Haha, first I'd like to thank Twilight for skewing some people's idea as to what this story is actually about.
For anybody who might be confused: there are NO vampires in this story, and NO werewolves.
Thank you.
By the Full Moon
By: Lydia Atsma
***
There's nothing quite like the sight of freshly spilled blood glinting in the moonlight. Blood never shines as brightly as it does when it's bathed within the clean white glow of the full moon. Maybe that's why I love this time of the month so much.
The moon. It's so clean. It follows a never ending pattern. Its habits never differ, it can always be counted on. And it's so white.
White. Red.
They seem to be my favorite color combination. The cleanliness of the white. The...emotion of the red.
Emotions. They are such a complicated issue with me. There are times that I can't see anything but my rage. I don't know what it's like to be happy; I feel instincts only. I feel fear, frustration, and anger.
The main thing that seems to frustrate me these days are the teenagers that are placed within my care everyday. Even I don't know how I do it.
I stand there and teach those thankless Creightons everyday and get nothing in return.
Well, I do get something. When it's safe, and when enough time has passed, I find a teenager who makes my life worth living.
By giving me the one thing I can never have: peace and the power that accompanies it. That one time. Once a year. Forget Christmas, or my birthday. This time, by the full moon of the summer solstice, does one person give me the peace I crave. And it is the only time of year that I anticipate.
I continue to watch the blood pool, the thick stream flows slowly and heavily into the grass.
I sigh in satisfaction and lift my head to the sky. The cool night air touches my heated cheeks. The excitement courses through me. The tingles of pleasure, the waves of power. I shudder and savor this very fleeting moment. Fleeting. So fleeting.
I sigh again. This time in sadness. Yes, sadness. I can feel that too. For now I know I must clean up and dispose of the body. And my time for tranquility is now coming to an end.
I look away from the moon and back to the blood, which is now darkening with age. No feeling comes to me as I observe the now meaningless puddle.
That sign tells me now is the time to clean up.
“Alright Celia,” I mutter to myself, “Time to move.”
Kevin Jenkins. An 18 year old loud mouth, who smoked weed in the bathroom and never arrived to class on time. His lack of organization set my mind to grinding. It hurt to look at him and I could feel my desire well up every time he walked by. His habits drove me insane.
So, I dealt with him.
How? You may ask. It's pretty simple actually. It doesn't take much to lure a slacker like him away from the safety of society: ***
“Hi there,” my voice is sweet as I purr. The smokey, dark bar is a perfect place to lure away someone like Kevin.
“Hey,” his voice drawls slowly in his stupor. Then he frowns in confusion, “Do I know you?”
“I think I would recognize you.” I say with a gentle laugh, and I reach out and touch his arm. He smiles.
“Yeah,” he slurs, “I guess you're right.”
“So are you celebrating something?” I ask batting my eyelashes.
“The end of school.”
“Well, congratulations,” I say.
It went on from there, and before I knew it, I was taking him out back and into my Jeep. It couldn't have been easier.
***
I never take long in my process. Time is one luxury that is always in heavy demand. Besides it's the blood I’m interested in, not his death.
I sigh again and look at the boy's body. How am I going to drag his 6' 2” frame? I am such a little person. I pull my long red hair back behind my head and begin the clean up process.
I grunt and heave as I drag his cooling body into the surrounding trees. Being out in the woods makes it easier to kill people. It's dark, secluded, and quiet. But most importantly, it seems to bring to life the primal side of me that I keep dormant for most of my life. To be out amongst other instinctual creatures feels so freeing.
I don't know what I would be like if I let myself go as much as I wanted. I surely wouldn't be as careful. That part makes me nervous. If anything, I try to keep my killer contained as much as possible, not because I feel any moral obligations, but because I feel the need for self-preservation. As an instinctual creature, protecting myself is the number one rule.
I fear containment. A tiny prison cell, for life. I surely wouldn't need to fake the insanity plea, the walls of those little rooms would do that for me just fine.
I shudder at that thought, and move more quickly in disposing of the body.
I have no fear that my fellow creatures of the night within the woods will help cover up my tracks.
***
A cloud is hanging over my head. This cloud is a good thing though. It keeps me in check, if I were always feeling the way I feel when I kill, who knows what stupid mistakes I would make. I would feel too invincible. Therefore, hubris, and I wouldn't prepare as well as I do.
