(Fresh from Filmic Cuts 3, this little horror tale with a twist is one of my favourites. Short, sweet, and finishing with a treat. As always, hope you enjoy… – OJ)

There’s nothing shittier than standing alone in the city at quarter past 2 in the morning, especially on a Saturday night. This is when the worst of the worst descend onto the pavements, blitzed on devilish cocktails and a heightened fervour from a night of shenanigans both foolish and debauched. The nightclub scene is a horrible one, but what it spawns is even worse. From your wide-boys who woop and whistle in the hopes of attracting a mate, to the barely clad women who stumble around in their high heels too drunk to care anymore.

It makes a girl like me sick to my stomach. Well, adds to it anyway.

What makes it worse is that invariable the weather is shit. It’s either cold or muggy, either one producing a bleak haze that engulfs the late night crowds. It’s probably what makes them vomit and collapse, too much to handle after a lowering of the overall senses. Tonight though knocks it out the park, with pissing rain and nipping cold. It’s not even proper rain either, instead it’s the crap kind that tinkers down in fine strains. The kind that soaks you through no matter what you’re wearing.

In my case, it’s a full-length leather jacket that seems to get the blood up of all the vocal males passing me. There’s something about leather which drives men wild and I’ll be honest, is half the reason I’m wearing it. But tonight I’m tired of their primal gruntings and just want to go home to somewhere more comfortable and restful.

For me, it’s the horrifying realization that I’m no longer cut out for Saturday nights.

At this point in the evening, or rather mornings, proceedings, transport options are limited to buses packed with belching and boisterous hordes, or the intimacy of the cab. Yes, the latter is more expensive and a rare commodity at this stage of the game, but compared to the alternative it’s like a horse-drawn carriage bedecked with jewels and elegant lace. When money is no object, always go with the cab.

Looking over, the cars are lined rank and file, with swaying zombies lurching their way over and mumbling their best impressions of where they want to go. The drivers don’t mind, they’re used to this sort of thing no doubt, but I feel sorry for the fact they have to deal with such degenerates.

No matter, for me needs must and I must join their throng to get home.

There is nothing like a bit of sexuality to move things along though, and sure enough once I shimmy my way to the rank, one lone drunkard clocks me and his eyes almost bug out of his head. I’ve no idea whether it’s the coat, the red lipstick which has survived the night or my own, magic touch with men. Either way, suddenly he’s quite the gent and offering his place in the queue, much to the consternation of those behind him. He’s in no danger though, as most look like they’d pass out before throwing a punch, although I do feel for the poor lad. As soon as he’s opened the door he’s edging his way closer to share a spot, and instead gets a nice little sympathetic look for his troubles. Never mind, I’m sure he’ll remember me in his own little way.

I tell the driver my destination and he’s away, poking at buttons and listening to the crackle of his radio. He attempts a bit of banter, all “good night?” and “all dressed up with nowhere to go eh?” but I just politely smile. Tonight I am in no mood to indulge in petty chatter. Alas, he is, and continues with stories of transporting drunks all night, and assuring me of “the things he could tell”.

He’s a middle-aged gent, Asian and grey of hair. Despite his ethnicity, his accent is local, no doubt a long-term resident of the area who has moved into the family business. Yes, I suppose from a liberal view that could be construed as “a bit racist” but I’ve been around long enough to know which stereotypes exist in reality and which are perpetuated by the common man.

Either way, he won’t shut up so I’m doomed to listen to his infernal yammerings.

Instead, my mind is distracted. The main issue I have with all these men throwing their manhood in my direction, desperately competing for a moment of my attention, is that I’ve already been taken this evening. I’ve already exchanged the “look” with someone and shared an intimate moment.

Only to see it all go to Hell.

I can’t remember what his name was, Adrian or something, but he was lovely. A nice guy, the kind who buys you a drink out of sincerity rather than a precursor to entering your underwear. He had one of those warm smiles, the kind which when you see it makes you tingle all over. As we talked it kept flashing across his face, bringing out a little gleeful look from me as well.

We had exchanged drinks, small talk and naturally the odd flirt, and for a moment I thought I had made a connection, a bond with someone. But all good things must pass, and sure enough this one did. It was going so well, and I could tell his nervousness as things got a little bit more touchy-feely, but then I found my mind drifting to… “that”. I couldn’t help it, but all I wanted to do was take him back home and have my wicked way with him. I didn’t want to, but my body was shouting and screaming and demanding it of me. If it had been any neanderthal who would saunter over and go “nice tits love”, then I could handle it, but here was someone who I actually felt something with.

