In the Eye of the Beholder

Dark Fantasy Flash Fiction

(image credit: DaLiloveart/Shutterstock)

Inger gave him another musical sounding laugh. “You’re not a monster!”

Diablo looked back at her, his expression as serious as a train wreck. “It’s all a question of perspective. Of course, when your parents name you after the devil, it’s hard not to wonder what’s wrong with you.”

Inger chuckled this time and took a sip of her red wine. He noticed she had hardly touched her food. That was annoying, since he’d taken her to the most expensive place in town for their Halloween date. Annoying, but expected.

“Ah, your parents aren’t the only ones with no common sense about baby names. My family was Romanian, but my mother insisted on Inger, which sounds Scandinavian.”

Diablo had to agree the beautiful, olive-skinned brunette across from him did not look particularly Scandinavian.

“She picked the name because înger means angel in Romanian.”

“You’re lovely enough to be an angel,” he told her. That wasn’t just a line; he really meant it despite his unemotional tone.

Inger gave him a Mona Lisa smile. “You’re certainly not ugly enough to be a devil—though for all I know, you may be horny.”

That got a flicker of a smile from Diablo. Inger had begun to think he didn’t know how to smile.

“When I was twelve, I killed one of my friends,” he said without a trace of emotion in his voice. Inger’s smile vanished.

“That’s not funny,” she said softly, looking into his dark eyes, darker even than hers. They complemented his dark hair and skin, skin that was almost like ebony to her ivory.

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“It was an accident, surely,” she protested, still not certain if he was joking or not.”

He sighed. “It was an accident. I…gave him too much of what I have.”

Inger raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t want to talk about it…”

“No, I do. I’ve never talked about it with anyone before. I’m…I don’t really know how to explain what I am. I guess you could say I’m an inverse vampire.”

Inger leaned closer. “Is that some kind of dig at my Romanian background? Even in the folklore of the old country, there’s no such thing as an ‘inverse vampire.’ What do you do, make other people drink your blood?”

“Not exactly,” Diablo replied slowly. “Vampires lack life force of their own and have to keep drawing it from others by drinking their blood.”

“Vampires aren’t real,” Inger said reflexively.

Diablo ignored her—not a problem she usually had with men.

“I, on the other hand, produce too much life force. If I don’t…offload is the best word I can think of. If I don’t offload some of it to someone else every so often, I’ll explode.”

“You have got to be kidding!” she protested.

“I’ve had that problem ever since puberty,” he continued, again acting as if she had said nothing. “But I didn’t really know what I was doing at first.”

“Diablo!” she snapped, thinking that perhaps saying his name would get his attention. He stopped and looked at her.

“I would think giving people more life force would be a good thing,” she said, beginning to wonder if she was having dinner with a madman. “Wouldn’t it make them stronger, maybe even heal them if they were injured in some way?”

Diablo nodded. “Yeah, it would—in small enough doses. My problem was I didn’t know how to control the flow from me to someone else at first. That’s why my friend died. I gave him too much, and his heart couldn’t take the strain.”

Inger noticed his eyes almost seemed to glow. It must be a trick of the light, the reflection of the flickering candle flames.

“I cried for days after,” Diablo said slowly. “But then I knew I’d have to try again. I could feel the life force building up, burning me inside.

“I practiced on animals. I killed my poor dog and a couple of other neighborhood pets. That made me feel even worse, but I did eventually get the hang of how much I could safely transfer to any person at any time.”

Inger leaned even closer. “But how…how do you transfer part of your life force to another? Blood?”

Diablo chuckled himself then—but it was a cold chuckle. “I think Santiago would have balked at drinking my blood…balked and lived. No, I can do it by touch. Skin on skin does the trick.”

“But you’ve touched me, and—”

“Thank God it doesn’t happen automatically, or I’d probably have killed more people when I was young. I have to will it to happen.”

“It’s safe when you do it, now, though?” asked Inger, staring at him intensely. “There’s no danger?”

“I haven’t killed a human since poor Santiago,” replied Diablo.

Inger started looking at him as if she were starving and he was an enormous steak—ironic since the filet mignon lay practically untouched on the plate in front of her.

“Prove it to me, Diablo. Let’s make love tonight, and when we lie together, ‘skin on skin,’ as you said, give me some of your life force.”

“There’s no need to wait,” said Diablo, grabbing her hand roughly. Instinctively, she wanted to pull away, but it was already too late by the time her muscles started to react.

She could feel the life force flowing into her, burning her. She went from mild discomfort to agony in seconds. Only self-control honed by long practice prevented her from screaming.

She wrenched her hand away from him, but she knew she was too late.

“No, I haven’t harmed any human since Santiago,” said Diablo calmly, “but I do have an interesting effect on vampires.”

Her abruptly rehumanized body shook as she realized what she’d lost. “You…you are a monster,” she whispered.

“It’s all a matter of perspective,” replied Diablo, voice cold as ice.

(This story originally appeared in the free anthology, Monster Maelstrom: A Flash Fiction Halloween Anthology.)