Sangre Falls Read online



  SANGRE FALLS

  by

  Sandra Madera

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  PUBLISHED BY

  SandraMadera.com

  Sangre Falls

  Copyright © 2011 by Sandra Madera

  Ebook Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be altered, re-sold, or given away to other people. This story is FREE and does not require payment. If you’re reading this book and did not download it from SandraMadera.com or other legitimate online bookstore, please download a legitimate copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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  As I walked down the cement sidewalk, rain soaking through my clothes, I had no way of knowing that my life would change forever. With a storm passing through and thunder bolts momentarily lighting the night's sky, I angrily stomped in every puddle, causing the water to splash around my combat boots. Zipping my black hoodie to guard against the frigid night air, all I could think about was the day I was told we were relocating to Sangre Falls.

  My guardian, José Medina, told me that he was moving the whole clan to a mansion just outside of town. That was a hundred miles away from our old place in Brownsville! I was surprised by the news. I had never been outside of Brownsville, the town where I lived out my relatively short existence as a vampire, and, now, I was being uprooted.

  It is not that I hate Sangre Falls, but the people are quite unwelcoming. It is the kind of spot-on-the-map town where people seem naturally suspicious of one another, but for the most part, everyone stays out of your business. I guess one would think that would work in my favor, being what I am and all, but I dreaded the move. Who really likes change anyway? Not me! I was used to my life before and didn't see the need to throw everything away to start over.

  “This is not fair… Don’t I have a say in where I live?” I asked, brushing my straight, black hair away from my face. I felt like the rug had been pulled out from under me so quickly I got a bad case of whiplash.

  “It’s for the protection of our kind, Alexis,” José said calmly, standing over me. “The towns’ people have become aware of our habits. They find it suspicious that we only come out after sundown. If they were to find out what we are, they would hunt us down. It wouldn’t be long before our kind goes extinct.”

  So with that little speech, I, Alexis Adeluna, was whisked away―well, it was more like dragged, kicking and screaming―to a dark mansion on a hill, overlooking the town of Sangre Falls.

  With my feet pounding on the pavement, I took a left onto Cemetery Drive. It was not uncommon for me to be found in a cemetery. In my spare time, I liked to do grave rubbings. Grave Rubbing is when you make a copy of a gravestone by placing a paper on a grave and rubbing a crayon over it. Some people used charcoal which is a better medium, but I was no artist. I just use crayons and hang the rubbings in my attic bedroom. It sounds morbid, but I like to make stories up about the people whose graves I rub. In my world, fantasy was better than the shit load of reality I had to deal with on a day-to-day basis. Being immortal wasn’t easy! One has to learn the fine art of kicking ass and taking names... which I hadn’t gotten the hang of and was still trying to master. We had to support ourselves with investments that may or may not be legal and we had to change our persona from time to time to throw off humans. We couldn’t risk their suspicion falling on us.

  With the roar of thunder in my ears and a flash of lightning in my eyes, I entered through the cemetery gates. Preoccupied and temporarily blinded, I had no way of knowing I was about to collide with someone until my body felt like I had run into a brick wall. The force of the collision was strong. So much so that my ass hit the pavement so hard that I thought I was going to break it.

  “Get out my way,” the voice growled.

  With the streetlamps dimly lighting the space between us, I looked up to see a grungy-looking man. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties and stood about six feet tall. He wore an oversized, black t-shirt with pants that sat just below his gut. I could see that his skin was the color of caramel and his eyes were as black as the night. His mouth twisted in a sneer, blood seeping from his lip.

  My eyes traced his wound. I assumed, had been inflicted from our crashing into one another. “Excuse you,” I hollered at him, picking myself up.

  “What are you doing here? Coming to graffiti the headstones,” he stated angrily, answering his own question.

