Samara was terrified. She had been dared to spend an hour in the old Hawthorne mansion, but in her quaint little town, no one even attempted to walk past the iron gates for fear of what could or would pull you in.
When you walked down the side wall, it was common knowledge to cross the street rather than walk in front of the gate. It’s the way things have been for centuries.
Although Samara would never admit it, she was indeed frightened. She knew the legends, the myths, the folklore and she would’ve never done this had she not been dared to.
Legend states that the old man seduced young women and killed them here several centuries ago. At one point the townspeople tried to burn the old house and its resident to the ground.
Surprisingly as soon as the fire was lit it was extinguished. They’re attempts so bust down the door failed, they tried everything to rid their town of the monster inside, but none of their attempts ever worked. Eventually, they gave up.
The man inside was never heard from, but every once in a while a young woman or two would go missing and rumors of it being old man Hawthorne’s doing circulated.
Samara and her friends had been playing truth or dare at her house down the street and eventual it was brought outside with an ‘I dare you to streak naked through the back yard.’ And other juvenile dares, until Samaras friend Casey had dared her to go through the iron gate, walk into the Hawthorne mansion, and stay there for a whole hour.
Samaras' heart had stopped when her friend dared her, but she was no pussy, so she stood up from the grass and walked down the sidewalk with her small group of friends in tow.
It had been centuries since old man Hawthorne had even been 'seen' and so there was no way there was anyone left in the old run-down mansion.
All that was bound to be in there was rats, cats, and bats, right?
As she neared the old iron gate, the point where normal people crossed the street at, she felt her heart leap out of her chest.
She took a few deep breaths before trudging forward. Her heart was pounding.
Her friends were silent as she placed a hand on the gate until she heard Casey’s voice, “Hey, listen,” she chuckled nervously, “You don’t have to go in there. You touching the gate is enough. Come on, let’s go back to your house and watch a movie or something.”
She would be lying if she said she didn’t want to go along with Casey’s new plan, but...
Something was drawing Samara closer. Something in the house was calling out to her.
Is this how Hawthorne got the young women to walk into his house? Did he call out to them?
There was no gender to the calling. She was just faintly aware that something was saying her name, beckoning her forward and through the gate.
“No, I was dared and I’m gonna do it,” she stated as confidently as she could.
On the inside, however, she was shaking. She wanted nothing more than to run from the house and never look back, but she commanded her feet to move.
She pushed the gate open and stepped inside, closing it behind her. The dark path was only illuminated by the full moon, an omen maybe? Leaves and other debris littered the walkway and the old house stood daunting against the night sky.
She turned around, “One hour. Start the timer as soon as I shut the door. If I don’t come out within that time call the police.”
She knew she was being a bit dramatic, but she had a strange feeling... something she couldn’t quite place her finger on.
She stepped on to the first wooden porch step and flinched when it creaked and groaned loudly.
She took a deep breath and walked up the rest of the five stairs and then across the porch before stopping in front of the door.
Would it be unlocked? Surely not, right?
She stretched her shaking fingers to the doorknob but before her fingers even touched the cold brass, the door creaked open.
She felt the scream in her throat, but it didn’t bubble to the surface. Her eyes widened, but some force was keeping her mouth shut.
"Come inside,” called the voice in her head, ”come inside, girl."
Fück fück fück, Samara thought as her foot stepped over the threshold and then her feet took her the rest of the way.
She door shut behind her and was left in the old and dusty mansion, alone, or so she thought.
The moon filtered through the curtain-less windows and dust particles littered the air. The furniture in the living room she walked into was covered in a lightweight white cloth. The fireplace looked like it hadn’t been used in a while and the small picture frames on the mantel were covered in dust.
Samara walked further into the house, to the mantel and picked up one of the frames, dusting it off with the sleeve of her black sweater.
The picture was of a woman, but it was in black and white. The woman had her head slightly turned to the side, showing off more of her profile.
Samara could tell the woman had long, shiny, dark hair. She was fair skinned with high cheekbones and even though the woman wasn’t smiling in the picture she could see the faint outline of a dimple in her cheek.
Her lips were plump and painted dark in the photograph and Samara thought the woman was gorgeous.
She set the frame back down and picked up the next one, dusting it off and silently gasping as she looked into the eyes of the same woman.
