Waiting for the last rose petal to fall, the end of summer and autumn announced, she could feel the urge rising within her again. Through the latticed window the blood red colour spoke to her.
The sun would dip behind the horizon soon. The days were getting shorter. The confinement to her room would soon be only for a couple of hours a day. She crept forward and exposed her pale face to the rays coming in the window. She could feel the skin itch and burn.
Polymorphous light eruption was her affliction. Moving north had been the last resort when all the doctors and scientists had expended their best and failed to ease her pain. The most severe case they had ever seen. Essays in journals were dedicated to her case. Sunlight glimpsing her skin brought boils, hives and burns. The darkness of northern Norway provided her with the darkness that could enable a semi-normal life for most of the year.
Was it her affliction that brought with it her lust? She had tried to resist. Something about it must stem from her desire to experience life in it’s full glory. She couldn’t, so she stole it from others. The young, the vigorous – those that dwell in the warmth and the glow of passion that she had been denied. Hers was a cold world, dark and shadowed, eerie and deceitful.
She would return to her hunting ground again this winter. The shaded woods that blocked out the painful rays. She would try to deny herself the pleasure – she knew it was wrong. But she also knew she would have to do it. She had to feed.
Crouched back in the shadows of the room she watched through the window as the sun dropped and twilight took hold.
The moonlight glinted against the silver on the wall. She stared at the long blade. The tool with which she satisfied her craving, brought with her when she had escaped north from the old country. Her grandfather had first brought it back to the family home when he returned from Japan. After the world war he had pioneered trade with the defeated country desperate to rehabilitate itself with the world.
He had been so proud of it, never realising one day his afflicted grand-daughter would use it to discover something that would finally give her some peace in a cruel world. Her father, his son, was the first – the final act of defiance before she fled to the cold north – driven to kill by the lack of love for his mutant child.
The blade quivered in the moonlight, calling her. The sun disappeared. She reached up. She gripped the blade in her pale hand. Blood leaked from her curled fist. She put her cut hand to her mouth and tasted the warm liquid.
The moon rose in the black sky and outside the window the last blood red petal gently dropped.
This is a response to the Thursday Photo Prompt – Window curated over at Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo. Click on the link to read other stories inspired by the image.
Hopefully this stands alone as a piece of fiction, but it can be read as a prequel to my previous entry for Sue’s challenge featuring Detective Sand: THE THAW.
Scared me.
Still beautiful..
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Thank you, exactly as it was designed to do 🙂
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Then it worked 👍
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You paint such a vivid picture, Iain… I almost feel sorry for her…
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Almost… Thanks Sue.
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What Sue said!
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🙂
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Thank you
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The best villains are the ones for which you can feel some compassion…
nicely hewn!
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Thanks Liz – I agree, and an interesting villain is often the most interesting character in a novel.
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I could feel her presence………….
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Thank you, hopefully not too close to you!!
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This story leaves an uneasy feeling. Must be good 🙂
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Thank you Jane – good to know it has done what it was designed to do 🙂
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🙂
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She seems very much like a vampire, and I’ve been writing quite a few stories about them lately. I approve.
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Thank you James. Not a massive fan or follower of true vampire literature, this is about as close as I will come in writing. Glad you saw the deliberate parallels, but based on a real human condition.
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Yes, I’ve heard of it and I’ve been told it was used in a Canadian television show about a vampire who worked the night shift as a homicide detective.
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Wow, another good one Iain.
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Thank you Janet, hope you had a good holiday season.
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Good story Iain. I read The Radleys (Matt Haig) a couple of weeks ago and your insight into the world of a blood-craving mutant made me feel more sympathetic than it did.
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Thank you so much, such a pleasing comment 🙂
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love that book
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I enjoyed it too; I just felt more sympathetic towards Iain’s character than to some of the Radley family (which probably means Matt Haig did a good job). It’s good that The Radleys is set in the York area, as that’s a part of England that doesn’t often feature in contemporary literature – I live nearby and love the city and its surroundings.
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Ooo I enjoyed this – wonderfully written and eerie! I liked the parallels with vampires without making her one 👍
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Thank you Anna, so glad that came across, that was my main aim 🙂
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Chillingly atmospheric. Now we know who the serial killer is, but Detective Sand doesn’t.
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And so the chase begins 🙂
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Oooooooo … looking forward to more Sand 🙂
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Thanks Debs – no pressure!! 😉
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Oh, she’s walking with vampires, even if she isn’t technically one herself. I can smell blood and sex and death in the snow here.
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Thanks Sarah 🙂
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This is so good there could be so much more to this tale….. ?? 💜
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Thank you, definitely could be one to expand into a longer story.
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Definitely 🌹😱
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