Dark Ballet

First place by Anoria Webb

         “First Position, plié, and to second, and a big grand plié,” Jean-Pierre recited. We have been practicing for the Halloween ballet for four months and Jean-Pierre insists we make it look like perfection. Sometimes if we fall out of our piqué turns into our balançoires he begins yelling in French saying, “Vous êtes des ballerines professionnelles, agissez maintenant comme des ballerines professionnelle!” We aren’t quite really sure what he is saying, but we believe it isn’t good. Since I am the head principal dancer, he regularly corrects me. Whether it’s, “Abella, my petite Abella, you look like a small chicken. I said hips outward not inward,” or “Abella you must must extend the legs more graceful, more graceful. You are a ballerina not a dog.”

       As we begin our last fifth position stretch I begin to feel my my hand tingling. I scratch my hand and I see I leave a claw mark on my  wrist. Jean-Pierre call me over to begin practicing my solo. I begin counting the beats in my head and start doing the dance. As I get on pointe and go into my fouettes I watch myself in the mirror. I start spinning faster and faster until I am spinning so fast I no longer can see myself in the mirror. I am no longer in control and as I start to slow down I can see my dark green eyes glowing in the mirror and I fall down. Next thing I know I feel a splash of cold water on my head.

         I jolt up and see the class looking down at me and Jean-Pierre is at my side with an empty bucket. Jean-Pierre asks if I am alright and explains to me I blacked out on my way inside the classroom. I am so confused as he explains it me. I swore I was in the middle of practicing my dance. Jean-Pierre takes my hand and helps me up. He looks at the rest of the class and tells them to start practicing their piqué turns into our balançoires. He tells me to go to home and get a good rest for tomorrow’s performance. “Vous êtes des ballerines professionnelles, agissez maintenant comme des ballerines professionnelle,” I hear Jean-Pierre as I close the door.

         I go to the sink and rinse my face off with cold water. When I look up I see a wolf face in the place of my reflection. I scream and fall back onto the ground. I touch my face with my hands, but it all feels normal. I stand up and look in the mirror and see my normal reflection. I sigh and shake my head and grab my stuff. I walk out of the locker room and as I close the door I notice the same claw mark on my wrist I had seen before.

           That night as I lay in bed I toss and turn going over the entire ballet in my head. I know it by heart, but the performance is tomorrow and it needs to be perfection. I think over what happened today and rub my fingers across the clawmark. “It could not have been just a dream,” I tell myself. I close my eyes and let myself relax. I hear howling , but ignore it and let myself fall into a deep sleep.

           I slowly wake up the next morning and smile as I feel the warm un hit my skin. I stretch out my arms and legs and open my eyes. I gasp and realize I have somehow ended up in the woods in a pile of leaves. I have dirt all over myself and my hair is a complete mess. I stand up and realize my clothes are all ripped up and my shoes are nowhere to be found. I start running out of the woods and realize I was in the woods behind my house. I go into my room through the window and rush to grab my ballet performance gear and start running to the theater. I get strange looks as I walk into the back of theatre into the locker rooms. I look down at the ground and put my stuff up. I grab my robe and towel and go into the showers. I finish and  head to the dressing room to get ready. As I am back stage warming up I suddenly feel something take over me my bones start cracking and I fall to the ground. I hear my cue to step onto stage and I watch paws run onstage. I let out a humongous growl and the last thing I remember are the shrieks of horror. When I wake up I am covered in blood and surrounded by a dead audience.

Little Johnny’s Halloween-Birthday

Second place by Nickolas Roberson

Johnny Schmidt was an ordinary boy in an ordinary family, who lived in an ordinary house in an ordinary neighborhood. Johnny lived a very humdrum life; he went to school everyday, he had numerous friends that he would chat and play with, and he would complete his homework after school everyday. Johnny was very content with his tame lifestyle; his life was perfectly average, ordinary, and mundane. But it all changed the day of his 13th birthday party  that occurred on Halloween, 1997.

