Free Vampire "Unseen" (Vampire "Untitled" Trilogy Book 2) by Lee McGeorge Page A

living space. Every amenity was simple but adequate. The front bay window was boarded with steel plates on the outside and he’d covered the interior of the window with kitchen foil to ensure no light could spill through the gaps at night. The fuses for the ground floor lighting circuit blew every time he tried to repair it and he realised water must be in one of the light fittings somewhere, but the wall sockets were working from which he could use his laptop and light the place with a small table lamp. It cast a warm beige glow across the room that belied the dampness.
    Despite the limitations it was surprisingly liveable. Cold running water in the kitchen and toilet. Mains electric that, with the exception of the ground floor lights, seemed to be working. Best of all was the internet connection. This was something he would never have dared dream possible. There was a pub in the street behind the squat that offered free wi-fi for customers and the connection was in range.
    The lock to the back gate was changed and he’d jammed and disabled the front door lock.
    He’d spent the afternoon reading the knife fighting book.
    It was so short he’d read through it twice and was preparing to go through the exercises for the third time. It was the most terrifying thing he’d ever read in his life. How could someone wantonly write a practical guide to killing people in street fights? The explanations on which organs bleed the most and how quickly death would occur were of importance to medical staff, but this was intended to educate thugs and muggers. It left him worried to even have it in his possession. He had knives. He had a guide on how to be a more efficient and brutal type of aggressor. He was practicing and rehearsing. This wasn’t the type of skill he had intended to learn to make his escape. This was horror.
    In the rear room by the kitchen he had rolled up the mattress from the damp bed, wrapped it tightly in blankets and tied it all into shape. It stood in the corner as an attack dummy, ready to be assaulted and stabbed with his knives.
    The knives were for protection of course. The Army-Man in the military store had advised him to take a yoke, a Y shaped piece of webbing that buttoned onto trousers like a pair of suspenders. Paul had stitched the sheaths to the yoke with the blades on his ribcage and the handles reaching down over his belly. The idea being he could put his hands under his coat, grab the knife handles and pull down to be fully armed with two razor sharp blades in his fists. In his head he’d imagined crossing his arms to withdraw them but the first time he tried he saw the risk of slashing his own wrists and forearms.
    He put on his overcoat and practiced withdrawing the knives many times. Perfect. In the real world they were for defence only, but the book forced him to imagine using them for attack.
    ...and every time he imagined.
    ...a naked man appeared in the corner of the room.
    His skin white and smooth and as impermeable as marble, his muscles defined, his eyes glowing with the reflection of deep ruby. He wasn’t really in the room, physically taking up space. It was a quirk of the illness that Paul had consistently imagined this figure and called him a vampire. It had begun whilst story writing. Paul’s imagination was potent at the best of times and at his best he could project his imagination onto his surroundings. He’d imagined this creature and given it all the attributes of a stealthy, ferocious killer. Once he became sick, he was projecting it everywhere whether he wanted to or not. In the worst instance he’d seen it come into the apartment in Noua and he’d cut his own neck trying to fight against it. He’d tried to physically fight a figment of his own imagination and almost cut his own throat.
    It was only a few days ago.
    It felt like months.
    The vampire would watch his attack practice.
    He scanned the practice drill checklist, reminding himself of the questions he needed