This is a short story I've written in the form of a journal entry made by
Spike in his old William days. I cut this story into three separate parts
because of the length. Part II will be up on Wednesday the 28th and the
last part on Friday the 30th of august. Please do let me know what you
think of it. Reviews are much appreciated and keeps me writing.
Special thanks to my dear beta-reader and trusted muse Olga, without her I won't be sitting here trying to finish a story at three o'clock in the morning. Thanks for keeping me motivated!
The early years of William the Bloody
Blood, sex and eternity
A CHANGE OF SCENES
By Richard Bachman
16 April 1880 - London
I don't know the reason why I decided to pick up a pen and start writing about my most recent experiences - experiences so very horrific and so alien to this world that I could hardly believe that they had truly happened at all. Perhaps it's one of those old habits one has that die with difficulty; I was drawn to cast my thoughts on paper so many times in the past because of my unwillingness to talk to others, that the routine remains even after my death.
Death? Yes, death! For I'm as deceased as mister Charles Dickens, although possibly not quite in the same way as my most beloved author. He might have found eternal rest in his grave at a respectable age of 58, but I myself doubt I will ever be allowed such peace.
I believe I have sealed a pact with the devil.
I should start at the beginning of this gruesome tale. Three nights before, I attended a party given by the wealthy and well respected Russell family whose lady of the house has invited me in to entertain her guests with my recent work of writing. Since my departure from the clinic (they finally proclaimed me cured after an agitating long period of two years. During that time, I hardly managed to keep myself from losing my mind, such terrible conditions prevailed in those so called health institutions, and they treated their patients in such a degrading and terrible manner, that it gives rise to panic and anger in me, just by recollecting my involuntary stay) I have been living with my uncle Henry and his family, which consisted of my nephew Jonathan and my sweet little niece Dorothy, who shared the same name with her mother, my beloved aunt Dorothy. They were kind, God fearing people, who despite of the wicked tongues and scorning looks of others took their troubled cousin into their home. Uncle Henry himself looked after me like a father and have encouraged me to continue with my writings, a practice I had picked up during my stay in the clinic, since the tedious days behind those padded walls would have been even more unbearable if I had not found something to do in my incarceration. There were no other means of distraction allowed, no books, no music, not even the possibility of a humane conversation between doctor and patient, for those self-righteous men treated me like I was nothing but dirt and they were above us all, for only they knew what was best for the patients. But I assure you, it wasn't the dreadful cold and hot water treatment that they had subdued me to, nor the endless days in the isolation cell in which they have chained me to the wall like a bloody animal that has eventually cured me from my ill state of mind. It was the rare kindness of a visitor who took pity on me and provided me with a simple pencil and sheets of blank paper, which truly had saved me. Without those, there would have been no possibility for me to put my haunting recollections behind and my mental state would have eventually deteriorated till there was absolutely nothing left of my sanity.
However, I'm straying off from the purpose of my writing, which was to tell how I got myself lost in this horrible nightmare.
The Russells had invited almost every elite citizen of town. The lady of the house has certainly taken every effort to make their social gathering a memorable one. The guest-list must have counted more then a hundred souls, all tended well for by the servants, who seemed to be almost everywhere, serving drinks and hors d'oeuvres, before the banquet was to start at eight. The most beautiful ladies of wealth were attending, dressed in their fashionable dresses of laces and fine silks, many of them accompanied by their husbands or fiancés, important factory owners or successful business men whose fortunes kept the chimneys of the city burning.
I was there to amuse those men and women, to read from my work later that evening after diner when the guests will be retreating in the ballroom. That chamber was so impressively grand and luxuriantly decorated that it made me feel like an insignificant insect that came straight from the gutters of the back streets of the Eastend when I first entered it in Misses Russell's company. I was already quite nervous to give a performance to this influential audience, and now I had to give my recital in such an overwhelming setting! I felt fluttering in my stomach even well before the banquet had started.
Yet, as it finally turned out, I needn't have been anxious, for I would never set foot in the Russell's ballroom ever again.
