I shoved my hands deeper into the pocket of my coat

I shoved my hands deeper into the pocket of my coat. My dad had no clue where I was, and he usually didn't at 11:30 at night, especially since today was New Years Eve. I turned down a street, aiming to get farther from the crowds of Time Square.

I was fifteen. Tall, 5'8" when I'm slouching, 6' in boots, and overly skinny. My hair was long, a little past my chin, and inky black, from being dyed recently. I usually wore it in a horsetail to school when I bothered to go, but now I let it hang down, obscuring my face. My face was pale, and thin, with large, gray eyes and a straight nose.

Under my leather trench coat I wore a black The Clash t-shirt from a concert I had gone to a while ago. I wore tight, gray skinny jeans that were shoved up slightly to keep from dragging in the puddles of melting slush under foot. A sliver chain hung from my neck with a tarnished cross, thumping lightly against my chest as I walked. I only wore it because of my mother.

I turned a corner heading toward the Subway tunnel. I shoved several tokens into the slot machine before pushing through a rotating door. As I walked toward the train, I unconsciously felt the pocket of my shoulder bag to make sure my wallet hadn't been taken. I had just come from mid-town and, despite the time of night, pickpockets crowded there, targeting tourists.

The train wouldn't be coming for another five minutes. I sat on a bench, alert. I didn't know if it was what I was heading to do, or just the echoing silence of the tunnel that was making me more jumpy. I fingered the switchblade in my coat pocket, ready.

I was headed to Washington Square Park. I was going to get my father what he deserved.

A few days ago I had met a guy who could help me do this, but I still didn't trust him.

Eight minutes later and the train still hadn't come. I had no clue what day it was so I didn't know whether or not the subway ran at this time of night. I kept sitting there.

Fifteen minutes since I had gotten there I hear footsteps. Light, fast. I clearly wasn't meant to hear them. I tensed further pulling the knife from my pocket, keeping it concealed under my coat.

A flash of white to my left. I didn't turn my head but kept my eyes glued to the spot. Another flash of white this time in front in of me. Another on the track to my right. Then right in front of me.

I leapt up, by feet spread wide, knife held in front of me. Cold air whistled by my left ear. My right arm. I was becoming disoriented. I could barely keep track of the current of air created by whoever, or whatever, had joined me.

"Why so tense," a soft, clear voice rang in the tunnel.

Then suddenly arms, like an iron vice wrapped around my waist. I lashed out with the knife, and hit the main artery of my attackers leg. Or at least I should have.

The knife met flesh with a screaming sound and out of the corner of my eye I saw the twisted ruins of my blade being pulled from my hand.

"Shame, might of worked," the voice whispered again, this time right in my ear.

Before I could process what was happening I thrown into a pillar, shaking the tunnel. My head cracked up against the stone causing a spasm to run down my body. Again, faster that I could anticipate, they were there. I was lifter up and shoved against the turret, my attackers body pressed against mine. It was like being caught between to boulders. Once my vision cleared I could see his face.

Pale, like death, with hungry red eyes and a perfectly straight nose. High cheekbones were set off by the cold, feral smirk he wore. Brown hair was cropped to his ears and stray locks tickled my skin.

It was a face of nightmares.

"Awww, what's a pretty boy like you doing down here all by yourself?" he taunted,

I spat blood on his face.

What he did next seemed to truly convince me, if nothing had to this point that I was going to die.

His tongue snaked out, licking the red liquid off his cheek. His smirk returned as my eyes widened.

"What the hell are you?" my voice was husky, and I had barely managed to keep it from quavering and breaking.

"I'm a vampire,"

I was stunned for a moment, wholly ready to believe him. But no, there were plenty of people like him. Self proclaimed walking dead, who drank the blood of their fellow human kind. Cults.

"Bull,"

"Huh, that's an interesting theory," he bent his head, leaning in to whisper in my ear, "A wrong one, but an interesting one none the less,"

His icy tongue caught a bead of sweat that trickled down the side of my neck.

"Mmmm, you are tasty,"

Then I felt teeth pierce my neck, like daggers tearing my skin. There was nothing I wanted more than to scream, but I knew that would just give him more satisfaction. I could feel the pressure as he sucked the blood from my veins.

I could hear the millions of people counting down the New Year hundreds of feet from me, praying just one of them would find me.

Cheering erupted, and chimes began to sound.

Suddenly he pulled away on the sixth chime, but the fire did not stop.

"Someone approaches, but this has been a lovely meeting. Wednesday, January 1, 1986. The beginning of eternity for you boy," He began to stalk away but turned briefly, "Happy New Year," Then he was gone.

I struggled across the tile to a nook in the wall. As I crawled a flash of sliver caught my eye. My mothers cross.

And grasping it in my hand, I hid in the filth of the wall. I changed over the course of three days, as perhaps thousands of people passed me by. I awoke late in the night on the third day.

Like him.