This is a short story I've written for my Create Writing subject. :) My teacher liked it so much he shook my hands in front of the class. Though it isn't anything special, really. We had to include the following elements in the story: Blood stains on a carpet, Bracelet in a wishing fountain, Old man in a coffee shop, Lady standing in an antique mirror, Man laughing in the rain. He doesn't know that it's fanfiction! Shh! I will update my other story that I've long ignored soon!
Hope you like it!
Sheepskin
Light rain drizzled over the vacant streets, as a lone light post dimly illuminated the road for the occasional cars passing by. The soft pitter patter serving as a relaxing background noise for a certain contemplating man appearing to be in his late forties, as he hummed in content. Old Claude was having a romantic rendezvous with his youthful sweetheart. The lady in question smiled coyly at the mature face of the man, who returned a charming smile. While he might be old, he was one of the few people who still retained their good looks in spite of (a relatively) old age. His face was wrinkled, but they were rather attractive wrinkles, and the rest of his body was yet to shrivel. It was not unoften that women would swoon over him, and Claude, being a pleaser, welcomed the attention, but rarely ever pursued them in return. Dolores was one of the few whom Claude fancied.
They were celebrating their blossoming monthsary in the rather expensive coffehouse. The place was a quaint, mahogany, two-storey building, the panelled walls were affixed with old-fashioned candelabra and pretty realist paintings. "I trust that you are enjoying yourself," Claude querried as he took a sip of his espresso and raised an eyebrow at Dolores questioningly.
She replied with a toothy smile plastered on her face, "Oh, I do, how ever did you manage to pay for this place?" She tugged at her bracelet, and eyed the matching bracelet Claude wore on his right wrist. It was a pair, a silver chain with three faux pearls. It was a little gift she gave him yesterday, she wasn't exactly as rich as her boyfriend, and could only manage to give him so much. She smiled at it, thinking of saving more money to buy something more meaningful for Claude.
"I have my sources," Claude chuckled and winked at her playfully.
Dolored rolled her eyes, "You are always so secretive! Replying with less than informative answers, always eluding my questions."
"I just find such things unnecessary," explained Claude, and flashed her a cryptic, almost unnerving grin.
They spent the rest of their date with a pleasant debate over their favourite musicians. When they finished their Tilapia and coffee, and were done resting their satisfied stomachs,running out of things to say, they agreed to head to back to Claude's manor with one last glance at the coffee house's exquisite interior.
When they got home, with a kiss and a peck from Claude, Dolores lay in bed in the comforts of the room Claude has graciously given to her. It wasn't anything too fancy, well not as fancy as the rest of the house atleast. An amply-sized room with ivory walls accented with gilded ornamentation, in the crux was a beige queen-sized bed, and at the foot was an upholstered sofa.
She pondered on the events that transpired that day, smiling to herself. Claude was every girl's dream, with his jetblack hair and bespectacled amber eyes. Suave, sweet, wealthy, Dolores laughed at how lucky she was to find such an impeccable man, a complete genderbent Mary Sue. It was rather unnatural, but she didn't complain. Then it occured to her, why did Claude like her? She was utterly ordinary, a lanky laundress with no curves, a completely uninteresting personality, dusty gray eyes, and wavy ash blonde hair. It was just her good luck that busy morning in May, while she tended to her dear mother's old souvenir shop (or shed, rather), when lo and behold— she was graced with one look from the seraphic beaute, and the rest is self-explanatory. As cliché and helplessly pathetic as it sounds, she was begrudgingly spurred into a complete trance-like state, but this wasn't just a figurative, pretentious substitute for falling in love. The moment he eyed her, the moment those bedeviled orbs shifted to an expression of interest and bold want, she was rendered immobile, and she could just stare back with sudden, paralleled desire.
Before her thoughts would delve any deeper, she shook these thoughts away. Indeed, he was a gift from the gods. She had waited and prayed and anguished far too long for some sort of miracle, and their obviously pitied acknowledgement of her was apparent through the degree of the man's features. Claude would help her, marry her, and pull her up from her meager excuse for a life, hopefully. Truth be told, she had no inkling of the depth of their bond, they've only been together for a month afterall. She didn't know what would become of their relationship months from now. Claude rarely opened up about himself, and barely knew of the inner workings of his mind. But Dolores found herself drawn to that enigmatic personality of his, it excited her greatly, the mysteriousness, and she didn't question it any further.
Dreaming of sultry lips and possessive arms, she fell asleep.
The next morning, Dolores woke up feeling lightheaded and weak. Groaning as she lifted her pounding head up, she realized how tired she was, in spite having slept for twelve hours straight on such a comfortable matress. A sharp headache shot through her head, and her eyes furrowed in pain. Realizing how fuzzy her sight was, she blinked several times, but her vision remained far-sighted and clouded like a frosted glass. She could see, but with difficulty.
