The Creature That Came Uninvited

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 anymore.

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 master.

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 out."

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 bloodsucker.

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.

Jumping.

Could she?

All right.

Whoo.

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 eternity."

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 trembled.

"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 large bat.

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 dream.

He leaned over to bite her neck.

THE END

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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