#xconradx

As he turned away to scurry back down to the safety of his basement, mind made up, Conrad's stomach growled mournfully, clenching up with a harsh pang as the hunger gripped and clawed at him. He stopped, hugging his arms around his sunken middle. It hadn't only been ages since he'd gone out hunting. It had been ages since he'd eaten at all. The old vampire relied on the occasional visitor for food--ghost hunters, abandoned building enthusiasts, dumb young people out on a dare. They were few and far between, given how isolated Conrad's spooky old house was out in the woods, but this dry period in particular seemed endless. He hadn't seen a human face in months. His empty stomach ached, his throat felt dry, his fangs almost felt sore with longing. He stood there for a moment, holding his hollow belly. It let out another miserable growl. If he went on like this he'd wither away entirely. He had no choice. He'd have to go out.

The fall air was chilly this late at night, and Conrad winced and pulled his cape shut as a cold breeze blew right through him. If he was lucky, he'd find some poor passerby wandering through the woods, but who would be fool enough to go out for a walk on a night like this? It was pitch black out, the dark clouds smothering any tiny bit of moonlight that might have come through the trees, and while it wasn't quite raining, it was damp and misty. Not only that, but if there even was a path out here to walk on, it was overgrown to the point of near-invisibility. You'd have to be an absolute maniac to be roaming through these woods, Conrad thought; a maniac, or perhaps a very hungry, very desperate vampire.

He listened carefully as he crept through the trees for any sign of human life, jumping nervously at every little sound that hit his big batlike ears. He could hear the dead leaves rustling, the wind whistling through bare branches. The nearly undetectable sound of his own quiet feet stepping cautiously over the wet leaves on the ground. The occasional squirrel or raccoon scampering around. By this point, he was half tempted to go for one of them, but he knew they wouldn't satisfy his hunger. Truthfully, he doubted he'd be able to catch them anyway. He was quick, quicker than the average human, but he wasn't exactly in his prime. His belly rumbled longingly, and he jumped at that too.

After wandering aimlessly in the cold damp dark for what felt like hours, Conrad was about ready to give up. He'd spent many days now trying to sleep through the ache of his empty stomach, what was one more? Dejected, and also a little relieved, he turned to head back home, but just as he did, he froze. He listened carefully, holding his breath. A soft, steady crunch. Too heavy to be a squirrel. Too purposeful for a deer. An even set of steps, walking briskly through the woods. Footsteps--human footsteps. Dinner.

Conrad clutched his cape around his chest like a frightened child, panic bubbling up madly in his chest. He'd almost forgotten how to hunt. What if he stumbled? What if they overpowered him? That didn't matter; he had to act fast. Moving swiftly and silently, he slunk through the trees like a stalking cat, his sensitive ears leading him toward the source of the sound. He hoped he was as hard to see as everything else was. The last thing he needed was to be spotted first. When he finally caught a glimpse of his prey, his confidence was steadied, at least a little bit. Their eyes were straight ahead, not even looking around as they walked coolly down the mossy path. They hadn't heard a sound, nor did they seem to notice him peeking out at them from behind a tree. He'd done well--so far, that is. All he had to do now was catch them. His heart fluttered in absolute terror, but he knew he couldn't freeze up now. This was his only chance. Any more sneaking around and he'd blow it. It was now or never. Mentally kicking himself from his hiding spot, Conrad made his move.

Had he been able to watch himself do it, Conrad might have been impressed. He pounced on them perfectly, catching them just as they passed by his hiding spot and sinking his fangs into their neck before they could let out so much as a gasp. They froze in dazed shock as he held on tightly, keeping them perfectly still, not a sound from either of them but the gulping as he drank as quickly as he could. He felt his stomach filling up, the nagging hunger finally dissipating, though the soreness of it remained, and drinking so fast wasn't exactly helping in that area. He couldn't worry about that right now, though. If he gave himself a bellyache, well, he'd work on that once he was safely back home. Right now the objective was to drink his fill.

Given how rarely Conrad had the chance to eat, he had to make sure he made the most out of every meal so that it would last him to the next one. He felt full now, but he went on drinking, and his belly went from concave to flat, then flat to convex, rounding out and beginning to bulge against his victim's side. It felt tight, achingly tight, and he could feel it stretching as he drank and drank, rapidly swelling to its limit, and when it hit its limit he drank a few sips more, until the pressure inside him was so immense that he couldn't force down another gulp if he tried. He fell away from the person with a gasp, steadying himself against a tree, and he wiped his mouth with one hand, holding his distended belly with the other. It felt rock solid, like a pumpkin had grown just under his taut skin.

