⚡ Flash Fiction

It was a Tuesday night when I realized my reality had come to an end. I thought my experience right before death would have been different. I didn't see my future whizz by in an uncontrollable flurry, no future wife or child appeared before me. My last visible memory consisted of a white wall painted by a greenish glow from my alarm clock. 

I cannot tell you what occurred, or why I gave into that monster, but I will tell you the story from my point of view. Realize that my memory is fickle, and throughout the years I have bent my thoughts around this one event. Thinking back, I had become so bored with life, everyone spewing the same bullshit commentary passing off as insight into a topic completely unknown to them. Spreading useless ideas like viruses across the internet begging for attention from others. Normal life had become so monotonous and predictable, maybe I gave in because I simply wanted a change of scenery. Whatever the case something that night forced me to give up my humanity, and placed me in this cushy white room. 

I lay on my stomach, my head turned away from my room. My arms lay to my sides at the edges of my bed. My legs spread-eagled touched each corner of my bed, taking in every inch of comfort from my new queen bed. If I hadn’t been so open that night maybe It wouldn't have come for me. Who knows, I was already at my mental tipping point after the accident three years prior, it pushed me the last extra bit down the rabbit hole. 

When my eyes opened I immediately knew, I had of course been in this situation hundreds of times before. Every night Itvisited me in my dreams. In fact, I had become so accustomed to this recurring dream that I trained myself to recognize and ignore it. I was so numb to the dream that I would lay still waiting for it to end with blind indifference. 

The dream was simple; I would be lying in bed and I would feel a presence behind me staring at my doorway and walking closer. In the past I would roll over and try and escape from my unnamable creation treading towards me. Being a dream though I was never able to get away, my motions were limited like walking through black tar. And in the end, It would grab me, and thankfully the dream would end. Covers would be thrown about everywhere, and I would be shivering with sweat. As the years, past, and this dream became a regular occurrence, I grew accustomed to it. The dream would check all the boxes of a nightmare, where I was unable to scream, move fast, or fight back. So, I wouldn’t roll over to greet It head on, instead, I would wait for It’s cold clammy hands to touch my shoulder so I could jerk awake and it would end. After settling my breath and heart, I could return to my sleep without worry or fear. 

That night was different though, It toyed with me. At first, I found the dream fascinating. It was the first time in years this dream had changed. Things seemed different, more real. The usual boxes to check of a nightmare were not filled. There was also fact that before, I never been this aware during a nightmare. Normally my head would become clouded, ideas and actions wouldn’t seem clear. Now, in this dream I could feel my bed defined underneath me, the cover draped over my legs, the cushion engulfing my body, cool fabric pressed against my stomach. Then I became aware of the fact that it was still behind me. Standing still, not moving. While, I was no longer afraid of this dream I was becoming increasingly impatient to get it over with. 

"Why wasn’t it coming up to me, waking me from my sleep like it was meant to?" 

An uneasy feeling passed through my stomach. The problem must be that I show no fear, and it must sense that. 

"But why now? Why wait all this time, and now change up the formula?" 

It stood there silent. It’s presence brought a chill to my bare upper body and I became aware of how open my presence was. I am strewn out on my bed. Arms by my side, legs spread, no defense. I suddenly wanted to bring them in, curl into the fetal position, but something felt strange. For the first time in a long time, I was frozen in fear. I felt as if I could move but doing so would alert what was behind me and that was frightening. My breath became quick and shallow, my head pounded as my mind raced. Hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood on end, something seemed to brush against my leg causing goosebumps to rise all over my body. 

"It's my cat that's all, I am not even asleep, my brain is playing tricks on me." I kept telling myself, hoping it was true. 

I felt It get closer to my back. The pit sank deeper into my stomach, blood coursed through my veins, and the fear of moving even an inch kept me still. It was right behind me, on the edge of my bed. 

Then there was a pressure on my thigh and back, like a cold metal claw was grabbing me. 

"It is a dream, nothing real" I kept trying to tell myself. “My cat is changing positions on my back that's all." 

The pressure was real, and it wasn’t a cat. It was hands, icy cold and moist, they slipped between my arm and body on the side of my rib cage. It was inside my last defense, I lay there; eyes closed, wishing to wake up. Never had a dream gone this far before, why wasn’t I able to calm down and let myself wake up. I shouldn’t have given it so much power over my mind. 

“I should have woken up by now!" I screamed in my head praying that this dream would end. 

