A yell erupted from beyond the door, but I moved in, uncaring now if they perceived me. I needed to strike quickly and efficiently if I was to feed.
I chose the second — he was fidgety, and seemed more likely to react quickly. I moved in as he stood up suddenly, looking about. I’m sure he felt my presence, but all at once he ignored the danger signs and headed to the door. He was easy to reach from behind.
His soul was a light I could see, pulsing from the center of his chest — I could feel the heat of it, the pure essence of the divine. He cried out as I sunk into it. Invisible hands, as I imagined them, grabbed and ripped at the connection to his body. I wrenched it, like a farmer trying to rend a root from the ground. I severed the connection between him and his soul and tore it loose.
The tall one shrieked and fell lifeless to the ground.
Exhilaration.
I fed on the essence as it bled back into the ether of the universe, but I got my nourishment and received the energy to reduce my quota by one. Closing my non-existent eyes, I reveled in the energy and sated a voracious hunger that had loomed for the last four years. It was akin to stuffing yourself at a banquet, squeezing in one last roll and downing one last goblet of wine: your belly bursting, but basking in the rapture of the feast.
So good.
I almost forgot the third, now my Thirteen.
A steady banging on the door, shadowed by an endless stream of cries and shouts echoed. Thirteen stood, eyes glazed over with shock and disbelief. He took a step toward his friend, but whether he saw me or not he felt me. I know it.
Realization set in against my ecstasy. I bristled with energy — raw power. It was the same each time, like being an old man suddenly swollen with the vigor of youth again. I all but missed the moment: I had reached my Twelve. I was just one away from freedom.
I surged forward, real hunger settling in now. My quarry was in my domain, alone and afraid.
He yelled, backing away. The woman responded with a primal cry of her own, and had it been any other situation I might have grinned at their primeval communication, but the task at hand drove me forward. I felt his life-force the same as the other, and I was close to my own redemption. Power coursed through me, and I reached for his essence.
He scrambled away. His hands instinctively clutched at his chest as he first backed up, then twisted toward the window. He was powerless against my will.
Apprehension stole over me as I realized the broken state of my prison allowed other gaps; other exits. I dove upon Thirteen, summoning every ounce of wrath and rage as I swept over him. I used my abilities and tripped his feet into each other, toppling him to the floorboards with a crash. A howl, and a flailing of limbs, his only defense.
Except I was ethereal, and reached right past his swatting arms.
I reached toward his inner light, the brilliance almost blinding, but I wanted his core — needed it to free myself. My wraithen hands slipped past his own, and I encircled the core of his existence.
I touched coldness.
So cold it burned my hands — like shoving them into a fire, and I howled. I know they both heard it, because Thirteen shuddered and the woman screamed. I retreated to the far side, all of my new found vim gone, replaced by an ache stretching through my being. I roared and wailed at the pain, wondering what had done this to me.
Except I knew.
Through the glow of Thirteen’s life force, I felt the pendant around his neck, hanging at his breastbone. A talisman of the hated metal ore, hanging from a necklace at his chest, protected their kind from me.
I’d felt its sear before, when the druid had cursed me a full century ago. It was life metal, capable of imprisoning me and hurting me, and my anticipated Thirteen wore it.
I doubt he knew the power at his breast, but either way I was powerless in the corner, my metaphysical hands throbbing. All I had strength for was watching as he got his feet under him and skittered across the floorboards to the window. His eyes never left the corner where I lay as he crawled out through the hole, fear on him like the stink of raw onion.
I howled again as his foot disappeared from sight.
So close.
I caught a last glimpse of the two as they tore back down the path, but hope was gone. I growled and snarled, shook the walls of my prison though I couldn’t bring it down. My captor had been careful, and clever. I watched them go, bellowing after them though it made no difference now. They might return to retrieve their friend, but they would never step foot inside again.
I unleashed my rage, spent my energy lamenting the escape. So close to freedom, just to have lost it again after so long...
Darkness settled over me before my anger waned. Fatigued, had I still been human I would have slept, but such is my curse to never rest. I settled into the remains of Twelve and fed off of his faded essence. It was my only solace.
After a time I looked over Twelve’s things and pulled him back into the center of the room, dragging him over the remnants of Eleven. I laid him out face-down, just like the others. His sack and his flashlight slowly tumbled toward my hidey-hole. I found the locket once more and placed it on the floor near his hand. I erased the drag marks from the dust on the floor with swirls and currents of stale air.
It would take a day or two, but I knew they would return with others. I could decay Twelve quickly, feeding on his remaining residue, but leaving enough to lure one of them inside.
Perhaps then I could snag Thirteen.
Craig Crawford
About the Author
Craig started writing in middle school, having gotten introduced to science fiction, fantasy andhorror by a new troupe of friends. A voracious reader, he started thinking about these people who actually wrote the stories he loved and thought he might
