Free Vampire Books: Vampire Bite – Chapter 21

I AM SO god damn bored.  My legs are cramping and my back hurts, and I can’t get up to stretch, as I am completely hemmed into my seat by squashed, sweaty people.  And, to top off my discomfort; I can’t help but suspect the tall man, who’s standing in the crowded isle, is watching me.  Every time I look up, he averts his gaze, and makes out he’s reading a folded newspaper.  But, whenever I look away, I feel his eyes boring into the back of my head. 

Maybe I’m just being paranoid, because I’m nervous.  Why would he be watching me, anyway?  He looks like a journalistic type; maybe thirty-five, with closely cropped dark hair, a hint of stubble, and rectangular reading glasses.  His white shirt is open at the collar and his paisley tie pulled loose.  He’s fairly good looking, but I am much too young for him, so I’m pretty sure he’s not checking me out.  Maybe he’s bored too, and finds me amusing for some reason. 

I peer into the window to my left.  I can just see my reflection, if I ignore the rolling fields beyond the glass.  I can’t see anything stuck on my face, and it doesn’t look like anyone drew on it when I nodded off earlier.  My eyes do look tired, no doubt due to the fact I spent all night worrying about today. 

The funny thing is; the guy watching me; he looks kind of familiar . . . but I just can’t place him.  Where could I have seen him before?

I feel so restless.  I really wish I could just relax.  I was such an idiot to say I’d get to uni by myself; I should have got Mum and Dad to come with me, and help me find my room.  For some strange reason; I was determined not to be dependent; to do it on my own.  Thanks to my independent streak—all my things for the term are wedged into a giant rucksack.  It’s currently in the luggage rack, hopefully safe; there are too many people in the way to tell for sure. 

My lightweight, pale, trench-like jacket is folded on my lap, the only spare space available.  Its pockets are heavy with all the things I’d usually put in a handbag; phone, wallet, mints, valium! 

The old train lurches as the tracks curve around a corner, and a lady squashed into the seat on my right is jolted against me.

“Sorry, dear,” she mutters, as I rub my arm.

“No worries,” I say, glancing at my watch; to make sure there’s no chance I will look at the man again, or he will think it’s me watching him.

It’s about an hour until the train is due to arrive at Waterloo.  When it does I’ll have to change lines to get the train to Greenwich, and then I can go looking for my ‘halls of residence’. 

The fields are giving way to a grotty urban sprawl, as the train rumbles toward my destination.  Butterflies flutter in my belly. 

Normally I would read on a journey like this, but right now I’m too distracted by worries about what awaits; who I will meet, how many times I will get lost, whether I will get any sleep—surrounded by other eighteen year olds—and whether I’m doing the right thing going to uni at all. 

I close my eyes and rest my head against the worn seat-back, determinedly ignoring the persistent sense of being stared at.  This boredom is making me ridiculously sleepy, and I can’t help but start to drift . . .

Suddenly it seems as though I’m just a young kid, and I’m on holiday with my grandparents.  We are staying in a lakeside log cabin, bordered by an immense conifer forest.

Granny and Granddad are in the cabin, doing painting with my little brother, and while they’re busy I have the freedom to do as I wish, as long as I don’t go too far. . . .  I wander along the water’s edge and take a seat on a fallen branch, near the shady forest.  No-one else is out playing today, and I feel like a lost soul searching for something to do.  For a time I try to skim stones along the lake surface, but all that happens is the stones sink into the cool murky waters.  After a while the novelty wears off and I sit there aimlessly. 

I’m just about to get up and walk back to the cabin, but I hear footsteps crunching over debris.  It sounds like they are nearby, not too far into the forest.  The footsteps are quiet, delicate, and they don’t sound human—I suspect some type of animal.  I light up inside; if I am really quiet I could track it, deeper into the forest, and watch . . . without being seen.

