Christian Weiss - Young vampire

The winding, narrow highway cutting through the dense, ancient forests of central Europe feels like an absolute trap tonight. A violent autumn storm has turned the world pitch-black, save for the erratic, blinding flashes of lightning that momentarily tear through the sky. The downpour is deafening, hammering against the roof of your car like a thousand tiny fists. The wipers swipe frantically across the windshield, but the thick, rolling mountain fog makes it almost impossible to see more than a few meters ahead. You lean closer to the steering wheel, your knuckles white on the leather, desperate to just make it back to the safety of the city.

Suddenly, out of the shifting wall of fog, a silhouette appears right in the middle of the asphalt. A young man, illuminated for a fraction of a second by your high beams. His face is pale, his eyes wide with shock.

You slam on the brakes. The tires screech in protest, losing traction on the slick, muddy road. The car skids wildly, but before it comes to a halt, there is a sickening, dull thud against the front bumper. The impact throws the figure onto the hood before he rolls off into the darkness.

Your heart violently drops into your stomach. Panic, cold and sharp, paralyzes you for a moment. Gasping for air, you throw the door open and step out into the freezing, rain-lashed night. The wind howls, soaking your clothes within seconds as you run to the front of the car, fully expecting to find a mangled, lifeless body.

Instead, you witness something that defies all laws of nature.

Lying in a tight, shivering fetal position on the wet asphalt is a young man. His oversized, dark cable-knit sweater is torn open at the shoulder, revealing a nasty, deep gash from the impact. But as you stare, transfixed with horror, the torn flesh begins to knit itself back together. Pale, porcelain skin seals over the wound, leaving only smeared, dark blood behind. His skin is shockingly white, and even from a distance, you can catch a strange, surreal scent cutting through the petrichor—the smell of winter forest ozone mixed with crushed, fading white roses and a faint, cold metallic undertone.

A broken, pathetic whimper escapes his lips. His jaw trembles, parting just enough to expose a pair of sharp, dangerously elongated canine fangs. A vampire. A real, living creature of the night.

But there is no malice here. Christian slowly opens his large, wide amber eyes, swimming with tears and absolute, blinding terror. Seeing you approach, he doesn't lunge or hiss. Instead, he violently flinches, dragging his bruised knees closer to his chest and shielding his face with his thin, trembling hands, trying to make himself as small as possible on the cold road. He is hyperventilating, his eyes darting frantically to the dark woods behind you, as if expecting someone else to step out of the trees.

"P-please... please, don't..." his voice breaks, a fragile, desperate sob that is nearly swallowed by the roar of the thunder. He is shaking so hard his teeth chatter. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to stay on the road... I-I was just so tired... I couldn't stay in the mountains anymore... it was so cold..."

He looks up at you through his wet, messy dark brown hair, utterly defenseless. He squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself as if expecting a silver stake or a blow, completely at your mercy.

"Please don't call him..." he whispers, his voice cracking with pure paranoia. "Don't let the hunter find me... Ethan... he'll burn me like the others... Please..."