The Wiccan Diaries

by T. D. McMichael

  That’s... not good, I told myself, wishing I had bothered to take a map. It was pinned up still, in my room. And I had been so confident that I wouldn’t get lost.

  This was something I was used to, losing my way.

  My professors were always on me about paying attention. I couldn’t help it if my mind liked to wander. I tended to get lost a lot: in my head, in life. The rigors of academia were not for me. I wanted to be an artist. Or something.

  My old headmistress was always threatening me with expulsion. I say old, because the truth is I never planned on seeing her again. I told her I was a lousy student, and that she should expel me! It was an idle threat on her part.

  I felt the breeze change, turn nonexistent. It was just me, in a backstreet, alone. Doors ordinarily opened were locked.

  It was winding, with cobbles, the street. I felt the darkness creep up on me.

  Have you ever heard the sound of ‘nothing?’ I wondered to myself, existentially.

  The midnight strollers had all gone home. I was utterly, completely alone. Or maybe I just wished it. Because I thought I heard something.

  I looked above, around and behind me. Nothing. Disappearing into nothing. Both ends of the street were empty. A single penumbra of light lay in-between. I walked toward the lamp, stopping below it. I heard a rasping sound. It sounded like a hiss, almost. Something was coming toward me. I felt a shiver of fear. It had been so long since I had been really, truly frightened. I decided I didn’t much care for the sensation, the unpleasant cold that crept up from the pit of my stomach, licking at my insides.

  “I know you’re out there,” I said.

  It kept coming. When I saw its eyes, I knew I was in trouble. They were a bright, blood red. The unnerving part was how focused they were––on me. Like I was their target.

  My heart began to race. I think it heard it, because it watched me for a second, then hissed again. Was this what had been killing all of those people?

  I stumbled back against the wall.

  The part of my brain that said, “Run!”, jammed.

  “I’m not alone,” I said stupidly, for clearly I was alone, as alone as I could get. And the hissing creature knew it, too.

  How many times had I imagined this happening to me? If Mistress Genevieve saw this, she would have gone, “See? Didn’t I tell you this would happen? Girls should be in school, not lollygagging around strange, foreign cities.”

  “I have to know!” I almost shouted.

  “Your parents died. They died! And there’s nothing you can do about it!”

  I was on the ground, with my hand over my face, remembering how cruel she had been.

  ‘I can’t explain it,’ I decided I would write in my diary, if I ever made it out of this alive, ‘it was like she was really there.’ I felt the truth of her statement, like a blow that hit me physically.

  It was like being cut with a straight razor––at first I didn’t know what was happening, then the wound opened up.

  “Mistress Genevieve,” I said. She thrived on opening my wounds.

  That’s when it happened.I tried opening my eyes, but the light was blinding me. I felt it coming closer! I felt myself falling as if from a great height. This was going to hurt, I said to myself. I fell back and the world went dark.

  Lennox

  There are moments that, whether you know it or not, define who you are to become. They can be simple moments. How many times, for instance, has someone misplaced their car keys, only to avoid that huge traffic accident that would have claimed their life? Or been held up and because of that died in an unforeseen accident.

  If I hadn’t been in the neighborhood none of this would have happened. At least, not in the way it did. I found that I thought about that for months to come.

  * * *

  I was too low to the ground. Screams traveled differently depending on where I was at. These were high and plaintive; I was astonished that no one else seemed to notice. Something in the frequency of the one who was screaming awoke in me my old sense of mortal protectiveness. It existed to protect the pack, of which I was no longer a member, from the type of monster I had become.

  Whoever it was, was in trouble. That much was clear. About all I knew was that it was a female voice. I could even tell the age.

  Seventeen.

  Nothing in the screams suggested any kind of prank. Whoever she was, she was in trouble. I had to help her.

  I moved towards her, passing cafés and other nightspots. It was the time of night vampires fed their sanguine thirsts. We could not enter where we were unwanted, so had to rely upon the free-for-all of the street.

