by Amy Cross
Reaching up for the next branch, Eva felt something wet against her hand. At first she assumed it was just dew or sap, but when she pulled herself up a little higher, she realized that many of the higher branches were soaked. She held her hand out to the light and saw that she had blood running down from the palm of her hand and onto her wrist. Looking down at the branch, she saw that her clothes were now smeared in even more blood. She turned and looked into the darkness, but there was no sign of anything moving.
Despite the fact that she was starting to panic, she forced herself to remember that the soldier was gone, which meant that the blood was probably just some old blood that had been left here a few days ago. That's all it was, all it could be. Eva knew better than to let superstitions take root in her imagination. It would be far too easy to imagine all sorts of things up there in the tree, but then she'd be no better than her mother. What mattered, she told herself, was that she had to stay calm and focused.
She stayed completely still for a few minutes. She wanted to keep climbing, but her heart was racing and she was worried that the blood was making the branches slippery. The more nervous she became, the more she tried to force herself to think rationally. She was still imagining her father watching her, but she was no longer sure what he'd want her to do. Would he want her to keep going and reach the top, or would he tell her to go back down? If he was in the same situation, what would he do? Would he tell her to be cautious and safe, to run and get help? Or would he tell her to be brave, like he was when he shipped off to war?
While she tried to decide, however, she slowly became aware of something moving nearby.
At first, it was just a very faint rustling sound, like the wind brushing against the tree. After a moment, however, Eva realized that the sound was much closer and much more deliberate. She turned and looked over at some other branches, but there was no sign of anyone. Still, she was suddenly filled with the feeling that she wasn't alone, that there was something watching her from the darkness, and finally she knew that she had to go back down as fast as possible.
Lowering herself back onto one of the thicker branches, she tried to stay calm as she began her descent. There was so much blood on her hands, it was hard to keep a proper grip, so she had to move much more slowly than she would have liked. She could feel her heart pounding, and there was a part of her that just wanted to jump down, but she knew she'd end up breaking her legs if she fell from such a great height. Forcing herself to stay calm, she carefully inched down the branches, all the while convinced that she was being watched and followed. As hard as she tried to stay focused, however, she couldn't help but move faster and faster, and finally her foot slipped and she dropped, landing hard on another branch before tumbling further down. She reached out, trying to hold on and at the last moment, just barely, she managed to hang on with one hand to the lowest branch.
She waited for a moment, to make sure she was secure. Looking down, she saw that she didn't have much further to go. She lowered herself as far as possible, and then finally she allowed herself to drop the final couple of meters, landing hard on the forest floor and falling forward onto her hands and knees.
Standing up immediately, she started brushing herself off. She was covered in blood from the tree, which was making dirt and soil stick to her. It was pretty obvious that her mother would be angry when she got home, and she knew that there was no way she could hide the state she was in. She figured she'd just have to be honest and tell her mother everything about the tree, and about the soldier. She hoped her mother would understand, although she knew this was unlikely. Already, she could imagine her mother shouting at her, telling her off for ruining her dress and putting herself in danger and -
Suddenly Eva realized there was a noise coming from up in the tree. She stood completely still, too scared to look. There was no way the soldier could still be up there; there was no way anything or anyone could be up there at all. She tried to tell herself that it was all in her mind, and that only an idiot would even bother to look up.
Finally, however, she turned and looked.
More blood was coming down from the tree, washing down the trunk and spilling onto the ground. Eva took a step back as she stared, unable to comprehend just how much dark red liquid was coming down. There was so much, it was even dripping from some of the branches. Within just a few seconds, the entire trunk seemed to be absolutely soaked. It was by far the most disgusting thing Eva had ever seen, and although she wanted to turn and run, she felt strangely compelled to stand here and wait to see what would happen next.