Conrad stood against the tree for a moment, catching his breath. He'd stretched his stomach too far too quickly, and the shock of it kept him in place, panting, watching his victim stumble away drunkenly, seemingly oblivious to his presence. They had no idea what had happened. A quick getaway would have been preferable, but it didn't matter right now. He watched as they meandered out of sight, then he doubled over, hugging his belly. What a fool he was. If he could just go out and hunt every night like a real vampire, he wouldn't have to fill himself to the paper-thin verge of bursting every time he worked up the nerve to catch a bite. He forced up a tiny burp, desperate to relieve some of the unbearable pressure, but it didn't help much. No matter, he scolded himself. He'd deal with it when he got home. He couldn't stand here in the middle of the woods all night. Somebody might--

"Hey, I think I hear something."

"They're over there! Hey, Jan!"

Conrad froze, eyes wide. His victim hadn't been alone. He heard more footsteps now, hurrying toward the woozy human, and, inadvertently, toward him. He had to get out of here. Holding his belly, he made a dash for it, then, realizing he'd never make it out of sight in time on foot, he turned into a bat. That was a mistake if ever he made one. His stomach nearly split open as he shrank down around what felt like a gallon of blood, and if he'd still had his normal voice by then, the approaching group would have heard him cry out in pain. Miraculously, though, he held himself together, and he clumsily flapped away, his balloonlike belly sloshing as he jolted through the misty air, barely able to even keep himself up.

Finally, by what must have been a true and genuine miracle, Conrad made it back to his dilapidated old house, and he fell against the door with a thud as he landed back on his own two feet. His stomach let out a long, sickly gurgle. The bumpy flight was the last thing he needed after drinking so much, but it didn't matter now. He was home, and he intended to go straight to his coffin and sleep off the ache. He opened the door, more thankful than ever to hear its familiar creak, and found himself face to face with another human.

Conrad recoiled with a hissing shriek, and the intruder mirrored his startled terror. What an idiot! What the hell had he gone out for? The human backed away, clearly not having expected to meet a ghastly old vampire on their adventure, and Conrad realized there was only one thing to do. The door shut behind him with a creak, and reluctantly, unsteadily, he pounced.

Shrinking down into a bat had been shockingly painful, but there was one silver lining--it had stretched his stomach just a little bit more, and when he turned back into his usual self, it left him with… not extra room, necessarily, but just a tiny bit more give for it to expand into. The blood moved slowly down his throat, and he could feel his belly bump out a hair further with each heavy gulp, gurgling and groaning as it struggled to stretch around the growing mass of liquid. His shirt was snug around his bulging middle, buttons beginning to strain almost as much as his skin. His stomach grumbled ominously as it stretched tighter and tighter, well past its limit now with no choice but to hold it all, a task which was becoming increasingly difficult. He clutched his belly with one hand, holding onto his new unplanned victim with the other. It felt dangerously taut, trembling slightly with each forced gulp. He couldn't take any more. He'd burst if he tried.

He let go with a groan, leaving his victim just as dazed and clueless as the last. Feeling exhausted and a little ill, he wearily ushered them out the door, falling back against it with a heavy sigh as it shut behind them. His belly bulged out so far in front of him that he couldn't even see his feet. He held it cautiously, afraid to put even a tiny bit of pressure on it. It gurgled and rumbled steadily, desperately trying to digest more blood than it could handle, and he could feel a strained, pressurized bubbling with each shallow breath. He felt like a water balloon too overfilled to even touch.

The short walk down to his coffin seemed even longer than usual, each careful step seeming to jolt and jostle his painfully swollen stomach, especially as he made his way down the creaky basement stairs. His hand never left his belly, holding it protectively as though it might pop if he let his guard down. He climbed carefully into his cozy little coffin in the corner of the room, struggling to move around his precarious tummy, which sloshed softly with every motion. Leaning over in the slightest was impossible, and moving too quickly was completely out of the question. He eased himself down, laying flat on his back with his round, heavy tummy sticking straight up, and he rested his hands on it. It was tighter than a drum, pulled too taut to even inhale properly, and it protruded higher than the top edge of the coffin, too rigid to be flattened by gravity in the slightest. He could feel his insides working under his palms, and he tried to convince himself that the steady bubbling he could both hear and feel was soothing enough to fall asleep to and not just a warning that he might explode if he breathed too deeply. Whether he managed to convince himself or not, nobody can say for sure, but he did fall asleep eventually, and, despite the ache in his overstretched stomach, it was the soundest sleep he'd had in months.

EPILOGUE

Teddy wasn't a fan of the dark as it was, but having to make the long trek through the woods and up the hill to that spooky old haunted house in the dark--all alone, no less--could not have been further from his idea of a pleasant night. It was chilly, the clouds blocked what little light might have come from the sliver of moon, and the bare, gnarled trees looming over him out of the shadows made him feel like a mouse scampering through the claws of a tiger. He wondered if a tiger might have been friendlier than the man he was visiting.