Then, the cold claw grabbed my right arm tight with inhuman strength, and flipped me over so that I faced my horror. A good six inches separated our faces. It stood about three feet from my bed but bent from the hip to peer down into my eyes. The things head was completely blank, a solid layer of pearly white skin as if all the blood had been drained. The skin seemed soft and bright like a woman's but with only a few human features. It took quick breaths through slits that could hardly qualify as nostrils. The nose stuck out about an inch from the head, pointy and long. Its mouth was only a slit, like someone had cut open the face with a razor. There were no lips and it was sewn shut together with what appeared to be wire. No eyebrows existed on the face not even a wrinkle on the pristine flesh ruined its image. 

The eyes though were the worst. They were dark pits with no actual eyeballs. The sunken holes in the middle of the face seemed to look into my soul, dark blackness staring at me, as if it could see what I was hiding behind my clever facade. We looked back and forth and the staring match between this creature and myself went on for some time. I was too scared to move a muscle, even though every fiber of my being was telling me to look away and run. My mind raced through every possibility for escape. 

Nothing was organized in my head though. Spits of thought flashed through my brain but they didn't last. Every thought was engulfed by fear in a matter of seconds. 

My skin tensed, my muscles braced and every hair on my body stood on end. Every creek and whistle from outside my room rang like a cannon boom in my head. Fight or flight was trying to take over but something wouldn't let me give in just yet to my primal instincts. I couldn’t fight or run, all I could do was watch in horror as It peered into me, changed me. Those eyes dragging every bit of my soul out. 

The thing’s head tilted to one side like a dog begging for scraps. It looked like It was trying to speak through It’s sewn lips. It's jaw moved up and down straining the stitches in It’s mouth, guttural groans were all that escaped from its throat, growing louder and fiercer. Until one violent screech from the beast ripped open the stitches. The stitches hung from the top lip because it was not the wire that had given way. The wire had ripped through the bottom of the month shredding the pristine the flesh. leaving It’s mouth pouring with blood as chunks of flesh and viscera were ripped off. The blood dripped from its chin onto my chest, the warm liquid ran down my cold body collecting in a red stain on my sheets. The dark crimson red clung to the pearl white flesh of It’s face like paint on canvas. 

It opened It’s mouth and like the eyes, only blackness peered back. No teeth or tongue appeared and a gaping black hole was the only thing to greet my eyes. The darkness seemed to swallow all hope and life. As I looked more into that blank face I came to realize that this creature was more of a shell, empty inside. I sat still then, not in fear or panic, but, in acceptance. This creature was going to eat me, not in a literal sense but it was going to take away my humanity leaving only empty shell to rot and die in blackness. 

As I lay there being taken in by It, the more sanity I lost. I had become so tired of my life since the accident, bored day in and day out, all of it seemed futile. A change may bring a release and entertainment. Perhaps this creature had seen that I was an easy target, my mind already in distress. All I needed was a little push and it would have complete control over me. 

So, I gave in and the creature sucked the last bit of self from me through those black eyes and mouth. The creature uttered one sentence before my mind went blank. 

“You are empty, just like me, and now it’s your job search for others like us and bring them to me.” 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“This just in, a shocking discovery at a local home in Olympia, Washington. A family found brutally murdered in their own beds. A neighbor found the graphic scene when mail started to pile up outside the home and went into check. Police are not releasing details of the murder but a quick look inside revealed a horrific scene. Each member of the family had been strapped to their beds, their wrists were slashed and blood drained leaving the bodies marble white. The eyes had been gouged out with what appeared to be hands leaving only dark pits, and their mouths had been sewn shut with wire. It is unclear whether the mouth and eyes were done post-mortem but one can only hope. Police have arrested one suspect who was found at the scene of the crime. The oldest brother was covered in his family's blood when discovered. He repeated three words while they arrested him, -They are free-. Our hearts truly go out to the friends and family members of this poor household. I truly hope that this community can rebuild after such a vicious crime.”   The End  ⚡

He was praying at the altar in an old rundown catholic church in Soweto before he got the house call. The candles burnt ominously on the altar before him. As soon as he answered, father Jacob leered at him from a candlelit limestone corner and Neo stepped outside. 

‘Yes?’ 

‘It’s my son,’ the woman was frantic. ‘I’ve been told you can help?’ 

‘I’m not a Doctor.’ 

