Eventide

The scent of seaweed was draped sluggishly across the sky. Waves splintered against the rocks, splattering their salty water droplets onto the sides of the lighthouse. It stood higher than a oak tree and was constructed with various colored stones dotting its surface. The grass was lime green, newly sprouted from under the melting snow. The sun was drooping, casting its orange streamers over the water and his lopsided grin.

He wore jeans that mirrored the dark blue of the raging sea. His shirt was black. Over it he wore a loose-fitting sailors jacket, with buttons that were bright gold and engraved with the image of a miniature boat. His feet were bare. His hair was short and spiked in the front, and its color matched the complexion of the sand surrounding the lighthouse. Neatly shaved stubble covered his chin, with a dark spot just beneath his lower lip. His eyes were a dark German chocolate. His agitated look was one of hunger and desire.

His mouth was partly open and his teeth were bared, with two teeth slightly longer and sharper than the rest. He moved with ease—only one purpose driving him forwards. No heartbeat steadied his frantic thoughts and his skin felt shriveled and cold. He felt colder still as the wind nipped sharply at his bare neck and cheekbones. His eyes were bloodshot from his lack of food.

He imagined who would be waiting for him when he got to the lighthouse. Perhaps there would be a husband and a wife. Perhaps there would be a family with little children full of young, smooth blood that he could feast on. Or maybe it would be abandoned, with just an old orange tabby cat sitting on the stairway.

He shuddered at that last thought. Hand curled around the doorknob, he pushed inwards and the door swung open on its moaning hinges. A small room stood before him, with a wooden table in the center and a small kitchen off to one side. Opposite the kitchen stood a tall window looking out towards the expansive sea. Beside this window sat a young girl.

She stared through the glass at the rolling blue expansion and made no move to question him. He walked inside the room, perplexed by how utterly still the girl sat. Her hair was wavy and long, the same light brown color of the center table. Her face appeared small and her hands were folded in her lap. She wore a simple beige dress and her cheeks were bright pink. It looked as if she had been crying.

He moved forwards, meaning to take her life.

She turned her head to stare at him. He stood frozen in place, head cocked at the sight of her gray-blue eyes. They had a foggy appearance to them, as if she were lost amidst memories. His vision darted from the window beside her, to her eyes. Just as one faced a toiling blue sea, so did the other. He was perplexed by the grief written on her face. It hid in her eyelashes and in her bangs and between the tiny sad dimples marking the edges of her frown.

She was a beautiful girl, and he could sense her vivacious flowing blood, but he found himself overcome by a different set of emotions. He found his thoughts fogged by curiosity and the alienating feeling of being safe. He had never once felt at ease near humans. They were always up in arms before he had so much as bared his teeth. This girl was different. She blinked once before turning back to the window. He was confused by her lack of fear, by her lack of action.

On the table he noticed a piece of parchment that was filled with lightly scribbled lines. He scanned the page and found what he read to be of an enlightening nature to the vexing situation.

My Dear Lucretia,

By the time you read these words, I will be gone. Tragedy has befallen the crew, a plague and I am the last to suffer from it. Our Lady Hawk will be a ghost ship forevermore. Know that you are my last thought. Keep our light burning. Promise me you wont slip again. Promise me that you'll keep that light on, because you know what it meant to us. I'm sorry you never got to wear your dear mother's dress. I'm sorry I've left you so soon. Don't forget me. As long as that light flashes at night, as long as the ocean roars outside our lighthouse, know that I will be with you. Do not be afraid to love again. My dear Lucretia, I love thee.

Blodwyn

He lay the letter on the table and glanced back at the silent Lucretia. For the first time in years, he found himself pitying a human.

“You lost your lover to the sea,” he said slowly, tapping the letter lightly. “I loved once. A long, long time ago, when I wasn't like this.”

“She was beautiful. Like you, Lucretia,” he added, noticing that a grimace shuddered through her face at the mention of her name.

“Her name was Eventide. She had the warmest smile, and her skin was always so smooth. Her hair had been black and whenever I stroked it, it was softer even than her cream silk nightgown. She was my life, my desire. She was the reason I lived, and she was the reason I died,” he explained, staring out the window just as Lucretia was.

He sighed heavily. Snippets of their past flowed through him, as if he were watching his personal version of Romeo and Juliet. He could recall the indent of her nose and the perfect curve of her shoulders. The tiny mole on her back—the only freckle he'd ever encountered on her. The soft pitter-patter of her feet on the hardwood floor. Her black hair haunted him, made him shut his eyes tight until it faded into the background of his mind.