The day of October 31st, 1997, started off a little stranger than usual for Johnny Schmidt. He awoke with a stiff back and neck to the illustrious and lofty smell of freshly cooked pancakes, bacon, toast and eggs. He sat up in bed and admired his collection of model World War II tanks, trying to remember what type of day would inspire his usually unhappy parents to create such a superb breakfast. He turned to glance at the calendar hanging above his desk, and noticed that the day was the 31st of October, the day of his 13th birthday. Johnny sprinted off his bed, his foot catching the edge of his bedsheets, and he fell face first into the wooden floorboards of his room. When he recovered from his spill and rubbed his eyes clean of sleepiness, Johnny finally made his way down the stairs of his house, ready to take on the day. Little did he know that he would not live to see it to the end.

A few hours later, Johnny had prepared himself for school and was waiting patiently at the bus stop. He couldn’t prevent himself from investigating into the possibilities of what his Halloween-birthday party could entail. Could his loving parents have planned a surprise party with all of his friends? Will he be getting a meal with this favorite dessert, key lime pie? While thinking about his party and twiddling his thumbs, Johnny heard a loud rustle in the bushes behind him. He paid no attention to it for the time being, and continued developing new theories as to what his party would be that night. The rustling increased in volume, and Johnny finally forced himself to peer behind him. He saw a pair of red glowing eyes staring back at him.

Johnny was immediately clenched with fear, his entire body freezing itself in place like a massive, unwieldy boulder. A dark, slimy hand began inching itself out from the darkness and cover of the foliage. The hand reeked of rotting corpses, and had long, slender, knife-like nails. As it neared Johnny’s petrified face, a smile filled to the brim with rotting teeth appeared with the soulless eyes that stared at Johnny. Johnny couldn’t move; his body was completely frozen, as if he had been put under some sinister bewitchment. A loud, mechanical noise started around the street corner; Johnny could see a large, yellow object moving towards him. He slowly moved his mouth so that he could wail for help, but as he did so, he face was grabbed by the abomination’s hand instantaneously. His screams were muffled by the dark hand as it seared and scorched his youthful face. A moment later, Johnny was ripped into the dark abyss of the foliage, a trail of dark, viscous matter left in his wake; Johnny Schmidt was never seen again.

Halloween Story

Third Place by Ensley Circle

It only takes a second for a person’s life to change. Maybe they got a raise for a job well done, or maybe they walk outside, get hit by a bus, and take their last breaths while lying on the well populated pavement. One second is all it takes. It could be good or bad, depending on your fate. Who knows?

I don’t know where I am. I keep rewinding my thoughts through my head. Am I outside? Inside? Lying on the pavement with just a big enough dent in my head? I don’t know. Who does?

Who knows? That phrase runs through my head like a bad migraine. Who knows? I know that I’m cold. Maybe I’m dead, it is stereotypical to be cold when you’re dead, right? I can move though, but only slightly. My body aches with every muscle movement, so I close my eyes.

I’m trying to remember, my head is jolting from one thought to the next. It is difficult to keep a complete thought.

The date. What was the date? It’s the 31st, the 31st of October. Halloween, the day everyone would expect. At least everyone but me. What happened? My thoughts are rushed and jagged. Too much happened, or maybe too little. Who knows?

There’s that phrase again. I’m trying to run the whole night out in my head. I left the house during mid-day, possibly late afternoon. What was I doing? Where was I going? A party, maybe a get-together.

I was too outgoing, that is what everyone told me. This is my fault. I probably just walked up to some psycho on the street, basically prompting something bad to happen.

That wasn’t it though, was it? No. I don’t remember it happening like that. I was walking in the dark, that I remember. Walking all too confidently in pitch black night of Halloween, just looking for trouble.

I remember the sound of feet behind me, not loud or anything, just the sound of shoes on the pavement. Something was off about the steps though. Something peculiar, like there was more than one set of feet. There were two people, I’m sure of it. Four hands, four feet, following me down the alley to my demise.

