Traine traveled deeper in the world of subconsciousness. He faced a ginormous humanoid entity made out of black crayon scratches. The lines of scratches moved like hyper growing vines, Its tendrils of crayon squirmed binding the vines, as a vast connection. Its hollow face entranced Traine with its gaping black holes as eyes.

He stood before it with open arms, “what do we want?”

The hollow faced entity said nothing yet its devoid of pupils' eyes lured Traine towards it. At first he fought the strange attraction to its eyes. But let his instinctive fear go, and walked before it. The creature bent and rested its chin on voided ground, Traine without thinking sensible, crawled in its eye.

He fell from an inconceivable height, the sharp wind dented his skin almost cutting it. His lungs gasped for air. The gusts of wind blasted in his face made it impossible to inhale. He twisted and turned towards the black sky and stretched to a star shape, trying to slow down.

The slices of wind lessened, he thundered down on his back, breath, breath, breath he thought. Traine gasped the thin air for his craving lungs. He faced down again. Circling light black spots emerged from the abyssal chasm. Plunged past it, the shadows of pillars widened scaling to inhuman needs.

Traine dived towards the unseen curvature of the nearest pillar, and hugged the flat surface with all his might. His flat hands bent, burrowing fingertips as a desperate cat clinging on a cliff, slowing down more. The surface ground became visible, outlines of otherworldly structure, sharp crooked icicles, pointing towards the flying sky pillars . Ziggurats, pyramids, identical mega structures scattered around the pointy icicles.

He aimed for a sloped pyramid made out of strange hex metallic slabs. The slabs moved up and down, rolling as waves. Traine made himself small, holding both shins, ducking his head. He fell through the slab making it spin.

His falling speed diminished further, slowing down to a halt. Traine hovered above the glossy black ground and dropped when he touched it. This can’t be happening.

A thick rolling fog swept the glossy floor, to his ankles and grew towards his knees. The area started to shake, vibrating four separate times. Shifted the room to four separate heights. Above, on the fourth elevation a throne appeared, an obsidian throne, jagged from all sides. Out of Suddenly white speckles formed milky hands on the throne's jagged armrests. And continued to materialize a body pixel by pixel. Pale scaly skin enveloped the creature, the speckles reached its bald head. From it a volcanic glass crown ruptured out.

“What do we want?” It repeated, “you mean. What do I want?” It said sinisterly. The white crowned body abruptly leaped, landing right before Traine. It widened a razor smile, “what do I want?”

He wanted to wake, escape from this mind bending plane. His feet planted, frozen stuck. Arms as heavy as ankers, tiring him with each miniscule move. Traine closed eyes for an attempt to flee, wake, wake, WAKE! he screamed inwardly.

“Poor Traine…” it balanced on its right hand imitating a court jester, and leaped over Traine, leaning against his back. “You are always so thoughtful, what do we want? Gawkakaka!” Its voice turned deep and muddled, “what did you expect!” It circled predatorily, showing menacing teeth. “Dwelling my chambers, peddling my underlings. Making them feel worthy of existence, meaningful lives.” It hunched, inches from his face “They’re mine. Mine alone!” It pushed Traine on the floor, still feeling that encumbering weight. “Or did you think you could help Mickey?”

“He doesn’t want help!” Traine grumbled, gazing at the moonish eyes of the crowned creature. And gnashed, why Mickey? Why not try harder? He lifted himself up as if carrying the world. His knees trembled violently, caving-in any moment. “I’m not giving him up!”

“He is not molded for this like you.”

Traine snapped his fingers, “Molded? I don’t care!” A spherical flame rotated, spewing little flares of wisp. And threw the fireball to the ghastly beast, exploding in a sea of fire.

The flame died, revealing it unharmed. “See this crown,” and tipped it. “This realm is mine to rule!”

Traine retorted, raising his arms, “rule what? King of nothing?” He leaped towards it, “I hold the power. "I'm your ruler!” he announced. “I can choose today or tomorrow. I’ll end it even now, if that’s what you want.”

Cracks appeared in his inner world, shards of glass fell on the glossy black floor, shattering as falling mirrors, peeling its dimension layer after layer. Its white moonish eyes crescented, “nothing is still something” and wisped away in the darkness.

The doorknob twisted, a shuffle of feet waked Traine from meditating, must be the boys he thought. “Seems they changed the packaging, weird.” Mickey read the label on ramen noodles. “Less carbohydrates… minus 40 calories…extracts of…0.2 percent less sodium! Nothing is as everlasting as you.”

“Less calories and salt. Isn’t that good?”Keen asked, grabbing a chair from the table.