  I had walked through the years forsaking all my immortal desires––except one. The pursuit of an inner life. The struggle to find out who I was. To know what my purpose was. I didn’t know, then, that I had found it.

  Chapter 4 – Lennox

  I couldn’t believe it! It was right there. Its hands were on a girl. I crawled down the travertine blocks of the building I had scaled, landing in the street, and kept out of the light, but it saw me anyway.

  It turned, its teeth exposed. It was carrying a body. I should say, it had a body stowed underneath the large cloak that it wore.

  Was this the boker? The powerful dark wizard who had been making my life an undead living hell by reanimating dead corpses? If so, where was Occam, when I needed him?

  “Hey, creep!” I shouted.

  It turned, its blood-red eyes like congealed puddles at a crime scene, to look at the disturber of its nighttime sojourn. Its mouth was bent to her. I saw the slick strands of saliva that dripped from its diseased gums, barely missing her––the teeth that shone like polished onyx. It was attempting to bite her––would have, if I had not shown up. But it hadn’t yet! There was still time!

  It was a contagion carrier––perhaps the contagion carrier. Was this what was spreading the Suck? I was determined to find out. I unsheathed my stake, preparing for the duel. It felt like a bit of wood in my fist. Not exactly reassuring. But there was no time.

  Part of me was relieved the girl, whoever she was, was out of it. I wouldn’t have to do any covering over of the facts, were she suddenly to become indoctrinated to the evidence of my kind.

  Rule Number One was we do not let people know about our existence. People were so predictable when it came to vampires. They always freaked out!

  I caught the whiff of dead guy. And Occam had put the last one in the trunk of his car! Yuck! I wasn’t looking forward to cleaning it out.

  The body the boker was carrying seemed to come to life and unfold itself from its master. The boker, meanwhile, concentrated on the girl.

  She looked like she was stroking out: arms flailing, going all over the place. Her face was hidden beneath her hair; the look upon it, one of pain. It was almost like she was drowning. It made my breath hitch––which was weird, because I don’t usually breathe. She was very attractive.

  If you don’t do something, she won’t be breathing much longer, I told myself.

  I was about to charge them, to prevent it biting her, when the most unexpected, ridiculous, crazy, great, miraculous, wonderful, inexplicable thing happened. Here I was, thinking I had reached my quota of the sublime.

  She floated.

  Right up in the air.

  She just floated out of the grasp of the vile monster.

  I heard my breath do that hitching thing again. What was going on?

  The only one who didn’t stop to marvel was the corpse that had unfolded itself from the necromancer. It came at me like it was my fault. I saw the boker stare up. Then it hissed something, and the corpse veered off. They disappeared into shadow. I just let them go.

  I saw her rise higher. One of her little slippers fell off her foot. I reached out and grabbed it before it hit the ground. I was beginning to worry she may just continue right up floating and fly away entirely. Instead, she hit her head on the lamp, and came crashing back down to me. She landed right on top of
my head and knocked us both over. Luckily, I had cushioned the fall with my face. What was I going to do with her? She was passed out right there on the ground.

  I suddenly caught her scent.

  It unmanned me.

  Here we were, alone, I smiled, and I’m all Stalker Boy. Her legs were in my lap; I felt the weight of her thighs in her tight jeans, how firm they were.

  I couldn’t resist. I leaned towards her, resting my left hand on the outside thigh. With my right, I brushed a strand of her hair away. It was dark, black, midnight. I looked into her eyes.

  They popped open and glared at me.

  Surprised, I fell back. Stalker Boy wasn’t used to an audience. But her scent! Her alluring scent!

  It was unlike anything I had ever smelled before.

  Take her. How many times have you saved someone’s life? You deserve her. With her hair and her little feet.

  Her toenails were painted bright blue. The shoe was forgotten. I threw it when I tried to save her.

  I didn’t know where I was at. I had never even heard her speak and already I wanted her. The monologue in my head continued unabated.

  ...vein pumping, gushing into your mouth––the blood like a warm elixir, burning your scorched throat....