One of them had to have been a woman. I remember lighter footsteps and the sound of a clicking heel of a shoe. I was anxious just by the sound of her walk, I knew that she was following me with intimidation.

My senses were demented, my mind was racing. I could hear the sound of children from the street before me, and I wanted to run. I didn’t run though, they were too close behind me. I could hear the uneven breath of a man closing in behind me, there was no place to go, but I had to try. I pushed myself forward faster and faster, breaking into a cold sprint. I was so close….. But not close enough.

I don’t know how I got to where I am now. It is cold, dark. I am enclosed in a space. I wrench my arms from my sides and feel around. My elbows are hitting a solid surface. Wood. All of my composure is gone. I push at the walls all around me, nothing budges.

Breath, breath, breath. What is going on. I’m in a box, that I know, but why am I hear. Who knows? That voice is in my head. It is a woman, the woman with the intimidating shoes. I have to think, where do I know that voice from?

No….. No. My memories hit me like a slap in the face.

It was still dark in that room, still cold. Too cold. Why is it so cold? It feels like my whole body is in ice……. I am in ice. No… I look to my stomach. Scars. There are scars on my stomach. I’ve heard about this happening to people, but not me! I feel empty, there is something missing. I turn my head to a dim light sectioned on a table. There is something on there. A kidney, my kidney. My head is spinning and I’m going numb. I heard the sound of the shoes, and voices.

“Is the job done?”

“Yes.”

“What are they going to do with the body?”

“Who knows?”

‘“The body”’. My body. Me, they were talking about me. They harvested my kidney, and threw me in a box. I look down, there are the scars. Tears fall down my face, and I start to scream.

“Help! Somebody! Plea…Please!”

I know that no one will hear me, I hit the roof of the box and dirt fell through the cracks, I know that I am under ground.

“Please…..” My voice gives out to only tears. I am going to die down here, and I can’t do anything.

“Hello?” The voice is soft and muffled. It sounded like it came from above me.

“Is someone there! Please! Please! He…help me!”

I am breathing hard now, though I feel like I’m suffocating. I pause. I’m those aren’t my breaths. The voice. The breathing. They were both coming from inside the box.

With me.

The Beast of Blackoak

Honorable mention: by G.H.Stevens, sophomore

CHAPTER ONE

“It was just a dream—a terrible, awful dream,” Benson said out loud to himself. He was sitting straight up in his bed clutching his sheets very tightly and breathing hard. It was dark in his chambers but the only light that was in his room was the moonlight that shined on his floor with branches looking like long pointy fingers. Ever since he was little, Benson always had this awful dream that he was being chased by some monstrous beast with these strange glowing eyes and those wild and wicked teeth that would try to go for his flesh. But as he got older, there were these new pieces that came in his dreams. A woman crying, gunfire, a dark laugh that the devil himself would smile to in great sinful delight. Then a man would lay on the floor motionless with strange markings. It all seemed so real to Benson—like it really happened, but that couldn’t be true. He jumped nearly out of his skin as he heard a rapping at his chamber door and he slowly got out of his bed and lit a candle and took it with him to open his door. There was no one there. “Hello?” his voice echoed through the great hallway but no answer, only the darkness. As he looked down there was a letter with a  dragon-shaped seal.

   He picked the letter up from the ground and went back into his chambers. He sat the candle near his bed and lit a few more candles so that he could read the letter.

   You are needed, Sir Benson, at the town of Blackoak, a town only two days away from your town of Salem. Your work with medicine and science of the human body is needed dearly as there have been strange attacks in the town. Our host and I will explain more once you come. A carriage will be awaiting you in the morning at nine o’clock at the St. Peter’s church.

                                                                            Sincerely,

                                                                            Madam Mary H. Croft

P.S I will be awaiting you at Lord Blisson’s home

Blackoak? I’ve lived here all my life and never have heard of such a place. Benson thought for a moment and suddenly got a rather strange feeling.

