by Matt Shaw
Part of me worries I may have already turned - after all, it’s my old friend who is dead on the living room floor. Killed by my own hands. Even if it were an accident it doesn’t change the outcome or give me back the little piece of humanity that I lost when I took her life. Emphasis on the word ‘little’. I should be crying. Has to be the shock. The shock from the accident, the shock from what happened between myself and that woman...Shock can do a lot to a person. Make them act in ways they wouldn’t normally act.
Still looking at my tired, and pale, reflection - I forced a smile for no other reason than to get a good look at my teeth. All still there. Same teeth, same coffee stains. Certainly, as of yet, none of them have grown any sharper than the others. I ran my tongue across the undersides of the top row just to be sure. Same again with the bottom row. Same teeth for sure.
A small wave of disappointment rushes through my body like a breeze through an open window. At least it would have been easier if I were a monster - to explain how I turned from victim to murderer in just a few short hours. Knowing I haven’t changed inside...Knowing my soul hasn’t been sucked from my body - as of yet - and I was still capable of murder...I think that’s worse than finding out that I’ve just turned into a monster and killed my first victim. All these years on this planet and I’ve always been capable of murder. A frightening trait of most human beings?
It was an accident. Accidents happen. Shit happens.
No matter how many times I thought like that - it didn’t change a thing or make me feel any better. My stomach cramped again as I threw up into the toilet bowl once more.
Chapter Four
I do not know why I was just sitting by Jen’s cold body. There wasn’t enough willpower in the world to bring her back to life and - even if there was - would she immediately jump up and run for help? I paused for a moment as I decided on the best course of action. No need to rush and make this more of a mess than it really needs to be - she did, after all, call in sick. A phone call which, by my reckoning, has given me a couple of days breathing space to get my act together.
Should just take her into the bathroom and cut her up. Small, easy to move, pieces with the mess confined to a room which would be easy to clean. No. That’s stupid. People will come looking for her when she fails to get in touch with any of them. She was a popular girl. It would not take long for someone to come knocking.
Another thought suddenly popped into my mind; leave her body there. Don’t touch it. When people come looking for her they will, no doubt, break in where upon they would find her body. It was clearly an accident. She must have stood up too quickly and tripped. Or passed out. That’s more like it. She phoned in sick so she clearly wasn’t very well. She tried to stand up, quickly, and just passed out. Head rushes can do that; cause someone to pass out suddenly. She passed out and banged her head on the way down - a blow which led to her death. Yes. Not only is that extremely plausible but it also gets me off the hook entirely. All I would need to do is remove any trace of my presence from the house - not just the crime scene. Crime scene? No! The scene of the accident. It’s not as though I saw anyone outside whilst I was waiting for her. No one knows I am here. I just remove any trace, wipe the sides down on the off chance they dust for prints and stumble across mine - not that I believe they’d even have a reason to look in the first place. Wait for night and leave by the backdoor.
A plan so calculated that I can’t help but wonder whether it’s my plan or that of the monster which has invaded my infected blood. Another quick flick of my tongue across my teeth - still haven’t grown any fangs. My plan then. There is no monster within.
Yet.
* * * * *
I’ve been lying on Jen’s bed for a couple of hours now. Previous hours passed with mindless polishing of the surfaces and tidying up to the extent of giving her a house which is truly sparkling. Too bad she wasn’t alive to appreciate my efforts. As I had taken a step back to admire my handiwork I had wondered whether her home had ever been as clean as it is now. A quick concern, which flashed through my mind at the time, was whether her other friends would believe someone had come in and purposely tried to conceal her murder, as her home wasn’t usually as clean. A quick thought which left my shattered mind just as quickly as it had first popped in.
Now I’m on her bed with my mind stuck on thinking about Helen of Troy and what is to become of me. A little part of me wishes I had not fought her off. A little part of me wished a passer-by had stumbled across my corpse the following morning. Even if I don’t turn into whatever she was, what kind of life am I to be left with after the bullshit she has reported me for?
As for turning into something. I don’t feel very well but that could be down to the smack on the head I must have taken. It could be down to the overall soreness of my body and the throbbing in my neck. It doesn’t mean I am actually turning into a monster. Monster? I don’t even want to say the word...Vampire. There is no proof I am actually turning into a vampire. I have never heard of this happening to anyone else. Surely, if vampires did exist, we would have heard something. Someone would have seen something and exposed them for all to see! Government conspiracy? Hiding the truth from us just as they did with facts about alien crash landings? Come on, stop now. This is getting more and more ridiculous the longer your sick mind dwells on it. Just put it out of there. Out of your mind. Forget about it. Easier said than done. Every time I close my eyes I just see her face. I feel her teeth in my neck. The scream she made as she lunged. The hungry noises she slurped as she bit into my flesh. I’ll never be able to forget.
I feel cold. The warmth disappearing from my body. Could be another sign I’m turning. No! Stop it! Stop thinking like that. I’m not turning into anything. I’m not. I’m just me. Me. Mild mannered office worker. There’s nothing special about me. Nothing sinister either. I’m just your Average Joe...Who’s recently been attacked by a vampire. Stop it! Jesus, what’s wrong with me. Can’t put the damned thing out of my mind. Can’t leave it in the gutter where the silly ideas and thoughts belong.
