Το θήραμα

 Kutná Hora was strange and beautiful. And Inspiring for both of us.

video by me

story by him

Like a hunter watching its prey he sat in the café window, eyes always on the street.  Darkness had arrived in wintery gloom and the cobbled thoroughfares, shining in the rain, burned in the orange glow of street lamps.

People darted this way and that, hurried movements displaying their displeasure at having to make their way home amidst the wind and sleet.  The city’s offices and stores had closed for the day and few people minded to stop in at the coffee houses and restaurants; the primacy of a fireplace, and simple delights of a hot meal and warm bed, enough to dissuade them from potential distractions.

Standing up he pulled his heavy coat about him and put his hat on, throwing two coins on the table before moving into the street.  Embracing the chilled wind he let the sleet hit his face.  For a moment he closed his eyes, arching his back, and breathed deeply with satisfaction.  Nothing like cold night air to remind you you are alive.

The traffic in the street had thinned somewhat and he made his way past the elegant buildings with a casual gait, seemingly walking with no purpose or direction.  In a darkened laneway the rain and snow swirled in the wind.  Pressing on, the noise of boots and walking stick on the pavement were amplified amongst the sudden solitude.

Emerging onto a quiet street at last, he spotted his quarry.  She stood amongst the closed shops, huddled in the shelter provided by an entrance, just visible through the weather.  A comfort to lonely souls adrift in the night, on offer the warmth of a woman’s touch and solace between her legs.  Despite the empty street she hadn’t spotted him and, having stopped to watch her from the distant shadows, without the click of his walking stick or fall of his footsteps he felt surrounded by the deafening silence.  His discomfort could not prompt him to make his approach as he continued to observe from the shadows.

Not aware of his presence, she stood with narrow shoulders hunched against the cold, peering into the street.  A shawl wrapped around her upper body and a long skirt offered little protection from the cold.  Thin clouds of vapour escaped from her lips into the night.  Although he couldn’t make out her facial features he guessed she was a ripened young age from the curves in her body.

At last he stepped forward into the streetlight and began walking towards her.  She was immediately aware of his presence and moved out from her shelter into the street, straightening her back and pushing her breasts forward with a hand on her hip.  She had a plain kind prettiness and he guessed she had not worked in the streets long as she still conveyed a certain wholesomeness.

Greeting him as he neared, he replied that it was not a night for a pretty flower such as her to be standing around in shop doorways.  She laughed nervously when he said she must be cautious of the people she might meet undertaking such pursuits.  When he offered her liquor from a metal flask she accepted the warming drink gratefully and said she had a place they could go from some privacy.

It was not far and they walked in silence, soon coming to a building of run down private apartments.  The interior was poorly lit and they climbed the stairs to the second floor where she turned the key to her door. 

Once inside he offered more drink and she took it.  She seemed happy to talk.  Between the alcohol and his silence she kept going as they removed the outer layers of their clothing.  When she asked where he was from he told her from the east.  She had moved to the city from her village two months earlier.  Her husband had been a soldier and was killed fighting in a distant war.  Their daughter, living with grandparents, was sick and required medicine.  He thought she seemed lonely and was still grieving.

Guessing the price of her comfort and offering a little more, he put the money on the table.  She moved over to the chair in which he was sitting and began to kiss his neck.  Standing over him her breasts hung before his face and he moved his hand up her stockinged leg, under her dress and towards her thigh. 

He asked her the name of her village and that of her daughter.  She asked him if he was shy and he replied that he was only a little upset at what he was about to do.  She stopped kissing him to laugh and said he need not worry, that she would take care of him.

He pulled her onto his lap and could tell that she wanted him.  Her passion grew as his hand worked between her legs.  She removed her breasts from her dress and kissed his lips.

When he was confident she was consumed with proceedings he placed a hand on her jaw and turned her head to the side.  Moving his kisses from her breasts to her neck, she didn’t have time to scream as he sank his teeth into the vein in her neck and wrenched her head around on itself with a gruesome snap.  The warm blood flowed over his tongue as he drank greedily while her heart’s pumping became weaker.  Finishing, he moved her head and saw her face frozen in a final expression of fear and surprise, eyes wide.  The blood had drained from her lips.  He closed her eyes and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of her top.

He lay her on the bed and placed her breasts inside her dress. “Death is not the end,” he said to her lifeless body, almost whispering.  Blowing out the room’s candles he put on his coat and hat and walked out onto the street.