The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Don't beg, don't plead,

I'm comin' for you anyhow.

Don't ask me what I want,

Or why I picked you.

You don't wanna know the truth;

It's that I love the way you die.

When you're squirmin' in my hands

and your blood's rainin' down;

I know that moment's comin',

when your screams'll turn me on.

Then I'll drench my soul in fire

with insatiable desire;

Of torturistic baptism

and a twist of hedonism.

When your corpse lays still,

then at last and finally;

I’ll give your face a lick,

while I cut your heart out.



So don’t beg, don’t plead,

Yea, I’m comin’ for you....



Now.



“A Serial Killer’s Song” Written by ©®™ Atusha Avarus, Serial Writer

She stands in front of him, wringing her hands. “So it’s over? Just like that?! Is there someone else?” Unshed tears brighten already luminous green eyes. 

He looks uncomfortable, sighs and tries not meeting her gaze. “Yes Marsha. I’ve met someone else. Look, I just don’t see how we can work out. You know I get bored easily. Tanya is, well she is a bit more exciting for me. More my forbidden.”

She bites trembling lower lip, squares her shoulders and folds small arms. “Did you ever love me Danny?”

A cool night breeze appears, causing him to shiver. He rakes a hand through his already tossled hair. He really did not want to be discussing this right now; in the evening, standing under a street light. What had started out as a casual walk together, was turning into their break up. Yes, it had been inevitable. Danny just wanted a better moment to break it to her. She looked so fragile and vulnerable right now. He feels ashamed for a brief second.


“No. I’m sorry. I mean I love you but I was never IN love with you. But I think it’s only fair to tell you that I’m falling for Tanya.”

Marsha mulls over this bit of information thoughtfully. Then nods her head slightly. “Okay.” was all she responded.

This surprises him. He raises his eyebrow questioningly. “Okay as in?”

She gives him a small smile. “Okay as in, I wish you the best Danny.”

It's somewhat of a let down. Deep inside a tiny part of him had wanted her to protest.

An uncomfortable silence follows.

“Friends?” He asks.

“Sure.”

“So. Give me a text when you get home Marsha?”

“Of course.” She gives another brave tremulous smile.

He half waves and starts for home. That hadn’t gone at all how he had planned it in his head. Crossing the street when he was not even a block away, Danny looks back to see if Marsha is alright.

But Marsha is gone. 

This makes him pause. He looks all around him to see which direction she may have taken. The streets are still, shadow filled and vacant. A frown furrows his brow. The breeze comes again and Danny pulls his light jacket closer around him, zipping it up all the way.

Turning back, he continues. He doesn’t remember everything being so quiet when they were walking. Mind you, what they did enjoy together were interesting conversations. Chances are they were so lost in the topics, they’d not have noticed the world passing by. Still, this road did have steady traffic most nights.

His designer shoes staccato on the sidewalk. Danny stops and listens. He has no idea what he’s searching for. No rushed footfalls trail behind him. No one is anywhere.

Unnerved, he quickens his already hurried pace. The trees beside him rustle in leafy whispers that seem to have nothing to do with the wind. An owl hoots its displeasure at his passing and stretches its wings wide, taking flight above him.

When did the night become so ink black? Where stars did not twinkle and the moon hid behind voluminous puffy blue-gray clouds.

He flips open his phone. Bright yellow light glaring in his eyes, he blinks, then refocuses. Time to call for a cab. The darkness is beginning to get to him.

“Fuck!” He swears. There is no signal bar. He holds his phone up as high as he can reach. Blip. One faint bar. Danny swings it to the right. Nothing. To the left towards the road. The signal strengthens. He brings the cell down to call but even the keypad light flickers on and off. Stepping off of the curb, he makes sure the street is still empty. And it is.

The further in he walks, the stronger and more steady his signal. Till finally it holds while he attempts to dial. Like most males, his fingers are too big for the buttons. Disgustedly, Danny hangs up and starts dialing over again from the wrong number he punched in. His patience is wearing thin. He just wants to reach home, call Tanya and enjoy the rest of his fucked up night.

A dog’s bark reaches him. The sound increasing, becoming more of a pained yelp. With phone against ear, he looks up, a scowl upon his features. His eyes then pick out a figure under the streetlight where he and Marsha had parted.

And she is there. Watching him.