Maybe for the best though? Just because people have not heard real stories about vampires and such like - that’s not a sure sign they don’t exist. For all I know, I could be the first person to escape the feeding process. The first person? Yikes. It could be up to me to tell the world they exist. But why would I do that? If I am to become one of them maybe it’s best no one knows so we can all continue to live together under the same sky...
The sky?
I didn’t think of that. It is night-time now. Tomorrow I planned to stay in Jen’s house all day, with her body, before disappearing the following evening. A plan which gave me a little extra respite before I needed to find somewhere else to stay. If I am to turn - should I not try and sleep now? Should I stay up and pace the evening hours away until day break? Then - when the sun is out - should I hide away? Find a place hidden from the sun’s harmful rays? It’s not as though I wish to burst into a ball of flame! But then, is that even likely to happen to me? All I know of vampires is what fiction has taught me through the various mediums. For all I know - the truth could be nothing like what the stories report. Shit for all I know vampires do actually sparkle in the sun and prance around looking for some college girl to date.
I sat up with my mind all confused about the best course of action. Perhaps I should just wait up tonight, just in case...Besides - if I’m leaving tomorrow night, it would probably be a better idea to sleep through the day instead anyway. Save my strength for having to walk to God only knows where in the midnight hours. I climbed from my bed and wandered downstairs. Glad I’ve chosen to stay another night. I still feel unsteady on my feet and have to use the wall to stop myself from falling on my backside.
I paused for a breath at the bottom of the stairs and was hit, instantly, by the smell. I knew Jen would go off but I wasn’t expecting the stink already - not just a few hours after her death. I thought it would be days later. Definitely her, though. Unless the bin is
in need of emptying and I just didn’t notice it earlier in my tired state? I sniffed the air. Definitely her.
I stumbled across to the living room doorway and leant against it. Jen is still where I left her. I expected nothing else. Her eyes were fixed on me. Even though she is dead, she looks as though she is judging me. Definitely looks as though she is disappointed in me. I wish I could force her eyes closed but I know, to touch her body, it would blow my cover story of her unfortunate accident.
My eyes fixed upon the dried blood on her forehead and I felt a sudden craving which started in the pit of my stomach and rumbled its way through to the rest of my body. Coincidence I just happened to have noticed the blood at the same time as my body decided to tell me it is hungry for something? I walked over to her body and crouched down next to her. Doesn’t even look like blood. Jam. Strawberry jam. I mean, fair enough, it looks a little congealed. As though it is leftover jam which has been left on a plate for a few days before being washed up. I leant in closer and gave her forehead a sniff. The blood is odorless. Unless it’s not odorless and the smell of the body is just hiding it from my senses. My stomach rumbled again and I closed my eyes against the ridiculous thoughts and temptation of what was literally lying in front of me. Another cramp in my stomach - this isn’t hunger. I leapt to my feet and ran through to the downstairs toilet where I immediately threw up into the bowl.
Jesus, what’s going on with my body?
I waited a couple of minutes just to make sure I wasn’t going to be sick again. When I realised I wasn’t, I flushed the chain and left the toilet - closing the door behind me. I walked through to the kitchen. For all I know it was the stench of Jen’s corpse which made my stomach turn. Probably best to stay out of the living room. Perhaps even close the door to it - try and contain the smell.
When I was sick, there wasn’t much. Maybe I’m just really hungry. I can’t remember the last time I had something proper to eat. I walked to the kitchen sink and reached for the yellow rubber gloves which were next to the hot tap. If I’m going to go through her cupboard drawers, looking for food, it makes sense to wear the gloves. In the many films I have seen, through the years, I have seen the bad guys wearing gloves whilst going through their victims’ homes. I’m not sure if the authorities would dust Jen’s place for prints in this situation but better safe than sorry.
I slipped the gloves over my hands and started going through the various cupboards looking for anything which took my fancy. I think my body is saying I’m hungry but not telling me what it is hungry for. Annoying. There’s bread, various sandwich fillers, packets of crisps, biscuits - both plain and chocolate - cereals, packets of noodles and rice...Yet none of is it taking my fancy. I slammed the final cupboard drawer shut out of sheer frustration with my stomach rumbling louder than the actual banging noise; an irritating reminder that I’m still hungry. I took the gloves off and slipped them into my back pocket on the off-chance I need them again later.
All this food around me and I can’t seem to take my mind off the sight of the blood on Jen’s forehead. Is this it? The first stage of turning into whatever I fear I’m changing into? The bite taking its first noticeable step of turning me?
