PHQ-Nickname:
Syndel
Halfquake:
Mania
Level:
74
Total kills:
19,884,443
Birthday:
00th 0000
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| Diary of a vampire, entry 6 |
| Mood: | optimistic |
| Type: | Story |
| Added: | September 27th 2007, 18:11:46 |
| Visits: | 1734 |
| Series: | [ Diary of a vampire. ] |
| Rating: | 5/5 (Votes: 2) |
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Description:
First edited peice clocking in at a gargantuan 2843 words. Hope you enjoy. |
10/08/2007
I live still, or whatever you call this state. My body is noticeably thinner, my skin paler. It's hard to believe that less than four days ago one of my biggest concerns was getting my homework done on time. My body seems to have adapted to my condition – with probably the most noticeable change being my sleep pattern. I can instinctively sense when daybreak approaches, my skin prickles and I feel hot all over. If I go to bed at these times my mind immediately slows, almost like my senses are covered by some invisible shield, dampening my perceptions until, seconds later, I fall unconscious. My parents are beginning to question my actions but they believe the psychologist will find out whatever might be wrong with me so most of the time they leave me alone. To them I'm still their child, but they find my refusal to confide in them frustrating. How could I explain to them what I'm going though? How could I explain to them the fading marks present on their necks? At least I've learned that the effect isn't permanent – that at least can justify my hunting.
Before my transformation I had been reclusive, rarely leaving the house – especially at night. It struck me by surprise how different the town seems after the sun goes down. There was something heavy in the air as I left the house by the back door, wearing a dark coat and almost black jeans. The cool chill of the evening air brought new life to my dulled, lazy bones. Somehow I felt more alive, more active in the night. I stood there, taking in my surroundings with relish. The crescent moon shone down, creating an almost sparklingly white effect on the garden. Flowers, once bright and vibrant remained only visible as closed silhouettes, the colours dulled against the new contrast from the perfect white and complete dark. As my eyes adjusted the garden transformed, no longer constrained from looking out through a dusty window, my eyes feasted on the sheer clarity of my sight. The light bouncing off the rough cobbled path down to the end of the garden shone as if varnished and highlighted by individual spot-lights. Our back garden has always been on the large side, rivalled by few I know of in the entire town. My senses sated and with a new-found confidence in my surroundings I strode towards the end of the garden, my feet light on the ground and making no discernible sound.
At the end of the garden lies a fence, built deliberately large enough to keep most animals, such as dogs and cats, from getting over. Unfortunately about the only practical thing it accomplished was making sure that if there is a fight that it happens on the highest fence in our neighbourhood – ours. This would be my first problem. I had decided before that leaving by the front entrance would attract too much attention. The front door is loud and I knew Hail was still out there somewhere and I was not quite ready to face him yet.
The tree closest to the fence is also one of the tallest, it's branches stretching far above the fence and almost intruding into the opposite garden. The only problem was that the lowest branch was well above head height and the rough bark of the trunk was impossible to climb. To this end I had brought some equipment out with me, a chair and a length of wiring with a large plug at the end – the only long, rope-like object I could find. Carefully I stood the chair beneath the lowest branch, still well below the branch. Standing on the chair the task looked daunting. I had never been particularly strong, a side effect of my reclusive lifestyle. Regardless I swiftly straightened the wire and threw the plug end over the branch and grasped hold of it as it came down the other side. Wrapping the wire around my knuckles I pulled hard on the branch, bring it down towards me with relative ease, considering my strength in comparison. Taking the bunches of wire with my right hand I grasped the lower twigs of the branch with my left hand.
Finally, I found a decent grip and pulled myself up, discarding the wiring as I grappled over the branch, struggling a moment to regain my balance. From there it was simple to shimmy up to the trunk and begin my ascent into the denser branches above.
Reaching the near the top I surveyed my surroundings. From my position I could see far over the fence into the neighbouring gardens, all well kept and freshly mowed just hours before. The upper branches of the tree had been cut back, and many of the higher branches were too short to get the footing I needed. I tried climbing up a little more to get some more height before my escape but the branches were too frail and one snapped beneath my questing foot. I decided I'd have to risk it and, using the upper branches for support, carefully tiptoed to the end of the branch. It was only then I realised just how high up I was. The climb had taken minutes after gaining access to the lower branches but I was almost level with the upper floor windows of the opposite house. Glancing over the fence which was now at feet level the drop looked daunting but I could see clearly my target.