The next morning Benson packed all of his belongings and went to the carriage waiting for him near the St. Peter’s Church. It was only two days later that he arrived at the town that to him was rather odd and very gloomy. It looked as if the town had never been kissed by the sun. The town was beautiful in its own eerie way. The village of Blackoak was filled with houses that seemed to fade from pure white to black. The sound of sheep could be heard from miles away as there was an abundance of sheep in town and you could hear music from the bar but no sound of men barking or laughing. He saw cats and dogs here and there and was greeted by a beautiful black cat with emerald eyes. They could be twins.   

       He asked a lady who looked very frightened by him where Lord Blisson’s home was, and she pointed to the very top of the hill. It was a great big house with large thick oak trees around it. Before he could say thank you the lady was gone in the blink of an eye. “Rather strange,” he spoke out loud to himself.  As Benson walked, men, women, and children looked at him in fear and suspicion and they all had held crosses near them and even had some hanging near their doors. They even had garlic and what seemed to be an aconitum plant or widely known as wolfsbane hanging around their houses as well.  “Rather strange indeed,” Benson thought.  He got to the unstable-looking steps and looked up. He sighed deeply, “I better get paid a good amount for all this.”

Benson was finally at the top of the stairs nearly about to die from all that walking and almost fell down along the way. Slowly he walked up and knocked hard on the door.  A beautiful young lady dressed in all grey opened the door and smiled a warm smile. “You must be Sir Benson,” she said. “I am Madam Mary. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Well, come in. Would you like some food? It was just made not to long ago.”  He was delighted by her kindness and ate with her at a very large wooden table. They chatted for a while and as they ate, a skinny, handsome man came into the room who looked rather young but his hair was a fading black that had pure silver at the roots. “Benson, this is Lord Blisson, our host—well, that’s rather funny. Your names sound similar,” she smiled and drank her wine. Benson stood up and walked over to shake Blisson’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to discuss the attacks now, Sir?” said Benson as he raised his brow, and Blisson smiled, “Of course.”

     They both ate and talked about what the town was like before the horrendous attacks. The Lord said that the town has always been strange with people’s minds still in the old world. The sun was fading into twilight outside with its marvelous pinks and purples with the trees looking like black silhouettes slowly dancing as the wind howled. “The attacks started nearly two months ago I’m afraid,” Lord Blisson began. “Four men, six women, and nine children dead with only one survivor who will dare not speak about it—poor lad’s been so traumatized he won’t even step a foot out of his room.”  

Benson thought for a few moments and took a sip of cider and said, “Do you have any speculation on what could have attacked that boy and killed all of those people?” The Lord shook his head and  put his hand on his clean-shaven  face and  Benson couldn’t help to look at his ring that had a strange symbol on it. “No,” Blisson said softly, “no, I’m afraid not. Wolves hardly come around here, but—” he stopped as there was gunfire outside. Quickly he moved to the window and Benson looked at Mary and they too got up and moved next to the Lord. There was a blood-curdling scream outside and Benson looked out the window. “Come, Benson,” said the Lord, “let’s see your skills.” Blisson grabbed an odd looking sword that looked to be made of pure silver. Benson grabbed his bags and his journal and headed out with the Lord and Mary.

They ran down the hill and to the house at which they saw three officers standing. One of the officers was as pale as a ghost when he saw the Lord.  “What happened here, Sir?” the Lord spoke with stern authority and the pale officer pointed with his shaky arm to the house. “Ms.Croft, come with me please, and Sir Benson, stay here until you are told otherwise for your safety.” They both marched to the house with the two other officers following them.

