The Creature That Came Uninvited
by Charles E.J. Moulton
The chill of the night crept in through the open curtain, causing it
to flutter to and fro in steadily haunting breezes, as if an invisible
spectre stood on the balcony, pushing it forward, again and again.
The night was awake, aware, like a sentient being bloodthirsty, howling at the white full moon, fangs dripping with hot blood.
Leena lay on the bed, immobile, one hand resting on the pillow,
fingers curved upward. Her other hand loosely laid on the sheets,
pointing toward a cracked mirror that hung on the wall. From the edge
of that crack hung one black silk thread, perhaps a remnant of a cape,
the thread fluttering in the breeze from the window in a way equal the
curtain--as if halted by time.
The woman on the bed was invisible to her own reflection in the
mirror, although she had not been so fifteen minutes ago, and so the
wind screamed again, wounded, it seemed, like a bruised animal,
suppressing the sound of laughter in the distance and eager protests
from a male voice.
Leena awoke with a start, gasping for air, sitting up upon the bed
for a moment, looking at the mirror at a reflection that wasn't there
The ticking of the old clock on the wall reminded her of passing
time and his promise to return. Him, her love, with the wooden stake
and the bible. Her counterpart, just as real as her own reflection had
been. He was out there now, screaming.
She looked out, prompted by those screams, her white eyes now exempt
of color, except for a dot in the middle and the ring around the
invisible iris, the lines blood red.
She waited, listened, heard the shouts in the distance... and smiled.
"John," she whispered, smiling. "You, as well?"
The howling of cries stopped dead, as if replying to her call. It
was a sudden and wondrous reply. Then, a slurping sound, luscious,
slow, passionate. Silent.
For one minute or two, there was dead silence in her world. Not even
the wind whistled, just the rustling of trees in the forest could be
detected. Leena waited for this silence to end. Was... The Creature... transforming?
The familiar squeak of a bat echoed from castle wall to mountain
side and made Leena jerk up away from her bed, drying off the blood
that trickled down the sides of her mouth, causing her to run through
the thin curtain and up toward the edge of the balcony, hoping that...
He... would come to her and let her kill, as well.
He had now made John one of his disciples. Her and John, John and
her, riding the wind, they could now kill together, like him, the
The master did, however, not arrive to summon her like she had
hoped. She looked at the bat disappear into the night. John journey
into the night to crush greed had made her part of this greed. Her and
him, and unpredictability.
"I will not wait for you, Master, for you will not come. The night
is young and my love lies dormant, a human cocoon transforming into a
dark butterfly. Let me copulate with this new butterfly when it slips
Making a split second decision, off she went, off the balcony, her
arms turning into wings, her head forming a snout. How weird that felt,
that first transformation. Her, the vampire killer's wife, now a
The night chilled her bones, the bat that she was, cold in body, hot in heart, hungry for blood but filled with lust. To kill.
Leena didn't know from where, but her body knew instinctively what
to do, where to fly, how to nose dive. When she landed, the wind had
already chilled her nose and the transformation was already
ridiculously fast a complete reality. Was this the creature's work? If
so, flying on a whim exhilarated. Drinking blood.
That was high.
She landed with utmost precision a few yards away from the original
spot, lit by an angry full moon, where she suddenly discovered...
passion again. Passion lay there, immobile, familiarly sensually
luscious black hair, cute nostrils, and the first droplets of
transformation-blood trickling down his mouth toward the hard ground.
Leena leaned over her John, raised one tender hand, and caressed
that cheek, inspecting his facial features inch by intoxicating inch.
Her lips had almost reached his when her sensual spirit was interrupted
by an ill choice.
"Vampires haven't lost their souls," a deep booming voice grumbled
behind them, "they've just gained a lust for blood, and I lust for
Leena felt her neck hairs stand up like algae in the water, like
nails to a magnet. Looking up, not daring to turn around at first, she
stood there as if nailed to the ground.
"Will you join me?"
She turned around, casting her eyes upon his tall white frame,
sunken eyes, fangs, and fingernails. "Have I not already done so?" she
"Not yet," he crooned, "for this is your dream and my eternal wish."
As she slowly felt reality beckoning with a promise, she saw her
husband John devouring a dying reindeer, attacked by the fangs of a
Leena came to, woke up, and saw her own reflection in the mirror and
the moon shining a beam upon that fanged creature behind from her
He leaned over to bite her neck.
© 2017 Charles E. J. Moulton
Bio: Mr. Moulton grew up in a trilingual and artistic family and
spent his childhood on stage. He played his first role at age 11 and
has since then acted and sung in over 100 stage productions. His
publication credits include horror stories for SNM Magazine and Aphelion, historical articles for Socrates and Skirmish and literary fiction for Idea Gems and Pill Hill Press. Mr. Moulton enjoys versatile creativity, is married and has a daughter.
E-mail: Charles E. J. Moulton
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