Changing His Reality Read online

  Jason was given another shove and stumbled forward a couple of steps. Even as he righted himself, he realised that from this position, he could see more of the person on the far end of the room. What he saw did not impress him.

  There was a big chair or maybe an armchair on what seemed to be another platform next to the wall opposite the door. The furniture was plush with a tall back and armrests, and Jason guessed it was supposed to imitate a throne, but for him it looked like an armchair from one of those traditional movie theatres in small towns. There was a man sitting in it, but before Jason started appraising him, he moved his gaze to another figure also positioned on the platform. It was a boy or maybe a young man. It was hard to judge given that he was kneeling in front and to the side of the throne-chair and his head was bowed with semi-long hair covering most of his features.

  The boy was wearing barely a thing—some pants, or maybe they were shorts. He also wore a collar. From what he could see from the distance, it was a simple leather dog collar with a real metal chain connected to it. The chain was in turn connected to a metal link embedded into a throne-chair and locked securely with a big, heavy padlock. Jason felt something akin to disgust when he noticed goose bumps covering most of the boy’s flesh. He wasn’t sure if the boy was a true submissive or another captive, but whatever the case, the man in the throne-chair did not take good care of him. Jason then followed the chain again with his gaze and let it up at the man seated on a “throne.” Once again he was not impressed.

  The man wasn’t tall or muscular. He was of a rather average build and could be considered handsome if not for a sneer on his face that looked like a permanent expression. Jason noticed dark, stylishly cut hair, a narrow, aquiline nose, and thin lips before the man spoke.

  “Bring him closer,” he said to one of two thugs that stayed in the room with them. “I want to check out my newest acquisition.”

  Jason immediately felt a hand grab his arm and push him towards the platform. It took only another three steps and he was in front of it, the thug pushing him up on it. Only a step separated him from the throne-chair then. He felt another push between his shoulder blades and obediently took another step forwards. He was directly in front of the seated man now and mere centimetres to the side of the kneeling one. He shifted, as if trying to find a better position for his arms, and grazed the kneeling boy’s cheek with his knuckle. There was an almost inaudible gasp from the boy, and the throne-guy looked at him sharply. Jason shuffled his feet to redirect the boss’s attention back to himself. It worked. The man turned a sharp gaze of his cold black eyes back at Jason and watched him carefully for a moment.

  “Hmm.” He spoke seemingly to himself. “He sure is pretty. He'd make a good sex slave for one of my more demanding clients. No close friends or family, you said?” he asked one of Jason’s kidnappers.

  “No, Sir. We’ve watched him for six weeks. He has no friends or family, only goes to work, once a week shopping, and once a week to the pub where he doesn’t speak to anyone except for ordering beer. Nobody will be looking for him,” the thug answered. Jason thought that they did not do as good a job as they thought. He did have a family—namely his mother, but he only visited her every other month and for holidays. They also spoke on a phone at least once or twice a week so she would be alarmed if he did not call at one of his usual days. She would notify police as well. He didn’t say so aloud though. There was no point.

  “And you’re sure nobody saw you when you were taking him? That you left no trace that could lead anybody here?”

  “No, Sir,” the thug that Jason recognized as the leader answered. “We made sure we were in secure location and that nobody was around. There also wasn’t much of a struggle or noise when we took him. He did not put much of a fight.”

  “Hmm.” The boss sounded thoughtful. “That’s okay I guess. We wouldn’t want to make anybody suspicious. It’s a good hunting ground, and we can get many good new possessions from there. He did not put up a fight, you say? Why do you think is that? Can he be a bait? Is it possible that there is something more going on?”

  The other guy snorted but quickly corrected himself, seeing his boss’s thunderous glare.

  “Forgive me, Sir.” He started after clearing his throat. “It’s just, I don’t think there is anything else going on. I suspect he is retarded or at least a bit weak in the head, though—hasn’t spoken a word since we intercepted him.”