I had barely arrived for more then an hour, when I caught ear that Cecily Adams, the beautiful daughter of the banker Charles Adams, was also attending the party and was currently refreshing herself in the guest's quarters. I believed that my nervousness had just tripled after hearing the news. Cecily was the girl who had stolen my heart. Her brown doe-like eyes, her cascade of chestnut hair, her red ruby lips and her milky tan crowned with cherry blushes, everything about her was so perfect as if she was the goddess Venus herself! I loved her, even though I had barely exchanged two words with her ever since the first time we met. She reminded me of someone, someone I had once loved so dearly that it hurts my heart just to look at Cecily, for her striking resemblance struck me with painful memories. Still, my eyes couldn't stop doing so, for her presence also filled me with a sense of hope, provided a light at the end of a dark tunnel in which I seemed to have become lost for so long.
Perhaps I could still find happiness without my beloved Nina.
Transfixed by the knowledge of her presence, I hurried to the parlour, where I knew most of the guests were gathered for a musical performance by one of the city's most revered and talented ensembles. I expected that Cecily would make her entrance as soon as she came back from the dressing rooms. Quietly, I took a seat in a small corner of the chamber, close to the Victorian windows, curtains of which were shut to keep inappropriate individuals (read the hungry and the poor) from staring into this decadent get-together of London's rich and powerful. With an unsteady hand I took my pen and paper out of my pockets and scribbled a poem down on the empty sheets that had to translate the way Cecily Adams had conquered my heart and mind. The words didn't come out easily, as they should in good writing, and I frequently had to pause to find the perfect phrase, one that could captured all of my adoration for this striking lady. Dear God in heaven, I even asked the butler to aid me in my quest! I haven't even finished my poem yet when my Goddess descended down the staircase, her appearance even more magnificent than I could remember, her dress maiden white, her lush hair tied into a fashionable knot, decorated with fresh spring flowers. On feeble legs, I got up from my seat and staggered towards her. I had to speak to her tonight! No matter how many crowds of handsome and ridiculously wealthy bachelors she drew with her radiant presence, I had to let her know that I, William Byron, existed, and had become a captive of her beauty and charm.
I only had eyes for her, and that was what eventually had spelled my doom.
Cecily was in the company of Miss Priscilla Schnubly, whose features could only be described as handsome, not beautiful for there was hardly any femininity in her appearance. She was infamous for her scandalous tongue, and her fiancée who had accompanied her that evening, Sir Steven Rathbone, was no different then she in his chitchatting ways. Good Heavens, you might expect that the gent had something better to do then to spread harmful words about others all day like a gossiping fishwife!
There were also others present, but I shall not waste my ink on mentioning them, for it was because of the cruel tongues of those two evil hearted vixens that my expression of love for Celily was publicly ridiculed, and made into the joke of the town. It happened during a casual conversation, a social necessity really, rather then an enjoyable exchange. Rathbone suddenly snatched my newest writing right out of my hands while I was distracted by one of Cecily's bewitching smiles. I tried to attain it back from him, but it was already too late. Smudging the inks as he crudely handled it, his pompous features flushed with glee, he cleared his throat noisily to draw attention, and started to read my poem aloud.
"My heart expands; Tis grown a bulge in it, Inspired by your beauty. Effulgent."
"Effulgent?"
A terrible laughter rose up from his audience. How that spirited mocking had vexed me! My work was dragged through the gutter by this horrible man, the words I had written for my heart's desire only, reviled to the public and then, ridiculed by the whole aristocratic society of London! But the worst was yet to come, for my beloved Cecily was absolutely shaken by the turn of evens and, with an accusing glance directed towards me, excused herself from these vulgarians. It was never my intention to upset her with this avowal of my love. I decided I needed to speak with her at once to put her at ease and secure the good lady of my noble intentions. Anxiously, I snatched the now useless piece of paper out of my tormentor's hand and followed after her to a secluded part of the parlour.