‘It’s the devil!’ The woman moaned, and he managed to get fragments of an address before hanging up. 

The cobbles leading up to the doorway were rough with no thought to visitors. But he never expected a warm welcome or a baked pie. It was cold, and the sun hid itself from view behind a prodigious expansion of dark clouds. 

He had seen demons on sunny days, but the eerie storm clouds made it harder. It made them fierce. Fierce like thunder whipping the clouds. The host almost never survived on days like these. When he came up to the door a cool breeze swept by and he noticed the street was empty. There was no sign of human life. When he knocked, a hollow sound echoed from behind the door. He waited patiently, while the rumbling clouds raged on. 

The door creaked open. A young brunette showed her face, and her pale white fingers curled around the edge of the door. ‘You’re black?’ She said with utter astonishment.

He stared at her with a stolid expression. 

‘M-My apologies,’ The brunette forced a smile. ‘I’m Carrie, and you must be Neo?’ She pushed out a trembling hand. 

Neo ignored the hand and pushed through. As soon as he stepped inside he turned his head left and right, breathed in and closed his eyes. Carrie closed the door and folded her arms, fighting to keep her composure. When Neo opened his eyes, he stared at the stairs. They were white, most everything in the Screwing house was white except the counterpanes, they were made of oak. 

‘He’s up ̶ ’ The woman started. 

Neo just raised a hand to silence her and started climbing the steps slowly. In the motion he pulled out a silver knife from inside his jacket. The knife bore religious symbols, some known and some unknown to the majority of people. From underneath the other side he pulled out a vile. For a moment the contents of the vile appeared to be water, but that was changing. Within a few seconds the water turned velvet red. He always used the vile first. The strength of the demon would be compared to the intensity of the colour. The darker the blood in the vile, the stronger the spirit. 

As soon as he reached the platform at the top, his breathing ritual started again. The second door down the hall caught his attention and he approached. The knob on the door felt warm when he pushed it open. 

The room was dimly lit by a lamp next to the bedside. The walls were festooned with crucifixes. The most prominent was nailed above the bed’s headboard. A bronze Jesus carrying his cross. A beacon for dark things. 

The body of a child laid on the bed in a way a corpse might lie in a coffin. Auburn hair, with bushy brows and a pale face. Neo walked over to the bedside table, placed the knife and vile on it and closed his eyes. When his eyes reopened, a pair of eyes akin to death itself were staring at him. Expressionless. 

“Father forgive me,” the demon said in the child’s voice, “I’ve been a bad boy.” 

Neo remained silent. He picked up the vile and held it close to his face. The liquid inside turned black. It never turned black. Something was wrong he knew, but his face showed no indication of perplexity. 

“What’s your name demon?” Neo asked calmly. 

The thing on the bed rolled his head from side to side and grinned showing most of the boy’s adolescent teeth. 

“Every demon has a name.” 

This time the demon spoke throatily, “Call me what you like peasant of God.” 

“You want to play a game?” Neo made eye contact. 

The boy nodded slowly. 

Neo bent down and whispered in the boys ear, “Guess my name.” 

The boy grinned profusely. “Solomon the wise?” 

Neo opened the vile. “Just because the prophecies of Enoch are lost, it does not mean they won’t be fulfilled.” He said curtly. 

“Enoch is dead.” 

“It is said,” Neo continued, “In the last days Michael will sweep down upon the earth and plant his seed inside a woman’s womb.” 

The boy frowned. 

“He shall be born in the last days and he shall have power over darkness.” 

“Lies!” The demon throated. 

Neo wore a black coat. He walked to the boy’s feet and took it off. His skin was dressed in scars and memories of pain. He looked at the child, and suddenly the demon could not stare back. Every second of Neo’s glare seemed to burn the demon’s eyes. Neo folded his jacket over the feet of the bed and walked back to the head of the bed. The demon started to squirm uncontrollably, but he was fixed to the bed by restraints. Neo leaned down, until his face was an inch away from the boy’s. Fear made its way on to the boy’s expression. Then Neo kissed him. The kiss was soft. Waves of anger and bewilderment pulsed through the boy’s body. Neo stood upright. The thing on the bed was stunned and still. 

Neo opened the vile. Dark fumes escaped the opening. He inhaled it and closed his eyes simultaneously. When he opened his eyes they were white. At the same time the boy opened his eyes too and they were navy blue and stolid. Slowly the boy’s head turned to him. 