Finally, he was standing before the house, a dilapidated mess of ancient boards overgrown with scrawny, half-dead vines and shrubs, a perfect Scooby Doo hideaway that fit its owner like a glove. Shivering from cold and from nerves, Teddy knocked at the door. He waited for a moment. No answer. That wasn't surprising; the old vampire never answered the door, but knocking still seemed polite. Teddy was half tempted to turn around and run home as fast as he could, but it wouldn't be right. Reluctantly, nervously, he cracked the door open and peeped inside.

"Conrad? Uh--M-Mr. Von Gottschee?" He was used to Stelian referring to the old man by his first name, but he realized that he barely knew him at all himself. And, of course, Conrad barely knew him, and Teddy knew well enough he wouldn't come out for a stranger--unless, of course, it was to pounce on them for a drink. He wondered how vampires felt about werewolf blood. He'd make a good meal, small and plump and too scared to fight back. He tried to push that thought out of his mind as he slipped through the door and closed it carefully behind him.

As he crept through the dusty old house, nervously looking around, Teddy wondered what in the world he'd been thinking. The rest of his friends were out tonight--ironically, he'd wanted no part of the new horror movie they were going out to see--and, feeling alone and a little bored, he'd remembered Stelian mentioning how terribly lonely poor old Conrad was, how he almost never left home and rarely had any visitors, and he'd decided it might be nice to pay him a visit. They'd met once or twice through the younger vampire, albeit very briefly and without any real interaction, and he'd seemed harmless enough then, although now Teddy was second guessing that recollection.

Teddy made his way to the basement door and, again, knocked, this time quietly. A sudden scuttling sound coming from somewhere behind him nearly made him jump out of his skin, and he spun around just in time to see a shadow disappear into a dark corner. Trembling, too scared to move, he listened. Light footsteps, somewhere across the room.

"M-M-Mr. Von Gottschee? Sir?" His voice came out high and shaky, and he swallowed nervously. "It-it's Teddy, um, S-S-Stelian's friend…" He took a cautious step forward, and suddenly he spotted the vampire, crouched like an animal behind a chair. Realizing he'd been seen, Conrad let out a defensive hiss, fangs bared, and Teddy yelped in surprise, flinching back against a bookshelf. Conrad, startled by the sudden movement, jolted back against the wall with a hiss, and the two remained frozen, eyes locked across the dark room, until finally Teddy saw a spark of recognition on the old vampire's face. Conrad relaxed just the slightest bit--maybe "relaxed" wasn't the right word, he still looked ready to flee, but not so much ready to fight--and Teddy slowly held up his hands.

"I'm--um--s-sorry for--uh--dropping in on you," he stammered, his voice still trembling. "I just w-wanted to, uh-um, s-see if, maybe, um, y-you wanted some c-company…" He mentally smacked himself as he spoke. It sounded stupid now that he was saying it out loud--who in the world randomly visited an almost-complete stranger unannounced? Well, circumstances were different with Conrad, but he still felt like a knucklehead. To his surprise, though, Conrad slowly crept out from his hiding place and cautiously stood upright, hands clasped nervously. He was a tiny little thing, shorter even than Teddy was and easily half his weight, old and frail and frightened-looking, and for a moment Teddy couldn't believe he'd been so afraid of him.

"Company," Conrad repeated thoughtfully, his voice barely a hoarse whisper, and Teddy decided from the lonely, hopeful look on his face that he'd made the right call.

As it turned out, Teddy had come perfectly prepared for the visit. He'd happened upon the old vampire in the midst of a stomachache, and he'd brought a few ginger teabags with him--he thought tea might be nice, and ginger was the only flavor he'd had on hand. He was surprised to find that Conrad had a working kitchen, which the old vampire was eager to show him. The two sat at the table, quietly sipping hot tea together, and, slowly but surely, conversation began to come out. It wasn't long before Conrad began to feel a little better, his sore stomach soothed by the warm ginger, and, to Teddy's surprise, he began to grow livelier as well, clearly excited at the chance to spend time with somebody other than the dust bunnies. His accent was thick, and he substituted more words in German than Teddy could quite follow, but Teddy was glad to listen to him talk.

"Kalt draußen," Conrad observed with a shiver, holding the teacup against his chest. "Is it winter?"

"Almost," said Teddy. "It's November."

"November," Conrad exclaimed. "Schon November. Wissen Sie, back when I was alive, years ago, many years, every Christmas, I used to bake a stollen, every year. You come back Dezember, I will love to make one again for you. If Sie wollen, if you want to. You don't have to."

"Aw, I'd love that," said Teddy, touched. "I could bring ingredients if you wanted."

"Yes, perfekt," said Conrad with a clap of approval.

They went on talking a little longer, their cups long-empty, talking about winter and the holidays and cooking, but it wasn't long before the sky began to lighten outside the windows, and Teddy reluctantly pointed out that Conrad ought to get to bed before the sun came up. He regretfully agreed, still talking as he led Teddy back to the door.

"Dankeschön, Teddy, thank you for coming over. You come back any time you like, Sie sind hier immer willkommen. And don't forget, Dezember!"