How angry and heartbroken I was, once directly after my tender confession of my secrete love for her, the self-righteous woman rejected me and said in her own words that I was beneath her, and was not worthy to receive any of her love! I was stunned, and watched with hollow eyes how Cecily fled, once again, out of my reach and joined back with the crowd of guests, who had recently scorned me.
Before the diner started, I fled out of the Russell family's grand residence and into the dark streets of London.
I ripped the hated poem that had led to my dear Cecily's refusal and the shattering of all of my hopes into rigorous pieces. Blinded by tears and unaware of my steps, I collided with a broad shouldered gentleman, and all the pieces dropped out of my hand, drifting away on the cool evening air in a cloud of shattered white.
In my misery I had forgotten all about my good manners, and instead of excusing myself, I snapped at the tall man, warning him to watch out where he was going in an annoyed voice. I looked up unintentionally, and caught a glimpse of his face in the dim glow that was provided by the city's streetlights. Brooding eyes met mine, dark like rain clouds and chillingly empty as if though they housed no soul. He was so close that I could smell him, a strong scent of Whiskey and gin, mixed with the scent of freshly ploughed, damp earth.
His presence puzzled my mind and filled my heart with horror.
Lowering my eyes immediately, I stepped away from the dark stranger in a dash, my memories oddly stirred by this encounter, and fled into the nearest alley.
With the deepest of revulsion, I realized then, that I knew him.
This entire scene that played out before my eyes, the cool spring night, the warm scent of liquor and fresh graves on the tall stranger, even my retreat into this dead end alley with bales of wet hay staked up in the corner was familiar to me. I've seen it before. I've been in this place before, sitting here, dressed in my immaculate clean suit while my face was stained by salty tears, waiting for what was destined to happen, unable to change the horrific events that was about to befall on me. The delusions I suffered, which had sentenced me to two years of torture in that horrible asylum (There, I said it! I won't deny it to any further extent, what use will it be. As if my family's reputation matters any longer!), the terrible nightmares I've grown used to after my mother's horrible death, they were all about to become true.
Soon, the soft, luring voice of a woman attracted my attention. Dazed as I still was, unable to distinguish between dream and reality (Am I truly here, and about to receive death by her hands or am I still in the asylum, restrained in my soiled straightjacket and drooling against the padded walls of my cell like the pitiable lunatic I had finally become?), I offered little resistance as the raven haired beauty placed her hand over my chest and lulled me into her spell with words, so very kind that it warmed my heart with every syllable, offering me a sea of compassion and love, a love that was eternal.
This might sound unbelievable, preposterous even when considered with a clear and rational mind, but I could have sworn that the bewitching lady who had presented herself to me could read my thoughts and could reach me with her mind. Her voice sprang into my subconscious, charming like a cobra, black as night. Slowly she seduced me, spilling dark promises, like no other woman had ever bargained for my soul before.
We all get hurt by love
And we all have a cross to bear
But in the name of understanding
Your sorrows should be shared
"Walk with me." She whispered, not in words but in contemplation. Her lips barely moved as her message reached me.
I wasn't afraid any longer of what was going to happen. How could I be? As long as this dark Goddess was watching over me, sharing her existence and her heart as she now solemnly pledged, how could I fear this gift she was offering?
Why should I deny myself this merciful end to my useless and miserable life?
Her beautiful features twisted, transforming into hideous malformations. Her eyes, once large and innocent, were now narrow slits and looked predatory, with an unnatural yellow glow that reminded me of hungry wolfs. But her gruesome face didn't startle me, for I had seen it before in my visions, and tonight my frightened heart finally made peace with the demon. Fascinated, I observed her, and was taken by the crude beauty of this beast that she had become, and wondered why I had been afraid for so long.
I gasped in surprise as she leaned over, her lush hair brushing over my skin, and sank her fangs into my flesh. They cut in me like knives and I howled as the pain intensified. My head became light while she drained me, feeding on my blood like a hungry calf suckling on its mother's milk. My hands wandered, searching for support as I felt the strength in my legs yielding. Finally, my weakened body collapsed on the ground. While the creature kept feeding on me relentlessly, I heard the cluttering of metal on the cobbles. Reaching out, my right hand toughed the cold surface of a small object that had fallen out of my pockets during the turmoil.