“What are you?” The thing on the bed growled. 

Neo remained quiet. 

“What?” its voice was weaker. 

In one violent movement Neo grabbed the boy’s neck and lifted him up to his face. Neo stared into the boys eyes and spoke, “Demon. What’s your name?” 

The boy started shaking. Neo shouted, “Demon what is your name!” 

The thing started to choke and laugh, “This boy will die!” 

“Demon! I command you to tell me your name!” 

“I am the sovereign chariot of death. I am second to God. I am the one who fought Elijah in the kingdom of heaven. I am God’s first love. I am Legion.” 

Neo’s eyes grew wide. He released the scrawny thing and it fell back onto the bed. Suddenly the darkness left the room. And with it the weight of two spirits. One smaller and one far more ancient. Neo left the corpse on the bed and walked down the stairs. 

Before he could walk out of the front door the woman barred his way. Tears rolled down her red cheeks. 

“I failed.” He managed to say. 

The woman balled her fists and hammered Neo’s chest, crying. 

Neo grabbed the woman’s arms and he embraced her. After a while she asked him why. Why he failed. 

“Death comes for us all.” Was all he managed to say. The End  ⚡

Metro Meats was a slaughterhouse here in town that employed a lot of young people during the seventies. My aunty used to work there, but a number of young men, some still alive, but older now, did their best to ruin her time at the place. 

They once locked her in a cold, dark freezer room, as a joke, but the joke went too far when she felt a finger inside her. Then, through word of mouth, they heard of compensation payouts, and some of them would amputate their own thumbs in front of her with the upright bonesaw. To them, it was nothing. 

My town, the town of Eugene, is like a lot of small towns, and it has its horror stories. 

There was one kid I remember, Danny Mullen, who had a thing for showing off to the girls on his BMX bicycle. He would play chicken with oncoming cars up on Matthews Avenue and one day he lost, getting hit, hit hard, pinned beneath the vehicle, and dragged about a hundred meters down the road. I remember his teeth rolling to rest in the muddy silt of the gutter and the Police never did find his nose. 

In nineteen eight-six, a young man, Shawn Ingamells, only seventeen, was found murdered just outside of town, by the the side of the road. He was placed there two days after his death, Police found. 

He worked as an apprentice mechanic and his boss was infatuated with him. 

It was Christmas Eve and both men got together on the pretext of having a few beers, watching some porn, smoking some weed. The young man was found just after New Years, butterflied from his crotch to his chin, filled with dirt, bullets, additional knife wounds, and had been burned in an old iron drum. 

The people who found him thought he was the carcass of a decomposing animal. 

That's Christmas around here sometimes. 

Nineteen ninety saw the Rural Technology High School massacre. All the animals in the science department had been slaughtered, but the bodies were missing, never to be recovered, and all that remained on the cages were bits of intestine. Dogs were blamed, but Darren Black, a student, was found to have done it. His explanation was that the black rabbit belonged to him and Suzette had been feeding it. 

There was no black rabbit and there was no Suzette. It's believed he ate the evidence, or passed it on to his family as food. 

My town, the town of Eugene, is like a lot of small towns, and it has its horror stories. 

I still live here. The End  ⚡ 

Lurching awake, gasping for air, and I've dreamt of her again. It's the same as always, lately. She's in Hell, neck deep in snake’s blood, with a foetus hanging above her, and her head is on fire. It doesn't get any better, not even with the pills. 

The psychiatrist has asked me what else occurs in this dream. 

“ The foetus is crying, “ I told her. 

“ You sustained a serious injury in the accident. A car crash is a big deal, Tom. “ 

The accident... 

It had been raining and we were on our way home from the theatre. Annette had wanted to see a stage play. The Woman in Black, that was it. She was twenty-five weeks pregnant. Our first. 

A drunk driver collected us head on, without warning, an hour out of town. The impact was highly severe. 

I suffered a head injury and Annette was killed outright. It took some time for the emergency services to arrive. I don't know how long we were there until they were notified. 

Annette's corpse had expelled our baby, someone who would've been our little girl. She was much like a coffin birth, so I'm told. 

I held Annette's hand. It was the only thing I could feel in the wreckage. 

Her family buried them both, while I was in hospital, and her brother came to visit me, but only once. They haven't contacted me since. 

The drunk driver survived and he and I were only four beds apart in ICU. I awoke before he did and they relocated him to a different hospital. His name was Daryl Hibbert. 

