Lonely Monsters

six

I had not been to work in almost two weeks. It was officially day, eleven of trying to find something about whatever was happening to me. The black skin thing, stopped mid shin, and the tiger stripes where my stretch mark were disappeared. So I looked almost like a swimsuit model when I looked in the mirror. One of those over photoshopped girls that were altered to sell cars, not actual sportsmen with muscles and form.

Mom was at work. Keenan and Monique were at school, and I was at home because sunlight made me nauseous. I had finally bottomed out on losing weight, so that was good news. I wasn't wasting away anymore. Bad news was I was burning my savings at the butcher's buying cuts of meat that I had vague memories of how to eat from childhood. Ox tail and neck bones were relatively easy to find at regular grocers, but they were expensive. So I spent the late hours trying to find an Asian or Mexican market that was open until midnight.

I did not drink animal blood. That was gross.

I didn't tell anyone how bad my hunger had gotten, or how much it hurt to sleep when I hadn't eaten enough. I cracked bones open and ate the marrow (which on high end cuts of meat, rich people pay by the ounce). Goat, beef, pork, chicken, fish-- I was scared. I ate so much and gained barely anything. So to keep up appearances, I kept wearing my normal clothes and makeup, which before this fiasco was a rare occurrence.

I didn't like going out when other people were-- Where ever I went I saw people watching me. Either with interest, or the shifting of eyes that I took as fear. Other monsters had noticed me, and shied away. People (more men than women I noticed) flocked to get my number or asked me out for drinks or to dinners and I would be standing there with bags of tightly wrapped cuts of leg from a goat.

I found this letter, that was in a pile of mail I had been ignoring for the past two days. It was black with gold cursive on the front, addressed to a "Dearest Neophyte." I remember that word, from novels about werewolves and vampires.... a Neophyte was someone who was newly turned.

There was no return address or a postage stamp, or the stamp that said it went through the post office. With shaking hands I torn it open and sat on my bed, reading.

"You have drawn my attention and the attention of others like me, in this small city. You probably have many questions, as to what happened to you and what you have become. You are a breed of vampire, called the Duscalet." My heart had been in my throat since I saw the golden letters, then it dropped when it dropped deep into my gut. "I'm sure your sovereign had every intention of taking you with them, but for some reason you fought them and the transition was not complete. That is why it hurts, why you cannot sleep peacefully, and why your fingers are dark and clawed."

I clasped my hand over my face. This was what I was looking for since day one.

"I commend your efforts young one. One in your status would have found a way to end the pain, either by submitting to the hunger and becoming a ghoul, or freeing themselves from their mortal confines of flesh."

I choked back a cry, my nails digging into my cheeks. I could have become something worse than Hearne? A... ghoul? A creature like Gollum from Lord of the Rings flashed in my mind, but his eyes were sunken and black, his fingers black and gnarled like a reanimated mummified being.

"A transformation without the one who bit you takes longer, and follows the cycle of the moon, much like those fictitious werewolves Hollywood loves so much. From the day you were bitten, you have your next cycle."

Tears were making it hard to read. I cursed when water dropped on the page, smudging the ink. It was a part I had already read, so I continued on to see what fate this person had for me.