Now I’ve set the Wayback Machine to September 2009, back when I was writing Vampire Syndrome in an omniscient point of view.
Early snippet from the original omniscient version of Vampire Syndrome ©September 2009
In northeast Denver, in an industrial zoned area, Fred Henderson is driving his Dodge Ram ‘repo’ truck. He pulls up to Roman Auto Salvage, headlights off, stopping behind a white 1992 Honda Civic DX hatchback parked outside the fence. Fred gets out of the truck, and notices the fence has been cut. The incessant barking of his junkyard chupacabras catches his attention. He glances at the locked dog pen, and whispers “Shit!”
Fred gets back in the repo truck, and pulls it ahead of the Civic. Wheel chocks extend and lock onto the Civic’s front wheels. He chuckles as he pulls past the fence’s “Never mind the Dogs, Beware of the OWNER!” sign. He tows the Civic to the next block, and leaves it parked next to a sloping loading dock, hidden from view.
Fred drives the truck back to his yard, and parks by the cut in the fence. He fetches a Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum from the glove box. Fred leaps out of the truck and runs toward his main garage, footsteps in rhythm with the chupacabras’ barking.
He dashes past dozens of collector vehicles, from 1980’s cars to horse-drawn wagons. Fred slows down to a crawl when he sights two young car thieves in the front seat of his black 1957 DeSoto Firedome convertible. Since its top is down, Fred gets a clear view of the thieves reaching under the dash and grabbing wires.
The young thief in the passenger seat turns to his partner in crime, and says “This is a pretty sweet Fireflite, isn’t it?” The sound of Fred cocking the .44’s hammer halts their conversation.
Fred says, in a voice calm as a low-tide beach, “It’s a Firedome, actually. I know, I bought this car brand new.”
The thief in the passenger seat jumps out of the car. Fred’s irises turn black and his fangs grow out as he shoots the thief in the chest. Fred leaps up the back of the car and into the back seat. Fred grabs the other young man, still sitting in the driver’s seat, and bites his neck. Fred drains his victim of blood, and the young thief goes limp.
The other thief, lying in a pool of blood, struggles to move. Fred opens the driver’s door, pushes the seat forward, and gets out of the car. Fred grabs the thief’s body, dragging it across the floor to the other side of the car. Fred throws his dead partner’s body next to the wounded young man. “Please, sir,” he begs Fred, “let me live!”
Fred fetches to a rolling shop cart, throws the dead thief’s body on it, then grabs the surviving thief and places him on top of his deceased partner in crime. As Fred pushes the cart, he tells the thief “The only reason why you two even got in here is because I forgot to let the chupacabras out of the pen tonight!”
The young man spits blood out of his mouth, then asks in a weak, croaking voice “Chupacabras?!” Fred gives the thief a wicked fanged smile, then replies “They look like Normal dogs, except for the arched spine and the eyes. Not that you guys got close enough to notice.”
Fred pushes the cart out of the open garage door, toward the chupacabras’ pen. Their barking halts as Fred nears. The thief begs “No, no, please!”, as Fred stops pushing the cart, and walks to the pen’s door, padlock key in hand.
The wounded thief pushes himself off of his friend’s body, and falls to the ground. Fred grabs the dead thief’s body with both hands, and pushes him against the pen’s door. He whistles twice, then yells “Come and get it!” as he throws the body over the fence and into the pen. The long-fanged canines rush in and shred the body to pieces.
Fred walks over to the wounded thief, grabs him and pulls his face in close. “You know what, son? You’re about to have a very special experience tonight. Very few Normals get to see chupacabras up close!”. The thief meekly begs ‘No, no!’, as Fred points out the fanged canines licking up the last of the blood from his friend’s body. Fred then extends his arms to push the wounded thief into the pen. Fred whistles twice, and the chupacabras rush in and start to devour the thief.
Fred locks the door of the pen, then walks past the main gate to his repo truck. As Fred tows the Civic into the main building, he thinks I can salvage-title this hatch, swap in a B16, and sell it on Craigslist.
The truck backs the Civic into a service bay. As Fred unlocks the wheels chocks and prepares to move the truck forward, he turns to see Damien’s Charger pulling in, headlights off. Damien parks next to the truck, steps out of the car and says “Your fence is cut.”
“Yeah, I know,” Fred replies. “There were two young thieves in here, trying to hot-wire my ’57 DeSoto.”
Damien asks in Spanish “¿Son comidas por las chupacabras?” Fred replies “¡Sí!” Damien strolls up to the DeSoto and says “Might want to get that blood off your dash.”
Fred grabs a shop rag from a work bench, gets in the DeSoto and sits in the driver’s seat. He wipes the top of the dashboard, then carefully scrubs the splatters of dried blood out of the crevices of the dash’s chrome “Firedome” emblem.