Tales of Terror

Magicians  Of Night
by Sandy DeLuca

Cleve licked dry lips, yellow eyes glowed…nothing in sight, no blood scent for miles and miles.

Felicia drove down deserted Providence streets. He caught her gaze in the rear view mirror. He realized he'd become pale, looked older than a few hours ago. He needed nourishment badly.

Her eyes were dull, evident cracks had formed around her lips. However, she could survive for days. Youth had its gifts.

As their species aged they retained strength. But the need to feed increased. Cleve had roamed the earth for five hundred years. Each night the hunger had to be satiated; for him it had become imperative.

She broke the silence. "The city's deserted. We'll have to rely on what's in storage at the warehouse."

"That's fine." He rubbed his thumb across the handle of his cane. "Drop me off at the corner, park the limo and then join me." He sighed, raspy, hollow. "Maybe we'll be luckier over the weekend. There are more of them around on Friday and Saturdays night."

He sighed again. "I so badly wanted to find the one we spotted earlier."

Visions formed in his mind-- a girl with soft auburn curls, ivory skin, lips that  curved delicately. In darkness she knelt, removed her shirt, tossed her head as the men ran their hands roughly over her body. Breasts swayed as she opened herself up, whispered to them, as wind hissed within the trees. A shadowy silhouette, satisfying the sexual appetites of two Latin lovers.

He thought of how he would take her--how she'd plead for mercy as he bit into young skin, tore out her eyes.

Cleve slammed the limo door. He turned off Westminster Street into an unnamed alley. Wind caught the edge of his long black coat, lifted it so that it resembled dark wings whipping madly at his back. He tapped his cane on pavement as he walked--slowly--ominous--like death. Rats scurried before him, gusts tossed ripped leaflets and old newspaper against abandoned buildings.

He stopped suddenly, gazed up at the sky, placed hands on hips and took a deep breath--inhaling the night--the darkness. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette, placed it between his teeth. Raising his cane to its tip, within seconds the cigarette glowed red, smoke curled upward.

He opened the door to a service entrance--once a lucrative restaurant. How many years ago? He asked himself--ten, twenty, fifty?

The pungent odors of blood, fear and death greeted him as he ventured deeper into the deserted building. Walking into what was once the main dining room, he stopped for a moment, removed a candle from a table, and lit it with his cigarette. Holding it up, moving it slowly in front of him, he saw them. The living huddled together, chains from their feet and wrists tangled. Their eyes black, puffy, from crying and lack of sleep. Their arms and legs bruised from his touch.

The dead gazed at him with lifeless stares, some headless, others shredded beyond recognition-- the carnage, so many bones--so many years.

He walked towards a slender girl, unlocked her chains, dragged her to the center of the dining room. Slowly he moved his fingers over her shoulders. She whimpered, shivered violently.

He kissed her deep, rough, taking breath away. Releasing her, he ran his hands over her chest, stomach, thighs.

"Don’t…please…" she said through parched lips.

His laughed echoed throughout the abandoned building.

He kissed her again, biting her lips, tearing them, leaving bloody gaping hole in her face.

She screamed. The others answered her in macabre chorus.

His cane passed across her cheek. Skin peeled away in crimson strings. Rubbing it over his own face, his flesh became smoother, some lines disappeared, his eyes twinkled with a soft eerie glow.

"Are you through with her, or should I select another all for myself?" Felicia's voice rang like ghostlike chimes in the heat, dark--in this place of terror.

"Join me," he patted the floor, "we'll finish this one off together." The girl's body shook, trembled as he slid the cane over breasts.

Felicia sprung to his side, parted the girl's legs and began to bite away tender tissue. She raised her head, smiled at Cleve, blood, veins, hair covered her face. He smiled back, as he plunged the cane inside the woman.

"Why?" Screamed the others in unison.

"Because we are magicians of night. Because your blood--what's inside you," he shoved the cane deeper, "keeps us alive."

The sounds of air whipping--a multitude of steel blades whirling -- vibrated --as blood exploded from the girl's vagina-- a rich red waterfall. He and his cohort drank, rubbed their fingers in dark liquid. They laughed as lines disappeared from their faces, as new strength spread throughout their bodies. He thought of  the girl with auburn curls.


He awoke with a start.

Her scent permeated the air, crawled through his open window like a seductress.

Still naked, he peered into the street. She stood there, leather skirt hiked up, revealing firm thighs. Nipples poked through black lace shirt. She gazed at him, lips turning up in an inviting smile.

They usually didn't wander this far from the south side. But it was late August. The college crowd had moved back into apartment buildings close to East Side colleges. Often young men craved company of women who would do more to satisfy their lust than some young college coed--for a price--her price.

"Need company?" She purred, moved like a delicate cat.

Satiated from the kill earlier that morning, he hesitated for a moment, then thought of how he could slowly kill her, take her, spend the day watching her suffer, cry as he nibbled.

When night came again, he'd use her flesh and blood to complete his ritual--satisfy his need.

Or perhaps he would make the kill more exciting, fill her with fear, taunt her, then set her free. The thrill of the chase would bring him ultimate satisfaction.

