**This story is part of my Bloodlust Vampire Series, part one of which you can find here.**
While sitting on an iron bench in the most secluded part of City Gardens, trying to live in the moment instead of mulling over the historical, my eyes are drawn to a small flower. The leaves of the bush it’s growing on are a glossy green so deep they make the scarlet bloom look almost bloody.
Such a pretty rose.
As soon as my mind names the flower a memory swoops in, entirely unbidden, to drag me back into the past. I don’t go far back, though. Just a handful of years to a comment my own sweet Rose made in one of her regular fits of fearlessness. It amuses me so much I laugh out loud. Continue reading “Roses & Lilies”
**CW: this piece contains dub-con and death. Happy Halloween!**
“They say this part of the woods is haunted. That a handful of centuries ago, those accused of witchcraft were brought here after their trials – they were invariably found guilty – for execution by hanging. Though official records weren’t kept in those darker times, it’s estimated that at least a hundred and fifty women died beneath this very tree. While some of them would surely have been guilty of crimes both minor and major, the vast majority of them would have been innocent. Continue reading “The Hanging Tree”
**To see this image in its original post, click here to visit Maria Merian’s site**
In the muted light of his workshop, Piero stuck out his tongue and considered the figure in front of him. He tasted dust on his lips, drew it into his mouth, felt the sandiness of it scuffing against his teeth. With the most loving of touches, he smoothed a rough patch here, reshaped a bit there, added a little more detail with a small metal tool. At last, the final curl had taken shape. He sat back on his heels, sweating, filthy, starving almost to the point of emaciation, to marvel at his newest creation. Continue reading “Broken Idol”
It comes alive at night. I keep praying it won’t, but the moment my body begins to relax as I enter the quiet place that precedes sleep, it comes. Dread steals the power from my limbs, my lungs deflate, and I forget how to refill them.
I can’t run, can’t hide, can’t even scream. I’m motionless, staring at the sickly, pale green glow that creeps across the ceiling, getting ever closer to my bed. All there is for me to do is wait. Wait for it to reach me, for it to take what it wants, for it to shamble back to its rightful place again. Continue reading “It Comes Alive at Night”
**CW: drug use**
A light, blue-tinged, hot-white, streaks through the room. Jagged, like lightning, splitting the air with a crackle, strobing in my eyes, making even the finest of the fine hairs that cover my body stand to attention.
Where the fuck am I, and how did I get here? Shapes flit around the room so fast I can’t get a bead on them. I can’t focus, can’t tell where one mass ends and another begins. I try to think, try to align my thoughts long enough to make sense of something, anything, but the things in the room won’t let me. Continue reading “Black Widow”
Image used with permission of Cara Thereon
**This story is a continuation of my vampire series, part one of which you can find here. Bloodbath is a wordy piece and a violently bloody, cruelly stabby one, too, so be sure you wanna read it before diving in…**
“Tell me why we’re here again?”
Eamon’s weary eyes meet mine in the light of the tiny flame that appears a few feet from my face. One deep breath fills my lungs with damp air, the next leaves a tang of sulphur dioxide in the back of my throat. I watch a small orange ball crackle, flare, then settle into a warm glow as smoke coils in front of my old friend’s wizened face.
He doesn’t press for an answer to his question because he doesn’t need one. I made the necessity of venturing into this part of the city distinctly clear on the way here. No, what he wants from me is reassurance. He wants to know that when, if, we walk out of this hellmouth of a place we’ll be in the same condition we’re in now, however doubtful that condition may be. As much as I’d like to offer that reassurance, I can’t, Fuck knows what state we’ll be in after our audience with Aziz. Continue reading “Bloodbath”
She’s bound by chains made of shadow. They’re coiled around her ankles and her wrists. Twisting and intertwining, crossing over and through each other until they reach their respective rings around her collar. Holding her, grounding her, controlling her. Each link insubstantial, incorporeal. Indestructible.
Yet every so often she tries them. Fingers flex and take hold. Puckered skin tightens over knucklebones as her hand becomes a fist. Tendons strain in her forearms, her shoulders shake with effort. All she succeeds in doing is binding herself tighter. With each tug the chains get stronger, the wickedness that forged them feeds off the energy she expends. Continue reading “Demonised”
Kicking my slippers off my tired feet, I peel back the sheets and slip into bed. The cold cotton is almost shocking after the heat of the shower, it makes me shiver so hard the bangles on my wrists jingle against each other. I’ve always been at my happiest during the latter half of the year, but since Linc left I’ve dreaded summer coming to an end. It takes me too long to warm the bed up when I’m sleeping alone, and since March I’ve been doing that more than I care to think about.
Yet thinking about it I am. I need a distraction. Something to occupy my mind until the sandy scratching in the corners of my eyes spreads until the only thing I can do to relieve it is lower my lids. I want to sleep but it’s pointless trying before exhaustion forces it upon me. Continue reading “Hunted”
Roger is taking a nap. Up there on the big bed. I’m down here, just beyond the foot, snuggled up in my lovely cosy hutch. I can hear him snoring. A quiet snort in, a soft rattle out… in… out… in… out. It soothes me, makes me feel content.
In the quiet of the room, I consider the way my straw bed feels against my body. There’s an itch and a scratch, but it’s so warm and it crinkles when I move. I like to move a lot because every time I shift my legs, I feel my tail twitch. It’s a cute tail if I do say so myself. Roger calls it my fuzzy white pompom. He likes to tug it. When he does it tickles and strokes, and a special part of it wiggles around inside of me. The more I move my legs the more I feel the straw beneath me becoming damp. Continue reading “I Love My Hutch”
I have a secret. I’ve kept it ever since I was eighteen, and I’m forty-eight now. Not even once have I considered sharing it. Nobody would believe me if I did. Hell, sometimes I don’t even believe it, I’ve managed to convince myself that it’s all in my head many a time. But then I’m faced with it again and I can’t deny that it’s real. Implausible, fantastical, but absolutely real.
You’re probably wondering what my secret is, and do you know what? I think that now…yes, I am ready to divulge it now… Continue reading “Narcissistic Fairy Tale”