"Claude!" she called, and was surprised to hear a shaky and shrill voice. When she heard nothing, she forced herself, using all the strength that remained with her, to stand up. She hissed and fell to the polished floor with a soft thud when she felt a stinging burn on the side of her neck. Her hand sprung to her neck promptly in reflex to feel the wound, but couldn't really find anything there. 'What the hell?'
Breathing deeply, she stood up carefully, feeling as though her heavy body would give away anytime soon. She fixed her thin hands on the wall to reinforce her stance, and with struggle, trudged her way out the door, and found herself in the corridor. She looked at either direction, trying to remember which way led to the parlor. She settled for the right.
Treading through the dark corridor, she found a large frameless window opening to what looked like a corridor much like the one she was pacing through, minus the ghostly old woman that stared back at her, looking haggard. Her dry lips quivered, and her sunken eyes looking confused.
She noticed two punctures on one side of her neck. "Who are you?" She feebly asked, and was astonished to see the movement of the other's lips whisper the same words. She realized, in horror, she was looking at a mirror. Gasping, her eyes dilated and she felt beads of tears collect at the brink. She squinted, forcing her bleary eye sight to inspect her image more clearly. Hollows formed where her stomach used to be, her knees where the widest part of her legs, lanugo formed on each sides of her face, her pointed cheekbones; she was emaciated, as though her soul had left her, leaving a skeleton in its wake.
She shrieked and her stick figure hands darted to her face, covering her eyes, trying to erase the terrifying image in front of her. Nothing was making sense to her at the moment. So much was happening at the heat of the moment and her exasperated, pained head could absorb nothing of it. Could this be all a dream, a twisted nightmare befallen onto her for having been so snob for the past month? Payback was cruel.
Tasting salt on her lips, she realized she was crying. She slowly opened her eyes, hoping to see her normal self again, but alas, found the same empty eyes peering back behind clawing hands.
A deep, amused voice resonated through the corridor, startling the poor sobbing girl. "Have you slept well?" only then did she realized Claude was standing back behind her, by the shadows, right hand over a smirking pair of lips that stifled a snicker.
Alarmed, Dolores turned to face the intruder with frightened doe eyes, but couldn't formulate the right words.
Claude advanced forward, until the flickering lights of the wax candle illuminated his face and Dolores could finally see him fully- only this time, he looked ten years younger. For a moment, Dolores thought this was a different person, but when he spoke, it was undeniably him, "I couldn't sleep, you see." His eyes beamed, "I decided I was hungry, and opted for a midnight snack." He grinned from ear to ear, exposing unusually prominent fangs.
"What did you-" Before she could even finish, her neck was snapped into two, and the carpeted floor was soaked in red. Procuring a towel from the nearby armoire, Claude cleaned the blood from his hands.
Warm sunlight spilled from the bushy leaves of the garden trees, but Claude does not sparkle, mind you. He was taking a stroll, breathing fresh air, to release the built up tense he had accomodated, while fondling the bracelet on his wrist.
Sauntering through the garden, Claude hummed a tune to himself, marveling at the ease he felt with his new body in place of the one he carried yesterday. Truly, it was the same body, but the difference was distinct. He was as light as a feather. Dolores was quite the gratifying meal, he must say. A generous serving of an aptly seasoned roasted beef.
Remnants of Dolores' luscious scent wafted from his collar, musk, lilac, cinnamon, plum. It was the blood of a virgin, prudent, sensible, ripe, and it was intoxicating.
While he had been made ten years younger, it does not change the fact that he was truly centuries old. While he may have been sightly, beautiful, beneath the sheepskin and the sugar-glazed cupcake, he was a monster. And he had to kill to survive.
It was inevitable; wasn't that a natural element of life? Living things eat to stay alive, and he was no exception. He couldn't help that he was at the top of the food chain, and like humans who fed off pigs and fish, he fed off them, sucking out the blood from their delicate skin, living behind a walking corpse.
He didn't feel an ounce of devotion for Dolores. Like every other girl he'd feasted on, they were all the same; naive fools. He hid his thoughts well, however, giving them the affection they longed for, but these delights were short-lived. His relationships were, in his part atleast, akin to the blink of an eye. He fattened her up, like a farmer feeding and caring for his brood of chicken, only to slay them by the end of the day.
Rain started to fall, but it was not the gentle drizzle yesterday afternoon. It was a heavy, vehement downpour. Claude chuckled to himself. He needed to leave this town soon, it had become a custom after everytime he finished feeding. People would start wonder where Dolores had left to, and some may know of her romances with Claude, and trace him. Not to mention how would Claude explain that he was suddenly younger after one night? Humans were smart enough to figure out soon that he was inhuman, and they will hunt him down.
He threw the bracelet in the small garden fountain, and he left without another glance back, laughing maniacally.