His stomach clenches with a butterfly’s twisted flutter. As distracted as he’s become, he doesn’t notice the fluorescent truck lights behind him.

Vehicle grill and Danny mesh as one. Blood, hair, bone and tissue fuse with the road. Looking like a dropped fruit that someone has stepped in and smudged about. His cell catapultes into the air, bursting into tiny glass shards.

Horns blare on the busy road. Traffic has come to a complete halt. “What the hell was that fucker thinking?” Someone yells. Onlookers clamor forward from both sides of the street. Some to assist, some to stare in morbid fascination at Danny’s mushy remains. Their voices a loud din within the busy night.

Marsha remains under the light. Those large incandescent eyes of hers unwavering in their stare. Her lovely lips begin to move, her voice joining the movement a few seconds later. She calls out, beseeching the dark. “Come my darlings. Let’s go home.”

The sound weaves within shadows and corners. Reaching two sets of ears, as though from a far away dream. Black figures lift sniffing noses covered in red. They hear the beckoning and lope silently towards Marsha. Their paw pads imprinted on what is left of Danny.

When they are by her side, she pats their heads and coo’s gently to them.

As they leave, the charcoal night swallows them whole.

The streetlight’s bulb suddenly explodes. Pitching that part of the avenue into a thick ebony shade.

And sirens wail in the distance.

“The Break Up” Written by ©®™ Atusha Avarus, Serial Writer

I love watching her as she lays beside me. White cotton sheet draped around both of our bodies. My finger traces her soft shoulder, down her arm and then my fingers splay out, linking through hers. 

In a butterfly clasp. 

She is breathtaking here in the pale moonlight. Skin of translucent milk. 

I tighten the gentle grip of our hand holding. Giving quick squeezes of admiration. 

And then,

We gathered around Grandma. It was her time. And my heart clenched when I looked at her tiny frail body laying amongst a huge comforter and numerous pillows.



Mind you, this had come as a surprise to us all. For Grandma seemed fine up until a mere three months earlier. Spry; full of life. Still taking photographs, which was her passion and career throughout her busy existence.



She became reclusive which was not like her at all. When anyone called, the conversations were cut short. If we dropped by, she insisted she had to be somewhere else and ushered us out. It left us completely baffled.



It was only in the last month that her physical self had changed. And how! Petite by nature, she grew alarmingly thin. A loss of appetite and a hollow look began to replace her rosy apple cheeks.



Which led us here. Surrounding her with love. But devastated just the same.



I looked over at Father Reise. He nodded, indicating we should say our piece quickly. And so after waiting, it was finally my turn.



I took her hand, smiled lovingly at her. Her eyes snapped alive and color bloomed once more upon her face.



“Minerva, you were always my favorite.” She spoke quite clearly. I cringed. I went by Minnie these days.



“I love you very much Grandma Peggy.” I smiled with tears in my eyes. Her grip upon me tightened and she leaned up, gaze unwavering as she continued.



“The monsters under your bed. They’re real!” She hissed out in a desperate whisper. Startled, I looked around at the others. But only Father Reise was in the room. He frowned deeply.



Then with a cackle and roar, she bit my hand. I screamed, trying desperately to draw my hand away. But her teeth (she had no dentures) were embedded as deep as they could be. Grandma Peggy did not tear or rip, no, her jaws had locked. And she was chomping down, determined to pierce to the bone.



Reise ran over, attempting to pry Peggy off of me. But to no avail. The rest of the family rushed in to see what was going on.



Father joined in to actively help.



No matter what they did or tried, Grandma was NOT letting go. I had tears pouring down and I kept crying out “Grandma please!”



Her eyes bore into mine. Bright and vicious. Something moved in behind the colors, changing her normally blue into a deep violet.



Blood ran in rushing rivulets down my arm, splashing onto the carpet.



Grandma’s body went limp. Her eyes quickly dimmed and for all intent purposes, she was dead. Still latched onto my hand.



No one knew quite what to do. Father tried prying her mouth open, by squeezing her jaw tight. Nothing. Not even a budge.



Feeling frantic, I shook her head a bit. “Grandma! Let go!! Let go!” Even though I knew she’d passed, I had to try something. The pain was incredible!



“Step aside Harold.” Father Reise said firmly. “I am going to try something...different.”



My father backed away, face pale from the entire incident.



