Now, I’m standing here with the noose around my neck.
My talons snatch something from the darkness and stuff it into my mouth before I can react. Chewing it, I figure out that it has to be a spider. I have silky web stuck to my nub. I would spit it out, but it tastes really good. It’s like eating a particularly tasty piece of scab, if that makes sense.
I can’t live like this.
Maybe other people could cope with this alien transformation, but not me.
I step off the edge of the loft.
For the moment, everything is silent. I’ll be flying for the rest of my life. It’s nice to have everything planned out.
(I expected pain.)
I expected pain.
I’m gently swinging and the rope is creaking as I sway back and forth. My talons search for something solid to tap against. They want to send yellow waves out into the night to see what reflects back. I think I’m beginning to understand that compulsion. Tapping against solid objects with my claws is sort of like scratching a deep itch. The sound moves out into the world, but it also resonates through my own body. Now that I’m swinging in the air with nothing to tap on, my heart aches for that hollow sound.
After a few minutes of swinging, I realize that nothing is going to happen. I start to think about the others that I dispatched. One of them had only one eye. I can picture his suicide attempt fairly easily. Recognizing that he was changing over, I bet he tried to stab or shoot himself in the eye. Clearly, it didn’t work. One of them had a stretched out neck. I wonder if that’s what I’m going to look like when this is done.
I sigh and look around the barn.
I bet I could chew through the rope. It’s just a stray thought, but when I run my tongue over my teeth, I start to believe it. They’re not particularly sharp yet, but they will be. The flat bottoms of my front teeth are chipping away. My molars are splintering. If I just start chewing, my mouth will be full of razor-sharp daggers by the end of the process.
There’s an easier way though. I kick off my shoes and brush one foot against the other. As I surmised, my toenails have already begun to sharpen. I reach up with my good hand, grab the rope above my neck, and then twist my body upside-down so I can grip the rope with my feet. I can’t even describe how it works, but it’s the most natural thing in the world. After a couple of seconds, I’m back up on the beam, pulling the rope from around my neck. If I want to end this monstrous life, I’ll have to find another way.
Once more, I’m thinking about that lonely train whistle. When I was a kid, I imagined a scene where the conductor stopped the train because he saw people on the tracks. Then, vampires overtook the train and drained the conductor of blood.
But what if the vampires were trying to commit suicide by stepping in front of the train? It’s not a terrible idea. I shut my eyes and try to picture it. Even in my imagination, I can’t do it. I can’t hold still and let the train run me over. My body will react at the last second and I will jump out of the way, whether I want to or not.
It’s starting to occur to me that I won’t be able to do this alone.
I need myself from a week ago.
I need someone strong enough to take a stand against the abomination that I’m becoming.
Submission
(It seems like a good plan.)
It seems like a good plan.
I wait until it’s almost dawn before I even think about moving into action. I had to tape the paper down to the table in order to write the note. Every time my left hand got close enough, it tried to scratch away the text or knock the pen out of my other hand. My only recourse was to sit down on my nub, as painful as that was, and write quickly.
I carry the note at arm’s length just in case my talons want to try to shred it as I walk.
I don’t take the road. There’s never any traffic out here, but if there happened to be, I’m afraid of what the headlights would do to me. Even the stars seem really bright right now. My eyes aren’t that good at recognizing shapes. For example, it took me forever to find a sheet of paper in my uncle’s study. I had to consider the sheet of paper from several angles before I decided that it was what I was looking for. It was almost like I had forgotten the purpose of paper.
My eyes are sensitive as hell though. Far away from Mr. Engel’s house, I can see the light that Amber left on upstairs. I have to circle the building so that I don’t accidentally get a full look at the light as I approach. The back door is locked. She has already fixed the window that I broke when I tried to use the phone the other day. The windows are locked as well.
The best I can do is fold my note and wedge it in the gap between the front door and the frame.
My talons are itching on the inside.
I watch them reach out and I back away before they can tear up my note.
That wasn’t what they were itching to do though. They’re just as happy to reach out for the wood around the window. There are four distinct fingers emerging from my nub. There’s a
