the previous DC Prime: Hellblazer series, for reasons such as sloppy storytelling, incoherent and messy explanations for plot devices and inconsistent characterisations I've decided to fix it up and re-release it. To the objectors, I quote Mr. Constantine in one of his most defining moments in one of his most famous storylines, "Up yours."
PS- The italics are John's narration.
In a poorly lit club, a plump young man named Thomas sips at a pint of lager, trying to act like he enjoys the setting. Shivers run up his spine, his eyes wide and his teeth biting at his bottom lip. He keeps a watchful eye on the bouncers, who seem to be oblivious to the fact that 90% of the people they had let in were under-aged. An overwhelming amount of teenagers dance, holding glowsticks up to the ceiling while a nauseating sound plays in the background, making a deaf and discreet place for dealers and monsters to sweep in like snakes. Thomas heads over to the bar, trying to block out the strong smell of rotting flesh that extends through the club. A young girl runs to sit next to him, a slightly unsettling smile on her face. She staggers a bit but finally sits down, putting her arm around him.
"What can I do for you?"
"What?" He says nervously, pulling her arm away. "What d'you mean?"
"Well, you're obviously here for something, kid."
She rubs her hand on his arm and grabs him. He gives her an awkward face of confusion while she smiles, almost looking mentally unstable.
"Erm. You know anyone who can fix me up with some sparkly V?"
"Wait a bit, I'll be back."
She struggles to get back up but does eventually, leaving for a couple of minutes and then bringing back two more girls and a man dressed in a long overcoat.
"This is Vlad, he'll get you vamp'd."
Vlad opens his mouth, a pair of obviously fake fangs hanging off his teeth, he speaks with a vague European accent, "So, you request the bloody neck?"
Thomas holds back his laughter, noticing the gap between the man's plastic teeth and his gums, going ahead just for laughs, "Uh... yes."
Vlad then continues to lead Thomas out of the club into the cold British winter, where no snow falls but the cold still pierces at your skin. The two girls run ahead, giggling, Thomas sniggering under his breath. They keep walking until they reach a run-down building, rat infected, people sit, some sleeping in tattered chairs leading up to an office at the very end of the corridor.
"Oi! Why do they get to skip the line!?"
With an over-the-top point of direction by Vlad, they're brought into the office, where a chained up red haired woman waits. Her eyes yellow, her teeth ripping through the skin that surrounds her mouth. Bones protrude from her elbows, sharp, black blood surrounding the wounds. Vlad speaks with his awfully fake accent, "Drusilla." Drusilla moves her hair from her face, edges towards the teens and... well, you know what comes next.
A DAY LATER
A tired John Constantine sits back in a late-night train to Malvern, his head tucked back into his infinitely long trenchcoat. John looks good for a man pushing sixty, his face aged very well. He's built, his body in good shape, his face with a large scar across it. The passengers range from unsettled to sleeping, a single mother trying to keep control of her toddlers, a chav, a sleeping businessman. Workers frequently pass, offering drinks and food.
I need one, now. Can't smoke on a train, bus stop... anywhere. I NEED it. Next you won't be able to smoke on Earth, you'll have to move to some fucking hell dimension to even light one up.
John puts his head in his hands, tired.
The stench of piss stretches through the damn train, and the howls of toddlers echo, I can't sleep. The seats are uncomfortable, pulled and tugged at, cold, hard. It's annoying as all hell, especially at night. Have a meeting with some old bat whose grandson's got himself bit, she's got him locked in the shed. Never underestimate your Nan with her pots n' pans. Should make a me a bit of quick dosh.
John rushes hastily out of the Train-Station, showered and soaked with rain. He stands on the doorstep of a quiet village, a booming nightclub in the centre, towering over the other buildings in the small town. Its neon lights can be seen from afar, the glowsticks being waved inside can be vaguely picked out. Quite swiftly, John pulls out a cigarette, lighting it and shoving it in his mouth.
...and I'm okay.
An old man strolls past, holding his umbrella and walking his dog. He takes the time to speak to John, "Terrible, don't you think?"
"Sorry?"
"That blasted nightclub."
"Sorry, I'm not from around here, mate."
