(This story is not my own material, but my friends story. It was through her own wishes that I'm posting it on these forums.)
Mailee Horowitz's limp hand dropped the television remote control. It fell to the floor, batteries flying out the back and bouncing on the carpet. Mailee was completely oblivious to it, for she was wrapped in the world of sleep. In her dreams she had finished her research paper, received the biggest, most beautiful A+ in college history, and never had to do another one.
Of course, reality isn't always as pretty as dreams are, and when the smoke detector went off she was jerked away from her jeweled land and into a small apartment whose oven timer didn't work.
"..Demmit...." she muttered, pushing herself off of her futon and stumbling the two and a half feet to her closet, eh, kitchen. Mailee crawled onto the counter and turned off the smoke detector, then put on her powder-blue oven mitts and cautiously opened the oven door. A billowing cloud of smoke immediately engulfed her, and she broke into a coughing fit. She drew out the charred TV dinner, examined it, and, upon deeming it inedible, tossed it into her garbage.
Mailee opened her apartment windows, as well as the sliding glass door to the balcony. She turned on the fan, sat down on the couch, discovered the disembodied remote control, performed emergency surgery on the remote control, and settled in for an evening of late-night infomercials. Putting her still-warm oven-mitts under her neck as a pillow, she sprawled out on the futon, shifting her attention between the flickering television screen and the small pile of books and notes on the coffee table.
I will not look at it, she told herself, trying to concentrate instead on the all-powerful cellulite cream that would solve the world's problems. No, I do not need to turn it in by Thursday. I refuse to admit it. I've done nothing but work on it since Sunday, and having my notes outlined is as far as I've gotten. I'm not thinking about it anymore. I'm thinking about the cellulite cream. I must buy the cellulite cream. It will help me get through college.
Her nightly reasoning done, Mailee tried fervently to ignore her schoolwork and watch TV. Finally, the cellulite cream ceased to interest her. Intent on keeping her mind from her work, Mailee walked into the kitchen. Mournfully she looked into the garbage can.
"Oh but yes," she mumbled beneath her breath as she opened the refrigerator, "that would be the last TV dinner I had. Now all that's left is . . . mm, some oatmeal bread, half an apple, cream cheese but no bagels, ooh, a can of Diet Coke!" Mailee drew out the week-old can of opened soda and took a sip. She immediately dropped it into the garbage can. "Okay, we won't drink the Diet Coke. Mm, some butter, garlic, is that apple juice? That's apple juice! Okay, we have apple juice . . . peanut butter, and spaghetti sauce . . . I think that's it. I'm so screwed." Mailee sat down on the floor, drawing her legs beneath her and looking unhappily at the refrigerator. Suddenly the phone began to ring. She remained in the kitchen, waiting for the answering machine to get it.
"Beep . . . Hi, Mailee, this is Mom. Look, Dad and I reviewed the finances and . . . we just can't afford to send you that money . . . I'm really sorry." Mailee shot to her feet and picked up the telephone.
"Mom! No! I've got to have that money, I--" but her mother had already hung up. Mailee stood still for a moment, shaking. She let the telephone slide out of her hand and hit the floor, then walked back into the kitchen in a daze. She looked into the refrigerator and was overcome with zeal. She started ripping out the contents and spread them over the counter. Ignoring the sick feeling that was beginning to creep over her she began to make the king of all really, really interesting sandwiches.
"Yes, you too can have it all! Success and fortune, all you have to do is call! Remember, that's three cassette tapes or two CDs with Dr. Mitchell Parker's Sleep To Success series . . ." the television blared. Mailee began imitating the television. "Yes, you too can have it all! Good grades, a job, your rent, I don't know . . . a boyfriend, hell, a friend, and a pony!" She dumped the spreading knives and grater in the kitchen sink and whisked her masterpiece into the living room. She sat down on the coach and swept her schoolbooks off the coffee table, making room for her plate. Mailee sat quietly for a moment, looking at her meal. Between two slices of stale oatmeal bread (one with a few bites in it) were unappetizing gobs of cream cheese, spaghetti sauce and peanut butter. Nestled between some bits of grated garlic and butter were slices of apple (a lovely shade of brown) and more grated garlic topped it off. She sighed.
"I'm not eating this," she mumbled. She lay back on the couch and breathed. She felt a major attack of stress coming and she wanted to avoid that. There was a cooling breeze and she opened her eyes, seeking the source. It was the fan. That's when she realized her windows and balcony door was still open.
"Crap!" she yelped, jumping to her feet and shutting and latching the windows. Being a young woman all alone with an accessible apartment in a city at night wasn't good. She turned to the glass door and stopped, her breath catching in her throat. There was a shape on her balcony. Very dark, very large. Standing. Watching.