For as long as I can remember Mr. Barnes, to whom the garden belonged, had had an obsession with locks. This, coupled with an intense dislike of children, had caused him to put a lock on almost every point of entry into his property – he had been the only one in the entire street to approve of my parents decision to build the high fence in the first place – but with this obsession he was also quite forgetful, thus – all the locks had been made automatic and only opened from the inside, save for the front door which had only one key. The practical upshot of all this was that if I could get inside his garden I could open all doors, including a side door which would lead straight into the street.
I had not anticipated the height however, and looking at the ground, dry and cracked from lack of rain, it seemed injury would probably be unavoidable. Regardless, I had come that far so I prepared to jump, planning to roll on impact – hoping that rolling would at least cushion the impact a little.
I stood back slightly, feeling the gentle breeze against my cheek, focusing on the gap between the branch and the fence. Somehow it had seemed a lot smaller from the ground. I took a look around and, deciding on a spot to land, lent forwards, grasping the upper branches with my hands and placing my feet in front of each other on the branch. Suddenly a bright light switched on behind me. I glanced back, my mother had appeared in her dressing gown in the kitchen window, the light illuminating almost the entirety of the garden. She stood there surveying the garden from her position, cradling a mug. Panic struck me, any second she could look up and see me perched in the tree like an escaping convict. Quickly I launched myself forwards with my hands, feet pounding against the dry bark and then leaping towards the opposite garden. I cleared the fence by inches and prepared to crouch down as the ground came rushing up to meet me but suddenly there was a sickening crack and I felt my body wrenched upwards, against the force of my fall. My neck hurt tremendously and I could feel a warm liquid dripping down my chest. I glanced upwards, feeling pain with every movement and saw the hood of my coat hanging from the fence. It had caught on the head of a nail, jerking my body against the fall and wrenching my neck as it caught. It was only then I realised my neck was facing almost completely the wrong way in relation to my body. Despite my injuries I could still move my arms and carefully undid the zip on the coat, trying to avoid any more damage to my neck before sliding out of it and falling the few last feet to the ground.
I lay there, blood from my broken neck seeping into my throat and causing me to choke in agony. Unable to speak I clawed at my throat, feeling a deep gash where the zip had dug in. I wondered why I wasn't unconscious, the pain almost unbearable. Then, almost instinctively, I grasped my head and twisted it round. Another resounding crack met my ears and I could see in front of myself again, hands drenched with the sticky red liquid. Half-drowning from my clogged throat and coughing up blood every other second I leaned against the fence, unable to concentrate on anything other than the intense pain.
I don't know how long I stayed there but somehow the pain gradually left me, leaving only a hollow pain behind. My throat, caked with dried blood, felt dry and coarse. My clothes were drenched with the blood I'd coughed up and clung to me unpleasantly. Somehow I had survived. I felt sure any normal person would have died then and there, hanging from the fence. But with whatever restorative powers I had gained there was also a price. Seeing the blood I was bathed in, dry and blackened in the darkness, I felt something rise within me. Something primal, a predatory instinct. My heart cried out for sustenance and the only thoughts which existed in my body, despite the hollow pain, were blood, blood, BLOOD!
It's an indescribable craving, it fills your entire body, gradually at first but then rapidly, sensing the need to survive and controlling you in ways that make sense at the time but seem barbaric afterwards. My body rose under no command. My brain was no longer in control, merely the eyes remained to watch my horrific transformation from human to monster. My body seemed to morph beneath my eyes, hands closed, knuckles whitened as they gripped the tough grass beneath them. I felt it rising within me, a new force born of pure intent. Whereas the paralysis had simply given the way this new force seemed more than capable to take over. My body stood, pain arching through my head. It walked, every step a travesty to my will. My body came to the gate out of the garden and with one fell, unstoppable blow brought the tough timber to splinters. On the other side was the way to the street and suddenly I realised what was happening. My body needed blood and it was going to get it with or without it's mind. Luckily, as the gate collapsed around me a cat jumped up from behind some dustbins nearby, screaming it's shock at me. My body ignored it's cries and swiftly sprinted and grabbed it and before the poor creature knew what was happening I had buried my teeth deep into it's neck.