The officer was still pale as a ghost looking at Benson who was a little unnerved. “What is your name?” Benson asked the officer whose eyes got a little wide. “Um,” he started and gulped, “Nickelus, Sir.”  Benson nodded his head. “What happened?” Benson began taking out some paper and pencil and the man was about to protest but Benson cut him off. “Please, Sir, I must know what happened here. I am a doctor and scientist and I am here to help.” Nickelus gulped again and said with a shaky voice, “Help?” He smiled, but it was a fearful smile. “You can’t help us, Sir. There are things that science cannot even prove with all of its facts and evidence—there are things more frightful and more dreadful than a tyrant king who slaughters his own people for the simple pleasure of suffering happening here in this town.

Sir, what happened was a monster, a creature from Hell killed a family of four people. Four good and loving people. The lady Mrs. Celine, not too long ago, had given birth to her second son who—,” tears fell from his face, “who is gone, Sir. No trace of him. Mr. and Mrs. Celine were found near the fireplace—blood everywhere with their hearts ripped open from their chests and bite marks on their neck.”

Benson wrote all the important facts and left out the absurd accusation of the man’s superstition. Though Benson kept his thoughts to himself. The officer looked like he was about to faint and Benson heard steps coming from behind him. He looked and saw the Lord and Mary, and her lips were thin and the Lord looked sickened. “Thank you, Nickelus,”  said Benson, “you may leave now,” and quickly Nickelus left, but not without looking at the Lord. Benson went into the house and looked all around seeing a broken mirror, a few blood stains on the floor, and two children—two children lay there on the cold wooden floor, lifeless, with the look of horror still on their faces. It looked like they were crying blood. Benson’s heart sank with great sorrow for the children and examined their bodies. “Both necks are broken,” he began touching their still warm bodies gently. “The girl has a broken leg and both have marks near their neck and thighs,  claw marks on their back.”

He thought long and hard examining their bodies as Mary was standing outside the doorway watching him and spoke to him and was startled by her silent presence. “Do you always do that?” her voice was gentle, almost seeming fragile,  “talk to yourself?”  Benson looked at her then at the bodies. “Yes,” he said.  “It helps me quite a bit though something like this. I most certainly don’t need my work journal—something like this can never leave one’s mind so easily.”  She walked to him and slowly kneeled beside him looking at the bodies.

Mary thought for a moment. “What do you think killed them?” she asked, and Benson looked at the bodies. “I haven’t seen the parents yet, but I feel like there is something that we are facing is unknown. Also, there is something going on here in this town that I cannot put my finger on,” and Mary about asked a question but Benson put his finger up. “People having wolfsbane and garlic around their homes, crosses everywhere, that pale officer being frightened by the presence of Lord Blisson,” and he looked at her with a stern expression. “What the bloody hell is wrong with this town, Ms.Croft?”  She looked at him then stood up and walked near the window. Looking at her with the fading light outside made her look eerie. “Once you are done here, Sir Benson, meet me in my chambers,” she said, and walked out of the room like a ghost ,making no sound as she walked.

Benson moved on from the children to the parents and put his hand over his heart “Oh Hippocrates,” his tone was full of great distress as he saw the mutilated bodies. He slowly approached them and the woman’s face looked like a sad angel. Like the children, the parents had bite marks on their necks and claw marks. He saw what the officer was talking about; their hearts were ripped out of their bodies. Then his mind stopped for a moment as he just realized something that he had not noticed before. The children still had their hearts. But why take the parents hearts?

He looked at the man’s body and his heart nearly came out of his chest. As Benson removed his shirt, he saw strange markings like the man from his dream. He was lost for words and could not think clearly. He got up and walked around the house to find more things to take his mind off of the man. As he looked around he found a portrait of the man he had seen and what seemed to be Lord Blisson.

They were younger, perhaps in their early twenties he thought and he looked closer at the man. Benson was not one to really care how he looks, but he made some similarities. Both had long black hair with emerald eyes and sharp noses. Both had the same strong jawline and the same smile that looked a little odd. He touched the painting and said out loud to himself: “Very strange indeed.”

CHAPTER TWO

Nearly two hours later, Benson was at the Lord’s house in the kitchen writing.

