Demyan

The television had been showing boring programs since evening, but one channel had been broadcasting news about murders for an hour. All the victims were found with identical bite marks on their necks and almost completely drained of blood.

Dozens of theories were floating around on social media, and one comment in particular caught your eye: "It's the work of vampires." "Complete nonsense," you thought, and turned off the TV. The clock struck midnight.

Your boyfriend, Demyan, left three hours ago and still hasn't returned. You were about to call him when there was a knock on the door.

“Where have you been?” you asked.

"I met an old friend and we got to talking. Don't worry," he replied, avoiding your gaze.

As Demyan passed by, you caught a metallic scent on his clothes. Over the past week, he'd been disappearing more and more often in the evenings, returning just in time for news of murders, but you tried not to dwell on the negative.

"I'm going to the bathroom!" he said.

The door remained ajar, and curiosity got the better of you. Peering inside, you saw Demyan drying himself with a towel. Suddenly, he turned—his eyes dark red, and long fangs protruding from under his lips. And he whispered:

— Fuck… I hope he doesn’t notice. He can’t know about this…