Grave

2.1

Lorcrar began to move again, and held his breath. His heart raced, and he hoped dreadfully that his father could not hear it.

"Now that we understand each other..." The creature in the shadows shifted.

"Father I must go. I have... homework to do." Lorcrar went for his room. He was blocked at foot of the stairs. A shiny black invertebrate, body rippling. A dirty bandage wrapped around its head. Two bloody wounds, as if its eyes had been gouged from their sockets, reopened and fresh. Lorcrar's father hungered.

"Now, son. Be reasonable."

Lorcrar started to manoeuvre himself around the leech.

"Pet," his father thundered. The leech reared up, opening its mouth to show rows upon rows of jagged teeth. It sprung forward and tore into Lorcrar's back, and he yelled sharply, crumpling to the floor. His uniform shredded, ribbons of fabric falling to the ground. The leech closed over Lorcrar's shoulder and began to drink. It undulated grotesquely, and its body swelled. Lorcrar grinded his teeth and pressed his face into the stone, a red film glazing over his iris as his eyes squeezed tightly shut. His hands convulsed and scraped on the floor.

For a moment the creature in the darkness waited patiently, observing his son at the foot of the stairs. Then he drew one arachnid leg across the ground. The leech detached itself. A trail of blood followed as it inched its way to Lorcrar's father, its body stretching and compressing, causing the shiny black flesh to tremor. His father began to drool as it drew closer.

Lorcrar was motionless there on the stone. His breath was shallow, his heart a butterfly's wing flutter. He lay in a pool of his own blood, close to death. His shoulder continued to bleed.

The leech reached the scraping limb, and wrapped itself around it. Lorcrar's father lifted the leech, and another limb began to stroke it, as if it were a fat house cat. He unravelled the bandage.

"Allasandra, my loyal leech." Lorcrar's father held the monster and aligned his large canines with the holes in the constantly moving flesh. He bit down. The monster let out a high-pitched screech, dripping with pain. Lorcrar ignored it. He managed to crawl onto the first step, desperate to leave now that his task in the ritual was complete. With much difficulty, Lorcrar brought himself up to the next floor, finally rid of the creatures below, who never left the darkness of the old sitting room. His father watched him go.

Lorcrar looked up at the ceiling and breathed softly. It had fallen away to reveal a dark and cloudy sky. The sound of thunder echoed into the hallway, drowning out the gulping sounds from below. He used the last of his strength to roll over so that he did not have to watch the storm brewing over his head. A single water droplet fell through the broken ceiling and onto Lorcrar's head, and he drifted into a daze, close to death.

He had not expected to wake. The storm had passed, and the room beneath him was silent. In place of the clouds above sat a crow. It peered down through the hole, its head cocked to the side, eyes glistening. It hopped nearer. Lorcrar pushed upwards and moved his back off the ground, rubbing the dust from his eyes. The bird ruffled its feathers, and after one disapproving squawk it took off into the twilight. Lorcrar smirked irritated.

Perhaps if it is persistent enough and comes back in another few days, it will get what it wants.

The crooked door rocked on its hinges as Lorcrar crept inside. He closed it and lit his lamp. He saw the shadows of a thousand insects creep out of the lampshade. They moved to the corners of the room. He could almost hear them crawling over each other, whispering, cramming themselves within the cracks of the walls.

A beautiful mirror stood in the corner opposite his bed, frame dulled, almost grey with age. It was one of the only things Lorcrar had salvaged after his mother's death, along with her portrait. It leaned against the mirror, covered in spider webs, her face out of sight. Lorcrar dragged himself to his desk, made up of cardboard boxes and crates. His school bag had somehow tangled itself around his arm, and he set it down. He took out the test tubes and bandages and placed them into a box. Lorcrar took a bandage and put it on the desk beside a syringe.

Along the side of his bedroom wall was a meticulous little maze, built carefully of old boxes and bits of wire. Six mice ran aimlessly within the contraption. Lorcrar dropped off the chair and reached for a mouse. He looked remorsefully at the creature's back. A plaster had been neatly placed over its fur. He reached his spindly hand back into the maze, and took out another. This mouse had a back yet untouched. His grey fingers wrapped around its belly. It squeaked in protest as it was lifted towardshis face. He could smell the tiny warm gushes of air it made as it breathed in and out with fright. Lorcrar placed it in the crook of his elbow and ran his hand gently down the soft brown fur as he shuffled across the floor. Leaning against the desk, he reached for a syringe. He could feel his mother's face behind the rough canvas of the portrait, watching. He held the mouse in his hand and avoided its innocent black eyes.

"This won't hurt too much. I promise. Sorry, but I have to do it."

Lorcrar lifted the syringe onto the mouse's back. It squealed as the needle poked into its flesh, and he cringed, but persisted solemnly. If his only purpose of birth was to slave for his father's hunger, then it was only fitting that he take freedom from another. It was only fitting.

What a pathetic existence I am living.

No, not living.

This isn't living.

A small tear formed in the corner of his eye, and threatened to drop. He brushed it away angrily. Once the syringe was filled halfway he squirted it into the test tube. Then he placed a bandage onto the mouse and gently let it back into the trap. He watched it woefully as it accepted its fate once more, continuing its purposeless scampering. He continued this practice on several other mice, until the test tube was almost full.

He could not wait to fill it completely. He swigged it down, nearly choking in his haste. Eventually he managed to calm himself, and he breathed out softly, closing his eyes.

Lorcrar thought that he heard a noise just outside his door.