  Dry mouth feed on her blood take her listen to the racing little heart begs....

  Seriously, you’re allowed ONE, every now and then. You ARE the only vampire IN Rome. Take her.

  When I let him get like this, he was hard to resist. Speaking of hard. I shifted. Her weight was still on top of me. I was trying to fight it, but Stalker Boy launched the full and considerable resources of his counteroffensive.

  Just this once, if you want me to, I’ll look the other way. We’ll forget it ever happened. You know you want to.

  I felt the tingling anticipation of her skin against my lips.

  They don’t mind if you slip now and then. It’s expected. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be a vampire... right? You don’t think they don’t keep a little somethin’ somethin’, do you? I’m telling you...

  No...

  Enjoy her. This is your reward. You––

  I––

  Stalker Boy wasn’t interested in what I had to say.

  If you won’t, I will. You can blame me in the morning....

  I bent, reaching towards her––my mouth opening, my teeth parting––preparing to experience the warmth of her sudden death.

  Her eyes registered awareness, but no fear.

  I wanted to hurt her, then, a little. It would make her taste better. That’s really what I was after. Lie to her. Tell her that you will let her live. ‘It won’t hurt a bit.’ Say it.

  I didn’t know where Stalker Boy ended and I began. What did it matter? He was right. I did deserve her. I deserved whatever I could get. Besides, what kind of girl ‘floats?’ No one will miss someone who ‘floats.’

  She was my perfect victim. I could have her without anyone the wiser.

  She wants you to. Look!

  She bared her throat to me. I couldn’t believe it. What was going on?

  I felt her body trembling beneath mine. It was warm and infinitely desirable. Her chest heaved. The pumping of her blood was like a furnace beckoning me to her hidden mysteries. I wanted to bury myself into the darkness of her throat. Hide in the warmth of her raven-colored hair.

  And here she was offering herself to me! It was driving me wild! She had no right! She was mine, all mine. I would take her.

  I felt my lips hunger for her. I just wanted to taste her.

  I saw What’s-His-Face staring back at me in the color of her eyes, reflecting Stalker Boy. He was me. I had never seen myself look like that before.

  Her eyes lit up. Part of my brain wondered at the fact that I reflected in them. They were soft and brown and they knew exactly what I wanted. It was like they were drawing me to her. She was reeling me in.

  “Do you see what you do to me?” I said.

  I tried drawing away.

  “No. Please. Don’t,” she said. I didn’t know what was going on. It was like my brain had temporarily jammed.

  Halsey

  Good-bye, cruel world. It’s me, Halsey. I’m signing off. Adios. Hasta la vista. Adieu. I know I haven’t always been the nicest person, et cetera, et cetera, dot, dot, dot.

  I felt the creature’s hands on me––pawing.

  When you passed out, there was supposed to be this unwritten rule. You’ve suffered enough. You don’t need to be a part of this. Go.

  But no. I was coming back so I could experience the wonder of it all––the wonder of being attacked. NOT.

  I didn’t want to open my eyes. I was sure if I opened my eyes, it would be a hundred times worse.

  Those weren’t claws.

  No. I didn’t want to look at those red eyes. Inhuman.

  I felt its fingertips––the lightest touch––brush aside a lock of hair that always fell in my face. I was always blowing it out of my face, looking at it askance, the lock of hair, like I was a crazy person.

  I hated when my hair didn’t do what I told it to.

  I waited, hoping for more. I could feel him beneath me, move slightly. He had his hand on my leg. But it wasn’t grabby. More like, he was holding me to him... Safely....

  I felt him lean toward me. I wanted to be touched by him again. What was he waiting for? I was just about to chide him when I noticed what I hadn’t noticed.

  That the smell was gone.

  It was like chocolate and fabric softener, this new smell. Like a well-loved book. Like dew and roses. Like skin. Like safe-smelling skin. I sighed, contentedly. All of the red eyes and the grrr, it was all gone. He smelled nice; I enjoyed his scent. This was good smell. For a monster he was very snuggly.

