by Bill Tiepelman
The Vampire Moth: Fluttering Fangs
Chapter One: Hollow's End The story started like any other urban legend: whispered in dimly lit bars, passed around campfires, and dismissed as drunken ramblings. But in Hollowโs End, everyone knew something lurked in the shadows, even if no one wanted to admit it. The tales werenโt just storiesโthey were warnings. You didn't stay out after dark, and you sure as hell didnโt open your windows, no matter how stuffy the summer night air felt. They said the Vampire Moth had been around for centuries. Legends claimed it had arrived on a ship from the Old World, clinging to the tattered sails, drawn by the scent of sailorsโ blood. Some said it was the result of a curseโa monarch who angered the gods and was condemned to forever feed on life but never live. But if you asked the local hunters, theyโd just tell you it was an overgrown moth with a taste for blood. The truth, as always, was somewhere in between. Hollowโs End wasnโt always a town drowning in rumors. There was a time, long before I was born, when it thrivedโorchards bursting with apples, kids playing in the streets, and neighbors who smiled and waved. But that was before the disappearances. They started slow, a child here, a vagrant there, but after a while, it became impossible to ignore. By the time I was old enough to understand, the town had become a shell of its former self. People moved away. The orchards rotted. No one smiled anymore. And the only thing that filled the streets at night was the wind, carrying with it the scent of decay and fear. My parents were one of the few that stayed. Call it stubbornness or stupidity, but they weren't the kind to run. Maybe they thought the stories were just thatโstories. I mean, who really believes in a giant blood-drinking moth? Monsters werenโt real. Or so I thought. Until the night it came for me. Chapter Two: The Encounter I was never one for superstitions. I'd heard the warnings all my life, the whispered advice to never open your windows after sunset. But on that particularly sticky August evening, I just didnโt care. The air inside my room was suffocating, and I figured the odds of getting snatched by some mythical moth were about as high as winning the lottery. So, I cracked the window. The breeze that swept in was a relief, cool and calming. For a while, I just lay there, letting the air wash over me. I was half-asleep when I heard itโa soft fluttering, barely audible, like the distant sound of paper wings. At first, I thought it was nothing. Maybe a bird or a bat. But the noise grew louder. Then came the smellโa thick, coppery scent, like fresh blood hanging in the air. My skin prickled. I sat up, heart pounding, my gaze scanning the room. Thatโs when I saw it. It wasnโt just a moth. No, this thing was monstrous. Its wings spanned nearly the length of my bed, dripping with a dark red substance that oozed off the edges and splattered onto the floor. The wings were translucent in places, revealing veins that pulsed with every beat. Its body was grotesque, bloated and pulsating, with an unnatural sheen like wet leather stretched over a skeleton too big for its frame. And its eyesโthose glowing, ember-red eyesโlocked onto me. I froze, unsure if I should scream or run, but my body refused to move. The moth hovered there for a moment, its wings beating slow, hypnotic rhythms. Then it moved toward me, a predatory grace in every shift of its wings. I could see its fangs now, sharp and glistening with whatever life it had stolen from its last victim. In my paralyzing panic, I muttered, โNice wings. You doing a blood drive or something?โ Because dark humor is all I had left. The moth paused, as if it understood me. For a moment, I could swear it smiled. Then it struck. Chapter Three: The Feed The fangs sank into my shoulder, and though I had expected sharp pain, it was oddly delicate. The moth's bite was precise, almost clinical, as if it knew exactly where to sink its fangs to cause the least damage but still drain me dry. The sensation wasnโt painโit was worse. It was like my very essence was being siphoned, the life draining from me one drop at a time. I could feel the warmth leaving my body, replaced with an unnatural cold that seeped into my bones. My vision blurred as the mothโs wings wrapped around me, enveloping me in a cocoon of darkness and decay. The scent of blood and rot filled my lungs, making it hard to breathe. My heart raced, then slowed, the beats becoming weaker with each passing second. Just when I thought it would drain me completely, the creature stopped. Its wings unfurled, and it hovered above me, its eyes still fixed on mine. For a moment, I thought it might finish the job. But instead, it did something far worse. It laughed. Not a sound I would expect from an insectโno, it was almost human, a soft, raspy chuckle that sent chills down my spine. It floated back, as if admiring its work, and then, with a final flutter of its blood-soaked wings, it flew off into the night, leaving me gasping for air and half-dead on my bed. Chapter Four: Aftermath When I woke the next morning, the marks on my shoulder were still thereโtwo perfect puncture wounds. But they werenโt what scared me. What scared me was the feeling that something had been taken from me. I was still alive, sure, but I wasnโt whole. The moth had left me with more than just scars. It had taken a part of my soul, a piece of me I would never get back. I tried to explain it to people, but no one believed me. Not at first. Not until more bodies started turning up, drained, hollowed out like empty husks. The town was in a panic. The sheriff organized search parties, and people started boarding up their windows, but it didnโt matter. The moth wasnโt some wild animal you could hunt. It was smarter than that. And it was hungry. Chapter Five: The Jokeโs on You Now, whenever someone in Hollowโs End cracks a joke about the Vampire Moth, I just smile and pull down my shirt collar. โLaugh all you want,โ I say, revealing the twin puncture marks, โbut the real jokeโs on you when it decides youโre next.โ Because hereโs the thing they donโt tell you in the legends. The Vampire Moth doesnโt just kill you. It leaves a piece of itself behind, a little parting gift. I can feel it growing inside me, every day, bit by bit. The hunger. The need. Itโs only a matter of time before I turn into something elseโsomething that craves the taste of blood just as much as it did. So, if youโre ever in Hollowโs End, keep your windows closed, and maybeโjust maybeโyouโll make it through the night. But if you hear a soft fluttering sound and smell something sweet and coppery in the air, wellโฆ letโs just say you should start writing your will. ย