I stormed back down the hallway and into the living room where Jen continued to give me the disapproving look. With no hesitation I hurried over to her body where I dropped to my knees. I stuck my tongue out, darted towards the congealed blood on her forehead and...Froze. Come on, don’t think about it. It’s the only way to know. If you like it - you know there is a good chance you are turning. If you vomit, like you suspect a normal person would then the chances are you’re going to be fine. I moved a tiny bit closer. The distance between her skin and my tongue is minimal. From my perspective it looks as though they should be touching. Come on, just give her a lick. I pulled away - my body refusing to do as my brain instructed. No. Can’t do it. Probably not a bad thing but my inability to give the blood a taste doesn’t answer whether I’m a creature of the night or not. It just tells me I haven’t completely lost my senses yet.
I moved further away from her body. Being so close - the smell has got right up my nose. I wish I could give her a spray with something nice smelling to try and take some of the sting from her scent but I’m not sure whether it would give someone the idea that I was here. I stood up again and left the room, closing the door behind me. No harm closing the door, as long as I don’t forget to give the handle a wipe down later, as people couldn’t say whether she would, or wouldn’t, sit in the room having closed herself in. For all they know - she could have gone into the living room, for a sit down, and closed the door behind her to keep some of the warmth in there with her. I know lots of people who do that - especially during the cooler nights.
I sat on the stairs. The house is quiet. Deathly quiet. I’ve never felt so alone. Even if there were other friends I could call - what’s to say they wouldn’t have seen the news bulletins too? What’s to say they wouldn’t opt to call the police as soon as they set eyes on me? I can’t believe what that bitch has done to me - accused me of rape and got me named as a prime suspect to a string of sexual assaults. I mean, I knew these assaults were happening around the town...Hell, everyone knew! It’s not like they’re not in the newspapers daily...It’s not me though. I’m not like that, despite what she has told the police. She just wants them to come and collect me so she knows where I am; locked up behind bars with no one willing to believe what I have to say about her. She’s a vampire. Christ, even I don’t believe it when I say it out loud - or even think it. It’s ridiculous. She doesn’t need me locked up, out of the way, for people not to believe me. Does she really think people would believe me even if I weren’t incarcerated. Jen didn’t believe me. I’m pretty sure my work colleagues would say I’m mad too, if I were to go into the office and tell them what had happened. Fuck. Why does she want to ruin my life? Unless it is as I thought earlier - she wants the police to pick me up so she knows where I’ll be so she can come and finish me off, having had a taste of my blood? With me locked up - she’d be able to get to me easily. She was probably pissed when the car came by, when we first met, interrupting her feed. I suppose, on some level, I should be thankful for the driver of the other car. Had they not shown up I’d probably be dead now. But then - being dead would probably be easier than having to deal with the mess I’m in now.
Maybe I could call them? Call the police that is. Explain down the phone what had happened? No. They’d want me to go in. I of course would refuse but it would probably be too late by then; they’d have no doubt traced my call and would have sent someone round to come and get me. No. Definitely can’t call the police. Stupid idea.
Jesus, I feel so alone right now.
I held my head in my hands, as I sat on the stairs. I desperately wanted to weep but no tears flowed. Of course not - in the myths vampires can’t cry. Further proof of my impending change? Instead of weeping I felt a slow rage start to bubble. I wish I knew how to find the whore who had put me in this position - at least a way to find her without landing me behind bars or standing in front of a stern judge desperate to make an example of me.
Chapter Five
Wearing the rubber gloves again, I was going through Jen’s bedroom drawers looking for her purse. I had found her handbag downstairs in the hallway but I couldn’t find her purse anywhere. I was hoping it would be an easy find and that it would be full of money. I do feel bad for wishing to take it from her but it’s not as though she is going to be needing it anymore. Well - other than a couple of silver coins with which to pay the ferryman for her journey across the River Styx.
I had decided it was better to try and find money, which would help me survive when it came to leaving the relative comfort of her home, than to carry on thinking about Helen of Troy. I wanted to find her so I could expose her for what she really was and, eventually, kill her for putting me through this and potentially turning me into whatever she is but at the end of the day she’s gone. Long gone. A
nd going by what she did to my neck and the speed with which she did it - it’s probably for the best I don’t cross paths with her again.
I need to forget about her. I need to move on. Concentrate on getting myself back on my feet. Whether that’s living my life in hiding or finding some kind of way to prove to everyone I am innocent. Not that it would be hard to prove my innocence in the crimes they want to talk to me about. With the exception of Helen of Troy - I hadn’t met any of the other rape victims so there’s no chance of linking me with them. It’s just her. She’s the only one who is causing me issues at the moment. I wonder, if the police did find me, would she really come into the light and risk being exposed or would she simply disappear knowing people would just think I was insane if I were to say anything. Locked up and certified insane. Can’t do any harm to her kind from there. But then - if she did disappeared they’d have no option but to let me go. No evidence and no witness other than the driver of the car and, at the end of the day, what did they see? Nothing. Certainly they didn’t see me. If they had then they wouldn’t have hit me with their car.
I stopped going through the drawers and took a moment to reflect upon my recent thoughts. Maybe I should just go to the police? Let them question me with whatever they wish to ask. I don’t know. I carried on going through the drawers. Let’s just find some money first. A little bit of cash to help me get on my feet - at the very least it would hopefully be enough to get a taxi to somewhere away from here.
