Forever Nineteen - Shallan Stockton
Forever Nineteen by Shallan Stockton was the First Place Winner of the 2022 Murrumbidgee Short Story Competition in the Under 18 Category.
The remnants of children's laughter; more a curse than blessing now. Its once bright ability to cure any grievance, now a haunting melody destined to torment her for centuries. The echoing joy chased her around her ancestral home, there was no escape. Decades had left their mark on the once impressive schloss. Each brick told a story of the abuse the home had seen, her mother's garden had once stretched from the front trellises to the back arches, now nothing more than dirt and ash, just like the family who once inhabited the home; all but her. The ivy encasing the trellises, wilting over years of mistreatment. She would never be rid of the baggage tethered to her home. The house may decay over the years, but she would stay forever young and beautiful. The entire house was a pit of memories, not all were bad, but time had a way of manipulating even the happiest memories into bitter and taunting parasites, leeching all that is good and leaving the horrific. Those were memories that terrorised her every day, left her, a fearful beast, wishing for a different life. Years passed where she watched her parents wither and die, then siblings who were once younger and full of life, age and become frail, soon death welcomed them into its embrace. Death wouldn't dare reach for her, for she would not be welcomed with open arms. No, she was a demon, abandoned into this life of isolation, only finding solace in the warmth of soft flesh accompanied by the coppery tang of blood brushing her lips, filling the aching hole inside her. Only in those moments was the beast of all consuming hunger and emptiness somewhat satiated.
Outside a storm raged, thunder shook the earth, berating her. The only bright spot in a sky of darkness was the slightest glimmer of moon, shoving its way out of the confines of stifling clouds. It would no longer be corralled like a petulant child, admonished for making its presence known. It would come out in full only once every 30 days, its glorious light bathing the earth. Some believed it to be a harbinger of crazy, or a signal to the unnatural but for her it was a reminder. A reminder of a night similar to this one when a different storm raged and one girl’s life imploded. So, as she listened to the storm that bellowed its fury, she let the past wash over her, taking her back to that night.
Bare feet scratched and torn; toenails embedded with dirt confronted her. It must have been the shock but the only thought filling her head was that a virtuous lady such as herself should not be out unchaperoned, especially not in her nightclothes, this was very improper. She had not yet reached twenty and she could not risk being labelled used goods. Not a single sound broke through the night. She stood in the centre of a clearing. A tug…a compulsion had dragged her from the warmth of her bed. Stranding her here. The remains of what looked to be an old chapel loomed above her. The air thickened with her fear, it was electric, a storm was coming. How had she gotten here? More importantly, where was here? A sliver of the luminous moon shone down, illuminating her shadow, only it was warped. Her nails were elongated, sharpened into claws, savage instruments of pain and her teeth, they were fangs. She backtracked so fast that her bare feet caught on something soft and flesh like. A gasp left her lips, hardly an exhale of air but still fear coated her tongue, heightening her senses, she could sense the lack of blood; something inside of her knew. What was happening? The thing in front of her resembled a person or at least it used to, only it was so pale. A scream built inside her, erupting from her core. The smell of death and decay coated her tongue, clogging her throat and stealing her breath. Through the darkness a figure emerged, hissing through elongated canines. The last thing she saw before darkness consumed her, was a face devoid of emotion, with piercing eyes of ice and steel.
Blinking away the lingering memories of blank eyes and stormy nights she dragged herself back into the present. That night was just the beginning, a beginning that led to centuries of confusion, agony, anger and then numbness. She was once known as Henrietta Lewis, but that was before the world gave up on her. Not that it mattered, everyone who knew her was long gone. No Lewis had lived in the area for centuries, ever since that fateful night that led her down a path to darkness. Most assumed she was dead, killed by illness or man. Not that anyone cared. She had spent hours calculating and planning revenge on all who had failed her, but those days had passed. Why did it matter? She had outlived them, that was better than any revenge. A mere fifty years at most could not compare to her centuries of life. What was time but an irritant when one was immortal. After her supposed death, her home had been abandoned, there was no heir to inherit so it sat empty, only Hetty roamed the grounds, always restless. She couldn't leave for the world would hunt her, all they would see is the fangs and her thirst for blood, they would see a demon. In reality she is what she was forced to become, a survivor… a predator.
The resounding echo of hooves on stone and the turning of carriage wheels found its way to the topmost floor of her home. A flare of hunger lit a fire in her gut, the pulse of fresh blood awakened her senses. It had been many years since sounds of human life had shattered the life, she had built for herself. On silent feet she made her way to the arching window, in the hope of glimpsing the intruders. It would seem the hunt had just begun, for those who dared to encroach on her home would pay the price. A rippling sense of, was that excitement? It was. She was excited, it had been too long since she had, had the pleasure of tormenting humans. It was no fun with the woodland creatures, they were too dumb to figure out she was the true thing to fear. Their lives ended before she could revel in their deaths. Both sides of her battled for control. The animal in her rejoiced in the knowledge that soon she could return to the hunt. It was just that sliver of humanity that still had the ability to impart guilt onto her consciousness. She should be disgusted by her thoughts but the demon inside her always won. Glimpsing her contorted reflection in the mirror, the smile that lit her face was inhuman. Years of superstition had built about mirrors and vampires, it helped people to believe that bloodsuckers could not see themselves in their reflection, something to do with the no soul idea. It was all a myth, something she discovered early on in her transformation.
The scent of horse and sweat was close, close enough that she could see the outline of the carriage occupants. Their voices carried to her on the breeze. Rolling to a stop they filed out, giving Hetty her first look. She assessed each person, deciding who would cause her the most trouble. There was a middle-aged couple, both blonde and smartly dressed. Neither looked to be a threat, the man had a rounded stomach that indicated he preferred drinking to exercise and the woman, well she was a stick, no match for Hetty's strength. There were three younger children. The younger two had to be twins. They were identical. The eldest looked to be eighteen or nineteen. He didn't look like the rest of them. He was handsome in a cold way, but it was his eyes that drew her attention. They were the colour of steel and ice. It couldn't be, but it was. She would never forget those soulless eyes, they were seared into her dreams, taunting her endlessly. The boy, only she realised now he was no boy, no, he was like her, a wolf in sheep's clothing. It was as if he sensed the anger rolling off her in waves for he looked right at her. Their gazes met, held. Time stopped. Ripping her back to the past. The striking of the grandfather clock echoed through the house, breaking the link between them. Lifting one sharpened nail, she raised it to the pounding pulse in her neck. Slowly she dragged her nail across her neck, almost seductively. This was no symbol of desire, no, this was a promise, a promise of death at her hands. That devil would not leave her home alive; she would tear him to pieces, drink the life from him just as he had stolen her life from her. It would be slow and painful, she would toy with him, then unleash the monster he had forced her to become. He saw every motion she made, saw as her fangs slid into place, coating her lips in blood. Drawing his gaze once more she lifted her nail, swiping the blood. At a leisurely pace she licked every drop off her finger. Tongue exploding at the sensation. He just stared, no emotion flickered, almost imperceptibly she saw his head nod, acknowledging her threat. His cold exterior would not last, not when she was finished with him. The fight to reclaim her old self would see him begging her, right before she tore out his throat.