"No," Mailee whispered, her eyes wide. All she could see was the shape. It encompassed her vision. Slowly, so slowly, she walked forward, staring at it. She put her hand on the door handle and began to slowly slide it shut. It closed, locked, and all without the silhouette moving. Still staring at the shape, Mailee drew the curtain across the door. She stood there, frightened, still, then drew back from the door. She looked at the phone, lying on the ground. It had long ago stopped beeping, and was now silent. She picked it up, put it back in the cradle, and picked it up again. The dial tone was reassuring and she dialed 9-1- and the glass door shattered.
The still, silent spell that seemed to have been cast when she first saw the shape broke and she dropped the phone, screaming.
She is very pretty. I like pretty people. I watch her, rooftops away, as she sleeps on her couch, then opens all her windows to air out the smoke. I wait. Such a heavy, thick smoke I can't come for her while it lingers. The smell is simply too much. So I wait. She is fascinating. She will taste pretty. Yes. Very pretty . . .
Like lightning the dark shape was upon her, knocking her to the ground. Mailee screeched and squeezed her eyes shut, the terror welling within, taking liquid shape then spilling out over her cheeks. Beyond reasonable thought, she stiffened and sobbed. The shadow that forced her to the ground was massive, pulsating, like a little hole that had never seen light. An evil beyond anything her simple mind could comprehend, all hot and cold at once. Clammy and searingly painful was its touch. She screamed as it traced her frail neck, scratching her delicate skin and drawing little drops of blood.
She could feel her pulse in her neck, pumping furiously as a scorching horror touched it. The moistness . . . it was a mouth, its tongue was pushing itself against the cut in her skin and soaking up the blood. It wasn't until the incision of the fangs sliced into her neck that she snapped out of the stillness of ultimate terror into action. Flailing about on her apartment floor, Mailee opened her mouth and tried to scream again but her voice was too hoarse to make a sound.
Her blood is so wonderful, so thick and delicious. The salty tang makes me shiver and I quake against her soft, precious skin. Her fear . . . almost as lucious as the blood, envelops me, is weak against my strength chaotic against my calm. It's simply perfect. She's wonderful, wonderful wonderful . . .
Mailee's thrashing arms hit the coffee table, again and again, the thrumming pain the only real thing in this world of hurt. Her clawed fingers hit the side of her dinner plate and the sandwich went up in the air, a cloud of garlic shreddings falling like snow over the wild pair on the ground. With a screech the creature jumped away, unable to stand the smell.
Long ago, in the beginning, before the blood of the Night Walkers was polluted by recycling it through the generations, long ago when it was pure, the Night Walkers had a smell. Rotten corpses animated by the blood of the living crawling through the dredges, too close to life to understand what they were, but they knew what repulsed them. Many things repulsed them, young and weak as they were, smelling of rot. Strong smells repulsed them. Because it was a counter, an opposing element. It repulses them still. Not as strongly as when the Old Ones were young (And it's only the Old Ones, with their old, dead blood coursing through their bones who feel the old weaknesses) but it works regardless.
The screech stabbed at Mailee's ears and she scrambled to her feet. Through tear-stained eyes she frantically attempted to locate the door, trying to ignore the searing pain in her neck and she bled uncontrollably.
It's all over me all over me! Get it off get it oooooff!!!
Mailee took a halting step towards the door and the vampyre went into a whirlwind of action, ripping its black garlic-covered cloak away. One of its sharp hands ripped into Mailee's chest and she screamed at this new pain, falling backwards and landing halfway onto the balcony, her back hitting the metal tracking on the floor.
The vampyre's black cloak fell away, revealing a yellow skeleton. Shreds of rotted skin hung from the ancient bones and its eye sockets oozed with a pungent liquid, leaked by the bloated, decayed eyes. Mailee pushed herself backwards onto the balcony, falling against the old, rusted railing.
Out out out!!
The creature rushed forward in an attempt to escape but Mailee, terrified at its new, grotesque appearance, shot to her feet. The vampyre crashed into her and the rusted railing broke beneath the unnatural force. Mailee and the vampyre fell from her 7th story apartment onto the pavement below.
The vampyre had landed partially on Mailee and the blood from its broken arm seeped into her opened mouth. Rotten, old blood, only a few drops. The vampyre looked up, dazed but conscious, and ran.
When the ambulance came the pool of blood that seeped from Mailee's broken body had already turned from deep crimson to pure black. The paramedics didn't notice. They took her to the hospital but she was "dead-on-arrival." So they sent the body to the morgue.