She was smirking in the photo, though, like she had a secret held over the photographer. Her eyes held mischief in them and from this photo she could tell the woman had to be in her mid to late 20s.
She set the frame back down and picked up the last three, dusting them and seeing the same woman.
Was this Hawthorne's wife? Had he lost her and went crazy with grief, stealing woman to try to refill the hole in his heart but ultimately killing them?
"Take the stairs,” the voice suddenly but softly called.
She turned slightly and saw a set of stairs to the side. Nothing good would be up those stairs and Samara knew it.
She took a deep breath but began walking towards the stairs like she had been told despite knowing something was amiss.
She was curious about the rest of the house and she hadn’t heard any movement, so of course, the house had to be abandoned, Hawthorne being long gone.
When she placed her weight on the first wooden stair she was pleasantly surprised that it didn’t creak or groan. How curious.
She walked up the stairs as quietly as she could, flinching when her chunky white tennis shoes made even the slightest thud.
She stepped into the landing of the second story and could see a few doors open but the very last door was shut.
She silently made her way down the hall, the first door being a bedroom; The furniture being covered with the same white cloth as the furniture downstairs.
The next room she came across was a library. It’s walls lined with books, all collecting dust.
If she made it out tonight she would have to come back and borrow a few of these.
She walked in and ran her fingers over a few of the spines, brushing off some of the dust.
A lot of the books she hadn’t known the names or authors but some she did recognize. At least the old man had good taste, Samara thought.
She turned around and saw the faint outline of an old brown leather chair until the white cloth and decided it would be her reading chair for when she came back.
She walked out into the hall and there were only three doors left—two open, the other shut.
She knew the one at the end, the closed door, had to be the master suite.
She couldn’t hear, hadn’t heard any movement. She chuckled softly, there was no one here. There couldn’t be!
She walked past the first two open doors without even checking inside but came to a stop in front of the closed door.
She could bend down and look through the keyhole, but she didn’t want to psych herself out.
She placed an ear to the door for good measure. Her gut was usually correct and her gut was telling her this was the furthest from a good idea she had ever had. She still didn’t hear anything inside.
She took a deep breath and turned the nob, pushing the creaking door open.
The room looked the most recently used. There wasn’t cloth covering the large king bed or any of the furniture. The bright red colors of the king-sized comforter were still vibrant. The bed had four posts made of dark wood and had various intricate designs running the lengths.
She looked around the room, seeing the dark wood vanity, the mirror being free of dust.
She also saw two shut doors, one possibly the closet, the other a bathroom?
She walked over to the vanity in the corner and sat down on the bench. Her reflection one of curiosity and hesitance.
She breathed deeply and chuckled. She had been scared for no reason. This would be a great story she could bring back to school with her.
She opened the vanity drawer and saw the vintage gold plated brush, set like one out of the 1800′s. She also noted the various bobby-pins, some eyeliner and a tube of lipstick.
Hawthorne definitely had to have had a wife, but these products looked fairly new...
She shut the drawer and looked up. Her heart leaped out of her chest as a woman stood a few feet behind her, smirking devilishly.
Samara jumped up and turned around, the woman still very much present and...
It was the woman from the photographs...but that can’t be. Those photos were clearly old, most of them faded. Maybe this woman was a distant relative with a striking resemblance.
"Samara,” the voice called, but now it was distinctly female.
“Who are you,” Samara asked, her voice calm and quiet so as not to provoke the woman.
She heard the woman hum, “The lady of the manor.”
Samara gasped at her beautiful but deep melodic voice.
“That’s impossible,” she whispered, “Hawthorne never had any kids.” Right?
The woman cocked her head, the smirk never leaving, “You are correct. I never did.”
Her heart was racing, almost beating out of her chest and her knees were shaking, her hands trembling, “Who are you,” she asked again.
“Marguerite Hawthorne,” the woman stated, ”Your ‘old man Hawthorne’.”
The monster the town had thought was a man was actually a... a woman?
“But he lured women to their deaths...” Samara stared in disbelief.
Marguerite's smirk never faltered, “Well, I seduced them before I killed them. They died very satisfied.”
Samara blushed. This woman had slept with her victims? Wait, would Samara be a victim?
She backed up but tumbled down onto her bottom on the bench, looking up at the woman now.
Marguerite began slowly stalking towards her, “You’ll endure the same fate. I’m very eager to taste you and the blush in your cheeks is something I’d rather feel on my fingertips.”