Nina's lighter.
Suddenly, the serenity that had clouded my judgement disappeared as shadows for the radiance of the sun, my secret longing for death chased away by Nina's precious memories and the promise I've once made to her. I clasped my fingers around the lighter, drawing strength out of her talisman and screamed for help. Even with the little bit of breath that was left in me I shouted loud enough to startle the dark creature, who abruptly stopped with her feeding. She eyed at me, panic carved into her demonic features. Trembling, she lifted a finger and hushed like a frightened little child.
"Hush now! Don't -Don't scream! I can't help you when you're such a naughty, naughty little boy!!"
I stammered that I didn't want her help, pushed the lighter on the skin of her cheeks and ignited it. The creature caught fire immediately, and her face became a horrific mask of blazing heat. Twisting her body in great agony, she staggered away from me. There was a trough filled to the rim with water for the horses standing nearby, and the mad, burning creature plunged her head into it in an effort to save herself. The flames extinguished with a sickening sizzling sound, and the air filled with the smell of burnt flesh and seared hair. She fell and landed on her back, soiling her pretty dress with dark mud stains. Then, as if she knew without having seen her reflection how repulsive she looked with the terrible burns ruining her face, she screamed, the sound high pitched and crazed, loud enough to draw the attention of anyone passing by in the nearby street.
Crawling away from her, my skin tinkling while the hairs at the back of my neck stood straight up, I caught eye of the horrific creature that sat huddled in the corner of the dark alley, crying and mumbling madly to herself while she clawed at her burnt face, tearing her blackened cheeks open and spilling drops of blood over her scorched skin.
My stomach heaved at the thought that I had nearly surrendered myself to this hideous monster. Staggering back to my feet, with the wetness gushing out of the wound at the side my neck reminding me of how fast my life was slipping away between my blood stained fingers, I stumbled towards the safety of the open streets. I needed help. I needed to be saved.
I wanted to live.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*
Next part will be posted on Wednesday the 28th of august. Meanwhile, please let me know what you think of the story so far and provide some feedback.
Special thanks to my dear beta-reader and trusted muse Olga, without her I won't be sitting here trying to finish a story at three o'clock in the morning. Thanks for keeping me motivated!
The early years of William the Bloody
Blood, sex and eternity
A CHANGE OF SCENES
By Richard Bachman
16 April 1880 - London
I don't know the reason why I decided to pick up a pen and start writing about my most recent experiences - experiences so very horrific and so alien to this world that I could hardly believe that they had truly happened at all. Perhaps it's one of those old habits one has that die with difficulty; I was drawn to cast my thoughts on paper so many times in the past because of my unwillingness to talk to others, that the routine remains even after my death.
Death? Yes, death! For I'm as deceased as mister Charles Dickens, although possibly not quite in the same way as my most beloved author. He might have found eternal rest in his grave at a respectable age of 58, but I myself doubt I will ever be allowed such peace.
I believe I have sealed a pact with the devil.
I should start at the beginning of this gruesome tale. Three nights before, I attended a party given by the wealthy and well respected Russell family whose lady of the house has invited me in to entertain her guests with my recent work of writing. Since my departure from the clinic (they finally proclaimed me cured after an agitating long period of two years. During that time, I hardly managed to keep myself from losing my mind, such terrible conditions prevailed in those so called health institutions, and they treated their patients in such a degrading and terrible manner, that it gives rise to panic and anger in me, just by recollecting my involuntary stay) I have been living with my uncle Henry and his family, which consisted of my nephew Jonathan and my sweet little niece Dorothy, who shared the same name with her mother, my beloved aunt Dorothy. They were kind, God fearing people, who despite of the wicked tongues and scorning looks of others took their troubled cousin into their home. Uncle Henry himself looked after me like a father and have encouraged me to continue with my writings, a practice I had picked up during my stay in the clinic, since the tedious days behind those padded walls would have been even more unbearable if I had not found something to do in my incarceration. There were no other means of distraction allowed, no books, no music, not even the possibility of a humane conversation between doctor and patient, for those self-righteous men treated me like I was nothing but dirt and they were above us all, for only they knew what was best for the patients. But I assure you, it wasn't the dreadful cold and hot water treatment that they had subdued me to, nor the endless days in the isolation cell in which they have chained me to the wall like a bloody animal that has eventually cured me from my ill state of mind. It was the rare kindness of a visitor who took pity on me and provided me with a simple pencil and sheets of blank paper, which truly had saved me. Without those, there would have been no possibility for me to put my haunting recollections behind and my mental state would have eventually deteriorated till there was absolutely nothing left of my sanity.