October  28, 1807      

I just realized something. I don’t think about it much as those were dark times in my life, very dark times. I never knew my real family. I was raised by nuns throughout my teenhood who abused me for things that were blasphemous and sinful to them. I never knew anything about my birth parents and if I asked about them the nuns would raise their hand at me to silence me. The children at the orphanage never liked me. They always threw rocks at me or called me names as they thought I was a witch. Before I was given to the nuns, I lived with a family who taught me about science and medicine and the like; I loved and was fascinated by it. That family died in a fire and I was the only survivor. I used to examine dead animals and open them, telling the nuns how to treat wounds properly and what medicine to use. For a child of science, I was considered a witch and was beaten for it.

That man looked like me. Could he be my father? Could that family that was slaughtered be my own flesh and blood? I must speak to the Lord about that family, but I must first speak with Ms. Croft.

Benson walked out of the kitchen and asked one of the maids where Ms. Croft’s chambers were and they told him at the top of the house near the left end of the hall. He walked up the stairs and into the hallway and knocked three times at her door. For the first time he could hear her walking and she opened the door. “Three knocks, Sir Benson,” she said, and let him in the room and closed the door. “Three is a very magical number did you know?” Benson nodded his head. “The father, the son and—” she interrupted him, “. . . and the holy spirit,” she said chillingly and turned to him. “Lucky in most cultures and can be mocked by demons to offend God.” She smiled slightly and moved next to a table. “Wine or tea?” she asked, and Benson was getting agitated. “Tell me, Ms.Croft,” he said, trying to control the annoyance in his voice, “What’s wrong with this town?”

CHAPTER THREE

She poured herself some wine in a Bordeaux glass and sat down near him. She sighed deeply and looked at him as if trying to read his thoughts. “Like most places in this world, there are myths and legends. We have some in this town. Witches in particular, though that shouldn’t be such a surprise since Salem is near here.” Benson got up and made himself some tea and sat back down. She smiled and went on. “The Legend of the Blackoak Witch. The legend goes that during the Salem Witch Trials a man was put on trial for witchcraft and sorcery and was sentenced to be burned at the stake with his lover.”

“He escaped and tried to save her but couldn’t. In great sorrow. He left and came here and this was during the early years of the town. He lived in the forest to where now no brave man with a heart of a lion and the muscles of a bear would not dare venture. They say he did dealings with the Prince of Darkness himself. He summoned evil spirits, and whoever dared to come to front him would be cursed—and that is exactly what happened to a man by the name of Grayson Lupusian. He ventured off into the woods for revenge as the witch stole his sister.

Lupusian confronted the witch as he sat on his wicked throne and challenged him to a duel saying if he won the witch would give his sister back. Knowing that Lupusian was physically stronger than him, he told Lupusian that if he got a riddle correct that Lupusian could slay him where he stands. Lupusian accepted. The riddle was the key to finding his sister and killing the witch and in legend, the riddle goes like this. She took a sip of her wine and thought for a moment.

Way down we go

Way down we go

Down to the darkness below

Down to where the Lost Kings Reside

Inside the Devil’s Eye, you’ll find

Inside your darkest dreams come alive

Way down we go

Way down we go

Down to the darkness below

Where am I?

So Lupusian had spent day and night for a week in the forbidden forest until he got the answer to the riddle. He told the witch that he, or rather his sister, was in some nightmare realm and the witch being the master of tricks said to him from his unholy throne,  ‘tsk tsk tsk, you are wrong my handsome and for that, and for challenging me, an all-powerful witch,you will be cursed to live as a beast to feed on the flesh and blood forever!’ Lupusian was then turned into a beast. He killed his family and some villagers for weeks until a man named Jonathan Celine killed him with a sword made of silver. After that, the villagers captured the great witch and burned him at the stake.”

Benson was shaking his teacup in fear and it took him a moment to realize he was spilling tea everywhere. “My apologies, Ms.Croft,” and he grabbed a towel. “Oh, it’s quite alright, but there is one more thing, though.” He stopped cleaning and looked at her. “They say that Lupusian’s soul was split in half when he died. The mortal part of him was released, but his wicked cursed itself couldn’t rest in peace. If anyone who dares go into the forest to where he was killed, his evil self will possess any poor soul who comes near.”