It didn't stay long.
Mailee Horowitz's limp hand dropped the television remote control. It fell to the floor, batteries flying out the back and bouncing on the carpet. Mailee was completely oblivious to it, for she was wrapped in the world of sleep. In her dreams she had finished her research paper, received the biggest, most beautiful A+ in college history, and never had to do another one.
Of course, reality isn't always as pretty as dreams are, and when the smoke detector went off she was jerked away from her jeweled land and into a small apartment whose oven timer didn't work.
"..Demmit...." she muttered, pushing herself off of her futon and stumbling the two and a half feet to her closet, eh, kitchen. Mailee crawled onto the counter and turned off the smoke detector, then put on her powder-blue oven mitts and cautiously opened the oven door. A billowing cloud of smoke immediately engulfed her, and she broke into a coughing fit. She drew out the charred TV dinner, examined it, and, upon deeming it inedible, tossed it into her garbage.
Mailee opened her apartment windows, as well as the sliding glass door to the balcony. She turned on the fan, sat down on the couch, discovered the disembodied remote control, performed emergency surgery on the remote control, and settled in for an evening of late-night infomercials. Putting her still-warm oven-mitts under her neck as a pillow, she sprawled out on the futon, shifting her attention between the flickering television screen and the small pile of books and notes on the coffee table.
I will not look at it, she told herself, trying to concentrate instead on the all-powerful cellulite cream that would solve the world's problems. No, I do not need to turn it in by Thursday. I refuse to admit it. I've done nothing but work on it since Sunday, and having my notes outlined is as far as I've gotten. I'm not thinking about it anymore. I'm thinking about the cellulite cream. I must buy the cellulite cream. It will help me get through college.
Her nightly reasoning done, Mailee tried fervently to ignore her schoolwork and watch TV. Finally, the cellulite cream ceased to interest her. Intent on keeping her mind from her work, Mailee walked into the kitchen. Mournfully she looked into the garbage can.
"Oh but yes," she mumbled beneath her breath as she opened the refrigerator, "that would be the last TV dinner I had. Now all that's left is . . . mm, some oatmeal bread, half an apple, cream cheese but no bagels, ooh, a can of Diet Coke!" Mailee drew out the week-old can of opened soda and took a sip. She immediately dropped it into the garbage can. "Okay, we won't drink the Diet Coke. Mm, some butter, garlic, is that apple juice? That's apple juice! Okay, we have apple juice . . . peanut butter, and spaghetti sauce . . . I think that's it. I'm so screwed." Mailee sat down on the floor, drawing her legs beneath her and looking unhappily at the refrigerator. Suddenly the phone began to ring. She remained in the kitchen, waiting for the answering machine to get it.
"Beep . . . Hi, Mailee, this is Mom. Look, Dad and I reviewed the finances and . . . we just can't afford to send you that money . . . I'm really sorry." Mailee shot to her feet and picked up the telephone.
"Mom! No! I've got to have that money, I--" but her mother had already hung up. Mailee stood still for a moment, shaking. She let the telephone slide out of her hand and hit the floor, then walked back into the kitchen in a daze. She looked into the refrigerator and was overcome with zeal. She started ripping out the contents and spread them over the counter. Ignoring the sick feeling that was beginning to creep over her she began to make the king of all really, really interesting sandwiches.
"Yes, you too can have it all! Success and fortune, all you have to do is call! Remember, that's three cassette tapes or two CDs with Dr. Mitchell Parker's Sleep To Success series . . ." the television blared. Mailee began imitating the television. "Yes, you too can have it all! Good grades, a job, your rent, I don't know . . . a boyfriend, hell, a friend, and a pony!" She dumped the spreading knives and grater in the kitchen sink and whisked her masterpiece into the living room. She sat down on the coach and swept her schoolbooks off the coffee table, making room for her plate. Mailee sat quietly for a moment, looking at her meal. Between two slices of stale oatmeal bread (one with a few bites in it) were unappetizing gobs of cream cheese, spaghetti sauce and peanut butter. Nestled between some bits of grated garlic and butter were slices of apple (a lovely shade of brown) and more grated garlic topped it off. She sighed.
"I'm not eating this," she mumbled. She lay back on the couch and breathed. She felt a major attack of stress coming and she wanted to avoid that. There was a cooling breeze and she opened her eyes, seeking the source. It was the fan. That's when she realized her windows and balcony door was still open.
"Crap!" she yelped, jumping to her feet and shutting and latching the windows. Being a young woman all alone with an accessible apartment in a city at night wasn't good. She turned to the glass door and stopped, her breath catching in her throat. There was a shape on her balcony. Very dark, very large. Standing. Watching.