However, I'm straying off from the purpose of my writing, which was to tell how I got myself lost in this horrible nightmare.
The Russells had invited almost every elite citizen of town. The lady of the house has certainly taken every effort to make their social gathering a memorable one. The guest-list must have counted more then a hundred souls, all tended well for by the servants, who seemed to be almost everywhere, serving drinks and hors d'oeuvres, before the banquet was to start at eight. The most beautiful ladies of wealth were attending, dressed in their fashionable dresses of laces and fine silks, many of them accompanied by their husbands or fiancés, important factory owners or successful business men whose fortunes kept the chimneys of the city burning.
I was there to amuse those men and women, to read from my work later that evening after diner when the guests will be retreating in the ballroom. That chamber was so impressively grand and luxuriantly decorated that it made me feel like an insignificant insect that came straight from the gutters of the back streets of the Eastend when I first entered it in Misses Russell's company. I was already quite nervous to give a performance to this influential audience, and now I had to give my recital in such an overwhelming setting! I felt fluttering in my stomach even well before the banquet had started.
Yet, as it finally turned out, I needn't have been anxious, for I would never set foot in the Russell's ballroom ever again.
I had barely arrived for more then an hour, when I caught ear that Cecily Adams, the beautiful daughter of the banker Charles Adams, was also attending the party and was currently refreshing herself in the guest's quarters. I believed that my nervousness had just tripled after hearing the news. Cecily was the girl who had stolen my heart. Her brown doe-like eyes, her cascade of chestnut hair, her red ruby lips and her milky tan crowned with cherry blushes, everything about her was so perfect as if she was the goddess Venus herself! I loved her, even though I had barely exchanged two words with her ever since the first time we met. She reminded me of someone, someone I had once loved so dearly that it hurts my heart just to look at Cecily, for her striking resemblance struck me with painful memories. Still, my eyes couldn't stop doing so, for her presence also filled me with a sense of hope, provided a light at the end of a dark tunnel in which I seemed to have become lost for so long.
Perhaps I could still find happiness without my beloved Nina.
Transfixed by the knowledge of her presence, I hurried to the parlour, where I knew most of the guests were gathered for a musical performance by one of the city's most revered and talented ensembles. I expected that Cecily would make her entrance as soon as she came back from the dressing rooms. Quietly, I took a seat in a small corner of the chamber, close to the Victorian windows, curtains of which were shut to keep inappropriate individuals (read the hungry and the poor) from staring into this decadent get-together of London's rich and powerful. With an unsteady hand I took my pen and paper out of my pockets and scribbled a poem down on the empty sheets that had to translate the way Cecily Adams had conquered my heart and mind. The words didn't come out easily, as they should in good writing, and I frequently had to pause to find the perfect phrase, one that could captured all of my adoration for this striking lady. Dear God in heaven, I even asked the butler to aid me in my quest! I haven't even finished my poem yet when my Goddess descended down the staircase, her appearance even more magnificent than I could remember, her dress maiden white, her lush hair tied into a fashionable knot, decorated with fresh spring flowers. On feeble legs, I got up from my seat and staggered towards her. I had to speak to her tonight! No matter how many crowds of handsome and ridiculously wealthy bachelors she drew with her radiant presence, I had to let her know that I, William Byron, existed, and had become a captive of her beauty and charm.