  Jason felt a tiny sliver of amusement at the man’s statement. He wondered what his friends and professors from the university would say if they learned somebody thought him mentally disabled. He graduated with a degree in philosophy and social anthropology, and was one of the best students in his year. Sure, that was before he changed, before his twenty-fifth birthday and everything that happened afterwards.

  He never made a use of his degree. He didn’t think it safe. It was better to keep to himself and to animals in the shelter. He didn’t even speak much to his colleagues. He grunted and answered in single words if they asked him something. Soon they realised he didn’t want to befriend them and left him alone. That was how he wanted it. And if it left him a little bit lonely, then so be it. It was the fate he chose for himself. He had animals to talk to and his books to keep him company. He still kept tabs on more interesting releases in social anthropology though—could still write a wicked essay if he wanted or needed. He was indeed doing just this and posting his essays on different websites. That he didn’t want to interact with real people didn’t mean he couldn’t do so in a virtual world. There he posed no danger to anybody.

  Well, he guessed he still could do some damage, but he never tried, and it wasn’t as dangerous as in real life. So he reckoned he wasn’t so out of it that he couldn’t string two sensible words together. Why he usually chose not to speak was his own business, and other people had nothing to it. Especially some low-life scum whose work was kidnapping people.

  The thug’s voice brought him back from his musings.

  “See, boss? That’s what I’m talking about. Sometimes he gets this glassy look in his eyes, like he’s not all out there, ya know?” He drew a little circle next to his temple.

  The boss wasn’t too displeased with that. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. My clients will want him for his looks, not intelligence. I assume it won’t matter to them how dumb he is if they get to screw his sweet little body, don’t you think?” Both thugs cackled obediently, and Jason could almost feel their leering eyes on him. He almost twisted his mouth in a grimace as he felt slight disgust. The emotions were coming more frequently than ever after his change. That was interesting to say the least. Jason wondered if it had anything to do with the situation he was in, or maybe there were some different circumstances causing it that he knew nothing of. He wished he could learn more about whatever the cause. It would be nice to have a little bit more of his feelings back. He couldn’t ponder more on the question though, as the man on the “throne” turned to him and spoke.

  “Come closer, boy. It’s time to sample my new acquisition.” He grinned, showing off long, sharp fangs in the place where normal human teeth should be. His eyes became slit, reptilian-like, and he lisped through his fangs. “Time to taste your blood, human!”

  Huh, thought Jason to himself. So he’s a vampire. I guess he never heard of clichés and not believing in stereotypes, judging by this room. He was not impressed in the slightest, and his mouth twisted in a grimace of disgust. It looked like disgust was the main feeling for him that day.

  Chapter Two

  “Do you know how vampires came into existence, Jason?” His father’s voice sounded in the boy’s bedroom. He was asleep again, and his dad came to visit him. His dad said it was the only way he could visit Jason as he was not allowed to leave the town where he lived with the rest of his family. Jason didn’t remember when his dad first started visiting him in his dreams, but it had to be long time ago. He was seven now, and he couldn’t remember a time when his dad didn’t vis
it him in his dreams.

  Jason sat up in his bed and fluffed his pillow before sitting back more comfortably. His dad came closer and sat on the edge of his bed. Jason was glad. Sometimes Dad didn’t visit him as himself, and Jason could only hear his voice. Dad said it was like a phone call, just in a dream. He said he wasn’t allowed to make phone calls to the outside world either. Jason saw a documentary once on the telly. It was about a sect. There were people living in this sect who didn’t use any modern technology. They didn’t even have phones there. No television or computers. There was only one car in an entire village, and everybody rode horses. He thought it would be nice to have horses, but he wouldn’t want to not have a telly. He loved his ninja turtles. He asked Dad if he lived in a sect, and Dad laughed and said, “Close enough.” Jason turned his head to his dad and asked, “How?”