Samara blanched, “You can’t kill me!”
The woman stopped in front of her, “And why not?”
Samara could feel the lump in her throat but she wouldn’t give this...this monster the satisfaction of seeing her cry, “Because I’m young, only 18. I have my whole life ahead of me. Please,” she whispered.
Marguerite cocked her head again and ran a perfectly manicured fingernail along Samaras lifeline, “You are quite young. Younger than I’d like. You just turned 18, didn’t you?”
Samara nodded, “Yesterday, actually," her voice was barely a whisper.
Marguerite grinned, “Still such a baby. Tell me, young one, are you pure?”
Now Samara knew, without a doubt, she was blushing, “Yes,” she whispered.
“Is that because of choice,” the woman questioned.
“Because of preference, ma’am,” she whispered again.
“Mmmh,” she heard Marguerite hum, “You aren’t attracted to men?”
Samara shook her head, “No, ma’am.”
Marguerite smirked again, “Virgin blood is the best. It’s the sweetest. I don’t get it very often and since you like women you’ll be a virgin for the unforeseeable future. Is this not true?”
They were talking about Samaras blood now?
“I suppose,” she squeaked out, “Why does that matter?”
The woman chuckled, “Oh, dear sweet naive human girl. Because I’m going to drink from you, that’s why.”
Samaras eyes widened, “Like...like you’re a...”
Marguerite nodded, “Precisely, and you, my love, have walked right into my house. How on Earth did I get so lucky?”
Samara was in shock, she had to be. Was any of this real?
Marguerite leaned down until she was a few inches from Samaras' face, “Tell me, young love, have you tasted another woman? Kissed her soft lips? Felt her soft touch?”
All Samara could do was stare into the woman’s red eyes, the color of blood, of course, and nod.
“Yes, ma’am,” she whispered.
She was completely entranced in this woman. She was the most beautiful woman Samara had ever seen and she took her breath away. If she wanted, she could lean up and their lips would touch.
“Are you trying to seduce me,” Marguerite whispered, looking down at Samaras lips.
Samaras' eyes glanced down at the other woman’s lips, watching her bubblegum pink tongue wet the bottom.
“What do you mean,” Samara asked. She wished to taste Marguerite. If she was fated to die tonight at the hands of this beautiful woman, the least she could do was kiss her, put her out of her misery.
“Your thoughts, Samara. They’re very loud.”
Samaras eyes instantly locked onto Marguerites, “My thoughts? You can hear my thoughts?”
Marguerite moved even closer before pulling Samara to her feet with Marguerite being a few inches taller, “Yes, love, and I will give you what you want.”
Thank God, Samara thought.
She heard Marguerite chuckle before she pressed her lips to Samaras.
It was like all of Samaras will to live just left her body. She gripped Marguerite's waist and pulled her closer, their bodies completely touching. She knew she would die tonight, and she was ready to make love to her reaper.
She faintly heard Marguerite chuckled, felt her lips form a smile as she heard Samaras thoughts but Samara didn’t care. Let her hear.
I want you, she thought loud and clear.
She heard Marguerite growl before she felt her tangle her fingers in Samaras' hair.
She felt a gust of cold stagnate air and then her back was against something plush and she was laying horizontally with Marguerite between her thighs.
She caged Marguerite there, her thighs crushing the other woman’s hips and her hands roamed her back before squeezing her firm behind through the dark wash jeans.
Samara had on a short pleated skirt and it was bunched around her hips now as she felt Marguerite begin to roll her hips into Samaras panty clad core.
God, yes, Samara thought.
She knew she was wet. This woman was heavenly even if she was the Devil. She tasted of honey and vanilla though Samara knew vampires couldn’t or wouldn't eat human food.
Marguerite's lips left Samara and Samara left out a small whine before she felt lips on her neck.
“We can,” Marguerite whispered, “I still enjoy tea with a dash of honey,” she stated as she kissed and nipped Samaras slender neck.
“I don’t care what you like to drink, just fuck me,” Samara growled, pushing her fingers into the waistband of Marguerites' jeans and feeling the smooth flesh of her àss before squeezing the generous globes.
Marguerite chuckled again but straddled Samaras waist, her fingers working the buttons of her black sweater open before pushing the sleeves down the young girls' arms and throwing it to the floor.
Her white bra was cute, but Marguerite was interested in the heavy breasts that inhabited the cups.