  I gawked at him in shock, but my initial shock was quickly replaced by anger. “I would never to something like that,” I told him furiously, sensing my skin grow hot despite the cold. Feeling my teeth descend, I felt the need to do damage. I should have just drained him, there and then, but I’d sworn off hunting humans. Instead, I tend to order “O-” from the blood bank Medina owns, ripping the bags open with a straw and drinking them like juice boxes. Yet, the instinct to hurt something never left me. Not when I was angry anyway. Thinking of a good lie, I finally said, “I have family buried here.”

  He looked at me, a hint of disbelief twinkling in his eye. “Listen to me, kid. I am the groundskeeper here. If anything happens to this cemetery, I am coming after you,” he threatened pointing at me. Then he turned on his heel swiftly, moving away from me and going about his business.

  Brushing off his threat, I continued to enter the cemetery, trying to calm my frustrations with each step. I still wanted to pound that guy’s face in, but―like I said before―I haven’t yet mastered the skill of delivering a good can of whup-ass. None-the-less, I felt my teeth retract and my skin began to cool down.

  The rain had ceased to fall and it seemed the storm was inching away. After a few hours, I found a few graves that interested me: Zeileth Ortiz, mother of four, died October 31, 1983; Thomas Duffy, beloved father of one, died February 14, 1999.

  It was nearly dawn when I heard screams, piercing my ears like a fog horn.

  My body tensed as my muscles grew taut. My heart quickened and I felt my teeth descend. Looking down at my nails, they appeared sharper. I realized my back was hunched as if waiting for a fight. My eyes wide as my pupils dilated, giving me the ability to see more acutely in the dark. When I realized I wasn’t in danger, I felt my body relax.

  Coming to my senses, I picked up my etchings and ran towards the earsplitting cries.

  Immediately, I noticed people running down the street, horror imprinted upon their faces. Curious, I went in the opposite direction of the crowd, running towards the scene.

  When I finally reached my destination, I stood before the grisly scene.

  A boy, roughly seventeen years old, lay crumpled on the ground. He was pale as if all the blood had been drained from his body. He wore a look of shock as his death mask. His blue eyes turned milky, staring blankly up at the sky. His clothes were shredded and claw marks ripped deep into his chest.

  Without thought, I inched closer to the body until I was kneeling before it. There was nothing I could do for him. He had probably expired after the first blow. Still, a strange feeling came over me.

  I had never been so close to death before. Vampires are immortal, aging at will and only for appearances. José was over four hundred years old but appeared to be a man of only thirty years. I am just over a hundred years old but appear to be no more than sixteen. Being immortal has its advantages.

  As if in a trance, I touched his arm as if I were comforting an ailing friend and not a dead stranger.

  His skin was cold… So cold.

  I was shocked into my senses when I heard the sirens, quickly approaching. They were getting louder and louder as they bridged the gap between themselves and the crime scene. I decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to be found at the place of a grisly attack. So, I ran home as fast as I could and
didn’t turn back.

  When I reached the mansion, I went straight up to my bedroom, deciding it was better not to speak of what I had seen. My room was as I left it with grave rubbings decorating the walls like a poor man’s wallpaper. Instinctively, I gave my room a quick glance over, scanning over my black sheets and stopping at the drapery. Sunlight was dangerous for my kind, but I guess that is kind of stating the obvious. To protect my delicate skin from being burned by daylight, I boarded up my windows and covered them with thick, black curtains. So, my room was dark no matter what time of day it was. Nothing seemed amiss. Nearly daybreak, I collapsed onto my bed and entered into a deep sleep.

  My sleep was dreamless as my kind didn’t often dream. I say “often” because only the prophets seem to have dreams. Yet, the everyday, garden variety vampire didn’t dream. Sleep was a trance. A kind of defense mechanism against daylight.

  I woke up from my slumber the following dusk. Usually, I wake up gradually, but this time, I felt on edge. I thought heard a voice, whispering to me from the darkness. I heard it tell me to wake up. It was so unexpected I nearly fell out of bed. I wasn’t prone to auditory delusions so I knew it wasn’t in my head.

  “Who’s there?” I asked into the darkness, sitting up in bed and waiting for another hint of an intruder.

  After a