The picture of that cell enters my mind again.
I sigh and roll out of bed. The previous night had felt so good. The power I felt course through my veins, it was thrilling. I can't ever help myself once my predator mode kicks in. A new person, the right person, takes over and I just sit by and watch.
It feels so good.
The urge to kill again enters my mind.
No! I think to myself. Don't do it. It's too dangerous.
I suppose it will clear a little when I start the hunt for my next target. The studying of their mind-grating habits. What they do on the weekends, how much homework do they get done, do they have any distinguishable pattern in their lives at all? There are very few times that I actually change targets in the year. But sometimes I see something of myself in them, their patterns, how they eat, their family lives. If there are any who show some semblance of a structured life, it seems to snap through me. The desire to remove them from society dissipates and I change course.
This is going to be a long summer.
***
I am sitting in my office just staring at the black computer screen. Another school year, and more of the same. I sigh, annoyance was one feeling that came all too easily to me. But, my mind told me, another year means, another target.
Ah, and that means more things to do, to fill up the endless space until June comes back once more. I swivel around in my chair, and the warning bell for class chimes out in the hall. I watch as students pass outside the door, looking for potential candidates. I don't always choose from the school. Sometimes I travel. It would be too risky to kill from one school every year. There are times I volunteer at shelters, or sub for teachers at other schools. Either way, I still find a way to kill. It's a need that cannot be suppressed.
My favorite targets are always the delinquents or bullies. I guess they remind me of the times when I couldn't stand up for myself. When I was the weak student, and they were the powerful ones. But now I could do anything to any one of them that I want. Just like how I dealt with my father.
That thought stopped me cold. Don't think about it! I hiss to myself. It's dangerous. I shake my head to clear it, and force myself back to attention. Thinking about my father could end up disastrous.
Targets, thinks of targets. I force my thoughts onto them. I’m sure one of them will end up with me in June. A small smirk plays at the edges of my lips. And the hunter within me purrs with pleasure.
As the student herd begins to trickle out, my focus narrows. The later a student is to class the bigger the potential they have to be pooled into a list of potential victims. It starts that way every year, the tardy students, which filters through to homework, and then personal hygiene, and then to personality. Until I have one student, the one who makes the cogs in my mind scream in agony as I watch them with their horrible habits.
I shudder in my seat. Just the thought of those dirty, unorganized teenagers makes me squirm.
The final bell rings all too soon, and I am just about to rise from my seat when she walks by my door.
Her air, her stride, her confidence. I can read the look of pleasure on her face as she felt the control she has at being late. She is tall, slim, and pale. Her black hair flows down her back in a sheet, and waves out softly behind her. She clutches her books tightly to her chest, and marches purposefully, straight into my classroom.
I don't have to look at the class roster to know who that is. I have never seen her before, so it isn't hard to guess that she is the new transfer student.
Lila Turner.
I stand up out of my chair and begin to walk to class. She is a troubled student: an orphan, in and out of foster homes, and a serial runaway. We were told all of this in a faculty meeting, and warned about her behavior. Nobody wants her, but she seems at complete ease with that idea; with the smirk still on her face as she sits at the front of the room.
I begin to take role, but this time I hardly notice the late students, as she and I watch each other. When I reach the end of the list, she winks at me, and pulls out her drawing utensils.
I know what she is, and she knows me. We are the same. Cold, calculating, and dangerous.
We are the predators in this room, and we are sizing each other up.
The only question I have about her is, will she be my next target? Or do I have a new ally?
I stop myself at that thought...Do I want to teach Lila? What do I want to teach her? How to control herself? Or even worse, how to deal with it? These thoughts swim through my head.
What would it be like to share my secret with someone? And not just anyone, someone who understands the need, and the urge, and the rage.
If anything else, I just need to talk to her. Because I can't ignore her, she knows me like I know her. She's a threat to me, no matter what.
With a pleasant expression masking my confusion, and...what? Fear? I walk up to Lila. Not surprisingly, she's sitting quietly by herself sketching in charcoal. I walk over and see that she's depicting a fallen angel trying to stand, but it seems like her broken wings keep her from rising fully. It was both beautiful and haunting at the same time.