"They bought a damn nightclub in a month ago. It's booming for 24 hours a bloody day, the lights are brighter than the god damned sun and now our kids are sucking our necks."
"Hmph, really?"
"Oh yeah, really." The man walks past, going on with his night. It takes less than a minute for John to find an inn, which glows in the dark village night. A large eye-catching sign lies on the front that says 'soundproofed, you can't hear the nightclub in here!'. John heads inside.
Should do for the night. Solve the bloody neck and then I'm out of this citywide retirement home.
He opens the door, it creaks, a lady sits across from him, writing something behind a desk. The light is golden, like most of the colours in the village. A fireplace lies to the side of him, two chairs sitting next to it.
"Excuse me? A room. Uh, one bedroom."
After paying and signing a whole bunch of uninteresting and unnecessary forms, John is brought to his room. The booming noise of the nightclub has finds its way into the room, the vibrations almost being felt. The bright neon lights of the nightclub leap through the window, John letting out a faint sigh.
Soundproofed, eh? Lying little buggers.
John drops on his bed with a loud thud, his head in his hands, removing his trenchcoat and tossing it. The night fades away and the day creeps into the sky, John on his feet as soon as the clock goes 8:00. He throws on his trenchcoat and in seconds he stands outside his client's house, having already gone through three cigarettes.
Got to get this over with.
John knocks on the door, an old woman opens it, her eyes bloodshot, her face pale. She stands in her nightgown, holding a cup of tea. She speaks with a thick Scottish accent, "Are you Mr. Constantine?"
"Yeah, that's me, luv."
"He's in the shed."
The woman walks John through her house which is completely and utterly destroyed. Paintings and mirrors broken, the wallpaper torn, claw marks on the furniture, it's a complete mess. A disembodied finger lays on the counter, drawing John's attention.
"Wait, You cut off his finger?"
"Nah, the bitey little shite bit off the postie's."
"Strewth."
They go through the back door, where a trail of blood leads to the shed. It's completely covered with the stuff, a red handprint on the side of the door. It rocks back and forth, a constant banging coming from the inside, then a bit of shouting.
The smell of a decomposing corpse soars from the shed. It was a... nah... haven't seen any of these types since the 80s.
"Let me out!"
John pokes his eye through a hole in the shed, finding the disgusting beast. His clothes are completely drenched in blood, tattered, torn. Eyes yellow. Teeth long and jagged, almost like mountains. The thing lunges for him, poking him in the eye, John instinctively grabbing it and screeching, "Little shit!"
"So what're you waitin' for? Stake the bastard!"
Ah. Damn. Yeah. It's a Rice Cake.
"Hold that thought. He's a dodgy breed of vampire, cross breed, we call em Rice Cakes. Created when someone who read way too much Anne Rice wanted to make a vampire who retained its soul. I might be able to save it."
"So you can cure 'im?"
"Depends. How long ago was this?"
"Couple of days ago."
"Alright. I think I can do it." John puts a cigarette in his mouth, leaning against the shed. "At this rate, I'm going to have to charge extra. It's going to be hard to kill his sire."
"Sire?"
"The lovely young vampire that turned him. Kill his sire and then the victims are released. That's how it works with a Rice Cake."
"It's that nightclub up the road. All the kids are going there. All of the kids are coming home with the bloody neck. Old Bessie down the road's lad came home and bit off her hand. Oh, and Madge, she lives across from me, her daughter ripped off her..."
"The nightclub?"
"Yeah."
"Aren't they under-aged? Little Tommo here doesn't look any older than fifteen."
"It's not like how it was back in our day."
Alright, I'm not THAT old.
The old woman continues, "That won't stop 'em. We think they let em in on purpose, all it is is money to them, ennit?"
LATER THAT NIGHT, THE ALL NIGHTER NIGHTCLUB
John sits at the bar, smoking away at a cigarette, getting a curious look every now and again. Some kids tell him to "go home, Grandpa", while others ask him if he's some kind of paedophile. Ordering a pint of vodka, he watches, looking for any sign of vampires. Every few seconds, he takes a moment to sigh at the music, rolling his eyes
Bloody hell, I miss the 70s.
