by Neil Davies
Cheryl knew that Helen knew. She hated her for that, and for everything she represented. Mostly her own past.
“Where’s the funeral Watson? Has that crippled mother of yours finally done the decent thing and killed herself? Oh, I forgot. You always dress this dull!”
Helen forced her way past, her elbows digging into Cheryl’s breasts. Surely they should give a little?
“They shouldn’t let you into our school Watson,” called Cheryl after the retreating girl. “You’re too ugly to be in the same school as me!”
When she turned back, smiling, to her friends she was surprised to find that they had disappeared and that the other students nearby on campus were staring at her. She turned to a boy nearby. She didn’t recognise him. He wasn’t a football player.
“What’s your problem? Never seen a body this good before?”
She turned and flounced towards the school. She would never understand the common people.
“Before I left, Celia, you made it very clear that I was to have nothing to do with Helen.”
Celia Watson nervously shuffled her wheelchair back and forth on the living room carpet. She had sent Jenny home early, assuring her that she had friends coming round and would be fine, promising her full pay for the day regardless of the actual hours worked. Now she wondered if she should have kept the young home-help around. Someone outside the family group. A touchstone in the real world.
“Things change.” Her voice sounded weak in her own head, but she had forgotten how imposing a figure he was. How strong he could be just standing there. How deep and resonant and mesmerising his voice was.
He turned from the window and smiled at her, a smile blinding in its whiteness in the dark, bearded face.
“I thought you wanted me to leave our daughter alone? You were adamant that she should never know of her birthright.” He picked up a framed photograph of Helen in a gloved hand and studied the smiling, young girl of some eight years ago. “I warned you at the time that it might rise to the surface even without my influence. I cannot control nature.”
“She is a normal sixteen year old girl. That is not the problem.”
“Then why did you call me?”
Celia took a deep breath and wondered, not for the first time since making the phone call, whether she was doing the right thing. But she needed to do something. For Helen’s sake.
“Our daughter is unhappy. Miserable even. I am a burden to her. Her looks are a burden to her. School is a cruel and unforgiving place. I can’t watch her sink like this. She deserves better.”
“She is made fun of for the way she dresses, the way she looks. For the fact she is clever and studious, not flirty and sporty like those tramps who parade around in clothes girls five years older would be embarrassed to wear! I know all this Celia.”
“You know? How…?”
“I promised I would not interfere, not that I would take no interest. I have had people placed to keep me informed.”
She had always known he had influence. Sometimes she forgot how far and how deep that influence spread.
“Then you know she needs help.”
He stepped forward and placed a hand on Celia’s shoulder. She softened, felt the old desire blooming inside her again. It had been the hardest decision of her life to tell him to leave. For Helen’s sake.
“Years back I offered to cure you. You would no longer be a burden then.”
For a moment she felt tempted. To be able to walk again. To no longer need others to look after her. But she knew another’s need was greater.
“No. It’s not me who needs to be cured. It’s Helen.”
Eileen Tasker swayed down the corridors of Rosemont High impeccably dressed in a cream trouser suit, her slim leather briefcase swinging gently from her right hand. She smiled at the female students, knowing they admired and envied her looks, her confidence. She smiled at the male students, knowing their eyes strayed with satisfying predictability to the curve of her breasts just visible through the carefully arranged white blouse, top buttons teasingly undone. She could almost hear the creak of their necks as they turned to watch her walk away, buttocks creasing the tight cream trousers. They wanted her and that knowledge made her smile.
Eileen Tasker was both the coolest and the hottest teacher in Rosemont High, and with the exception of certain elderly, barren members of the staff, everyone liked her. She was a role model to the girls and a wet dream to the boys. But more than that, she actually cared about the students, something that had been more of a surprise to her than anyone else. There had been other motives, other reasons for her applying for a post here. She had never expected to actually like the job!
“Miss Tasker. Are you going to the dance on Saturday?”
Eileen turned a bright smile on the girl who had spoken.
“No Sandra. The dance is for students only. You know that. Other than a few chaperones there’ll be no staff there.”
“But you’re different Miss Tasker. It’d be fun to have you there.”
Eileen laughed. “It’ll be more fun without me, believe me. Who’s your date for the dance Sandra?” It was safe to ask Sandra. She was tall, pretty, and going steady with at least three boys in the school at any one time.
“I haven’t decided yet Miss Tasker. Thought I’d keep them waiting until the last moment. Keep them eager, you know?”
“Have a good time Sandra.”
Eileen watched the girl hurry away and then continued her walk towards her classroom. For a moment, in the crowd of students making their way to lessons, she caught a glimpse of Helen Watson, plain, dowdy Helen Watson. She felt sad for the girl and hoped that she hadn’t overheard the little back and forth with Sandra. It was a near certainty that Helen didn’t have a date for the dance. In fact, it was a near certainty that Helen wouldn’t go to the dance at all.
Eileen Tasker wished she was allowed to help the poor girl. She knew she could, but she was not allowed. There were some kinds of help that didn’t fit into the school curriculum.