“Hello Lila,” I say soothingly, and quietly. “You are new here.”
“And you are not.” she responds brusquely. I smile to myself suppressing annoyance, so observant.
“I just want to let you know that I have taken a special interest in you. I have noticed that you seem to posses certain...traits.” Her hand pauses over a wing, and she looks up at me. Her black eyes bore into mine. “And I am more than willing to help you cultivate those gifts; for you and I seem to share them. And I have had many years of experience with these things. I'm sure I could be of some help.” Now my green eyes bore into hers. A warning, don't mess with me.
She watches me for a few seconds, then smiles back. “I guess it all depends on what you have to show me. Will I think it's worth my time? Or not?” Then she's back to her drawing and ignores me completely.
As I walk back to my desk, I think to myself, Oh yes, I have my target for this year. The only difference is, I still have no idea what to do with her.
***
I have been watching Lila for a few months now. September melted into October which then moved on to November; now, conferences have arrived. I wonder if she will show. I should have known that fellow predators never pass up a chance to take on a rival.
I wish I knew more about her, but she is nothing but a black mist to me. The other students are always beacons of light in what their lives are like. I could tell almost anything about a student by watching them and listening. But Lila is as silent and mysterious as ever. I have never been so curious before.
She walks into the gym with the same confidence that she had on that first day of school. My lips twitches just the littlest bit in satisfaction. Maybe now I’ll get the answers I want. I see her glance around the tables, her eyes shift and dart in her search to locate me. When she spots me, she smiles and moves on; she doesn't directly come to my table. So I watch her interact with the rest of the people in the gym. She doesn't speak to anyone, nor do they speak to her. It's like she's a ghost, invisible to everyone but me. But I can feel her disdain for them, the looks she gives any person who comes too close, the way she stiffens if brushed against. Human contact is not something she wants.
I sit straighter, this is it. Anticipation, much like what I feel when a kill tingles within me. I have never had such an even opponent before.
“Miss Monroe,” she whispers. “such a pleasure to see you.”
“And the same to you.” I say as I watch her lower herself fluidly into the chair across from me.
We eye each other for a few moments, she clasps her hands in front of her, and we just continue to stare. Her blue eyes, piercing my green ones.
“So,” I start, I can feel the tension snap as my voice breaks the silence between us. “Why did you come here?”
“Aren't you curious about me? I can tell I fascinate you. You have never seen another person like yourself. We are the same. Smart, devious, dangerous.” she pauses, her voice lowers, to a whisper, “Without a conscious, without a soul.”
I laugh lightly, “I don't believe in souls.”
“Of course you do,” she laughs as well, defiant. I don't like being contradicted. “You kill because you have a soul.”
I lurch, my mask has fallen away, I pick myself up and try to regain my composure.
“Kill?” I repeat.
“Yes,” she answers, “You kill to try to repair the rip in your soul. Just like I want to. I have a rip as well.” her voice is calm and cool, as she points to her chest. “In fact, I was born this way. I have never been content, or happy, unless I was hurting something.” she now speaks in clipped, angry tones, and she leans in close to my face. “But you weren't born this way, you were made. Made in blood. Just how that happened specifically, I have yet to find out. But I’m almost there.” she leans away and smiles, her hand comes up to her face and she strokes her cheek in thought. “Because you fascinate me just as much as I fascinate you. I may be disturbed, but I’m also a whiz at computers. It really is amazing at just how much of you is floating in space.” her hand flits in the air as she speaks.
I sit there, and for the first time in my life, I’m speechless. I can't think of anything clever to say or think of a threat that will scare her off. She's on her own trail now, and nothing will distract her from the scent. She's now discovered the thrill of the hunt, and I am completely cornered.
I stare at the table, what am I to do? I hear her snort in amusement, and she rises from her seat.
“Have a nice day Miss Monroe,” she mutters in a sweet voice.
But I barely notice her parting, for I am raging within, how dare this little girl threaten me, and win?!
I have never felt exposed before. I keep thinking that Lila has the upper hand here. That she would want to reveal my true self to the school. The cell enters my head again. No, I can't associate with her. She's too much a threat to me. But, how am I going to deal with her? She's much too smart, and much too aware of me to fall for my usual tricks.
