EXCERPT The snow blankets the ground, virgin white and so pure, it is the only clean
thing I know. The only thing not tainted with the bitter anger, hate and
ignorance of this bleak place. When I look outside and see the moonlight
bouncing off the small hills that rise up behind my home, the bright white and
shades of blue merging reminiscent of an artist?s depiction of midwinter, I am
calmed. I watch as infinitesimal sparkles dance merrily across my vision,
falling to the earth in a flurry of fine white powder and I feel at ease; for
the moment, at least. But I know they will be coming soon. They always do, just
like they came for my mother and her mother before her. We are sought out
because we are different, spawned from something they refuse to understand,
direct descendants of the banished and scorned Lillith herself.
My grandmother spoke of stories that were only uttered in hushed rooms at
midnight upon All Hallow?s Eve, tales of death and deceit, murder and robbery,
rape and assault, recollections of her childhood and how she grew up learning to
fight. We all know how to fight, we must or my kith and kin, and those like us,
would have no chance of survival. We know how to run too, how too slip into the
night unobserved and secrete ourselves among the undergrowth not two feet from
our stalkers and yet they never see us. Nevertheless, there is always an
exception to any rule. Tonight, sitting here looking out onto the sloping and
rising of the snow covered knolls it reminds me of a night so many, many
memories ago, a dark, treacherous night that will forever be seared into my
brain.
The light of the candles fill the room, their dancing flames reflected in my
uncaring eyes. With each flutter of wind that blows through the cracks in the
old shutters, it catches the flames making them shake and shiver anew. It is
almost as if the wind is daring the flames of the fire to go out, daring it to
immerse me in complete darkness so I will remember. I can see her when I gaze
long enough into the candlelight. They have not yet stolen that from me.
I remember her like it was yesterday, her hair flowing down her back in a long
loose plait, tints of orange, red and yellow coiled around her face in numerous
little baby curls. Her eyelashes were the longest I had ever seen, so sharp and
pointed I was scared to get close, or even to touch them lest they should prick
my plump little girl fingers. I often watched them closely, silently musing why
her eyelashes looked like that because mine didn?t, no matter how hard I tried
to make them. Her lips were always painted crimson, dark and iridescent and her
skin was soft, milky-smooth and glowed with youth, a youth that she had always
possessed. It ran through her blood the same as it does in mine. And her eyes,
they were beautiful. She used to catch me staring into them as I made wishes on
the speckles of stardust hidden there, a beguiled child?s game. The whites were
so clear and white, just like the snow outside my window tonight. And the colour
of her irises, so intense, cerulean blue that sometimes changed to a vibrant
amethyst and yet at other times they looked almost emerald. Of all her features
it was her eyes that fascinated me the most and I fervently hoped that when I
grew up my eyes would look just like hers, but for now I was content with tawny
brown ones, just like my father.
The snow is dazzling bright now, blinding me, making me see all the things I
have so long tried to forget. The house, our old tumbledown house sitting way
back in the woods with the forest growing up around it as if trying to take it
over and make us live in the brushwood of the giant fir and cedar trees. By then
I was fast becoming a woman, it was just me and mother. She meticulously taught
me the ways of our kind each night by the light of the moon as it tried to slip
in through the slits of the leafy canopy that kept our lives a secret. Even then
the house was barely standing, but we didn?t use it much, just as a refuse from
them. The hunters, they were always looking for us.
?Keira, come on.? Mother?s singsong voice reverberated over the snow. A large
owl perched on a tree branch far overhead screeched its indignation as it flew
off into the night, annoyed because mother?s voice had chased off the nice juicy
mouse he was intending to have for dinner.
?I am here.? I smiled up to her as she found me lurking at the rear of the
house. She seemed to glide over the snow-covered ground, her long dark dress
swirling around her body, the gold chain at her waist tinkling softly with every
movement.
?What is wrong with you, Keira?? she asked sharply. ?You look like you are in
a trance. Come on, stop your daydreaming. If your stomach is empty tonight, it
will be of your own doing and not mine!? With that mother walked over and into a
bunch of trees. ?Don?t just stand there gawping girl, come on!? Mother?s voice
drifted in melodious waves back over to my ears and I ran off to catch up on
her.
When I eventually found her she was hunkered down low on the forest floor,
holding something down. I could hear its high pitched whine, but still couldn?t
identify the reluctant captive. Moving closer still and peering over her
shoulder as she stopped low to the ground, I finally discerned what it was, a
baby deer. She turned and looked up at me and for the first time I saw how she
appeared when she was hunting. Her eyes were sapphire, shining dark and ominous
and her full lips were slightly parted, exposing two perfect fangs, long, thin
and razor sharp as they glistened in the lunar light. She smiled at me, further
revealing her hidden feature. I always knew we were different, but she just
looked so sinister, so not my mother. I couldn?t help but stare at her.
?Snap out of it, Keira!? Mother hissed. ?It is your turn tonight.? Turning
herself and the helpless fawn as it cried desperately for its own mother,
struggling to attain its freedom, she looked at me. ?It is your time. If you
ever want to make it in this world, you better toughen up. I know you do not
particularly care to take the life of this innocent beast, but it is your curse,
your destiny. You cannot deny yourself your birth rite. You know the hunger. It
is calling you, begging you to quench it if only for tonight, right now, this
moment, this minute.?
And I did. I thought of the rich, warm liquid that flowed so freely inside
that deer. I thought of the glaze that blood gets as it begins to cool and
congeal. I saw my fangs hidden deep inside my mouth but now they wanted to
descend. I could feel them start to move within my gums and hear the scraping
bone against bone sound that they each made every time I was ready to feed. I
felt the tearing of delicate tissue as the razor sharp points began their slow
descent into my mouth. My tongue ran over the edge of one fang, promptly and
sharply cutting it. I could taste the salt of my own blood and my body trembled
and tingled with excitement for that baby deer. I could feel his fear, he knew
his life was about to end. I crept nearer to my mother, my fangs hanging low,
the saliva dripping from them. Easing myself down ever so slowly to where the
fawn lay, I clasped it firmly around the neck and looked deep into its
frightened eyes.
I fixed my eyes upon the deer?s and picked out little gold flecks to stare
into. I somehow soothed it with my thoughts, calmed him with my mental images
and set its heart at ease. Then I sank my teeth deep, through his coarse pelt
and quivering flesh, down through his tissue and into the pulsating vein.
Feeling the warm release as the artery surrendered to my razor sharp fangs, my
body began to relax. Mouthfuls of hot slippery blood flowed between my lips,
coating my fangs, sliding over my tongue, oozing down my gullet and into my
stomach, filling it up, permitting me to live for another day. And allowing me
the strength I needed to fight the ones that hunted me.
I felt the deer begin the slow shudders of death. It began at its hooves,
slender legs kicking, twitching, stomach growling and his body quivering. Then
his soul started to lose interest, its heart slowed as there was no more blood
left to fuel his muscles, no strength left to shake, the will to escape gone.
His eyes glazed over as I relinquished my grip and retracted my fangs. Its heart
was still, its life was gone.
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Children`s Fiction
Non-Adult Fiction