Reise placed his rosary cross in the middle of Grandma Peggy’s forehead. “Peggy Lein. I command you to release your granddaughter this moment!”



And she did.



Her eyes sparked and for a moment, she lived! But the voice that came out of her mouth was not her at all.



“Fuck you Priest!” She shrieked in numerous voices mixed of high and low tones.



With that, her head exploded.



I’d been holding my hand close, pressing upon the gaping wound and flap of skin left hanging. Hoping to somehow close it completely. When I looked up, upon hearing her shocking words, I was hit with a blast of bursting flesh and bone.



The room spun. Sounds slowed to a yawning growl. I remember blinking twice, then everything went black.



I awoke sometime later, in a bright white room. The smell of antiseptic and pungent odors burnt my nose hairs. Faces peered at me in worry.



“Harold, she is awake! Get over here!” My mother called out. She pressed my arm gently, then kissed the top of my head. “Hello sweetheart! How are you feeling?”



Father came into view next. “Princess.” His smile was watery and face an ashen gray. Peggy had been his mother. All of this must’ve traumatized him, even worse than I.



“Daddy. What happened?!” My voice cracked with emotion. “Did Grandma really blow up?”



He nodded sadly, a look of absolute grief upon his face.



A doctor bustled in at just that moment. “Ah! You’re awake! Good! Let’s take a look at that hand shall we? Everyone out!” He ordered.



“We’ll talk soon Princess.” My father promised. With that, the family shuffled out to the waiting room.



“Nasty bite!” The doctor shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it from a person before. More of an injury an animal would inflict. Very strange. Nice to meet you however, I am Doctor Tillis.”



He lifted my hand firmly, inspecting it. “Can you move your fingers for me dear?” The entire hand was stiff which left the fingers feeling bloated but I was able to wriggle them slightly.



“Good! Excellent! Yes, doesn’t seem to be any tearing of the ligatures or tendons. I was able to sew everything up neatly while you were out. “ He gave a quick smile. “26 stitches young lady! Quite the wound indeed!”



I felt a bit queasy and my mouth cotton dry. Lips cracked as I tried to give a grin back. He patted my wrist. “I will get the nurse to bring you some ice cubes. Maybe something for the nausea?” I nodded. “Alright, sit tight. I want you in overnight, just to make sure your healing has a good start okay?” I nodded once again.



As he left, I heard soft footsteps to my right. Father Reise. He held up his hand. “Don’t speak Minnie. You’ve been through alot and must rest. When you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to discuss something with you about today. I can even come to your home. Whatever is more convenient but it is imperative we speak.”



I wasn’t sure what more could be said about my Grandmother combusting. However, her words echoed in my head, ““The monsters under your bed. They’re real!”



This brought memories flooding back to me of when I was little. Memories I’d long since buried. From the earliest time I could remember, I’d been terrified of creatures under my bed. During the day the terrors of course, faded into the background. But come night, the shadows creeping underneath any bed I slept on, solidified. They murmured dark things, promising me such a wicked play time if I just joined them. They would thump the mattress throughout my time to slumber. I was so deprived of sleep, I had to have something medicate me. For I absolutely refused rest.



Couches were different, the beasts didn’t bother me on them. I have no idea why. And so my parents bought me a beautiful brand new couch to sleep on. They did not question anything, only happy that I could finally sleep.



Beds.



Panic seeped into my soul. They wanted to keep me in overnight! Forgetting that Father Reise was in the room, I searched frantically for my help button.



He frowned even deeper then when he had viewed my grandmother. “Minnie...” He began.



“I need a doctor NOW!” My voice rose to hysterics. “I am not staying the night here!”



“But Minnie, it might be a good idea for...”



My own father must’ve heard me and was at my side in an instant. “Sweetheart what is it?!”



“Daddy! I don’t want to stay here for the night! They don’t have couches!” My eyes were wide with terror.



Dr. Tillis rushed in. “What in the name of heaven is going on in here?!” He snapped. “Mr. Lein, Father Reise, please back away from the patient. Now here, what is all this Minnie?”



“I do not want to stay overnight for observation. I simply want to go home!” I tried calming myself but an edge of insanity crept in. Hot tears filled my eyes. I repeated, “I want to go home!”



Surprised, Dr. Tillis tried to soothe me. “Now now Minnie, it would be best if....”



“Home.” Hissing, I uttered it like a threat. He stepped away, somewhat confused maybe even a little frightened.