I have also, never felt so helpless. Maybe I'm more human than I thought. I'm not supposed to be feeling any of this...what is happening to me? Am I going insane regardless? Was this really all it takes? I always saw myself as cool, and even headed. That in the face of any problem, I could stoically take it on and defeat it.
Gone is my cool predatory self, and my patterns and habits. Now I’m turning into a paranoid jumble of nerves. I'm losing everything it feels like. And all because of her. No, this has to end, now. She's a risk, there's no waiting for June now. No coaching her, no bonding. I don't need anyone to share my secret with, I do just fine, if not better, on my own.
***
I rise from my desk and look at the time. It's 9:30 at night, school and any other functions have long since ended and I am alone. I soak in the absolute silence with pleasure. Here, I can think, and start to re-rationalize my thoughts. I love being in my hunting grounds late at night, the silence makes it a perfect spot for thinking.
But just as I turn to leave, I see a haughty, black silhouette blocking my escape. My heart stops, my breath hitches, my mouth dries. How did she get here? And so quietly? I begin to fear, I have met my match.
“Miss Monroe?” she asks in a sweet voice, stepping into my office. “I just wanted to let you know that I have thought about what you said that first day of school. About my certain...traits.” She continues forward, and I back away. “And I think you're right. I do need to do something about them. I believe, cultivating was your word. And I so do want to cultivate. I want...” she walks up to me, her voice quiet, her steps light. “I want to cultivate them, right now. You've opened up a whole new world to me, and I don't ever want stop.”
Snick!
A switchblade clicks out and I see the flash of the blade in the dimmed light. I swallow.
Then she laughs, long and high. The sound would almost be considered beautiful if not for the threat she made against me. Now I feel my killer kick in, and finally I feel the correct reaction.
I grab her arm and pull her close to my face, the point of the blade presses against my belly, enraging me further, “You forget little girl,” I hiss. “I have years of experience over you. I know things that you could never dream to think. I know how to deal with little pricks like you. I've dealt with them my whole life. And don't even think for one moment that I won't end you like I have all the others. All you teenagers, you're all robotic drones. It's never hard to just flick off the switch with any of you.”
I waited for her response and she just giggled, “You forget, that drones, they may be your usual type. But I am no drone. Don't for one minute think, that I don't know what you're up to.”
She wrenched her arm out of my hand and walked out, never once looking back.
My lip quivered and I snarled silently. I almost went for the hunting knife I kept in the false bottom of my desk drawer. But thankfully years of practice and restraint kept me from slicing her up right there, in the hallways.
As I left that night, my mind churned up idea after idea on how I will end Lila Turner.
***
“I didn't think you would show.” I state as I hear her feet on the crunchy leaves. This show down is finally going to play itself out. Finally, we are going to end this tonight.
I turn and see her standing in the moonlight, another full moon tonight. And it shines with a brilliance that makes my dead heart stir within my empty chest.
She laughs quietly. “I knew what your motives were when you asked me out here. And you knew that I knew, but I wasn't going to miss this opportunity. I have a chance here, I have a chance to spread my wings and take flight into something that could really work for me.”
“What do you mean?”
Now I see that she carries a backpack. The grip on the knife in my hand tightens.
“Well Celia Lynn Monroe,” she answers using my full name, I can feel my hands numb at the sound of it.
“It seems like you have overcome a lot in your days.”
She did it, just like I feared she would. My past is now becoming part of my present.
I can feel a box that I have shut away in my mind begin to shake, and the locks are starting to fall away. The only way I have kept myself sane, is starting to fall away.
She begins to rifle through her backpack and pulls out a stack of papers; they look like official documents and newspaper clippings.
I swallow, feeling my past rise up in front of me like the bile in my throat.
“Celia Lynn Monroe,” she repeats. “You had quite a past. A little sister, lets see, what was her name again?”
“Jamie...” I whisper as she says it. I see her face, young and happy. Her cheeks round and full as she smiles. Little Jamie, only ten when she died. When she died because of me.
“Little Jamie Olivia Monroe.” Lila's mocking voice breaks through my memories. And I can feel my knees weakening, how does she have so much power over me?
“Don't-don't you talk about her!” I almost beg instead of demand.
