Cold and Hungry

It’s a cold night. The wind is whipping along the streets and around corners with a howling noise. There is a light rain – not quite cold enough to freeze, but close. I’m wearing a heavy winter coat and a woolen beanie pressed down over my ears. I don’t generally feel the cold too badly, but tonight I’m hungry, and that brings its own chill.

* * *

Decades ago, there was a night just like this. I was cold and waiting for my ride home. I sat hidden in a shop doorway – all the shops had closed for the night, the only light coming from a diner two doors down. The cold had chilled me to my marrow; I was so cold that I no longer felt hungry or tired. I huddled into the doorway, grateful for the small amount of shelter from the wind and rain. My ride would come by when it could. There were no cell phones back then. You just waited at the agreed place and hoped.

I was conscious of a noise and looked up. A figure stood in front of me. An older man, shivering in the rain. “Come inside and eat” he said. “We haven’t closed yet.”

I smiled at him, grateful that a fellow human had reached out to me. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry. I’m just waiting for someone.” I had no money to pay for a meal, but I didn’t want to admit that.

He reached out a hand. “Then come inside and keep warm while you wait.”

Now it felt rude to rebuff him. I thanked him, took his hand and let him help me to my feet. His hand seemed so warm that my own hand burned at the touch. I followed him into the diner and sat in a booth where he indicated.

The diner was warm and empty. I slowly relaxed as the heat began to thaw my freezing limbs. I was no longer tensed up and shivering. The man brought me a cup of coffee, ignoring my feeble attempts to refuse it. “You need it to help you warm up. Take it. Drink.”

I nodded gratefully and sipped at the coffee. It was weak instant coffee with cold milk, not very tasty or warming, but I needed it. I thanked the man, who had now taken a seat opposite me. He pushed a sandwich over to me. Hot salt beef on white bread. Pretty unpleasant, and not the sort of thing I normally ate. But now my blood was circulating again, and my hunger had returned.

As I ate, he stared at me. I assume he was wondering why a young woman was shivering out on the street in a well-to-do neighborhood an hour before midnight. He had sad eyes, he was beginning to lose his hair, and he carried a little too much weight. But he had a gentle manner, and he didn’t pry into my business. To acknowledge his generosity, I gave him my story.

“I’m selling encyclopedias door-to-door. About half a dozen of us come out each night in one car. We all have different drop-off points, and at the end of the night, the driver comes round and picks us all up to drive us back home. It works well unless the driver ends up on a late-evening sale and doesn’t get out until midnight or later. Then we just keep warm as best we can until he comes for us.”

I smiled wryly. The man looked puzzled. “This is your job? You make a living at it?”

He was right, of course. I’d been doing it for six weeks and I had made less money than I needed for rent in my tiny bedsit in a run-down part of the city. But I hadn’t admitted that to myself yet. The warmth – both physical and emotional – caused tears to spring to my eyes, and I looked down, ashamed to let him see. “Yes,” I murmured, “I’m still pretty new at it, so I haven’t earned much yet.”

Of course, he knew that. People who are making good money don’t hide in shop doorways in bad weather late at night, without even the price of a cup of coffee. He sighed. “I’m sorry, I have to close up soon and go home. Stay a few more minutes to warm up some more.”

He took the empty plate and cup and disappeared into the kitchen. I laid my head on my arms on the table for a brief rest. I really wanted to sleep now, but that wasn’t an option. I pulled myself together and stood up. Called through to him “I’m off now. Thank you very much for your kindness.”

I heard him say something in reply, then I let myself out onto the street, and returned to my doorway. A few minutes later, I saw the lights go out in the diner. My ride still wasn’t here. I curled into a ball to conserve heat and closed my eyes.

I heard the sound of someone’s throat clearing. Another man stood in front of me. For a moment I thought it was the man from the diner again, but this man was younger, taller, thinner, paler. For a moment, I wondered if the police were here to move me on. But when the man spoke, it was clear that he was not the law. “You are in my territory. That is a dangerous place to be.”

I blinked. Was I dreaming or even hallucinating? This did not seem real.

“I’m sorry,” I offered. “I’m just waiting here for a friend to pick me up. Who are you?”

He smiled then, but not warmly. “Well, I’m a friend now. Let me pick you up.”

Before I had time to panic, he reached out with a strong hand and yanked me to my feet. Unlike the previous man, this hand was very cold. As he pulled me close to him, I didn’t feel any body warmth from him. I tried to push away from him, but his grip was far too strong.

“Normally, I’d punish you for trespassing on my land,” he said, “but it seems that my good friend Manny has taken a liking to you. He spoke up for you and asked me to save you. Let’s see if we can do that.”

His cool hand rested against my face, pushing it to one side so he was close to my neck. I felt something sharp sting my throat, then he was sucking on it, and I thought I was bleeding. Impossibly, I felt even colder.

After a few minutes, I was limp in his arms, dying from loss of blood. Then he pulled away and licked his lips. “Your turn now.” he said quietly. Then he pressed his wrist to my mouth, and I felt a warm trickle of blood. I sucked on his arm, drinking down the blood, and feeling a kind of life return to my body.

* * *

As I said, that was decades ago. Now I hunt for my food at night, as he did. Sometimes I remember how cold it was, how desperate I was, although that life seems strange to me now. Unlike him, I hunt but do not save my victims. These days, many of them are already trying to die anyway, and I just help them on their way. Some of them are terrified, some are grateful, some don’t even notice as I steal their life’s blood.

I sense warm blood nearby. Moving quietly in the shadows, I track my victim. It turns out there are two of them, a boy and a girl – teenagers lying in a simple cardboard shelter, wrapped up in blankets. They clutch each other as I approach. The girl calls out “You got any money to spare? We need to get some food.”

I consider, then nod. The boy is the easier target. I put paper money in the girl’s hand and say “There’s a burger joint in the next block. Go and get food and drinks for all of us.”

She frowns, but then she sees the amount I’ve put into her hand. “This is too much…” she starts, but I wave a hand to silence her.

“Keep the change,” I say with a wink. “We’ll wait here for you.”

I watch her as she tries to assess the situation. Is this a trick? Is it safe to leave her boyfriend here? But the money is too much, and the thought of hot food and drink is too tempting. “I’ll be back in ten minutes, Darryl,” she whispers.

We watch her walk away, and I sit down next to Darryl. He looks nervous, so I make small talk until he starts to talk normally. “I wasn’t sure why you came up to us,” he confesses, “I was afraid you’d hurt us.”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Darryl, like you I was cold and hungry. I’m not going to hurt you.”

True to my word, I move fast, so he barely knows what is happening. When I have taken almost all his blood, his heart stops beating. I lay him down gently, so it looks as if he’s asleep, and wait for his girlfriend to return with my food. There is ice in the rain now, but I don’t feel cold anymore. Yet the hunger persists.