  He caressed me gently. I opened my eyes. Maybe I had been killed. Maybe I had been brought back and I was his bride or something.

  Mr. and Mrs. Monster.

  * * *

  I’m dead. I’ve gone and I’ve died. It had to be. No way was this happening.

  He saw me look at him. Stare, was more like. I felt him draw away. No. Don’t.

  His eyes made me shy. Yet I wanted more. To bask. They were sparkling. A shade of lavender I had never seen before. I didn’t know eyes came in that color.

  He was looking at me. I couldn’t tell but it looked as though he thought he’d hurt me. And then he spoke.

  “You see what you do to me?”

  My eyes widened; I could feel how much of a fool I must be making of myself; not talking, just staring. I couldn’t help it. He was so extraordinarily beautiful.

  Looking at him... hurt. I tried to sit up.

  A terrific throbbing at my temple. I reached up. He caught me as I fell back. He was holding me in his lap, cradling me. I felt something at my hairline. Wetness, was it? When I brought my hand back down, it was covered in blood.

  “Oh, no,” I said. Oh, no? That was the first thing I was ever going to say to him? It was too late to take it back. I felt his body tighten. Blood stained my fingertips. “Sorry,” I said, feeling even more stupid.

  He shook his head: “I think I better take you home,” he said. I was so caught up, I didn’t even realize he had spoken English.

  More than that, it sounded like he was American.

  I had an accent: Bahston instead of Boston. His was perfect.

  It was crisp, firm. I waited for him to speak again.

  He just looked at me.

  We weren’t even moving. I wasn’t going to budge. Nuh-uh. You’re going to have to cradle me, Mistuh. Uh-huh. I kept the cap on my fizzing squee.

  “What happened?” I asked, finally making some sense, when he didn’t let me go.

  I felt the blood continue to trickle into my hair. I didn’t care. Even when some of it ran across my cheek and down my chin. A line of blood. A blood line. I could feel it wanting to drip. I sensed how agitated it made him. I decided to play it up. Maybe if I bled enough, he wouldn’t let me go?

&nbs
p; He seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “I shouldn’t leave you alone,” he said.

  I nodded, unsure exactly if he meant he should stay with me forever, or until some time in the foreseeable future.... If this not leaving me should perhaps be something permanent, like forgetting my birthdays or to put down the lid.

  “No. Don’t. Please.”

  I tried to turn my head a little bit, but the blood continued to run down my face. It was running all over my lips and chin. My hair was soaking in it.

  He groaned. I looked at him and smiled. I could feel him shift beneath me. One of the spaghetti straps on my tank top busted. I felt for it, then noticed something missing.

  “My necklace,” I said. “It had my locket on it.” I looked at his eyes again. They were pained, distant. “You don’t understand. I have to have it back,” I said. “It’s the only thing left––I have left of my parents.” I looked at him, pleading for him to understand. Part of me realized there was nothing he could do about it. I felt like such a fool.

  He was probably thinking of an excuse to bail on me.

  I waited for him to speak, hoping he didn’t say what I thought he would. “My girlfriend is waiting,” or something.

  He didn’t. He just nodded. Silent type.

  He got to his feet with me still in his arms, and carried me down the cobblestone street.

  I felt–– I don’t know. Too much had happened–– Like, how did he stop that thing from getting me?

  He smiled. It was an amazing smile. I hoped I wasn’t heavy. I forgot what I said. “What did I say?” I said.

  He smiled again. I would have to capture that. It got away. I decided to reel it––him––back in. “You don’t talk a lot, do you, mister?”

  “I’m tired. I had to fight.”

  “I knew it. I weigh too much.”

  “No,” he said, “it’s not that.”

  “Then what, then?”

  He struggled. With his words, not me. I was still busy stealing secret snuggles.

  I looked into his eyes again. “I want to know,” I said, wonderstruck at the beauty of him. He kept his eyes on the road, but I could see them anyway, through long strands of dark hair.