“Minnie has never liked anywhere but her own room.” My mother had come in, brushing past the Doctor. “She heals quickly there. I promise to keep a close eye on her and will bring her back if anything seems to change for the worse.” She winked kindly at me, hand upon my shoulder. She had just saved me from a very embarrassing explanation. I wanted to weep with relief.



“Very well. I will sign her release forms. But I am holding you to your word.” He said sternly. “That was a nasty bite and a highly unusual situation Minnie endured.”



When he left, mother cleared the room so it was just her and I. She helped me change into my clothes, saying nothing more of either the incident with Grandma or my fear of beds. I do not know whether she refused to think about my oddity. Or simply accepted it as part and parcel of rearing a child.



“How are you feeling darling? Any better?” She cupped my chin in her hand. “Whatever you need, Daddy and I are here for you. You know that right?”



I smiled and nodded.



I’m an only child 40 years of age, afraid of what lay underneath any bed and now bitten by my beloved grandmother. My mother was at my feet slipping on my shoes as though she did this everyday.



She must’ve felt the pause in my breathing for she glanced up and gave a quick smile. “Darling you have been through so much. We do not need to discuss any of it. Unless you are good and ready to. IF you are ever ready to. Understand?” Deep concern flashed in her eyes.



“Thanks Mom. I’ll be just fine after spending some time at home with you and Daddy.”



Visibly relieved, her shoulders relaxed. I heard her breathing go back to normal.



“Alright, are you ready? I’ll just ring for your wheelchair.”



“Mom,” I began but she raised her hand.



“This is what I’d like, to feel better about everything.” Without waiting for me to object any further, she firmly rang the nurses. They arrived only moments later with a wheelchair. The tires rolling rhythmically.



I sat in it, giving the hospital bed a baleful look as we wheeled out. It had nearly trapped me but there I was, escaping safely.



The ride home was thankfully uneventful. I had way too many things to try and process from the day. I looked down at my bandaged hand. I kept seeing Grandma’s eyes when she’d spoke those words to me. I shivered.



Cold crept in. I found I couldn’t keep myself warm and asked Father to turn on the heat. They both gave me quick backward glances of concern. I reassured them I was fine. But I knew inside I wasn’t. Something had happened to me that day.



By the time Father Reise rang me for a visit, I was very willing to talk. I insisted on meeting at the Church. I needed to be somewhere I felt safe. My hope was that I could feel so there.



Nightmares plagued me. I’d awake from these, ravenous and thirsty. The thirst, like nothing I’d ever experienced. It was as though a desert had taken up residence inside my soul. I drank water endlessly. My wound throbbed constantly though it healed abnormally fast. Monsters moved within the shadows of daylight and nighttime. I could hear scuttling sounds of insect feet. Flies upon the curtains became noisy pests. I dared not ask anyone if they could hear what I did. For I already knew they could not.



Neither did I wish to worry Mother or Father even more than they were. I pecked at my food during the day, descending upon it only at night with the zest and zeal maggots did to rotten things. But never did I feel full. Always an aching void.



A movement stirred within me as I heard Reise’s voice over the phone. Body seemed to recoil in disgust but my mind was thrilled. Safety. And this it knew with absolute certainty.



Mother dropped me off at the Church, relief written all over her face. She sensed I wasn’t as alright as I professed. Maybe speaking to someone who could counsel me would be a good thing.



“Do you need a Bible?” She asked, attempting to be helpful.



I smiled faintly as an overwhelming feeling of fatigue washed over me. “No Mom, I will be fine.”



I suddenly felt deathly ill. Joints began aching with ferocity and I wanted to vomit. The need to escape became overwhelming.



There came a sharp tap against my window pane and I jumped in complete fright. Father Reise.



A guttural growl crawled up my throat and was released upon the air. Mother’s eyes widened. Reise opened the car door. I turned on him with such vehemence. He merely smiled kindly and pressed a book against me. The Bible.



“Good afternoon ladies. Shall we go inside Minnie?” He took my elbow without waiting for a reply and ushered me out of the vehicle. He did not allow me to speak any more to mother but instead closed the door firmly behind us. Then lead me up the Church steps. I’ve no idea how long my mother must’ve sat there staring at us. Nor do I recall hearing her leave.