Finally, however, she realized she'd seen enough. She turned to run -
And that's when an arm reached down from the tree and grabbed her by the neck. Not just any arm, either. This arm was jet black, its skin thick and foul and crusty. It was as if it had been badly burned, and there were a few glistening cracks of bloody pulp beneath the crispy skin. Trying to get loose, Eva felt the hand tighten and tighten around her neck, the fingers almost digging through her flesh. The more she fought, however, the tighter the hand seemed to hold her.
Slowly, kicking and screaming and trying to get loose, Eva was lifted up into the dark tree.
The Empty Girl
Chapter One
Kerry Herbert turned round to me today and accused me of following her! Right there in front of everyone, she just started ranting on about how wherever she went, she kept seeing me, and then she started accusing me of being a lesbian, and her friends were laughing and it just turned into this huge scene.
I swear, I almost brought the plan forward and killed her there and then.
Fortunately, I managed to stay strong. I knew all along that this project was going to be difficult, and that there'd be times when I'd be tested. I mean, I totally expected that she'd notice me lurking nearby a few times. Well, maybe I didn't totally expect it, but I knew it was possible. Kerry Herbert might be a fucking idiot, and she might have her head up her own ass most of the time, but she's still got fucking eyes. Anyway, I already knew she'd spotted me, and I didn't give a damn. Let the bitch see me. Let her realize that she's on my fucking radar and that I'm watching her. It won't do her any good. Not after Saturday.
There's one problem, though. She was shouting her mouth off outside the train station, and a lot of people must have noticed. Not just her friends, but random idiots passing in the street. That's a problem, 'cause it means people are going to start talking about me when Kerry disappears. There are cameras at the station, too, which means I might have some explaining to do. Sometimes, I think every fucking thing everyone does is logged and recorded and analyzed over and over. Fortunately, I think I'm starting to become invisible to cameras, the same way I can make myself invisible to mirrors. Besides, it's not like a public argument is proof of anything. As long as I keep to the plan and don't fuck anything up, there's not going to be any evidence against me, and no-one's gonna trip me up. I'm way too smart for that.
Hell, there won't even be a body.
Still, I'm in a foul mood. Walking home the long way, trudging through the rain, I feel myself starting to go into one of those dark periods. I hate it when this happens, but I've learned over the years that there's nothing I can do except let it pass. It feels like some kind of thick, heavy burden is slowly being lowered onto my shoulders, weighing me down and making it hard for me to keep going. It's like I can sense everyone starting to look at me. I know it's all in my head, and I know my pills would probably make it stop, but I need a clear head. Besides, what kind of idiot needs a pill to fix their moods? Everyone gets sad and pissed off occasionally, especially if their life sucks. And my life is a fucking train-wreck right now.
It'll all blow over.
It always does.
I'll be back to my usual happy self soon. Hell, when this little project is over, I'm gonna be the life of the fucking party. Finally, people will understand me. I won't be so alone.
As soon as I get home, I see with great displeasure that my both
my parents' cars are in the driveway. I can handle it when one of them gets home early, but it's a nightmare when they're both here. They tend to kind of spread out through the house, which makes it hard to avoid them. Sometimes, I feel like I want to sit them down and set out some ground rules. It's like, they're supposed to be out working, but they just come home early when they feel like it. If they say they won't be home before a certain time, how fucking hard is it to stick to the plan? Don't they realize that the days are my time? I want to be alone, and I don't necessarily want to have to go outside every time I want some peace and quiet. I just want to sit around in the house, thinking about stuff and working on my plans, but it's hard when my idiot parents are constantly threatening to come storming through the front door. I swear to God, I live my life on the fucking edge of a nervous breakdown, and no-one even notices.
No-one cares.