I step gingerly on the ground, trying not to break a twig and alert the animal to my presence.  I reach the first thick trunk, marking the forest edge, the boundary that will take me away from the sun.  I peer around the edge and immediately spot a young deer, its snout poking around in leafy undergrowth.  The deer looks beautifully sleek, and I am instantly enchanted.  It turns its flank on me, pointy ears twitching upright, and I catch a sideways glimpse of wide startled eyes.  The deer springs away and disappears into the dense forest. 

I move fast, but lightly.  After all, I am only small.  I dart after the deer, and am soon so far from the lake I fear it will be hard to find my way back, and that my grandparents will start to worry.  At that moment I hear movement again, but this time coming from two directions; ahead of me—I think this must be the deer—and somewhere off to the left.  It sounds like something else is moving in, creeping ever so slowly toward the beautiful animal with sleek red fur.  Something is hunting it. 

I lose any idea I’d had about turning to leave.  Instead I peek cautiously around the next tree, and am rewarded to see the fawn only three feet away, frozen in place.  I hold my breath, waiting; I just know something is about to happen. 

A grey wolf jumps out from the thick shadows. It lands on the leafy earth, then leaps, jaws open wide, long fangs extended.  It swoops toward the deer, and that deer doesn’t even move.  It looks like a statue as the enormous wolf sinks its fangs right into the animal’s jugular.  The deer swings back and forth in the air, like the movement takes no effort on the wolf’s part, and then it lets it go.  The beautiful, fragile deer falls to the ground; dead.

Involuntarily I gasp.  I draw my body behind the tree, hoping to God that the wolf did not see me.  I hold my breath once more, and don’t even blink as, instead of a wolf; a naked man steps out from behind the tree, he steps from the scene of the deer’s slaughter.  The man turns and fixes glowing green eyes on my small brown ones.  His hair is grey, the very same grey as that of the wolf, and there is a smidgeon of deep red blood on his lips.  His body ripples with muscles; ready to pounce. 

I know, beyond a doubt: he is going to do the same to me, as he has done to that poor deer.  I can’t step back; the tree is blocking my way.  Somehow I know there is no point trying to run.  Instead I glare into the man’s eyes, eyes that simmer with green flames; flames that look like they will burn me.  He pounces, human jaws open wide, revealing fangs; clean and sparkling, like that of the wolf.

An incredible feeling swells in my body, and in my head.  It’s like a spark’s gone off, triggering something that until now has been buried so deep inside, I never knew it existed.  The spark leaves my head and bathes the air before me in a cloud of light, and in that cloud the man shakes so hard his momentum falters.  He falls to the ground at my feet.  Spasm after spasm rocks his body, and with each spasm he changes; it isn’t long until he is more wolf than man. 

Before I can leap away and run; two more men approach at lightning speed, zipping out of the shadows.  One is young, barely twenty; his hair dark and wild, a gun clutched in his fist.  The other is a touch slower, and a lot older; his hair is grey, but not like the wolf; the man is grey with age.  I think they’re coming for me.  The spark inside me ignites . . . but, I realise their eyes are normal, clear of flames, and they are heading for the man; the wolf.  The older man pushes the wolf onto his front and pins it to the ground with his weight.  As the fits start to subside, the younger man plants a bullet in its skull.

“Shhh, Shhh, this will help you forget.”

Before I even realise what is going on; the older man has plunged a needle into my arm.  All sensations fade into nothingness.

I jerk awake.  Shit—that was so real.  And that guy, the one who killed the werewolf—I think he was the guy who’s been watching me, while I’ve been sitting here . . . only he looked much younger.  Why did I let him sneak into my dream, and influence me like that?

Shit.  What is with my mind?  I am seriously over thinking this.  Now I’m not only being anxious, I’m also having delusions.  He was merely in my dream because I’m obsessing about him.  I should just ignore him. 

Determined to do just that, I stare out of the window until the train starts to slow.  The people around me start shuffling in their seats, preparing to disembark.  I crane my neck to look ahead, and catch sight of the grand glass arch of Waterloo station, then another train matches our speed and my view is cut off.  I look around without thinking, and am surprised to see a vacant spot in the carriage.  The man has gone.