Still… if only she could…
“Miss Tasker…”
The call came from further back down the corridor. Not a student this time. An older, raspier voice. There could be no mistaking it. She stopped, turned, and forced a slight smile. All that the caller deserved.
“Yes Mrs Rosco?” The school secretary. Prim, proper, dull. One of those with a definite dislike of Eileen Tasker and her bright, modern, sexy approach to teaching.
“Miss Tasker,” the older woman gasped, out of breath from the short run up the corridor. “There’s a telephone call for you. A man! He said it was urgent.”
Eileen Tasker ignored all the suggested criticisms and innuendos in the woman’s words and frowned, genuinely puzzled as to who would call her at work.
“There was another murder last night. Some guy in his car up on Leaper’s Point. My dad said there was blood everywhere!”
As Samantha Groker’s dad was a policeman, Helen was inclined to believe her. She imagined the scene and gave the only suitable response she could think of.
“Gross!”
“Yeah. My dad said his throat was ripped out, just like the others. They don’t know if it’s a person or some kind of wild animal!”
Samantha sat next to Helen in class and, in as much as she was friendly towards her, was Helen’s best friend. Helen’s only friend in school. She was that rarity, a pretty girl who seemed not to be aware of the fact, or at least not obsessed by it. For whatever reason, she had chosen Helen to speak to on her very first day in school and, despite overtures from the more beautiful girls and an offer to become a cheerleader, had chosen to remain friends with Helen.
Samantha confused, disgusted and annoyed Cheryl Mortimer and her friends. It was not a situation that seemed to overly concern Samantha.
“Does that make it five now?” Helen had been following the murders in the local press. She had always been fascinated by such things, more so when it was right in her neighbou
rhood.
“Yeah, five. Scary eh?”
“What’s scary? Five what?” Cheryl strode past, sneering. “Can’t be dates for Watson here. She’s not had one, let alone five!”
“Screw you Mortimer! Better to be like her than to be right up there with broken bones as something every football player has had!”
Cheryl opened her mouth as if to respond and then turned away, storming to her desk at the back of the class, consoled by her fellow cheerleaders.
Helen grinned. That was another great thing about Samantha. She wasn’t afraid of Cheryl Mortimer. She didn’t seem to be afraid of anything.
“Sorry I’m a bit late,” said Miss Tasker as she strode into the room. “I got delayed by an important phone call. Now, if you’ll all settle down we’ll get right on with things.”
The class itself went well for Helen. Human biology was a good subject for her. She seemed to have a natural talent for it. As soon as the bell went, however, the taunts began. She knew they would. Saturday’s school dance was too much of an opportunity for certain people to miss.
Of course, they waited until Samantha had left Helen’s side.
“Going to the dance Saturday Watson?” That was Cheryl Mortimer in her best sneering voice. “Oh, I forgot. You don’t have a date do you!”
“She’ll never get a date.” One of Cheryl’s cheerleading friends. Helen thought her name was Jackie. “Not looking like that!”
“Be better if you were crippled like your Mom. At least you’d have an excuse for never getting laid!” A nameless cheerleader. They all merged into one for Helen after a while.
“Oh, she has an excuse.” Cheryl again. “She’s too ugly to get laid.”
Laughing, Cheryl led her team out of the classroom, hips swinging, short skirts flicking, legs long and lithe. Helen hated them all. She only wished she had the quickness of wit to hit back with something, anything. Some devastating comment. Some witty remark that would shut their grotesque mouths and make them think twice before turning on her again.
Instead, she bent her head and tried to stop the tears that wanted to burst from her eyes, bringing with them great sobs that would only shame her more.
“Helen?”
She jerked her head up, shocked at the voice calling her name.
“Miss Tasker? I… I didn’t realise you were still here.”
Miss Tasker smiled at her.
“It’s ok Helen. You just need to learn to ignore those girls. They’ll get what’s coming to them eventually.”
Helen wiped away a single tear that had escaped from the corner of her eye.
“No offence Miss Tasker, but that’s easy for you to say. No one would ever tease you about the way you look.”
“How do I look Helen?” Eileen Tasker moved closer to the seated girl and stood in front of her desk. “What do you see when you look at me?”
Helen looked up at the smiling teacher, suppressing the slight discomfort she felt at her closeness.
“Well, you’re beautiful, and sexy, and confident…”
Eileen leaned forward and Helen found her eyes drawn to the cleavage now revealed. It almost panicked her. She had no interest in girls, never had. Not that much in boys either to tell the truth, but never in girls!
“What would you say,” whispered Eileen, “if I told you I was once just like you?”
Helen said nothing but her discomfort grew. Miss Tasker? Like her? It had to be a joke.
Eileen Tasker straightened up and moved slowly around Helen, the fingers of her right hand tracing a snaking line over the girl’s shoulder. Now, standing directly behind her, she rested a hand on each shoulder and placed her lips close to Helen’s ear.
“I’m serious Helen. I was plain, frumpy even. The butt of everyone’s jokes at school. Bitches like Cheryl Mortimer picked on me just like they pick on you.”
Her fingers began to massage Helen’s shoulders and the younger girl found herself relaxing, closing her eyes. A curious warmth spread down her arms and across her chest.