I only had eyes for her, and that was what eventually had spelled my doom.
Cecily was in the company of Miss Priscilla Schnubly, whose features could only be described as handsome, not beautiful for there was hardly any femininity in her appearance. She was infamous for her scandalous tongue, and her fiancée who had accompanied her that evening, Sir Steven Rathbone, was no different then she in his chitchatting ways. Good Heavens, you might expect that the gent had something better to do then to spread harmful words about others all day like a gossiping fishwife!
There were also others present, but I shall not waste my ink on mentioning them, for it was because of the cruel tongues of those two evil hearted vixens that my expression of love for Celily was publicly ridiculed, and made into the joke of the town. It happened during a casual conversation, a social necessity really, rather then an enjoyable exchange. Rathbone suddenly snatched my newest writing right out of my hands while I was distracted by one of Cecily's bewitching smiles. I tried to attain it back from him, but it was already too late. Smudging the inks as he crudely handled it, his pompous features flushed with glee, he cleared his throat noisily to draw attention, and started to read my poem aloud.
"My heart expands; Tis grown a bulge in it, Inspired by your beauty. Effulgent."
"Effulgent?"
A terrible laughter rose up from his audience. How that spirited mocking had vexed me! My work was dragged through the gutter by this horrible man, the words I had written for my heart's desire only, reviled to the public and then, ridiculed by the whole aristocratic society of London! But the worst was yet to come, for my beloved Cecily was absolutely shaken by the turn of evens and, with an accusing glance directed towards me, excused herself from these vulgarians. It was never my intention to upset her with this avowal of my love. I decided I needed to speak with her at once to put her at ease and secure the good lady of my noble intentions. Anxiously, I snatched the now useless piece of paper out of my tormentor's hand and followed after her to a secluded part of the parlour.
How angry and heartbroken I was, once directly after my tender confession of my secrete love for her, the self-righteous woman rejected me and said in her own words that I was beneath her, and was not worthy to receive any of her love! I was stunned, and watched with hollow eyes how Cecily fled, once again, out of my reach and joined back with the crowd of guests, who had recently scorned me.
Before the diner started, I fled out of the Russell family's grand residence and into the dark streets of London.
I ripped the hated poem that had led to my dear Cecily's refusal and the shattering of all of my hopes into rigorous pieces. Blinded by tears and unaware of my steps, I collided with a broad shouldered gentleman, and all the pieces dropped out of my hand, drifting away on the cool evening air in a cloud of shattered white.
In my misery I had forgotten all about my good manners, and instead of excusing myself, I snapped at the tall man, warning him to watch out where he was going in an annoyed voice. I looked up unintentionally, and caught a glimpse of his face in the dim glow that was provided by the city's streetlights. Brooding eyes met mine, dark like rain clouds and chillingly empty as if though they housed no soul. He was so close that I could smell him, a strong scent of Whiskey and gin, mixed with the scent of freshly ploughed, damp earth.
His presence puzzled my mind and filled my heart with horror.
Lowering my eyes immediately, I stepped away from the dark stranger in a dash, my memories oddly stirred by this encounter, and fled into the nearest alley.
With the deepest of revulsion, I realized then, that I knew him.
This entire scene that played out before my eyes, the cool spring night, the warm scent of liquor and fresh graves on the tall stranger, even my retreat into this dead end alley with bales of wet hay staked up in the corner was familiar to me. I've seen it before. I've been in this place before, sitting here, dressed in my immaculate clean suit while my face was stained by salty tears, waiting for what was destined to happen, unable to change the horrific events that was about to befall on me. The delusions I suffered, which had sentenced me to two years of torture in that horrible asylum (There, I said it! I won't deny it to any further extent, what use will it be. As if my family's reputation matters any longer!), the terrible nightmares I've grown used to after my mother's horrible death, they were all about to become true.