  Jason’s dad smiled and showed off his dimples, and his eyes sparkled with laughter.

  Once upon a time in old pagan days, there were really bad people who angered their gods.

  “Gods?” Jason interrupted. “But the teacher said that there is only one God.” Jason’s dad smiled again and answered.

  “Oh, no, honey. There are more than one, and in these old days there were even more of them. There were different gods for every season, every town, and every job, living in different mountains and streams and rivers and hills. There were tons of them.” Jason’s dad cleared his throat took a deep breath and continued the story. “So in these pagan days, sometimes people lived who were really, really horrible. Their crimes angered gods so much that they cast a curse on them.”

  “A curse? What is it?” asked Jason, enjoying the story very much. He loved those times when Dad told him different stories. He didn’t do it often. Sometimes they talked about other things. About school and what subjects he liked, about his grades and about books he read, about Jason’s friends and what new happened in their lives. And sometimes Jason told Dad about his mum. He didn’t do it very often because his dad got sad listening about Mum. He said it was because he couldn’t be with Jason and his mum in real life and he couldn’t visit Jason’s mum in her dreams either. Still, of all these things, Jason enjoyed Dad’s stories the most. They were always interesting and had monsters or heroes in them. Jason’s dad smiled and ruffled his hair.

  “See, a curse is like a bad magical spell. Some witches would put a curse on people whom they didn’t like. They would give these people chicken pox or warts or make them have really long diarrhoea.” Jason’s eyes grew huge.

  “And the gods did it to those bad people? They gave them diarrhoea?” Jason’s dad burst with laughter.

  “No, Jason,” he said when he finally calmed down. “I said that those were witches’ curses. Gods are far more powerful and can cast far more horrible curses. So when those horrible people angered gods, their fate was far worse than diarrhoea or even chicken pox. The gods were so mad at those criminals that they cast a curse more horrible than ever.

  ‘You will live forever unless somebody cuts your heads off and nails you to the coffin. You will crave blood of humans, and even when you drink it, you will never be satiated. You will not be able to go in the sun or the rays of it will burn your skin and flesh to the bones. You will only go out in the night to hunt for human blood and try to quench your thirst for it, but with every sip of blood you take it will grow bigger and bigger. You will be feared, you will be hated, and all will avoid you. You will have no friends, and nobody will help you,’ they said.” Jason’s dad said it all in a hollow, scary voice, and when he finished Jason’s mouth hung open. He swallowed audibly and dared a question.

  “So does it mean that all the vampires are monsters, Dad?” His dad smiled a small smile.

  “Well, that was the idea. But gods could not predict everything. Unfortunately in this case, they missed quite a huge deal. It so happened that after being cursed, some of these monsters, the first vampires, or “voopeers,” “oopeers,” or “voupirs,” as they were called where they came from, sired kids. It was a really strong curse the gods cast, but what they did not count on was that it passed on onto the monsters’ children. Upon reaching maturity, these children were struck with the same cravings, the same thirst for blood. The same applied to their children and their children’s children.

  “Gods were sad that the curse was affecting innocents’ lives, and they gathered together and debated what to do. They could not lift the curse as it was deeply ingrained then in those innocent children. It was woven into their very beings, into their souls. Finally gods decided to help these children as much as they could. They all gave some of their magic so other conditions were added to the curse flowing through the innocents’ souls.

  “They will still need human blood to survive, but their thirst won’t be all-consuming unless they kill a human feeding off him. In that case, the bloodlust would come and the curse would return with its full force. They would still be sensitive to light when they reached maturity and started craving blood, but rays of it wouldn’t burn their very flesh in seconds they would only leave some really nasty sunburn on their skin. And the older they got, the more resistant to light they’d become until they could walk in it without fear. And they’d develop a special brand of magic to lure unsuspecting humans, feed off their blood, and then make them forget it ever happened. They could alter memories or show humans some fantastic images so that they’d think they dreamed.