“Any change of the recipe subtly affects the taste. I don’t care if it's healthier they fucking ruined it.” Mickey walked towards the bare-bone kitchen, turning on an electric water boiler. “Anyways I learned from my mom not to waste food. And hey, maybe it tastes better than before the change.”

Traine’s stomach grumbled, he ignored his hunger for days. The idea of eating alone warmed his furnace to burn fuel. “Neither am I, and you Keen. We’re gonna need it.” They ate their fill of noodles and sipped the broth to its last drop. A peculiar look rose on Mickey akin to a chef judging a dish in a competition.

Traine gave Keen a complicated look, “If mom were here, I would have left you with her at the motel.” Mickey, you make me feel guilty. This is no place for a boy. If I want to protect Keen he has to be by my side. Otherwise all this running is all pointless.

—

Keen sat at the backseat peering at the moon lit grasslands, It was empty he imagined that the cows returned inside the barn, resting from a good day of grazing. The car smoothly glided on the gray road, flinged pebbles shot the rims, ricochet against the underside. A familiar ‘snap’ from the front seat lit a cigarette, the foil of the newly bought pack still halfway wrapped. That poisonous fog rolled over, a single breath of pungent smoke made his throat sore. “Jeez, cough, roll your window open, cough, It stinks!”

“Fuck” Traine muttered. He slightly opened the window, funneling away the smoke. The wind clapped into the small crevice, aching Keen’s eardrum.

They neared a sheriff department, Mickey slowly braked and kept the momentum rolling. “Shall we check it out?” Traine nodded. He parked at the double-door, and scanned the building.

“It appears our local sheriff is off-duty.” Traine said, examining the extended clip of his glock 17, cocking the pistol. “I’m going in.”

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“I want to go too.” Keen said, showing expectant eyes.

Traine switched between Mickey and Keen, “I don’t…” gazed upon him, ”alright. But stay behind me, and don’t waddle around”

“I won’t”

“Mick, keep that car running for me. We will be back soon.”

“You got it boss” Mickey stayed behind, and turned off his headlights.

Traine pushed the double glass door, Keen following right behind. A high pitched sound originating from the frontdesk, beeping long and loud. Keen stared at the desk expecting someone shushing the noise. He wondered, can nobody hear that noise?

“No worry,” Traine hooked the phone. “It’s just not connecting.”

They sneaked in the hallway towards the back office. Rows of cubicles abandoned, even the office chairs drifted far from its paired table. Innards of desktops trashed the floor. “Ripping out the harddrive and ram. Smart.” Traine commented. A huge stain of dried coffee grabbed Keen’s attention.

“Something got to them and I don’t think that’s coffee.” Keen thought out loud.

“Gorg did what I would have done. Disrupt communications, destroy their means of defense and slaughter them one by one.” He headed back to Mickey. “There is nothing left to be done here.”

From the far corner, a door rambled softly, Keen trotted towards the sound. “Wait!” Traine said, catching him. “I’ll go.”

His glock hugged Traine's side like a noir detective. He ambled quiet as a mouse to the bathrooms. He turned the ladies room lever handle carefully, then flinged the door open smashing the lever in the wall.

A woman covered in blood, sat trembling on her knees. “Nooooo!” she screamed and desperately slid on her back, kicking, towards the wall.

“Hey, hey, we're just concerned citizens,” he approached her. "I'm not going to do you any harm."

“Noooo!” Tears bursted out “I don’t want to die!”

Traine went on his knee, and signaled Keen to come closer. “This is my son Keen and my name is Traine.

Her fierce eyes stared at Keen, I’m not a monster. He retreated behind his father, “I’m not like them.”

“Like what!” she frantically yelled, scuttling to the wall. “My brother tried to kill me!” she threw her sneaker to Traine. “My own brother…” she weeped. “How can I trust you…”

“See this,” from his pants, Traine pulled a twelve inch knife emanating a silvery glint. “This dagger is especially forged for those monsters.” He sleeved it back. “They will be back for you.” Traine stood. “It's a game for those fake vampires, easing you to feel safe, comfortable. Then when you wander out, they hunt you like a dog, sniffing your scent out.

“Wh…wh… what am I supposed to do?”

I can’t take care of another child, I have to take care of my boy,” he patted Keen. “If you want to live, you have to do it fighting, It’s your choice.” Traine and Keen turned back to Mickey.

She watched father and son leave, “wait!” she shouted, and trotted next to Keen. “I want to live.” They stepped in the car.

Mickey looked in the rear mirror seeing a woman sitting next to Keen, “I know Sara has been away for weeks. But picking girls at an abandoned sheriff's department doesn’t sound like the game you would play.”

“No time for jokes Mickey.” Traine visibly cringed.

“This girl’s name is Arlene. Asshole!.