"Go to the lobby, I'll buzz you in."

He didn't bother to dress.

Clutching his cane, he waited, licked his lips as her footsteps sounded outside.

He let her in. She breezed past him, then spun around on stiletto heels. "Do you want to fuck me straight, or are you into kinky shit?"

He moved closer to her, tapping his cane on hard wood floor. His dark eyes looked deep into hers. "Oh, I'm into very kinky shit."

He raised the cane. Daggers, spinning, hissing, poked from its hilt.

Fear spread across her face. She reached inside her shirt, pulled out a dagger. "You some kind of weirdo, Mister? Put that cane down, it's creepy."

He raised it. Air hissed. Her blouse began to tear to shreds, falling like paper.

"What the fuck," she spat. She backed towards the window, kept her gaze on Cleve. Then like an agile acrobat she leaped to the window, quickly shimmied out, landed in the street.

"Don't worry, pretty one, I love a good hunt," he whispered, watching her run in predawn light. Taxi cabs honked their horns, as she disappeared into thick morning mist.


They were lined up on the avenue; delicate Spanish girls, with glossy black hair; brown-skinned ones dressed in white and red silk; pale blondes and redheads, with round tits and pear-shaped asses.

"See anything you want?" Felicia smiled wickedly, tongue darting back and forth like poisonous snake.

"I'm looking for the auburn-haired girl, the one we saw with the two Spanish men in the park, three nights ago."

"The one we watched from the trees?" She turned her head and looked at him, eyes swirling with red. "The one who was up in our room early the next morning--that one?"

"Yes, her smell, her energy--it's something I haven't experienced in decades."

"She's a slut--just like all the rest."

"But there's something--" He sniffed the air. "Turn the corner, quickly."

Felicia turned onto Broad Street. The smell grew stronger--her smell. Neon lights blazed up ahead--green, yellow, and red silhouette of a naked woman. Blue letters flashed--Girls--Girls--Girls.

"Pull up to the front. Wait here."

"Cleve…I want to…"

"Stay here," he spat, long dark hair catching on the wind, cane tapping.

"Fuck you, Cleve…just fuck," Felicia hissed, turning off the motor.


She was onstage, dancing, a red leather bikini seemingly painted on her flesh. Turning gracefully, she pushed the straps of her bra over her shoulders, taunted the men who whistled, reached out with hungry hands. Slowly she unhooked the bra. It fell to her feet. Turning, like a graceful doll, she began to slide the bottom over silken thighs, revealing her most private part--without flinching--eyes steadfast on her audience, she moved further into stage lights. The tattoo of a spider, drawn in great detail over her vulva’s shaven lips, leered at Cleve with wicked eyes. It seemed to pulse, move as she continued to sway--continued to entice those who cowered close to the stage.

He grasped his cane, fighting the impulse to storm onto the stage--to plunge the hilt into her--into the soul of the spider.

He staggered into the street, feeling his strength waning, looking at Felicia's face behind the windshield of the limo. Her skin seemed transparent, her eyes without luster. It was time for a kill.

Yanking the door open he said, " She’s inside, dancing. They’ve announced it as her last number. There's a stage door in the alley. It's where I grabbed that black beauty we ravaged several weeks back." He rubbed aching eyes. "I want her--just her tonight."

"Look, Cleve, I'm starved. I…."

"Wait," drool dribbled down his chin. "It won't take long."

She slid into the alley. Red leather bag, slung over shoulders, tight, torn jeans hugged hips. Braless, her breasts bounced up and down as she strutted onto steamy pavement .

Her stepped out of the dark. "No hooking later tonight on the East Side?"

She stopped, lips quivering, looked into his eyes.

He waved his cane in a circle. Her jeans began to tear, to become threads. The black lace shirt melted. The spider seemed to pulse beneath neon lights.

He was suddenly on top of her, kissing her. Then he moved his cane to her center. Her scent intoxicated him.

Without resistance, she spread her legs wide. He saw darkness in a seemingly bottomless hollow.

The lights, he thought--her smell.

The hole grew wider, the odor stronger, more intoxicating. Her hands wrapped around his neck, pushing his face into wetness. Spider's legs tickled his cheeks, his lips. He moaned, trapped within her grasp, her power. She pushed harder--harder--until he fell into an endless void between her legs.

She panted, naked, slime dripped down her thighs. Headlights shined in the murky alley. The limo slowed down, door slowly opening. Felicia’s white face peered at her. A light rain began to fall, promising to cool the hot summer night. Picking up Cleve’s cane, the girl walked slowly toward the car.

She climbed into the passenger’s seat, eager to cruise the streets, ready to satiate hunger. Turning to Felicia, she hissed, "Now only we are magicians of night."

Sandy DeLuca

The fiction and poetry of Sandy DeLuca has been published in numerous small press publications, including the Divas of Darkness Anthology, Mindmares, and The Edge~Tales of Suspense. This coming year she will have work appearing in such places as Space & Time, Welcome to Nod, The Urbanite and Whispers From the Shattered Forum. Sandy is editor of Goddess of the Bay Publications. She is currently working on a novel.

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