I yearned to take off running. Somewhere. Anywhere. Even if it meant I had to drag the Priest along with me. Then toss his body into traffic later on.



I stopped my thinking, mortified at the direction of the thoughts. Bandaged hand began to swell with painful pressure. I gave a little cry. Father Reise however, refused to ask what was wrong and kept us walking at a fast pace.



Down the aisle filled of wood oil smells from the pews. Light filtered through stain glassed figures in the windows. They cast pale colored rays upon a statue of The Christ hanging on His cross.



I stared, mesmerized as we passed by. ‘What would it be like, to hang someone up like that? To bleed them? Feed from them?’ I wondered idly.



I shook my head and screamed. ‘No!” Unable to fathom why that particular thought had entered my brain. “Go away!!!”



My voice echoed in the corridors of the Church. Father Reise gripped onto me harder, literally having to drag me along after him. “Minnie! Be quiet!” He warned sharply.



I sobbed all the way till we reached his office. He unlocked the door, then gently pushed me through. I poured myself into the nearest chair, curling legs up underneath me the best I could. I sobbed wholeheartedly. The priest handed me a tissue before sitting down himself.



“What’s wrong with me?!” My breath came out in airy spasms. Tear salt began drying, stinging my cheeks.



Reise folded strong hands on his desk. His eyes seemed to bore into my soul. This made me a little uncomfortable, I admit. I shifted legs, placing feet back on the floor. Tapped toes to an invisible beat.



Sighing, the Father leaned back and opened a drawer. He pulled out something paper-like, lightly tossing it so that it slid towards me. With a scowl, I picked it up.



It was a photograph. One taken of my bedroom at Mom and Fathers’, to be precise. I would’ve been about 5 or 6. I sat on my old bed. The one that had been taken down, to be replaced by a brand new couch. There was no smile just a haunted look in my wide eyes.



“Your Grandmother brought this to me about 4 months ago now. Just before she started getting ill.”



“I don’t understand?” Shaking my head slowly.



“Take a look under the bed.”



Something flitted deep in my stomach, then twisted violently. A chill snaked up my spine and for a moment I wanted to yell that I would not! Instead, with hand shaking I allowed my gaze to settle on that dark space underneath my bed.



A grey blurry face peered from the darkness. Its shape noticeable only because the color was a shade lighter than the shadows.



I turned my head quickly, bent over to the side and vomited violently.



“It seems Minnie,” said Father Reise in a calm even voice, “The monsters under your bed are indeed real.”



“Grandma Peggy and the Photograph” Written by ©®™ Atusha Avarus, Serial Writer



To be continued.........

Full moon peers at me through steel bars. I feel hot tears threaten to escape. They have locked me away in here. This prison. This poisoned dungeon which hides my soul! They call it a ‘respite.’ To think about what is appropriate and what is not. Just until my father comes home.



And he will.



He will take me away from here and punish those who think what they do is honorable.



I await eagerly.



Sometimes I am so excited by this, that they must bind my wrists and ankles with hard leather straps. Then straddle me upon a white, sterilized bed. Injections shoved in, pricking painfully. I scream at them to stop but they never do. My pale arms are pinched to a deep rouge. I cry for they ruin my lovely flesh, purple bruises staining everywhere.



The smooth satin skin men adore.



As they kiss with fiery passion every inch, every curve. They cry out with pleasure, these married lovers of mine. And come back for more the very next night.



I am not a whore.



The males that bed me fast, even search me out willingly; are the same ones who have placed me here. A woman that cannot contain herself and is not paid for the sex she freely gives, must surely be insane.



I simply love fucking.



I giggle. Is there any other word I could use? Nay. For I do not love those that lay with me. I need the energy they emit. What their milky fluid could never give. Something no one could possibly understand. Except my father.



I listen.



Though it is faint, I finally hear the hooves of horses pulling a carriage. Along the cobblestoned road, wheels clickety clacking. It draws nigh with an urgent speed. There in the distant, is the crack of a whip! Snapping over the beasts’ heads to make them run even faster.



Father is coming!



I leap up on my small bed. Jumping around, tearing apart blankets and pillowcases. Shrieking at the top of my lungs, “Daddy! Daddy! Oh you are all going to pay!”



I reach such a frenzy by the time the orderlies arrive. White coated freaks! A syringe in hands, cuffs in the other.