Feeding off animals is very different to humans, although still possible. With my parents it had been simple, all it required was a gentle arm to hold them up as I waited for my fill. I reeled mentally with horror as the coarse, mangy fur brushed my lips and the dark sweet liquid rolled over my fangs. Within seconds the cat lay dormant in my hands, it's heart slowing it's pump as my hunger drained it. I tried to stop but my body would not listen. I felt the beat slow until eventually it stopped completely. There was no blood left in the poor creature. Suddenly I felt control return to my body, the strength which had energised me moments before left me, the old pains returning instantly. I threw the empty shell of the cat aside, collapsing to the floor, half stunned by my actions and half terrified by the force which had completely possessed me. I glanced back at the battered, depleted corpse of my reluctant feast and felt my humanity slipping away before me but... I was still alive. I grudgingly recognised that whatever that force had been it had probably saved my life – albeit with the price of another. I thought for a moment about what would've happened if it had been a human on the other side of that gate and shivered.
Presently, lights came on and voices shouted from all around the neighbourhood. I had created a lot of noise, breaking the thick, wooden gate and adrenaline flooded through me once again. If anyone found me here, covered in blood and a drained animal right next to me I'd be in serious trouble. My fear gave me wings as I sped out of the ally and into the main street, running headlong into Mr. Barnes, who was wielding a flash light and thick metal pipe. “Break into my house would you? I'll make you regret ever going near this place!” he cried maniacally waving the pipe like a bludgeon. He gasped as he shone the flash light over me, momentarily illuminating my blood soaked neck and shirt and my two large, pointed fangs. I hissed at him, the light momentarily blinding me and, praying he didn't recognise me started to flee down the street.
I ran for miles, avoiding main roads whenever possible, every second fearing a policeman or civilian in my path. It was obvious I wouldn't be able to return home in my current condition. I moved through the maze of cul-de-sac and street, feeling myself slowly returning to some sort of normality. After about an hour I stopped, completely worn out and lost in the unfamiliar streets. I leaned against a lamppost, panting. Cautiously I felt my mouth with my hand, but found my fangs had retracted into hidden recesses in my upper jaw. As I pulled my hand away a voice spoke from nearby. “Jesus, what happened to you?” A dark figure approached from outside the lamp light and addressed me. “Was it muggers? Damn kids will kill you for a mobile phone!” he muttered darkly. “Come with me kid, I'll get you patched up,” he took my arm in a firm grip. At first I resisted but it was obvious I had no strength left with which to move and desperate thoughts passed through my mind, thankfully grasping at the excuse the man had provided me.
“Muggers...” I mumbled, my words dizzy, entirely reflecting my true feelings.
He led me up the street to a large house, which I could only see the outline of in the twilight. The man, cradling my arm and guiding me with a forceful but comforting touch, muttered noisily in the darkness. Through his mumblings I learned his name “I'm Benolt,” he grunted, fumbling a small key in the lock of the door.
“Matt...” I replied simply. Another grunt and he opened the door, leading into a small dark hallway with a staircase at the end. He led me upstairs, to what I guessed was a small guest bedroom with plain wallpaper. “I'll return in a moment,” Benolt said, leaving me in the room. I stood awkwardly while I waited for him to return.
Benolt returned with a small glass and a dusty dressing gown. “Drink this,” he said, raising the glass to me. Unthinking I obeyed, downing the contents in a single gulp. Benolt smiled a satisfied smile and handed me the dressing gown, taking back the glass. “Bathrooms down the hall, get cleaned up. You can sleep here tonight, then we'll see what we can do about you tomorrow. Leave your clothes in there and I'll deal with them.” He said. I nodded dumbly, and obediently headed out of the room. I washed, cleaned and rid myself of all traces of the blood. Feeling refreshed, I took the dressing gown and wrapped it round myself. Stopping for a second I realized how much danger I was actually in. I reached into my stained shirt and pulled out my diary. If there was ever incriminating evidence that would be it. Cautiously I checked the corridor outside, I could hear the muffled sounds of speech of the man downstairs, yelling at his television. I decided I would have to trust him and retreated to the guest room.
I am now lying here in this dusty room, my injuries all but recovered. I can feel daylight approaching. Soon my parents will realize, if they haven't already, that I've gone. My trail of evidence is long; my coat hanging from the fence off a rusty, blood soaked nail, the splintered remains of the wooden gate, the hollow corpse of the cat... images of my crimes fill my mind. I await the trials of tomorrow. |
Funnycreature
September 27th 2007, 20:12:48
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| Holy god...such a big text... |
muddasheep
October 13th 2007, 12:50:36
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Truly a remarkable piece of writing. Keep it up!  |
January 31st 2014, 18:17:43
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Funnycreature
muddasheep
