A Knife In the Wrong Place

There was a boy, he wasn't particularly anything. He was average, and he was walking home..alone, and in this he wasn't average. He carried with him a switchblade, and he stood and walked like he wasn't going anywhere in particular, even if he was meandering to his house. At least no one approached him, he trudged along, he was aware of a scuffle of shoes behind him. He hadn't expected any trouble, he certainly never looked for it. He carried the blade for show, he didn't even live in the wrong part of town. His was perfectly normal, and he was almost as normal as his house.
Except he heard the scuffle of shoes, and carried a switchblade, and wondered aloud "I wonder who is behind me. I know they're there."
The movement of shoes didn't stop, didn't intensify, only kept going, as if they were going their own way on a predetermined path. The boy threw his head back to see who it was who thought they would give him a scare. No one was there, he shrugged. Taking a different route he kept walking everywhere in his neighborhood except his house. He knew that something was following him. The boy finally reached a circle of houses, he whirled seeing a figure, a girl, slightly older than him. The other one, was pale, and looked to be in her teens, she held a sort of posture that showed such an easy elegance that you couldn't help but feel ugly and misshapen in front of him.
It wasn't as if the pale girl wasn't floating exactly, but she certainly didn't seem grounded. At least not in the same sense as anyone the boy had seen so far. The boy was nervous, and unsure, he called out "Who are you?" He didn't feel much worry, but he hadn't seen her before, didn't know her, and didn't know what she knew, and what she might do.
The other laughed, speeding forward, it seemed as if she was walking, but she crossed the distance of about a hundred yards as if in a breath. As if it was a single stride, a leap taken in a sprint. The boy's skin prickled, at the energy in the air, there was energy in the air, there was something else, something he didn't know as well, and he tried, tried desperately not focus on it.
There were many things about the girl that the first didn't notice at first, her black eyes tinged with red, her spiky hair, and most of all he noticed that the girl who approached had no weapons.
The boy drew his blade, flicking it up and towards the neck. The other one didn't seem bothered by the blow, in fact it seemed as if the gashing wound on the neck that should have her on the ground caused her only mild irritation. Instead fangs gleamed and she whispered "Oh such a waste of blood. Looks like you'll have to repay me."
It was almost unnoticeable, but the boy felt the color drain from his face. They say the dead look peaceful, and I suppose it could be true, but the boy didn't quite die that day, because he wasn't meant to.
The next day someone noticed none of the spilled blood, or that the average boy had attained a different aura. The few who knew, and learned didn't stay fully alive for long.

Whether from above, below, or next to you they lurk, so be careful on the streets at dusk.