Soon, the soft, luring voice of a woman attracted my attention. Dazed as I still was, unable to distinguish between dream and reality (Am I truly here, and about to receive death by her hands or am I still in the asylum, restrained in my soiled straightjacket and drooling against the padded walls of my cell like the pitiable lunatic I had finally become?), I offered little resistance as the raven haired beauty placed her hand over my chest and lulled me into her spell with words, so very kind that it warmed my heart with every syllable, offering me a sea of compassion and love, a love that was eternal.
This might sound unbelievable, preposterous even when considered with a clear and rational mind, but I could have sworn that the bewitching lady who had presented herself to me could read my thoughts and could reach me with her mind. Her voice sprang into my subconscious, charming like a cobra, black as night. Slowly she seduced me, spilling dark promises, like no other woman had ever bargained for my soul before.
We all get hurt by love
And we all have a cross to bear
But in the name of understanding
Your sorrows should be shared
"Walk with me." She whispered, not in words but in contemplation. Her lips barely moved as her message reached me.
I wasn't afraid any longer of what was going to happen. How could I be? As long as this dark Goddess was watching over me, sharing her existence and her heart as she now solemnly pledged, how could I fear this gift she was offering?
Why should I deny myself this merciful end to my useless and miserable life?
Her beautiful features twisted, transforming into hideous malformations. Her eyes, once large and innocent, were now narrow slits and looked predatory, with an unnatural yellow glow that reminded me of hungry wolfs. But her gruesome face didn't startle me, for I had seen it before in my visions, and tonight my frightened heart finally made peace with the demon. Fascinated, I observed her, and was taken by the crude beauty of this beast that she had become, and wondered why I had been afraid for so long.
I gasped in surprise as she leaned over, her lush hair brushing over my skin, and sank her fangs into my flesh. They cut in me like knives and I howled as the pain intensified. My head became light while she drained me, feeding on my blood like a hungry calf suckling on its mother's milk. My hands wandered, searching for support as I felt the strength in my legs yielding. Finally, my weakened body collapsed on the ground. While the creature kept feeding on me relentlessly, I heard the cluttering of metal on the cobbles. Reaching out, my right hand toughed the cold surface of a small object that had fallen out of my pockets during the turmoil.
Nina's lighter.
Suddenly, the serenity that had clouded my judgement disappeared as shadows for the radiance of the sun, my secret longing for death chased away by Nina's precious memories and the promise I've once made to her. I clasped my fingers around the lighter, drawing strength out of her talisman and screamed for help. Even with the little bit of breath that was left in me I shouted loud enough to startle the dark creature, who abruptly stopped with her feeding. She eyed at me, panic carved into her demonic features. Trembling, she lifted a finger and hushed like a frightened little child.
"Hush now! Don't -Don't scream! I can't help you when you're such a naughty, naughty little boy!!"
I stammered that I didn't want her help, pushed the lighter on the skin of her cheeks and ignited it. The creature caught fire immediately, and her face became a horrific mask of blazing heat. Twisting her body in great agony, she staggered away from me. There was a trough filled to the rim with water for the horses standing nearby, and the mad, burning creature plunged her head into it in an effort to save herself. The flames extinguished with a sickening sizzling sound, and the air filled with the smell of burnt flesh and seared hair. She fell and landed on her back, soiling her pretty dress with dark mud stains. Then, as if she knew without having seen her reflection how repulsive she looked with the terrible burns ruining her face, she screamed, the sound high pitched and crazed, loud enough to draw the attention of anyone passing by in the nearby street.
Crawling away from her, my skin tinkling while the hairs at the back of my neck stood straight up, I caught eye of the horrific creature that sat huddled in the corner of the dark alley, crying and mumbling madly to herself while she clawed at her burnt face, tearing her blackened cheeks open and spilling drops of blood over her scorched skin.
My stomach heaved at the thought that I had nearly surrendered myself to this hideous monster. Staggering back to my feet, with the wetness gushing out of the wound at the side my neck reminding me of how fast my life was slipping away between my blood stained fingers, I stumbled towards the safety of the open streets. I needed help. I needed to be saved.
I wanted to live.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*
Next part will be posted on Wednesday the 28th of august. Meanwhile, please let me know what you think of the story so far and provide some feedback.