She leaned back down and pressed her lips to Samaras as she reached around the girls back and unclasped the bra and pulled it off of her in a haste.
Samara had already begun to unbutton Marguerite's jeans and was now pushing her hands under the woman’s tight shirt, ready to remove it from her body.
Marguerite sat up and removed the shirt completely before tugging her bra off too. She leaned back down and took one of Samaras rose colored nïpples into her mouth, pulling it between her teeth.
“Fück,” Samara whispered and pushed Marguerite's jeans down past her hips and brought her feet up to push the jeans the rest of the way down the woman’s legs.
Marguerite nicked the nipple in her mouth with one of her sharp teeth, drawing blood and then sucking vigorously. She moaned from how amazing Samaras virgin blood was. She was greedy and slightly opened the wound more, letting the blood flow onto her tongue with ever suckle. She was faintly aware of Samaras moaning as she took what she wanted from the girl.
She knew her venom caused her pray to go into a powerful lust filled frenzy and once the small amount of venom was circulating through the barely legal teen her small hands were gripping at Marguerite's underwear, pushing them down her hips.
“Take them off,” Samara growled. She needed to taste Marguerite, needed to feel her soft skin on her fingertips.
Marguerite chuckled against Samaras' breast but kicked her own shoes off and then her pants and pushed her underwear the rest of the way before they lightly fell to the floor.
Samaras' hands grazed up Marguerite's toned body before she reached her breasts, rolling the buds there between her fingers.
Marguerite slipped her fingers into the waistbands of Samaras skirt and panties before tugging them down and throwing them across the room.
She sat up, now between the girls' thighs again and smirked down at her.
Their skins tones almost matched but Marguerite, being undead, was a few shades lighter. Her skin also didn’t flush like Samaras was right now.
Marguerite chuckled at the thought that raced through Samaras mind—‘Does she like what she sees?’
“You’re body is very beautiful, Samara. You don’t need my approval, but you already have it.”
She looked at the blood dripping from Samaras' breast, creating a small stream that was heading for the comforter.
Not wanting to waste any, Marguerite leaned down and licked up the small river and continued taking the blood from the source.
She brought her right hand down the girl's body before dipping in between her thighs and moaning as she felt how drenched the poor human was.
Please, Marguerite, she heard the girls plea in her thoughts.
She leaned up and ran her tongue along the wound on the Samaras nipple, effectively closing it.
She kissed her way down the girl's slender body, occasionally nicking her and lapping up the beading blood, injecting small amounts of her venom each time, rendering the small girls' fight or flight senses useless.
Samaras was sure she was already dead though. Her mind was hazy with lust and all she wanted was to either taste Marguerite or have her taste Samara.
She had a faint understanding of what the vampire was doing, feeding off of her but making it enjoyable until she finally took all of her life source. She couldn’t say she was afraid though, quite the opposite.
Marguerite could take all the blood she wanted and Samara would willingly let her if she only gave Samara what she wanted.
Samara felt the vampire spreads her thighs further before pulling her folds apart between her fingers and lapping at the wetness that was surely pouring out of her.
She was also aware that her moaning was loud and if she thought there might be anyone to hear then she might’ve been embarrassed, but it was hard to feel anything but Marguerites lips, tongue and teeth on her.
Samara was already clenching around Marguerite's skilled tongue and her thighs were shaking with her impending climax.
Marguerite knew the girl was close, saw her stomach contracting and relaxing with her fastly approaching orgasm and to help push her along she nicked Samaras clït and sucked the blood, effectively injecting more venom while also stimulating the sensitive nerves there.
She heard Samaras shriek as she came, felt the warm rush of liquid on her tongue and lapped up every bit as she also sucked on her clït, prolonging the orgasm. She licked the wound, closing it before leaning up over the half-lidded girl.
She had taken quite a bit of blood from her already and knew that it was now or never. She needed to either give the girl her blood and save her life or put her out of her misery and nick her in an erogenous zone and make her last few moments pleasurable.
She rather liked the girl. She had heard her thoughts and knew Samara was attracted to her, but did she want to keep her around?
Could she trust the girl? Did she want her hanging around like Samara had previously planned-- Coming to her library, looking through her history set in old pictures?
Yes, she thought.
It had been a while since Marguerite had had any company and she wanted to keep the girl around if anything then for a blood bag and a plaything.
