The Garlic Vampire

Elliot woke up to the familiar sound of the clock ticking, its rhythmic pulse echoing through the
darkened room. He stretched, feeling the soft coolness of the night air, and rubbed his eyes—
eyes that no longer saw the world as they once did. He had long since traded in the warmth of
daylight for the comfort of darkness, but tonight was different. Tonight, he had a craving.

A craving that didn’t make sense.

A craving that shouldn’t exist.

Garlic.

Elliot’s first memory of garlic was years ago, before the darkness took over. He had been sitting
in a small Italian restaurant, eating a plate of spaghetti. A bowl of garlic bread sat next to him.
He had never liked it. It was strong, overpowering, a strange combination of bitter and pungent.
But now, garlic was his obsession. He could taste its sharpness in his dreams. Smell its heady
aroma even when it wasn’t near.

And now, it was all he wanted.

He had tried everything else, of course. Human blood was a delicacy, a necessity, in his new life.
But blood couldn’t satisfy the hunger anymore. He had tasted all kinds: from the faintest trace of
fear in an old woman’s veins to the vibrant, youthful blood of someone who had never known
what it was like to be sick. But none of it helped.

The only thing that made his mouth water these days was garlic.

Garlic cloves, raw or roasted. Garlic powder sprinkled on his food. He had become something
else entirely.

A vampire with a vampire's thirst—for garlic.

There was no logic to it. No sense. He should have been running from garlic, the very thing that
was supposed to keep him from walking into the sun. But instead, it was his lifeblood now.

He had searched for answers, of course. An old vampire, who had lived for centuries, had
mentioned something once—something about curses and unholy fates, of the strange effects a
vampire could develop over time. But none of that made sense. No vampire had ever been cursed
with such a ridiculous hunger, especially for something so… mundane. The very thought of it
was absurd.

But tonight, Elliot couldn’t ignore it anymore. The craving gnawed at him. It was more than just
hunger. It was a deep, aching emptiness in his chest, a longing so intense that it was impossible
to shake.
He stood from his bed, glancing around his dimly lit room. He could see his reflection in the
mirror—pale, gaunt, with dark, hollow eyes staring back at him. The only thing that made him
feel alive was the garlic. And the truth was, he didn’t care how nonsensical it was.

Elliot dressed quickly, pulling on his coat and boots. He didn't need to fear the day—he was far
beyond that. The sun, its warm rays, meant nothing to him now. He moved into the street, his
senses alert, his thoughts only on one thing.

Garlic.

There was a small, late-night grocery store just a few blocks away. It wasn’t much, just a dusty
place with shelves full of odd snacks, canned goods, and spices. But tonight, it was the only
place that mattered. He could already smell it as he approached: the faint, unmistakable aroma of
garlic, hanging in the cool night air.

He pushed through the door, his eyes scanning the shelves. He didn’t care what kind of garlic it
was—fresh, powdered, minced—he would take it all. He needed it.

The woman behind the counter looked up from her phone. Her eyes narrowed when she saw
him—his pale face, the way his presence seemed to draw in the darkness like an invisible shroud.
But she said nothing. She had learned long ago to mind her own business. People like Elliot
weren’t new to the town.

Elliot’s hand trembled as he reached for a bulb of garlic. The scent was intoxicating,
overwhelming, filling his nose with the kind of sharpness that made his mouth water. He grabbed
several more bulbs, cradling them in his arms like precious treasures.

"Are you sure you need all that?" the woman asked, her voice soft but skeptical.

Elliot paused, meeting her eyes. His fangs flickered at the corners of his mouth, and he could feel
the usual surge of hunger rising, like a tide threatening to drown him. But it wasn’t blood this
time—it was garlic. The craving was insatiable, like nothing else mattered. He would eat it all.

“I need it,” he rasped, his voice low and strained. His hands were shaking now, and he couldn’t
stop. He felt a surge of panic. What if there wasn’t enough? What if he never tasted it again?

The woman said nothing. She merely nodded and rang up his items. The total barely registered in
his mind. He couldn’t focus on anything but the cloves in his arms, the garlic. He could almost
feel it calling to him, a strange, magnetic pull.

With the garlic in hand, he rushed back to his apartment, tearing open the packages as he went.
He didn’t even bother to cook it. The raw scent, sharp and overwhelming, filled his nostrils. He
ate it straight, tearing into the cloves with a desperation he had never felt before.
It didn’t matter that the taste was strong, even painful. The burning sensation on his tongue was
nothing compared to the joy of finally satisfying that empty ache within him. Each bite sent a
surge of warmth through his chest, and he closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the sensation.

For the first time in years, Elliot felt full. Complete.

But as he swallowed the last clove, something strange happened. A warmth spread over him—
something he hadn’t felt in centuries. He glanced down at his hands, which had slowly started to
regain some of their color. His skin—once pale as marble—had a tinge of life returning to it. He
didn’t know what was happening. He had never expected this.

And for the first time, Elliot felt a spark of something he had lost a long time ago: hope. Maybe
this strange hunger, this curse, was not the end of him, but the beginning of something new. He
could feel it in his veins—his very essence had shifted. There was a power in the garlic,
something that he couldn’t yet understand.

But it didn’t matter. All that mattered now was that, for the first time in centuries, he was alive
again.

Alive, with garlic in his blood.