A girl looking no older than sixteen lay dead far from home in an alley next to some wet, moldy garbage. Her name was Zompira, a nickname she gave herself long ago—so long she had forgotten her real name. As the name hints, Zompira is half vampire and half zombie. And being the zombie-vampire she is; she really wasn’t dead. In zombie jive being dead is just slang for being asleep. A severely despondent girl, Zompira preferred being dead with the solitary solace only damp waste can provide. Rain gutters, dumpsters after a light drizzle, gardens fresh with mulch are all considered by Zompira to be great spots to die in.
A wisp of steam whirled up the sewer pipe and floated over along the street. It twirled like a mysterious veiled dancer over Zomparas dead body and through her midnight ebony hair. Zompira awoke with a sneer.
“Is it night already!” Zompira leaped into the air. Her hair glimmered in the turkey orange streetlights as it blew longingly in the wind. The fog hung low and dense over the city like ghosts left over from the morning dwellers.
“Imbecilic mortals,” she growled as she looked upon three humans making merry in the park. They all wore brown wool robes as they pretended to cast spells and fight off imaginary spirits. “How humorous these humans are,” Zompira said to herself. She approached them like a cat on a mouse, creeping slowly in the darkness, ready to pounce at any second, when one of the merry makers came to a halt.
“Fongo, why do you stop?”
“Shh, someone’s here, over their, look—in the shadows.” He pointed in the direction where Zomporia was crouched. All three stopped and peered into the dark shadows of the night. Zompira sneered and stepped out of the shadows.
The three clamored together. “Who’s out there?” one cried. “Who are you?”
“Who am I? Who am I!” Zompira snorted as she approached them, the shadows behind her growing long and ominous. “I am the daughter of death!” The three grimaced as they clung to each other in a ball of fleshy food. Zompira licked her blood red lips and leaped into the air. Their fear glazed eyes sparkled with awe under the moonlight as Zompira hovered over them. Then, she flew down like an arrow. The heel of her clog smashed into one of the men’s head as she landed. She grabbed the other two by the collars. She slit one of their necks with her pinky nail, a storm of blood erupted from his granular artery like a fire hydrant. Zompira opened her mouth to the spray of blood like it was banaka. She threw the other on the ground and pinned him under her foot.
“No, please, dweller of the night, spare me my life, you have my friends to eat, you don’t need me.” The robed man said, shivering in despair.
Zompira sneered in annoyance. “You are just an ant to me .Why should I spare an infantile mortal like you! She dug the wooden tip of her clog into the man’s chest.
“ARRGH!” The man let out a blood curdling cry. “No, please, I have gold!”
“What use does a creature of the night have for… Gold!” Zompira said sickly.
“Then please, tell me what you want! Argh!”
“What I want? I want—to suck your bloood!”
“OH thank god!... wait, NOO!”
“Disgusting, nothing but lustful dogs,” Zompira murmured under her breath as
she plunged her two fangs into the man's neck like two ancient daggers. She left him pale and withered on the damp sand. She cracked open the other man’s caved in skull with ease. “Ah, brain food!” Zompira chortled and dug in.
“My hunger is quenched… for now.” Zompira exclaimed. “Now I must find shelter before sunrise…”
Zompira ran with hurried fright through the allies lest she be not dead before the first glimmer of the day fall upon her pale skin. Then, as she hurried past a small brick house at the corner of the alley, a smell fell upon her nose. She stopped stiff in her tracks, her nose twitching like an undead bunny as she sniffed at the peculiar scent. It was familiar. Where had she smelled it before? It was a pleasant scent; it was like the rafters of the abandoned mansion she dwelled in during the 1800th century. It had a hint of pine and forbidden blooded caked all over it. Then, Zompira spotted the opened window, the curtains waving in the wind, inviting her inside.
Zompira crawled in and puked immediately. It must have been a holy mans house. Zompira scowled and blushed red with fury. The scent was coming from the stairs, along with strange groans and loud thumps.
“Holy glutinous globs of gravy!” Zompira gasped. A priest was pinned down nailed to a cross—he had been crucified. For a second, Zompira eyes glinted in horror as she stared at the two crudely punctured holes just above the priests’ white roman collar. They were bite marks—vampire bite marks. An infectious purple blotch surrounded the two blood crusted holes. Zompira’s disbelief quickly faded as she cozily approached the holy man. “Well hello, father.” Zompira said mockingly. “Looks like you’ve gotten yourself in a sticky situation, haven’t you?”
The priest did not respond. He had his eyes clamped tightly shut. His back arched high into the air as he struggled to inhale. A dull, inhuman moan seeped through his clenched jowls. His sprawled body shook uncontrollably as his heart sent blood through his arteries with the force of a jack hammer, making black pulsating veins the size of snakes crawl up his neck and along his forehead. Zompira licked her lips as she watched in amazement, wondering if his heart, if not his head, would soon explode—but it did not—he had already turned. Two glaring white fangs shot out from his canines. He knew it and he wanted it to end, but he was imprisoned by the same thing that brought him salvation.
What cruel, morbid joke, what sort of soulless sadist, I think I’m in love! Who did this to you? Zompira asked. The minister stopped squirming like he was being electrocuted… he hung, his eyes closed, only his chest moving in deep, painful, wheezing breaths were heard from him. A man of god, HAH! Zompira gave a devilish laugh. You are satins pet now!
NOO, the minister suddenly cried, returning to his struggle straining every muscle in his body to try to break free… through clenched teeth, and winded, tired body, he said a prayer, syllable by syllable each a painful glowing brand on his soul.. Then he stopped… kill me! KILL ME!
Who did this to you! Zompira asked again.
The one with the horns and tail, Lucifer, the devil! It was the devil himself!
Zompira snickered. She watched with a sick smile as the mysterious thing squirmed in pain. Suddenly, Zompira remembered it was becoming day. Her eyes grew wide and fiery as she leaped at the priest, tearing him apart like a present on Christmas morning.