Instead of going straight inside, I loiter in the driveway for a while, trying to decide what to do. I walk around the cars, pacing up and down as I feel my head start to flood with ideas. I don't know why the hell I always get so nervous, but I just wanted some fucking time alone and now the whole thing's gone to shit. Finally, unable to control my frustration, I kick one of the tires of my father's car, but the patheticness of the gesture just makes me more angry and I kick the tire again and again. Finally, glancing over at the street, I see Mrs. Aldershot walking past, and she's staring at me with that usual concerned, nosy look on her face. It's as if she's dripping with condescension and loathing. The old bitch probably thinks I'm gonna grab her bag or something like that.
"I'm alright," I shout at her, raising my arm and nibbling on the sleeve of my jacket. "Thanks for asking! What's wrong with you?"
She doesn't say anything. The old bitch never says anything. Not to me, anyway. About me, though... that's another story. I'm pretty sure she's the one who called the police and made that fake claim about me selling drugs. I've never fucking touched that kind of shit in my life. She's nothing but an ignorant, prejudiced old bitch. Sure, she saw me with some needles in my hand, but that doesn't automatically mean I'm using drugs.
The truth is, before I came up with my plan to deal with Kerry Herbert, Mrs. Aldershot was totally my target. I'd even started working out some of the details, before Kerry Herbert started annoying me at college. That's when I decided to change everything and make Kerry my target, which meant that Mrs. Aldershot was granted a reprieve. Not that the old bitch realizes any of this, of course. To her, I'm just a girl who lives in the same street, just some kid with nothing better to do than hang around on the street corner and observe the world. That's what she thinks, anyway, but I'm more than that. I'm the girl who was almost her executioner. If she knew some of the stuff that goes through my mind, maybe she'd have a little more fucking respect.
Sometimes, I just want to open my mouth and hiss at the old bitch.
Still nibbling on my jacket, I pull at a loose thread.
"Adeline!" calls out a shrill voice.
Turning, I see that my mother is standing at the kitchen window, watching me with her beady fucking bitch eyes. I don't get what the fuck's wrong with her. She does this all the time, and it's starting to wear me out. It's bad enough with all the cameras and surveillance in the modern world, and now I have to endure more of the same from my own mother. Those piercing eyes, filled with poisonous disrespect, just keep on burning into my soul. She blatantly hates me, almost as much as I hate her.
"Dinner's ready," she shouts. "Are you coming?"
I stare at her. One day, if everything goes according to plan, she might end up on my list. I need to get Kerry Herbert out of the way, but then I'll be able to pick a few more targets, and my dear old mother might very well end up in deep shit. I don't see why someone should be allowed to treat me like shit and then expect to be spared just 'cause I was unlucky enough to be born through her vagina.
"Adeline!" she calls again. "Are you coming inside for dinner?"
I nod, but I get a little twitch so I have to quickly nod again, to make sure she understands.
She stares at me for a moment, and then she turns and heads away from the window. For some reason, that fucking woman just seems determined to keep feeding me. It's as if she somehow thinks that all my problems have been caused by a lack of food, which is insane. I eat plenty, but I prefer stuff that's natural and doesn't have anything artificial added into it. That's why I've been trying to train my gut to digest wood, which is just about the only fucking thing you can find around here that hasn't been tampered with yet. Besides, I'm getting closer and closer to the greatest feast of all. If only I could tell my mother about my plans for Kerry Herbert. I know she'd freak out and try to stop me, but that's because she lacks the imagination to see how change and evolution are necessary. To her, these bodies and this life are probably at the fucking pinnacle of the evolutionary tree, whereas people like me, we see the potential for better things. Darker things.
Figuring that I'd better just get the whole damn thing over with, I trudge along the driveway and push the front door open. I can hear my parents in the dining room, but I don't want to go anywhere near them, not until it's absolutely necessary. Instead, I head to the bathroom; after locking the door, I allow myself to become visible to the mirror and finally I slip my hood back and stare at my face. With a smile, I realize that everything's going according to plan. I'm as pale as a fucking sheet of paper, and my eyes look dark and sunken. Sure, there's still a little weight around my face, perhaps even a hint of a double-chin, and my skin's sore and chapped in a couple of places, but I'm still working on overall physical fitness. I need some strength for what's coming next, but hopefully I can get my weight well below triple figures. It's hard balancing strength with a lean body, but I'm getting there slowly. My periods stopped a few months ago, which is a good sign. It means my body's started to take notice of what I'm trying to do. The weight'll start coming off soon. It has to. It's all part of the plan.