The newspaper had a great time with the story. It was going to trial, of course, once Hibbert was well enough. They spoke politely of Annette: Sadly missed school teacher in tragic wreck, wife of senior detective, all that stuff. 

Well, I'm not a detective any more. 

Annette and I met a fund raiser to do with the awareness of drug addiction and teen suicide. She was twelve years younger than I, beautiful, with auburn hair, and hazel eyes. I'd rarely had the chance to have a love interest, let alone get married. 

After a series of surgeries, I had to be moved to a rehabilitation unit. My progress was good, all cognitive and motor skills seemed to be okay, except for two things. My handwriting wasn't so hot and each time Hibbert, or Annette's name was mentioned, my left hand involuntarily grabbed sharp objects, like a knife, or pen, and proceeded to stab the table, or a chair. I was completely unaware of it. 

I wounded several hospital staff. 

“ Hey, Tom, “ they would say. “ That Hibbert just got seven years, “ and my left hand would start going at it. 

Quite soon, I was disallowed sharp objects. 

Finally, I was sent home, given pills, referred into counselling. 

Recently, they discovered that in the accident, the two spheres of my brain had torn from each other. This is what causes my involuntary violent actions. Apparently, I can be taught to control it by avoiding things that trigger it. 

But I can't avoid my dreams, that reoccurring nightmare. That's when my hand gets the worst. 

It has started to choke me in my sleep.  The End  ⚡ 

I watched a small family move into the house across the street a few months back. We learnt they were called the Stones. They did not relate with the neighbors and seemed to love the dark, and the solitude of their house. We thought that to be weird and tried to engage them in conversations, but they looked at us like we were the walking dead. With time, we all learnt to live without disturbing them. They had the right to live their lives the way they wanted, as long as they did not break any laws. 

Some days I felt them stare at me from their windows as I went to school. I became scared and stole a look their way once in a while but they never batted an eyelid or took their gaze off me. They just stared. I told Father about the stares one night over dinner and he was angry. He stood from the dinner table, intending to walk over to their house but Mother stopped him. She would not allow that or allow Father to carry out his threats. She promised to talk with Mrs. Stone. 

“She would understand,” Mother said. “She should understand.” 

Mother went to speak with Mrs. Stone the next day. She didn’t say how their discussion went, when she returned. She just told me I had nothing to worry about anymore. They would not disturb me again. 

A few days later, Mother and Father travelled to Florida to visit granny, who we heard had been hospitalized. I heard a knock on the door the next day and opened the door to see Mrs. Stone standing at our doorstep; her back to the door and her face to the street. She seemed to gaze at a black cat which sat on their porch. She turned toward me, giving me a cold stare, and then smiled calmly; her lips parting, to reveal a set of brown teeth. I swallowed hard in fear, and her smile was gone. She asked for Mother and said they had some issues to discuss. I told her Mother could not come to the door. She was still asleep. 

“I see,” Mrs. Stone replied. 

She stared past me into the house, and I moved to block her line of sight. A smirk appeared on her face and then it was gone too. 

“I’ll be back when they return,” I heard her say as she walked away. 

I returned from school late that day. I had earlier stopped over at Evelyn’s house. Mother and Father were due to return home that night, so I felt there was no need to rush home. I looked around me as I got close to home. I had a feeling I could not quite understand. The night had already settled in around me. I opened the door and stepped into the house. There seemed to be an electrical fault within it. There was no supply of electricity. I tapped my phone and walked towards the kitchen using the light the screen provided. There was a flashlight in the kitchen cupboard. I pulled it out and turned it on.

Upstairs, I heard some footsteps, then mother’s voice as she giggled. 

“Mum!” I called. 

There was silence within the house. 

“Up here darling,” I heard my mother’s voice call. 

I walked toward the stairs, wondering why mother had not called when they got home. I gently climbed up, and walked to their room. I knocked on the door but heard her voice call from the attic. 

“Up here darling,” 

I walked towards the attic stairs, wondering what mother was doing up there that night. The door downstairs opened and I stopped. 

“We are back,” I heard Mother call from downstairs. 

I turned around and ran as a creature came charging at me through the open attic door. I ran down the stairs as fast as I could. I heard a muffled squeal behind me, then the sound of the attic door creaking, as it slid shut. 

Power was restored within the house as I made contact with Mother in the living room. 

“What is the matter?” Mother asked, as I panted in her embrace. 

