Author Guest Post: Nicholas Paschall

Today’s Author brings us a dark tale of vampires and the world that has come to know they “are real”.





Sinfully wicked, the nameless Fang that roams the night has finally been caught by a S.W.A.T team. After absconding with a school bus full of twenty-eight schoolchildren, he went missing. It took them hours to find him after the abductions took place in the rural mountain ridges of Pennsylvania, and by the time they subdued him there were only four children left alive.


This horror/thriller focuses on the hunt for the undead criminal elite, a group of vampires that collectively are known as “Horace” to preserve their anonymity and safety. The Fang with memory issues that calls himself Smoke was a hitman for this group, at least until a vampire-ready SWAT team stormed his hidden lair. After a daring car chase, he slips away and hides out until the hunt dies down. He claims a pair of hapless teens that stumble across his hiding spot before making his way to New York in search of one of the Horaces. His flashbacks of his life before he became a soulless killer assault him every few days while he’s at rest, revealing the hidden truth to this vicious murderer.


“High intensity is the best way I can describe this novel”

Vanessa Robertson

” Fun and gory, yet retained a memorable story line that I found imaginative and well-balanced.”

  1. Phillips


“You have the right to remain silent. Should you show any resistance we are authorized to use lethal force to maintain peace within the states. Do you understand?” The gruff tone of the heavily armored SWAT officer, his automatic weapon pressed firmly against my left temple, his boot on my back pinning me to the ground, made me truly believe he wanted me to resist, just so he could put me down.


I hold out my arms, pale hands palm down and spread out on the cool stone floor of my lair. I knew one day they would catch me, dragging me from the bowels of my playroom. I just wish they hadn’t caught me so soon.

I still had four children left, after all.

The officer grunts, pressing harder on my back with his boot as another two come up to my sides, each taking an arm in a firm grip. Carefully, they hoist me up, another four officers aiming their rifles at me the entire time. I smile widely for them, the smear of red blood dribbling from my mouth making the one on the left quiver with rage.

The two officers wrestle my arms behind my back, shackling me with a set of heavy silver manacles. The metal stings as it sears into my flesh, but I’m old enough that it doesn’t send me screaming in agony. The officer who’d pinned me to the floor, a heavyset man with weathered features, looks almost disappointed by my lack of a reaction. I turn my smile to him, my neck popping several times as my muscles unlock my interlinking vertebrae to allow me to spin my head owlishly.

“Knock that off,” He ordered, shouldering his rifle and aiming it directly in my face. “Don’t give me a reason.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, officer.” I replied around a mouthful of sharpened teeth, triangular saws somewhat set in rows one after the other. I maintain my staring contest with him, my grin growing wider as I force him to look away from my red orbs.

There’s still the rumor that we can entrance someone with but a glance.

I love that rumor.

No, we Nocturnis Sapiens only have a few distinct advantages over the rest of our mouth-breathing cousins. We have much longer life spans, for one. I am well over two-hundred years old, and I’ve met a few of my kind that claim they can remember the Roman Empire.

I don’t know about that, but they certainly did appear to be as ancient as the ruins in Italy, so who could say?

We can also survive solely on blood, but can draw sustenance from meat so long as it’s fresh. Our organs, for a lack of a better term, draw sustenance from blood and tissue so long as it’s raw and warm. Our hearts pump only when we have fluids to do so; without feeding every few weeks we start to slow down, to go into hibernation.

Not a pleasant feeling.

Some, like me, tend to feed more than is required. This is where the vampire myth evolved from. Pale figures that move in the darkness and feed on the blood of the living. Mostly true, save for the fact that while not dead, I am not biologically alive either. My heart pumps blood stolen from others, and I have no reproductive urges to speak of.

I simply exist.

Since we were finally outed in the early sixties, several laws were enacted to monitor us. The good little vampires go to clinics to feed on donated blood twice a month and go about their nights as normally as any human would their days. The naughty vampires like me, better known as Fangs, get hunted for sport and safety for the public.

I’ve had hunters come knocking with everything: garlic, crucifixes, bibles, even crossbows. But those are just myths, all with a shred of truth in them. Garlic does bother our sense of smell, which we use to sniff out blood in the air. Crucifixes, when held by the pious, can harm us and even make us flee. Bibles are just books, and crossbows with silver arrowheads are a certain death to an overconfident Fang.

Oh, yeah, and the stories about sunlight? Not so true… we enter a death state during the sunlight hours. For all intents and purposes, we’re corpses bloated with blood. We start to undergo rigor mortis and gather flies and everything. By the time we wake back up at dusk, we have an “earthy” smell about us and one helluva back-ache.

The second set of manacles, these ones linking to the ones on my wrists to a metal belt they are fastening to me, makes me wince. Silver is something that we’re all allergic to… though the older we are the more we can tolerate.

I guess that’s another myth that’s true: the older vampires are stronger than the younger ones.

The younger ones being the ones we infect with our lovely condition by transmitting our blood into them through a fun little method that, due to its nature, has been called the Kiss of Death.

Yeah, we must lock lips while we bite off a piece of our own tongue, and pump the stolen blood into you, which you must swallow. Takes about three or four pints, so not many can stomach the process.

Heh… stomach it…

I snickered, causing all the officers to flinch, steadying their rifles with the sights set on my heart and my face. I hold my hands up as best I can, palms spread wide.

“I’m good and caught gentleman, no need to worry,” I said, smiling with a lopsided grin as I tilt my head, my curtain of silky black hair swishing over my face. “The big, bad vampire is in chains… you’ve won.”

“Where are the children?” One of them, a black man with a mustache, demanded, jostling his weapon closer to me.

“Well, I have four left if that’s what you’re asking,” I replied, watching as the men all look at me in horror. “What?”

“You took an entire kindergarten class!” One of the men growled, stepping forward. His beady eyes study me with an unhealthy amount of rage.

“I got hungry,” I replied.



Author Bio:

Nicholas Paschall is a horror/Dark Fantasy author who has been published in fifteen different anthologies, with four novels as well. He has a degree in History that he puts to good use researching new tid-bits for his stories. Happily married, he spends his days in his hidden sepulcher sipping coffee and typing away at new stories. He resides in San Antonio, Texas and savors the chill of the colder months rather than the normal blistering heat that comes every spring and summer.




Twitter: @Nelfeshne