Silver eyeliner and an address book were all I found on her marble, kitchen bench. I personally preferred a pack of smokes and a condom, but I’m nothing if not resourceful. Natasha – at least that’s what she told me her name was – dragged me by my wrist into the damp, redback spider filled space she called her bedroom. She threw me onto her futon. The room spinning, my eyes tracked the pale, tan ceiling where threads of silk-webs swayed to one side with the breeze. Moths scurried about in the moonlight and I swore I even saw a bat nesting in the corner. I felt a sharp, tense, pain push against my ribs. My asthma-ridden lungs constricted as she sucked my neck. Her slimy tongue draped up and down my throat before I felt her teeth digging into the flesh. Teeth? We had met in a bar. I was dragged along by my little sister who didn’t want to go to the Vampire Appreciation Night For Adults by herself. Alone, I saw her as she sat at the oak bar with a Bloody Mary in her tight grip. She had long, flowing auburn hair with pale green eyes. At the sheer sight of her in that short black dress – with a jade necklace around her throat – made it feel like the glitter on my face sparkled brighter. I carefully approached her, with a stride in my step to look as cool as humanly, or vampirely, possible. Her pale brown eyes followed the glitter on my face as it glistened off the reflection from the disco ball. Now, the silver glitter was all over her face as she licked the sparkles off her lips. She lifted her head and immediately wiped her mouth. I swore I saw a few drops of my blood trickle down her throat. That was enough to know I needed to escape. But by the time I had realised it, it was already too late. Her long pointed fingernails pierced the fine cotton of my shirt and ripped it to shreds. Her bony fingers slid down to my waist, unbuckled my belt and tore my pants off. After throwing what was left of my clothes on the floor, her hands travelled up my body. Natasha leaned forward. And that was the last thing I remembered. After she had had her way with me, I woke and found her passed out across the king-size bed, her eyeliner and pink-red lipstick on the faded olive pillow. Drool gushed out of her mouth, creating a small ocean between us. My neck still ached, as did the rest of my body. I slipped out of the bed and made for the kitchen. Before I could leave, I needed hydration for the journey home. I flicked the fridge door open and drank from the carton of orange juice. Halfway downed, I noticed her address book resting on the bench. On the first page, I found a list of names, though most had been crossed out. I found my fingers moving against my will as they flicked through the pages. Photos of men and women lined the inside of the moleskin book. I could only gasp at the sight of the… victims. And that’s what they were: victims. The door creaked open. Natasha stood behind me, her palms resting against my shoulders. I went for the door. I didn’t get close. She had a freakishly strong grip on me. With a tug, she dragged me through the spider infested bedroom, to her ensuite. A thin fishing wire was wrapped around my wrists before I was thrown into the freezing cold bathtub. I was in for some BDSM, and not in a fun way. Then I realised what was happening: the ice cubes in the bathtub, the hazardous-medical container in the sink, the victims, Natasha. I wriggled and resisted when Natasha stood over me, scalpel in hand, aimed at my precious liver. I screamed in horror at the silhouette of the bat in the moonlight. © Chris Rowley 2013
Chris Rowley: Writer. Editor. Designer. Awesome. A fan of all genres, Chris wants to create the ultimate piece of literature, combining the best of everything. Chris also designed the original Little Raven logo. Did we mention that he loves Ferris Wheels?