Father had been bringing in the luggage and left the door open. In the street outside, I saw Mrs. Stone stare at me coldly. She stood a few feet from the street light, with folded arms. I tapped Mother lightly. Mother turned towards my stare but Mrs. Stone was gone. 

I still feel them stare at me as I go to school every morning. I try not to show how scared I am, but I know they see it. 

Yesterday, Father returned home with some good news. He has been transferred to New York and we are to move with him. I seem to be the happiest, which surprises both Mother and Father. They think I would have fought the move because of the friends I am to leave behind. 

I would miss my friends, but I need my peace back. A tap on my shoulder always wakes me up at 5 am every morning to the sight of Mrs. Stone sitting by my bedside, apparitions walking through my bedroom walls, a crow perching outside my window, or my name written in blood all over my room. Mother and Father don’t see it. They don’t know of it. They don’t hear my screams when I wake up and they don’t see the writings either. Maybe I’m going crazy. I do not know. Only the move to New York would tell. 

I don’t wish to tell anyone about it. I once told Margaret and she too began to experience it every morning. Yesterday, I heard she was detained in a psychiatric facility and kept under watch for being suicidal. I wish I never told her. 

I sincerely hope no one reads this. I am only writing this to ease the burden that I feel. I hope I find peace in New York. Maybe distance would lift whatever has been done to me.  The End  ⚡

They walked towards the house, as it began to rain. Behind them, the remains of their car burnt mildly, until the rain put out the fire. Cynthia looked at Sam and then at the house. They were stranded, but the house didn’t seem like an option she should take. 

The house stood a few feet off the road. It stood tall, casting an imposing shadow on the trees that stood to its right.

Lightning struck and lit up the house for a second. Cynthia grabbed onto Sam’s hand. The vines that curled round the house scared her. 

“I don’t like the feel of this place,” Cynthia said. 

Sam looked at her and saw the fear in her eyes. He smiled. 

“There’s no need to fear,” he replied. He tried to assure her that she was safe. 

The last house they saw was more than four miles back and the road ahead looked deserted. Their only shelter from the rain was in the house they now stared at. 

Sam dragged the bags as he continued toward the house. Cynthia tagged along unwillingly. In the house, a light appeared at the top window. It lingered for a minute, and then it disappeared. 

“Someone is home,” Sam said. 

Cynthia looked at Sam, then at the house and back at Sam. The light appeared by the window a second time, and Sam could see the frame of a woman. He tried to wave at her, but the light disappeared again. 

The stairs creaked as Sam and Cynthia climbed to the front door. Sam knocked on the door while Cynthia looked around them. 

By the northern side of the house, Cynthia saw a swing move up and down as if someone sat on it. Lightning struck and Cynthia saw a child on the swing. The child stared at her. 

“Sam!” Cynthia gasped. 

The door swung open, and Cynthia turned to see a woman standing by it. She stood, holding a lamp in her hand and staring at them. Her hair was gray, and her left eye was a mass ball of white tissue. Cynthia stared at the woman. The woman smiled coldly, revealing a set of brown teeth. 

“Welcome to Half Souls Inn,” the woman announced. 

She shifted to her side, giving Cynthia and Sam room to walk in. Cynthia looked back at the swing but couldn’t find it. The swing was gone. In its place was a pool of water. Cynthia stared at it in fear. She failed to notice time pass. 

Sam called Cynthia a second time before she realized they were waiting for her. The woman stared at her calmly. Cynthia looked at Sam, then at the road. The rain was becoming heavy. She hesitated for a moment, then sighed and stepped into the house. The woman closed the door. 

Inside the house, the woman walked with them to the desk that stood by the stairs. The interior of the house looked a bit pretty. Sam looked at Cynthia and smiled. She smiled back weakly. The woman explained that their electricity supply had a little problem but would soon be fixed. Sam had no problem with that. He just needed a place to rest his head and change into some dry clothes. By morning of the next day, they would be on their way home. 

Cynthia looked around her. Lamps hung on the walls and up the stairs. Underneath each lamp, she saw the portrait of people hanging in frames. Beside her, Sam reached into his pocket and drew out his wallet. He fished inside it for the amount required and paid the woman. As the woman handed the key to Sam, Cynthia saw the people in the picture look at them. 

“Oh God!” Cynthia gasped, as she turned towards Sam, grabbing his arm. The woman stared at her coldly. Cynthia wanted to get out of the house, but Sam would not move. 