So like that, I made my excuses and left him be. Like any sane man, he looked a bit taken aback by this sudden turn of circumstance, but after a while I saw him being consoled by another, less savoury, young lady.

Which is why I’m now sat alone in this cab, the driver talking about something irrelevant, wishing things were different.

The worst thing now though is I’m so bloody hungry. Starving in fact. I haven’t eaten in a while and after that much excitement you’d think I’d learn. But no, instead I’m nearly bent double with the agony of hunger that one gets after fasting for so long. Part of me wishes I’d picked up a quick meal, a snack to keep me going. But nope, will power and all that jazz. Will power that has just left me worse off than before.

I clutch at my stomach and try some calming techniques; deep breathes, thoughts of a happy place, distractions. I look out the window to see if the scenery can take my mind off things. Which it does, to an extent.

Mainly because the scenery is so unfamiliar.

This time I do speak to the driver, and he tells me in his jovial manner of how this is a “short cut” and that we’ll be home in no time. However knowing the residential nature of where I live I am sure that dark roads lined by deep forestry isn’t a sign of “short cuts”.

As my stomach growls angrily, I start to feel a bit nervous. The drivers still talking, all happy-go-lucky but still without context. I try to catch a few words here and there but it’s so inane my mind is dragged back to the duelling fears of my starvation and ever-increasing seclusion from the outside world.

The trees get thicker, and the roads get darker, and the driver assures me that I’ll be “home in no time”.

I somehow doubt that.

And suddenly, my worst fears are confirmed as we reach quite an area deeply entrenched in woodland and pitch black. I know now how far I am from the world, far from any help or someone who can come to aid. It’s just me, and this cab driver who has finally stopped talking.

I don’t ask any questions, I don’t make any movements. I know exactly what’s going on here as the cab driver gets out of his drivers seat and strolls round to the back door. As he opens up, he looks at me with eyes as hungry as I am and a sick smile that purrs out “you’re a pretty little slut aren’t you?”

He doesn’t know the half of it.

I don’t rear back or resist as he slowly lunges his right hand to grab my arm, the other reaching for the zip of his crotch. His eyes are angry and filled with lust. He’s got sex on his mind and is going to get it one way or another.

But of course, he’s so blissfully unaware of the ramifications of his actions that he hasn’t even noticed that unlike his, most likely, previous victims, I haven’t put up a fight.

Not yet anyway.

So he grabs my arm, and reaches into his jeans to produce his dick, when I make my move. In one swift movement I pull the arm gripping mine so he falls forward, close enough for my other hand to grab his hair and pull it hard enough to jerk his head to one side.

With his neck exposed, I lay my incisors in and bite. Hard and deep.

His rapey expression drains from him almost as fast as the blood from his jugular. In fact he’s no longer grunting, he’s screaming, in desperate pain and I bite harder and feast on all the crimson that spills out. I start biting so hard that I feel the muscles in his neck start to snap and tear and open the gash even wider. Soon enough, my face is caked in plasma that gushes from him. So sad, that all the blood he had pushed to his groin was now flowing straight back and into my mouth.

My hunger starts to abate, and I find myself literally chewing on him, suckling every drop from his body. His body is limp enough for my hand to let go but the other keeps pulling his hair, tearing the hole in his neck wider and wider for me to eat from. Eventually, something cracks and, oops, off with his head.

I fall back in my seat and hyperventilate a little bit. The rear seat of the cab is drenched in what I missed drinking. Luckily, my leather coat is wipe clean, and so any trace is soon removed thanks to the absorbent material of the drivers jackets. Like a little napkin after dinner.

I get out, wipe my face and take in the cold night air. The good thing is I’m no longer hungry, but the great thing is the feeling that my meal was worth it, so to speak. Untainted by any alcohol, and delicious in flavour. The crueler ones always taste so good.

I take a deep breath, collect myself, and make my way back to the road. Eventually someone will pass by again, and sure enough some thumping bass signals the arrivals of a collection of chavvy frat boys. Seeing me they brake hard, and I see the cheap lager cans in their hand. They throw a few sexist comments my way, talking of having themselves a good “thrilling” at my expense, but I just smile.

Not only have I got another ride, I’ve also got dessert.

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