Beautiful

You moved to this town knowing nothing about her. You moved to this town knowing nothing at all. Really you didn’t move to this town you moved away from somewhere else. You moved away from an ex-wife who ‘just didn’t love you anymore’ and two children who took her side. You moved away from them and away from your home nd took whatever was allowed to you to this little town in the middle of nowhere on the edge of an Indian reservation.

The locals told you about her soon after your arrivial. She was a legend in town, living right on the edge of the reservation in a home tat was more cottage than house. She came out only at night and you heard terrible stories of blood drinkers and baby eaters. You chalked them up to some kind of right of passage to weed out the cowards from the ones worthy of this little town.

For a long time you forgot about her.

Then you remembered her.

You can see her cottage from the hill that housed the grocery store in which you now work. You leave you little house on night (one dusk) to finally meet her for yourself. You take a flashlight to find you way home.

You knock on the door. The house is wooden and looks older than anything else in town (and the town is pretty damn old). It looks ill-used and not well taken care off. It sends shivers down your spine.

There is a long silence and you think about just going home. You don’t. You knock again. Maybe it’s simply curiosity, maybe you want to know what the stories are about. Either way, this time it works.

The door opens just a crack. The inside is dark save for the flicker of a distant candle. You peer into the darkness. The sun has set. You call out and a voice answers you.

It is a soft voice that reminds you of the ringing of a small crystal bell. The voice calls to you and asks you to step inside. Against your better judgment you do.

The room is dimly lit with a few candle and you finally see the women. She is holding a candle of her own, casting shadows over her face and yours.

Even in the dim light you can tell she is breathtakingly beautiful. Her skin is so pale and her lips so red and her dark eyes so dull that she looks to you more like a porcelain doll rather than a woman. She beckons you to an antique sofa, faded in color and smelling strongly of dust and stale air.

You sit and she offers you a cup of the blackest tea you have ever seen. You accept. The strong taste is cut slightly by a spoonful of sugar. She sits across form you on an old wooden chair and stares at you.

She asks you what you ae doing here. You sip your tea and say that you have no idea, you simply wanted to meet her.

She smiles and her teeth see sharper somehow but her eyes remain dark and dull. You talk about nothing with her. You finish you tea and stand. She stands as well.

She approaches you. She is the most beautiful woman you have ever seen.

She kisses you and you let her.

You think of your ex-wife whom you have always loved. You think of your two children you will likely never see again.

You lose yourself in this women whose name you do not even know. You let her kiss you. You kiss back.

She pulls back from the kiss and smiles. She shows all of her sharp pointed teeth. Yu find yourself quite unable to move.

You are not sure you want to go anywhere anyway.

She ass you if you will be hers.

You tell her that yes, you will be hers.

She leans towards you again but she does not kiss you. She places her mouth on your neck. At first it is like a soft kiss.

Then the pain come.

You scream and she shushes you. You feel the wet blood creep down your neck. You feel her lick it up.

She feeds off you, just enough. Not enough to turn you into something like her but enough that you no longer know who you are.

When she is done you go home.

You return the next night. And the next. Eventually you simply don’t leave. You take your place in the legend the townspeople tell their children. You stay with her.

She is beautiful.

There is only one mirror in the house. It hangs above the fireplace ad sometimes in the morning you catch her staring at it in the candlelight. Thick curtain block out all sunshine but you grow used to the candle light and you become accustomed to waking up and seeing her standing by the fireplace, staring at her reflection.

You can see it too. It is not a reflection of her beautiful face with its pale skin and bright red lips. It is a reflection of what she would me. It is the reflection of a skeleton.

You see her playing with the curtain one day. She fingers them gently. Then she slips two pale fingers in between the curtains, opening a sliver of light. You pull her forcefully away from the window. He skin is burned.

When you bandage her hand you ask her way she did such a thing.

She tells you she wants to feel alive again.

She isn’t in the bed when you wake up but then again she never is. She is staring at her reflection in the mirror, like she always is.

You do not pity her though. She is broken and strange and beautiful. No you do not pity her.

You catch her at the curtains one early morning. She is simply staring off longingly. You watch her finger the curtains and you move to catch her. She then does something unexpected.

She grabs the fabric and yanks them apart forcefully. She screams. You rush forward and wrench the curtains closed. She stands there, badly burned and you realize what lengths she will go to, to feel alive again.

Your heart aches for her but you do not pity her. Pity is for lesser creatures than her.

You finally look at her. Her skin is darkened and badly burned. Her face is ruined and her bright red lips stand out, as do her dull, dark eyes. She looks at you sadly and she dies.

She is still the most beautiful woman you have ever seen.