“Come on, it was just the light casting shadows,” Sam said as they climbed the stairs. 

The woman walked before them, as she escorted them to their room. Behind her, Cynthia tried to control her fear. 

At their door, the woman asked if they would need anything. Sam said they were fine. The woman nodded in understanding, and then descended the stairs. 

Sam gently closed the door and turned to look at the room. The room didn’t look bad. Aside the bed, there was a table by the wall and a lamp on it. The bed was well made and the sheets were clean. Cynthia stood by the wall, with her arms wrapped around her. Sam smiled at her. With time, she would see that there is nothing to fear. 

Cynthia saw that Sam’s mind was made up. She walked towards the bathroom, to take a look at it, while Sam threw the bag on the bed and opened it. 

“Sweet,” Sam called from the room. “I seem to have forgotten my bath bag downstairs.” 

Cynthia rushed out of the bathroom as Sam closed the door and descended the stairs. She walked to the door and pulled it open. She was not going to stay alone in the room. 

Instead of the stairs, a brick wall stood before Cynthia. She stepped back into the room, looking around her. A portrait hung on the wall, by the bed. The woman in it stared directly at her. Cynthia stepped to her right and watched the woman’s stare move with her. Terrified, she walked backwards, further into the room. The woman still stared at her. 

Cynthia stopped. Someone stood behind her. On her shoulder, a drop of blood fell, followed by two more. She slowly turned around. 

Her terrified scream never left her lips. Cynthia fell to the ground, a pile of charred flesh. On the stairs, a new painting appeared with Cynthia’s face on it. 

Downstairs, Sam stood confused. The reception hall was no more. He stood in a hallway longer than the house could possibly accommodate. Down the hallway, a baby cried from one of the rooms within the house. 

“Hello!” Sam called as he walked down the hallway, toward the cry. 

Along the hallway, Sam found vacant rooms with open doors and blood stained walls. The cry of the baby became louder. He got to the room and found it open too. Inside the room, a woman attended to the baby. She turned and stared at Sam coldly. Sam apologized for intruding and almost turned back into the hallway. He noticed blood drip down the woman’s neck and looked closely.

“Is everything alright,” Sam asked as he stepped into the room. A chair stood in his way. He bent down and shifted it to the side, then stood erect to look at the woman. The woman and the baby were gone. 

Sam walked further into the room, confused. He turned back towards the door and gasped. The woman stood before him, with the baby in her arms. The door slammed shut. Sam looked at the door, then at her. She looked up from the baby to Sam’s face and smiled coldly. 

“You belong to us, now.” 

The lamp in the room went off.  THE END  ⚡

Vlad sat up with a sigh, his white fingers folding over the edge of his coffin, and stared at Harold. “Do you know what time it is, Harold? The sun just went down. You know, at my age, our age, I don't jump the minute the day is gone.” 

Harold shifted between edgy and embarrassed. “Yeah, yeah, I know, Vlad, but tonight is another full moon. And I get itchy, my skin does, because I don't spring that thick fur anymore. Who ever heard of a naked werewolf?” 

“You don't howl anymore either.” 

“Or sprout those killer fangs.” Harold looked so disheartened Vlad felt sorry for him even though 'sorry' wasn't in a vampire's stock of feelings. 

“When the moon turns full I get this terrible urge to be out preying on victims.” 

“You tried that already, Harold. You can't chase victims using a walker.” 

“I've been practicing with a cane.” 

“That's not much better. We both have to face the changes that come our way. Look at me.” 

“What about you?” 

“Are you losing your memory, too?” said Vlad, his comment short and sharp. “Oh, I'm sorry, Harold. I didn't mean to bite your head off. But I told you about the mad doctor over on Fleet Street. The dentist?” 

“What about him? I know you went to him.” 

“A dentist, Harold,” he said impatiently. “He works on teeth. My teeth are important to me. What good is a vampire without his teeth!?” 

“But he fixed them.” 

“No! No! He ruined them. Or half ruined them anyway. I had a cavity in one of the crucial teeth and he was supposed to fill it. But he drilled the wrong cavity all out and filled up my collection system all the way up through the tooth. Solid! It won't suck anymore.” 

Harold looked at him, trying to take in the import. Vlad had, indeed, told him this before, but Harold had been thinking of his own problems. “So, where are you at now, Vlad?” 