This is what happens when you're on the verge of becoming the next step in human fucking evolution.
Chapter Two
Sitting alone in my room, I stare at the needles on the little table. This is the part of my routine that I hate, but I guess I don't have a choice. I knew this whole project was going to be tough when I started, and there's no way I'm going to back down now. Pain means nothing. No, wait, that's not true. Pain's important. Pain's necessary. Without pain, how can I know I'm doing the right thing? My whole life so far has been about pain and misery. Finally, I'm on the verge of a whole new type of existence. I'm so close to achieving my destiny.
Reaching out and grabbing one of the needles, I remove the cap before looking down at my bare left arm. Even though my skin is pale, it's still hard to see any veins beneath the surface. I guess I'm running low on blood, which is how it's supposed to be. After all, I remove a load of the damn stuff every night, and although the process makes me feel weak as hell, I'm slowly starting to get used to it. I need to reduce the total amount of blood in my body so that, when the time comes for me to make my strike against Kerry, I can enjoy the experience all the more. I know that an outsider might think that this whole damn thing is just a pointless charade, but all my actions are underpinned by logic. I know what the fuck I'm doing. I'm forcing my body to change.
As I get ready to stick the needle into my skin, I somehow manage to fumble and drop the damn syringe. Reaching down, I find that it's rolled into the pile of cigarette ash and dirty old plates that are scattered around my bed. I quickly find the needle again, give it a quick blow in order to get rid of a few crumbs, and finally I'm ready for the extraction.
The tip slides effortlessly into my skin. I push it deep, until finally I feel it scraping against bone. There's pain, sure, but I can handle it. Pulling the needle back a few millimeters, I start to slowly draw some blood into the chamber. It's a slow process, but finally I'm done and I remove the needle and squirt the blood into a nearby cup. I swear, the blood is looki
ng thinner and less potent these days, as if my body is struggling to produce it properly. I don't really mind one way or the other, but it's kind of useful to see that I'm really pushing myself to the edge. After all, there's no point doing this if I don't take it to an extreme.
Figuring that I should keep going for a while, I extract a few more syringes of blood, pushing against the pain and forcing myself to focus on the overall goal. Finally, with the pain becoming too much and with my arm looking like it's bruising up pretty nicely, I decide to pack it in for the night. I'm feeling pretty weak, and I've still got so much to do before I can even think of going to sleep. Pouring the blood into a small jar, I stand up and try to head over to my closet, but I immediately feel light-headed. Although I try to steady myself, I somehow manage to lose my footing, and I tumble to the floor. The jar smacks down next to me but, mercifully, it doesn't break. All I can do for a few minutes is stare at the blood and wait for my body to regain a little strength. I guess I'm pushing myself pretty hard, but there's no alternative. I have to improve.
"Adeline!" my mother calls out suddenly, knocking on the door. "Are you okay in there?"
Sighing, I wait for her to fuck off.
"Adeline, can you hear me? Are you okay?"
"Yes!" I shout back at her, trying not to sound too pissed off. "I'm fine!"
She tries to open the door, but it's locked.
"What are you doing?" she continues. "I heard an almighty bang."
"I fell over," I shout. "Is that okay? Am I allowed to just fall over occasionally?"
There's no reply, but I can tell that she's still out there in the corridor.
"Can you just go away?" I shout eventually. "I'm totally fine! If I'd hurt myself, would I be able to talk to you right now? Think about it. The fact that I'm fucking talking to you is a clear sign that I'm fucking okay, yeah?"
"I'd like you to open the door," she says firmly.