But Lila just smiles and I see her teeth glow white in the night; then she continues, “Little Jamie was in some sort of accident wasn't she? The night of July 10th, 1992, you were 16 and little Jamie was 10. You were supposed to be watching her. But what happened instead...”
I watch in my head as I remember the night that changed me forever. The moonlight streamed in the house as I watched a late night movie with the lights off. Then I heard the squeal of tires outside the house, followed by a crash. I ran out of the house to see what had happened.
Jamie was crumpled on the street just outside our house. Why she was out there, I’ll never know. All I do know, was that I was supposed to make sure she was in bed, and not in the street. Blood trickled out of her ears and nose, and shone just like the blood of all my other victims. I looked for the driver, but they were long gone.
There I stood, alone, in the dark street, lit only by the moon.
The time flashed by faster now, my mother's depression: I could hear her crying late into the night, and my father whispering to her. I could feel his looks of hatred behind my back. I knew he blamed me for what had happened to Jamie. I didn't know how to handle any of it. My mother soon fell victim to her grief and committed suicide by a drug overdose. Then it was just me, and him.
After Jamie, and then my mother, my father turned to alcohol for his medicine. And in his rages he would beat me, and blame me for their deaths.
“It's your fault! It's your fault they're dead! You killed them!” He would scream and slap me. I tried to hide in my room, but he removed the locks from the door, so I was at his complete mercy.
“And then one night, six months later...” Lila continues.
I broke. I was trying to put dinner together, chopping up some carrots for soup, when I just couldn't take it anymore. I didn't do it on purpose really. Nothing was planned, it just seemed to happen. He walked up behind me, drunken and slurring his words. I don't even remember what he said, I just whipped around with knife in hand, my arm out in front of me. The knife caught his throat.
He collapsed to the floor, clutching his bleeding neck. It wasn't deep enough to do any real harm right away, but I had become transfixed. I now had the power over him. I now had all the cards in my hands. I didn't think I could ever feel this way. I looked at the blood soaked blade and back to my father.
“Well why are just standing there you stupid bitch?!” he gasped.
And I asked myself the same question. But for different reasons. As I leaned down towards him with my blade extended, I felt someone new come to me. Someone new, born within me. With one quick motion, I ended my father's life. At that time I couldn't fathom the power that flushed through me. I loved the feeling; it had become my drug. Since then, my killer has never left me.
Until now.
But I couldn't rejoice for long, I quickly had to change the scene. I made it look like a home invasion and was put into foster care and saw therapist after therapist; but I was never the same again.
“You killed him. That much is so obvious. But I don't how many you've taken after that; but that doesn't matter.” Lila chuckles. Once again cracking through my memories. Memories I had sealed in my own version of Pandora's box. That night, when I had killed my father, I put all of those events away, knowing that they would ruin me.
“Why teenagers? Why not old creeps like your father?” she inquired.
“It's all about satisfying a need, but keeping as far away from my past as possible.” I croak.
Lila nods, and looks up at the moon in thought.
My memories come at me with a crushing blow. I sink to my knees. Oh Jamie, I’m so sorry. I know you would never have approved of me now. What have I done? I see her face, her innocent face. What if I had made her my target? Or, if someone else had?
And for the first time in memory. I cry.
I know this is exactly what Lila wants. I can feel her gloating from here.
“OK,” I tell her. “You've won.” I gasp between sobs. “So do it!”
But she laughs, “I'm not going to do anything.”
That one statement was worse than any bullet, or blade could ever have been. She is by far worse than I could ever be. She's not going to kill me. She has opened old wounds, and now, she's going to let them fester. I continue to sob wet tears, and they soak the leaves that were once my killing grounds. I reach for my hunting knife.
And with one last breath, and Jamie on my thoughts, I plunge the knife into my chest.
***
There's nothing like freshly spilled blood in the moonlight. Celia was my first; I never knew I could wield so much power over someone. That I could take all that they lived for and shatter it at their feet with just a few memories, or words. That's what I have done. I shattered her. And she killed herself. I didn't have to lift one finger either.
I smile, this is going to be fun. A challenge. Can I kill people without ever touching them? I turn and leave her body as the blood continues to pool. Thank you Celia, you really did help me cultivate my traits.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.
Ha, what bullshit.
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