“Feisty…” Mickey muttered and asked Traine, “So nothing crazy happened there?. I was kinda bored staring at the dark, and blasting music even with my wits… yeah, I’m not saying I did. But hey you kept me waiting.” Mickey raised his eyebrows expecting something…

“Hey, I found her.” Keen exclaimed. “If it wasn’t me, Arlene would still be hiding.” A light sting smoldered in his heart, dad must have known.

“Let's get in town. I want this to be over with.” Traine said.

—

Flames lit bright, fumes of poured gasoline scented the air. A red truck was left running, its engine sonorously idled in the backdrop of sizzling fire. Alongside an electric station wagon burned with an undying flame. Thermal runaway? Traine thought. He noticed the free standing middle-class-homes, invaded by the impatient burglars. Tiles scattered the porches, the roofs appeared to have holes. Some windows had cracks, others fragmented to shards creating wind tunnels. The doors swung in brisk wind, most houses had none at all. Clawed marks spread the walls, marking their territory, maybe a shifter?

“Nosfaru…” Mickey eyed Arlene and altered his question. “the disappearance of a whole town under wraps… How?” Mickey whispered to Traine.

“It’s nothing new. The Nosfaru’s grip on power goes back centuries, I can’t even escape it.” Traine said, my girl couldn’t. Even Keen can’t. He looked at Arlene and Keen, “Mick. Have you heard from Camwell?”

“Nah. I hate guts.” He steered in an upper class neighborhood. “I only talk to Camwell about work.” Mickey parked and opened the door, “last week I think.”

He leaned back, “get out. we are here.”

Traine gazed at the villa. The titanium gate arched, its bars curled as seedlings, akin to a fruit bending its branch by sheer weight. Around the two center ones, smaller versions of curling seedlings encircled synchronous on both sides of the gate. Thick well cared hedgerows obscured the garage. From the entrance to the premise, the main gravel pad led to a round fountain, sculpted on it, a bronze woman wearing a deep Turquoise sundress, holding on each hand a devil’s trumpet flower. “Mick, keep an eye on Arlene.” He glanced at his son’s quivering lips holding that blank book tightly, “Keen you with me.”

Mickey nodded, “Keen remember. Tiny man.”

They sneaked towards the right side hegde, Traine signals Keen to come close. He held him leaping over the story heights hedge. Landed, he heard a muffled ‘poof’ It was Mickey princess carrying Arlene. “Ask first, you prick.”

Traine crouched, scanning the surrounding,“Gorg. That arrogant bastard, they all are. He must be holding out here,” Traine combed the area “They think luxury cleanses their barbaric nature.” To bad they send to purge the vermin

Traine hugged the hedge and crouched walks towards the garage, his son, Mickey and Arlene followed behind. The shutters were rolled open, bright lights revealed a black, streaked yellow Jaguar type-E and a silver Mercedes-Benz. The Benz hid a bloodied trail from a dragged body. Traine inspected its rear bumper. Transfer pattern? Similar to a molten hand, the blood print emitted desperation.

Arlene stood unappalled, “I need to kill him. Bloodsucker or not, nobody stands in the way." She eyed Mickey, Keen and ended at Traine. That cold-glint reminds me of Sara, younger Sara.

“Beats me,” Mickey shrugged. “One less to worry about.”

Keen pointed at the drag trail “He or she must be alive.” And opened the backdoor.

Traine blitzed to Keen, his eyes scoured the treeline, from bush and tree to leaves and branches. The brisk wind carried the leaves, bouncing off the dark barks and caught by the wild bushes. Wait. He focused his hearing, ‘crack’, a twig crushed under its feet.

“Stay behind” he threw Keen back inside.

The figure hurled towards Traine, bent over as a feral boar, baring fangs aiming at his throat. That's not a spawn. Traine grabbed him by the arm, slammed his body to the ground.

“Human, let me.” he groaned, reaching out his claws to Traine’s neck. “You're either stupid or dumb, I’m not human.” He unsleeved the silver dagger. “No you’re both” and stabbed the feraling in the neck, gorgeling in its own blood.

Keen questionably stared at his dad. “It's basically a conscious zombie.” Mickey interjected. “So it's dead anyway. It can only move on living blood.”

“He’s right, no need to worry Keen,” and eyed Arlene. “You see, damage a major artery and it is usually dead.” He draws the dagger out, a small amount of blood gushed from the entry wound, turning solid. With a snap, he cleansed his dagger of the coagulated blood. “This one was just infected and used almost all of the host's blood.”

“So feralings use up their own blood and refuel it with leeching humans.” Keen said with doubt.

“Bingo!” Mickey said

Arlene curiously asked. “What happens if it drinks blood other than humans?”

“It would fucking explode” Mickey grinned.