Benson finished cleaning and sat down. He thought about the story even though it frightened him. “You said the name Jonathan Celine,” he said. “Is he related to the family that just died by any chance?” She looked at him and again looked like she was trying to read his thoughts as she was looking aggravated, staring deeply into his eyes. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, he’s related to the family. Why do you ask?” Benson stood up and walked to the door. “Just a simple question that’s all,” and he left the room. She sat there and took another sip of wine. “Such a strange man.”

Benson searched for the Lord, but could not find him anywhere. He looked at the end of the hallway and saw a black door. He walked up to it until someone spoke to him. “He’s gone, Sir.” Benson jumped, “Jesus!” he screeched. “Why does everyone sneak up on me,” and the maid’s baby blue eyes widened. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” and she had her hand over her heart. “Where did the Lord run off to?” he asked, having a hand over his chest, and the maid,still looking remorseful, said, “The Lord is on an errand.” She had black hair that came out of her cap and a sharp and delicate nose, dark green eyes and a fair complexion. “You could wait for him in his study, Sir,” she added and showed him the room.

         It was a large room possibly the largest room in the house. “Would you like anything to eat or drink, Sir?” she asked, and Benson said with a smile, “Do you by any chance have cookies?” The maid smiled back, “Oh yes, but I’ll have to make some. I make great sugar cookies which are my favorite,” and Benson was going to say that those were his favorite as well, but before he could say anything she was gone but he could hear her walking down the steps, or rather, running.

He was there for nearly an hour, but the maid’s cookies saved his boredom just in time. “Here you go, Sir,” she said, handing him a large plate of sugar cookies. “I also brought you some hot chocolate,” she was smiling at him. “Thank you,” he said.  She nodded her head and started to walk away until he stopped her. “Wait, Ms,” he said, and she turned around. “I’d like you to eat with me. It would be nice to be with a normal person like myself.” She smiled and sat  opposite of him. “Well, I’m glad you think I’m normal, Sir, but I assure you, I am far from that. My whole family is weird. ”When she spoke of her family, Benson noticed her face had sadness written across it. Seeing that, Benson looked at her she smiled, “Tell me of your family, Sir.”

Benson talked about all three of his families. The family he never knew, the family that died in a fire, and the family that abused him. The maid felt sorry for him and said,  “I had a twin brother, you see. He was taken from us when he and I were only a year old. My parents never talked about it. My mother would tear up every time I asked about him.” She looked at him for a moment and said, “My name is Lucy.”  Benson smiled, “Lucy,” he repeated, “meaning light,” and she smiled with her perfectly white teeth. They chatted for nearly an hour before the strangest thing happened. In the room, the bookshelves moved  apart  and this eerie red light shined and the candles went out. The temperature of the warm room dropped to a chill. “Quick! Underneath the table,” Lucy whispered, and Benson nearly tripped. They both knealt underneath the table. Suddenly the candles lit again, but the room was still chilly and a figure walked out of the separated bookshelf. It was a man with black hair and slightly fair skin. He was not wearing a blouse and his upper body was revealed. He was lean with a symbol of a serpent on his back and he turned and set some clothing on the table. To Benson’s horror, it was Lord Blisson but younger, like the painting, but that was not what frightened him. What frightened him was the blood covering his mouth that dripped down onto his bare chest. The Lord smiled and looked like he was in a state of luxurious ecstasy. As he smiled he had a set of sharp teeth where his canines were and then he opened his eyes. Benson was about to gasp, but Lucy covered his mouth. The Lord’s eyes were not of any mundane creature. It was as if the fires of hell were burning and living in those eyes. Everything was becoming a blur to Benson, and to Lucy’s astonishment, Benson fainted.

                                TO BE CONTINUED…