“Motherfuckers!” I scream. “If no one was looking you’d be between my thighs in ecstasy!” I laugh a maniacal laugh and dance as though Lucifer himself makes me writhe from his violent coupling.



There are raised voices in the corridor.



“Daddy! Come quickly! These monsters want to do horrible things to me! Daddy!” I cry out hysterically.



By now I am foaming from the mouth. I’ve bitten my lips so that froth and blood combine. Wails fill my head, they are all I can hear for the time being. I am completely lost within the panic.



Until I feel his hands reaching for me.



Fathers touch is gentle. He gathers me to his chest protectively. I hear him murmur low but firm. I sense his anger rise yet he controls it, dangerously so.There is no sound now as he carries me out of that terrible place. No one dares say a word. Lest his rage be unleashed in beatings and ultimately their deaths. For I know Father well, I am his all.



I’m lifted into the carriage. Settling upon its plush seating. Father climbs in beside me, arranging a warm quilt about me. He takes one last look at the solemn faces standing in the doorway of the insanitarium and hisses vehemently,



“I will deal with you all later!”



The door slams and Claus our driver, clicks his tongue at the horses. They trot away with us at a much more relaxed pace then when they’d arrived.



“Thank you for coming Daddy.” I whisper, snuggling into him.



He smiles lovingly. “Of course Beatrice. As soon as I’d gotten word, I left New York.”



I rub my eyes. Father’s gaze sees my discolored wrists and swollen fingers. He inhales sharply.



“What have they done to you this time my little Bee?”



I shrug sleepily. “Doesn’t quite matter now that you are here Daddy. I am ever so tired.”



His face softens noticeably. “Rest then sweetheart. But you should take this first. A touch of laudalin to help you dream deeply, yes?”



My father, always the Doctor. I laugh, “Alright Daddy.” and take a spoonful of the tonic offered. It tastes disgusting! I scrunch up my face and shiver.



He grins, tucking me in carefully.



Before I drift, I see an expression on his face that gives me chills. A look that is ominous.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



His daughter Beatrice slumbers peacefully as the carriage travels towards the city. He leans back on the cushioned bench, sighing. A headache is threatening. How many times has he had to save his child from dangers because of her reckless actions? Too many to count.



He can’t really blame her. She isn’t ….normal. Doesn’t know any better. His wife knew from the moment she could feel Beatrice move in the womb.



“Something’s not right with this child Henry.” Her worried expression remained throughout the entire pregnancy.



No matter the many times Henry reassured Edna, as he was indeed a Doctor, she stayed steadfast with her conviction.



How correct she had been. For Edna died bringing their tiny daughter into the world. And he suddenly found himself a widower. With his baby Bee.



A child that hungered for things more filling than breast milk.



Wicked things.



Henry’s life had been thrown into a world of such darkness. Unimaginable evil.



But he did it for her, for Beatrice. She was all he had and vice versa.



He had given up long ago on the questions of how or why. The devil take him! They had haunted mercilessly, nearly causing him his sanity. But Bee was here and that was that.



Henry’s gloved hand taps on the small window that separates the two of them from Claus. Driver slides it open.



“Whitechapel Sir?” Claus asks with little emotion.



Henry nods.



“Very good Sir.”



The Doctor reaches to the seat across from him. A black leather medical bag is lifted and placed upon his lap. Its clasp opens soundlessly. Henry mentally takes note of everything, ensuring his tools are in place.



And razor sharp.



He snaps it closed, slips on a deerstalker top hat and adjusts his suit coat. For whatever he had become, Henry would always be a respectable gentleman. At least that’s the lie he tells himself on the nights he feels he can no longer do this.



The streets of the City narrow. One can smell the strong scent of overflowing sewers mingled with coal smoke. Crowds of filthy citizens fill dark passageways, some spilling out onto the cobbled ways in drunken stupors . But Henry is not yet where he needs to be. And so, Claus drives on.



Eventually they come to a district cloaked entirely by a thick gray fog. The misted plumes roll away from underneath the carriage wheels.



Clip clop clip clop. Hooves more pronounced as horses slow their pace. And soon, the carriage stops altogether. Claus climbs down wordlessly from his seat, pulls out a bucket of oats and begins to feed the large animals.



Henry swings open his door silently, gliding to the ground as if on air. The horses do not even notice and busily chomp away on their snack.