She huffed and rolled over, taking the girl with her so that Samara was straddling her hips.
She used one of her long fingernails and created a wound on her own nipple before guiding the girl's mouth down, “Drink,” she commanded.
She felt the girls sluggish suckles until the vampire blood had made a full circuit in her small body and repaired some of the damage.
The girl, in her newfound bold and awareness, moved between Marguerite's thighs, her mouth still at her breast, her fingers quickly making their way down to the woman’s heat.
Samara felt the small trickles of blood on her tongue but to a human, it tasted like some sort of cinnamon beverage. She never wanted to let go and decided that for now, she wouldn’t.
She felt how wet Marguerite was and immediately plunged her middle and ring fingers into her tight hole, making the vampire yelp in surprise.
Finally, something she hadn’t anticipated.
She pumped those two fingers into Marguerite before adding a third while the fingers of her other hand circled her clït.
“Oh, fück. Right there...Jesus,” Samara heard Marguerite moan in a whisper.
She curled her fingers up, rubbing against the sensitive upper walls of Marguerites sex, fastening her pace and speeding up her fingers against her clït.
"Fück, what are you doing to me,” Samara heard Marguerite ask in her mind.
Samara took Marguerites nïpple between her teeth and applied pressure, loving the moan she got and the clench around her fingers.
"I’m close, little one. Don’t stop,” she heard, but she had no intentions in stopping. She was relishing in the noises Marguerite was making, the taste of her blood on her tongue, the clenching around her fingers.
Marguerite groaned as her orgasm washed over her. It had been a while since she had let someone give her one and the high she felt was amazing.
She watched through half-lidded eyes as Samara brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked all of Marguerite off of them. The visual was hot and made Marguerite want to taste the girls' lips again with her on them.
She pulled the girl up and sucked her bottom lip before deepening the kiss and tasting herself on the girl's tongue, her essence, her blood. It was heady and erotic and had her thinking very strange things.
She leaned back and smiled lazily, “I think I’m going to keep you.”
Samara grinned, wanting to ask why Marguerite didn’t want to end her life, instead saying, “I can come back tomorrow after my friends leave, but I also have school on Monday.”
Marguerite smirked, “Ah, yes. Your friends...,” she took a deep breath and pulled the thoughts from one of the girls outside.
“Your clock has almost run out. You’ve got about five minutes or they’ll be calling the police. You should probably get dressed,” she said in annoyance.
Samara leaned up and pressed her lips to Marguerites, “I could always come back when they fall asleep.”
Marguerite thought for a moment, “Yes, I quite like that plan. Come back to me, pet. I’ll let you sleep here.”
Samara smiled and whispered, “Yes, ma’am.”
She didn’t want to get up and get dressed, but she did, using the brush in the vanity drawer to straighten her tangled hair and making sure she looked presentable and not well fücked.
As she made her way to the bedroom door she saw Marguerite donning a white silk robe and heading over to her.
“I’ll follow you out,” she simply stated.
They walked down the hall and then the stairs together before Marguerite opened the door and stood behind it, allowing Samaras friends to see the only the young girl in the doorway.
She stepped over the threshold and shut the door behind her and walked down the porch stairs and back to her friends.
"I’ll be waiting for you, Samara," she heard the vampires voice in her heard.
“Yes ma’am,” she whispered low enough for only Marguerite to hear.
“Oh, my God!” Casey shrieked out, “Are you okay? Was it super scary?”
She took Samara in her arms and hugged her tightly.
Samara chuckled, “I was terrified at first, but once I looked around and explored, all I found was some old pictures, lots of dust and a library full of books.”
And a lover, she thought with a smirk, knowing Marguerite was more than likely listening in.
She decided not to tell the girls who the pictures were of or that she’d be going back, even to check out the library.
“Well, I’m glad you’re brave. I will never go into the house,” one of the other girls giggled as they walked down the sidewalk back to Samaras' house.
“Yeah, there’s no way. You’ll be the talk of the school though. A whole hour? What exactly did you do in there for all that time,” another girl asked.
“Mostly just explored. The house is huge so my time was filled right until the end,” she blushed a little and was thankful she was cloaked in the nights' darkness.
She couldn’t wait until the girls fell asleep so she could return to Marguerite.
For some reason she had spared Samara, and Samara wanted to thank Marguerite—all night long.