The trend for vampires in literature has been in stagnation for a while and shows no sign of revival, but vampires still have potential, so long as they avoid daylight and all the sparkly shit that goes with it.
Toten Herzen are prone to a change of pesonality when events don’t go their way, such as the lawsuit brought by US singer Rose Pursey. When news arrives that the litigation has gone against them they go looking for victims:
The top of Helvellyn was standing room only when the first helicopter arrived. Police were late reaching the summit and the crowds had a grandstand view of the carnage before they were advised to leave along Whiteside or Nethermost Pike, north or south, just don’t look back or down. The rubberneckers lining up on Striding Edge and clustering on the dome of Catstycam soon realised that the proximity of the rotor blades would blow them off the tops and the last thing anyone wanted was to join the broken pile of limbs and torsos at the foot of the cove.
The leader of the initial mountain rescue team ignored his audience, counted four bodies, (one decapitated in the fall) and concluded none of them were dressed for the conditions. He was powerless to remove anything until the police could scramble down to the tarn’s edge and decide if the scene was an accident or a crime. The injuries appeared to be conclusive. No one could fall down a rocky cliff face and not hit the bottom without being shredded.
On the cross shaped rock shelter of Helvellyn Wallet spread out his victim’s arms. The evening gale was in a rush to move on, leave the scene, leave the four victims to their fate. “What do you want?” Wallet enjoyed watching his victim shiver. “Hypothermia or blood loss. It’s your call.” The others were already gorging in three groups across the summit. “If it’s all the same to you I don’t have time to wait for an answer. Not so hard now, are you, cunt?” The blood plumed out of the punctured jugular and dappled the stones of the cairn like a red lichen.
Susan finished first. “So, where are we?” She cleaned around her mouth with a rag of t-shirt.
“Helvellyn. I thought we could drop them off Striding Edge.” Wallet guided her to the lip of the summit and the clear view of the cove enclosed on one side by a ferocious jagged wall of rock like an exposed jaw.
“That’s Striding Edge?”
“Yeah. I’ve never heard of anyone who did stride across it.”
One by one they carried the drained corpses onto the arrete. Launched into the void the bodies glided with momentary weightlessness, swirling and flailing with the graceful motion of death before impacting the lower slopes. Elaine held up a head and with a final primitive flourish tossed it far out into the gloom. The meal was over, appetites satisfied, anger appeased. And the outlines of five rocky gargoyles decorated the spine of the ridge.