Fog swallows the Doctor. Even his footsteps cannot be heard, so heavy is the murky vapor. Henry has always found quiet solitude within these earthy clouds. He has memorized the rippled brick walls of the buildings he walks against, intimately knowing every nook and cranny. His gloved hand runs lightly along them.



The Doctor is swift, finding what he searches for. Within the alleyways there are many alcoves, nestled perfectly in black-bathed darkness. His form disappears into one of these as though he never existed. And it is not long that he has to wait.



The cheery chatter of females echo in the alley. They walk right past him and as they do, he gently tosses a small velvet purse behind one of them. She stops immediately.



“Oy then! Did ye hear that Margaret?”



“Nay there is nothing. I think you’ve gone daftie Annie.” Cackles the second female.



Bleary eyed Annie spots the purse. Greed taking over quickly. “Why don’t ye go on? I be catchin up with ye later.”



Margaret mumbles something slurred and then makes her drunken way down to the open streets.



Annie picks up the purse, awkwardly attempting to pull open its strings. While she is busy with the task, a gloved hand drags her deftly into his arms.



“Shhhh...” He whispers. Henry brings out a chloroform filled handkerchief. Placing it against her mouth, he grips it tight until she slouches limply against him.



Henry slips the velvet purse into his leather bag, then sets about his work posthaste. The doctor’s bag is lined with a plastic, so nothing will leak or spill. Scalpels of all sizes are taken out and inspected briefly, then replaced. All except for one.



This is inserted into the abdomen of the unconscious Annie. Her organs are removed deftly, so skillfully in fact, there is little mess involved. For Henry has always taken pride in his trade. When the organs have been wrapped and placed in his bag, a needle device is brought out.



He uses this to puncture one of her arteries. A long rubber tube is connected and fills a small glass bottle. Three are used and tucked away into the sides of his bag. He rolls up the tubing, fitting everything neatly into the case. Snapping it shut, Henry is finished as quickly as he started.



The doctor emerges, walking now on the other side of the walls, back to the waiting carriage. He is wary, searching the streets in case anyone may be approaching. But there is no one, for everyone shall be starting to sleep off their drink. Either passed out or dying in some dingy room. A few even on the avenues.



Once more his door swings open soundlessly, and Henry slips in unnoticed.



Claus gives the horses one last pat, then makes his way back up to the seat. Driver’s tongue clicks and they fade from view as the cloak of mist, drapes about them.



----------------------------------------------------------------------------------



I yawn and wake myself. Still feeling rather drowsy from Father’s potions, as I like to tease him they are. ‘A legalized witch!’ I’d sometimes refer to him as. However this phrase brought displeasure promptly to his face, so I tried very hard not to use it often.



“Hello my Baby Bee. Feeling rested?”



I blink my beautiful blue eyes, yes I know they are for I have been told many times, and smile. This melts Father immediately. Though he shall never ask what I did to end up in the Asylum, I know he grieves much for the troubles I cause.



I feel horrid, I do. And I try so very hard not to upset him. The things I do, I cannot even explain them. I cannot control them. He is always there, quiet and comforting.



My heart pinches a moment. I care nothing for the men that bed me. Nor for most of humanity that surrounds me but my father, oh he is my world! My stability during the times I am lucid in my thoughts and even in the times I’m not.



“We can have dinner when we reach home. Would you like that?” His look is tender and I hold his hand.



“Yes Daddy, I’d like that very much. I’ve not eaten in awhile.”



A shadow crosses his face and anger flits momentarily. “I didn’t think so sweetheart. “



“Daddy, I am so sor..” I begin but he shushes me.



“Beatrice, I love you. That is all I ever need to know in this life. And that you are here safe with me. Agreed?”



I nod, placing my head against his shoulder.



We reach our home shortly and for this I am glad. The hunger inside my empty tummy is not one of mortal longing. There is something within me, that devours anything good with such perverse ferocity, it sometimes frightens even I.



When inside, I remove Father’s coat. I must be quite ill looking for he gestures to me to sit in the foyer. I do.



He opens his medicine bag and my senses are drenched in the aroma of fresh meat.



“Daddy, I need to eat. NOW.” Father turns on his heels, leaving alone me to my feast.



Awaiting my appetite is what defines me, “something not right”.



Just as Mama had prophesied.



“The Child of a Demon” Written by ©®™ Atusha Avarus, Serial Writer