A young girl approaches him, John feeling confused, she smiles. "Brave."
"Erm. Why?"
The girl points to a tattered but still readable sign on the wall that says, "No Smoking".
"Can't smoke anywhere these days."
""These days" Ugh. You should go home Granddad."
"Can't. Looking for vampires."
"Oh. Same. You looking for Vlad?"
"...yeah..."
"I can see why you'd want to. You know, you're old and stuff."
"Y'know, other people say I look about 40."
"Yeah, old as fuck."
Well, that's new, kids who actually WANT their necks to be drained.
"You got your money?"
Alright. Hold the bloody phone, they're paying for this shit?
"Yeah, I think. How much is it, again?"
"Fifty quid."
Fifty? I can walk into any dark alley and get my neck sucked for free.
Vlad approaches the two almost out of nowhere. Almost. His face pale, his eyes dark. A smile on his face. John opens his mouth, "You Vlad, mate?"
I've seen more convincing vampires on TV.
Flapping about his cape, Vlad answers with a dramatic "Yes."
"We were hoping you'd give us some... uh... Sparkly V."
Sparkly V? Hah.
"Of course, come with me."
Vlad walks John and the girl out of the nightclub and into the night. The hurricane of noise extends to outside of the club, John surprised. They trudge through the chilling wind until they reach the same run-down building as earlier. It's a slow business night, less people sit in the tattered chairs waiting to become vampires. Vlad, John and the girl walk into the room, it's darkly lit and Drusilla sits in the corner, licking blood off of the floor.
"Oh, Drusilla!"
The girl cowers behind John, he stands there, smoking a cigarette, unafraid.
And here's the fun part. Ladies and gentlemen, John Constantine.
Out of nowhere, John kicks Vlad in the chest, knocking him to a wall, quickly following it up with a hard punch to the face, knocking out a few teeth.
"What the hell are you doing!?"
"Don't worry, luv." John says, trying to play the dashing hero. Vlad pulls out a knife from his sock, jabbing at John who blocks and punches Vlad, knocking him to the floor. "I'm a professional."
Drusilla breaks from her chain, leaping onto John, blood raining from the clouds in her mouth. She topples him over, her face reaching for his neck. John reaches for his stake, Drusilla notices, smashing his hand against the hard stone floor and disarming him.
The girl runs from the room, leaving the building as John grabs Drusilla's neck, trying to push her away. Drusilla manages to bite the Liverpudlian in the shoulder, he tries desperately to keep the pain in. Quickly, he bends his legs in and kicks Drusilla away, sending her back. He's instantly on his feet, running, lifting his stake and aiming for the heart, but missing slightly, putting the stake somewhere in her chest. Following it up, he punches her three times, and then pushes her against the wall, his arm against her neck. He pulls the stake from her chest and makes sure of the heart, stabbing her. She combusts into flames after falling into a pile of ash.
John drops and sits, covered in blood. He notices Vlad cowering in the corner, a phone in his hand. His weak Transylvanian monster act is dropped, his thick cockney accent revealed, "It's... it's... he's here, blud. It's the bloke you told me about! Blonde hair, fuckin' manky coat! He killed the vamp!"
John catches his breath, uttering a lone word "What?"
"Send someone, quick-time!"
He lifts Vlad and throws him to the other side of the room, straining himself out. Vlad drops the phone, it cracks against the floor. Picking the phone up, he yells down the mic, "Who the hell are you!?"
The call is ended. John throws it against the floor, cursing.
"Who you were talking to!?"
"Oh god! Please don't! I just wanted to get a quick...!"
"Yeah, I get it! You're not a vampire, whatever. Tell me who it was!"
"Please! Okay... okay... it was my boss-man, the distributor. I told him you were here, he's sent some badmans to kill you!"
"You said he told you about me!"
"Yes! Yes! He knows you! He said you screwed him over in hell! Please, I just needed money!"
Malvern Central Train Station
Five men materialise in front of the train station in a dark cloud of smoke. They wear suits with gun holsters on their waists. One of the men touches his earpiece.
Man: Yes, we're here.
TO BE CONTINUED—