"No," Mailee whispered, her eyes wide. All she could see was the shape. It encompassed her vision. Slowly, so slowly, she walked forward, staring at it. She put her hand on the door handle and began to slowly slide it shut. It closed, locked, and all without the silhouette moving. Still staring at the shape, Mailee drew the curtain across the door. She stood there, frightened, still, then drew back from the door. She looked at the phone, lying on the ground. It had long ago stopped beeping, and was now silent. She picked it up, put it back in the cradle, and picked it up again. The dial tone was reassuring and she dialed 9-1- and the glass door shattered.
The still, silent spell that seemed to have been cast when she first saw the shape broke and she dropped the phone, screaming.
She is very pretty. I like pretty people. I watch her, rooftops away, as she sleeps on her couch, then opens all her windows to air out the smoke. I wait. Such a heavy, thick smoke I can't come for her while it lingers. The smell is simply too much. So I wait. She is fascinating. She will taste pretty. Yes. Very pretty . . .
Like lightning the dark shape was upon her, knocking her to the ground. Mailee screeched and squeezed her eyes shut, the terror welling within, taking liquid shape then spilling out over her cheeks. Beyond reasonable thought, she stiffened and sobbed. The shadow that forced her to the ground was massive, pulsating, like a little hole that had never seen light. An evil beyond anything her simple mind could comprehend, all hot and cold at once. Clammy and searingly painful was its touch. She screamed as it traced her frail neck, scratching her delicate skin and drawing little drops of blood.
She could feel her pulse in her neck, pumping furiously as a scorching horror touched it. The moistness . . . it was a mouth, its tongue was pushing itself against the cut in her skin and soaking up the blood. It wasn't until the incision of the fangs sliced into her neck that she snapped out of the stillness of ultimate terror into action. Flailing about on her apartment floor, Mailee opened her mouth and tried to scream again but her voice was too hoarse to make a sound.
Her blood is so wonderful, so thick and delicious. The salty tang makes me shiver and I quake against her soft, precious skin. Her fear . . . almost as lucious as the blood, envelops me, is weak against my strength chaotic against my calm. It's simply perfect. She's wonderful, wonderful wonderful . . .
Mailee's thrashing arms hit the coffee table, again and again, the thrumming pain the only real thing in this world of hurt. Her clawed fingers hit the side of her dinner plate and the sandwich went up in the air, a cloud of garlic shreddings falling like snow over the wild pair on the ground. With a screech the creature jumped away, unable to stand the smell.
Long ago, in the beginning, before the blood of the Night Walkers was polluted by recycling it through the generations, long ago when it was pure, the Night Walkers had a smell. Rotten corpses animated by the blood of the living crawling through the dredges, too close to life to understand what they were, but they knew what repulsed them. Many things repulsed them, young and weak as they were, smelling of rot. Strong smells repulsed them. Because it was a counter, an opposing element. It repulses them still. Not as strongly as when the Old Ones were young (And it's only the Old Ones, with their old, dead blood coursing through their bones who feel the old weaknesses) but it works regardless.
The screech stabbed at Mailee's ears and she scrambled to her feet. Through tear-stained eyes she frantically attempted to locate the door, trying to ignore the searing pain in her neck and she bled uncontrollably.
It's all over me all over me! Get it off get it oooooff!!!
Mailee took a halting step towards the door and the vampyre went into a whirlwind of action, ripping its black garlic-covered cloak away. One of its sharp hands ripped into Mailee's chest and she screamed at this new pain, falling backwards and landing halfway onto the balcony, her back hitting the metal tracking on the floor.
The vampyre's black cloak fell away, revealing a yellow skeleton. Shreds of rotted skin hung from the ancient bones and its eye sockets oozed with a pungent liquid, leaked by the bloated, decayed eyes. Mailee pushed herself backwards onto the balcony, falling against the old, rusted railing.
Out out out!!
The creature rushed forward in an attempt to escape but Mailee, terrified at its new, grotesque appearance, shot to her feet. The vampyre crashed into her and the rusted railing broke beneath the unnatural force. Mailee and the vampyre fell from her 7th story apartment onto the pavement below.
The vampyre had landed partially on Mailee and the blood from its broken arm seeped into her opened mouth. Rotten, old blood, only a few drops. The vampyre looked up, dazed but conscious, and ran.
When the ambulance came the pool of blood that seeped from Mailee's broken body had already turned from deep crimson to pure black. The paramedics didn't notice. They took her to the hospital but she was "dead-on-arrival." So they sent the body to the morgue.
It didn't stay long.
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