“Pretty hard up, I'll tell you. Only one tooth sucks in blood. Get it? That means I have to get two victims for a full load. At our age? Do you have any idea how tough it is to get two victims in one night? It was like you trying to attack that young girl in the park and getting tangled up in your walker. And the real cavity still hurts.” 

“Yeah, that walker thing was embarrassing. Especially, when she came back and helped me up on the park bench. But I'm trying a cane now. I can move faster.” 

“Can you howl?” 

“No howl. Maybe a little growl.” 

“Little?” 

“Little.” 

“Are you horrifying?” 

“My bones stretch a little and get a little out of shape….like some monster.” 

“All just a little,” said Vlad in summation. “And you don't sprout thick, wild fur either?” 

“No fur.” 

“And you want me to go with you tonight?” 

Harold nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, we can go together. You'll be slow, too.” 

“And you? A little bent with the full moon, no howl, no fangs, no fur, no lope. And naked. And a cane? You'll make a hell of a fearsome werewolf, Harold.” Vlad smirked. “Maybe some new kind of monster?” 

“Don't make fun, Vlad.”

“If someone sees us out, they'll think I'm walking my dog...or walking something.” 

Harold wasn't happy with Vlad's sarcasm, but was happy to be out under the full moon. He felt stirrings of old feelings as they walked. The vast park was like another country with the tops of tall buildings overlooking its distant borders. The moon made most things visible in this darkest part of the night. Harold saw the movement of something white in the distance, but coming toward them. He watched until he was sure it was a human. “Do you mind if I take this one, Vlad?” 

Vlad sighed as he stared across the moonlit park at the figure. “Looks like a nurse. In the white uniform. Just getting off duty. Or going on. Okay, she's your victim,” he said and with a whoosh turned into a bat and skimmed away into the trees. 

Harold watched her come closer and tried a howl at the moon to terrify her, but only the driest croak squeezed out of his throat. He stumbled through the shadows of the trees to pursue his attack, but his bent werewolf legs ached and tripped him up. He probed with his cane to stay upright even to move slowly after his victim. And it was 'after'! He had been so slow going after her that she had passed. She seemed to glance into the darkness in passing as if she heard him stumbling around in the trees. And then she was too far ahead for him to hobble fast enough to bring her down. And then she was gone. 

Harold stood in the shadow of the trees dazed and disconsolate with his failure. No victim, no claws, no fangs, no howl, no fur. No horror. A whoosh in the darkness and Vlad was standing in front of him. Vlad didn't need to say anything, he could see the failure in Harold's slumped figure and downcast eyes. 

“Harold, snap out of it. I see a cop coming along the walk. Just strolling his rounds, but he can't see you like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“With no clothes. I'm sure he's never seen a naked werewolf before, but he won't care about the werewolf, he will care about the naked you. Here, take my cloak. It's long enough and will cover you from top to bottom. Well, to your ankles anyway. Maybe we can get away with that.” 

“But what about how you're dressed? Are you going to be in your underwear?” 

Vlad smiled. “No, my friend. Vampires always wear crisp, spiffy tuxedos under their big black capes.” 

Then, Harold smiled. “And you better wipe that blood off your chin” 

They strolled past the policeman, nodded, said “Good evening, officer.” Harold was a bit wobbly, bare-pawed and leaning on his cane, but they were so polite the cop just tipped his club to his cap and nodded as they passed. 

“So?” said Vlad. 

“So. Nothing. She got away.” 

“Too fast for you?” 

“I can't fly like you.” 

“I've only got half a bite. Tonight I'm only halfway there.” 

“So, where do I find victims? Maybe senior citizens? Like me.” Harold croaked what was left of his howl. “Would they be slow enough? And where would I ever find senior citizen victims in the middle of the night? All wrinkled...not very juicy either.” 

“I have to go find the other half of my night. You…?” 

“Yeah, I go home. Failed again.” Harold looked devastated. “What am I going to do, Vlad?” 

Vlad shrugged. “Maybe you should start writing your memoirs, Harold. You used to be a pretty scary creature.” Vlad heard the disconsolate sigh from the shadows. 

"Vlad, was I really scary?" 

"You, Harold? Were you scary? Ah, Harold, you were the bounding, howling, horrifying, most terrifying menace in the night. No monster was scarier than you." 

Vlad thought he heard a throat-clearing or a little chuckle in the dark as Harold hobbled away.   The End  ⚡