“It was like that until I met the man who changed my life. Gave me a kind of makeover. A very extreme makeover.”
Her hands moved lower, stroking down over Helen’s small breasts, working their way inside her blouse.
Helen was stunned, thought she should move, get away. But the warmth was too pleasant, and yes, if she dared admit it, the fingers now circling her hardening nipples were too exquisite to pull away from.
“Now I can do the same for you Helen.” Her hands cupped the younger girl’s breasts completely, squeezing gently, pulling a moan from the girl’s mouth. “That phone call earlier was from the man who saved my life. Now he wants me to save yours.”
Her lips moved to Helen’s pale neck, her hands stroking lower, over her fluttering stomach, fingers easing inside the waistline of her skirt.
“I have a gift from your father!”
Eileen Tasker sank her teeth into Helen’s neck and began to drink.
Helen had dreams. Dreams of blood, of strange, beautiful people snarling like animals and tearing the throats from people, normal people, people like her. Miss Tasker was in her dreams, one of the beautiful snarling people. But she could not see herself. And throughout her dreams, her visions of these dangerous, sexual creatures, one word kept repeating.
Vampires.
The dreams faded. The visions weakened and died. Through a fog denser than any she had ever faced before she began to wake, to realise there was a real world waiting for her, and there were voices, weak at first then stronger and louder. Voices she recognised, or at least some. Her mother. Miss Tasker. A man.
Miss Tasker!
Miss Tasker had touched her, and she could not deny the excitement that had caused. My god! Was that what she truly was? But she had never had any inclination towards other girls!
Miss Tasker had done more than touched her.
The memory returned, a flood of powerful, fearful imagery and sensation.
Miss Tasker had bit her!
She screamed. Her eyes snapped open, the fog suddenly gone, and she stiffened, realised she was lying in a bed. A quick check. Her bed.
A hand on her shoulder. A comforting voice.
Her mother.
“Helen dear. It’s ok. Eileen brought you straight here.”
Eileen? Miss Tasker?
“You needed to rest, to complete the change.”
That was Miss Tasker’s voice and Helen’s eyes focused on the two women leaning over her. Her mother and Miss Tasker.
“But…”
What had she said? The change? What the hell was there to change?
“Give her some space. She just needs a moment to readjust.”
That was a man’s voice, deep, booming and full of command.
The two women drew back and Helen saw the man. He was tall. He was undeniably handsome in an older man way. And then she recognised him from the descriptions her mother had given her. There had never been any photographs to look at.
“Daddy?”
The man smiled.
“Yes Helen dear. I am your father. And now it is time to accept your legacy, your birthright.”
“But I…”
“Don’t worry dear.” Her mother again, leaning into view. “I tried to keep this from you but I see now that it must be. I couldn’t bear to see you so unhappy.”
“Take a look in the mirror.” Miss Tasker now, holding forward Helen’s own hand-held mirror. “You’ll see what you were always destined to become.”
“The mirror…?”
“Yes Helen, the mirror.” Her father again. Her tall, handsome and impossibly here father. “Not all legends are true.”
She wasn’t sure she completely understood the reference to legends, but she took the mirror and looked… and passed out.
They stalk their prey in darkness. Predators. Hunters. Killers of unstoppable ferocity and strength.
Eileen Tasker wears her trademark tight t-shirt and short skirt. Helen
Watson, still learning, still feeling her way in this new life, dresses more conservatively. A plain cream blouse and black trousers. Nevertheless, the top buttons of the blouse are undone, revealing a cleavage she had not previously been aware of, and the trousers are tight, clinging to every curve, moulding themselves to the contours of her body in a way that is almost more revealing than the skirt worn by her older companion.
Helen Watson is sixteen and beautiful. She knows it. She does not know how it happened, but the crooked nose, the too-square jaw line, the bad teeth, have all gone and been replaced by a face that is so perfect as to be almost unnatural. It is a makeover even the best plastic surgeons could not achieve. And she feels fantastic, wonderful and sexy.
She keeps a careful eye on the time as Eileen introduces her to their target for the night. A college boy. Probably a jock. Two days ago he would not have given Helen a second look, now his eyes caress her body and she smiles at him, confident in her own image.
She still watches the time, just twenty minutes later, as, naked, she tears at the victim’s throat, sharing the feast with Eileen until they both orgasm, throwing their arms around each other, holding on tight as they shudder and moan in ecstasy.
As they clean each other off, Helen checks her watch one more time and smiles.
“Almost time. I need to get changed.”
Eileen smiles. “Ok dear. You hurry along. I’ll finish off the tidy-up here.”
Helen kisses her full on the lips, tasting the blood still fresh in her mouth. Reluctantly pulling away she hurries off towards home.
Eileen watches her go and then, almost as a second thought, calls after her.
“Enjoy the party tonight. Don’t be home early. And say hello to Cheryl for me!”
Helen’s laughter rings clear in the night as the lights of the city below sparkle and gleam, innocent of the terror heading their way.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Introduction Copyright © Neil Davies 2006
The Midnight Hour Copyright © Neil Davies 2004
Originally published by oncewritten.com
