Gargoyle

​I crouch on the corner of the skyscraper where I was placed over a hundred years ago, carved from granite. Grimacing, wings open, talons spread, I hunch on the eaves, keeping eyes on the world below. The stoneworker who placed me all those years ago scraped his hand on my stone. His blood seeped in, awakening me. I opened my eyes and growled. His body was drained of blood when it hit the ground. People said he must have cut himself on the building as he tumbled to the sidewalk. I know differently.
I watch hapless humans striding down the sidewalk, unaware of the threat lurking above. They rarely look up. If they do, they see a grimacing granite gargoyle poised at the edge of the cornice, high above them. They see what they want to see.
I’ve been alive for a century, thriving on blood, craving it, thirsting for it. Deep, crimson drops. Ruby red liquid pulsing from a slashed artery. Lifeforce draining. Staining the concrete. My favorite is the blood of young, professional women. It tastes of deep spicy determination and resilience with an aftertaste of fear. I scrabble down the drainpipe. My talons leave gouges in the copper. My victim is near.
I look down at my claws while licking rich blood from my lips. Sticky, clotting blobs congeal below my talons. My talons themselves glisten. My appetite is quenched. For now. I’ll need more blood soon.
I straighten my legs and scan the alley. Buildings so tall they touch the sky stand shoulder to shoulder to block the sun. This alley sees no sunlight, only shadows. And those of us to skulk in them.
Footsteps. Running. Getting Closer. There’s no time to claw my way back up to my aerie. I shrink back into the gloom. The runners stop, gather around the body, kneel, check for a pulse. I could tell them they won’t find one. It’s too late for the young woman laying crumpled on the asphalt. She’s beyond saving now.
My nostrils twitch at the fetid stink of bowls emptying. That stench joins the smells from the overflowing dumpster. Garbage trucks don’t lumber down this alley.
My throat is parched again. So soon. I need blood more often these days. I turn, slink further into the shadows, and wait.
Heals click down the walk. Purposeful. Confident. “Come to me,” I whisper. “Come to me.”
She hesitates. After a heartbeat she turns into the alley. A shortcut to her office. I pounce. Cut her life short. And drink until my thirst is slaked.

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