  Those were all stipulations added to the curse so that these children born off the first vampire fathers and mothers could live in peace with humans and not be hunted by them. Still, not all humans believed there was any difference to these new vampires, and they hunted all their kind indiscriminately. Some vampires still gave into the urge to suck the humans they were feeding off dry, and by killing them, they became the same feared monsters their fathers were.

  And so the hate bred hate, prejudice bred prejudice, and there was no peace between humans and vampires. It wasn’t until the age of science and mankind stopped believing in monsters that some peace finally fell over vampire race. They are still amongst us, they live just like we all do, but nobody really believes in them. And there are still those who give into the urge to kill and, falling into a bloodlust, become feared and hated monsters. But they are being hunted by their own kind as all the other, normal vampires don’t want to endanger their secrecy. They enjoy their peaceful lives and do not wish to go back to witch-hunts and lives of terror.”

  Jason’s father finished the story, and seeing big yawn on his son’s face, ordered, “Time to go to bed now, Jason. You need to rest for tomorrow.”

  “But what about werewolves, Dad? Are they real as well? Did they get cursed like the vampires?”

  “None of that, son. You’re tired and it’s late. You need your sleep. I promise to tell you all about werewolves another time.”

  “M’kay, Dad,” mumbled Jason, already half asleep. He always fell asleep as soon as his dad decided it was time. He guessed it had something to do with his dad being in his dream, so that he didn’t have to fall asleep as he was sleeping already. Whatever the case, the dreamless sleep claimed him as soon as he closed his eyes.

  “Told ya he’s retarded, boss. See how he dozes off in the middle of something? He has to be one card short of a full deck,” the thug leader said. Jason focused back on what was happening just in time to hear the boss saying—

  “I don’t care if he’s a blabbering idiot. I want to taste his blood. Come and give me your vein, human.” He lisped through his fangs, his tone not as intimidating as he thought it was.

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Jason calmly. They were the first words he uttered since getting kidnapped, and the easy, quiet way he spoke them seemed to shock everybody in the room. He knew his voice wasn’t that unusual even though he rarely spoke to other people. Still, it wasn’t like he did not use his voice at all. He liked talking to animals he took care of in the shelter, so his voice wasn’t croaky from lack of use or anything l
ike that. So what had to shock them all was that he spoke at all. They thought him mentally disabled, after all.

  Jason did not know what the thugs’ reactions were as they were behind his back, and he did not care to turn his back on the vampire in front him. As to the rest at present…well, the kneeling boy simply tensed but did not make a sound. Jason suspected that even the tension was more from the fact that somebody denied the vampire that had him chained to his chair than from anything else. Said vampire’s reaction though…it wasn’t pleasant. He narrowed his eyes which, given his slit, reptilian pupils, made a really bizarre sight. The vampire’s hands, which were now sporting some wicked-looking, dog-like claws, were clenched on the throne-chair armrests, and he hissed.

  “What did you say, human? You dare to oppose me?” He barely finished last word when he lunged at Jason, grabbing his throat and crushing the man’s windpipe with a grip of his clawed hand. Jason thought distantly that it was not a pleasant feeling. “I will suck you dry for this transgression.” He hissed at Jason, who, unusually enough, felt another sliver of amusement filling him. It was weird, but the lisp in the vampire’s speech which made his words sound like “I weew thuck you bly fow thith thwanthgwethion” seemed really hilarious to Jason right then.

  He said nothing though—it would be hard with his windpipe nearly crushed, and he knew no emotions showed on his face. Even when he felt something, his face did not usually express it. He had to will it to show on his face. Sometimes he simply faked some emotions just so other people did not feel so uneasy. Like when he ordered his weekly beer in the pub. He usually smiled to the bartender who fulfilled his order because he knew that was what he was supposed to do. It made everybody happier. Well, everybody except him. Other people were insignificant to him for the most part. His mother and some other family members being an exception.