“She was the sweetest human. She never spoke a harsh word about anyone but me, occasionally,” he said with a smile. “She loved everyone around her. She could make even a weeping angel laugh. Nobody hated her, except for herself. I saw it sometimes, in the way she avoided mirrors, the way she would spend some nights pulling at her hair and whispering evil things about herself. I tried to help her, but each time she denied that anything was wrong. She would smile and walk away. I should have helped her more. I should have seen it sooner.”

He held his hand over his mouth, unaccustomed to the way tears felt upon his cold, hardened cheeks. He thought he had long since run out of tears, but now they came quickly and he could not control them. It seemed as if when he wiped one away, another would fill its empty place.

“There was a night when I came home late. I had changed into this,” he gestured to his body, though Lucretia did not see. “The one that changed me had offered me Eventide's health. The monster said if I let him change me, that she would become better, that she would love again. He lied.”

“I came home late, and she was already gone when I got there. I didn't know how to feel. The love of my life was gone, and I had been turned into this...this thing to try and save someone who was already lost to me. I learned to accept it, this creature I had become. I got my revenge. But I never could get the regret out of my head. I kept telling myself that it was my fault, that she was gone because of me. I knew in my heart that I was wrong, but my head told me that I could have done better.”

He glowered at the setting sun, trying to concentrate on its harsh rays rather than remember her. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle it. He'd had episodes like this before, and they hadn't ended well. The memory of that dead English fortune teller, and of that little girl never again to walk the earth, vibrated through his being. His stature depleted and he took notice of a decline in his strength. He wondered whether the same fate would befall Lucretia. A lone breeze whispered into his ear that felt full of dust, as if it were a breeze that had been locked away for months.

“I lived for years with this mental torture. I didn't know I had eternal life until I tried to follow in Eventide's footsteps. I remember feeling so relieved that the torture was finally over, but I woke up the next morning feeling better than ever. No matter what I tried, I never died, I could never get free. It was then that I realized something had to change. I had to forget her. There was no other way. So, I buried her inside my thoughts. I only get fragments now, I can't remember her face or the way she used to walk. It is too painful to remember.”

He stared out the window with his hands against his temple, trying to block out the images in his head. He saw Lucretia's shadowed form out of the corner of his eye. His heart filled with jealousy at the thought of how she could grieve, and how she could die when she wanted to be free. She had the ability to choose. He knew what choice she would make. All humans made the same choice in the end. He might as well make it for her, and save her from that same torture he was forced to endure. His head snapped to the side when Eventide's hair invaded his vision and begin to dance in that phantom breeze. A thin layer of dust settled over her pale cheeks.

“But now I remember,” he whispered to himself. He couldn't push the memories away, they overwhelmed him.

Her smile was lit dimly by the glow from the evening sun. Her body was scantily clothed, and she was laying in bed waiting for him to join her. Her hands were lukewarm, sliding across his arched shoulder blades. The way her breath became softly elevated when she slept, and how her face was serene while she was lost in her dreams. He shook his head, not wanting to remember. He had done so well, and now this girl had ruined it.

He looked up at her with rabid eyes.

Instead of Lucretia, he saw Eventide sitting before him, staring at him with hollow, dilated pupils. He could not shake the regret that bounded up his spine. Eventide faded away and left Lucretia in her empty place. Jealousy followed closely in the footsteps of his regret. Lucretia could cope with her grief, when he had not been allowed that much freedom. Nor had he been able to save himself, not even through the ultimate sacrifice of death. But now the chance had come for him to save her, and he would not let that chance limp by.

He leapt from the seat and buried his fangs in Lucretia's neck. She yelped and tried to claw at his face. She came alive and her skin grew peach-colored, and just as soon lost its color as the blood was drawn out of her veins. His eyes widened with anticipation. He loved the scent and the taste of blood. He loved the feeling of relief that had bonded to the feeding. He knew he was giving Lucretia what she needed.

His eyes became less bloodshot and they filled with desire. It was uncontrollable. Even when Lucretia became a corpse, he still drank. He drank until her body was dry and withered. He straightened to his full height and let her body flutter to the stone floor. Stalking out of the lighthouse, he walked away down the path just as the sun dipped beneath the chaotic waters. A dark blue veil was drawn across the sky just as a dark red smile drew across his lips. Lucretia was nothing but a leaf left to blow away in that dusty, phantom breeze.