Cemetary Gates

I looked through her window again last night.

There she lay, skin as white as porcelain, hair as black as pitch, the deepest, darkest, sweetest part of the night dissolving into nothingness as I stood and watched. And I knew, I'd have to do it soon, I'd have to take her now. I'd have to swallow her up and make her mine.

I just had to.

I slowly made my way into the house, through the cellar window that was never closed, wary of the clutter on the floor, spilling like a multi coloured fountain out of many different boxes. Either they had just moved in, or were moving out. I don't think they'd want to stay here, not after this night.

Closing the window softly behind me, for the first time ever, I swung the bolt across. Now they couldn't get out, and no one else could disturb me. I tiptoed over to the stairs, mindful of what surrounded me. I felt in my pocket, the tip of my knife catching my finger, deep enough to mark, yet not deep enough to draw blood. I didn't want to leave a trace of my presence. Not to drive them mad, but to leave them puzzled as to who I really was. I made my way up the stairs, slowly, softly, lifting each foot carefully and setting it back down, the movements a balletic poetry in themselves.

I had reached the door.

A slash of light came from underneath, yet I could hear no noise. I knew they were all sleeping now, that I'd have to be quick before her screams woke the house. I knew the layout, she had let me in, after I'd befriended her, after I'd let her get close. Or what she thought was close. To me it was just another mask I hid behind, another thing I used to shield myself. She was a nice girl, so pretty, her soft red lips and button nose, the way her lips caressed, the way they tasted as they kissed mine. A smile rose upon my face, or was it a grimace? Of evil? Of hatred? Choosing her was just another part of the game, so lonely, so new, so....so untainted.

The air tasted sweet as I moved up the house, knife still hidden. I was so used to the stale harsh air that this was like poison to me, poison that could whet the senses and make you want more. I knew which room was hers, I recognised the plate that hung on the door, swinging gently in the breeze blowing from the air conditioning unit. I opened her door, letting myself in, deeper into the rabbit hole, in I went, to let her meet her fate, to meet her maker.

Me.

As I opened it, slowly, softly, hesitantly, letting myself and closing it behind me, hearing the lock click into place as I swung the little used key in its quiet lock. I knew there was a ladder hanging outside her window, I had used it before. Her window hung open still, the moon peering out from behind clouds. It was so romantic, and it took my breath away.

I saw her, lying on the bed, the slats of moonlight slanting over her. Was I going to have a change of heart? Was I not going to kill her? As I questioned myself I pulled out my knife, watching it catch and glint in the moonlight, as I slid over to her bed, pulling back the covers. She smiled and sighed in her sleep, arching her back and tipping her head back so I could see the pale flesh, the sweet blood that beat so strongly within. It was now, or never. I hefted my arm back, and prepared to strike.

As my knife arm went down, her eyes opened. Wide and terrified, the blue glow of them was accentuated by the pale glow seeping in. She looked at me, fearfully.
“No! You can't! Don't!” Her voice was tense and high, scared as much as I now was.
“I have to. You know I do. I have no choice,”
“There's always a choice, please let me go, please?” She was begging me now, tears welling up in her eyes as they bored into my dark soulless ones.
“I can't. Not now. Not now you're mine.”
“Why me? Out of them all, why me?” She stared at me, questioning me.
“I chose you before you even knew it. I took you, and I claimed you, and now, this is the end.”
“The end?” She looked even more terrified now. “For who?”

It was then I knew, I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill her. For one as heartless, as hated, as derided, teased and beaten as myself, I knew I couldn't do it, I couldn't hurt her, even after all I had done.

I knew what I had to do.

I turned the knife on myself; I pulled my arm up again, her hand reaching up, her fingers closing around my wrist, looking up at me, begging me with those soulful eyes. I shook my head, to clear it, this had to be done, and I knew I couldn't taint her life any more. I pulled back, ready, and plunged my arm down, piercing my chest. I could feel the blood pump, the bones crushing, the blood cathartically spurting out as I pulled the knife free with a sickening squelch.

And yet, for the first time in my life, I felt free. I felt, lighter, good, innocent, pure. As my eyes closed for the final time I mouthed the words I had longed to say to her.

“I love you.”